#you who gave me feathers to thread between my wings

[kotias]

New Tag Game fuck it

For my writing pals, mostly.

But Who's Counting.

It's cocky hours but make it communal. Thanks for tagging me, @gaiaseyes451 and @thescholarlystrumpet !

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations.

And He Fell:

The spear pushed through his wings and into his body a few seconds later, and he saw Gabriel walk past him, the records firmly in his hands. No spear, which he knew was still held by someone. The weight of his fate pushed him against his little angel, holding onto his arms as he crumbled at his feet, his head sliding down his torso as Aziraphale let go of the spear. His eyes… they were still warm. Full of pity. “Good job, angel. It was lovely getting to know you, and may we meet again on a better occasion,” he whispered with the last angelic breath he could draw. He felt the pain of each feather of his wings corrupting and falling, the agony of his cells rebuilding themselves entirely. His vision fogged as his eyes lost the Light, his legs, sprawled on the ground, felt excruciating torture as scales appeared all over them. But not a cry came from him. He looked at Aziraphale, gave him a weak smile, as his ears retracted and his arms rotted away. Aziraphale, the kindest soul to exist, did not retract, did not cower in disgust. He watched him, with pity, as the ground itself gave way under him and the hands of the Darkness grabbed him by the bust, dragging him into Hell. Tormenting path, as he had no hands left to catch his tears, no functional mouth left to scream, no legs left to run to him. Only one promise remained. I will crawl out of this pit, and I will damn you all, and I will drag you all to Hell.

How like a winter has my absence been:

Their mouths were so close that he could feel his hot breath on his lips. His heart was thumping in his chest with such intensity that he was sure the angel could hear it. His lips were trembling; were that with fear or excitement, he was not entirely sure. He frowned, a deluge of emotions drowning him. He felt behind his neck the slightest push from Aziraphale’s arm, as his eyes were screaming about the same fear and excitement as his own. Their hands clenched one another, but were unmistakably shuddering from the pressure of their thousands of years knowing each other hanging in the balance of their next step. Shuffling ever so slightly to the left, the angel let out a long, jittery breath that covered Crowley’s face like a benediction. That one hand, crawling up his neck, losing itself into his hair, sent a heatwave through his entire body.

With each new movement of their bodies, their mouths were growing nearer, until only a thread of air separated them. Crowley could almost taste him, and he knew it was too late to backtrack now.

The  streets of town were paved with stars

It was such a romantic affair

And as we kissed and said goodnight

A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

With the next step to the right, he crossed the last obstacle that was left between them, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his angel’s delicate lips with his own. The sigh that came out of the other had him groan and nibble his lower lip, and another, wonderful whine was produced.

“Oh, you make the most beautiful sounds,” he breathed. “Please,” he kissed him, “cry for me.” Letting go of Aziraphale’s hand, he raised his own to graze his lip, and received an open-mouthed moan that made him plunge into him, slithering his tongue inside this beautiful mouth.

Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade - Apples and Peaches:

The tender voice that followed pierced right through the scowl he had put on. “The Garden was singing.” Huh? The angel kneeled to his level. “I said, the Garden was singing. When Adam was created, it sang the flow of the river. When Eve was made, it mused the radiance of the sun.” “Hm. I call that smells, angel.” “Not quite. The Garden is speaking to us. You must know, you’re the one who made it so happy it drew from the rain.”

An Arrangement in Black (very angst/horror):

“You’re late.”

Wrapped in a cloak dark like the ashes of Pompeii and light like a nighttime drizzle, Death had appeared by his side, mounted on Their skeletal horse. “That is more a show of the quality of your work than one of my failings.” Crowley remained silent, and the ancient being turned Their hollow head towards him. “Think of this assignment as a way to set the times back onto the right track. Their bodies might have come to an end, but their souls shall return to the Earth one day.”

Tagging 1 person per excerpt, sounds fair to do so: @paperclipninja @doonarose @cheeseplants @smite-the-metatron

[feyresdaughter]

A Court of Frost and Starlight, chapter 19-21:

My lips curved as I sent him an image. A memory. Of me on the kitchen table just a few feet away. Of him kneeling before me. My legs wrapped around his head. "Cruel, wicked thing." I heard a door slamming somewhere in the house, followed by a distinctly male yelp. Then banging— as if someone was trying to get back inside. Mor’s eyes sparkled. “You got him kicked out, didn’t you?” My answering smile set her roaring.

Feyre, that's naughty I LOVE IT

And so did the others, as Rhys returned with—“You didn’t.”I blurted out the words. He grinned at me over the giant tiered cake in his arms—over the twenty-one sparkling candles lighting up his face. Cassian clapped me on the shoulder. “You thought you could sneak it past us, didn’t you?”I groaned. “You’re all insufferable.”Elain floated to my side. “Happy birthday, Feyre.”My friends—my family—echoed the words as Rhys set the cake on the low-lying table before the fire. I glanced toward my sister. “Did you …?”A nod from Elain. “Nuala did the decorating, though.”It was then that I realized what the three different tiers had been painted to look like. On the top: flowers. In the middle: flames. And on the bottom, widest layer …stars. The same design of the chest of drawers I’d once painted in that dilapidated cottage. One for each of us—each sister. Those stars and moons sent to me, my mind, by my mate, long before we’d ever met. “I asked Nuala to do it in that order,”Elain said as the others gathered round. “Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”

Elain that's adorable 😭 and she's so right

I met Rhys’s stare over the sparkling candles. His smile was enough to make the tightness in my throat turn into burning in my eyes. "What are you going to wish for?" A simple, honest question. And looking at him, at that beautiful face and easy smile, so many of those shadows vanished, our family gathered around us, eternity a road ahead …I knew. I truly knew what I wanted to wish for, as if it were a piece of Amren’s puzzle clicking into place, as if the threads of the weaver’s tapestry finally revealed the design they’d formed to make. I didn’t tell him, though. Not as I gathered my breath and blew.

FEYRE WISHES FOR NYX AND THE STARS LISTEN AND DREAMS GET ANSWERED

I lifted my brows. “Everyone gave you their gifts?” - “He’s the only one who can be trusted not to snoop,” Mor explained. I looked toward Azriel. “Even him,” Amren said. Azriel gave me a guilty cringe. “Spymaster, remember?”

THEY ARE ADORABLE

She grinned at the general. “Thank you, darling.” Cassian smirked. “I know what you like.” Mor held up— I choked. Azriel did, too, whirling on Cassian as he did. Cassian only winked at him as the barely there red negligee swayed between Mor’s hands. Mor hummed to herself and said, “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright . I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.” - “The perfect warrior , through and through,” Rhys drawled. Cassian leaned back on the couch, stretching his long legs before him. “Don’t worry, Rhysie. I got one for you, too.”

I love this scene sm 😭

For Amren: a specially designed folding carrier for her puzzles. So she didn’t need to leave them at home if she were to visit sunnier, warmer lands. This earned me both an eye roll and a smile of appreciation. The ruby-and-silver brooch, shaped like a pair of feathered wings, earned me a rare peck on the cheek.

AMREN KISSING FEYRE ON THE CHEEK PLS

And for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor …I grunted as I hauled over the three wrapped paintings. Then waited in foot-shifting silence while they opened them. While they beheld what was inside and smiled. I hadn’t any idea what to get them, other than this. The pieces I’d worked on recently—glimpses of their stories. None of them explained what the paintings meant, what they beheld. But each of them kissed me on the cheek in thanks.

This gives such mom honestly. She's their mom here. Best mom

Rhys opened my present carefully, lifting the painting so the others wouldn’t see it. I watched his eyes rove over what was on it. Watched his throat bob. “Tell me that’s not your new pet,” Cassian said, having snuck behind me to peer at it. I shoved him away. “Snoop.” Rhys’s face remained solemn, his eyes star-bright as they met mine. “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” he said, voice still hoarse

Pls he got so emotional 🥺 Feyre really gave over her really authentic self to him, very symbolic I love it

[axratsffxivwrite]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 11 - Surrogate (Delayed Correspondance)

The loom clacked with every motion as Fidan pedaled away, sat before it on a wooden stool inside the weaver's guild. Day after day she toiled, took her pay in coin, and returned home to the hovel she lived in, down the back-alleys of Ul'dah.

After Rabanastre burned, the Eorzean Alliance took many Dalmascan refugees. Those too young or too old to fight. She fell into the former category at the time. They had placed her with a family in the city, a well-off and greedy bunch ever eager to parade her around to show off their charity. They had spun quite a tale about her being the daughter of distant resistance heroes — always with the emphasis on heroes, as if to add prestige to the tale.

She wasn't sure the state of their tales now that she had set out on her own. The moment she had coin to her name, she turned her back on them. Ungrateful, they spat at her when she left. Selfish. Brat.

She didn't care.

It had been awhile since she had heard from her surrogate father back in Dalmasca. His last letter had been vague at best, assurances that even if she didn't hear from him for a few moons, he would not be gone for too long. He had a personal matter he had to attend to, and it meant he likely would not be able to send a letter for some time.

That had been two years ago. She had given up on hearing from him again. Personal matter sounded an awful lot like vague code for a covert operation, and something told her it had gone horribly wrong.

Maybe it was how cagey Mujika was whenever she invoked Marsil's name. Maybe it was how angry Kin seemed whenever he came to visit her.

She slid the shuttle between the layers of the warp and caught it easily on the other side. She pulled the weft snug, then tamped it into place with the beater bar.

It was repetitive work, but she rather enjoyed it. Line by line, she turned thread into a tapestry of red and white, adjusting the treadles with her feet as she worked the cloth with her hands. Hours passed her by, the din and clatter of work around her doing nothing to distract her from her efforts.

Someone squeaked out a few words behind her, but her attention remained unbroken. Shuttle, weft, beater, adjust…

"Kuuupo."

Shuttle across, weft pulled, beater tamped…

"Kupo!"

Something prodded her in the shoulder and she startled, jerking her head around to find herself face-to-face with a fluffy, bat-winged moogle mere ilms away from her nose. A few of her colleagues snickered to themselves.

"Finally, kupo!" The moogle huffed, adjusting its satchel and mailmog's hat. "I have a letter for you, kupo!"

The moogle held out a lone, white envelope, sealed with a red wax stamp with a familiar feather-fan seal. Fidan shifted on her stool and took the letter. Once she thanked the moogle, he gave his farewell and hurried off to deliver his next missive elsewhere.

One of her coworkers peered over at her, an amused smirk on his face. "So? Who's it from?"

"My sister, probably." She replied, breaking the seal. She carefully removed the letter within and unfolded it.

At a glance, she could tell it wasn't Hekla's handwriting. It was far too neat, too proper. Her brow furrowed as her eyes skipped to the end, seeking the signer's name.

In bold, flowing writing, she found it.

Marsil Trelik.

She turned her attention back to the top of the letter, her hands shaking as she anxiously scanned the page.

Fidan,

I pray that this letter finds you well. I know the years have passed us by far quicker than either of us would have liked. It was not my intention to abandon you for so long, but my actions have consequences and I will not deny my fault.

Mujika tells me you have made a life for yourself in Ul'dah. To hear this brings me pride, but also regret to know you were not given the same opportunity here. The clan's doors are open again. Should you find yourself drawn back to your home, know that there is a place for you amongst your old family. I cannot promise you comfort, nor luxury, but I can promise you the love of people who care for you and miss you dearly.

I understand if you choose to stay away. You are grown now, and the path you walk is your own to choose. I understand if you are angry at me for my silence, as it is well within your right. I was not there for you when I should have been. Would that I could tell you everything upon this page, but should our paths cross, I would gladly tell you all you wished to know.

I was never good at acknowledging my role within your lives when you were little, but know despite my inability to say it, I loved you as one of my own. I still do. I have missed you every day you have been gone. You are under no obligation to humor my selfish request, but I would love nothing more than the opportunity to get to know my daughter once more.

With love and all the apologies I can offer,

Marsil Trelik

She set the letter down on her lap. Her breath caught in her throat. She wiped away her tears before they could fall, sniffled, and bit back a sob.

The guild quieted. Many prying eyes fixated on her and her letter.

"…my father's alive." She choked out, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. "He's… he's alive!"

Her colleagues, her friends, burst into joyous laughter and congratulations. A few offered her comforting pats on the back, one gave her a handkerchief to dry her eyes with instead.

Once her tapestry was finished, she resigned her post, packed her things, and boarded the first ship headed east.

A couple moons later found her standing before the doors to the Delima Hunter's Pub, her last tapestry bundled up in her arms. She didn't recognize the young man that ushered her in through the door, nor did she recognize the woman behind the counter that pointed her down the stairs.

The bar itself was down in the lower level, mostly empty for the moment save a couple of scattered hunters lounging about.

She did recognize the man behind the bar. Though still in his prime, he was older and wearier than the last time she saw him, but none the less still undeniably him, red bandana and all. Marsil glanced up at her once, then back to his work, then up again. His brow furrowed, clearly recognizing her, but uncertainty lingered.

"…Fidan?"

She smiled through watery eyes, clutching her tapestry tighter. "Hello, Marsil."

In an instant, he cast aside the rag and hopped the bar — an impressive feat, considering the low clearance — before he crossed the room to wrap her up in a tight, almost crushing hug.

"Welcome home, Fi." He choked out, clutching her close to him. "Welcome home."

"It's good to be home."

He released her, only to immediately take her by the arm and guide her back toward a hatch in the floor.

"Come, come, let's find the rest of the family. Hekla is going to bawl her eyes out when she sees you…"

[pandaemoniumpancakes]

A clamour of complaint rose from the birds: ‘Although we recognize you as our guide, You must accept—it cannot be denied— We are a wretched, flimsy crew at best, And lack the bare essentials for this quest. Our feathers and our wings, our bodies’ strength Are quite unequal to the journey’s length; For one of us to reach the Simorgh’s throne Would be miraculous, a thing unknown. At least say what relationship obtains Between His might and ours; who can take pains To search for mysteries when he is blind? If there were some connection we could find, We would be more prepared to take our chance. He seems like Solomon, and we like ants; How can mere ants climb from their darkened pit Up to the Simorgh’s realm? And is it fit That beggars try the glory of a king? How ever could they manage such a thing?’ The hoopoe answered them: 'How can love thrive In hearts impoverished and half alive? “Beggars”, you say—such niggling poverty Will not encourage truth or charity. A man whose eyes love opens risks his soul— His dancing breaks beyond the mind’s control. When long ago the Simorgh first appeared— His face like sunlight when the clouds have cleared— He cast unnumbered shadows on the earth, On each one fixed his eyes, and each gave birth. Thus we were born; the birds of every land Are still his shadows—think, and understand. If you had known this secret you would see The link between yourselves and Majesty. […] Ayaz’s sickness Ayaz, afflicted with the Evil Eye, Fell ill. For safety he was forced to lie Sequestered from the court, in loneliness. The king (who loved him) heard of his distress And called a servant. “Tell Ayaz,” he said, “What tears of sympathy I daily shed. Tell him that I endure his suffering, And hardly comprehend I am the king; My soul is with him (though my flesh is here) And guards his bed solicitous with fear; Ayaz, what could this Evil Eye not do, If it destroys such loveliness as you!” The king was silent; then again he spoke: “Go quickly as a fire, return like smoke; Stop nowhere, but outrun the brilliant flash That lights the world before the thunder’s crash. Go now; if you so much as pause for breath My anger will pursue you after death.” The servant scuttled off, consumed with dread, And like the wind arrived at Ayaz’ bed— There sat his sovereign, by the patient’s head! Aghast, the servant trembled for his life And pictured in his mind the blood-smeared knife. “My king,” he said, “I swear, I swear indeed, That I have hurried here with utmost speed— Although I see you here I cannot see How in the world you have preceded me; Believe my innocence, and if I lie I am a heathen and deserve to die.” His sovereign answered him: “You could not know The hidden ways by which we lovers go; I cannot bear my life without his face, And every minute I am in this place. The passing world outside is unaware Of mysteries Ayaz and Mahmoud share; In public I ask after him, although Behind the veil of secrecy I know Whatever news my messengers could give; I hide my secret and in secret live”.’

ㅤ— Farīd ud-Dīn Attar, from The Conference of the Birds, trans. Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis, lines 1064-81 and 1134-61. 

ㅤ“Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,/ Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.”

ㅤ“When love has pitched his tent in someone's breast,/ That man despairs of life and knows no rest./ Love's pain will murder him, then blandly ask/ A surgeon's fee for managing the task—/ The water that he drinks brings pain, his bread/ Is turned to blood immedeatly shed;/ Though he is weak, faint, feebler than an ant,/ Love forces him to be her combatant;/ He cannot take on mouthful unaware/ That he is floundering in a sea of care.”

[arthur-side]

OC lore kinda but it's an AU lmao

I noticed that my full attention was at SBG so I decided "Hey why not break it up with some random storyline?

(Cyanide belongs to @freakylolz, Catacore belongs to my friend, Arthur is...Y'know.)

“..Who’s there?” The guy with a missing eye—Catacore, asked, looking around. His eye noticed a peculiar figure casually sitting on one of the supply boxes that they were supposed to transport to the vans a moment ago. His face dimmed but his smile kept.

“Ah, you.” The girl with a box covering half her face—Cyanide, said. It was like a scoff. The figure laughed.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like some help from me though~?” The figure played, wings behind her ear shooting up creating a halo-like appearance. Eyes opened in between those random counting of feathers.

They were obscured by half of the shadow, yellow eyes glowing as they gave the two a mischievous smile. “Lovely to meet you two again, ha.” The two just stared at them unamused.

“What do you want?” Catacore asked, a brow raised. The figure smirked.

“Oh, you know, a deal.” They responded, fiddling with their purple-seemingly mixed with stars-hair. Cyanide crossed her arms.

“...And why so?” Cyanide tilted her head up and down the figure, foot tapping on the grey concrete.

The figure threw her hair out as she dramatically fell down the box, hands brushing them. “Oh, but dear creatures, it’s just that we really are in need of your help!”

“You see, during that last mission the two of you were on, the universe ripped itself open and started stitching itself with an alternate universe close to ours using 4-dimensional shapes as its thread! And even worse—That alternate universe has the same people from here, only of different roles!”

Silence followed after.

Catacore slowly turned to Cyanide with his ‘we’re fucked’ smile. Tilting his head.

“...I think we know the cause of this.”

Oh, it was their dear friend who was specifically acting weird these past few days, Arthur.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Catacore pulled out a giant sword from his pocket.

“Dunno at this point, but guess we’re-”

“You accept the deal?” The two turned to the figure again.

“No.”

“No.”

“Great! Now…To help your friend in exchange for cleaning up this multi-dimensional mess?” Catacore nodded.

They promised not to make any deal with this bitch, but for the sake of that damn idiot…

[afteriwasmad]

"Child, why are you in the woods? The forest is barren, and this winter is cruel," the man asked. His breath draws smoke whenever he speaks as he handed me a cup of warm drink.

I mumbled my thanks. Not minding if he heard it or not, all I know is that the warmth of hot cocoa thaws my numb and trembling fingers, relieving me of my worries and stealing me from death's door.

I wiped the corners of my pale lips, I couldn't think of anything to say to him. Right, why was I here in the first place?

"I'm sorry," that was all that escaped from my mouth, what else could be? I don't remember any single detail beforehand. The only thing I know is my name, Altair. Altair. Altair. Like it has been purposely sewn in every thread of my existence for this moment because this is my fated destiny.

"I can't seem to recall anything." was all I could say. Why I was there? Am I alone? Did they abandoned me?

The man draw a sigh then soon look at me pitifuly. "Honestly, I thought you must be His Highness child," he shooked his head and paused, "Your appearance definitely resembles him! A spitting image, Goodness!" he exclaimed.

"May I?" He asked, his hands are in elavated mid-air, asking for permission to ruffle my aurete coloured hair, as if entranced by it.

I nodded because between the two option: amongst a yes and no, a person is only left with a yes when they are in debt, and I am indebt to this man who calls himself a Count.

He said I resembled the king, and I must meet him regardless of every reason I coulds think about. And so by the very next week of that cruel winter, while the snow was falling freely from the vast white sky, I found myself dressed in purple coloured cloth while travelling in a four-wheeled carriage.

I heard from the servants earlier that this colour; wheter it was blue or violet or a combination of two, I heard that this is the color is solely for royalties. And I, a mere child whose roots and origin are unknown wears a clothing of this color, isn't that is an insult to the person who they call the king?

The king have the highest authority, I heard somewhere that his words are law, and that hundreds of thousands of people looked up to him. Maybe, he's the lion in the forest, or he's the wolf that howls in the creek, and if not, he's the bear that roams in the wild ruthless field.

Which leads me to the question, am I an object of their entertainment? Like a bird whose wings are trimmed and so he will be left with no choice but to sing? Am I an ant whose likely to be crushed among these people who calls themselves a noble? Did I end up here to humor them? So where does this leave me?

I sigh and looked at the window to erase those crippling thoughts. Tall, corniferous trees stood high. Proud that even the coldest season didn't make them bow but instead allowed them thrive more. And like a hand waving from a train, the clock didn't falter ticking. It didn't stop, it was fast and rapid. Hence, time passes like a prose; untangled and free. We travelled on endless roads, one house after another, one state after another. Everything tasted like snow; bland and dull not until I saw a lone bird soaring in the sky.

As if a glass illuminated by warm colored sunrays, the dove bask in a familiar pristine glory, it flaffed its wings in an elegant manner. Its feathers glistened, as if demanding me to see its beauty and become a prisoner of it. It's like a ruler whose standing from the podium and looking at his subjects, high and regal. Commanding; mandating and saying, "look at me."

The next thing I know, I was standing infront of him, the king. His presence was domineering, enough to make me feel like I am so little. As if he is the bird and I am a mere worm, I am his prey.

The king look at me. No, he was not looking at me. It's better to say that he king gaze at me. His white skin that resembles a fine ivory that craftsmen adores gave harmony with his gold coloured hair. His gilded appearance convince me think that he's not a human, but the long line, the scar on this face says otherwise. I do not look like him.

His eyes which are adorn with long and lush eyelashes thats falls like waterfalls are devoid any emotion. As if a blank window that shows nothing but pit of an endless chasm.

Thus the saying, eye is the window to the soul. But why are his eyes seems like they hold no soul? I read somewhere in the old library of the Count's mansion that God's loneliest creation is the eye. For it can see everything yet holds nothing. It doesn't even know that there is an another eye that just as hungry, as empty. As per the saying on the book.

Beneath those lashes are pair of blue coloured orbs, I couldn't differentiate whether it was closer to the color of ocean or the sky, but the answer lies amongst them. He has a mole below his right eye, like an ink splattered from the quill due to carelessness. Except that his mole didn't seem like a mistake because it added a sense of harmony on his face. Although he had a scar on his face, it didn't make him less beautiful.

I greeted him, I bowed my head and placed my hands in my back like what I was instructed to. I must not speak unless I was told to, I shouldn't raise my head until I was allowed to.

"You," his voice thundered on my ears. It echoed on the wide corners of the flamboyant hall, the silence was defeaning.

"What's your name?" My lips trembled upon his question as he frown at the sight of me. I am scared. I don't like him. I am nothing alike him.

"I am Altair, Your Highness." I answered and soon enough, I heard gasps. Is there something strange in my name?

"O' good heavens! What is this?" the courtier gasped but His Higness remain composed.

x

- Leo isn'tlight.

- Line from the book, "On Earth, We're Briefly Gorgeous"

[koolkat9]

Hetalia Polyship Week 2022: Day 1

@hetalia-polyship-week 

Prompt:  Musicals || “Thank god that I’m not you”

Rating: T

Ship: GerFrukPort

Word Count: 1243

Author’s Note: This is based on an au we discussed in my gereng server where engportfra are actors all pursuing set builder Ludwig while also being in a throuple themselves. Also, I like to think Francis uses he/they pronouns so I switch between those pronouns.

Curtain Call

The wings of the stage were buzzing with energy, for in a mere few hours, the curtains would rise, and the open night would commence. Ludwig put the final nail in the window frame he had been working on. At least it had fallen apart during the dress rehearsal and not the actual show. He just had to oil the wheels on one of the moving set pieces and check the other two to make sure they were still in working order, then they’d be good to go. 

Hopefully, with the show coming to an end, Ludwig would finally be free of all the confusing feelings that had arisen during production. The thought was both a relief, but it also kind of hurt. To have three actors pursuing you definitely was overwhelming and made Ludwig’s job a lot harder, it was nice to be the center of attention for once, and over this time, he got to know his three suitors; he would miss them when they all went their separate ways. 

He’d miss Arthur's nagging. Although it was annoying at times, it was nice to know someone cared enough to bring him water and make sure he was eating. He’d miss the way Arthur’s eyes would light up as he tried too hard to hide his smiles behind scowls. And most of all he’d miss the subtle compliments and flirty remarks that would rival the language used by poets of the past.

He’d miss Francis’s affection the most, he thinks. The way they’d hang off Ludwig as if it was the most normal thing in the world, how they would always greet him with a warm embrace and part with one even warmer. He’d miss the way Francis’s curls framed their face perfectly, always appearing so soft to the touch (but Ludwig would now never know if that was true). And though he was often overwhelmed by Francis’s forwardness when it came to flirting, he did appreciate the food they made, and he’d be lying if he said Francis’s compliments hadn’t boosted his confidence ever so slightly.

Lastly, he’d miss Afonso’s calmness. The way he could remain relaxed yet level-headed during even the most stressful situations and the way he would comfort Ludwig in the carpenter’s own stress. He’d miss the sweet, gentle nothings Afonso would occasionally whisper when Ludwig was burnt out and needed the pick-me-up. But the most he would miss the rare sight of Afonso focused: tightly knit brows, spark in his eye as he looked over his scripts, pulling any and all information to boost his performance.

As Ludwig pulled away from the last squeaky wheel, he came face to face with the three actors who had been consuming his thoughts. 

Arthur was dressed in a fiery red coat that just reached his knees, with golden stitching along the edges. Golden chains and earrings, striking red eyeshadow, and dark eyeliner accented the outfit. A leather corset wrapped around his middle gave the otherwise fearsome look an alluring aura. To top it all off, a pirate cap adorned with pale feathers. An outfit befitting of both a seductive yet dangerous pirate captain. 

Francis in turn was fitting in a frilly blouse and a pale blue coat that reached the floor. It was as if the stars had been taken and threaded into the fabric itself with the way it glittered with every small movement. His hat was a greyish white, decorated with dried flowers instead of the traditional feathers. He was dripping in jewelry and gems: earrings, necklaces, bracelets, all of which matched Francis’s eyes. The sparkly look was complete with purple eyeshadow with a hint of glitter. He looked like royalty despite being a mere pirate captain. 

Afonso was dressed in a nobleman’s coat. Darker green vine patterns wrapped around the torso and sleeves, meeting with the silver stitched pattern on the edge of the collars and cuffs. His hair was tied back by a matching ribbon, giving a clear view of his face. His natural features were amplified by simple makeup instead of the brightly coloured blends of Arthur and Francis, yet he was nonetheless beautiful. An elegant nobleman if there ever was one. 

Ludwig felt his whole face burn seeing them decked out in their costumes. All he could do was stare, unable to form a coherent thought in their presence. It was as if he was back to the very first time the three had begun flirting with him.  

Francis’s giggling shook Ludwig from his daze. Arthur shoved the Frenchman. “What?” Francis asked with feigned offense, “He probably thinks we look pretty. So much so he’s been left speechless.”

“Or he’s thinking: ‘thank god I’m not you,’” Arthur shot back, gesturing to the other’s costume. “You’re going to melt under all those damn frills.” 

“Aw are you concerned mon amour?”

Arthur’s face turned bright red, but if looks could kill, that glare would have ended Francis on the spot. Luckily before things could escalate. Afonso stepped between the two. “Now, now, meus amores, we have more important business here right? We’re going to scare him off like this.”

Wait… ‘mon amour’ and ‘meus amores’? Ludwig may not have been well versed in French or Portuguese, but he knew Italian well, and those sounded like…

“So…” Afonso went on, “I don’t know if you’ve realized what we’ve been trying to do, but with us parting ways soon, we’ve decided to just come out as say…”

“We love you,” Francis continued. 

“All of us,” Arthur added.

“Romantically,” Afonso concluded for clarity. 

So they did fancy him. It was quite obvious to everyone (including Ludwig) that these three actors had liked him romantically, but hearing it laid out so clearly still made Ludwig’s head spin. Perhaps part of the shock came from the fact that it appeared all three of the actors were dating as well. “Wait…Are all of you…”

“Together?” Francis finished for him, “Yes. Yes, we are.” To prove the point he took Afonso’s hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t know sooner, it’s all over the tabloids,” Arthur noted. 

“But what we are trying to get at is that we want to invite you into it,” Afonso explained. 

Ludwig awkwardly opened and closed his mouth, trying to find what he wanted to say. It was a dream come true. Over this production, he had fallen in love with all three of them and couldn’t bear to choose only one of them. But with this revelation, he could have it all, and everyone would be happy. 

“Love,” Arthur spoke softly, stepping forward to put a hand on Ludwig’s arm. “You don’t have to make a decision now. You’ve got time to think. We just wanted–”

“I’d love to,” Ludwig blurted out. His blush surely darkened as he realized how desperate he sounded. “I-I mean…I’d like that…I have feelings for all of you so…”

The three actors looked at Ludwig with wide eyes. “Well then…guess it’s settled,” Francis said with an amused huff. “Perhaps we can have dinner after the show tonight.”

Ludwig nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. 

“Ten minutes till curtain,” someone shouted in the distance. 

“Well I guess this is farewell until intermission,” Arthur sighed.

The three bid farewell to Ludwig, giving the German the much-needed time to process everything. But as he waved to the actors as they departed, Ludwig couldn’t suppress a wide grin from spreading on his face. 

[cultgambles]

The Pro Hero Gala

Summary: Your first major outing as Hawks’ S/O turns steamy when his jealousy gets the best of him. 

Warnings:  n s f w ! , semi-public, not really use of pronouns referring to you, but u got a vag

WC: 2.3k!

Masterlist | Requests? open

“(Y/N),” Hawks whined, “We’re gonna be late! I’m sure you’ll look fine.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! I’m just trying to zip up the back of my dress,” you giggled back. 

“The Number Two can help you with that!” he all but burst into the bathroom, taking in your form. You wore a sparkling red evening gown, with a low back, high leg slit, and dainty nude heels. Hawks whistled, pressing cold fingers against your back, slowly zipping the zipper up. “Got a bit stuck there, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, thank you. You’re my hero,” you sighed sweetly, pecking him on the cheek. His suit was a deep black, so different from his usual tan outfit. His tie was red, almost the same shade as his wings.

“You’re gorgeous in that,” he said, taking your hand to lead you out, “but we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.”

“I know, I know. Just a little nervous maybe.”

“Don’t be, they’ll love you.” This was your first time at a Pro Hero Event, of course you were filled with butterflies. You definitely didn’t belong, especially just being a normal citizen. Maybe you’d look just as fancy though? “Stop overthinking, chickadee, just be yourself. Stick by me, and it’ll all be okay. We can sneak out later, if you’re really feeling it.”

“While I would definitely love too, I’m not sure your PR team or fellow heroes would commend that.”

Quietly, a jet black limo pulled up in front of your apartment building and the driver opened the door for the both of you. 

“After you,” Hawks smiled, “Ww would just have to find the perfect time.”

“You just wanna look at my ass, huh?”

“You got me.”

The ride to the event was filled with mindless chatter, soft jazz drifting through the air. Hawks reached out to your clammy hand and gave it a squeeze as you both stepped out of the coach. In an instant, camera flashes blinded your vision, tens of reporters shouting your name for comments. 

“Get outta here, guys, you’re making my baby jealous!” Hawks scolded lightly, a wing covering your frame. Inside was as lavish as you could have imagined, rows of chandeliers, butlers floating around, gold accents everywhere, and of course heroes everywhere. Hawks checked in at the booth, gesturing to you as his plus one.  “C’mon, let’s go say hi to Endeavor.”

You shook your head at his enthusiasm, “One day I’m going to lose you to him.”

“Maybe! But not soon. Not tired of ya yet, kid.”

“Maybe!” you exclaimed in fake shock.

“He got a tight little ass,” Hawks shrugged. “Hey-yo! Endeavor, this is my partner I told you about, [Y/N] [L/N].”

You held your hand out to the fiery man, “Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise, I’ve heard a lot about you, Hawks never stops talking.”

“That’s cute,” you coo to your boyfriend.

“I’m gonna get something at the bar real quick. Want anything?”

“I’m okay, thank you. Well, actually, maybe a martini, please?” Hawks nodded and gave you a quick pat on the head. 

Endeavor was already talking with some of his acquaintances and you were left alone for the time being. Soon enough, some Pro who you didn’t recognize made his way to you. 

He was really laying on the sugar, standing oh so close, his hand ghosting over the curve of your hip. You laughed along, as to not be rude. Little did the two of you know, Hawks could hear every sweet word the man whispered, his feathers puffing up slightly. 

“[Y/N], here, I got it just the way you like it,” he glanced at the other hero, “Hey man, haven’t seen you around before.”

“Oh yes! This is my first event since my debut. Half a year, maybe?”

“Congrats! Hummingbird, I heard Miruko just came in. Wanna go say hi? I know you guys got along.”

“Sure, baby,” you smiled, feeling his bitterness seep through his mask. “Nice talking to you!”

“Wai--”

“I leave you alone for less than ten minutes and you’re already cheating on me?!” he huffed, trying to hide a smile.

You sighed dramatically, doing a woe is me pose. “I just can’t keep them at bay!”

“How ya feelin’ for ya first fancy event?”

“Feeling a little better.” After twenty or so minutes more of mingling with everyone, the presenter stands at the podium.

“My Heros, I thank you all for attending this event, hopefully crime will just pause for this evening”--a couple people chuckled softly--“and have a wonderful rest of the evening. Please find your seats! Dinner will be served shortly.”

“Any ideas of what’s for dinner?”

“Not sure, I heard they hired American chefs, though. Where do you wanna sit?”

“Maybe over there?” you asked, pointing to an empty circular table.

“Lead the way, baby,” Hawks replied.

You and Hawks sat next to each other, facing the stage. Rumi across from you, and a couple others you didn’t quite know. As the lights dimmed, a familiar voice rang over your head.

“Mind if I sit here? I can’t believe all the seats were filled by the time I got back from the bathroom.”

“Ah, of course,” you smiled slightly. It was the Pro from before. Hawks huffed under his breath. The bread bowl made its way around the table and you leaned over to Hawks, telling him how much you love sour dough bread. 

“I like sour dough too!” the man next to you loudly said.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” you agreed. C’mon, just leave me alone. Dinner continued, different groups putting on stage show shorts for entertainment. And with each comment from the stranger, Hawks’ attitude changed a little. His words a little sharper, eyes a little narrower. Of course, this was only noticeable to the trained eye. A spotlight shown on the stage, illuminating a row of women. Their beautiful display of the Thousand Arms Dance almost made you forget about the hand resting on your thigh. 

In two moments, that changed.

Dangerously close to your sex.

Rubbing small circles on the inner side.

“Hawks.”

“[Y/N].”

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the show?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you whisper yelled. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, songbird,” he purred, fingers prodding your sex through your panties softly. 

“Okay. I see how it is.”

“What ever do you mean? Don’t go ignoring Mr. New Pro over there.”

You looked around at the table, everyone enthralled by the dance. Mr. New Pro was cutting his steak into fifty tiny meticulous pieces. Weird. 

“He’s not even talking to me,” you snorted, “for once.”

“But you like the attention, don’t you?” You choked on your water.

“Hey, [Y/N], look at my meat,” the other hero said, gesturing to his plate. 

Hawks’ eyes twitched. “Need to go right now.”

“Show’s not over, it would be rude!”

“Right now,” he hissed, getting up abruptly and dragging you with him. “Dinner was good, but I really want dessert right now.”

The bright lights of the lobby made your eyes take a while to adjust. A supply closet door left unlocked, now your small haven with your boyfriend. “In there,” you pointed.

“You got great ideas, hummingbird,” Hawks praised, pressing you against the wall and kicking the door shut behind him. He gave you a quick kiss before kneeling between your legs. They rested on his shoulders, fingers digging into your supple thighs. “Be quiet, you don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention, do you?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Something about a bunch of Pros seeing you in such a compromising position piqued your interest. 

Hawks attacked your sex, sucking on clit before dragging a tongue along your folds. You threaded a hand through his wild blond hair. Even though you two weren’t dating for a super long amount of time, he was already a master at knowing how to please you. You chalked it up to his keen observation skills. 

His hot mouth brought you so close to your release until he pulled away suddenly. 

“Good girls don’t get to cum until they learn to not flirt with other guys.”

“Barely flirting!” 

“Not what I saw.”

He plunged a finger into your sopping entrance, massaging the spongy patch of flesh that made you throw your head back. 

“What did I say?”

It took you a couple seconds to find the words, to which he pulled his digit out. “No flirting?”

“Close, baby.” Hawks gently placed you on your feet. “Turn around.”

“I wanna see that cute face though,” you pouted. It almost cracked his facade.

“Well, I wanna see your ass pressing against my hips.” You bent slightly, placing your hands on the wall to brace yourself. “That’s it…” you heard his belt buckle come undone, pants dropping to the floor in a heap around his shoes. Hawks’ cold fingers moved your dress to the side, and slowly pulled your silky panties down.

“Glad I wore this dress?”

“You plan it?”

“Didn’t think it would be in the way when we got back home,” you shrugged. “Guess it works for any place, huh?”

Hawks breathed deeply, cock in his hand, running the tip between your ass cheeks. You pushed back, trying to get some friction.

“What are you not supposed to do? Get it right, and I’ll sink into that cute little pussy of yours. Otherwise, we go back to the ballroom, yeah? Dunno if I can handle it though, what, with what’s-his-face all over you.”

“I didn’t catch his name either,” you giggled before clearing your throat, “uhm...you said to not come until you tell me. I’ll be good. I’ll do as you say. Just please--”

“Since you said please,” he hummed, “easy to slide in since you’re so wet for me. Only for me. No one else.”

“Of course!” your walls stretched to accommodate his length. Hawks let out a low groan. “So tight…” 

You let out a high squeak, urging him to go faster. “Birdie, I...I can’t believe we’re doing this here…”

“A certain someone couldn’t wait..”

“I saw you getting pretty antsy too!”

“That little fucker had no business flirting with you right in front of me; and you. You allowed it, egged him on even,” Hawks growled in your ear. 

“Maybe..maybe I wanted a reaction out of you!” your sentence ended with a lit when his tip kissed your cervix.

“Bad move, kid, you know I’m not gonna go easy on ya. When I came back and he was all over you, oooh, I just wanted to kill the bastard. Hero status be damned. When he leaned a little too close at the dinner table, I just wanted to bend you over the table to show him that you’re mine.” Suddenly, Hawks pulled out of you, flipping you around to face him. “Look at me, beautiful.”

You struggled to open your eyes, Hawks’ pinprick eyes trained on your own. They were honestly set ablaze.

He looked beautiful like this: hair more tousled than usual, a bead of sweat on his temple, mouth panting and parted open. “Whatcha lookin’ at baby bird?”

“Just you,” you sighed contentedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss.

You heard his wings ruffle, and his hips slammed into yours at a more fervent pace. Mmmffmmm, came out of your mouth. “I’m--close!”

Jealousy forgotten for the moment, Hawks nodded against the nape of your neck. “Hold on a lil longer. Can you do that for me? Wanna countdown?” he cooed.

“Y--yeah, okay,” your legs squeezed his body to yours impossibly tighter. 

“Five,” he moaned. At least he didn’t start at ten, that would have been an eternity.

When four came around, you ran your hands on his feathers close to his back.

Three. Almost there.

Two, and it’s so close to one. You felt like you’re almost going to vomit, but in a good way. A tightening just about to unravel.

“One, look down at me ravaging this pussy. No one else can do it as well as me, don’t cha know?” Hawks snarled. 

You peeked at where the two of you became one, his hand snaking around to rub at your clit.

“Hawks! Coming, I’m coming,” you moaned, his name falling off your tongue like a prayer. You briefly wondered when he would tell you his real name, but quickly coming to this moment when he spoke.

“Sing me my favorite song, songbird. You know I love to hear it!” His hips stuttered, wings flaring out (you loved that part) as he came, hot cum shooting out into your waiting entrance. Your pussy milked the rest out desperately as you both felt the aftermaths of your highs. He rested his forehead against yours. “I just wanna stay here.”

“In this closet?”

“No, dingus, with you,” he rolled his eyes, pulling out of you gently. “Round two back home?”

“Maybe nail me in the sky or something,” you suggested, pulling your panties up and shifting your dress around.

“Don’t tempt me,” he smirked, picking you up bridal style. He managed to fly out without being seen, and the both of you looked upon a sea of shining lights.

“I’m jealous you get this view every day.”

“It’s better with you, though,” he smiled softly.

“Hawks…”

“What is it?

“You’re hard again? Already?”

Hawks let out his beautiful laugh and you snuggled closer into his chest. “Can’t blame me that my baby bird just put that idea in my head!”

👉👈 hi this is my first smut since a lil while so hope you enjoyed it! Maybe tell me what you thought?

[caught-in-the-filter]

My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body. 

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

[brainrotcharacters]

The Flying, The Falling

Look, no one is surprised I’m writing for Morpheus now lol this marinated in the notes app of my phone. pspsps simps. 

ship: Morpheus x f!OC 

summary: When she asks for a dream where she flies, Dream makes sure to be there to witness it. He had every intention to grant her the dream even before she asked. 

tags: comfort. sfw. no use of Y/n because I want to. established relationship. physical touch love language. Matthew pisses off Dream but they’re also found family.

The open field did not echo her voice as she stopped following him. "Has anyone ever told you how dramatic you are, Dream?"

Dream stopped in his tracks and slowly turned, features bright with quiet fondness. "Yes."

"Ah. So it's a case of you deliberately ignoring everyone."

"Stop stalling, dearest." he teased back.

She looks up at the skies. If she squinted, she could see other dreamers flying through its prismatic expanse. They never collided anymore; ever since The Dreaming was restored, Morpheus made it a point not to forget those who flew. Now they were only vaguely aware of each other's presences as they enjoyed a scarlet indigo sunset in his realm.

A nervous laugh escapes her. "You know, you could've just fetched me and thrown me up there with everyone else as soon as I was asleep, but no. You want an entire ceremony."

Dream sighs at her sarcasm, hooking his thumb with hers. "Do you remember the last time you flew in your dreams?"

Her eyes narrow playfully. You know I do. You made sure I do.

"I did not yet have the privilege of calling you mine when I gave you that dream." he lifted their joined hands, planting a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "This one would be etched into your memory for as long as you wish it."

"I'll try to deserve it."

Dream read her expression with ease, and a bit of amusement. Silly of her, to think she deserves nothing less than the whole of creation.  

He pulls away, motioning to the green grass before them. "Go."

And she took all of one step before registering a pressure against her back.

She turned her head and quietly gasped at the amorphous black thing protruding from behind her. Dream had taken a piece of the night, decorated with twinkling stars and flowed as smoothly as water, and gave her wings. Simple as that.

There remained a hint of second-guessing in his eyes. If he should have given her the common feather wings, or bat's wings, or he should have forsaken the wings altogether. Nothing short of using his own power could dignify this exquisite being and fulfill one of her dreams. Certainly not when she smiled through the tears in her eyes and choked out his name so lovingly. "Morpheus..."

"Go." he said again, the adoration clearer in his tone. He constantly toed the line between keeping his composure and laying all that he is and all that he has at the feet of his lover. They both knew it.

She gripped his hand in reassurance, in thanks and love, and then took one bracing step. Another. Matthew hovered close with a noise of encouragement. She giggles with childish glee, finding her pace and familiarizing herself with the feel of the wings until a sense of clarity filled her gut and she rocketed off the ground.

The winds of The Dreaming filled her lungs with inspiration. Her anxieties about clean, finished paintings and elaborate plotlines whirled away with a single beat of her wings. She could've sworn she heard Matthew careen off somewhere as well.

Actually, Dream had sent a thread of his power and tugged his raven back to him. "Oh, come on, Boss. You're not the only one who missed her! And you gave her wings, so I have more reasons to fly for her-"

"Matthew," his stern tone betrayed the light-hearted glow of his expression.

The raven hovered in the air beside Dream's head. "Let her have this for herself."

She flew high enough to be able to look down at the spires and turrets of the palace. The rooves of the homes of Dream-Folk made her realize how small she looked when she visited them. She only soared higher, watching how the golds and violets of the sunset folded before her. Higher still, that the air grows thin and each breath becomes precious. The way it always did whenever Dream chose to be patient with her during their love-making.

The clouds carried her as she stopped. The breeze whispered musical notes of a piece that she may compose or dance to when the waking world inevitably steals her away from here. All around her, stars died and returned to life. The last rays of the sun continued its slow fade in the horizon. Even that can be considered a credit to Dream's theatrics.

With bated breath, she leaned forward and began to plummet headfirst. The singing of the winds subtly changed into Morpheus's voice as he asks curiously: "What are you doing?"

"I don't know how to land." She spoke against the whipping air.

"My love..." he mutters, endeared and unsurprised.

As the ground grows closer, a morbid curiosity builds within her. This wouldn't be the way he'd let her die; it would be more catastrophic on a universal scale, given the relatively healthy state of their relationship. It was the thought of his natural power in this realm, and her powerlessness, that weaponized her in this moment to keep falling. Always falling, when he was involved.

Strong air currents lifts her every which way. Once her balance recovered, Morpheus and Matthew watch as she banked then staggered onto solid ground.

Morpheus saw the spark of artistry clear across her face, and regretted not giving her this gift earlier. Detested the waking world for its environments, with a poison designed only against artists like her.

"Hey, good job. You didn't need me after all." Matthew spoke evidently bitterly as he ruined Morpheus's chance to speak smoothly - if the ignored glare he sent towards his raven was any clearer indication.

"We can fly next time, Matthew." She concedes, noticing. "Show me the headwinds of The Dreaming."

"I can show you all that. And then some." The wings made of night disappeared to make room for his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to face him. He returned her suggestive gaze.

Matthew made an especially shrill noise, nuzzling into her cheek in his version of a friendly kiss before aiming at Dream. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Boss."

Dream's jaw flexed with poorly concealed irritation as Matthew fluttered away.

She laughs behind a hand, slinging an arm around Dream's own to help herself remain on her feet. "Thank you for giving me wings."

He leaned the side of his head onto hers, a reply all in itself, and teased. "Is that how you describe this dream? I recall you to be more eloquent than that."

"Have mercy. I just flew."

As they walked aimlessly together, his fingers fidgeted on the hand she held against his clothed bicep. "You've always had wings; I simply provided a space where you could use them. You fly when you create your art, when you think of creating art, and when you foolishly insist to endure pain for your art. You've always flown, my love."

Softened and strengthened all at once, she placed her face against his shoulder. "Moving on, where are we going again?"

Morpheus hid his small smile by looking away. "I have no idea."

"Why are you this way?" She fondly swatted his arm, and he playfully relents, leading them to a different direction. "How are you both the smartest and stupidest thing to ever exist?"

"Humans are not the first living contradiction."

"No, just the most annoying ones."

At the smile that played at Dream's lips, she lightly punched his arm again.

[breakfaststuffs]

Fluctuations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader!Powers

Warnings: Language

A/N: I blame @angrythingstarlight for inspiring me to start this...thing. I don’t know what it is but I have done it. Lurker turned whatever.

Please, do not copy, translate, rewrite or post my work even if you credit me.

----------

“Fuck,” you hissed as you scrambled up the 6th flight of stairs in a desperate bid to outrun your pursuers. As soon as your eyes had landed on that tell-tale skull and tentacle laden logo, you just knew that things would go sideways.

Even as your calves burned and begged for a rest, you hauled yourself up the last set of stairs and spilled out onto the roof with a gasp of exhaustion and you made a wobbly dash over to the fire escape. Making one last adjustment to the straps of your backpack, you felt reassured that the weight of the stolen goods were still nestled between your shoulders and reached for the ladder.

“You should probably just hand it over, you know,” a voice stated simply from above and, in all of his winged-glory, Captain America landed softly on the rooftop a few feet behind you. Another half-second later, the person you had been hauling ass from silently appeared to the left of Sam Wilson and you felt frozen to the spot as his sharp blue eyes trained in on your face.

A bead of sweat trickled down your neck and you just knew that the wig you had worked so hard to affix on top of your hair was now very obvious and askew. You let out a breath you did not know you had been holding and let the reality of your situation settle over your shoulders.

Grasping the straps a little tighter to summon up your courage, you took a few unsteady steps to the side to be clear of the fire escape and then turned to dive off the roof. You heard a rush of raised voices behind you and a shuffle of movement before the world turned into a dark blur rushing up to meet you.

“Fuck!” you yelp as you dropped.

----------

Life has never been easy for you and, after coming back from the blip, it had gotten insurmountably worse.

Before the blip, you had managed to find security in your work and in your own personal life. The design firm you worked at was lobbing more work for high priority clients your way and there were signs that your boyfriend was close to proposing. You wished that you could share your accomplishments with your parents, but the fates had decided to remove them from the equation 3 years earlier in a sudden clash of metal and rubber that had permanently left a part of your heart hollow and numb.

The moment your life shattered for a second time was right after you had completed your usual circuit run around the neighborhood to help burn off some of the extra energy that had built up with the excitement of your sister finally visiting you in the city. Your sister was an hour out from touchdown and as you chatted over the phone with your boyfriend about dinner plans for the evening a sudden shock of cold settled low in your belly. Whatever words were on your tongue faded and drifted into nothingness.

The next thing you knew was you were standing in the same spot on the sidewalk with a gasp and were immediately bowled over by a jogger who seemed just as shocked as you were. From there, the disorientation only grew as the ripples of the repercussions of having the returned trying to find normalcy in a world that had moved on grew into tidal waves.

It was bad enough that your apartment and belongings were lost, your boyfriend had married someone else and the company you were working for had since dissolved. The true horror came when you realized that your sister had been flying 30,000 feet above the ground the moment of the blip. You had screamed until your throat was raw and the tears had gone dry as you realized your world had ended.

Thanks to government assistance, you had a roof over your head, but you were adrift in your loss and felt directionless for the first couple of months after your return. It wasn’t until you had saddled up at a bar that was one of your father’s favorite drinking spots did a sliver of hope crept back into your life. 

As you took another long pull from your glass, a gentle weight landed on your shoulder and the barstool next to you was quickly occupied by a sharp-dressed man with a disarmingly soft smile.

“Hey, [Y/N]. Did not expect to see you here,” the stranger said with a chuckle as he raised his hand to flag down the bartender. 

“Oh, didn’t really expect me to be here, either. But, sorry, do I know you…?”, you questioned with a thread of wariness stitched in your words. It also didn’t help matters that single touch on the shoulder was the first human contact you’d had in weeks. Deep down, you felt another layer of despair settle in the back of your mind.

“Ah, sorry about that. You see, I knew your old man and he was never shy about showing off how proud he was of his daughters. But, [Y/N], he really did go on about how special you were.”

You couldn’t keep the watery smile from your lips as you extended out your hand to his for a shake. “Well, glad to make your acquaintance…,” you left the word hanging as his hand grasped your hand firmly in his.

“Michael,” he said with a chuckle as he gave the bartender a quick nod as a glass of whiskey slid his way, “Nice to be finally meeting you.” He dropped your hand and snatched up the glass to raise it up into the air in front of him. “Here’s to your father,” he spoke as he took a gulp of the amber liquid.

“Yeah, to my dad...and all those we’ve lost,” you toast and raised your own glass to your lips.

“So, since you’re here drinking at 2 o’clock on a Tuesday, I am guessing that things aren’t going that well for you,” Michael pointed out with a sympathetic smile. Looking around the bar, it was clear that the majority of the current patrons were either in the middle of drinking their sorrows away or well-past an attempt at redeeming themselves. You had to wonder where you landed on that depressing spectrum.

“That obvious, huh?”, you sighed as you took another sip of your drink. “Everything that I worked for is gone and I don’t know how to even remotely get back on track. Just trying to get out of bed with a plan makes my head spin most days.”

“Well maybe I can help you start on a new path, [Y/N]. You see, your father sure could put away his drink and he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut when he got too two sheets to the wind. Now, he sometimes did a few odd jobs here and there for me and my associates over the years and it was bound to happen that he would start talking about you…” his eyes slid over to lock onto yours as he gulped down the content of his glass and, without breaking eye contact, threw the bartender another sign for a refill.

You had been in the middle of taking a sip of your beer when he dropped his insinuating remark and you suddenly found yourself wide-eyed and choking on your beverage. You heard him give a chuckle as you desperately tried to recover from the surprise and you shot a glare in his direction.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m offering you a job opportunity that will land you enough money to build whatever future you want. I just wanted to let you know that your special skills make you a very appealing candidate.”, he said as he leaned over and gave you a few encouraging pats on the back.

Of course, the one person in her life that had ever discovered her abilities and swore to secrecy would have spilled the beans. She had fought so hard to hide that she was different and it wasn’t until her father had burst back in exclaiming he’d left the keys on the kitchen counter and found her lifting the couch easily with one had to pick up the remote at 16 did the secret get out. Once he had stopped gaping like a fish at her, the onslaught of questions and a never-ending stream of curiosity continuously poured down for years.

“How much did he say?,” you murmured bitterly.

“Enough to know that you can get the job done. Now, you weren’t the only one to take a few losses after coming back. Turns out a few of our properties fell out of our control while most of the family was gone. Word is that one of our old buildings downtown was hiding a bit of a secret in the basement that had managed to stay undiscovered until someone else started renovating our property.” Michael’s voice took on a bit of a hard edge as he wrapped up the last sentence.

“Seems like they are having a hard time getting inside, but we want to know what’s inside and for you to get anything valuable out for us. And that, my dear, is where you would come in.”

“Wait, why exactly do you need me? What is it that is stopping you from just walking in and taking it?”, you ask with words laced with suspicion.

“Your father always said you were clever.”, he smirked as he gave you a small toast in acknowledgement. “For whatever reason, we think the government might be interested in what is rightfully ours. Just in case they send in a more specialized cavalry, we figure it would be safest to send in one of our own.”

“Less collateral damage, yeah?”, you scoff as you finished off your pint.

“Exactly, [Y/N]. I knew you’d be smart enough to catch on. So, want to know how much you stand to make?”, he said with a knowing grin.

You took in a deep breath, set your empty glass on the bar and swiped a hand across your face in resignation. “Sure. What do I have to lose?”

“Nothing at all, kid. Nothing at all.”

----------

You let yourself free fall for a split second before you let your body’s density shift. You suddenly dropped down to the ground and, right before you would leave a crater in the pavement below, you made yourself as light as a feather. You almost landed daintily on one toe before you bolted towards an alley to your right. You were well aware that Captain America would almost immediately be airborne, but you were so close to a very noisy, pedestrian choked city thoroughfare two blocks over. 

Making sure you were light enough on your feet to gain a substantial amount of speed, you didn’t bother looking up or back as you booked it into the busy city street. Once in the throngs of people, you jerked off the wig you were wearing and shook out your hair with a grateful sigh. You unzipped your jacket to wrap it around your waist and then shifted the backpack to sit on the front of your chest. You hoped that it would be enough as you did your damnedest to nonchalantly make your way to the drop-off spot.

You kept waiting for the hammer (well, more like shield) to drop as you walked, but as time wore on nothing happened. By the time that you stepped in though the heavy double doors of a rather upscale restaurant and were led off to a separate dining room, you were almost in shock at how you had managed to get away with it. 

“Ah, [Y/N], our hero returns!” Michael proclaimed proudly as he stood up when you entered the room. He offered to take the backpack from you and wrapped his arm around you as he corralled you over to a table near the back window. Two more men were seated at the table and their auras were far-less boisterous than the man who gave your shoulders a warm squeeze before setting you down at the head of the table.

As he opened up your backpack and spread out the haul across the table, Michael gave a sharp whistle and the dour mood shared between the other men quickly dissipated. “Now these look rather impressive. Who would have known we were sitting on top of a secret stash of Hydra weapons all these years? I know this can’t be all of it. How much did you leave behind?”

You shrugged and you gave a gentle shake of your head at the question. “There wasn’t too much left, but there were at least two boxes I didn’t get a chance to go through before I heard someone coming. I was able to start running before they had a chance to realize I had broken the door down in the first place…” 

“Well, job well done. My associates and I are pleased with your work.” He flashed you a smile before reaching down into a briefcase to grab a couple of stacks of hundred dollar bills that he stuffed into your backpack. He walked over and dropped the backpack into your lap before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Let’s have a drink to [Y/N]’s success tonight and to our continued relationship.”

He gave your shoulders a tighter squeeze that was borderline painful as he spoke. You knew that you might be way in over your head, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. This was something different and it felt better than drowning in failure.

----------

The next day you found yourself actually happy to get out of bed. You damn near whistled as you brewed up a cup of coffee for yourself and you bothered to even clean yourself up for a change. When your eyes fell upon the backpack that sat upon your plywood table and you couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across your lips. Things were finally looking up.

Taking stock at your lack of food in your apartment, you decided to grab a few of the bills out of the backpack and to head down to the local corner store that always had some amazing fresh produce out on display. With your stomach growling at the thought of food, you tucked the money into your back jean pocket and sauntered out the door.

You gave a quick wave to the owner as you grabbed a basket and started to peruse over in the direction of the fresh fruit. Spotting some jazz apples that were catching the morning light and your attention, you slid over to reach out and grab a few when your hand ended up grabbing at leather instead of an apple.

You blinked owlishly before jerking your head up to see who had blocked you from your potential breakfast. Any words you had died in your throat as your heart felt like it was seizing in your chest. A pair of steely blue eyes met yours and the expression in those orbs went from surprise then quickly morphed into something far more accusatory.

With your brain suddenly working overdrive and any rational thought flying out the window, you let out the breath you had been holding shakingly and brilliantly said the first thing that came to you.

“So, uh, come here often?”

Those eyes narrowed just a fraction more and you knew you were doomed.

----------

So, should I continue this or nah? This is my first...so please be gentle.

[poison--ivory]

Haikyuu! Domestic Life (Captains/ Reader) Quirks

WARNING: NSFW

*This is my first headcanon and I just wanted to mix haikyuu and bnha. I hope you enjoy* (Don’t own the picture found it on pinterest)

Daichi, Kuroo, Oikawa, Futakuchi, Bokuto, Ushijima and Kita

Daichi- Telekinesis

-In a world full of quirks rules, Daichi follows each one of those rules even when he's by himself. -But, he does make some exceptions. Like when he's by himself and too tired from practice, he'll use his quirk to levitate whatever he needs from the other room. -Daichi bends the rule a bit when the first years get out of hand, throwing a volleyball at full speed hitting Kageyama and Tsukishima at the same time. Quickly deactivating it when Mr. Takeda glances over. -When the both of you started dating he used his quirk more frequently. When he first asked you out he used his quirk to grab your school bag and lead you to  an empty gym. The only person in there was a nervous Daichi and a floating banner that read: Will you go out with me? -Later in your relationship you'll notice Daichi doing small things for you with the assistance of his power. -For instance, when it's really windy he'll turn on his quirk to hold the ends of your skirt down. On one occasion you wore a cute skirt on one of your dates and a guy passing by decided to stop right behind you and tried to lift it up only to have his hand thrown to the side by an unknown source.  When you did look behind you all you saw was a lady hitting a man with her purse and a small crowd forming around them. -Since he's any average teen he has normal hormones. This causes his quirk to go off anytime he's aroused. You gave him a handy once and next thing you knew the bed was floating. As he finally climaxed the bed fell down and made a loud thump against the floor.   -His younger siblings came knocking on the door and Daichi had to calmly explain to them that he wasn't killing you.

Kuroo- Plasma

-Kuroo on the other hand wouldn't care all that much about quirk rules, but holds out because his quirk is a bit more dangerous than most.

-If he tried to explain his quirk to someone he'll go all into the science of his abilities. But, if he's talking to people like Hinata or Lev he'll dial it down a smidge.

-His quirk in simple terms is like kai blast in DBZ. When he told Bokuto and Hinata this they non stop did kamehameha for a half hour.

-When he asked you out it was in the middle of lunch time. He gradually brought up the topic of relationships and once you were in depth with his questions he popped his initial question.

-Since his quirk is more in the danger zone , so he'll go through extra steps to keep you safe. Like buying quirk protection gloves online with money his dad gave him. 

-Hand holding was a lot nicer and more comfortable once the gloves were in the equation.

-Much like Daichi, he had problems controlling his quirk in intimate situations. 

-Burned his sheets after getting a blowjob, so glad he settled or the bed spread instead of your head.

Oikawa- Shapeshift

-Oikawa broke the rules literally all the time and the only reason he wasn't caught most of the time is, because he planned out when and where he used his power.

-If someone left a certain class at a certain time, he would change his appearance to that specific person.

-The only people who have ever caught him are Iwaizumi and his sister on multiple occasions.

-When he first met you he decided to get to know you through Iwaizumi, literally.  He learned all he needed to know about you and even added some good quips about himself. 

-It started out quite well, but soon back fired when Hajime ran into you and him. Which caused a big rift between you and him for a really long time.

-Iwaizumi himself mended the issues between the two teens. Later, in life he would be the mediator for all your falling outs.

-Oikawa, not like the other two, can control his shapeshifting ability when aroused. Even changes into other people midway in a makeout session to scare you.

-On the downside he can't seem to handle climaxing well. A very confused Oikawa wonders why you're staring at him with a weird face. Not until he looks into the mirror that he sees, Matsukawa’s face staring back at him.

Futakuchi- Stitches

-Futakuchi is someone who would break a rule and go all the way around the subject to throw off as much blame as possible.

-His quirk isn’t all that special to him, but others would find it pretty useful or cool. Sometimes when he’s really irritated with his teammates he stitches their feet to the ground. He gets detention and has to spend it cleaning the gym floors by himself.

-He accidentally stitched your feet to the ground when you first met. It was mostly Koganegawa fault for moving out of the way and you so happened to be standing right behind him. Tripping you fell out of your shoes and flat on your face.

-Aone nudged him forward in order to apologize and ever since then you both kept talking with each other. Even skipping out on the guys to eat with you on the rooftop.

- Little dates here and there before he had the courage to officially ask you out. Giving you small gifts in between class periods that he hand crafts in each class.

-He’s all talk, especially in bed. This man’s quirk went off when your hand brushed up against his bulge. Took a while to release yourself from his thread, it takes a week before he could even look you in the eye again.

-He settled with giving you oral instead, he loves the expressions on your face when you moan for more.

Bokuto- Soaring Parliament

-To be quite honest he followed the quirk rules pretty well, until he starts thinking too hard on a topic and completely forgets. 

-He takes pride in his volleyball skills and quirk usage. Whenever he said his quirk name out loud he never could associate it with his owl wings. Until Akaashi explained to him that a parliament is a group of owls and his wings look like they had three owl faces on each wing.

-Bokuto knew you since you were on the girl’s volleyball team, a libero. One day they let the both of the teams practice together and he had zero to no filter on asking you out. Even if you were in the back row and were receiving balls.

-Any where you went he held your hand, walking to class, lunch or going home together. There was no time or place anyone at Fukurodani didn’t see you two hanging off each other.

-Down feathers are found scattered around his room and if you're lucky enough his mom might show you his baby photos. His baby photos consist of him smiling in each picture in cute little outfits.

-Making out was usually slow and sensual, but sometimes it can get pretty sloppy when he’s heated. Like when he came back from summer training and hastily kissed and pinned your small frame to the bed.

-His wing size is pretty big for a horned owl and they pop out whenever you guys indulge in sexual favors. Riding him requires him to sit up since his bed is next to the wall and his wings get really uncomfortable.

Ushijima- Nature Speaker

-Ushijima follows the rules without even knowing he was doing it. Kind of forgetful when it comes to quirk rules.

-His quirk described by his mother is the Greek twins, Flora and Fauna. He calls it like it is a nature speaker, someone who can get on a speaking level of the non human language.

-Scared his dad one day when he saw his son talking to the neighbors cat.

-That’s kind of how you two met when your dog came running up to him. You were so scared that might hurt him, but soon calmed down when your dog sat himself down in front of the tall man. They had a long staring contest before your dog slowly trotted back over to you with the man.

-On closer inspection you recognized the man from school and he was much taller when presented in front of you.

-Ushijima unraveled to you that your dog wasn’t feeling good. He gave you directions to a vet that was actually pretty good at handling their animals.

-You two met again through Tendou(he was playing matchmaker) he left you both in the library. You would be surprised how much you and Ushijima got along. 

-He uses his quirk whenever you guys wanna have fun, like at the park and two birds are hoping around each other. He tells you that the bread crumbs on the ground taste like absolute shit. 

-Eyes widened when he actually cursed.

- Fingering was always rough on your end, until you vocalized why he should prepare you first before just sticking them in.

-His quirk doesn’t really act up when he engages in sex, but he did come pretty early when you gave him head one time.

Kita- Aura

-Kita has never broken a quirk law, he believes it brings more bad habits later on in life. 

-His quirk manifested at an early age of 4, he just thought everyone had the same vision as himself. Until he asked his grandma why the clerk at the store always had dark red surrounding them. Turns out the guy had issues with his manager, he never got the full story.

-It explains why he can read people so easily, but like Ushijima he has no filter when he talks to someone and just gives the full truth.

-He’s in the same class as you and takes a really close notice when your aura changes from whatever color you just had to light pastel pink. It only happened when you were around him.

-He wasn’t stupid, so he decided to ask you out between classes. After that you two were always seen together before and after classes. Aran had to ask one of his classmates to walk home with him, so he wouldn’t feel like a third wheel

-His quirk never acted up whenever he had sex with you, even when he was balls deep inside your pussy.

-Kita is a caring lover in and out of bed, even goes the extra steps of carrying you to the bathroom to take a bath.

[paellaplease]

revali x reader 16 (i think?) verklempt please ❤️

16. verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion

19. temerate - to break a bond or promise

pairing: revali x reader summary:  falling in love is difficult when neither of you know the end is near.

   Night had fallen by the time you mustered the courage to walk up to him. He watched the shining caps of your barely worn boots approach the other side of the campfire, sensing your nervousness as you awkwardly stood for a few beats, weaving and unweaving your fingers. 

Either his reputation as the strongest Champion preceded him, or he was completely unapproachable. Throughout the day you would chance a look at him from across the camp, quickly averting your eyes the moment he noticed. You were part of the Princess’ research effort and therefore had some questions— that much he was certain of. Yet you’ve been dancing around him for hours, gathering the will to speak only to have it snuffed out the moment he acknowledged your presence. 

Embers lifted from the flames and flickered into the night sky as you finally faced him. Revali held his tongue and gathered his patience, trying to hide the glitter in his eyes at the chance of ‘wowing’ another admirer (nevermind that you were the first). 

“Champion, uh sir,” you fumbled with the titles. The question fell from your lips so quickly that his disappointment didn’t register until a second later. “What kind of flower do you favour the most?” 

“...”

If the following silence wasn’t damning enough, the Rito was honestly at a loss for how to respond to such an inane question. Seriously? He was better than this. Others have made more important inquiries and had to wait weeks, if not months, for him to clear time in his busy schedule and reply. 

Something like this didn’t deserve attention, let alone an answer. 

“Swift violets.” He said, before rising from his seat by the fire, dead leaves crunching under the weight of him as he made a beeline straight for his tent. 

Parting the canvas, he pretends to miss the earnest wave of goodbye you send his way, ignoring the static in his chest the moment his head hits the pillow. Sleep comes quickly. 

*

A month later you meet again. 

The universe seemed to adore playing tricks on him. Crossing the threshold of his home, he catches you investigating the decorative shells hanging by his kitchen window. Amusingly, you were balancing on the tips of your toes, its placement just a tad too high.  

There’s something different this time around. You seemed more at ease with your surroundings, no longer jumping at every sound like a stranger in their own skin. The tips of your boots were scuffed with use, and the minute cuts and imperfections in your clothes spoke of days spent in hard work and travel. 

Though some things still remain the same. He holds back his smirk when you stumble forward in surprise at the sound of your name, getting straight to business once you were safe from the risk of falling over. “I believe you’re the researcher sent to assess my progress with Vah Medoh?” 

“Yes, I am.” You’re quick to snap back into stiff professionalism, he’ll give you that. The bow is low and formal, your back so still that someone could confidently rest a cup and saucer on it. An introduction spills out, followed by an apology when you realise he already knows who you are from the briefing he was given days earlier in Hyrule Castle. 

The task was simple really. King Rhoam Bosphoramus wanted a full report on the breadth of Hyrule’s offensive capabilities against Calamity Ganon. From Guardians to Divine Beasts, much had been done in the past year in preparation for their greatest adversary. Now as the whirlwind began to settle, all must be accounted for, down to the last soldier. 

Your report was just a drop in what will be an immense ocean of information currently being collated. But it was nevertheless quite vital. He wonders how someone like you was selected for such a task. 

“Let’s do our best.” You blurt. Revali could see the millions of thoughts racing behind your eyes when you decide to break away from your military-stiff posture, raising a hand in the traditional Hyrulean greeting between strangers.

The lines of your palm stretch before him like deeply-woven thread. He glances at the wrinkles and grooves in your flesh, remembering that some mystics believe such lines could predict something as unknown as the future. He can’t help but wonder what yours might foretell. 

Pressing his wing to your outstretched hand, he declared his agreement. “Of course. You’ll soon see that my ability to pilot Medoh is nothing short of perfect.” 

He can’t help it. “And no questions of the botanical sort, understood?”

The sudden playful grin you give him makes all his witty quips screech to a halt, his focus trained solely on the way your face instantly lights up when it isn't held down by strict politeness or pure nervous energy. “I’ll be sure to steer clear from them this time, Champion. You have my word.” 

*

Both of you eventually fall into a comfortable routine. Meals are made together and the chores are done quickly through combined effort. You catch on well, cottoning on to the needs of the day based on the tasks you both decide on the night before. 

After breakfast he finds his gear and yours already neatly arranged by the doorway, allowing him additional time with Vah Medoh and you the chance to closely observe. The idea of training with an audience never bothered him, but knowing you followed close behind, notebook at the ready, gave him the extra push to perform just a level better than his previous.

One more arrow, one more extravagant somersault in the air. He even maneuvers Medoh to do a complete 180, reveling in the way your mouth pops open in awe as you walk across what was once the ceiling. 

“... .... --- .-- / --- ..-. ..-.” The ancient machine complains, unhappy to be on their back. The Rito pilot pats the metal wall apologetically, watching as you excitedly flit from one end to the other, feeling quite pleased with himself. 

*

Revali dreams of a cliff’s edge.

The precipice looms before him, nothing but fog and the unknown past the point where the ground stops and plummets. Revali looks at you and feels the smooth rock of the sea stone underneath his talons; hears the sound of crashing waves in the distance. Tantalising was the mystery of the void beyond. 

The meaning escapes him the moment he wakes up. His pillow was warmed by the glow of the sun, making him realise that he had slept in. Morning was just beginning, and both of you had a full schedule of tasks to get through. 

Diverting all his mental energy to the work ahead, he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes away the odd thrill in his feathers. I’m better than this, he thinks. 

His tea is still warm when he arrives at the table. 

*

Word of the researcher shadowing him gets around quickly, it’s a small village after all. Some of the Elders glance at you in suspicion, old wounds from disagreements fought with the capital in the past lingering like dye in the water. You don’t seem to mind it, too caught up in the new sights and smells of this vibrant community built in the clouds. 

The Rito children are much more enthusiastic about your presence, sharing in your curiosity by matching your questions with their own. Getting comfortable on the wooden slats of the departure deck, you happily play encyclopedia for them. 

“Were you this cute back then?” You ask, watching a fledgling hop from one talon to another in imitation of a lizalfos, chasing after their friends who were the heroes in the story, at least for this round of the game.

“I was a model citizen.”

“Not true!” One of them pipes, poking him in the side with the tiniest of wings. “Mama said you were a hennish scallion.”

“You mean a hellish rapscallion,” the eldest of the bunch laughs, screaming when the ‘lizalfos’ tackles them into the ground. 

Crossing your arms, you fix him with your best look of authority, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “I apologise but the council has spoken.” He raises a brow at your antics, feeling a little light headed at the adorable way your eyes water whenever you hold back your laughter. “Do you plead guilty for perjury, Mr Champion?”

Champion. The word echoes and reverberates, wrapping tightly around his brain like the blue scarf fitted snugly on his neck. He likes the way you say it, making him wonder about something else. 

The words leave his mouth before he can think it through. “Revali will do just fine.”

Mirth drains from your face, replaced instead by surprise. “W-what?”

“I have a name.” He ignores the feeling of his feathers standing at the back of his neck, unclenching his jaw. Relax, he tells himself. “Better for you to call me that than to continuously mess up the titles.” 

“Still working on it,” you shrug. Then, you’re gesturing for him to step into your space, leaning forward just the same like you’re about to tell him a secret. You’re close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath against his beak. He freezes, becoming hyper aware of his heart thundering against his ribcage, not daring to move even a muscle in fear of giving his thoughts away. 

“Revali then,” you murmur, almost too soft for him to hear. 

It was only when one of the children tugged at your sleeve, dragging you away to explain the appearance of another monster you’ve encountered in your travels, that he allows himself to breathe.

*

His presence had been requested at the Chief’s office, the old, war-weary Rito regretfully informing him that an urgent message had arrived. Multiple reports had noted an increase in the signs of Calamity Ganon’s resurgence. It came as no surprise, with every Blood Moon summoning more monsters from the void, an omen that something big was coming. 

Letters from the Princess implied the worst: that she had exhausted nearly all avenues in awakening her sealing power. The Spring of Wisdom would be her last chance, and after that, who knows? The Champions were to meet again in three weeks at the foot of the mountain, to celebrate or to re-strategise depending on the outcome. 

He was never the religious sort but by the Grace of Hylia, please let it be the former. 

A headache was beginning to form as he made his way home, the idea of knocking out on his hammock for an hour or so sounding extremely appealing. The day was coming to a close, a cold breeze chilling his back as the orange heat of the evening crept its way to night. 

You’re the first one to the hut this time, brown scuffed boots positioned neatly at the doorway. Revali stares at them for a second too long, wondering if you knew your time in the village was coming to an end earlier than expected. The information you had diligently collected was finally required, a little last minute if he had to comment but such were the nature of these things. 

The mental image of you puffing out your cheeks in frustration, complaining that you would have to organise the data on the way back, was enough to make his mood perk up— just a tiny bit. Picturing you disgruntled and annoyed, just like when the markets ran out of your favourite produce, was easier to stomach than the thought of saying goodbye. 

Leaning against the hardwood of the kitchen counter, you don’t notice him enter the room, too engrossed in the list you’re making.

It's a sight he'd seen before. If he forgot about the sobering news he'd just received, then the day would feel like any other. 

The open window frames your form, making you appear like a painting come to life. Rays of light streamed from the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the slope of your nose and curve of your mouth. 

Instinctively, you tilted your head to the source of warmth, instantly reminding him of the swift violets that would bloom by the Hebra cliffsides, forever seeking the sun. 

Oh. 

The ground had finally run out, earth and sky crashing together. There was no denying it now. Inwardly, he cursed himself, following the thought past the precipice, plunging himself deeper into the truth he'd avoided acknowledging for months. The universe truly was cruel. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. The answer was clear as day, right from the beginning of its inception. 

It's the golden hour before sunset when Revali realises he’s in love with you. 

*

Wind plays with the jade clasps of his braids as he appraises Medoh’s central control unit. He’d done this maneuver many times before, enough that he could perform it with his eyes closed. 

It was your final day on assignment so shouldn’t he attempt an action that was more daring? He tried to ask. But you had rejected the proposal outright, reasoning that it suggested this would be the last time you both would meet at the top of the Divine Beast. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you smile. “I’ll visit once the fight is over.”

“Guess there’s no harm in going back to the basics,” he mused, inputting the commands before taking a step back.

Leaning against one of the columns, you watch with rapt attention as he points the Divine Beast south. The view abruptly shifts from the towering mountains of Hebra, to the grassy Tabantha Frontier, greenery spanning for miles and disappearing into the white, snowy wall of Mystathi’s Shelf. 

You tilt your head up, eyes trained on the heavens. There’s a solemn intensity in the way you look at the sky, as if trying to ascertain a greater meaning to your existence in this world between the cover of clouds and the endless sea of blue. It never gives you the acknowledgement that you desperately want, no matter how long you spend asking it, but that doesn’t stop you from searching anyway. 

He understands because he’s tried asking well, too many times to count. Eventually the young Rito stopped looking, opting to make an answer for himself instead. 

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

Revali’s silent for a moment, mulling over his answer, before he pushes away from the control unit and starts walking towards you. “There’s no spectacle grander, and I can’t recall a time I’ve been without it. As a Rito, it was your first companion, and so long as you looked above, you were never alone.” He shook his head. “Though I guess to love something so vast and beyond our comprehension would be rather imbecilic.” 

He’s running his mouth at this point, the hum of Vah Medoh loud in his ears. “... .. .-.. .-.. -.-- / -.-. .... .. .-.. -..” the beast warns, but he continues anyway. 

“It’s far too foolish to pine for something that will never be in your grasp. So it would be best for me to realise that there’s no point in fighting it anymore. I mean, I should feel relieved by the concession that at least I’ll be remembered by someone other than myself.”

Your attentions were no longer directed at the sky, the intensity of your eyes piercing into him, seeing right through his poorly hidden deflections. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

The urge to plunge himself over the edge and fly away by the sheer fuel of his embarrassment was beginning to feel very enticing. Trust his description of the sky to sound like a confession. “No,” he admits. 

“Then…”

Revali thinks about telling you— considers allowing himself to become vulnerable just this once.

You’re still here, feet planted firmly on the ground, within his reach at this very moment. There was nothing he wanted more than to take that last step forward, to close the gap that perpetually rests in between you both. He imagines what it would feel like to wrap his wings around you, and believes that it would be nothing less than holding infinity. 

Yet, despite this— despite everything, he sighs. “Another time.”

Almost like reading his mind, you simply nod in response, smiling as you reach out to him. He lets you take one of his wings in both your hands, the firm surety of your touch grounding him into the present. There’s no hesitation in your next words, only a promise of a thousand tomorrows lingering on the corner of your lips.

“Tell me when we meet again?”

“I swear it on my life.”

.

.

.

-

As usual, what was supposed to be a short and sweet answer became a creature of its own, demanding my full attention until it was finished. Writing in Revali’s POV is so fun, but there’s always that small bit of doubt that I can never do his character justice. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy this one.

By the way! Hello to all the new visitors to my blog. Welcome yall. This is the prompt list. I may not answer straight away, but I shall do my best :) 

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse,  foul language and lots of angst.   

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds​ for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog.  💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering.  There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed. 

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh;  what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain. 

He hates it. 

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit. 

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt. 

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together. 

There was no her in his plan, to begin with. 

The Devil never had a queen. 

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.  

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t have one anyway. 

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note. 

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’ 

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone. 

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand. 

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.     

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase. 

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.” 

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie. 

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA. 

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away. 

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’ 

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer. 

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.” 

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would. 

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse. 

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints. 

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...” 

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met. 

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair. 

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face. 

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe. 

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica. 

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right. 

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.” 

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away. 

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.    

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”  

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief. 

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue. 

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her. 

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest. 

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul. 

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.  

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress. 

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme. 

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.” 

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.  

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker. 

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers. 

“Break her, until she talks.” 

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door. 

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature. 

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet. 

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her… 

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange. 

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot. 

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,”  August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away. 

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’ 

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity. 

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.  

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain. 

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’ 

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot. 

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.   

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”   

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face. 

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve. 

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly. 

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away. 

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’ 

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk. 

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw. 

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory. 

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.  

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material. 

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “ 

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him. 

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:  

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts,  We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down,  United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will. 

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

[oh-boy-me]

Demon Outfits Discussed

The wait is over :) thank you for your patience and all the lovely comments on the casual discussion!!

I feel like it got longer this time, so I hope it’s all an enjoyable read!  Also, I apologize for the ugly pictures--it was the easiest and fastest way to both have all the design in one image and also prevent it from stretching so far.

Like last time, please don’t take this too seriously; we love these boys and Justin doesn’t know them but has no grudges against them.  We’re just harping on their fashion sense.  Absolutely no hate is intended towards the boys or the design team!

Participants in the discussion were

Jo ( @jodaneko ), our art major with storyboarding/character design experience, who finds they have more in common with Satan each passing day.

Justin ( @justinlester0629 ), our fashion expert, who dressed up and filled a wine glass with water for the occasion.

Noodle (Me), our untrained eye who owns the Barbie as the Island Princess video game on three different platforms.  It’s not even that good.

Featuring emergency guest star Megan ( @maggo77​ ), my sister who is physically near me as we look at the backs of their designs for the first time.

Edit: Distracted by the pretty jacket, we made a mistake when putting in Levi’s silhouette rating.  It’s the worst.  2/10, not 6.

Lucifer:

“Boy looks like he’s about to swing open the doors of an expensive mansion during a debutante party and give some SCATHING NEWS.” —Justin

“Short shoulder cape and a long split butt cape lol” —Jo

Jo has realized that based on both outfits, Lucifer doesn’t want people looking at his butt.  Possible reasons are: he doesn’t have one, or Diavolo someone was getting distracted.

His shoes match his outfit.  After last time that’s all I care about.

A triple popped color, and how many layers is the middle one?  Is that a book?  Dude has like 27 collars.

The forehead diamond is very important and it’s great that there are diamond buttons to match it.  But uh.  How about those red diamonds on his sleeves.  They.  They sure are there.  (I actually like the red accents and that they match his gloves; I just can’t take the diamonds seriously.)

  Lucifer 🤝 Some Horses Diamond on the Forehead

The peacock motif is HERE and we’re all living for it.  HOWEVER, the feathers on the cape and coattails should have matched, OR there should have been more lime green because there’s so little of that color.

The pants have a pleat in the front, which Justin says means he responsibly irons his clothes, and Jo says only heightens the fact that under the capes this is a marching uniform.

Can he fly?  Jo says these are baby wings that can’t support his weight, and his cape has a hole for the top pair but blocks the bottom pair?  Can’t believe Lucifer handicapped himself for the sake of fashion.

The red makes it regal and the wide flowy design makes it imposing.  Good job, Lucifer!  I might actually be intimidated if I saw you.

Definitely the classiest outfit.  You can tell they put care into it.

Mammon:

“BITCH MY BODY CANNOT TAKE THIS KIND OF SEXY, I THINK I AM OVERHEATING!  NO MORE FURTHER COMMENTS, YOUR HONOR.  HAUTE AND HOT.” —Justin

The whole thing does amazing with only three colors.  We’ve noticed the trend of black and white + one color, but I mean hey.  It’s working so far.

Damn those pants sit low.  No wonder literally all of you wear belts.

The leather jacket?  The studs and harness?  Bless.  Justin calls it “the perfect blend of stylish and ‘I’ll see you tonight *wink*’”.

Kind of don’t like how the belts connect to the pants, though.  It looks better in the back.

“He found a really cool jacket, but it didn’t pair with anything so he just didn’t wear anything.” —Jo

Honestly though?  We’ve all made fun of Mammon for having big hoe energy in his outfits, but like, he knew he had wings and planned his outfit to accommodate for that.  He’s the only one who didn’t cut holes in his outfit.  Maybe Mammon was the smallest hoe after all.

Also if there’s a motif it repeats elsewhere, like the studs and diamonds on his jacket and pants.  Did he and Lucifer have a “tastefully putting diamonds on my outfit” battle?  Because Mammon definitely won.

One of the charms broke off the belt loop and he never bothered to replace it, and honestly thank god there isn’t two of those anymore.

Torn between wishing the boots were tighter to match the rest of the outfit and saying “yoooo they’re open in the back!!!”

Ok so so far we’ve said generally only good things, but there is one major issue with the design: Its gravity.  Everything points down, his tattoos, the diamonds, even his wings.  The center of gravity in the image is his shoes.  Bitch loved his shoes so much he made his whole outfit point to them.

Either way this was universally considered the best and I mourn Justin who doesn’t know how far Mammon’s standards are gonna fall from here.

Leviathan:

Diagonal zipper

“Levi what the fuck.” —Megan

He looks like an e-boy.

Honestly it looks like he borrowed something from Justin’s wardrobe for Pride but he didn’t know how to put it on.

APPARENTLY the biggest hoe.  Abs that he shouldn’t have coming through a mesh t-shirt.  I thought Mammon’s pants were low, but Levi’s whole-ass ass is out.  Ok Levi, I see you.

The shirt pattern is good but he probably leaves it partially unzipped because it’d look really dumb fully closed.

Justin loves the funky pants pattern and Jo likes the pants but not with the outfit.  It’s because the devs were too coward to give him a thick tail base so his pants had to fill that role by sharing the pattern.

The shoes are good, and not just because they incited Justin’s deep-set hatred for Christian Louboutin and his uncomfortable red-bottom shoes.

Justin is offended that he’s hiding his suspenders; either show them completely or not at all, no in between.  Jo’s not fully convinced it isn’t just one suspender.  What are his suspenders doing?  What are they attached to?  Are they holding anything up?  Apparently not.

Jo pointed out that if you squint the belt on his waist looks like fangs and the orange dots on his sleeves looks like eyes so it’s like theres a snake head on his outfit.  Cute!

The gloves are throwing us off though.  Why is Levi of all other brothers need gloves?  I bet he has sweaty hands.

Ok really, does his sweater unzip all the way into two pieces?  Or does it hang by that tiny thread underneath the tail hole?  There’s even a button, just in case.

Can’t believe this antler-sporting, suspender-wasting nerd went diagonal zipper on us because we beat him at a trivia game.  Should have just zipped his hood.

Satan:

HONEY.

“I hate everything about this.” —Megan

First of all, he’s straight up wearing Lucifer’s casual shirt.  Does it only button down the back?  Can he take it off?

Then he spilled bleach on his pants.  Like I get what they were going for but with the white on black that is literally just bleach stains.

Incredibly differing opinions on the belt.  He got it in the cowboy department.  Justin adores it.  Jo despises it.

And are those… athletic slip ons?

And now the elephant in the room.  The ribcage made of ribbons.  The ribboncage.  The idea is great!  I love that they gave him a skeletal theme without throwing him into a Hot Topic.

But if you take the ribboncage and feather boa off he’s literally just wearing a dress shirt and some nice jeans.  And that’s the problem with Satan’s demon form.  Not that it looks goofy.  It’s that they took risks but then hid all the risks behind business casual.

Also Megan said that the back of the ribbons look like a rock climbing harness.  Someone (probably Justin) said the front reminds them of the underbelly of a green cockroach.  Ew.

The feather boa would look better if it was over something you wouldn’t literally wear at the office.  (And also didn’t look so much like worm on a string.)

“He is going to Dragcon 2020 and is definitely going to take a picture and ask to lip sync, but accidentally start beef with Acid Betty.” —Justin

On a good note, loving how the tail fades to highly radioactive green.  Feels dangerous.  Megan pointed out that it’s a pretty wimpy tail, though.  Jo enjoys the self-conscious posture it expresses.

That’s basically the only good thing we have to say, though.

I just????

Merry Christmas.

Asmodeus:

The kanji on the picture is just saying that the coattail is the same on both sides.

Ok now with that out of the way, HONEY.

I’m sure he says that to others but I hope he says it to himself too when he looks in the mirror.

Starting with the good.  The wings?  Adorable.  The heart-shaped hole to accommodate them?  Adorable.  One of the only good adjustments.

And I love that the tips of his horns look venomous, like a scorpion tail!

We love a good floral design and a good twin tailcoat.

But once again, the shirt just has too much going on.  The flowers.  The buttons.  The brick-pattern stitching.  The brooch.  The long collar.  The fact that if he closed the last button it’d end in a diamond covering his crotch.  Sometimes less is more, Asmo.

That scorpion brooch is the best thing to ever grace my computer screen and it shouldn’t have to share the spotlight with the rest of his shirt.  It should have wrapped around his arm and been paired with some more jewelry.  Then he could have ditched those giant cuffs.

The bleeding heart tattoos are a really good idea!  But they should have been angled better and not like someone else put them on at the roller rink.  And maybe they shouldn’t have been outlined in pink.  Those aren’t tattoos, those are gaping holes in his arm.  Is he ok.

I’ve been avoiding the pants, but.  The pants.

“Oh dear god. Oh no that’s… I thought you were a designer…” —Jo

One side is buckled the ENTIRE way down, and then the other side is COMPLETELY plain.  It’s too extreme on both ends.  It should have been only half a leg of buckles.  Not whatever this is.  I still don’t think he can bend that leg.

The shoes are ok but they COULD have been a stiletto so.

Jo is DONE with these demons’ inability to wear socks.

We expected better from you, Asmo.  I hope you have to fasten all those buckles every morning as retribution.

Beelzebub:

He said ���how many belts can I wear on one outfit.”

Justin said it’s like Barry B. Benson and Post Malone had a beautiful baby boy, and Obey Me! is cancelled for creating a sequence of events that could lead to me hearing that with my own two ears.

The jacket?  Stunning.  “It’s steampunk mixed with Jack Sparrow, mixed with Billie Joe Armstrong,” says Justin.  It’s got puffy sleeves!  And there’s objectively too much going on with the jacket, but since it’s a leather jacket I can forgive it.  Justin and Jo can’t.

I’m not sure why they keep giving him weird jacket collars but I prefer belt number 9 to fur.

“Why is it bucked in the back?  Couldn’t it have just been a jacket?” —Megan

Good that the black tank isn’t only black, but he has so little color on his outfit that it would have been nice for it and the matching pattern on his boots to have been a color besides gray.

I don’t mind the belts down the leg because they’re not too in your face.  Jo wants the white belt to be thinner.  Justin wants him to just pick one and go with it.

Poor Beel, he can’t do his lil thigh pat pose without his right hand being assaulted by studs and that bear trap-shaped buckle.

Justin feels like the cowboy boots are too wide up top and it’s probably because they’re FAKE cowboy boots.  I don’t know why he didn’t just get cowboy boots instead of putting fake coverings over his dress shoes.

Can’t fault the twin belt, though.  And the wing hole isn’t terrible.

Idk I guess.  They knew what they wanted to do at least.  

That seems to be the pattern with Beel: they know what they want to do, but something weird happens in the middle of it.

Belphegor:

“I don’t know which Teletubby let their son go through the it’s just a phase mom phase, but they should be ashamed.” —Justin

A toddler who just learned how to cut holes in paper got a hold of his hoodie.

Is it a hoodie?  A jacket?  A poncho?  The cow print actually isn’t terrible.  At least it had the decency to be unique in its spotting.  And the actual presence of blue is very appreciated.

On the topic of colors, Jo is calling the devs out on their apparent fear of color.  “Put the pink elsewhere, cowards,” they say.

We actually don’t hate the horseshoe, and using it for the belt buckles is actually really clever.  Even if 75% of them are doing literally nothing.  Feel like he didn’t need that many.  Could do without the bottom one, maybe even bottom two.

There’s a teeeeny tiny cowbell on the back?  Megan apparently finds that VERY important.  Why do they go to such great lengths to remind us that Belphie’s a cow?  Beel doesn’t rub his hands together 24/7.  Mammon doesn’t even get bird wings.

Just like Satan spilled bleach, Belphie has tar pants.

It’s nice to see a change in pant style, but.  Am I biased because I hate harem pants?  Maybe.  Are these harem pants too short on him?  Yes.  Maybe they were supposed to be parachute capris?  But it just looks he outgrew them too fast and Lucifer won’t buy him new pants yet.  At least they look comfy.

If he puts his keys in those pockets will his pants fall down?  Probably.  That’s a problem considering his are the only pants that look like they could hold any keys.

The shoes are fine.  I can enjoy a high topped sneaker.  …Is that a security tag?  Did he steal his shoes.  Belphie stole his shoes.

On the tiny tail hole, I appreciate that Belphie went for modesty.  But I hope it’s impossible to wear these outfits outside of demon form because I don’t want him walking around with a tiny hole right above his ass.

Honestly he doesn’t even look like a demon?  He just looks like… a cow.

There’s one more aspect of their demon forms that I didn’t feel comfortable forcing into a smaller space than it deserved: Silhouettes.  Jo puts a lot of weight on silhouettes and their role in character design.  Is it dynamic?  Is it recognizable?  Jo ranked them as such:

1. Lucifer: 9/10.  Care and effort were put into this design and it shows. 2. Mammon: 7/10.  Points deducted for most of it being form fitting but otherwise still manages to get a passing grade. 3 (tied). Beelzebub: 5/10.  His wings have actual mass but his horns being mostly hidden by his head reduce his score. 3 (tied). Belphegor: 5/10.  Evens out since his clothes aren’t as form fitting as the others but they also kind of turn him into a blob. 5. Asmodeus: 4/10, and only because he’s got multiple wings and that his tailcoat breaks up the bottom half. 6. Satan: 3/10, for the fact HIS BOA carries most of the work in altering his silhouette. 7. Leviathan: 2/10.  The tail and horns prevent this from being a total flop.

Our (surprisingly unanimous!) ranking of their outfits (not counting Megan her opinions deviated) were:

Mammon

Lucifer

Leviathan

Belphegor

Beelzebub

Asmodeus

Satan

In conclusion, any M-rated fic that doesn’t have it take demon Satan 20 minutes to take off his shirt is too unrealistic.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 24

first time reader click here

TWs/Summary: The party, finally. Nerds be nerds. They're all dorks tbh. Booze and partying. Clint is a disaster. Natasha is a queen. I beg for comments from y'all cuz I'm short on serotonin 🥺🥺🥺💚✨

This is a Spotify playlist I made for the first half of the party. Sets the mood 😌

The party was booming, the room was flooded with a large amount of people dressed in various extravagant outfits. It was enough to sweep my eyes over the crowd only once to take notice of the thought and money people had put into their outfits. I hardly noticed any cheesy "angel/devil" or "sexy cat" ensembles, my eyes caught on gemstones and feathers and floor-length gowns instead.

First Avenger to catch my eye was Thor - only because the people surrounding him barely held back from drooling. Hell, I did a spit-take: the usually graceless giant stood casually posted at one of the snack tables, wearing silver robes embroidered with tiny sparkling gemstones; a sleek, angular crown rested atop his head, his blonde hair was longer, lighter and straight. One look at his ears and the realisation struck me: Thor was Thranduil, the Elven king. It made sense since Peter had the thunderer hooked on the Lord of the Rings movies a couple of weeks ago...

Both Loki and Wanda cleaned up no less nicely. The Witch was wearing a midi dress, airy and soft, in pastel tones that brought out the natural rosiness of her cheeks and the scarlet undertones glimmering in the strands of her hair. Unlike me, she chose to wear a sparkling tiara, which Loki had created after a short debate - it was an intricate material illusion meant to last for at least ten hours.

Loki himself was a work of art: dark and macabre fantasy painting. I could barely tear my eyes away from the pale, tall man clad in dark green silks and brocade. The candlelight threw shadows on his angular face and his sharp cheekbones stood out more than ever: twenty minutes I spent on convincing him to let me put make-up on his face paid off spectacularly. Flickering lights toyed with the emeralds and forest greens of the shiny silk of his vest, giving Loki an ethereal glow. His eyes shone crimson red, making nearby people throw equally startled and appreciative looks.

As for myself, the stares I got were no more and no less than I expected. The dress I'd been aching to wear fit me perfectly, earthen tones, hand-embroidered blossoms and delicate golden threading. The layers of my skirt were just voluminous enough to give me the extra airy, floating walk, the medium-height platforms of my shoes lightening my step. The ropes securing them to my legs were decorated with flowers so delicate they looked real.

The peak of my outfit took an arm and a leg in bribery of the resident sorcerer-turned-vampire, but in the end, even Loki himself could hardly look away from his creation. An hour of research and some serious magic voodoo shit was what it took for the fluttering fairy wings to sit between my shoulder blades. I felt them as an extension of my own body, and whilst flying was definitely out of the question, I could flicker them and felt the delicate brush of Wanda's fingers as she admired the translucent, blue-green, marble-patterned sheen of pure, concentrated magic.

In hindsight, I should have simply bought a set of pre-made wings and asked Loki to enchant them to move on their own. Hindsight... I wasn't good at that. So, in this moment, with the wings syncing up with my jittery nerves, the shiny traitors shook with the force of stares directed at our little trio. There was an absurd amount of gorgeous people and breathtaking costumes, yet even then, we stood out like Mona Lisa in an indie art gallery. Muted 'woah's and 'oh-my-gods' traveled across the room, turning even more heads towards us.

"And you wanted to wear Walmart," I weakly chuckled in Wanda's direction, seeing her wide eyes and Loki's arm rapidly wrapping around her waist, catching her a brief moment before she stumbled. The trickster looked unimpressed and bored for all the world to see, but to me, the slight twitching of his eyebrow told me he wasn't feeling that much different from us girls either.

"Brother!" Thor gestured us over with a drink in each hand, parting the crowd of people easily.

Noah, et tu? I had no choice but to swallow my unease, hoping my concealer and highlighter did their job and my face hadn't lost the sublime glow I was aiming for. For a girl like me, the Fae aesthetic wasn't easily achieved: naturally, I wasn't innocent, I wasn't playful... However, I was mischievous. Plenty of that.

Spotting a semi-familiar face in the crowd of partygoers, I gave the man a lopsided grin and a wink without actually taking note of who he was. Tonight, I would be a fairy. I would play.

"King," Wanda mock-bowed with a laugh, carefully embracing Thor. Even Loki did a brief, composite left-handed tilt with a slight smirk.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" I giggled, immediately making grabby hands for the nearest brightly coloured, fruity concoction that fell into my eyesight. Being sober at a party was not something I had planned to be: first drink went down like water as Thor explained the whereabouts of our various friends.

"Steven and James are with Lady Natasha, there is a knife-throwing contest outside on the patio," As soon as those words left his mouth, Loki immediately perked up, not-so-subtly turning his torso towards the large open area.

"Go," I ushered him. "Win us something, good sir," With a chuckle of my own, I grabbed Wanda by the hand for both of us to give a chaste good luck kiss to each of Loki's cheeks. He smiled as I threw a tiny amount of sparkles at him, shouting "GOOD LUCK!" to his retreating back.

"Princess?" I heard a curious voice pipe up behind me, an arm carefully wrapping itself under my wings. Said arm jerked as the sensitive matter of my wings fluttered away from the touch, shivers running down my spine and making me shuffle in place awkwardly.

"Tickles," I breathed out, voice pitched.

Tony's utterly perplexed face came into view as he gave me an open-mouthed once-over. "Darling..." He cleared his throat. I had managed to rob Tony Stark of his words! "You look... Exquisite." His eyes critically surveyed the amount of make-up and glitter on my face before he lifted the inside of my wrist, touching his lips to the pulse point for two long seconds, stealing my breath away with the simple, intimate gesture. It was by far more powerful than having to get glitter out of his beard if he'd kissed me on the lips, or even on the cheek.

"Congratulations, you've caught a Fae," I grinned mischievously, my own eyes widening at the amount of tiny little details on Tony's costume. Delicate, moving clockwork gears and metals interwoven with dark brown, harsh leather; he wore a tophat decorated with a pair of glasses and both his arms and harnesses had moving details of polished, dull-grey chrome. It was unreal, like Tony had stepped out of a Steampunk graphic novel, like he'd just got done filming the Wild West movie. "Nerd," I affectionately brushed my fingers - glitter-free hand - along the handlebar mustache he'd grown out.

Tony spoke over Thor's laughter, pressing himself closer to me, this time careful around my wings. "Do I get to make a wish?"

"Don't be rude, Tony. The Fair Folk should be treated with politeness and respect," Bruce's amused voice signaled his arrival before I even saw him. His costume and Tony's complimented each other: whereas Tony the wngiy obviously was some sort of inventor, Bruce was a doctor, or perhaps, a chemist. Instead of moving gears, he had an array of brightly coloured vials attached to a gold-and-green embroidered belt, and a single monocle replaced his usual rectangular glasses. The scientist gallantly raised my palm to his lips, fighting a smile of his own. Utter nerds! "You're the most beautiful thing in this room, Princess. Everyone can't take their eyes off you," With that, a brief, bright flash of green blinked in his eyes and then I knew, Bruce and Hulk would be on my back, watching out for me wherever I would decide to go.

The knots in my back, in my stomach, slowly began to unwind, the feeling accelerated by the warmth of alcohol sitting low in my belly. I was happily sandwiched between my two men, chatting with Wanda and Thor, nibbling on the spooky treats that Tony's catering services had provided. They were delicious.

Sam appeared, dragging a flushed Clint in tow. The archer had evidently gotten well into his drinks, seeing as he was holding a horn in one hand whilst the other still barely held onto his head. Despite the costume fail, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"We need glue," Sam announced, smiling in our direction. "Well, hello, ladies," Briefly, abandoning his bird bro, Sam kissed a giggling Wanda on the cheek and wrestled one of my hands from Tony to peck it, too. "My, my eyes have been so blessed!"

"What are you?" Wanda asked the man curiously, pointing at his... a sort of toga, brown leather shoes that looked more like hooves and a crown of... grapevine?

"Dionysus," Sam mock-bowed, "And this is my Pan. Who happens to be a lightweight and enjoys annoying witches that can throw knives with scary precision!" The man announced, annoyed, whilst Clint just drunkenly giggled as he was helped by Thor - the Asgardian-Elf was doing something to the archer's headdress and putting the wonky horn back in its place, hands steady despite Clint's swaying and squirming.

"Classy," I toasted Sam. "Who's the knife-throwing witch?"

"Natasha," He grabbed a drink of his own. "She went as Yennefer, both fossils are Witchers and Pietro is Jaskier. He looks like a proper court jester in that purple... Thing," The dark man was giggling, too, somewhat tipsy.

"The Ass of America could fit his sizeable rear end in leather pants? How much KY jelly did they use?" Tony snorted mockingly as all of us laughed. I remembered seeing an interview with Henry Cavill and his troubles regarding the leather pants - Tony's question was valid and you can fuckin' quote me on that.

"Man, don't ask me. I've already seen more than enough of him and Barnes in the supply closet," Sam winced, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"And what were you doing in the supply closet, Wilson?" Natasha was absolutely breathtaking in the black mesh dress. Pietro next to her looked like a masquerade attendee - in a good way. He had gone with the video game version of Jaskiers outfit and was a bright addition to or our mostly black and pastel coloured party.

Sam grumbled something unintelligible, striking a conversation with Pietro and Clint, pulling the rest of us into it one by one. People came by and went, saying their hellos and asking to take pictures - the party was attended by mostly SI and trusted SHIELD employees with the exception of a few B-level celebrities Tony knew personally, no press was allowed beyond their designated area so all of us could afford some degree of frivolity.

Steve and Bucky - oh my God their costumes were tight - shared kisses and heated glances over the tops of our heads. Bruce's hand snuck under the highest part of my skirt, caressing my legs and Tony's soft pecks on the top of my head filled me with the warmest sense of adoration. Loki, being the gentleman he was, had won both me and Wanda each a stuffed spider which we gracefully accepted, thanking the trickster with a dance.

Or three. Wanda went first, eyes sparkling and smile ten miles wide as she soaked up the admiration, the envious stares of the people in the room. The witch looked simply stunning, she was glowing, and Loki next to her shared the sentiment wholeheartedly - a small grin decorated his face, eyes kindest I'd ever seen them. In that moment, Wanda truly was a princess.

Three and a half drinks in, I swayed gently to the music, unbothered by the smile creeping on my face as I watched the two magical people dance and mingle. "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey..." Singing along was a pesky habit of mine that manifested itself after a certain amount of liquor circulated through my system. It wasn't like I was a bad singer - my parents had made me take music classes until I was sixteen - but it was generally an embarrassing moment nonetheless. In that moment, I didn't give a damn. "You're as sweet as strawberry wine..." Trust Tony to pick the kind of music I actually knew and liked.

A flash of purple and my glass was snatched out of my hand and promptly downed. Shamelessly grinning, Pietro gave me a look with that cocky tilt of his lips, blonde hair in utter disarray. "That your work?" He nodded towards the dancing couple, giving the empty glass to Bruce who was now watching my swaying with a careful eye.

"My and Loki's," I replied dryly."Thank you," Pietro replied sincerely. "Wanda needed this," Briefly looking me over (fuckin' glitter! I was missing out on so many hugs!), the blonde settled on squeezing my hand between his own. "May I steal your lady for a dance?" He addressed Bruce, seeing as Tony was immersed in a conversation with some dude dressed as Marty from Back to The Future. IT department, maybe?

"You may, but no funny business," Bruce looked godly in his outfit with the stern expression: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and irises having just a tinge of green. Hulk watching me added an unexpected sort of spice to our interactions. It made me feel...

"Let's go, Printsesa," Pietro unceremoniously dragged me to the dancefloor, all but stomping over other people's feet, shoes, tails and various other accessories. Boys will be boys... And we danced, and we laughed - until Loki and Wanda floated over to us, promptly swapping partners with fluidity I didn't expect from either of the twins. I watched Pietro spin Wanda with a smile as the Witch shrieked and cursed at her overenthusiastic brother.

"How's it going, Lokes?" I addressed the resident vampire, placing an arm on his shoulders. Tall ass bastard.

"Better than I expected," He admitted. "Although I cannot say I appreciate intoxicated Midgardian males."

"Nobody likes drunk dudes," I rolled my eyes. "I've lost count how many faces I've punched and balls busted at parties. They just don't learn."

"Oh, indeed, you're a fighter, little one. How could have I forgotten?" Loki teased me, doing an elaborate twirl to narrowly avoid the slap I was aiming at his chest. Tall, cheeky bastard.

I definitely should have put salt in his tea sugar.

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