#worlds most fucked up seraph

[ophiocordyceps]

auriel is a manipulative fuck btw. not only is auriel a snake in terms of physical form but auriel is also a snake in personality as well. there's something wrong with that fucking guy

[darkdevasofdestruction]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

[storm-angel989]

Okay so I saw your val and child fic and i got inspired to req as well😭 Lucifer x eldest!daughter!reader, what if luci and Lilith had like, a child before they fell. THIS IS PLATONIC OKAY almost forgot to mention. So like reader is like an angel (maybe with unique wings like luci?) and is more than tens of thousands years old cause she was born before they fell, and she can't go to hell or have any contact with her parents because heaven is worried that she'll fall too, so she's very protected by the angels. It'll add more to the angst if reader isn't even aware that she's the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith! Better, she didn't even know they existed at all because the angels tried their best to keep her away from everything about hell. I hc that Lucifer went to heaven to like, talk w sera to let charlie have a meeting about the extermination yeah!! So on his way, he caught a glimpse of reader gifting a basket full of pastries or idks to Sera in her office. After tens of thousands of years apart, what will he do? He can't fuck this up since of he makes sera angry, then charlie won't have a meeting at all!

Ask and you shall receive! I don't have a ton of experience writing Lucifer, but take a peek- feedback is always appreciated! Thank you so much for your request!

She looked just like her. 

Blonde hair. Wings that mimicked his own, at least, how they looked in his glory days. Prior to his fall. Her eyes sparkled with the goodness only heaven could create. Ironic, really, if he was being fully honest with himself. 

It was only a glimpse, a glance as she handed off a basket to one of the other angels. Sera’s secretary, maybe. Or one of the lower officers in her command. Honest Lucifer couldn’t care less who she was handing it to if it wasn’t him. After all, that was his daughter. 

Every part of him yearned to stand up, to blow these pretentious angels out of the way and to embrace what was rightfully his. To end the pain of a loss he had kept a secret from everyone around him for eons. 

But by the way she acted, he doubted she had any idea who he was. It had, after all, been ages since he had last seen her sweet face, bubbling and bright. Heard her soft giggles, her coos as he rocked her to sleep at night. Ages since the high seraphs of heaven ripped her from his arms as they cast him and Lilith to Earth, as punishment for their so called egregious errors.

Twenty nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty six years to be exact. Not that he was counting.

He tried to shake her from his mind. He had another daughter to focus on, after all. One bore after he and his wife fell, crashing into the underground world- a punishment for an external sin. 

At first, Lilith had cried. Dark echoing sobs that resulted in the creation of the sins of hell. Each of them one of the actions of heaven that led her to the loss of her daughter. Heaven’s pride, lust, greed, gluttony, wrath and sloth, all became embodiments of the third most powerful beings in hell. It took eons before the discussion of another child could even be considered. 

Ironic, he pointed out, that the crimes of heaven became reality in hell. But she didn’t care. He supposed in her mind, bringing to life heaven’s dark side was a sort of retribution. 

It was eons, eons before they decided to try again. 

That brought him here, to this moment, as he sat in front of Sera as casually as he could. She didn’t need to know he recognized his own daughter. Honestly, dangling her in front of him like that. How dare she? He should strike her now, his hands could leave burning marks of darkness across her face, a permanent scar was the very least she deserved for shattering his family. 

But he had another child to consider. 

You should be grateful, the commander taunted as he ripped his daughter from his arms. At least now she has a chance at happiness, a chance to avoid eternal damnation and punishment. Why are you not more grateful? 

Lucifer’s infant screamed in one of his oversized hands, and with the other pushed him down into the pits of hell alongside Lilith. Their punishment for daring to create something without the permission of a higher being. 

“She desires a meeting? With us?” Sera wondered aloud. “Whatever about?”

Lucifer snapped his attention back to the issue at hand. His other daughter, one created many, many years after the loss of their firstborn, needed him. Play it cool, Lucifer, he thought to himself. Charlie needed him. He casually looked at his fingertips and then glanced up at her. 

“I don’t know. Something about sinners and heaven. Honestly, Sera. What harm could come from a little….post extermination meeting? After all, wouldn’t you enjoy the chance to meet my daughter? You might notice a few connections that could help keep heaven safe.”

If Sera understood his insinuations, she didn’t let on. 

“Very well then, if you feel her knowledge will bring value to heaven. After all, the sanctity of our home is of utmost importance.”

Sanctimonious bitch, Lucifer thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his eldest, his reader laughing at a joke another angel told. 

In all the time that had passed, that ringing laugh never changed. 

“We have a deal then. Tomorrow, noon. And let Peter know, I don’t want my daughter treated as poorly as I was.”  He stood up and turned to walk towards the door. 

“She’s doing well, you know. Reader. She’s safe and happy in the hands of parents who truly love her.” Sera’s voice came softly from behind. 

Every part of him yearned to turn around, to rip her heart out of her chest and stomp on it the way she had done to him all those years ago. To scream, to gouge her eyes out- the worst circle of hell didn’t hold enough punishment for what this bitch deserved. What heaven deserved for tearing a family apart. 

But he had another child to think about. 

So instead he swallowed back his feelings and silently walked out the door as he chose to respond in the best way he knew how. He pushed open the outside door and lost in his mind, he tripped down the first step. 

A soft hand caught him from behind, preventing his fall. 

“I’m so sorry Mister, are you okay?” A familiar voice asked, worry evident. 

A cold feeling settled in his gut. No, fate couldn’t be so cruel. 

“Ahaha, yeah, just clumsy, you know? Thanks for the catch!” He replied as calmly as he could. He adjusted his tie, willing himself to not turn around. To not face one of the biggest sources of heartbreak a parent could imagine. 

He began to walk down the street, back towards the gates of heaven. Back towards the portal that would inevitably open up and toss him down into the pits of hell, where he could again safely hide in the sanctity of his office, again lose himself in yet another fruitless hobby as he tried desperately to forget the night that tore his family apart. 

“Dad! Over here!” Her voice sang out. 

Involuntarily, he turned around. Dad? Did she recognize him? Was it possible? For just a moment, his heart soared. Dad is right here, reader. 

The words caught in his throat as he watched her embrace another man, another angel. One he knew well. Every inch of him flared up with rage. Bad enough that heaven took her away but to give her to him? Of all angels? 

And they said hell was cruel. 

It took every ounce of self control to turn away from the scene. To once again bury the emotion deep within himself. To process the pain of yet another loss. 

After all, he had another daughter to think about. 

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] The first of many reposts from my old blog. [ SYNOPSIS ] You're the child of a dead preacher. He's an angel on the run. [ WORD COUNT ] 6.5k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, fallen seraph!Vash, I'm just making up shit about angels honestly, graphic injuries, sacrilege, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, virginity loss, Vash has a big dick and he does not know how to use it, creampie, sad ending (I'm sorry).

“I don’t remember it looking this…”

Your now former groundskeeper guffawed on the other end of the line. “Shitty?”

You shook your head even though your father’s abandoned church was in rough shape. It was clear not a soul had been looking after it.

“It looks…”

“I ain’t got all day.”

You thought long and hard. “Depressing,” you finally muttered. “I thought you were going to take care of it.”

“You think I’m gonna work for free?”

“If money was an issue you should have said something,” you sneered.

She coughed. “I ain’t that chapel’s keeper,” she replied firmly.

The chapel was tucked away deep in the mountains away from town. You looked at the ivy covered door barely on its hinges. Lichen had overtaken the walls. The roof was covered with decaying leaves and bright green moss and had a sizable hole. It was a miracle it hadn’t caved in. Most derelict buildings didn’t survive the rainy season let alone several.

“Probably full of mold and critters anyway. I don’t know why you wanna be there in the first place.”

“I…”

Even you didn’t know why you came. Your father had been dead for a while. It’s not as if you were seeking closure. Your scars had healed long ago, the pain only a dull twinge if you saw photos of him giving you a piggyback ride or sleeping on a sun soaked beach.

“Boredom,” you laughed. “No other reason.”

“Lia—”

You hung up before she could utter the entirety of the word. You knew it was mostly out of guilt for letting things get this bad.

You walked the perimeter and tried to avoid the tall grass that surrounded the church. It was amazing how fast the mountain was able to reclaim it all. Sooner or later the concrete pathways would get eaten up by the earth, but for now it was only nipping at its heels. As you made your way to the back, your feet leaving deep imprints in the soft, waterlogged soil, you were confronted by a massive hole in the ground. You were centimeters away from falling into it.

“Holy shit.”

You squatted down to get a better look at the crater. There were iridescent white feathers scattered about, some stained with blood. You couldn’t tell if it was fresh or not. There was no bird in the area that could make a hole of that size in the ground, but you couldn’t think of any other explanation. You stood up and noticed evidence of something clawing its way out of the hole. A trail of bloodied feathers made their way to the back door of the church, or rather where the back door should have been. It was missing altogether, ripped from the hinges.

All the signs pointed to getting the fuck out of there, but you couldn’t quell the curiosity swirling inside you. Sweaty palms and the pit in your stomach weren’t good enough deterrents. You took slow steps towards the gaping doorway. Each step felt like a potential death sentence but you were steadfast.

You peeked your head inside and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just pews and the other side of the church. Light streamed through the hole in the ceiling and a few of the lancet windows, giving everything an ethereal look. It felt liminal, a place between worlds. Stepping inside you were greeted by native grasses popping up between the wood paneled flooring and a few more bloodied feathers.

“This can’t be safe,” you muttered, making damn sure to take careful steps.

You really had no business being in there. There was nothing special or sentimental stowed away. Your father’s belongings and any items of religious importance were swiftly removed upon his death. All that remained was dust and several moldy study bibles.

You stepped deeper inside and stood beside the pulpit. Images of your father preaching fluttered about your mind. His voice was clear as day, only making the lack of him more apparent. You felt like someone was pushing needles into your heart. You stumbled away to the pews, hoping distance would rip you away from your memories.

You crept down the aisle, following the trail of feathers. It was much like your father had many times before on his way from the pulpit. The pews were in terrible shape, the cushions had all rotted away. You hoped to sit in one for old time’s sake, but it was a risk you were unwilling to take. Stained, festering nylon curtains covered most of the lancet windows, though a goodly portion of them had been haphazardly torn down. You assumed it was an animal for your own comfort.

Continuing down the aisle you noticed a large heap in the corner where the feathers ended. It was wrapped up in the missing curtains and shivering. You tried to think if there were any sightings of enormous birds in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all. Of course nothing came to mind; it was only wishful thinking.

Your eyes darted around, looking for something long to poke the heap with. The only option was a study bible. You quietly reached for one near the pews, the cover moist between your fingers. You started to dry heave as the smell of the old, wet book enveloped you.

“Ew, ew, ew,” you said, tossing the bible at the shivering mound.

Your aim was terrible and the bible slammed into the wall before hitting the ground beside the heap with a loud thud. Your mouth filled with saliva, anxious nausea overwhelming you. The heap shot upright, the curtains still clinging to its form. You didn’t know what to do so you ran out the back door. In your hurry to escape you tripped into the crater. You could feel death surrounding you, the air around you signaling your inevitable demise. You tried to climb out of the hole, but it was simply too deep. Fertile soil wedged itself under your fingernails in your futile attempt to escape.

You sunk down and sat in the dirt, holding your head in your hands. You felt like an idiot. Why did you come here? What purpose did this serve?

In the midst of your mental breakdown, you heard footsteps and again made a pathetic attempt to pull yourself out of the hole. You nearly vomited when you saw a tall figure obscured by curtains hovering above you. It squatted down and held out a shaky, wounded hand. You were too frightened to move.

“Take it,” a small voice rasped.

You continued to stare at it, wide-eyed and terrified. It wiggled its fingers.

“I don’t have all day.”

You slowly reached up and grabbed its hand. Its palm was rough, fingernails full of the same dirt that was underneath yours. The heap hoisted you out of the hole with an ease you didn’t expect. It seemed so fragile when you first saw it shivering in the church.

It quickly scuttled back inside before you could properly thank it. You stood there, eyes fixed on the open back door. You knew the right thing to do was run down the road and get in your car, but again your curiosity got the best of you. You made your way back into the church and tip-toed over to the figure. It was resting in the same corner, only this time its feet were sticking out from under the curtain. Streaks of blood marred its skin.

“Hello?”

Its shivering stopped.

“Hey. Uh, I…”

Your sentence trailed off and again, the heap was silent. Against better judgment you reached out to it. Just as it was within reach it swiftly grabbed your wrist. You stared in horror at the scarred arm. Your life began to flash before your eyes, or it did until you got a glimpse of the heap.

As you tried to pull away the curtain parted enough so you could see half of a face and the prettiest eye you’d ever seen. It was a striking blue-green color with long, dark eyelashes. Strands of blonde and black hair peeked out as well. The heap released your arm and tried in vain to cover his face.

“I… I just wanted to say thank you!” you blurted out.

“You’re welcome. Now go away.”

“... Can I ask why you’re here?”

“No,” it said.

“I’ll have you know this is my property,” you said, trying to sound threatening. You felt like a bad actor. “Either you tell me or I’ll call the cops.”

It paused. “I’m resting.”

“Okay… Are you hurt?”

Maybe it was a hiker that got injured and sought refuge in the first building it saw. That seemed the most likely though it didn’t explain all the feathers.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“No. I mean, yes! Please. Leave me alone,” it said as the curtain slid down, revealing its face.

It was a man, a handsome one at that. His face was scratched up and covered in swatches of dirt. His skin was tanned, like he was someone that spent his days toiling under the kiss of the sun. His hair was a disaster, blonde and black strands sticking up like he’d just woken up from a neverending nap. Your starry-eyed expression seemed to make him realize the curtains were no longer obscuring every part of him.

“Dammit,” he whimpered.

Your heart was caught in your throat. You needed to focus on something else, something other than him and his arresting beauty.

“Y—you know those curtains are pretty gross. I wouldn’t wrap myself up in them… Just saying.”

He looked away from you and stared at the ground.

“I don’t have any other options.”

“Okay I get that, but those curtains are still beyond disgusting.”

The man narrowed his eyes before letting the curtains drop. You only got a brief glimpse of his beaten body before a mass of wings appeared and shielded himself from you. They were made of the same iridescent feathers that littered the church.

“Ow.”

Blood still clung to many of them. You tried your best to stay calm.

“So you are hurt.”

“It’s not like you can do anything about it. Now leave me alone. I’ll be gone soon.” His stern voice gave way to a whinier one. “I hope.”

“Are you, like, waiting on someone?”

“Oh yes,” he sneered. “I’m waiting for my brethren to pick me up. They should be here any day now. I just have to wait for the sound of their herald.”

“No need to be hostile. You are in my chapel.”

“And? I’m one of your God’s messengers.”

You gulped. You never thought you’d be in the presence of a literal angel. After your father died you “turned your back on God” and dissolved the congregation much to the chagrin of the parishioners. You didn’t see any reason to continue on. Scripture was nonsense and served to remind you of the things you lacked, namely your father.

The angel peeked out from behind his wings.

“Ha. Can’t beat that, can you?” he asked with a weak smile.

“I guess not… How long will you be here?”

“Don’t know,” he said before wincing.

He looked tired. You weren’t sure if angels needed to sleep or not, but resting certainly wouldn’t hurt. Carting him to your apartment crossed your mind, but there was no way you could explain his presence to your neighbors. If you lived in a city, you could probably get away with it. But small towns weren’t made for secrets and strange men.

“Stop staring,” he said before a small wing appeared, hiding his face. “Ouch.”

“Does that hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Uh, like, having your wings out.”

“It’s excruciating.”

“You can put them away then. It’s not like I haven’t seen a naked body before.”

The angel let out a heavy sigh as the feathers fell and the bones seemed to melt away. His arms were torn up and covered in cuts, his left arm was practically ripped to shreds. One of his clavicles was broken so badly the bone had torn through his skin. His legs were much like his arms and riddled with cuts. Pillowy yellow fat spilled from one of the deeper ones. A wisps of iridescent feathers still clung to various parts of his broken body.

He held his legs close to his chest, trying to hide as much of himself as possible, and looked up at you like a neglected puppy.

“Who did this to you?” you asked.

He laughed, the fakest one you had ever heard. “The ground.”

Prying crossed your mind, but you doubted he’d be truthful. A strong gust blew through the church, the cold drilling itself into your skin. You dug your hands into the pockets of your coat as your body began to fold in on itself. You were never one to successfully withstand the cold.

It seemed the angel wasn’t either, if his whimpering was anything to go by. You straightened your back and cleared your throat.

“Here,” you said, pulling off your coat. You squatted down next to him and draped it over his shoulders. It didn’t offer much coverage, but the thought was there. “I can’t stand seeing someone look so miserable.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling weakly.

“You’re supposed to say thank you.”

The apples of his cheeks flushed pink and he bashfully thanked you. It was astounding how cute he was. You found yourself lost in his eyes; they looked like perfectly polished turquoise. Every aspect of him drew you in. You weren’t sure if it was because of his angelic nature. You couldn’t remember if they were capable of being so bewitching.

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with your staring. Your skin grew hot the second you realized this.

“Fuck. I guess I’m the one that’s sorry now, huh?”

He smiled weakly once more.

“It’s fine,” he said before looking out one of the windows. “The sun’s going to set soon. You should get going.”

You nervously scratched the base of your skull. “I feel kind of weird leaving you here in… this state,” you said, eyes fixed on his busted collarbone. “Let me, uh, you know… help you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Most things in my life can be described like that and it has yet to stop me.”

You reached out and wiped away some of the dirt on his cheek with the pad of your thumb. You usually weren’t so gutsy but you felt overwhelmingly compelled. You need to help this man, this angel.

“Do you have a name?”

“Vash.”

“Cute. Shit. Cool. I mean, nice to meet you,” you said before telling him your name.

He repeated your name under his breath and your stomach was aflutter. You wanted to hear him say it over and over again. You inhaled deeply and tried to compose yourself. You stood up and gazed down at the nude heap of a man that sat in front of you.

“Come home with me. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

You furrowed your brow. You weren’t confident in your ability to persuade him. You didn’t want to press too hard and scare him off.

“Fine. But I’m coming back tomorrow with some clothes. Maybe a blanket. Food too. Wait… Do you even eat?”

“I eat. I don’t have to, but I like to.”

“What should I bring you?”

His eyes widened and seemed to sparkle.

“Doughnuts.”

“Noted.”

“And pizza.”

You giggled. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, flashing his pointy canine teeth.

After a restless night’s sleep, you set out to gather supplies. You went to a thrift store and grabbed a bunch of shirts that seemed like they’d fit Vash’s lithe yet toned body. You bought a few pairs of pants that looked long, and briefly stared down an old and opened pack of men’s underwear. You wouldn’t dare bring him such a cursed item. He was an angel after all. You didn’t want to inadvertently get on his shit list. He would just have to go commando.

Your next stop was the grocery store where you bought a sizable first aid kit and dozen doughnuts of varying flavors. You couldn’t parse out his taste so you decided to go a little overboard. If anyone deserved to be spoiled, it was him. You wanted him to be comfortable, to be at ease.

The drive up the mountain was peaceful. But the sky was gradually becoming speckled with blotchy, grey clouds.

“I’m back,” you said in a sing-song voice as you entered the chapel.

You walked down the aisle in between the pews and found Vash where you had left him last night. He was asleep under the musty curtain and was using your jacket as a makeshift pillow. You put down your bags and squatted beside him.

“Hey,” you said, running your hand over his dirty hair.

His eyes fluttered open, his expression was of momentary terror before he realized it was only you.

“Hi,” he yawned.  

“No pizza, but! I have doughnuts and some clothes. I don’t know your size so I just grabbed a bunch of shit.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting up slowly. You were happy to see that his collarbone was no longer piercing his skin. All that remained was a dark scar.

He reached for the bag and pulled the clothes out, expressing zero interest in them. His eyes lit up when he saw the pink box and eagerly took it out of the bag. He almost looked a little teary eyed.

“I also didn’t know what flavor you liked so I—”

He shoved a glazed cruller into his mouth. “I like all kinds,” he replied, voice muffled by his full mouth.

He swallowed and beamed. He had one of those smiles that could melt the heart of even the coldest person.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out a chocolate doughnut from the box.

“No problem. I—” 

Before you could finish your sentence a droplet of water landed on the tip of your nose.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

Looking up at the hole in the ceiling you saw that the sky was now an unforgiving and darkened grey. You tossed your head back and groaned. Your mind was assaulted with a cascade of thoughts.

I hate driving in the rain. The road back has so many hairpin turns. He can’t stay here. Not like he can stay with me though. I guess I could leave him. But I’m sick of running from everything. What if the entire ceiling caves in? What’ll happen to him? What would dad do?

You knew he wouldn’t leave an angel behind to rot in his chapel that was for sure.

“Something wrong?” Vash asked before biting into a maple bar.

“Come home with me.”

“What? No way.”

“You can’t stay here. Not in the rain. You’ll be miserable.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already caused you enough trouble.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you snapped. “Now get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

You kept your sentences short and firm. You didn’t want to give him any room to weasel his way out of your demands. There was no way in hell you were going to let this battered angel suffer. His protesting meant nothing to you.

Vash winced as the rain worked its way into his wounds.

“Well when you put it like that,” he said as he eased his way up from the cold and unforgiving floor.

You averted your eyes, making a conscious effort not to stare. The urge was there, an ever present annoyance, but you looked everywhere else. The hole in the ceiling. The decaying floors. The rain tapping at the windows. When you finally looked at him he was dressed. The white button-down wasn’t a perfect fit; the oversized nature of it made him look even more fragile. And the pants were too short, the hems just barely covering his shins.

“Do I look stupid?”

“You look like… I had no idea what I was doing while I was shopping,” you laughed. “C’mon. Let’s go before it starts pouring.”

You held out your hand and immediately felt like an idiot. He was an angel. Would someone like him ever need assistance from someone like you?

Surprisingly, he took your hand. His palms were big and rough, fingers long and graceful. Your heart pounded in your chest as you led him out of the chapel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his hands caressing your shoulders and how lovely a sensation it must be. You sighed in relief once you saw your car, immediately unlocking it. He went to get in the backseat and you stifled a laugh.

“You don’t wanna sit up front?”

“Do you want me to?”

You hated him for asking. Of course you wanted him to, but you didn’t want to have to actually disclose that.

“I’ll feel like a chauffeur if you sit in the back,” you replied, purposefully avoiding his question.

He smiled, eyes narrowed, a teasing expression. He wasn’t stupid and you were a bad actor. Wordlessly he got in the passenger seat much to your relief.

The drive itself wasn’t all that bad, but still you were consumed with anxiety. Vash kept his face glued to the window, looking outside at the redwoods that embraced the mountain. His inattention gave you plenty of time to craft an excuse as to why he was with you in the first place.

“If anyone asks, and I’m really hoping no one will, say we went to college together,” you said, hands clenching the steering wheel.

“Hm?” he said, redirecting his attention. He gazed at you, eyes trained on your lips. “What were you saying?”

“I—uh. If anyone… Be normal.”

“Normal?”

“Ye—yeah. Normal.”

“Should I say I’m your boyfriend?”

“What?! No!”

“Is that not normal?”

“It’s… ugh. Technically! I guess!”

“So I can say that then?”

“No. Say something else.”

“Something else.”

You spent the last twenty minutes of the drive feeling vaguely nauseous and mildly sweaty.

The two of you managed to make it to your apartment door without running into anyone. You hurriedly tried to unlock it, only to drop the key because of your impatience.

“Hello,” you heard Vash say cheerily.

You turned around in horror and saw your landlord. He merely nodded and waddled out of sight.

“Nice to meet you! I’m their boyfriend!” Vash shouted after him.

“What is wrong with you?” you growled, shoving the key into the lock.

You swung the door open and pulled the obnoxious angel inside.

He stood bashfully in your living room. “What? It was funny.”

“Hardly,” you hissed.

Your annoyance with him was gone as fast as it came. He somehow looked more exhausted and battered surrounded by the comfort of your home. How could you hold even a pinch of resentment for someone in his state and of his stature? The right thing to do was ease his misery, not stoke its flames.

“You should shower. You’d probably feel better.”

“I don’t think I can stand that long.”

“Bath?”

“With my luck I’d fall asleep and drown.”

“What if I help?”

He appeared to be deep in thought. “That’ll work.”

You led him into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Steam filled the bathroom. The warmth was welcome on such a harsh and rainy night. Vash got undressed and lowered himself into the water. He let out a pleased groan, one that made your brain stop functioning.

You buried your lewd thoughts into the depths of your mind and sat on the edge of the tub, guiding Vash so he was positioned in between your legs. Suddenly you were plagued with shyness.

“Ah, um, co—could you dunk your head?” you asked timidly.

He obliged, sliding further into the tub and submerging himself in the bathwater. He shut his eyes and lingered underneath its weight. His face was solemn.

“Oh—okay. You can come up now,” you said.

He opened one of his eyes and smiled. He sat up. His wet hair slicked back leaving face on full display. You swallowed hard and squirted some shampoo into your hand.

“Let me know if it gets in your eyes.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll scream like a little girl.”

You laughed, probably harder than you should have. But you felt obligated to. He was trying so hard to keep up this thin facade.

You worked the shampoo into his hair, letting the silky strands slide between your fingers.

“Smells nice,” he murmured.

“Thanks…”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. Neither of you knew what to say, what subject to broach. You focused on massaging his scalp, washing away every bit of blood and dirt. Every so often he broke out into a delighted hum.

“That feel good?” you asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yesssss,” he moaned.

You choked on your own spit.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Yeah! I mean, yeah. Yeah. Yes. Uh, I need to—to rinse. Dunk your head again.”

He slid further into the tub, but he kept his face above the water. The soap spread through the water, encircling his head like a halo. He stared up at you, eyes still doe-like but now with a piercing quality. Silence filled the room once more.

“Is there something on my face?”

“What?” he said, eyes softening. “Oh! No, I was just staring.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his bluntness.

“You’re very beautiful.”

You felt dizzy, like the world was spinning around you.

“Th—thank you. Uh.” You lifted his head out of the water, unable to use your words. He followed your lead and sat back up. “You can wash your body, right? I can get your back. But… you should… probably do the rest.”

“I think I can manage.”

You got up and grabbed a fluffy washcloth off your bathroom counter.

“If it hurts—”

“I’ll let you know,” he chuckled.

You smiled nervously and wetted the wash cloth, squeezing out a generous amount of body wash into it. You looked at his back and the wounds that covered it. As you began to bathe him his shoulders tensed up. It didn't take long for the washcloth to tinge pink. His discomfort made you feel like there was a hole in your chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he whimpered.

“How do you plan on getting back?”

“Back to where?”

“To heaven.”

“I don’t,” he said solemnly.

Again you were unsure how to respond. You wrung out the washcloth and handed it to him. You watched as he washed his arms and nearly fell to the floor when he lifted one of his long legs out of the water.

“You can stay here as long as you want. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Please. Don’t.”

“But you have nowhere else to go!”

“I’d be putting you in harm’s way,” he said, the sweetness gone from his voice. “It’s for your own good.”

How could he know what was good for you? You considered pressing him for more details, but his comfort trumped your curiosity.

“I just want to help you,” you muttered. “That’s all.”

He said nothing.

“I’ll… grab you a towel.”

You got out of the tub and left the bathroom, looking for any excuse to step away. You were caught between your need for answers and your need to keep him calm, to let him feel safe. Tears welled up in your eyes, not from sadness but frustration. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t sure what it was supposed to be, but you knew this wasn’t what you wanted for him.

As you searched for a towel your brain was overwhelmed with questions.

Who is he to decide what is and isn't for my own good? What harm is going to seek me out if he stays? How can I get him to stay? What will it take? What am I willing to give?

Your concentration was obliterated by the sound of him getting out of the tub. You grabbed a towel from your linen closet and returned to the bathroom.

“Here,” you said, handing him the towel.

As soon as he took it from his hand you turned and moped to your bedroom. You got undressed and threw on an oversized t-shirt. You planned on letting him sleep in your bed. You would take the couch even though it was uncomfortable to sleep on.

“Do you have something I can sleep in?”

You froze. You absolutely did not. You stumbled over to your dresser and searched for something, anything. He approached, standing beside you as you frantically looked.

“Those might fit,” he said, pointing at a pair of black running shorts.

He tried them on and they did indeed fit though the tip of his cock poked out. You pretended like you didn’t notice.

“I was thinking you could sleep in my bed.”

“That sounds good to me. Fair warning though, I’ll probably end up cuddling you.”

“I… I’m not… I’m gonna be on the couch.”

“Oh,” he said dejectedly.

“Did you want me to sleep with you?”

He blushed.

“I mean like… sleep-sleep,” you clarified.

He laughed. “Yeah! Of course. I knew… I knew what you meant.”

Your awkwardness was rubbing off on him. The two of you crawled into bed, leaving a sizable amount of space between your bodies. You were on your back, staring up at the ceiling, and failed at trying to will yourself unconscious.

You glanced over at Vash who seemed to be doing the same, except he was shivering.

“Are you cold?”

“A little,” he said.

You rolled over and closed the gap. You draped an arm over him and rested your head on his shoulder. You held him close to your body, hoping he could leech away some of your warmth.

“I should have covered you in band-aids.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m more worried about my sheets.”

“I see how it is. I don’t matter anymore?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m holding you. I don’t care about you at all.”

He snorted and wrapped his arm around you. The weight of it against your back made your heart pound. Making a move on him crossed your mind, but you were crippled by your inaction.

“Not comfortable,” he grumbled before turning to face you.

He pulled you into his embrace, arms snaking around your body. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, lips practically touching it. You were coming out of your skin; being so close to him left you spiraling. The likelihood of you ending up in a position like this again was slim. It was clear he had no intention of staying. If he turned you down it wasn’t like you’d have to face your failure for long.

You pressed your lips closer to his neck and kissed it. He slid one of his hands under your shirt and rubbed the small of your back. His rough palm against your flesh felt superb. You kissed his neck once more before you started to suck on it, grazing his skin with your teeth. His breathing grew heavy.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he blurted out.

“What do you mean?” you asked, lips still pressed to his neck.

“I’ve never done anything like this.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care,” you said, grinding up against him.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you cooed.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, catching his bottom lip between yours. Your noses awkwardly bumped up against each other. You forced him to tilt his head. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, teasing his. He eagerly reciprocated, rolling his tongue against yours. The kiss grew sloppier, more desperate. Drool trickled down your jaw.

You rubbed his exposed cocktip, swirling around the precum that leaked from it. He moaned in your mouth before breaking the kiss. He wasn’t able to quiet himself and you could listen to him whimper all night.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” he choked out, his eyes half-lidded.

You smirked and sucked your fingers clean.

“Lay on your back,” you purred.

He didn’t even hesitate as he swiftly moved into position. You pulled down the shorts you lent him and stared down his semi hard cock. You flicked your tongue against the tip.

He let out a pathetic moan. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His brows were knitted in agony and he was trying to shut himself up with the back of his hand.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” you said while stroking the length of his cock.

You gently squeezed his balls and relished in another one of his pained moans. You guided his cock into your mouth and rolled your tongue against the underside of it. You bobbed your head, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. He groaned and bucked his hips. The sweet taste of precum coated your tongue. His cock was so leaky, so needy. He covered the entirety of his face with his hands.

 “It feels so good,” he panted, his voice muffled.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded.

“You wanna fuck me?” you asked, arching your back.

He slightly sat up and looked down at you.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

You got up and straddled him. You wrapped your hand around his cock and rubbed it up against your throbbing clit. He grabbed a hold of your hips, his grip tight. Your legs felt like jelly as pleasure washed over you in waves. You lifted yourself up and slid his cock inside you.

“Oh my God,” he groaned as your cunt tightened around him.

The tip of his cock prodded your cervix, sending a shooting pain to your core.

“Ouch!!”

He sat up and cradled your face in his hands.

“What?! Are you okay?! What did I do?!”

“Too much too soon,” you said through gritted teeth. “But it’s fine. We—we’ll just take it slow.”

“Okay. Okay,” he repeated.

He lifted you off of his cock and gently rocked his hips, easing it back inside you.

“Perfect,” you moaned.

You matched his movements, careful not to jam the entirety of his cock into your cunt. You placed your hands on his chest, pinching his nipples between your fingers.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” you laughed before biting his neck.

“Ke—keep doing it,” he stammered, caught up in a haze of ecstasy.

You again pinched his nipples, harder than you had before. You sucked on his neck, determined to leave behind a bruise, something to remember you by. His pace was becoming a little more urgent, his thrusts growing more intense.

“Gentle,” you groaned.

Your cunt was dripping with arousal.

“What would God think about this?” you asked. You bit down on your bottom lip and awaited his answer.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“C’mon,” you begged, rocking your hips.

“He—He.” Vash took a deep breath. “He’d be really—shit—disappointed.”

“Would he send me to hell?”

“I don’t know,” he whined. “I can’t think about that right now.”

You tightened your cunt around his cock.

“But I wanna know. Tell me how bad I am.”

He buried his face in your neck. He clearly didn’t want to play along and you didn’t want to push it any further. His thrusts were picking up in speed as he bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, but it thankfully didn’t hurt this time around.

“Your cock feels so good,” you moaned.

He held you close and continued to fuck your aching cunt. You felt so light, body and soul. It was like you were ascending, leaving the world behind. You grabbed one of his hands and directed him to rub your clit. His touch was anything but gentle as he roughly pressed up against your sensitive bud.

“Fuck! Please, don’t stop.”

He was more than happy to obey. He kissed you as you came, swallowing your enraptured moans. He continued to thrust, your cum coating his cock. His groaning and whimpering overtook the room, the most heavenly symphony you experienced.

“Are you gonna come too?” you cooed in his ear.

“Uh-huh,” he panted.

“Wanna come inside me?” 

“Yeah,” he whined.

Vash bucked his hips and spurts of warm cum filled your cunt. He reclined, taking you down with him. He released you from his embrace and you rolled over onto your back.

“So… What did you think?”

“I liked it a lot. Maybe even too much.”

You giggled. “I’m glad.”

You glanced over at him and noticed he was staring at you with his big, puppy dog eyes.

“Can we cuddle?”

He nodded and laid on his side, spooning you. You dozed off, listening to his breathing and the rain tapping against the window. It was so peaceful, one of those moments you wanted to last a lifetime.

A loud roar cut through the air. You sprung up out of bed and covered your ears, desperate to block out the noise. It sounded like the unholy combination of a jet engine and a blaring trumpet. You felt like your head was splitting in two, like someone was smashing your skull with a mallet. You were consumed with dread, with guilt. You felt sick to your stomach.

You saw Vash sitting on the edge of your bed, staring out the window.

“What the hell is that? Was that a fucking trumpet?” you asked, rubbing your head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You yawned. “I’m getting really sick of you saying that.”

He turned to look at you, his face pale like a ghost’s.

“Just go back to sleep.”

You reached out to him. “I need you near me to do that.”

He gave you a wistful smile and snuggled up beside you. You held onto him tight, hoping your grip would be strong enough to trap him. You didn’t want him to leave. You needed him to stay. He was in no position to wander around on his own, running from God knows what.

“Promise you’ll stay. For a little while at least.”

He was silent.

“Vash.”

His eyes were shut and he was lightly snoring. You prayed that he heard you before he fell asleep, that he would remember what you said and let you help him. There was no reason for him to carry his burden alone, whatever it might be.

That morning you were dismayed to see your grip had been too weak. He was gone. You got up out of bed and looked around, hoping he was in the bathroom or digging through your kitchen cabinets. But he was nowhere to be found. You wondered if he had ever been there in the first place. Maybe he was just a delusion, the beginnings of a religious frenzy triggered by mental collapse.

You returned to your bedroom, hoping to sleep away your misery, and saw a hastily written note on your nightstand.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I knew leaving would be impossible if I waited for you to wake up. Please don’t take it personally. I wish I could sta

Thank you. For everything.

[crow-aeris]

More of TBUBF :3

(ft. cuddle pollen and Tim angst)

=====

Tim hisses, his body wracking with shivers and trembles as he coughs. Chalky, dry, yellow pollen coated his entire face and the front of his body. Gods, he was cold- he was so fucking cold.

"Wraith," someone calls through the comline, their voice wavering, "Rreport."

"...Cold," he whines lowly, his feathers dragging uncomfortably against the grass as the abnormally large plant loomed over him, "It's so- s-so..."

"He's in Robinson Park," Duke's voice filters through the line, and Tim couldn't help the pathetic calling chirp that escapes his lips, "Anubis, you're closest."

"I'll cover your route, Annie," Steph's distinct voice flits through Tim's ears, "go bring the birdie home. Robin should be with Seraph."

"I'm on the way," Bruce grunts,

He curls into a tight ball, a desperate whine peeling from his lips as he tried to rub warmth into his skin. Why was he so cold? It was so. Cold.

Where was Kon? Kon would help, he was warm. He was always warm... But wasn't he up north with Clark?

"Wraith," a steady voice calls to him, both in and outside of his ears, "Can you stand?'"

Tim tries, but exhaustion pulls unforgivingly at his limbs.

"...Very well. Seraph, alert Agent A and have him prepare the showers. Wraith is covered in Pollen C901134."

"Just say cuddle pollen, jesus!"

Tim hisses with irritation as Damian helped him to his feet, shame burning in his chest. He was so pathetic and feeble. What would his mother say if she saw what he's become?

"I will not call it by such an improper name!" a familiar voice huffs, hooking his hands under Tim's armpits, "Seraph, link the cave."

"You mean, the Batcave?" Steph giggles, and Tim peels his eyes open to blink blearily into Damian's eyes.

He flinches at the sight of emerald before falling dangerously quiet and still.

"Wraith?"

He flinches, a fearful croon building in his throat as he tilts to the side and purposefully exposes his throat and a low whimper.

Wings flare out to blot out what little light there was. There was a sharp prick against his side, a chilling feeling spreading throughout his body, but not only did the warmth not work, it only seemed to exasperated the chilling, biting cold.

A strangled wail filled the air, and it took a few seconds for Tim to realize that, oh, the wailing was coming from him.

"What happened?!" a distant voice, distorted by the fog in his mind, shouted in worry.

"Report," growled a low, thundering voice followed by the flash charcoal-gray.

"Wraith is incapacitated," Damian bites out, "Cuddle Pollen. It appears to be a new strain, seeing as the general antidote not only hasn't taken effect, but has worsen Wraith's state. He is delirious."

Tim whined, feeling like he was once again a small child, seeking comfort under red-white wings that were always out of his reach.

"He'll be okay, Robin. Shadow, assist Anubis in bringing Wraith back to the cave, understood?"

"Got it."

The world spun by in a nonsensical haze, and it took everything Tim had in himself not to keel over and curl into ball.

He hears voices distantly curl around him, but he was unable to focus on anything other than fleeting names. Then, he was set down on a cold surface, and the warm hands left his side.

Suddenly, the chill returned with a vicious craze, tearing and clawing at his flesh like an untamed beast.

He yelps, whining as a wet object was rubbed across his maskless face, and the overwhelming cold began to recede ever so slightly.

"Is he okay?!"

"Calm yourself, Jason. Timothy will be fine, he is hardier than most."

"I mean yeah, it's not always that someone dies and gets better."

"Mast Jason, I requested you not make these sorts of jokes, especially when the subject of is currently indisposed."

"...Sorry, alfie."

Tim takes in a shaky breath, his eyes blinking blearily open as he clumsily surges toward the closest person with panicked and confused chirps falling from his lips.

"Timothy! Everything will be-"

"Dam-" Tim chokes burying his face in the crook of his brother's neck, relaxing at the reassuring and comforting flood of warmth that soaked his skin, "Damian."

"...I am here."

"D-Don't leave," Tim whines, unsheathing his claws and sinking them into the back of his brother's shirt, "please... please don't leave... I- I don't want to be alone."

"I won't leave you. I promise." "P-promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

And with a shaky nod, Tim feels himself fall boneless against his brother, wings drooping in relief, and he falls victim to sleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, he and Damian would both deny the happenings of the prior night as something that occurred under the pollen's influence.

(Though while Tim forces himself to think his words were true- and Damian believing it as such- all the other Bats know better.)

[sanguutrash]

Seraph of The End and its plot

Let me clarify this: Seraph of The End is a masterpiece, a work of literary art. Despite this, it has a lot of problems with its plot.

Let me state the extremely obvious; Seraph of The End is on an acid trip at this point of the plot. There's a lot of plot twists, and definitely some plot inconsistencies. This is probably because Kagami is changing up stuff so that it matches with his ideal outcome/ending for it, of course. Not to say it's near, since it's still a total clusterfuck and a lot of things have to be clarified before the manga can progress (not to mention it is MONTHLY, so we get 12 chapters per year to work with).

I personally, don't understand how YUU is MIKAELA. This is physically impossible, because, we know that Yuu is the eyeball. Not the fucking human???? unless Yuu is being stupid again and misreading his memories. Like, Michaela named the eyeball, the first Yuu, you know... Yuu. That just doesn't make sense. The eyeball basically gave life to a bunch of humans, so it would more be Yuu's child than a vessel of Yuu. Michaela and Yuu do not appear to be similar at all. You can tell because of the way his personality starts out. A fearful child, and a generic tsundere teenager. He just grows more innocent and foolishly blinded by his affection for life as time progresses. Michaela isn't exactly innocent in the child-like sense, he's more curious. Curious as to why life is... well, life. Honestly, I just don't get it at all. I just have no other way to explain it.

And then, where would Mikaela get his personality from? We know he's a successful clone of Michaela, but we don't know much about him [MIKAELA] as a person. We know a lot about Yuu, he's the first main lead; who the story is about. However, the story is centric around Mika too. So, it's inconsistent and just all the more confusing.

Shinoa Squad, GureMahi, and KrulFeri. (Not using their names as shipping, but more of an abbrev. for their names since theyre seen together) What about them? We have no idea what's going on with them. Since, our original leads in the previous plot arc was centric around them too. Shinoa Squad has been there from the start, so what'll be made of that? Seriously, seems like Kagami just cut them out and forgot them.

The plot is literally inconsistent as shit. Everything went downhill from the conversion of Mika to cursed gear and forth. After that it just got so much more confusing than it actually should be. And yet again, the story falls victim to the plot inconsistencies! Wow. Surprising. The story still remains interesting, but it's still extremely, extremely confusing. This may also ward off newer readers, because it's just not easy to wrap your head around unless you like overanalyzing stuff.

[END. If you are a MikaYuu or YuuNoa shipper, continue reading.]

Alright, now there's two possible ship endings that I can think of right now when it comes to our main leads.

A.) MikaYuu. They've been together from the start, they are the epitome of "It was always you", sacrificed everything to be with each other, show parallels to a ship considered "semi-canon" according to the ship wiki (this being GureMahi, as it has the most material to have parallels be made to)., and of course is a fan favorite. This can work, if Kagami decides to please his readers with something that you wouldn't see in a shounen: queers. I can see the world ending again, with Mika and Yuu sitting together, smiling at the destruction. [Although, I picture Mika slightly less happy.] Yuu and Mika watch as their greed has caused all of this, but they just don't seem to care all that much. After all, they're together.

B.) YuuNoa. They're the main leads. Main female, main male. They display parallels to GureMahi as well (but I find they have less), Shinoa's canon crush on Yuuichirou (that I will write a masterpost analyzing later), it's a shounen there has to be some straights somewhere, maybe Shinoa's love will have some good outcome for her. For YuuNoa, I picture that Yuu decides to revive the world (with Mika being by his side, can't kill off the main guy completely), with Shinoa finally having the strength to profess her love. Yuuichirou being like "WOW!! You like me!? AWESOME!!!!" and boom, they hold hands or something.

I'm mentioning these potential endings because shounen has some kind of outcome for their main characters. (ex: naruto's marriage, goku and chichi, ichigo and orihime, etc.) Of course, it's up to Kagami with what he wants to do with the romantic tensions. As for my stance on ships? Whatever seems the most canon at that moment is what I will support. Of course, as long as it isn't fucking disgusting. At this moment, it looks like MikaYuu is going to be canon. This may change, but I'm all for some queers.

SO, to conclude: Owari no Seraph is kind of a clusterfuck, and that's not a good thing. If it's gonna be saved, Kagami has a lot of explaining to do. Potential endings with ships can happen, depending on what Kagami wants to do with the story.

Send asks about topics you want me to maybe cover!! I'd love to do that :)

[corvidcircus]

A little birdie told me you're open for some requests, so here's some timeless classic: DMC boys with half-angel reader! Haven't seen those in a looooong while, and I'm a sucker for the whole angel-demon dynamic. Just please don't make them crystal pure saint, sheepish type. I'd much rather have reader to be fun, with zeal for adventure, some warrior spirit and good sense of humor, but still very kind.

It's all up to you though! Hope your muse will respond soon and thanks in advance <3

Anon, you have opened a very large can if worms for me, I thank you.

There will be several parts of this as I have so many thoughts about this; but we're gonna start with some bullet points so you aren't waiting a month.

The Basics

(i think) angels in the DMC universe are similar to the angels in bayonetta

that none of them are the classic 'fair-skinned pretty woman with white wings'

angels are messengers of God, sure, but they are also warriors

i'll expand on this in another post, bc it's nephilim time baybee

angel hybrids, like, demonic hybrids, are very disliked by both demonic and angelic beings

i think theyres only a couple of angels that would a. have enough contact with humans to have offspring and b. would be humanoid enough that people wouldn't go blind or insane upon meeting one

so nephilim come in three flavors, messenger, watcher, and guardian

messenger nephilim are the offspring of angels sent to the human world to deliver information, and then return to the celestial world

watcher nephilim come from angels stationed in the human world that report goings on, but rarely intervene (but are OP when they're allowed to)

guardian nephilim are related to the angels who act as warriors, and are therefore, very powerful fighters who enter and exit the human world as they please (also includes archangels)

nephilim inherit traits from their angel parent, some abilities, some physical features, but they always inherit the free will of their human parent

The Sparda Twins

Dante

boi never believed in angels before he met you

was a little annoyed at first, because, why the fuck haven't they been helping?

did they not notice the demon world opening? or the massive blood-sucking tree?

would likely end up with a watcher or guardian nephilim, based on his lifestyle

almost got bisected the first time you fought demons with him, he was way too busy watching you kick ass to be fighting efficiently

would be confused, and then jokingly offended if a demon went after you first

truthfully it worries him, asks nico about a way to hide your angelic nature from demons and angels

would understand if you didn't want to join DMC, he gets the gig isn't for everyone

amazed by any angelic features you have, treats them with utmost care

angel puns for days

"did it hurt when you fell from heaven, babe?" "i was born here dipshit"

calls you angel based names to tease you

loves your sass, entirely encourages it

if you have wings, will fly with you in sin form

is a very fun teacher, but it could take a while to get there

lets you beat him at sparring most of the time. he doesn't think you know. you know.

very proud of your strength

"this is my S/O. they can kick your ass. they can kick my ass. it's amazing."

Vergil

guardian nephilim all the way

seems rather hostile toward you at first, like, more than the usual level

(eventually admits that it's because your existence proves angels chose to let the day of the fire, and everything it led to, happen the way it did)

you may meet by fighting him, or fighting with him

it'll take a while for him to accept what he feels for you, so much so that you might have to make the first move

secretly likes that you don't just back down immediately if he challenges you

obviously intrigued by your skill as a warrior, and doubly so by any angelic ability you have

has many questions about angels and the celestial world

un-ironically calls you angel, seraph, and other names

would be quite confused as to why you would not want to kill demons as a profession

would be actively offended if a demon chose to attack you first

sees it as an attack on his mate, and his pride as a Son of Sparda

might look into the arcane arts to keep you off the radar of angels if you worry

trains with you, don't expect him to hold back in fighting or critique, but is a very fair teacher

enjoys the vicious streak you show while protecting others

will do anything for you, but knows you are kind and smart enough not to make him

values your council, especially when you help him realize he's being foolish

absolutely fascinated by whatever angelic features you have, treats them with care

"my angel can and will destroy you."

[doiefy]

ballroom extravaganza (m?) // kim doyoung, jung jaehyun // preview

The house on the hill has been a mystery for some time. Some say hell, most say heaven—but for the good and wicked alike, it remains a safe haven built by a faceless group known as the Seraphim, on a foundation of secrets they're willing to take to their graves.

For 27-year-old Jung Jaehyun trying to escape a family and job he hates, the manor is an easy distraction: wealth and extravagance where no one knows his name, and endless entertainment riddled with the type of danger he craves. But for the Seraph who catches Jaehyun's eye one late night, it's nothing short of home. Although held together by a twisted love and afflicted by paranormal activity, the mysterious inhabitants of the house are Doyoung's only semblance of family.

Whether by fate or sheer coincidence, the two are brought together to reevaluate the ground they stand upon, and the horrors buried beneath. And to come to the slow realization: their worst fears have been in front of them the entire time, rooted firmly in both their mortal bodies and broken souls.

genre: angst, paranormal, horror

pairing: kim doyoung x jung jaehyun (yeah i'm fully aware that you nerds don't read mxm but did I ask? no :))

word count: 4.2k preview, ~50k full fic

warnings: heavy language, blood and violence, minor character death, smoking. full fic includes alcohol, drugs, sexual content (not explicit smut but heavy references to/implications of rather intense sexual relationships. despite this, minors pls dni for everyone's sanity), some vague indication of undiagnosed mental conditions and stigma, generally this fic is pretty heavy but I've become desensitized as fuck writing it lmfao.

expected release: july 2023 at the latest or i will literally go insane

this was very much (and obviously) inspired by dpr ian's mito 2, from the general ✨vibes✨ to the chapter titles. absolute banger of an album, do give it a listen while reading. tag list available by dm/ask.

one: seraph

The skies begin to bleach red And the stars begin to fall.

AT DUSK, Seraph’s Hill was truly a surreal sight to behold.

It held the briefest moment between evening and night frozen in time. While the rest of the world darkened to a deep indigo, the property sat isolated, still bathed in a brilliant amber glow. All beige brick and polished marble, it seemed to cradle the sun’s remains between its soaring rooftops and overgrown balconies. It stopped the celestial bodies in their orbits, rewriting time, rewriting space and natural law, all in some vain attempt to retain a few more minutes of daylight. The fountains spewed molten gold, the gardens flashed iridescent colours, and the stone statues lit their wings ablaze. 

It wasn’t especially angelic or heavenly, despite its name. It was hardly coherent, if you stared at it for long enough: a strange mismatch of architecture styles, something vaguely between Mediterranean revival and neoclassical, with gothic fountains out front. The lack of coordination was all due to Leliel’s indecision at the time of its construction—so thought the estate’s various visitors. But as the original story went among the Seraphim, Azrael had murdered the original contractor, prompting the hiring of a second person to finish the job. 

On this particular evening, the pearly gates swung open for a black car. Behind the wheel, Kim Doyoung looked out across the property—he had one hand steering the vehicle, and the other hanging casually out the window with a cigarette stuck between two fingers. The gates closed behind him, silently, on well-oiled hinges. Even the automated clang of the lock was muted, so as to not disturb guests; peace was just another one of Leliel’s attempts to emulate paradise. 

He pulled the car up the driveway, making quick observation of the yard. There was no one in sight; no sign of his contact, and only a handful of familiar vehicles parked behind the west wing. He was to meet a man who had every ill intention against the Seraphim; and it seemed he had arrived too early. 

Most would feel restless at this point, either overthinking the entire ordeal or simply irritated by the notion of waiting, yet Doyoung was strangely calm. He parked the car, snapped the key out of the ignition, and hastily pulled the visor down to check his reflection.

The goal was to look effortlessly presentable for this meeting, and not like he had been on the road for several hours. Unfortunately, the black eyes that stared back at him from the mirror harboured exhaustion. The smoke spilling from his lips made for an even harsher appearance, leeching the colour from his cheeks and adding grey streaks to his long locks of jet hair. Someone had once told him he was a visually conflicting person: all soft curves dressed in angular shapes, fair skin marked with black tattoos, a gentle voice paired with an intense gaze. He understood now, their reasons for confusion, and how his strange sense of fashion could be disadvantageous at times like these.

He combed his fingers through his hair and tied it at the base of his neck—as well as he could, anyways; it was still too short to stay in place for too long.  A bit of cream to soothe the dry patches of skin on his hands, then the cheap cologne he kept in his bag, to mask the potent smell of gas and blood. The cigarette met his lips one last time before he climbed out of the car and crushed it underfoot. 

“There you are.”

Doyoung turned, his back meeting the side of his car as he searched for the source of noise. Confusion took him a moment later, when he registered a woman’s voice and a soft silhouette on the wall—dusted with the golden rays of sunset, harmoniously one with the gentle autumn breeze. She stepped out of the shadows in a flash of long, silver hair and silver jewellery. With mean eyes and a deep crease in her brow, she must have been in her early, if not late, thirties.

This certainly wasn’t who Doyoung had agreed to meet with.

“I’m sorry?” his voice came out relaxed, almost a little slurred. There was a long pause before he spoke again, this time tired. “Prince Seir sent you?” 

“Foolish boy,” the woman murmured; her speech was so unnecessarily dignified and irritating, but Doyoung said nothing of it. He wouldn’t bother.

Instead, he mustered a wry grimace. “You are Prince Seir, then.” He gave a curious tilt of his head. “Why waste so much of your time convincing me that you were a man?”

“You lot who frequent this hellhole don’t seem like the type to take a woman seriously,” she snorted, throwing her head back. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, catching moonlight between each individual strand. “The women here are treated like whores and servants, isn’t that right? You likely call them to your room for entertainment.” 

Doyoung scoffed. “I don’t care for women, ma’am. Never have.” He paused, realizing how that must have sounded to her. “I’m not interested in women.” It didn’t seem to help; she pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“You’re really something, boy.“

“And you’re a bitch who’s wasting my time, despite my trying to take her seriously. Now, are you going to give me a job? Or will we be here all night?”

The woman stared at him for another long moment, clearly enraged. Doyoung almost wondered if he was hallucinating—her figure seemed to phase in and out of existence, and her deep anger was so out of place on a set of soft features. She could’ve been a trick of the light, a product of the disturbed mind; and Doyoung could wake up stoned and piss drunk, nowhere near the current scene. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

At last, she spoke. Paired with a deliberate, impatient gesture of her hand came the words: “Come with me.”

Doyoung obliged, following her out of the lot. They walked wordlessly up a gravel road and past a gate, into a garden. It was surrounded on all sides by white walls and arched windows—the centrepiece of the property. Eden was a stunning display of wealth and beauty. 

Lanterns dangled from every rooftop, flanking tall, white columns. Water spilled from a colossal arrangement of natural stone. Twin paths of interlocking stones circled the pool, splitting at a particular junction where they then lead to several smaller courtyards. Each alcove housed a statue and overflowing pot of vibrant flowers that climbed up the walls on twirling stems. Doyoung paused before a marble statue of a young maiden and dropped a single coin in her basket, as had become customary. Supposedly Israfel had started the tradition after waking up hungover at her feet. 

But the silver-haired lady ahead of him didn’t seem to know this; and even if she did, she didn’t care. Seir snapped her fingers impatiently, and Doyoung hurried to catch up.

They arrived at an alcove on the opposite side of the space, and were greeted by a stone king on his throne. He stared down at them unkindly, his fist tight around his scepter. Without hesitation, the woman reached for his crown, stuck her hand within the circlet of stone, and pushed. The back wall of the alcove, covered all over with ivy and wild begonias, quivered. Then with just the slightest resistance, it swung inwards to reveal a dark tunnel. 

The woman fished a flashlight out of her pocket and switched it on. “The Seraphim’s lair.” She gave the stone king a patronizing pat on the shoulder, then sneered at him in contempt, “Hidden behind a statue of a king. A little too on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Doyoung muttered wryly, and followed her into the tunnel. 

With a bit of effort, they replaced the wall, though Doyoung thought it was an issue of little importance; at this hour, most would be far too intoxicated to notice.

Once the wall had been pushed flush against the statue, they were swallowed by darkness. The flashlight did little against it, but Seir forged ahead with confidence, leaving Doyoung to stumble along. It was silent for the first few minutes, before classical music began to drift through the walls, adagio and mezzo piano. Snippets of conversation followed. There was a broken moan, and then a flirtatious laugh. Slow inhales. Satisfied exhales. Deep within the walls of the property, the pair bore witness to a multitude of illicit activities.

At long last, it fell quiet again. The ground began to slope downwards, steeper and steeper, until it reached a short flight of stairs. Seir paused at the bottom, feeling carefully along the wall for something. All of a sudden, a dirty yellow glow washed across the room—what looked like a storage closet, only about two arm spans across. Pinned to the furthest wall was an arrangement of photos and notes: the Seraphim, their names, images, details, entire floor plans for the estate in which they supposedly lived.

“What is this?” Doyoung asked. He was taken aback, to say the least, by the sheer amount of detail, not to mention the unknown motivations behind it all. He stepped forward to take a closer look, reaching instinctively for the photo that had slipped loose from the corkboard. The image of a striking man with black hair and eyes flashed before him, then vanished as Seir slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t touch,” she hissed. 

“I was looking.” 

“Look with your eyes. You’ll touch them soon enough.” 

“These are the targets?” Doyoung raised a brow, doing a quick count of the photos. Eight. “All eight of them?”

Seir gave a dissatisfied growl. “I did most of the work, didn’t I? How difficult could it possibly be for you to kill them, when all the details are so conveniently prepared for you?”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Doyoung snapped. “And I don’t doubt my abilities. I doubt your abilities in miraculously tracking down every last detail about the eight most mysterious men in the city. Forgive me when I say I’m skeptical.”

“That isn’t your concern as a contract killer. You have no loyalties, you’re paid to do as I tell you, not to refute—”

Doyoung snorted in disbelief. “I’m not allowed to be curious? Believe me, you’re not the only person who has been after the Seraphims’ true identities. This house is a mystery, and I want to know how you solved it.”

There was a beat of empty silence. Then the woman's lips curled back in visible disgust, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. Her hatred was unmistakable. “Go dig through a shithole first, go get dirt under your fingernails, go whore yourself out to the most despicable scum of the earth, then maybe you’ll figure it out yourself. You have no idea what I’ve done just to get here.”

“Well, then I commend you—”

“Your praise won’t change my mind, boy.”

Doyoung frowned. So she was conceited enough to be condescending, but not quite enough to break at his praise. Fine. He could resort to other methods.

He turned his attention back to the Seraphim, noting their angelic names and dangerous appearances. No two looked the same—each visually unique on their own—yet when lined up one after the next, they began to blur into an indecipherable, melted concoction of facial features. Brown eyes and dark gazes. Grey hair, wild manes, red lips, stained mouths. Uriel scowled at him from behind a pair of red-tinted glasses. Matariel watched with immense judgement, as if her hair wasn’t white as snow and there wasn’t a thick layer of cream blush smoothed over her cheeks. 

“You’re missing one,” Doyoung noticed after a few moments—an obvious gap between Leliel and Uriel, and a name written in big, black letters: “Azrael.”

“He’s been dealt with,” Seir replied shortly. 

“Didn’t leave his photo up? X his eyes out with a red marker, maybe?”

“You talk too much,” she hissed in frustration. “And Azrael was the worst of them. A cold-blooded murderer. He killed my brother.”

Doyoung scoffed. “And you hiring me to kill eight people doesn’t make you any worse than him?”

“You have no idea what type of people they are. You have no idea what they do.”

He sighed, taking two steps back. The shadows parted for him, and the room fell incredibly still, incredibly silent—and it did so incredibly quickly. One second, the woman’s voice bounced back and forth between the walls, filling the entire space with anger and disdain. The next, she was barely a whisper. Standing about an arms’ length away from Doyoung with her back turned to him, she had become strangely small in his eyes. 

“I’m well aware of the things we do, dear prince.”

The silence wavered, trembling as metal appeared between Doyoung’s fingers. There was a visible refraction against the far wall and a shrill warning as something cut through the air. Then his left hand was on the woman’s shoulder and his right was drawing metal across the soft flesh of her throat. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and her eyes bulged out of her skull.

“You killed an innocent man,” he murmured.

He let her crumble to the ground. 

The waves crashed. Crimson lapped at his shoes. The weapon hung limply at his side, dripping rhythmically, shimmering with molten amber. He watched the pigment seep into the dead woman’s hair; he watched the white strands float down the red river. Unconsciously, he let a string of curses spill from his lips, then reached for his lighter. What a mess.

Azrael walked out of the room a few minutes later, picking blood off of his nails and bleeding smoke from the mouth. 

“You’re making a mess, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung looked down. Indeed, there was a trail of bloody footprints behind him: where he stood, they were pink marks against the glossy floor tile, and where the door opened to the hallway, they glistened bright red. Too distracted by his thoughts and the gruelling cleanup after Seir’s murder, he simply hadn’t realized. 

Now Johnny peered at him impassively from behind his desk—neither understanding nor upset, simply observing and strangely quiet. Doyoung could feel similar stares from the others around the room; though the other Seraphim were more forthcoming with their opinions, much more outspoken than their leader. Yuta sat in the corner, snickering in amusement and wiping at the red lenses of his glasses. Donghyuck waved at him mockingly. Jungwoo mumbled a pointed comment beneath his breath.

Scowling to himself, Doyoung stepped out of his shoes. He approached Johnny’s desk without them, and set the evidence down for his inspection: a clear plastic bag that held every photo, every paper, every piece of writing from Prince Seir’s wall. In his annoyance and carelessness while taking them down from the cork board, he’d torn several pieces and crudely taped them back together.

“How did you kill him?” Jungwoo crooned from where he sat, fanning his freshly-painted nails with a magazine.

Doyoung responded with only a finger drawn over his throat and a quiet correction: “Her. It was a woman.”

“And how did she manage to piece this all together?” Johnny asked; the room quickly returned its attention to him. He had laid the images out on the table, and was glowering down at them—as if flimsy, blood-stained papers still had potential to do harm. Perhaps they did; the notion of intruders and spies in their midst was hardly encouragement. 

“Ugh! That’s the photo on my driver’s license!” Donghyuck cut in, whining obnoxiously as he sauntered over, clearly and horrifyingly drunk. He reached for the two halves of his photo, only to have them snatched away by Johnny. 

“Enough,” the elder grunted, gently pushing Donghyuck into a chair and returning his attention to Doyoung. “Well? Do you know?”

Doyoung hesitated—he knew exactly who Johnny would blame if he told him—and he resisted the urge to look at the person in question. “She found the old service tunnel in the east wing,” he started, then paused to survey the leader for his reaction: Johnny narrowed his eyes, but said nothing for the time being. “She snuck around our quarters through the walls and installed cameras in the air vents. That was enough for her to get images of our faces and hear our names.”

“And what about you? She had never seen you before tonight?”

“No. I got lucky. The vents in my room aren’t part of the network in the east wing, and even if they were, I was out of town for a few weeks. She mistook Jeno for me while I was gone.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened. “And she had him killed.”

“Yes.”  

The revelation brought a deathly hush. Doyoung was right: they had gotten lucky. Had Seir hired any other person to kill them, had they been even a little less prepared, any one of them could have met the same fate as Jeno. 

“Mark,” Johnny sighed at last, locking gazes with the one person who had kept his quiet this entire time. “Come here.”

Mark obediently shuffled to his feet, rising out of the shadows. The expression on his face was already wounded, like he knew what was to come; and when he stood motionless before the leader with his head lowered, he took on the form of a child awaiting chastisement. For several moments, Johnny simply looked him up and down, all prior emotion having disappeared from his eyes. For several moments, the air hung still, as they all held back from doing anything they might regret. 

Then Johnny lashed out, striking Mark across the cheek with little remorse.

The sharp sound of contact rang through the room, snapping everyone back to attention. Yuta looked up, frowning. Doyoung tensed. Even Donghyuck seemed to sober, and momentarily quit his garbled whining. 

They all knew: Johnny didn’t get violent often.

“John,” Yuta said in soft warning, but it went disregarded. 

“This keeps happening, Mark,” Johnny said lowly, leaning forward against the desk so he could stoop a little lower and meet the younger man’s gaze. “Why is that? Did you forget what I asked you to do?”

Mark shook his head no—he remembered exactly what he had been told—but Johnny answered for him anyway. “I said we needed to tighten up our security. Any corridors we’ve stopped using, any rooms that could potentially give us away, I told you to block them off. So why haven’t you?”

There was a shaky breath. “Taeil said not to.” 

“Taeil told you that?”

Mark nodded slowly. “He still needs access to plumbing. And ventilation. So I made the corridor accessible on both sides, but only to us— I-I thought he told you—”

“Fine. If Taeil said not to, fine,” Johnny snapped. “But you can do better than some hidden fucking entrance behind a statue that anyone can find.” The pause that came directly afterwards conveyed an even harsher warning. His voice dropped in volume, not low enough to be inaudible, but enough to sound especially cold. “You disappoint me, Mark. You’ve disappointed me too many times. For your sake and the rest of our sakes, I hope this is your last.” 

“Johnny,” Yuta called his name again, this time sharply. “Lay off him.”

“When he learns his lesson,” Johnny replied through clenched teeth. “He could’ve gotten one of us killed. Hell, Jeno’s already—”

“You’ve put him through enough.”  

Watching wordlessly from the sidelines, Doyoung expected Johnny to snap—to round on Yuta the way he had with Mark, claiming to have done no wrong. He waited for the room to dissolve into chaos, as it often did. But to his surprise, Johnny stayed quiet. He averted his gaze, clenched his jaw, and held back the words that were clearly on his tongue. “You can go, Mark,” he said at last, his expression easing from anger to discontentment when he caught sight of Yuta on his right. “I’m sure you’re busy.” 

And to the rest of the Seraphim present, “You’re all dismissed. Doyoung, I’d like a word.” 

Mark shuffled out of the room with his eyes still glued to his feet. The rest hauled a drunk Donghyuck along, and Yuta brought up the rear; he closed the door on his way out, leaving Doyoung and Johnny alone. 

“You’ve been hard on Mark,” Doyoung said after a few moments, once the footsteps in the hall had faded away. 

“I’ve been hard on everyone,” Johnny corrected him. There hung an air of exhaustion around the angel of night, and it was clear as day. His hair hung in dark tendrils around his face. His complexion had gone uneven, dark around his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well. While he usually donned various silver accents and expensive accessories to blend into the crowd upstairs, his appearance tonight was rather plain. Doyoung had left town on business only two weeks prior; but this and the thick tension he witnessed earlier suggested things had taken a turn since then. 

“Should I be glad that I wasn’t here?” Doyoung asked, noting the collection of cigarette stumps in Johnny’s ashtray—it was normally empty.

And Johnny replied shortly, “I’m sure things were worse on your end.”

He wasn’t wrong; the red stains in the backseat of Doyoung’s car and the duffle bag he’d thrown in a bonfire were enough testament. 

“Well, the cleanup was rather—”

Johnny wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I don’t want details.” 

 Doyoung watched in mild amusement as the leader rummaged restlessly around his desk for something. “I’m worried,” Johnny said absentmindedly as he produced a new pack of cigarettes from the drawer. So the collection of black remains in the ashtray did belong to him, Doyoung concluded as he watched; it seemed Johnny had fallen prey to old habits. 

“About what?”

He was left waiting for an answer while Johnny fished a lighter from his pocket and raised it to the cigarette between his lips. 

“Everything,” came the delayed reply, flat and emotionless, tight with irritation. “Business has been getting worse. Guests are getting bored and leaving for good. Taeil’s gone off the rails too. He’s deaf to reason.”

“What did he do now?”

“He thinks he can solve all our issues with chemistry.” His face lit up with remembrance. “Right, don’t drink the tap water, he’s laced it with something.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. Some sort of sedative. He thinks it’ll keep people soft and pliant and dumb enough to consider extending their stay. It doesn’t matter, because it won’t work. Now all of this—” Johnny spread his hands for emphasis. “—these people sneaking around the house and trying to unearth secrets that don’t exist? Strangers putting bounties on our heads when we’ve done nothing wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re completely innocent.”

Johnny gave a bark of emotionless laughter; he couldn’t deny it. The drugs and illicit substances, Doyoung’s side hustle in contract killing, Taeil’s bloodied lab in the basement, countless other things that he had lost track of. All for the sake of found family, for the sake of the most important people in his life and for the sake of their collective sanity, he would allow it. 

“Tell me everything,” he said at last, resting his smoke on the rim of the bronze tray. 

“Everything about…?”

“This Prince Seir you met.” 

So Doyoung told him. He told him about the strange trails that had been left in dark corners of the internet and old clubs of a nearby town. They were subtle messages, sent by an individual who needed a “job” fulfilled on Seraph’s Hill. He told him about Taeyong, who had noticed a strange alias checking in and out of the estate every now and then, the same one Doyoung had seen online. Then about Jungwoo, who passed Doyoung’s name through groups and groups of distant associates, until it reached Seir herself—at which point she contacted him by email. 

Johnny never interrupted nor spoke. He maintained the same posture in his chair and took occasional drags from his cigarette, never moving more than was required. Though he was quiet, he was hardly a good listener: unresponsive, horribly vague when he did react, always maintaining an overwhelming presence that loomed uncomfortably over Doyoung as he spoke. He felt as if he was talking to a brick wall, and at the same time, like the brick wall was staring into the very depths of his soul, passing judgement on every word that came out of his mouth. 

“You’re on the internet often, then, if that’s how you stumbled across her.” Johnny peered at him with intrigue when he finished. “Forums dedicated to us, online discussion about us… Tell me, what do people say about Seraph’s Hill?”

“A lot of bullshit.” 

Johnny was cross. “What do they say?”

“That we’re a house of mysteries. That it’s strange, how people can come in sober and ready to unearth our secrets, but always wake up wasted the next morning.”

“Doing drugs does that to you.” 

“The water tastes weird. The statues in the back gardens are creepy. The whiskey is fucking overpriced, and the blonde bartender is sexy. That kind of bullshit.” 

Johnny said nothing. For the next minute and a half, they listened to the gurgling of water in the fountains and the classical music from the ballroom. The hands of the clock behind them moved along without noise, but Doyoung heard ticking in his head. 

“Thank you,” Johnny said at last, and put his cigarette to the dusty metal of the ashtray. A steady stream of smoke escaped his fingers, fading to nothing. “You can go now.” 

Doyoung got up from where he sat, only to see his leader’s expression shift once more—almost like he’d remembered something important. There was a momentary pause, and he seemed softer. 

“It’s good to have you back, Doyoung.” 

He nodded in agreement; it was good to be home. 

On the other side of the property, moonlight fell between the iron gates of hell—illuminating the crimson streaks on the prince’s face, and guiding the two figures who escorted her. Her silver hair made glimmering lines on the concrete, and her broken body scraped haphazardly along the ground. There was no need to be delicate, so long as her innards remained intact for what was to come next. She passed into the underground, eyes wide and unmoving, frozen in their sockets. 

And a cloud passed over the moon. 

[brumeraven]

👺: Those Thankless Years || mech pilots, stigmatization, expectations, victimhood, disability, dehumanization, guilt, oww oww owww, somehow ended up with at least 3 references in this

There was an alley I passed by every day, twice a day, back and forth, morning and evening, as my schedule demanded, as I left my home before dawn and returned after nightfall.

Wasn't actually an alley; an intercostal space, between the ribs of a Beast that had fallen here years ago, now reclaimed by the city. Ghastly thing to leave standing, but then it'd been years since one of them had gotten anywhere near a population center, and memories had faded.

Was a sort of shrine now, what passed for one; a few more true believers crowded into the narrow space each time I passed, stringing lights of all sorts together in garish reverence.

Never bothered to look inside. Didn't need to; already knew what I'd see.

Another fucking Stig.

See, the world had needed the Seraphs back then, when the Beasts came. And that man? The one who'd made angels? Well, he'd given the people exactly what they'd needed.

Hope.

Hope and a belief in the future. No matter what it cost him. No matter what it cost us.

The first ones we cobbled together from dolls and half-assed prayer, pushed both machine and pilot to their breaking points. But people hated seeing their idols broken and shattered. We needed Seraphs to be impeccable icons of our cause, striding hymns of human exceptionalism.

So we did what we always do: hid all our dirty little secrets behind a facade and made it someone else's problem.

Don't remember who realized we could invert Halo fields. Don't want to.

All I know is I every morning I leave home and work at forgetting until it's time to sleep.

It was the dirtiest kludge of them all, to feed it back at the pilots, but it made the Seraphs truly were unstoppable. I've seen a Brumeraven put three talons clean through a core without a mark, the cruelest Flame any Beast could muster left our shining protectors unsullied.

All of that turned inwards instead, hollowing out the pilots instead.

Seemed kinder at first. No more broken bones or necrosis. And when they couldn't maintain a field any more, they got a grand send off.

"Compassionate Discharge," out the door with accolades and nothing more.

We never asked if they'd wanted it. We'd made them, but we never thought to ask if they wanted to be heroes. If they wanted to be martyrs.

That's how we ended up with this problem. People stopped caring about the gods we'd built. They'd rather worship the ones we'd made instead.

The kids had seemed physically fine when we'd released them. Wasn't until they began to turn back up as Stigs that we knew what we'd done.

Today...today I decided to take a look on my way home.

And there she was, at the end of the alley, in the middle of that neon necropolis.

Alone, staring at nothing, eyes glazed and unfocused, careless of the meager hundred kneeling all around her, heedless of the mismatched flowers and benedictions and prayers heaped at her feet, if none closer than a meter. No one would touch the divine.

It was all worthless.

Even from where I was, it was easy to see her marks. Half her jaw' torn away, a perfect simulacrum of golden light in its place, crazed lines spiderwebbing outwards across most of her face.

Golden scars covered most of her body, cuts here, burns there, cracks shot through her.

All of that hope. All of that conviction that had once shook the heavens, moved machines that towered over the city, stood tirelessly in guard of us all...

It was all wasted now. Twisted up and turned inwards, an endless struggle to contain the Void that tried to tear her apart.

And her devotees, well, they worshipped her.

They worshipped her fragility.

Worshipped her resilience.

A whole fucking church, crying out her name.

A hundred voices praising her bravery. And not a one asked what she wanted.

But I could. I could care. I could push my way through the crowd. Give her the bread and cheap wine I'd bought to get me through the night. Hug her, show her she was still human, try to fill those cracks, show the congregation how little she was, how great she could still be...

Phaw. What did it matter anyways. They believed in her past.

Tannin and ethanol as bitter ablution, the screw lid cast over my shoulder in lieu of salt. Who believed in a future anyways?

I put my head down, pulled my hood low, trying to hide her. From her.

Maybe tomorrow.

~👺

[lanymme]

So if you haven't heard, the recent chapter of the FGO SERAPH manga has revealed more details about Kiara's cult in Emiya Alter's world. Not only did it include people in positions of power around the globe

it also seemed to function as an aid and relief organization, providing medical care and (presumably highly suspect) remote therapy.

(seriously, look at the guy in the chair. what Ten Thousand Colored Stagnation does to a mf)

And following from this, the tidbit that's really hitting the fate fan news cycle right now is that we've gotten more details about the situation where killing cultist Taiga caused EMIYA Alter to become who he is. Apparently, she received medical care from the cult for her son, and after he was saved she stayed on. And when EMIYA went to go eliminate Kiara, Taiga shot at him.

That's really sad and fucked up as is.

But I want to add another little tidbit here that might not be common knowledge.

At the beginning of CCC, she introduces herself as Taiga Fujimura, taking the spot of homeroom teacher before Shit Goes Down and everyone gets taken to the Far Side of the Moon.

Kiara... isn't this just a little tasteless??

That said, I do want to add a little disclaimer: CCC Kiara is most likely not the Kiara that Emiya Alter fought against. I'm having a hard time recalling which of my sources that was in, but I'll link it if I can find it.

[thefirstknife]

In the euphoria of all new lore this season, I forgot to mention something in regards to Xivu Arath and was reminded by Byf's video (cool video btw, very chilling and explains just how fucked we are by Xivu being involved).

It doesn't help that Ishtar still doesn't have the lore tabs linkable so I am relying on my screenshots, but it's something I noticed immediately as I read them because I've talked about it before: Xivu's association with a "terrace." My addition to this post from back in March about this.

Basically, whenever Xivu is mentioned and specifically her possible place of residence (perhaps her throne world), there are a few things that always pop up: a terrace, emerald, blades.

Byf also caught this and mentioned the most prominent examples from Season of the Lost, but there were mentions before. The first one to mention it was Osiris in Immolant, but lore youtubers are allergic to Immolant I think, so:

Osiris peers into the Hive protrusion. Metallic flecks shimmer, and he sees a long and empty road. Meandering. He wishes to plant a great banner over it, so that all may see. A beacon, alight with Phoenix flame. Looming in the nascent flamelight hangs the terrace of blades. The terrace dominates the road; its precipice at his throat.

This is really important as far as mentions go, not only for being the first, but also because this is what Osiris sees when he peers into the cryptolith for the first time. It's very likely that he just sees directly into Xivu's domain and this she uses this to stimulate him to tithe her by going to war.

And another mention is in Hunt, which is then repeated in Lost (and is the one that Byf focuses on). I listed all of them in the post I linked so I won't do the full quotes again. Here is the most important bit, first from Hunt:

grand terrace of onyx Swords, hilted in emerald flame and overlooking darkened systems A lone figure stood on the terrace aside two empty thrones.

And from Lost:

grand terrace of onyx swords and emerald flame reigning over a red harbor. A lone figure stood on the terrace aside two empty thrones.

And now, in Seraph, we got more. From Disparity pulse rifle:

From their hulls spew runes of black fire that meet between the ships and ignite into the projection of a bladed terrace, casting House Salvation's new home in shadow.

And Tripwire Canary bow:

My queen... Wizards conjure the Black Terrace. Xivu Arath's voice bends the Plane.

The fact that "Black Terrace" is capitalised is really cool since this is no longer just a description, but a title or official name for something related to Xivu, possibly a place she resides in.

I want to see this so badly. It's such an ominous description of a place we can hardly imagine and I am looking forward to Xivu appearing and for us to see this. It's such a cool motif that has been repeated for over 2 years consistently, like they're making sure it gets drilled into our minds for Xivu's inevitable appearance.

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

Idk if you’ve already made a list or whatnot but do you have like a top 10 fav ships? From any media or anything, like all time

I'm always happy to blabber about former/current hyperfixations so this question is perfect. This is in no particular order except for the first one, they will always be my #1:

kyoru (Kyo Sohma/Tohru Honda) from Fruits Basket: The 👏🏻 ship 👏🏻 ever 👏🏻 They invented love, their relationship has the perfect development and resolution, they truly love and understand each other and have such amazing character arcs both individually and together. Kyo's realization that he loves Tohru is my favorite episode in the entire show and it's constantly on repeat in the back of my mind: "She didn't erase all my pain or offer to solve all my problems. She didn't fix what was broken, but that's not what I needed anyway. What mattered most was that she stayed."

hualian (Hua Cheng/Xie Lian) from TGCF: Another couple that invented love. I sprinted through these books while season 2 was being animated and the absolute faith and trust those two have in each other is unparalleled. "What matters is you, not the state of you" has been imprinted on my brain. I cried so many times while reading these books, they were amazing, definitely one of my favorite stories ever.

mikayuu (Mika/Yuu Hyakuya) from Seraph of the End: These boys... I'm still actively reading the chapters from this manga despite having no fuckin clue what's going on with the plot all because I'm so invested in these boys. Devoted to each other since they were kids, the epitome of "I'd burn down the world to save you". Everything they do is for each other, they are always each other's first choice in everything. And we got a canon confession which is insane to me. I'll never be over them.

satosugu (Gojo Satoru/Geto Suguru) from JJK: Probably the ship that makes me the most emotional in the worst way. I'm a sucker for a good tragedy and those two fit the mold perfectly. The absolute love they have for each other even after they've split makes me so emotional. If you don't see their relationship as romantic idk what to tell you, you're just blind. Jjk 0 and the Gojo being sealed are two scenes that fuck me up each time without fail. I could rave about them for hours.

itafushi (Itadori Yuuji/Fushiguro Megumi) from JJK: The boys I'm best known for. Now, I enjoyed them as a ship from the beginning but it wasn't a true "they're everything to me" until the Itadori Extermination Arc. Yuuji's "you'll only be hurt if you're with me" and Megumi's "start by saving me" had me GAGGED. That's when I really started to pay attention and went back and became extremely invested instead of a casual enjoyer. They've always done their best to watch each other's backs and stick together. 216 fucked me up SO BAD, and everything Yuuji has done since them is to try and get Megumi back. They love each other so much, they are the parallel to stsg that will make it. I don't know how anyone can read the manga and not see how much they love each other.

bellarke (Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin) from The 100: This was my SHIP back in high school. I was obsessed with The 100 back in the day and these two were everything to me. Enemies to friends to lovers is my favorite dynamic, and these two fit that bill perfectly. Everything about their relationship was so perfectly set up for them to be endgame and yet the writing for the last few seasons was SO FUCKING BAD that I couldn't even watch the last season. From what I hear, they totally switched up Bellamy's character and he switched up on Clarke so quickly when he's always been her #1 supporter after they became friends. Their friendship was my favorite thing about the show, they truly were each other's right-hand man and constantly looked out for each other. Still pissed about what we could have had.

akiangel (Aki Haykawa/Angel Devil) from Chainsaw Man: Another tragic ship. I cannot wait to see these two animated together. I binge read all of Chainsaw Man (which was like 98 chapters at the time?) in two days and it rewired my brain. The staunch hatred/dislike of each other's kind out of principle to slowly realizing that they actually do care about each other was so good. They have such a subtle chemistry and relationship, it was one of my favorites in the series. Aki reaching out a hand to save Angel and them holding onto each other during the Bomb Girl Arc is probably my favorite scene in the entire manga, I can't wait for them to get their flowers once it's animated.

tododeku (Shouto Todoroki/Izuku Midoriya) from MHA: Narrative foils. What more can I say. These two have so many parallels in their arcs and have such a great relationship. Idk how this ship isn't more popular with how healthy their relationship is and how it started off with such strife. Deku also means so much to Todoroki and you can see that throughout the entire series that their friendship means the world to him. They give each other such a good support system, I adore them.

bokuaka (Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji) from Haikyuu: Simp behavior, the both of them. You don't really see it initially, but these two are obsessed with each other. The Fukurodani v Mujinazaka game was so incredible for diving into their characters and relationship more! Finding out that Akaashi only came to Fukurodani because he saw a cute jock play ONE game was so funny because you don't expect him to be a love at first sight character in the slightest. He and Bokuto work so well together, they balance each other out and understand each other on such a deep level, you can't convince me they aren't in love. They bring out the best in each other and know how to get the other out of their head.

zelink (Princess Zelda/Link) from Legend of Zelda: This is specifically going to be focused on botw/totk zelink because those are the games where their relationship is explored the most, but MY GOD. Those two make me weak. Link is just this autistic/selectively mute dude who's just trying to do his job and Zelda is so jealous of his freedom and ease of being able to do his assigned role without trouble that seeing the development of their friendship/relationship through the memories was my favorite part of the game. Their bond is so strong, they truly become each other's biggest link in the chain of their support system. Totk in particular made me cry multiple times because of the tragedy of realizing what happened to Zelda that imagining what Link must be feeling upon the discovery fucks me up. They never stop fighting to protect each other and never lose faith in each other.

[the-cabin-complex]

Some sort of fucking compilation (you’re doing so good Tony I’m sorry you have to deal with so much stressful stuff lol) (also warning for image dump and long ID)

[ID: various drawings we’ve mostly posted to this account before. Most show other alters in the system, although a couple show people outside the system, both system members and singlets. They depict, from first to last: Tony brushing a very affectionate Jon and Martin back from the front with a broom; a partially finished sketch of Tony surrounded by a gaggle of kids; Tony dancing with Ro Ro while wearing a blanket as a cape; Tony standing a few feet away from the TV which is playing Antiques Roadshow; Tony looking concernedly at Esrah singing Will Wood’s music in the background, and then sipping his coffee; Tony walking sleepily into the room as our irl dad and sibling talk about his source pretty bluntly/kind of judgmentally; Tony and Crowley during our driving test, when Crowley offered to possess him; Tony holding a piece of melon on the end of a large knife and laughing as someone off to the side asks what the hell he’s doing; Tony sipping coffee while wearing a shirt that says “world’s sluttiest caretaker” (this was given to him by a system middle lol); Tony telling some syskids that he’d love to look up pictures of his source like they want him to, but he can’t (because he doesn’t want them to see something not kid friendly); Tony teaching a small kid wearing a Dino onesie how to make a beanodilla (a bastardized quesadilla but with beans); Tony commenting that yeah, Ari does look like him, and then Ari barging in and telling him to go to hell; Tony, pursued by a dozen children; Tony buying on the couch with Banner lying by his side/partially on him and Jake and Seraph lying on them both; Tony awkwardly standing wearing a shirt that says “do I people like a fucking person? Do I?”; Tony holding a sleepy syskid on his back while quietly fuming and wearing a “Not a dad” shirt; Tony lying in bed with some syskids snuggled up to him one morning; Tony insisting he doesn’t resemble MCU tony at all, and then the comic zooms out to show him holding a little girl on his hip on the porch of a cabin; Tony looking like he’s about to snap, his eye twitching and various thoughts behind him reading stuff like “do not have a break down” and “why” repeated and “don’t correct her”; Ro-Ro napping on Tony’s chest, while Tony lies on the ground, also napping. /End ID]

And last but not least, something that sums up basically all of this:

[ID: a comic where someone says to a sleepy Tony, “Hey “your” kid wants you.” Tony rolls over and is thinking about a dozen different kids. He squints and replies, “which one?” /End ID]

[omentranslates]

Owari no Seraph ch 138 english fan translation

Hi so basically I won everything and the author loves me personally (my favorite character is back for one night only). Here's a fan translation that definitely didn't have horrible timing right before a family emergency and ruin my life for a couple days. Considering those circumstances probably much better off reading the official at here if you haven't.

Queen Krul bares her fangs...!

Owari no Seraph chapter 138: Definitely No Matter What

Guren: *dying noises*

Mahiru: No...

Mahiru: NO!!! NO, NO STOP, I'M BEGGING YOU TO STOP!! JUST STOP ALREADY!!!!

Mahiru: You can't, if you drink....if you drink his blood...!

Mahiru: Yeah...it's over. If you drink my Guren's blood like that.

Krul: *cough* ...you-

Mahiru: That's my slow-acting poison, Lady Queen. You really should've gone with your first hunch.

Mahiru: The first hit from my sword and second hit from Guren's. And finally, the most plentiful ingredient we need, you filled up on Guren's blood. Once all that mixes together it becomes a pretty potent poison.

Krul: *screaming*

Mahiru: We wouldn't have stood a chance if you'd gone for the kill right away. I was afraid you would. But in the end, vampires are such pitifully wretched creatures.

Mahiru: You've got a rather ugly manner, huh, when you drink blood. But that pitiful quality is something I happen to like, Krul.

Krul: You dirty....

Mahiru: Oh Ferid~, you there? You've gotta eat her before she dies.

Ferid: Here I am! Time to eat, time to eat♪♬!

Mahiru: Are you ok, Guren?

Guren: Not really. My head's spinning.

Mahiru: That was a close one, I'm glad you're still with us.

Ferid: Well then, My Queen. It's supper time!!!

Krul Narration: What is this....what the.....I'm....what am I...I...

Krul: Hey, Niisama~

Krul: Guess what so today I heard a scary story

Ashera: If you tell me about it now you won't be able to sleep, y'know.

Krul: I already can't sleep thouuughhhh

Ashera: Ehhh....

Krul: So they say that, just over on the other side of that mountain, there's a monster who drinks blood.

Ashera: That's bull.

Krul: It is not! Pasha said so! ((super high ranking official))

Ashuramaru: No way

Krul: We've gotta get dressed quick, or the blood-drinking monster will find us and take us away!!

Ashera: Seriously? Guess you better get good at dressing, then.

Krul: There's no way I can fast enough!!

Ashera: Guess you're getting taken then.

Krul: I'M SCARED!!!!

Ashera: Just go to sleep already, come on!!

Krul: Hey, hey Niisama

Ashera: No. Sleep.

Krul: So what if I DID get taken away by a scary monster, what would you do?

Ashera: Well they don't exist so

Krul: But if they did! If they did and I got taken away, what would you do?

Ashera: Well, if that happened of course I'd go find you and get you back. So sleep easy.

Krul: ...really?

Ashuramaru: Yeah, really

Krul: Definitely no matter what?

Ashera: Definitely no matter what.

Krul: Niisama I love you!!

Ashera: Then go to bed about it!

Krul: And if you were ever taken away by a monster, I would save you too!

Ashera: Oh yeah? I'll set my expectations low.

Krul: No, no keep 'em high! Because I'll do it definitely no matter what!

Krul Narration: But humans were the ones we should've been scared of. My brother is the one who became a blood-drinking monster, and the one who made me a monster in turn.

Krul: ....ah....even though I said definitely no matter what...I couldn't...keep my promise-....

Guren: I'll keep your promise for you.

Guren: You and Ashera Tepes both. You'll be resurrected as humans along with everyone else.

Krul: You. Promise that. If it's you...someone powerful like you...I could believe it.

Mahiru: Sorry, but we can't make any promises. I'm desperate too, I'm just like you in this shit world. Look how it's fucked me up, just one girl.

Krul: Ah...I see. That...makes sense...

Krul: Then...if you promise...to work hard...

Mahiru: You've got it. That much I'll do.

Krul: ....Niisama, I'm sorry. I'm going to have to...head off first....

Mahiru: Guren, are you ok?

Guren: Are you?

Mahiru: I'm horrible, there's absolutely nothing fun to do in this world. You wanna hug me about it? Actually you don't get a say!

Ferid: Ahhhh, eating two higher level progenitors in one day is no joke! My stomach's gonna explode! If you two flirt any harder over there I'm letting this thing go and stripping.

Guren: We don't have time for this, let's head to the next one.

Ferid: Just a second, partner. I really think Krul-chan had a point. You guys are much more screwed up and dangerous than I am so...

Ferid: If I were to say, "why don't I just kill them now?" What would you do?

Mahiru: You going back on your word wouldn't be nearly as surprising as the extent of Krul's power. I can account for it, would you like to do that now?

Ferid: It was just a joke! Ah, so how about this? Did you see this one coming?

Guren: You brought a change of clothes?

Ferid: I mean I can stay like this too

Guren: Not happening.

Ferid: Aww, you're keeping your clothes on?

Guren: Go to hell.

Ferid: How cruel....

Guren: Hurry up and get changed, we're moving on let's go.

Ferid: Hmmm?

Ferid: What's this??? Hello there. I'm the Queen Krul now, will you obey me?

Ferid: Do as I say. O Sword, drink my blood.

Crowley: Your Majesty, hey!

Horn Skuld: Hello

Chess: No way no way, he even ate the Queen!!?? How strong is Ferid-sama gonna get!?

Reflected in her eyes is the same darkness as that night.

[offrozenmemoirs]

The truth of your nature is getting to you, I can see it in your eyes every time we settle together. Every time I'm with you, I can only think to beg of you not to obsess yourself with impermanence. Why care so much for the future, when the here and now is so close, and... so warm?

You look towards a future so obfuscative like a blizzard clouding the path forward, and I suppose part of me shouldn't be so surprised. A warrior and a worrier is what I've always known and loved, and will love until my last winter by your side.

Please, let not the thought of this orchid withering plague you so much, that you forget to indulge in it's scent, it's beauty, in the spring light we bask in now.

Anonymous Thoughts || Accepting!

"How can I not obsess over it? I've only now just gotten my memories back and I'm forced to come to terms with the fact that I'll outlive most of the people I care about? I haven't even gotten used to the fact that I'm no longer a watcher!"

He doesn't know how to get used to that still, how could he? Yes, he can still talk to the Deathwatchers and Pharasma but it's not the same, not to him. He misses their realm, he misses Pharasma's gardens. He misses the simplicity of life.

"I still haven't even begun to talk with Eleanor about her sealing away my memories I know why she did it and I can even understand a bit too, and yet I'm still..."

Seraph clenches a fist, before running his hands through his dreads.

"I don't even know where to start with all the things that I have left to process in my mind. Do you want to know where my dragoon training came from? Khorne. He's the one who trained me in all of this, to harness that power when I lost my reaper's abilities. Every time I take to the skies again, I have to remind myself that it's something given to me by a Chaos God, and we know that power comes with a price!"

Even now, with everything, he knows there's incidents where he loses control over himself, and it's partly his draconic instincts telling him what to do and partly Khorne's influence. He knows things could be worse, and it's why he feels terrible about complaining, why he doesn't bother to share what's on his mind most of the time.

"Hah, the best part about all of this? I'm jealous of a woman who I hate, that, I can accept. I don't like it, but sure, I can accept it. But I'm jealous of you and Sino! It's so fucking stupid to be jealous of my partner and one of my closest friends, and yet here I am, being a selfish bastard! But you two have a connection with each other that I won't ever have."

He throws his hands up in exasperation, frustrated with himself, with everything right now. He hears Khorne's voice in his head, and clutches his head, closing his eyes and taking a breath. The god's voice only grew louder, and his meditation techniques weren't helping like they should've been. It's nothing compared to what Makoto went through, but he doesn't have the resistance that his brother does. His brother was able to live with this for thousands of years, so why was he having such a hard time?

"We can't even have a vacation without something going wrong! We've been working our asses off ever since we set out for Argyll, and I just want to take time to rest! Instead, what are we doing, planning to take down a Cetacean chieftain that stole Rhalgr's trident! Ah, right, and we can't forget, Rhalgr himself being angry for losing the damn thing! Before I left my cloister, I didn't have to worry about the fate of the world itself! Hell, I had to get used to being back in a mortal realm, I think while I was training, for me it was over ten or so years? I don't care to remember."

He takes anoter breath, trying to calm himself, but it's shaky, and he clenches his fists, not noticing the shards of ice beginning to fall from his hands.

"I wish that Sino looked at me the way she does you, sometimes. And sometimes, I wish we actually sat down and talked about us. We had a fling and then I came back after a few months...Right after Lenora died. I was supposed to be stronger, and I still failed to make any difference against Kaydian. I'm supposed to be the shield of this party, and Sino almost died against those sea drakes, because I wasn't strong enough. It should've been me on the ground, not her."

He can't even begin to say why he carries so much guilt, or why he takes on so much. Perhaps it's because he wants those he loves to take time for themselves, to be safe, to be protected, but he's the one who has to be protected. He feels his eyes stinging, and he grows more annoyed at himself. He's just whining now, and that's not what he's supposed to be doing. Sure, every warrior needs to take a break or to talk about their problems, but he's going too far.

"I don't want to be the one who kills everything. I want to protect others, not be the one who cuts others down."

Seraph finally leans against the wall, sliding down slowly, before tucking his head into his knees. His shoulders shake, and he begins to sob.

[Damn it all, I'm supposed to be better than this! Yet here I am crying again!]

"I'm tired, of fighting. Just once, I'd like to have a peaceful month of no fighting. I miss my family, I miss having them to talk to, hell, I miss Makoto complaining about your counterpart and his feelings towards him! I don't want to think about my nature as a demispirit, but I have to, because I have to prepare myself for the day I lose you and Sino. I want to be mad at someone, anyone, but I know the only person I can be mad at is myself. Because I've let this fester and grow like a bad wound. She was right, you know? Sino told me that I shouldn't rush to get my answers...Well, now look at me. I'm crying and whining because my life is oh so hard. I'm just a sheltered cleric who's in over his head, aren't I?"

How was he supposed to be a champion of Winter, to make his father proud, to find his mother when he can't even begin to let his friends know he's not okay? Maybe it was a good thing, that they can't see him like this, Winter would likely bring him to his realm, and Eleanor would likely have to take the mantle of Winter's champion again...That couldn't happen, she deserved to rest. So, he needed to get his shit together, or else...how could he stand beside Sino and Soup as a champion of the seasons? When they have to shoulder their own burdens and do so without breaking?

"I'm sorry. You just sat there and had to listen to me bitch and moan over something stupid again. Hah, some partner I am, refusing to talk about what's on their mind."

[sephirthoughts]

Rufus/Cloud sex-worker AU excerpt from very rough draft cause I'm not sure if I have their dynamic where I want it yet

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he bent down to unlace his boots, ‘unintentionally’ offering the man a full view of his pert posterior, including the expanse of bare thigh, between jazz shorts and stockings. 

“What are you doing?” the man asked.

Cloud turned halfway to look at him, while still bent over. “Hm? I’m taking my shoes off. Don’t want to dirty up your nice white clothes.”

“Fine. Just get on with it and get over here,” he replied testily. “I don’t have all night.”

“Sure thing, daddy,” Cloud smiled sweetly, while rolling his eyes internally. Apparently this guy wouldn’t know the cutest ass in Midgar if it sat directly on his face. Well, it was his loss.

With his boots now off, he padded back over to the sofa and slid in behind his intractable client, with his slender thighs spread, to squeeze the man snugly between them. 

The guy’s neck felt like a bag of rocks. How stressful must his job be, to rack up this kind of tension? He dug his thumb into a particularly tough spot, and the man let out a stifled groan.

“Oops, sorry daddy,” Cloud said. “Did I hurt—”

“No. Harder,” the man interrupted. “It…it feels good.”

“You got it.” 

Cloud worked his freakishly strong fingers into the man’s neck and shoulder muscles, thinking he’d tap out and tell him to stop at any moment, but the more viciously he dug in, the more the man melted against him, till he was fully reclined against Cloud’s chest, with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. 

Cloud’s hands glided over his shoulders, onto the tops of his pectoral muscles, just below the clavicle. Mmm. Nice body under there. Looked like this rich prick actually bothered to take care of himself. Probably had a personal trainer and everything. So, why the fuck was he coming to a brothel in the Sector 6 slums for a neck rub?

Unconsciously, his hands slipped further down, and he was now fully massaging the man’s pecs, through his grey silk shirt. When his fingertips grazed absently over the raised nub of an erect nipple, the man’s hand snapped up and caught his wrist, giving him a start.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

Blonde eyelashes fluttering, a confused, sleep-rough voice. Holy shit, this asshole had actually fallen asleep. Cloud had to suppress a laugh.

“Sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why do you keep calling me daddy?”

“That’s just what we call male clients.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Alright. What should I call you?”

The man hesitated. “Sarruf.”

Cloud tilted his head to one side. “Seraph? Like an angel?” 

“No, it’s not—ah! Fuck!” 

“Look, now you’re getting all tense again,” Cloud scolded, grabbing him by the neck and working his fingers into the knots again, without asking permission. “If it’s that easy to set you off, maybe you should try reducing some of your stress, Seraph.”

“It’s…Rufus,” the man said, through his clenched teeth. “Just…ngh! Just call me Rufus.”

“Alright, Rufus. This may be none of my business, but—actually it is my business. You’re my client and this is literally my job. Your neck pain is probably from stress. It can cause stiffness and muscle pain and all kinds of other physical symptoms.”

“What makes you think I have stress?” Rufus rejoined. “You know nothing about me.”

“You’re right, I don’t know anything about you. And even I can see that you seriously need to relieve some tension. It just so happens that I am very, very good at relieving tension.”

“What are you suggesting?” Rufus asked warily.

Cloud let go of his shoulders and slipped his hands around his waist, onto the taut plane of his abdomen, sliding them slowly down, till his fingertips just barely poked under the waistband of his hakama pants. “You’ll have to trust me.”