#can the void reflect? | musings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stareaterau · 8 months

Text

Chapter 1 episode 3

←Previous episode

Next episode→

Index

---

Let's see if these two have murdered each other yet

CW: injury, blood, violence

Read below↓

Or AO3

"You're that bird person from the alleyway."

In front of Scar, the familiar stranger stands motionless and quiet, framed by the striated walls of the ravine. Despite having placed their weapon back in its sheath, they still look as if they’re on edge. Their body is tightly wound, their wings held out slightly, in a subtle effort to make their form larger, combating Scar's height. At their side, their taloned hands hang, fidgeting restlessly.

Scar shuffles awkwardly under his piercing gaze, growing more uncomfortable by the second. His reflection stares back at him from the deep, black voids of their eyes. At first, Scar had thought that they were utterly black, but, looking now, he can see the slight edge of brown circling his wide pupils, the bright sun casting an almost purple sheen across their surface. They’re quite pretty, he muses, as he waits for the other's response. He rocks on his heels, grimacing slightly at the deep ache setting into his legs and the soles of his feet.

Growing impatient at the silence, Scar reaches out, tempting fate by waving his hand in front of the bird's face. Nothing. The stranger continues to stare at Scar, unblinking. The only sign of recognition he can decipher is the slightest flicker of his feathers as they bristle at the proximity. Scar huffs, disappointed at his failure to evoke a reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have big, creepy eyes?”

That manages to break him out of his stoic stare. He splutters awkwardly, gawking, an incredulous look crossing his face. He looks away, embarrassed.

“Ah hah! You looked away, I won the staring contest!” Scar grins triumphantly.

“I wasn't- what? I was just processing-” The stranger doesn’t return the disarming gesture, their mouth a thin line. Their arms clank softly against each other as he crosses them. Scar hadn’t gotten a good look at them before. He’d thought that they had just been wearing a long, black undershirt at first, but there’s no mistaking the dark metallic casing and wiring of the robotic prosthetics.

“Imagine the chances we’d ever meet again, huh?” Scar grins wildly, stepping forward with as open a demeanour as he can muster, pretending he’s meeting an old friend. He almost is, in a messed up way.

The stranger doesn’t return this warm gesture either. Instead, he frowns at Scar, a multitude of emotions unsuccessfully masked as they cross his face. His gaze flickers up to meet Scar’s eyes before something scared or sorrowful flashes in him, directing the strangers' eyes to their feet instead. Their expression now hides behind their tangled hair as it falls across his face. He searches for the right words, but they die on his tongue. Shaking his head, he resets his expression, carefully masking any unwanted emotion. Finally, he looks back at Scar with a soft yet concerned smile.

“I- I couldn't- I sorta thought I killed you that night.”

“Oh… OH! I'm like a ghost to you!” Scar raises his hands in a mock scary gesture, making a low ‘ooo’ sound to do his best imitation of one. It would put everyone else’s attempts to shame at the yearly Vindicators' spaceween party, he thinks smugly. He’s sure his attempts to lessen the tension between his evidently awkward company and himself is working. It always works… or it works sometimes at least… Actually, this might be the first time he’s been able to get this far.

Unamused, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “Well not so much anymore- you'd be a pretty bad ghost if I could’ve tackled you that easily.”

“Ah- that's no fair. You have wings… and I don’t have the ability to turn incorporeal, yet.”

“Mm-hm.” The stranger hums, shifting as they drag their taloned feet through the sand, etching grooves in the grainy surface. Scar pauses, racking his brain for a response, desperately not wanting to lose the traction on the conversation he had just gained. If he lets the stranger shut himself off now, he’ll have to do all the work to get him to open up again. Scar doesn’t want the only sounds in this empty desert to be himself and the whistle of wind through sandstone tunnels.

“My name is Scar, by the way.”

The stranger turns his attention back to Scar. Pausing, as if they’re expecting there to be more to that statement. They frown, not looking convinced.

“Is that a nickname, or just an unfortunate coincidence?” They ask, tentatively, like they’re trying to avoid saying something to offend Scar.

“Hah! Wouldn't you like to know!”

That, out of everything, gets a laugh. However, the stranger quickly tries to disguise it behind a fake cough, burying his face in his arm. Scar smirks, satisfied by the other's reaction, ignoring a twinge of pain from the knife wound in his shoulder.

They look back to Scar, a more playful expression creeping its way onto their face. “…Yes, that is the nature of a question.”

Their wings slowly lower back into a more natural position, the muscles relaxing— not muscles, his wings look robotic, too. They’re covered in feathers, but they’re held up and moved by a metal armature where the bone should be. For a second, Scar wonders how much of their body remains untouched by metalwork.

Regardless, Scar just beams at him, revelling in his ability to make them laugh. Happy with his ability to lessen their agitation, he makes no indication of wanting to answer the question.

The stranger chuckles awkwardly at the silence and shrugs.

“Heh… well, my name's Grian.”

“Oh! That name really suits you.”

“Thanks?”

Scar watches as they pick up their helmet off the ground, shaking it gently to knock out the sand. They clip the helmet to their belt and turn away from Scar, walking off in the direction Scar had been headed earlier.

“Where are you going?” He calls out at him.

“I- We-” Scar catches the way Grian corrects himself, hoping that means his new friend has decided not to try attacking him again, “-should get moving to somewhere with more cover. It's getting darker.”

“Wh- how could you even tell that? It feels like the whole sky is just the sun.”

To emphasise his point, Scar stands up straighter, turning his gaze to the sky to try and pinpoint the sun within the harsh light. After a moment, he shields his eyes from the glare with his hand. Another moment later, unsuccessful, Scar lowers his gaze. He blinks rapidly and rubs his eyes, trying to lose the blurry afterimage that stays behind and plagues his vision. Grian looks away from Scar, an unreadable, mostly uncomfortable expression on his face. He flexes his wings, shaking his feathers out, then strides away.

Scar realises he’s falling behind. He catches up hastily, coughing up an air of responsibility to match Grian’s. They are a ‘we’ after all.

Scar is honestly glad for Grian's company. He provides a familiar face, even if he is a familiar face he met only briefly… and a familiar face that promptly tried to kill him upon reuniting. At least Scar doesn’t feel like he has to pretend to be serious around him— Grian has that handled for the both of them. Although, Scar is certainly going to do his best to break through the birds' cold facade. “So, are we heading in any particular direction?”

Grian shakes his head, before realizing he should elaborate.

“I can fly up and scout out a direction later, but not now. Right now, I'd like to find a spot to rest.”

He stretches his wings out fully, the feathers bristling as the hinges make a soft rattling whine. Scar marvels at the impressive wingspan. He’s never seen wings quite this big before.

“You were flying a lot?” Scar watches them, intrigued. They don’t look like elytra, despite their metal parts, and Grian has far more control over them than even an experienced user. Elytra also don’t tend to come feathered like his— his look jarringly realistic. Maybe he’s an avian?

Scar’s never actually seen an avian before, though that’s not out of the ordinary. Most people haven’t. Could robotic enhancements be commonplace amongst them? Scar is somewhat familiar with enhancements, they’d even been offered to him once, but he’d declined, opting for the less invasive options. Mechanically enhancing what were once organic wings is the only option Scar can think of that matches Grian’s capabilities. That must be what he is, Scar concludes. Though, he pictured avians being taller.

“Yes,” Grian replies bluntly, his tone changing noticeably at the subject.

“Do you have an enderchest?” Scar inquires instead, searching for topics that aren’t sore spots.

Grian whips his head up to look at Scar, a bewildered expression spreading across his face.

“...What? No.”

“Dang it.” Scar sighs.

“Why would you want an enderchest?” He asks, growing curious after the initial surprise.

“I lost mine. It has some pretty important things in it that I need.” Scar hums, looking down at his scratched leg braces. They’re starting to creak under the strain of walking for so long. If Grian had one, he could use it to access his stuff. He really could do with his cane, or anything that can ease the stress on his braces. Grian follows Scar’s gaze, a particularly strained expression returning to his face. Scar frowns at how he almost looks guilty.

“I know you’re a Vindicator and everything,” Grian makes an effort to maintain the current topic and hide the distaste in his tone as he eyes Scar’s neat, albeit dusty, uniform. Scar isn’t surprised by Grian’s opinion on Vindicators. Grian was wanted by them when they had first met, but he at least has the decency to swap his tone out for a more apologetic one towards the end. “Enderchests aren't as common as you think. It might be a while till you can get to one.”

“...Really?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know where we are, then?” Scar quizzes, taking note of Grian's phrasing.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don't know where we are, or how I got here. You're the first person I've seen.”

Grian looks away, pausing to calculate his answer. His hard-won casual demeanour bleeds back into his previous defensive apathy. “We're in the same boat, I have no idea.”

Scar watches him, sure that Grian is holding something back. There’s something he doesn’t want Scar to know. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Pressing him on it would probably just push the avian further away. The last thing Scar wants to do is push away the only person he’s seen for miles, especially when that person seems to know more than what they let on. He chooses to stay quiet. He’s anxious to avoid agitating the bird further. He still has a weapon, and Scar is rather fond of the idea of not finding himself on the other end of it again.

Silence falls over the two, the only sound coming from their steady footfalls meeting the sandy ground, and the whistle of wind through the caverns. Eventually, his worry about Grian shutting him out completely resurfaces, but he isn’t sure what to say.

“So… got a favourite animal?”

“You have an awful way of being chummy with your would-be murderer.” Grian titters.

“I wouldn't call you that.”

“Still.” he shrugs, unconvinced.

“I don't think you were trying to kill me. At least not the first time.”

Abruptly, Grian stills, his feathers bristling.

“And about today- I'm not dead, and you’re not in the process of killing me, see?” Scar carries on. Grian turns away sharply, but Scar is undeterred.

“You're a pretty unsuccessful murderer, if you are one. I've put myself in more danger on purpose than you’ve put me in on accident.” Scar barks out a laugh, but receives no response. Grian's face hides behind his cheek feathers and hair.

“You don't know me,” Grian replies flatly.

“But I'd like to.”

Scar tilts his head, stepping in front of the bird, trying to get a read on his face. They lock eyes only briefly. Grian’s eyes are wide, his brow furrowed, and his face contorted by a frown.

“Anddd- we have time-” Scar adds more gently, “You said you wanted to rest.”

“What if my kind of rest doesn't involve talking?” Grian retorts, tone still flat, but the slight lilt of amusement is unmistakable.

“Oh, well-”

Scar doesn’t get the chance to finish his thought. A shrill, distorted cry fills the sky above them.

Grian and Scar both turn on the spot, their heads snapping in the direction of the sound. Soaring above them is a colony of three familiar creatures. Bright green eyes lock onto them both.

“Are those-”

“Phantoms.” Grian finishes, his feathers standing on end, fluffing up reflexively.

“What are phantoms doing here?” Scar asks, searching Grian for any indication that he knows what’s going on, but the avian looks just as clueless. Phantoms shouldn’t be here. They are artificially manufactured creatures, used as surveillance drones and protection in big cities, or anywhere where the landowners are wealthy enough to afford them. Scar encountered many during his patrols in the capital of Vindicator territory. They definitely aren’t something you would find in the wilderness, let alone a desolate desert like this one. They don’t even count as wildlife, as they’re more robotic than organic. The last of the desert sun reflects off the metallic plating lining their backs as they twist and glide through the air. The bright lights of their eyes shine, harsh and cold, illuminating Scar and Grian with a green glow in the ever-darkening wasteland.

Grian grabs Scar's elbow and drags him towards the walls of the ravine.

“We need to hide!” He hisses. Scar, not arguing, follows him through the tighter passages of the caverns. Unfortunately, they don’t provide as much cover as they had hoped, the walls still far enough apart for the bat-like creatures to give chase. They dash into a covered tunnel, but they have already been spotted, the phantoms fly lower, circling.

As one of the creatures dives towards the entrance, Grian pushes Scar behind him and backs them both closer to the wall. Scar, taken aback by the sudden protectiveness, can only go along with it in a dumbfounded daze.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” Grian asks, quickly scanning him up and down.

Scar falters. “Uh- no.”

“What kind of Vindicator are you?” Grian raises his voice, pulling an expression somewhere between angry and amused.

“Hey! I didn't decide I wanted to be stranded without weapons- they've been taken.” Scar counters, a comically sad look on his face.

“What?” Genuine surprise plasters across Grian’s features. Another piercing shriek fills the air, interrupting him, as another phantom separates from the group and dives towards them.

Quickly, Grian turns back to face the danger. Spreading his wings out as far as they can go, he presses Scar into the sandy, stone wall. Scar splutters, feathers catching in his mouth. As delighted as he is that Grian is now deciding to protect him, Scar can’t help feeling defenceless as Grian takes their lives into his own hands.

“We are so screwed with one sword between us.” Scar complains hopelessly, pushing the feathers out of his face. The phantom barely misses them, metal slamming into soft rock with a clang, causing sand and debris to rain down over them. The creature flies back to regroup with the other two, hopefully with wounded pride. That is, assuming it’s even capable of feeling pride.

“It's also a gun,” Grian adds.

“It's also a gun!?!” Scar gasps, a plan formulating in his mind. “How!? Show me! A gun is way more useful!”

Utilising the advantage of being held so close to the avian, Scar reaches forward and grabs the sword out of its holster, unnoticed.

“No, that's a bad idea!” Grian cries as Scar ducks, slipping under Grian’s wing and sprinting ahead to the mouth of the cave.

As he raises the blue blade, Grian lets out a shrill yell. He lunges for Scar as the Vindicator inspects the weapon, prodding at the grooves for a button and thumping the hilt against his palm.

Scar clicks a button that looks like a trigger. The knife folds in on itself, clipping in place, and the blue blade shrinks as a portion of its energy is diverted to fill a small bar. That must signify the ammo, Scar hums to himself, pleased at this discovery.

"Don't shoot it!" Grian yells with surprising ferocity, but Scar can’t see an alternative. Grian reaches him, grabbing onto Scar’s injured shoulder. He bites down on his tongue, hard, to avoid flinching. Making use of his military training, he forces himself to push through the throbbing pain.

Grian quickly releases him, hissing in pain himself. Scar doesn’t take the time to find out what hurt the avian, instead scanning the phantoms as they twist in the air, preparing to dive again, excited that their prey has moved into the open. He aims, and fires.

The shot makes contact with a phantom just as it dives towards them, long metal claws spread wide and teeth bared as it shrieks. The bullet burrows into the soft, fleshy material on its lower jaw, embedding itself deep in the phantom's head. The creature's cry dies in its throat, its eyes flickering out. It tumbles to the ground, kicking up dust in front of Grian and Scar. Smoke billows out of the mouth of the creature, the bullet wound smouldering.

Scar hears a quiet “woah” from behind him.

“Ahah! Did you see that??” Scan grins, amazed that he actually hit it on his first try. Scar spins on the spot to face Grian, who blinks at him, mouth agape. Scar twirls the gun in his hand, the remaining blade shrinking as more power is diverted to refill the used ammo.

Grian huffs, regaining his composure, and scowls. “Well, I was looking straight at it, so yeah- and give me that!” He snatches his weapon back from Scar with a grunt.

The other two phantoms dive into the ravine. They move faster and more daringly, learning from the mistake of their fallen friend.

“Oh … oh no.” Scar whispers.

Grian unfolds the weapon, its blade noticeably smaller than its original size, and places it back into its holster. “See, I told you the gun is a bad idea! Ask before you waste someone's bullets!”

This time he makes a point of keeping his hand on its hilt, both to prevent Scar from trying to take it again, and to be ready to fend off the approaching phantoms if they get too close.

“There's only two now- I could just hit them again!” Scar argues, casting a panicked glance at the approaching creatures.

“That was pure luck- without bullets, I don’t have a blade, and without a blade, I'm without a weapon!” A dark tone infects Grian's words as he glares at Scar, who sighs defeatedly.

“Well, what else can we use? There's no other projectiles.” The phantoms scratch at the exit, waiting for either of them to get too close.

“I don't know, be creative with it!” Grian huffs hopelessly, his face taut with frustration.

“I could throw you.” Scar teases, eyeing up the shorter man to emphasize his joke. Grian just stares back at him with a deadpan expression, and Scar giggles to himself. Scar takes a small step towards the exit. Not too far, but it's enough that one of the phantoms spots them separate and focuses on him with a screech.

Grian shoves past Scar, who continues to giggle to himself, and reaches for the only other thing he has on him. Holding his helmet in his hand, he takes a full-bodied swing at the phantom clawing towards him, close enough to scrape against Grian’s arm. Metal cracks against metal as he hits the phantom, hard, and it’s flung back by the force. The creature rolls helplessly through the sand, metal plating creaking under the strain of the new dent. Grian inhales shakily, thankfully unharmed.

Scar lets out an alarmed cry, and Grian looks up in time to see the phantom regain its bearings. It shakes, sand flying off in every direction, and launches itself back into the air with a powerful flap of its wings. It circles a few times before swooping back down towards them, faster this time, its eyes blazing and its jaw wide and unhinged.

Grian panics. He makes an involuntary squawk and launches his helmet right at the injured phantom. The helmet collides with the phantom's head with a sickening crunch, and the phantom falls limply out of the air.

“Aha! I got it!” Grian shouts triumphantly. Scar cheers behind him, just as surprised that it worked.

Their celebrations are horribly timed. The final phantom wails and plummets towards them. They both throw themselves out of the way, only to watch it grab the helmet in its claws and retreat over the ravine walls, out of sight.

“Noooo!” Grian cries out, running hopelessly back into the ravine. He stretches his wing out, readying himself to take off after the phantom, but he hesitates. He decides against it, holding his head in his hands, groaning over the loss of his helmet.

“…. Well …at least it's gone now,” Scar says, walking up beside Grian, hoping to cheer him up a little. Grian just laughs, dejected.

Sighing, he looks up at the sky. The sun has almost entirely disappeared from view now, revealing a dark red sky. Grian yawns, stretching his arms over his head. He flinches as his wounded shoulder is pulled by the movement, and Scar yelps quietly to himself, his hand reaching for his own injured shoulder.

Grian turns to Scar, a tired look on his face. He eyes Scar’s jacket as he rubs at it absent-mindedly, the fabric stained from where Grian had stabbed him. Grian frowns, contemplating his next move.

He walks past Scar, his steps heavy on the sandy ground. Re-entering the cavern, he all but collapses onto the sandy ground. Exhaustion and pain catch up to him as the adrenaline from the fight wears off. Sand billows around him as Grian’s tail drags across the floor, curling around himself. He looks up at Scar, who hasn’t moved, hesitating over what to do while Grian makes himself comfortable.

“...Come here.” Grian instructs him, his expression softening.

“Okay?” Scar replies, and sits himself down next to the bird. Slumping against the wall, he lets out a sigh of relief, glad to finally be off his feet.

Looking at Grian, he expects him to move away, but the avian shuffles closer to him.

“Alright then, take off your jacket.” Grian taps Scar’s arm, directing him.

Scar complies, pulling his shirt over his head at the same time.

“Just your jacket!” Grian squawks, “You don't need-” he fumbles at Scar’s teasing grin.

“It's hot! Besides, it’s a perfect opportunity to show off my awesome pecs.” Scar flexes for added flare. The softness is gone from Grian’s face.

“I just need to get to your shoulder.”

“Oh- what are you doing?”

“Wound dressing, or it's gonna get infected.”

“You have healing supplies?” Scar raises an eyebrow.

Grian fixes Scar with a weird look. Of course he has healing supplies. He always has healing supplies. He was just hoping to save them for himself… Scar doesn’t need to know that, though.

“...Yea… I just- forgot.”

Digging into one of his trouser pockets, Grian pulls out a small box. He pulls open the latch, revealing a small collection of items inside. It’s nothing like the regeneration potions that the Vindicators are equipped with, but Scar recognises some small healing wipes and rolls of dressings.

Grian raises the wipes to clean up the now-dried blood. He inspects the wound— Scar’s lucky his blade didn’t go too deep or hit a bone. It just falls shy of being too wide to go without being stitched up. It still looks nasty though. Grian winces, looking up at Scar with an apologetic look. As gently as he can, he starts to clean the wound.

“Sorry about this… by the way.”

“It's alright.”

Grian carefully cleans and bandages Scar’s wound, while Scar sits and tries to think of jokes and bizarre questions to ask the avian. They never make it past his lips, though— he isn’t sure it’s a good idea when Grian is looking more and more guilty as he works, Grian’s gaze occasionally drifting to the scars covering the right side of his companion’s body. It isn’t hard for him to guess why they’re there. Scar doesn’t want to push Grian too hard on the subject in case he closes off from him again, and it’s awkward enough as it is.

Instead, Scar settles on a different, more genuine approach.

“You know, I forgive you.”

Grian's discomfort is immediate. Scar is close enough to watch as his feathers pin back against his head. The avian avoids Scar’s gaze, instead focusing solely on his wound. He knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“You shouldn't. That's not fair, I barely know you.” He frowns, his hands pausing over Scar’s shoulder.

“I know that! But, well, you looked a lot worse back then,” Scar explains, admiring the brightly coloured feathers covering Grian’s face and ears. He remembers how dull and grimy they looked two and a half years ago.

There’s a waiver in Grian's voice, a lump growing in his throat. “And I left you looking dead-”

“But it was an accident!” Scar corrects.

Grian takes in a sharp breath. Scar watches his tail flicking at his feet.

“What can I do to make you stop bringing it up?” Grian asks quietly, pushing unnecessarily hard against the dressing of Scar’s wound. Scar hisses, and Grian removes his hand immediately as if he had burnt himself.

With a muttered apology, Grian sighs, resigned, finally looking back up at Scar.

“...Okay. If we're gonna be travelling together, I'll make a deal with you.”

Scar sits up straighter, intrigued.

“For almost killing you… twice,” Grian elaborates, “I'll be indebted to you and will protect you until we escape this game.”

“Game?” Scar repeats, confused. Is this a game?

“Urh- trap-” Grian stutters, trying to cover up his choice of words. “I’ll help you get home, off this planet. It mostly- depends on-” he waffles on.

“You won't kill me?” Scar clarifies, briefly dropping the cheerful disposition he had so carefully applied.

“I mean… third time’s the charm-” Grian grins foolishly. He coughs out a laugh when Scar doesn't return the sentiment, instead pulling a concerned expression. “...No, I won't kill you, that was a joke.”

Scar mulls the idea over. He gasps at a realization. “So you’ll be my sidekick?”

“...No.”

“Driver? Sofa?” Scar asks, trying to think of the word.

“Chauffeur, and no.” Grian sits back. “As I was saying- you not bringing up that night again is also part of the deal.” His tone is serious, expression hardened with no hint of amusement. He stares right at Scar, his void-like eyes boring into him. Scar feels like he might get cursed by looking into his eyes for too long.

So naturally, he tests that.

“And you'll let me use your gun?”

“Nope.” Grian replies without hesitation.

“Oh, I mean gun sword.”

“You're pushing it.” Grian acknowledges, glaring at him.

“Okay. okay, deal.”

“Good.”

They shake on it. Long, metal talons meeting worn, gloved hands.

“Can I say one thing about that day?” Scar asks, pulling his hand back.

Grian stares at Scar.

“It's just a little thing.” Scar holds his fingers millimetres apart to emphasize his point.

Grian maintains his steady glare at him. Scar attempts to pull a sad puppy-dog face, earning himself a snort from the avian.

“Fine.” Grian groans, rolling his eyes.

“If it’s any help, I'm glad you look better than you did back then. Cooler, even. Not all beat up and soggy.” Scar says sweetly.

“That doesn't really help at all- for any reason-”

“No, I mean, like- your wings, they look all- fuller? Fluffy.” Scar adds, for lack of a better word. He watches as Grian’s face turns bright red. He doesn’t normally get described as ‘fluffy’.

“I- They're not pin feathers anymore- you mean.” He stammers, completely flustered.

“Oh- pin feathers?” Scar asks, curiously. He’s not too familiar with avian biology.

“It's like a waxy sheath that covers new feathers when they grow-” He cuts himself off, waving his hand as he stops the tangent.

“Anyway! We agreed not to bring it up!" He pouts, annoyed at how quickly he forgot his own rule.

Grian hastily finishes folding all the unused bandages back into their box, leaving a small pile of bloody gauze behind in the sand.

Scar stares at them, blinking slowly as he fends off his own adrenaline crash. Grian looks back at the Vindicator sympathetically.

“So, rest.” He offers.

“Rest.” Scar confirms absently.

“I'll be first watch.”

“You sure?” Scar looks over him. It had been Grian who first brought up the idea of resting, hours ago.

Grian just shrugs in response, turning away. “Yeah, I got this. You're the injured one.”

Not wanting to argue, Scar complies, shuffling down until he's lying across the sand. Grian quietly settles into a more comfortable position too, pulling his wings out in front of him. He runs his talons through the feathers, quickly preening the particularly dishevelled spots.

After a while, Grian peers back over at Scar, who is quietly snoring. He fell asleep remarkably quickly. His jacket is rolled up as a pillow— it doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but it’s not like they have any alternatives. Grian watches and waits, double-checking that Scar is fully asleep, slowly making noise with his feathered tail to test him.

Once he’s confident he won’t wake Scar, he turns his back to him and pulls back out his healing supplies.

Cautiously, he slips his sleeve over his shoulder, unbuckling his armour slightly. He gets as good of a look at his shoulder as he can. Blood clots the thick fabric, but thankfully, it must have helped to temporarily bandage the wound, preventing most of it from bleeding through. Not that it would have been easy to spot on the red fabric if it had. Grian winces as he tugs on the dried blood slightly. The wound looks exactly like Scar’s, albeit with more congealed blood. It was a good idea to get a closer look at Scar's injury, he thinks. This confirms his suspicions.

He sighs, reaching for the wipes and dressing, tending to his own hidden wounds until he can clip his armour back in place, the bandages hidden underneath. He frequently checks Scar’s status, who lies completely still, fast asleep.

He leans back against the walls of the cavern, wrapping his wings around himself for comfort. It’s not freezing temperatures, but the air has definitely cooled significantly since the sun dipped below the horizon. Even now the sky refuses to turn fully black, a soft orange glow shining from where the sun had disappeared, basking the world in a reddish hue.

His gaze falls on the sad, broken remains of the phantoms from earlier. He’s got a feeling they’re not going to be the only challenge put in place for them here. He’ll wake Scar up in an hour or so, so he can get his own opportunity to sleep through the rest of this short night.

For now, he sits, and watches.

#stareater au #life series au #grian #gtwscar #desertduo #cw violence #cw injury #cw blood #trafficblr

456 notes · View notes

itwasthereaminuteago · 4 months

Text

|| Sunlight ||

Matt Murdock x GN!reader

Warnings: breakup angst, Matt sad, confused, and crying, 😭

I am working on WIPs but just bashed this out this afternoon, heh, sorry. 😔 Hope you enjoy and please reblog/comment on stuff you like, it makes me so happy, thank you so much! 💜

The morning is still cool, Matt's face is mostly covered with a veil of the morning shadow, the first visible curve of the sun only just starting to peek above the horizon as you sit on the roof together. You had both been up almost all night when you had said you wanted to talk to him, tell him you were going somewhere that he couldn't follow, out of the kitchen, out of New York. Out of the country entirely. And that you didn't want him to follow you, it wouldn't be fair on him.

The Devil ignored the pained sounds of his city only to listen to you break his heart. You had talked all night and he was in need of some air and space to process what you were saying.

You're asking him a question.

“Do you remember them, the sunrise and sunset?” you say softly, staring out over the twinkling grid of the city below.

It takes him a moment to answer, the silence between seeming to stretch on endlessly until he can swallow down the emotion and speak.

“Yeah, I think so. Sometimes it's hard to know if I'm really remembering how it was, or if my brain is just filling in the blanks.”

You take his hand in yours. How did you both end up here?

“Can I describe it to you?” you ask.

Matt tries his best to smile, to lie. Anything to make this easier.

“Please.” He says instead of anything else, instead of begging you to change your mind. He doesn't want to remember this sunrise, this beginning of the first day of many that he'll spend without you near. However much it hurts to hear your voice illustrate how the dark reds and purples are gradually giving way to burnt oranges, pale yellows, and lighter blues, how there are wispy trails of cloud scattered across the canvas of the wakening sky, he makes himself listen. Everything is ephemeral.

“I can’t decide if I like the sunrise or the sunset the most.” you quietly muse.

Matt only knows he prefers those days that were bookended by your presence. He vividly remembers the heat of the summer evenings and the sound of your laughter as he chased you around the apartment for a kiss after work, cold beers and cold fingers skating over warm skin and making you scream with the sudden shock of the contrast and then later, making you cry out his name for a different reason on the couch.

Or the simple taken-for-granted comfort of waking up on a fall morning with you right there beside him, pulling you closer and indulging himself by breathing in your scent and listening to the steady beat of your heart. He thinks about the future, the silence and emptiness that would fill the void left by you in his home. He doesn't know if he can stand it.

When you turn to look at him there's a glimmer from a tear hanging ready to fall from his lashes. All the beautiful colours of the sky reversed within its reflection before it rolled down his face. He had never expected to hear such clichéd words come from your lips - “it's not your fault” and “we just want different things” ring in his ears accompanied by the increasing noise of the waking city below. He never saw any of this coming. He wasn't looking for it, he thought you'd always be together. His guiding light. There was no warning, no noticeable change in your behaviour or the way in which you loved him.

And you had said that you still loved him. How could that make any sense when you were letting him go?

“You'll be alright, Matt. I know you.”

He sniffs, barely nodding at your attempt to comfort him. You did know him, and that's why he can't even try to persuade you not to leave. He couldn't stand to make you feel trapped and unhappy, but he was losing a limb, a piece of his soul. You were tearing yourself away and he could feel it physically hurt like a fresh, deep awful wound in his chest.

The strengthening heat of the sun's cheerful rays dilutes the warmth left on his skin from the touch of your hand. Already he mourns the memory of the softness of your cheek pressing against his, all traces of you fading fast as he hears the click of the front door closing. The sound of your heartbeat, one of the precious constants becoming more distant with every step as you walk away and take the sunlight out of his life.

#matt murdock angst #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x gn reader #oh no sad times 😔

90 notes · View notes

owlpellet · 4 months

Text

i have been having a really difficult time grasping for an identity as an artist lately, to the point that i feel actively repulsed by my own drawings and avoid finishing them. i understand objectively how fallacious and unhealthy it is to place value on your work based on how others perceive it, but when you struggle to connect with other people like i do, art in a way becomes my voice and how i communicate, be it something as simple as 'i enjoyed this media and don't know how to articulate that beyond drawing blorbos', or something more reflective of my innermost thoughts. to give art is my love language, to collaborate ideas is how i dance.

but i can't see what other people see. i can be told over and over by friends how much they love something i have made. i can see that patronizing "two cakes" image a thousand times, and all i can dwell on is the fact that most people only have room for one cake. why does it matter? is it not about the process? the journey? what i have learned? why is it so important that i have an identity, why do i have to impress? who am i even trying to impress? myself? maybe. maybe i just want to be impressed with myself by one thing in my otherwise deeply unimpressive existence, and art feels like the closest thing in reach.

i enjoyed art more before it became about impressing myself. before it became about social currency, and not just how i use it as a way to buy myself attention but how i have somehow managed to devalue that currency in my own mind. when will i be satisfied? why is it so important that i have an identity?

two years ago, i went through a friend breakup from which they easily moved on and i... didn't. a part of me still hasn't. i cried myself to sleep for months. i still cry. my muse left me, and i was left with an ugly void in my chest that festered with feelings of having been used for entertainment and discarded when that interest faded. when words failed me i tried to reach out through art, and that failed me too. in the end i became angrier at myself than anything else, fixated on how i had allowed so much of my identity to draw from one singular source that ultimately did not care.

my style changed. i started producing more abstract images, because i so suddenly felt more abstract myself, but damn me if there is not still a part of me that holds back out of fear that interest will be lost. i can't let it go. i can't create for the sake of it, and it burns me up.

thanks to everyone who has stuck with me and watched me grow. maybe one day you'll get to see what i can actually do. i would like to see it too.

75 notes · View notes

dedfly · 3 months

Note

Can you do a one shot of butter roll cuddling autistic y/n plz? I need it!

yeah I still can't normally comprehend cuddles like is that just hug session usual hug or like hug while laying somewhere anyway I picked the third option

Butter roll cookie x autistic reader

Water dripped from the ceiling of the lab soothingly and only because of this you already desperately wanted to close your eyes and fall into deep sleep for at least 5 hours, forgetting about the noise and the existence of the outside world. This water getting on your nerves, it's almost getting louder, like a drum on your tired brain. How you wish to just become one with the void not feel and not hear at all.

But despite this, some of this restless world felt on your cheek like silence in a winter forest, only if the forest was a living, warm, breathing thing. You sighed and snuggled into Butter Roll Cookie's chest, snuggling there instead of a pillow. I mean who needs s pillow if you have Butter Roll? After all It feels the same. Although the fact that his curls were now lying right on your face giving you a feeling of discomfort, making you wince and bury yourself deeper into his chest. Even such a beuty could be insufferable. But from the outside point of view it seemed that his hair had literally become one with yours from how close you both laying.

It was nice to lie next to him like that. So peaceful. His hand slid to yours, gently taking yours in his, you could practically feel his eyes narrowing.

“Hmm... Do you think maybe the missing ingredient is what distinguishes the cookies from each other? Perhaps we should add...” you sighed heavily, “Oh yes, yes, you told me to be quiet.”

Despite your fatigue, his chest vibrated pleasantly during the conversation, and besides, Butter Roll Cookie like to reflect on the nature of cookies. Difficult choice. On the one hand, the day was terribly exhausting, on the other hand, his chatter usually calms you down. "M no another time,” you mused before he interrupted your train of thoughts.

“But I know for sure that my missing ingredient is you” Jeez... But you still snuggle him a bit harder. It was a silent appreciation to his cheesy but still loving words.

_____________

If it wasn't a request in this thing would be questionable thing like reader eating Butter roll cookie's hair in slumber.

"Butter roll cookie x cuddle" Yeah. I wanted to name it that

I need some good ol' rest

#crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x you #cookie run #butter roll cookie x you #butter roll cookie x reader #butter roll cookie

22 notes · View notes

pinksobg · 10 months

Text

hello! for reflection. i hope you enjoy!

mistery reading :)

oracle and tarot 💌

pile 1: message from future self

heya past me. I am the future. I know you feel down lately. about everything maybe. but you know what can help you? conection with yourself. you know what; ask yourself the questions you are scared of. like: what am I doing to myself. what brings me down now. we need light. you know what. bring yourself to the light. be the own muse of us. no matter what. open up for yourself. thank you.

add messages: crystal, voice, song, void, yellow, sun, letter, digital world, me, miss me, love, confusion, sad... 999 this may be about the present by the way for some people. please take only what resonates. hope it helps. cheering for you. wishing the best.

cards: page of cups rx. 2 of cups.

...

pile 2: message about general advice

add message: museum, goals, advice life, learning, book, self reflection, academic, 2, france, languages, career path.

general advice:

feels like you need an up in your inspirations. maybe simple things like a pinterest board, a new game, a new place, new quotes.

wheel of furtune: maybe something is matter of time. a thing you cant control or dont have control yet.

you get it! try a less negative mindset if it is possible for the moment ofc.

plus I love your energy. uh! i dont know but comes to mind learning about good comunication. social skills maybe. you can do it for sure. like going to the park feel the air if it is possible and confortable for you for sure.

...

pile 3: message about espirituality. woah.

add message: go here you feel the most alive quote, stars, seed, city at night, james arthur songs, train, week, loving you from affar, a girl an ocean, indigo, blue, doors.

woah. I humbly feel it is a love message for you from espirituality. - you both are so close, I dont even know how to separate you 2. im getting so much this song I... dont really know the name... it's I'm tired of loving from afar and never being where you are, don't wanna leave you anymore. - you know the word love. dont wanna leave you anymore. oh darling all of the city lights never shine as bright as your eyes. - you are so so so much loved. - I'm tired of loving you from afar and never being where you are. dont wanna leave you anymore. It's a message about a thing you know. you are not alone on this road. thank you so much. you belong where you want to be.

#tarot community #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #thank you

111 notes · View notes

confessionsofa-roleplayer · 6 months

Text

I think a lot of people on here could benefit from some self-reflection when they’re complaining about not getting interactions. Ask yourself: Have you ever… “Lost” a starter call? Not answered all of the likes you got on it, regardless of how many there are? How many people were “new followers” to you (i.e. people you have zero interactions with) when you did the above? (if you did?) How many of those types of people (“new followers/new mutuals”) sent you memes that you’ve yet to answer (and it’s been more than 2 weeks since they sent it)? How often do you like mutuals’ posts? Even just their OOC posts? How much do you comment on them and interact with them? Do you like their starter calls or plot calls? Have they sent you starters, and have you answered them? Conversely, if they’ve messaged you to plot… did you respond to that message (within a 2-week time frame)? How often do you send them memes? Are you sending more than just IC memes (ex. mun memes, headcanon memes, etc)? Do you tag them in dash games (if you do them)? Do you respond to ones they’ve tagged you in (if they have)? How often do you post OOC/how frequently? How much of it is actually related to your blog and muses, and how much of it is just you shooting things off into the void? In relation to the above… how much of it is NEGATIVITY? Do you constantly post your negative thoughts on dash? If you, as a mun, are answering yes to a lot of the above… then the problem is probably you, not the people you write with. While yes, people have lives… I do think, in some cases, taking more than a week to answer an IM or a message, especially for a plot call that you liked, is just poor taste. If you post things and never reach out to people, why would they want to continue to put that effort in? You have to ask yourself… Am I following through on the things I post? There needs to be a fine line between “i want new stuff so i’ll reblog this meme/post a new starter call” and “i just want new things in my inbox that will sit there with the rest”. If you never follow through, then why would people want to write with you? Not following through makes it pretty obvious sending you anything or writing anything for you is a waste of time, because the other mun gets nothing out of it. Writers in the RPC nowadays need to learn to follow through on things, and make a diligent effort to do so. I’d rather wait a year for someone I can confidently know is going to follow through because they’re not treating me like a ghost on their dash (i.e. they’re interacting with me in other ways, even if they can’t answer me IC) as opposed to the person I’ve sent ten things that hasn’t bothered to acknowledge my presence in the slightest.

#general #confessions

25 notes · View notes

laprimera · 7 months

Text

alrighty so after some reflection and getting some outside stuff prioritized Im done some blog housework so I can get comfortable here again.

im still gonna continue my hiatus until november cause the rest of October still has a lot of rl appointments and stuff going on. ill be nuking my ask and drafts to get into maximum turtle plot overdrive and just start things clean, but here's the skinny under cut:

. Ive went and cleaned up my followers list. mostly of inactive blogs, non-mutual or blogs that haven't reached out or interacted at all. I use to think I liked a busier dash but I think trying to keep up with it had been giving me anxiety even if my muses weren't involved in anything plot wise. FOMO has been really killing my vibe more then anything and I need to cut that habit out.

you're a-okay to refollow though! I'll do the same. none of this was done out of malice or a personal dislike, and I get being so busy w/ life and personal plots that you cant interact with everyone in a convenient moment. but if you see this as an opportunity to reach out then by all means! that and I might've accidentally unfollowed one or two of you cause side-blog deal, clumbsy thumbs, and uuh, dont mind me realizing that later down the line-my bad!

. unless carefully plotted otherwise, anything outside my own canons, affiliated blogs/mains or plots is no longer canon to my own. any interaction or thread initiated towards my muses will default fall into my lore/verse unless vice versa or its plotted and etc etc. It's no longer just hanging there in the void so to speak. I need to feel more in control of my own narrative I think and trying to puzzle a lot of contradicting outside plots, dash events, etc has been mentally taxing when rp shouldn't be occupying so much space or anxiety to begin with lol.

this isn't to say everything thats happening in the dash or w/ other characters isn't important ofc! and I still want to participate; it'll just fall under a crack/non-canon tag. if things end up lining up p' well with whats going on here then I might take it into canon. This is p' much what I've been doing to begin with, it's just more concrete now and Im being more careful of what Im willing to accept now. Im ofc open to discussing stuff! DMs and disco for those who have it are open always even if I take a moment to get to it!

. Im no longer answering anon asks that are personal in some way, ie, around subject matters that aren't general headcanons asks or 'hey how do you feel about-' sorta deal. I dont feel comfortable taking it to public and while I understand having the fear of being identified, it's not fair if I'm the only one bearing the subject so to speak. If you want to talk to me through DMs you can either tell me your UN (no burners either) so I can bypass permissions here to chat or you can reach me at @shiny-miltank where my IMs are not barred to mutuals only. I don't bite really! and my discord is not public. tbh Im still very anxious about being on disco to begin w/ cause social anxiety flare ups. idk tumblr dms always seemed easier to chat until I know you on a personal basis-its just worked that way.

. making it more strict that you dont? put my geeta in place of plots, events, etc that I havent participated or plotted with, nor can you make assumptions for them based on said events. as slapped on every piece on my about/rules/pinned/etc shes heavily canon-divergent to begin with so no one knows her intentions/actions (save for me ofc) and wont act in what presumed canon-geeta would do or your own version so to speak. easy enough to slap me an IM for "is it okay to-", plotting, or just make a nebulous npc stand-in.

. things that havent changed are the use of my lore and headcanons into your own! I love seeing it integrated or adapted into other lore and seeing just how much it inspires and changes over time!

this all seems rigid but really it's just reiterating whats already in my rules and no one here has been a huge offender at all :' ) this is more for me to follow and I cant thank everyone enough for their patience and creativity for as long as I've been here. Im loosey goosey and go with the flow 90 out of 100 times.

this goes for the rest of my muses, which Ill probably clean up when Im back-but yeah! miss ya'll! hope you've been doin' good! the terrapagos plot will continue then and Ill resume reaching out and leaving details! hopefully in time for dlc ; >

#ooc. ･ﾟ ✹#queue. ･ﾟ ✹#importante and stuff #sorry this is at 3 AM gdfgfd-this is like the only time Im awake ironically #but again ill be really back in november! see ya then!

27 notes · View notes

fanonical · 7 months

Note

Can you explain Homestuck classes and aspects? I've never really understood them

i’m going to act as if you understand nothing, so sorry if i explain something you already know.

classes and aspects (sometimes collectively referred to as classpects) are special titles that characters in Homestuck are assigned that reflect their personal destinies and special abilities.

there are twelve aspects (Time, Space, Breath, Blood, Light, Void, Life, Doom, Heart, Mind, Hope & Rage) and for the most part twelve classes too (Knight, Witch, Heir, Seer, Thief, Rogue, Maid, Mage, Prince, Sylph, Page, Bard). technically there’s actually two extra classes (Muse & Lord) called the master classes but they’re not really important to this discussion.

“Aspects” are like the fundamental elements of existence, and “Classes” are like roles (think D&D classes, or heroic archetypes) that determine the character’s relationship to that aspect, and how their ability to manipulate it manifests.

so for example, John is the Heir of Breath. Breath represents the wind and literal breathing, but also freedom and agency. An heir is an inheritor — both of a domain and of a responsibility. So naturally, one of John’s powers is to be able to dissolve into wind to escape adversity. Another example is that Rose is the Seer of Light. a seer is somebody with visions, or a mystic informant, and the aspect of light represents information, fortune, knowledge etc. Thus, Rose’s destiny is that she seeks knowledge and truth & spreads it across paradox space, and her abilities include visions & recalling the memories of alternate versions of herself.

every player of Sburb has a classpect, and your classpect determines what cool magical clothing you get if you reach the God Tiers.

19 notes · View notes

randomthoughtsdissociating · 10 months

Text

So, due to the relative sucess of my Lorbs tirade, I have decided to yell some more into the void on the topic of Ratchet and Clank. These musings specifically are on the nature of the Lombaxes as a space-faring civilisation and most of them came about when prompted by a disillusioned fan that "We barely know anything at all about Lombaxes, and also Alister was an idiot."

I always thought most of the Lombaxes were more or less space nomads, with their adaptability, problem-solving skills and advanced spaceships. Polaris wasn't all of it, but they didn't exactly live on planets so much as in the space between them.

It is true that we know awful little and that isn't helping. But we do know that Fastoon is a desert planet, which could push a large part of the population to leave simply due to food scarcity, and the local mineral resources could make for excellent trade material with greener planets, even without the Raritanium mines.

(Which would also go along neatly with the satirisation of capitalism in that trade isn't inherently predatory - hell, trade is one of the very few mutually beneficial things sentient beings can do - but that hoarding wealth and power and using others for your own gain before discarding them has a habit of biting you in the arse when least convenient.)

This would make the Cragmite war even more interesting, because if Alister's fighting style is anything to go by (keep in mind that he's a general, so while his combat training may not be as extensive, it should be covering the basics and he should have a good understanding of tactics and strategies the units under his command can perform, as well as the weaponry they have on hand), most of the conflict would be either ship-fights or highly mobile soliders, on solo missions or in small squads, in what would essentially be assassination and recon missions, all across the galaxy, at once, dismantling the threat from the ground up. Only for Percy to effectively do the exact same thing to them later and the only reason the Lombaxes made it was Kaden, his suspicions and persuasion skills and very dilligent sciencist labour, courtesy of our friend Mags.

As for Alister trusting a cragmite despite his best friend's advice, we know EXACTLY why he did it. It's 3 words. You can guess if you want to. They start with R, O and C.

Odds are that that's what got him into the position of a general in the first place, since it's probably a lot easier to get promoted after coming back from a suicide mission with your unit intact, and the philosophy can manifest in many traits that may be seen as desirable in a military leader. Like bravery, creative problem-solving, not being paralysed by difficult decisions...

In fact, I'd go as far as to say that Percy, having grown up around Lombaxes, knew this about him, and specifically tailored his presentation on new tech to trigger this kind of reckless behaviour. And Alister took the bait, hook, line and sinker.

Frankly, General Alister Azimuth was an idiot and a danger to everyone around him, and has learned nothing from his mistakes despite all the time he had for self-reflection while in exile. It sucks that this was someone Ratchet could call "uncle."

#ratchet and clank #rants n rambles #rac

21 notes · View notes

ink-sinner · 1 year

Text

serenity

— langley x chief

genre : fluff

warnings : none

wordcount : 1,943

summary : you close your eyes, and it’s almost as if you are back in that hazy fog, lost in the feeling of weightlessness. except langley’s fingers are brushing through your hair, the scent of coffee lingers in the air, and you get the feeling that you are grounded next to her, no longer drifting aimlessly in the dark.

You step out into a blank canvas.

The air is cold, and it carries with it a faint scent of petrichor, stirring up a thick halo of fog that sweeps through rain-kissed grass and through the faint rainbow reflections in the falling dew. It ebbs and flows around you, flitting between your fingertips, and dances away when you swat the air in front of you, and for a moment, you find yourself lost in a stranger’s familiar home.

Like this, the world feels hazy, stuck between a dream and the pencil scratches of a childish drawing. It feels surreal, almost; the edges of the buildings fade in and out of existence, swallowed by the rising fog like a sandcastle, and there is a sensation of floating, in the middle of it all. A sense of disconnect from reality.

It’s a nice feeling.

If you close your eyes, you almost feel like you are floating away into the void. Away from the responsibilities and duties and paperwork shoved to you the moment you wake up. It almost feels like breathing, for once. If you stay here and stay still, they will never be able to find you and force you to work ever again.

It’s a nice feeling.

But the work piled on your desk nags at the back of your head, and it brings you back to shore forcefully. You still have two meetings scheduled today, a new batch of reports to check and sign, and a whole slew of other problems that come with trying to cram dozens of sinners into one small place.

Your head already hurts just thinking about it.

Right. You don’t really have time to waste here.

You shake your head, and stumble through the fog, following the path to the library. So early, there is barely anyone in the MBCC, and walking through the fog feels like wandering a ghost town, searching for light. Even the library, normally the hangout for the more introverted sinners, is deathly quiet today. You can almost hear your quiet heartbeats in the silence.

It barely takes a moment to return your books to the shelves. You didn’t really even get to read them yet, but at this point, they’ve been rotting on your table for months. You doubt you’ll ever really get to reading them. Sighing, you pat the cover of the books pitifully.

Well. That’s one task done. A few hundred more to go before the day ends. You smile self-deprecatingly.

The sound of a page flipping stops you in your tracks.

Oh. It turns out you weren’t alone, after all.

You find Langley in a corner nook, tucked in between tall bookshelves and a half-window peeking out from behind a stack of books. The pale fog and the candlelight on her table lights her figure up, and it makes her look like a painter’s muse, arranged immaculately across the sofa with an effortless grace you can only dream of.

Under the dim light of the candle, Langley looks disheveled, casual, a far cry from her usual neat appearance. Her tie is loose, dangling crookedly across her chest, and it highlights the unbuttoned section of her shirt, teasing a hint of skin for the firelight to paint gold upon as she crosses and uncrosses her legs. She looks engrossed in her book.

You . . . should probably go away now. Yeah. You should go before you disturb her. Someone like Langley is bound to sense your presence sooner or later, even if you hide yourself well, and it feels like a shame to ruin her alone time when she is already so rarely relaxed.

You tiptoe away.

“Oh?” Her voice is low, and it trips you on your feet, caught with your heart on your throat. You freeze, but it’s already too late. “You’re not even going to greet your boss, rookie?”

But when you turn around, she is not even looking at you. She lounges back, relaxed as ever, and flips her book to the next page, as if she hasn’t noticed you there at all.

Slowly, you creep out of hiding, and stand in front of her. You bow. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

Langley hums.

You try again, “Um, good morning?”

You stand there, awkward, shifting your weight from foot to foot. Langley doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation – except you know this is a façade, and her eyes are not on you, but she is always watching you. The thought makes you flush, and briefly, you wonder if she also knows that this is because of her, too.

She flips the page. The candle flickers on her figure, and you watch the dancing shadows on her exposed collar. She is still not looking at you.

You clear your throat. Shift. You can feel the seconds tick past you like sand in your hands, and the thought of your building paperwork back at your office sends a thrum of pain through your head. Even a second of not working makes you feel like you will never resurface again.

“Langley,” you call out, hesitantly, and she tips her head slightly. The light catches the slender curve of her neck, and paints the shape of her on the wall, all graceful curves, sharp edges, flickering, dancing. “I still have some work to do, so I’ll be going first –”

“Stay with me for a while.”

Finally, Langley raises her eyes, and looks at you.

In the dim, golden light, her eyes are dark. Even the candlelight reflected within her irises can barely light up her inscrutable gaze, and it weighs on you like an anchor against the churning sea. You think you should say something. Her painted lips curl up, and you think you should say something, but you feel as if frozen, because your shaking knees should have given out by now if you weren’t.

That kind of look. You think this is the kind of look a prey last sees. Dangerous and beautiful the way only predators can be. The way only Langley can be. You think you should really get a grip on yourself – that’s your boss, for god’s sake, except you don’t think even god can help you here, really.

Langley raises her brows, and you feel she can really read every thought that passes through your mind. “Well, rookie? Are you going to keep standing there, or are you going to sit down with me?”

Right. Right.

Almost mechanically, you walk towards her seated figure, and take a seat as far away from her as you dare. As close to her as you dare. You don’t really know which one it is.

Langley watches you with a smile. “You can come closer. I don’t bite.”

Somehow, you doubt that. Still, you inch closer obediently, until your arm touches hers. Your skin raises in goose bumps.

She chuckles, tucks a bookmark between the pages of her book, and finally closes it. You barely get a peek at the cover, before Langley rests her chin against her palm, and you are distracted by the way her hair curls around her neck and frames the playful tilt of her lips. You smell the coffee she has been drinking, and you don’t know if it’s from the cup or from her proximity to you.

“Relax, rookie,” she says. “I’m not your boss here.”

Relax, she says. And then her fingers curl around your chin, and coax you to look up, and you really don’t know how you’re supposed to relax. You can barely hold her gaze, and so close, you wonder if she can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest. The scent of coffee you drown in is definitely from her, now.

“You look stressed.” Langley sighs, and her fingers move up to cup your cheek, tracing the skin beneath your eyes. You look away, embarrassed.

You probably look like a mess. You don’t think you’ve slept in a few days. Probably. Your days and nights blur into each other until all that remains are paperwork and the insistent sensation of drowning in thin air, and you haven’t looked at a mirror in forever, but you can’t imagine you look anything near good.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and blink your eyes. A sudden wave of fatigue overcomes you, and Langley’s image before you blurs into two, then back again. You bite your lip to stifle a yawn, hard enough that you can feel the imprint of your teeth through your lips.

Her thumb falls on your lower lip. Your breath catches, but Langley only clicks her tongue in disapproval. You get the urge to grovel for forgiveness, but you don’t even know what you’ve done wrong.

“I told you your health is important, rookie.” And her words sound like she’s scolding you, but her tone is surprisingly gentle. You look back up at her, and you still can’t read her expression, but her hands are gently warm like a fire. You melt into her touch. “Stop overworking yourself. Don’t worry about trivial matters like that.”

There is no disagreeing with Langley. Even soft, her words are firm, and you find yourself nodding despite yourself. You know the moment you step out of here, you are just going back to your office like a good little public servant, and slave away at your paperwork until some other mission requires you to go out again. Or until you pass out and wake up in the medical bay. Whichever one comes first.

Sometimes you wonder where your strong work ethic comes from. You really have no reason to work yourself to death like this, but here you are. Langley only smiles, and pats your head.

Your cheeks warm.

“Good girl,” she says. “All right, stay there until I say otherwise.”

You frown. “But –”

Langley only smiles, and raises her brows. That kind of look a prey last sees. You hush your protest, and Langley pats your head again. You feel silly, but her praise makes you feel bubbly inside.

Bubbly, you pick out the word. No, it feels more like tingly. Nice and warm. It feels like butterflies. It feels like cresting on a warm coast. It feels like being told you’re doing something right, except it’s so much more valuable when it’s coming from her. You can’t really pinpoint a specific word to describe it, but it feels like huddling in your blankets at midnight, watching the faded stars light up with each headlight that passes under your window. Warm, yes. Like dreaming a sweet dream. Or maybe you are just sleepy.

Yes. Probably. The scent of coffee in the air is bewitching, but even the memory of caffeine can barely hold you awake. You yawn again, and distantly, you feel a hand coax you down until your head lands on something soft. You squint your eyes through the sleepiness, and find Langley looking down at you with a soft smile.

Oh. You’re on her lap. You think you should get up, but your body feels too heavy, and she is too soft and warm.

“Go sleep for a while, rookie,” she murmurs. Her fingers scrape against your scalp as she leans back on the chair, and picks up her book again. “Sleep well.”

You close your eyes, and it’s almost as if you are back in that hazy fog, lost in the feeling of weightlessness. Except Langley's fingers are brushing through your hair, the scent of coffee lingers in the air, and you get the feeling that you are grounded next to her, no longer drifting aimlessly in the dark.

#path to nowhere #ptn #langley #langley x reader

101 notes · View notes

snippychicke · 11 months

Text

For the Sake of a Smile (v.2) Chapter Six

Title: For the Sake of a Smile (Revised)

Overall Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter Rating: T for teen. Some violence, and some innuendo

Trigger warnings: Nothing beyond the child abuse hinted in the series, though we do explore the consequences a bit more.

Main Pairing: Balam Shichiro/Reader

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen in your life. And the fact your coworker was a child.

A child named Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but yet he smiled despite everything. It wasn’t long after meeting him that you decided you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a literal demon and signing your soul away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Masterlist | Ao3| Mairimashitai! Simps Discord

The beast that took the dragon's place was by far more terrifying, with the multitude of void-black eyes and its piercing shriek.

"Stay back!" Balam shouted as he quickly moved between you and the beast. You instinctively pulled the three teens closer to you, shielding them with your body as you both saw and felt the beast ready its magic.

It was like someone had magnified the power of the sun, both its brightness and heat. Yet… it didn't burn like you expected it to, and faded quickly. Part of you wondered if it was thanks to Balam's magic as well as the Runes that still marked your skin.

Then you looked behind you, and saw Opera as well as Ameri flanking either side of Balam. You couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as you let the three teens go (and only half listening to Sabnock and Az balk from being protected in such a way.)

"My lady, are you and Iruma injured?" Opera asked, turning their attention away from the beast.

"We're good. But, how did you find us? And where's dad?"

There was a glint in Opera's eyes. "Your perfume is very… unique. As for Lord Sullivan, he is assisting elsewhere."

Perfume? You didn't wear any perfume… except for the one that hid your human scent. But why did they say it as if it was a bad thing?! Did it smell that strongly?! Did it smell bad?!

"Well, this is interesting," Balam mused as he surveyed the beast as it continued the mindless destruction of the park around it as you had a brief panic of smelling as if something died. "A chimera of summoned beasts."

"I didn't think such a thing was possible," Opera added as if commenting on the weather.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we?" You asked, already trying to figure out how to get the kids away as you watched Ameri unite with the other teens.

Balam's hand settled on your head reassuringly. "While it may be a challenge, I believe between Opera and myself we can deal with the Chimera. Though I would feel much better if you and the students weren't so close."

Opera gave a faint smile as he held up a summoning seal. The one Iruma had explained that he was more or less forbidden by Kalego to use. "I believe between the three of us, it would be far easier…"

It didn't take long for you to deduce what the scarlet haired demon meant. Especially considering how fast they moved to place the seal on Iruma's hand.

The infamous Fluffego. Of course you had heard the rumours and stories of Iruma being the first 'demon' to be able to summon another demon as his familiar. Of how the tall, brooding, and strict demon became a ball of fluff that vaguely resembled a baby chick (which apparently was a reflection of Iruma's inner self. That revelation was far less astonishing. Because of course Iruma would be soft, fluffy, and harmless).

Seeing the infamous Professor Fluffego you had heard many rumors about was an experience you did not expect to have today - Nor was watching both Opera and Balam go crazy over the cute little fluffball something you expected.

"You must feel how fluffy he is!" Both Balam and Opera insisted, holding the very dour looking Fluffego towards you. Despite the inherent cuteness, his dark eyes were filled with rage and the promise of death, so you tried to settle for a quick ruffle.

But, oh, his fur was like velvet mixed with silk. So thick, soft, and fluffy. You were hypnotized by the feel, your fingers running through the fluff. "Oh. Wow. He is fluffy."

"There is a magical beast raging and you are all obsessed with how fluffy I am?!" Kalego raged, though it only halfway broke the trance.

"Well, to be fair, you are impossibly cute and fluffy," You couldn't help but tease. "I think its more impressive than the chimera somehow."

"Absolutely!" Balam agreed before the said Chimera roared, blasting a nearby building as if it could hear what you were saying.

The moment broke as reality asserted itself. "Take cover with the students," Balam instructed, once more serious while Opera pestered Fluffego. "I don't want you or anyone else hurt in the crossfire."

"I'll keep them safe," You assured without even questioning how, considering the children in question were all far stronger than yourself. "You three focus on beating that thing… but be careful too."

The tall demon said nothing, though you had a feeling he was smiling behind his mask as he smoothed down your hair, tucking a wild strand behind your ear, making you blush.

You refused to think about the possibility it could be the last time you had the opportunity to indulge in his skinship habit, and instead turned and focused on the group of teens and smaller children, now that Agares had joined the crowd. "Let's stand back, okay?"

You tried not to show your fear as you watched the three demons (two demons and a demon-familiar?) approached the chimera. But would they really be able to defeat that thing? It was so much larger than the dragon had been. Behind you, Asmodeus and Sabnock sounded low-key excited to see them fight, citing the high-levels of the three.

A hand wrapped around yours, and you looked over to see Iruma at your side. He gave a reassuring smile, as if he could tell how you really felt as he squeezed your hand.

You expected a long fight, even as Nigyul returned to his massive form, and Cerberion appeared, looking less like a fierce crackling hellhound and more like a three-headed puppy eager to play.

The three attacked at the same time. Opera jump-kicking the beast, the attack boosted with their mana. Cerberion slashing the beast with their claws, and Nigyul's vines wrapping and crushing the chimera. And between the three, the chimera was left a crumpled mess, twitching but otherwise unmoving.

"Devi, those three are something else," You heard Sabnock swear, and you couldn't help but agree.

Yes you had seen displays of power at the school, watching the students work on their homework, or the faculty helping you with the Library. But this….this was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying.

Just as you thought things were finally over, the chimera began to glow, quickly becoming blinding. You could almost feel the mana radiating from the beast.

"It's going to self-destruct!" You heard someone shout ,causing your stomach to drop. Self destruct? Like a bomb?

As large as the thing was, you could only imagine how much damage the thing could create. Especially if you could feel the mana it held.

"Agares!" Kalego shouted, and before you could wonder why, the earth rumbled, and a larger crater appeared as if it had always been there. "Get in! It'll provide some shelter from the blast!"

You trusted Iruma would do as he was told, that he would have a shred of common sense, and focused on the crying children on Agares' cloud since a few were panicking.

Two of them jumped from the magic cloud as Agares hurried to the base of the crater, and began running away from the safe area. You raced after them and plucked them from the ground and held them tightly in your arms as you slid down the steep side of the crater.

You settled them back on Agares' cloud, shushing them with empty promises before even thinking it was odd Iruma wasn't helping you.

A shadow fell over you, and for a moment you thought it was your son. Except it turned out to be Balam, a grim expression on his face.

"Where's Iruma?" You asked as you looked around for a hint of blue amongst the dirt and destruction.

That's when you saw him dashing up the steep wall of the crater. "Iruma!" You screamed as you moved to run after him, fear and confusion gripping your heart. What the hell did he think he was doing?! That thing was going to explode! It was a magical bomb waiting to go off, and he was running towards it.

You barely took one step before Balam's arms wrapped around you, bracing you to his chest.

"Let me go!" You screamed as you fought against Balam's grip, though to no avail. His arms were easily as strong as they looked, considering how thick they were. Yet you continued to kick and squirm as you shouted: "Iruma! IRUMA! Damn it, let me go, Balam!"

"I'm sorry, but it would be suicide,” He offered, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your back as much as it echoed into your ears. “I can't allow both of you to die."

"Damn it! No! Please!" You repeated, looking over to Opera and Kalego, hoping, praying, they would do something. Anything.

Yet, they seemed as resigned as they stood, somber expressions on their faces.

Maybe… maybe there really wasn’t anything anyone could do.

Despair crashed down as you sagged against Balam, who's embrace went from restraining to supporting you seamlessly.

How? How could it end like this? You had both finally had a life that seemed better than you could ever hope for. The future had looked so bright, and now….

Now it looked grim.

You turned and pressed your face into Balam's chest, fingers digging into his shirt as you sobbed. Why? Why would Iruma be so foolish? Surely he recognized he couldn't stop that? Especially when even the adults called it impossible? The same adult who had taken it down with one blow.

Balam's hand ran through your hair, the other rubbing your back slowly. Yet after a moment, he paused.

"Look," Balam encouraged, though it was his amazed tone as he said your name that compelled you to look up.

A giant… cartoon animal? had appeared in the sky, its cute maw opening wide, inhaling deeply. Inhaling the mana of the chimera-bomb as it exploded.

Impossible. There was no way.

Balam freed you from his grip, and you raced up the edge of the crater, to see your boy and Ronovoe on the ground, looking dazed but unharmed.

"You dumbass!" You screamed as you tackled him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug as everyone else emerged from the crater. "Suzuki Iruma, don't you ever, ever, scare me like that again!"

---+---

“Did you doubt our ability to take care of Master Iruma?” Opera asked.

You weren’t exactly sure what had all happened, in retrospect. It felt like one minute you were celebrating the fact everyone had lived. Your son and his classmates being hailed as heroes, and the next somehow a grande parade had been arranged and you were corralled into joining.

So, here you were, on one of the floats hanging near the back with Opera, Kalego, and Balam. The last of which, had one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you leaned against him.

The runes had faded, but had left you feeling exhausted. Or maybe that was the multiple near-heart attacks you had today. Either way, it felt nice barely supporting your own weight.

“What? No! Nothing like that," You spluttered as your brain finally caught up with Opera's words. And the fact Kalego was looking toward you as well, expectanting an answer. "I just saw the news and panicked! And then, well, you know how dad gets….”

“Both of you are very overprotective,” Kalego sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure how Iruma ended up with such a martyr complex between you two always coddling him.”

“Well, that’s a long story…” You trailed off, hoping he would let it slide. After all, Kalego was the only one among the three who didn't yet know the truth.

Balam's hand rubbed your shoulder, as he continued to wave to the crowd below. You couldn't help but smile and mindlessly reached up to touch his arm that reached across your chest.

Instead of touching his glove as you expected, your fingers brushed something… leathery. You frowned as you shifted to look, heart dropping yet again that day and you noticed the torn, singed state of his glove, and what you presumed was discolored burnt flesh beneath.

"Balam!" You scolded, presuming he was being what you took as a 'typical male' and ignoring any injuries. Your assumption disappeared quickly when you realized his skin wasn't burnt, but his forearm was a lot like his legs; scales and leathery flesh.

Your fingers brushed the yellow flesh that felt rather like soft leather, before skimming over the green scales that were hard as bone.

It took a long moment before you realized what exactly you were doing.“I-I am so sorry!” You yanked your hands away, flushing as you looked up at his face, which was just as red as yours. “That was completely inappropriate of me. Oh my devi, I'm so sorry! I swear I just wanted to make sure you were okay!”

“It’s…” Balam started, but paused when Kalego made an odd noise. The dark-haired teacher turned the other way, but you could see his shoulders were shaking slightly.

“Kalego?”

The professor shook his head before taking a deep breath and returning to normal. Still, he looked rather… amused as he looked down at you. “I never thought I’d see someone apologize to Shichiro for touching.”

“It is rather ironic,” Opera agreed, their ears betraying their own amusement. "And adorable."

"I'm not--! It's not--!" You stuttered, your face feeling hotter than the carmine dragon's fiery blast. Your gaze happened to meet Balam's, and couldn't stand it anymore. You covered your face with your hands as you whined, wishing you had some sort of magic to just disappear.

Beside you, hidden by his mask, Balam was smiling slightly, though he avoided looking at you as well.

Opera was right, you were rather adorable. Though he did miss your comforting weight against him. No one else not only tolerated his skinship habit, but seemingly welcomed it as much as you and Iruma.

Which, he hoped that today wasn't an indication about how often you and Iruma were going to give him heart attacks in the future. He had just met the two of you, but mere thought of losing either of you filled him with dread.

His gaze focused on Iruma amongst the rest of the students, Lord Sullivan cheerfully standing amongst them. Humans were so much more than he could have ever imagined. More reckless. Braver. So very compassionate.

Simply…amazing.

He had to do his best to protect both of you.

--+--

The dining hall was a ruckus between the misfit class telling each other their adventures and devouring the banquet before them. Sabnock and Asmodues arguing loudly as they retold their own fight against the dragon.

Which was about as loud as the others as they retold their own fights (or, for Opera's 'team' taking shelter and the spontaneous concert from the demidol, Kuromu.)

You smiled, amused by the antics of the teens, happy to see Iruma so happy as he laughed and joined in the fun. But yet, you couldn’t help but notice that not only was Balam absent, but so was Kalego.

“Kalego likely snuck away to Shichiro’s room,” Opera offered quietly after noticing you looking for the two demons. “He doesn’t do well with crowds, and Shichiro can be quite shy eating around others.”

You couldn’t hide your dejection when you realized what Opera said was indeed true. As much fun as it was watching the teens, you had to admit, you did miss being around others your own (presumed) age. Granted, there was Opera, but their focus - as always - was on Sullivan and Iruma.

“Kalgeo doesn’t like sweets, however,” Opera continued, their gold eyes twinkling with mischievous light. “I’m sure Shichiro would be happy if you brought him a couple pieces of that chocolate cake.”

“You think Miss Azazel would let me steal a few?” You partially joked back, watching the fiery-haired demoness protect the decadent cake with the same passion you saw her use at school during arguments.

“Perhaps…”

That mischievous glint had returned to Opera's expression, and before you knew what was really going on, you had a tray full of sweets, cake included along with a bottle of some kind of alcohol Ronovoe's father had encouraged you to take when you said you were taking it to the teachers.

So, once more, you found yourself awkwardly waiting in front of Balam’s door, wondering if you could disappear before the door opened. After all, what were you going to say? "Hey, I know we just had a whole life-threatening ordeal, but I kinda missed you at supper. And Kalego, I guess. So I brought dessert! And alcohol."

Except it wasn't Balam who opened the door, but Kalego. His dark expression did little to help your nerves, and if anything made you feel even smaller.

“Er, hi,” You greeted as you held up the rather heavy tray you had carried. “ I brought…”

You were interrupted as Kalego picked up the bottle, looking mildly interested as he studied the label. “This would actually pair well with our meal. Don’t you agree, Shichiro?”

Kalego turned, holding up the bottle up for Balam to see. You couldn’t help but peek inside the room just as Balam turned around in the middle of slurping noodles. His eyes met yours, quickly growing in surprise… and dread.

Balam quickly moved to cover his face, but you had already seen.

The large prominent fangs. The scar that covered nearly half his face.

“Ow,” You whispered, touching your own face in sympathy. "That.. didn’t happen today, did it?”

“Hardly,” Kalego scoffed, grabbing the cuff of your top to drag you inside before you could do anything. And then closing the door behind you, efficiently making any decision about staying for you.

Though, while he returned to the table you stayed near the door, not sure you were entirely welcomed. Not from the way Balam was quickly searching for his mask, one hand still trying to hide the scar.

“I could leave, if you would prefer,” You offered as you looked anywhere but him. The last thing you wanted to do is make your friend uncomfortable, especially after saving your life today. Several times, in fact. And the whole debacle of freaking out about his torn glove.

Today was certainly not the nice relaxing day you had hoped it'd be.

“It’s not that I don’t want you here,” Balam answered distractedly, sounding as if he was still looking for his mask. "It’s just I don’t want to… disturb you."

“You won’t,” You answered quickly. “I’ve been around some rather disfigured individuals at my old job, so I kinda got used to… those kinds of things.” Was that rude? Awkward? Okay, it was definitely awkward, but was it especially awkward for him?

“She has cake,” Kalego pointed out offhandedly. You glanced briefly at him and saw he had gathered a few glasses and settled at the table across from Balam.

And was pouring the alcohol between the three glasses. As if he had already made the decision and was waiting for you and Balam to concede.

Kalego's words apparently caught Balam’s attention, his expression shifting from panicked to interested as he peeked back at you. You worried your lip before tilting the tray carefully, allowing him to see the dozens of different sweets that sat on it alongside the decadent-looking cake.

There was no missing the conflicted expression in his eyes as he stared, clearly entranced by the offer but worried about his appearance.

“I could leave this for you guys if that makes you more comfortable?” You offered after a moment, feeling bold enough to take a few steps forward.

Balam hesitated before lowering his hand, revealing his scar in its full glory. It looked like someone had ripped part of his lips and cheek away, exposing his large, sharp teeth. You refused to allow yourself to react, and instead made your way to his side and offered the tray, holding his gaze evenly as you smiled.

And, slowly, a smile spread across his own face, making your stomach twist. Even with the scar, he… he really was handsome.

As soon as you thought that, you felt your cheeks flush. Obviously the day was wearing on you despite catching a second-wind of energy.

“You can stay if you want,” Balam finally decided, scooting slightly to give you space at the table--notably the side where you wouldn’t see his scar.

You pointedly didn't hesitate before you took the seat. Setting the tray down on the table next to the spread of other dishes. Kalego just as quickly set a wine glass in front of you and Balam, full of the deep burgundy alcohol.

It was likely meant as a sign of acceptance, or simply him being hospitable. Had it been a glass of water or any other liquid, you probably would have seen it as such.

But, unfortunately, while it wasn't the liquor your old coworkers were fond of, you still had flashbacks of when you first started your job. The hazing you had went through as you tried to join their cliques before realizing you were better off alone.

They'd set their drinks of choice before you with their wicked grins, daring you to be 'man enough' to down it without so much as a grimace.

You had always met their challenges head on. After all, in the human realm you could garner at least a little respect with a few straight shots in a row.

Except tequila, vodka, and sake had nothing on demon liquor. There was no burn that ripped down your throat. Instead the warmth was smooth like honey that flowed down into your stomach and spread your body, wrapping both it and your mind in a cozy blanket.

You were barely aware of shifting into Balam's side, tempted by the warmth he radiated, or when his arm naturally curled around you. But you were aware of looking up at his face and smiling reassuringly at his worried expression.

He really was handsome in a way. Both inside and out.

“That isn’t the kind of drink one usually takes shots with," He said, his worry apparently not eased by your smile.

“Remind me never to give her the high-quality stuff again,” Kalego mumbled, sipping at his own glass. “It would go absolutely wasted.”

“Oh,” You mused, a vague feeling of guilt trying to creep up your spine as you looked over at the darker demon. “I, uh, didn’t know that. I’ll remember that next time.”

“Have you had… alcohol before?” Balam asked, mulling over his choice of words. While he trusted Kalego explicitly, he wasn’t sure how the other demon would react to finding out your secret.

Would you be able to choose your words wisely in this state? It was easy to see how quickly it had sunk into your system. Especially as you nestled against him and lazily picked at the tray of food before you without care.

Wait, was their alcohol even safe for humans to consume?!

“Not since moving in with Lord Sullivan,” You answered sleepily. “But before that I would indulge occasionally. Usually when I somehow got roped into attending an event with my lovely coworkers. They always wanted me to prove myself or some other shit.”

Kalego's lips twitched, though Balam couldn't tell if it was to frown or smile faintly. Granted, Balam wasn't sure how he felt himself, hearing how your old coworkers had treated you. Angered on your behalf, amused by your uncharacteristic derision in your voice.

"While the faculty occasionally has gatherings involving alcohol," Kalego stated after a moment. "If one of them tries to coerce you into a drink, that is highly frowned upon. You would be completely within your right to refuse, or better yet, throw the drink in their face."

Your bark of laughter echoed through the room, making Balam's heart jump. Even if it wasn't full of humor, but oddly dark.

Balam tried to reinforce the idea as he petted your hair, catching your attention once more. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone, least of all us."

Your lip quivered at his words, tears gathering in your eyes before you buried your face in his shoulder. "You guys are the best, I swear," you mumbled against him. "I-I will fight whoever argues otherwise."

Kalego snorted, amused by your declaration. "I think I would be willing to pay to watch that."

Balam, however, had a feeling he would have a heart attack if you ever even thought of actually following through with that promise.

--+--

"... which only proves that next semester they need to be pressed harder. If these first years are capable…" Kalego trailed off, though Balam had stopped paying attention a few moments earlier. It was hard to focus on anything else when you had shifted to sit with you back to the table, curled into his side under his arm and face buried into his chest. "Is she… going to sleep?"

You hadn't been very active in the conversation - whether it was the exhaustion after everything combined with the glass of wine - but you had been listening as you munched at various foods.

"I think so?" Balam murmured, feeling his heart thump in his chest as you nuzzled against him before falling still.

Oh.

He… he was not used to this. Animals, yes - once he carefully gained their trust. But he never had someone else be so… cuddly with him. Granted, you were usually more accepting of his skinship habit, but this… this was new.

You were so vulnerable. You knew that he was aware of how weak you really were, and yet still trusted that he would not harm you. That he would protect you from anything.

Devi, he would. His arm wrapped around your waist. He'd protect you from the whole Netherworld if he had to.

"Well, perhaps I should retire for the night as well," Kalego said as he stood, causing Balam a brief sense of panic.

What was he supposed to do? You were asleep! You were Lord Sullivan's daughter! He wasn't blind to how the situation would look.

Kalego smirked, apparently not feeling an ounce of pity as he gave a conspiratorial wink. "Have fun getting her to bed."

Balam looked down at where you were curled up in his lap, your head resting against his chest as you slept. He would happily just sit in the same place all night while you slept, if it meant holding you.

He muttered your name, stroking your hair hoping to wake you gently. You grumbled and buried your face deeper against him, and either didn't hear or ignored any further attempts of waking you.

Did all humans sleep so deeply? You had explained things weren't as safe and peaceful as he had imagined, though still not as intrinsically dangerous as the Netherworld. But was it still a place you could sleep in relative safety?

Or did you really trust him that much?

Still, he didn't want to cause any misunderstandings. You whined slightly and curled closer as he carefully picked you up, an arm under your knees and one cradling your back, before standing.

Your eyes opened blearily as you looked up, sleepy confusion evident. "Hmm?"

He paused, taking a deep breath to try and calm his heart. Devi you were so absolutely adorable. Simply the cutest thing in the world. "I was just taking you to bed, little one."

"Oh, okay," You sleepily, nestling your head against his chest once more. He wondered if you could hear how hard and rapid his heart was beating. Did it bring you comfort to hear another's heartbeat?

He barely took a few steps before you spoke again. "Hey Balam?"

"Hmm?" He hummed as he looked around for his still missing mask. Where had he placed it? Had he really been that excited when Kalego had shown up with the figurative buffet?

"I don't smell do I?"

"Huh?" Balam paused, looking down at you. Your eyes were cracked as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"Opera said they followed the odor of the masking cologne to find us. Does that mean I stink? I mean, I haven't noticed anything, but is it just something demons sense? Do I really smell? Like-like stinky blue cheese?"

You… you were crying. Or about to. He felt himself panic as he hurried to reassure your fears. "N-no! You don't smell! Well, you don't smell bad! You do have a very unique scent, both you and Iruma, but it's nothing bad!"

You sniffed as you glanced up at him. "So… I smell nice?"

"Y-yes," He stuttered, well aware of his face turning red and the fact he didn't have his mask to hide behind. "You smell very, um, nice."

Yes, the cologne that masked your human scent was very… unique. Not in a bad sense, but he didn't know quite how to explain that it marked you as Lord Sullivan’s kin. You and Iruma wouldn't have to say anything, and anyone with a nose would know you were a part of Sullivan’s family. And that alone protected you. It was like a warning sign, threatening any that would harm you.

You had explained a while back that humans couldn't detect pheromones, which he still had a hard time comprehending. Pheromones were a basic part of communication in the Netherworld. So much of society was built on the inherentness of it. It marked families, large and small. Territories. When an evil cycle was approaching, or when one was interested in a mate…

But, underneath the 'cologne' was your own scent. It was faint, but still there and utterly unique. He found himself enjoying it more often than not whenever he was around you.

It was… warm. Inviting. It invoked the feeling of being welcomed home. Like returning to his nest after a long, stressful day, able to relax and let the stress melt away.

It was alluring, just like everything else about you. Just like the smile you gave him before settling yourself against him once more.

After a little help from one of the hotel's attendants (who had froze at the sight of his unmasked face before quickly obliged to his request). The attendant even opened and held the room door for him before making themself scarce.

The room was just as richly decorated as the others, the bed large enough for even a giant of a demon, let alone a human such as yourself. It was obvious you had indulged in a nap between the parade and dinner, the covers still rumpled.

He set you down on the plush mattress before fussing to make sure the pillows and blankets were just right. Did humans nest? Burrow in their blankets like some demons? Curl protectively? Did you lay on your back in order to be able to see as soon as your eyes opened? Or did you sleep on your stomach to protect yourself better?

Balam watched, both to take notes on how humans slept, and because you were rather cute as you tossed and turned before you opened a bleary eye and held out a hand towards him, making a grabby motion. "Can you hold me a little while longer?" You asked innocently "Just until I fall asleep? I-I really liked when you did that..."

You were going to be the death of him between your request and the blush of your face looking absolutely adorable. Yet he obliged without protest, carefully crawling onto the bed and sitting against the headrest of the bed. You needed no prompting before you returned to your previous place nestled against his chest.

You fell back asleep within minutes, but he didn't move. He was too enraptured by how you had snuggled into him, the soft noises you made with every breath, how peaceful you looked.

Giving into impulse he allowed his wings to emerge and curl around both of you. He could only hope Lord Sullivan would let him explain - let alone understand.

--+-- Su-Ki-Ma --+--

The staff of Rosevelt Hotel liked to gossip. After all, it was a very high-end hotel with usually famous, or at least rich and powerful, patrons.

Like the Heroes of Walter Park themselves. Stories and rumors of the Misfit class quickly spread through the different divisions, mostly innocent things like the adorableness of Lord Sullivan's grandson, or how some of the students had broken into their teacher's room, or wild guess that one of the ladies was actually the devidol Kuromu.

But then there was a decidedly not so innocent one involving the teachers.

"You're lying," A cook swore at one of the attendants that roamed the higher floors.

"I saw it with my own eyes! First Naberius left the room, looking rather self-satisfied, and then the other teacher, Balam, came out with Lord Sullivan's own daughter passed out his arms!"

"Lord Sullivan has a daughter?" The dish washer asked later as the cook recounted the story. It made sense, he had a grandson, but…

"Yes! She's the librarian of Babyls! But that's not what's important! Balam didn't have his mask and you should have seen the marks on his skin! One can only imagine what they were up to in there."

"But where was he taking her?" The housekeeper asked as the dishwasher sat across from them in the breakroom.

"So apparently back to her room, but he didn't come out until just before dawn, looking all flustered! Lady Sullivan didn't emerge for hours later, and I heard her complain about her body hurting to Lord Sullivan's Security Devil."

"I bet! Can you imagine handling both the Guard dog of Babyls and its White Gargoyle? She should be glad her back isn't broken!" The doorman laughed at the housekeeper as she mopped the floor.

"Sounds like Lord Sullivan may have some more grandchildren in the future," Ronove Rosevelt himself laughed as the doorman caught the manager of Walter Park up on the gossip.

"Devi no, daddy!" Romiere gasped when his father spilled the tea later in the summer. "I refuse to believe that Ms. Suzuki would ever do such a thing!"

"Why not, my boy?" Rosevelt asked, "Desire, as you know, is a strong and beautiful thing! There is nothing wrong with indulging in urges such as love!"

"Because you do not know how much Professor Kalego avoids the entire Sullivan family!" Romiere explained. //I've heard him doing some very outlandish things just to avoid Lord Sullivan and Opera! Professor Kalego would never!//

//But what about Ms. Suzuki and Professor Balam?// One of his classmates typed into the group chat, created by Romiere to prove that the gossip was devibullshit. //They seem very fond of each other.//

//Yeah, I think Ms. Suzuki actually likes Balam's skinship habit…//

And thus, The Rumor was born.

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #balam shichiro #balam/reader #suzuki iruma #lord sullivan #kalego naberious #opera #balam shichiro x reader

36 notes · View notes

sealrock · 3 months

Note

send REMINDED for a scene from my muse's past in which they encountered something that reminded them of a difficult experience / trauma

ask meme

cw: references to drug and alcohol abuse, implied disordered eating

Cold water splashed against his stubbled face—once, twice, thrice. Water rolled down his bare forearms and onto the cramped vanity, but most ended up splattered against the cracked tile of the dingy bathroom. Finally, he's awake.

Evander slowly dragged his hands down his face to expose bloodshot eyes from another restless night hugging the cold porcelain of the lavatory, void of emotion other than stark ennui. He quickly looked away. The mirror had spiderweb cracks this way and that, the point of origin shaped into a fist. Evander was on a binge one night that he couldn't remember, and he could only surmise that he didn't like what he saw. It took longer than he wanted to delicately clean and wrap the wounds of his knuckles once he came down from the high.

Evander gripped the vanity and allowed his eyes to roam anywhere but his face. The yellow tint of the cheap lights cast his hollow face in a sickly hue, his tan skin taking on an abnormal shade, and made his unkempt black hair more greasy than usual. The severe dips in his collarbone and the bumps of his ribs are more prominent in this unnatural lighting, the shadows growing darker by the day. His trousers were looser fitting if his shrinking waist was anything to go by. He lost weight again. But that's normal to him. Evander admits he doesn't give his body proper nutrients; with a diet of imported cigarettes, illicit drugs, and hard liquor, this lifestyle wreaks havoc on anyone with a feeble constitution such as him.

His blue eyes, a scourge of his genetic makeup, were tinged green with unmistakable envy. Evander pulled his puffy eyelids away to get a closer look: if he could just pluck out his eyeballs and replace them with any other color, everything would've been different. He'd seen it done with taxidermy, replacing the lifeless orbs of a dead animal with bright, glassy eyes without the reflection of sheer terror in the act of being slaughtered. But that's an animal, a base creature with neither the intelligence nor complex language man possesses.

But in some species, animals are constantly reminded of their social status and rank, sometimes harshly with violence—much like Evander had to endure growing up. Blue in Dalmascan society has negative associations that change with each passing century: the poor could only wear blue, blue is seen as bad luck, and it's a color of mourning. Evander doesn't give credence to local superstition or wives' tales, not when science can answer many of the world's mysteries. But his grandfather—and many other oldheads of the family—are profoundly traditional.

They saw Evander as a bad omen from the start. Infidelity is also one of the reasons why they hate him, supernatural causation be damned. Appearance and status kept this family on top for so long in this city. For the daughter of one of Ul'dah's elite, the top of the food chain, to be involved with a lowly street urchin was something to gawk at. To have a child with him, only to try and pass off said child as your husband's, would make you the laughingstock of smoke-filled saloons long after you're dead.

Evander's mind began to wander back as he meticulously shaved the unruly stubble away with his straight razor. His grandfather never lived down the embarrassment of having a bastard grandchild, but to attack a little boy just because he didn't have the eyes of the family was cruel and unusual punishment. Evander could recall the hurtful words the old man would sling at him like knives.

Filthy child.

You're just like your father, a hoodlum.

You brought nothing but shame to this family.

Don't look at me with those foul eyes.

Evander winced when the razor nicked the skin of his neck. He went too deep into his memories and became distracted. He heard someone, a taunting voice inside his mind say:

Such a fool. You're not seventeen anymore, you should know better.

"Get off my back," Evander hoarsely said to no one. He staunched a growing pearl of blood before it could trickle down his neck with a washcloth. He needed a cigarette. Despite what his head doctor would say, this is not healing. To be reminded of everything like this does more harm than good. Evander hates looking into the mirror because the mirror shows him what his grandfather would see: the face of the man who betrayed his trust. The sins of the father will haunt the son, the grandson, and the sons hereafter.

Evander blinked. He had been staring at his reflection for so long his eyes stung from the stale air of his apartment. He finished shaving, this time paying closer attention to the glint of the razor as it glided across the hairs of his neck. Evander is thankful that he didn't need the mirror to see how to do his hair, as it was a simple matter of pulling it into a low ponytail. Now, Evander could start his day. His clothes, neatly pressed and layered, contrasted with the organized chaos of clutter and junk surrounding his tiny living space. He reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. It would be easier if Evander could conjure up a simple flame, but a matchstick is good enough.

He couldn't stomach the idea of breakfast right now, not after last night. There was nothing edible in his pantry either way. Evander took one last look into the broken mirror before heading out. He saw a skeleton of a man dressed in his finest. Evander would never leave the house without his shaded spectacles. It acted like a child's security blanket, for Evander disliked the stares he would get from strangers because of his haggard countenance.

You can't hide from me.

A thinly veiled threat. Evander took a long drag of the cigarette before exhaling. He didn't offer his crooked reflection a response this time. He switched off the light and left for his day job, he had to make up for lost hours if he wanted to eat a hot meal this time around.

#inbox #anonymous #<-- new tag alert #writing from evie's pov this time. not as long as my other drabble but long enough #he's god's silliest little soldier #q.#mywritings.

4 notes · View notes

aevumisles · 30 days

Text

Aevum Isles Policy Updates Log (05/01/2024)

Hello, Aevum Isles members! This post documents all changes and reflects the current status of all listed pages and policies. All inquiries are to be sent to the Masterlist Inbox.

To read the synopsis of the policy updates, please review all changes logged under the "read more".

The following updates, changes, and policy and regulation addendums are in immediate effect as of 05/01/2024.

Change Log Summary:

GUIDELINE UPDATES SUMMARY:

Reworded the following Aevum Isles guidelines for clarity:

When applying, a valid OOC contact must be sent into the Masterlist inbox. It cannot be left solely on a member's application.

Mythology-based characters, and period-based characters are allowed, but only as adaptations.

The following guidelines have been added:

Changes to an active Member's personal contact must be sent to the Masterlist askbox at the member's earliest convenience.

Meme Day, by popular vote, has been extended to "Meme Weekend", although all previous restrictions still apply.

Activity Checks are now in accordance with the first day of every month, regardless of the weekday it falls upon.

Muns with multiple muses may not bloat in-character activity by continuing threads across multiple blogs in any way, shape or form.

Housing Regulations have been added to Policies, and the Marketplace. (See: Housing Policies)

POLICY UPDATES SUMMARY:

Abilities: An In-Depth Look

Reviews what Aevum Isles defines as a "passive ability", alongside a comprehensive guide to self-defining whether an ability is "passive" or not.

Avatar Characters Policy

Defines an "Avatar Character (Avatar)" by Aevum Isles protocol. Reviews how an Avatar should be applied, and what unique restrictions apply to an Avatar.

Golden Rule Policy

Reviews the terms "meta-gaming" and "god-modding" in relation to Roleplay Etiquette. These terms have been added to the Aevum Isles Glossary.

Housing Policies

Updated Housing Policies effective as of 05/01/2024.

Housing regulations and disciplinary for all members are reviewed.

POLICIES IN DEPTH:

Abilities: An In-Depth Look

For explanations on Abilities, Passive Abilities, and Ranks, please first see the following pages:

Aevum Isles Powers FAQ

Passive Power Q&A

The Forms Page (see “Application Pages”)

How are “passive abilities” defined by Aevum Isles Staff?

Passive Abilities are primarily defined as the following:

Any ability or power that a character possesses that is innate to a character in a physical capacity. (e.g., A winged person’s ability to fly with their wings, or a character’s longevity factor.)

Physical abilities and attributes that were learned by the character through study or progeny. (e.g., multilingualism, martial or weapons-based combat training, parkour and other olympic-level athletic feats (that are not derived from or otherwise altered by superhuman abilities), and hyper-intelligence)

A superhuman ability that cannot be turned off.*

*Usually, this is an exception to the ‘active abilities’ rule as something a character was born with that cannot be removed under any circumstances and directly impacts a character’s quality of life in a negative or positive manner. EXAMPLES:

Toph Beifong (Avatar: the Last Airbender) and her ability to ‘see’ through highly-attuned earth-bending through her feet.

Tony Stark (Marvel/MCU) and his Arc Reactor keeping him alive.

How are Active Abilities defined by Aevum Isles Staff?

Active Abilities may be further defined as follows:

An ability that can or must be activated at will.

Exceptional abilities that can be defined as “superhuman”, and directly impact not only the character themselves but the world around them, allowing them to withstand and overcome any if not all obstacles.

May be an innate, born ability, a gifted power, or derived from a contract or curse.**

All active abilities will be rendered null and void upon acceptance to Aevum Isles, and can only be permanently regained through the Aevum Isles Marketplace. In short: “Super” powers, even if natural for the character, are not considered passive.

Examples include:

Access to “The Force's" ability to push/pull, see into the future, or become a Force Ghost.

Other otherworldly powers, such as chakras, the triforce, etc.

A self-regenerative healing factor, or the ability to heal, buff or hex others.

All Superhuman Abilities (strength, speed, endurance, so on and so forth).

Further Considerations for the Uncertain Applicant.

When unsure about an active ability vs. a passive ability, first consider whether or not the ability in question is something that is learned, or capable of being performed by an Olympics-level, modern-day, human athlete.

If so, then the ability is most likely passive.

If not, then take into consideration whether or not the ability is innate, gifted, derived from contract or curse, and otherwise willfully acted upon.

If the ability is one listed on the Powers Listing Wikia, it is, most likely, not passive.

**And, of course, you are more than welcome to ask Staff on or off anon at the Aevum Masterlist. Staff handling your application will likewise inform you, with explanation, of what your application is missing or what categories need tweaking when sending applications back.

Avatar Characters

Avatar Characters (Avatar) are defined by Aevum Isles as follows:

“A blank slate protagonist with no canon history, family, or origin. Typically, an Avatar Character is one whom the player has complete jurisdiction over the Avatar’s personality, origin story, classifications, etc. While these characters exist within a canon piece of media, the scripted events that the character follows are altogether optional, and largely directed by the individual player”.

Although an Avatar Character would be considered a “canon character”, due to the creative liberties and blank-slate nature of an Avatar, the “backstory” component of an application must be completed by the applicant in the same manner as an Original Character.

On the application asks, reservation asks, marketplace asks, and so on, the character’s name would be followed by the abbreviation of their respective Avatar designation, and their respective class and/or job. (e.g., Celestia von Lunarta (WoL, Sage)) For more information, please see the Series Specific Requirements Page.

An Avatar Character can be applied by multiple muns. (e.g., multiple WoL) “Canon Double” restrictions do not apply to Avatar characters blanketly.

An Avatar Character is only limited upon application by class. (e.g., there can only be one Barbarian TAV (BG3), one rogue TAV, and one Paladin TAV. However: all can be active in Aevum Isles at once.)

This does not mean that a canon NPC will know who the Avatar is. Unless pre-plotted by individual muns, each NPC and Avatar must be automatically assumed to exist within separate, parallel universes to avoid Meta-Gaming. (see: Meta-Gaming Policy for more details.)Examples of what counts as an Avatar Character includes but may not be limited to:

Examples of what counts as an Avatar Character includes but may not be limited to:

The TAV from Baldur’s Gate 3

The Warrior of Light (WoL) from Final Fantasy 15

Any Bethesda Protagonist (e.g., The Dragonborn, Skyrim)

Stardew Valley Farmer

Star Wars: Old Republic Protagonist

Examples of what does not count as an Avatar Character include but may not be limited to:

A Fire Emblem Protagonist (Corrin, Fire Emblem: Fates)

A Pokémon Trainer Protagonist (Trainer Red from Pokémon Red)

A Dragon Quest Protagonist

Golden Rule Policy

The Golden Rule Policy is designed to specifically tackle issues of “meta gaming” and “god-modding” regulations in Aevum Isles. (please refer to the Aevum Isles RP Glossary for more details on these terms.)

Meta-Gaming in particular is strictly disallowed at Aevum Isles. As all characters accepted into Aevum Isles are fictional, all real-world events, people/historical figures, holidays, movies, media, etc. are parodied within the world of Aevum.

The only exceptions generally being: countries, astrology, days and month names, etc. Aevum Isles does provide a glossary of in-universe parodies for widely recognizable brands. Members are encouraged to add more when applicable.

In order to respect all canon characters within various sources of media, it is expected that no character will retain or achieve knowledge that is “fourth wall breaking”.

Otherwise known as: excessive knowledge of a character’s biology, powers, thoughts/thought-processes, or actions in the setting of Aevum Isles without the character having learned, or otherwise witnessed, these subjects firsthand in a thread.

Alternatively: this may be information that the mun would possess in the real world, but the character would not, even if the character is from a modern-day adjacent, or future-adjacent universe.

This does include (but is not limited to) prophetic powers, information hacking, and characters set in modern day (or modern day adjacent) settings. Prophetic gifts, reality bending, and hacking information cannot be executed without explicit permission established between muns.

EXAMPLE:

Peter Parker (Marvel Cinematic Universe) cannot tell Luke Skywalker that Darth Vader is his father, Anakin Skywalker.

Instead, Peter Parker’s Mun would need to make a spoof movie that is a reference to STAR WARS without naming the franchise, or any of its characters, by name. In conjunction with this,

Lightsabers would also need to be parodied, and the plotline of the parodied movie would need to either remain vague, or be adapted to Luke-Mun’s discretion.

While Aevum Isles Staff is not stringent on the subject of Meta-Gaming, this does fall under the “golden rule” regulations stated on the Guidelines Page.

Repeated offenses of meta-gaming (or god-modding) totaling instances of three or more will result in an official warning. Please be respectful of all characters and their respective media.

Housing Policies

All Aevum Isles members are automatically sorted into a Staff designated housing upon acceptance.

Roommate preferences and housing district preferences must be left on all character applications. They can be filled out as “nonapplicable” if there are no preferences to be had.

Members will not be housed with series castmates when sorted into Aevum Isles sanctioned housing. You may move in with castmates upon reaching forged rank, or by acquiring personal housing.

Moving requests must be sent to the Masterlist Inbox for processing. These will be validated and processed upon the subsequent inbox run.

Even if personal housing is purchased from the Marketplace, all muses must still send a moving request for the new housing to be listed on the muse’s blog and stats pages.

Personal Housing may be bought on the Aevum Isles Marketplace, but are regulated by Aevum Isles Personal Housing restrictions.

Personal Housing may not serve as a muse’s place of residency while the muse in question is also listed on the Aevum Isles residential page.

Failure to abide by the listed specifications and regulations will result in a warning.

After receiving a warning, you will have until the subsequent inbox run to adjust the housing and/or housing occupancy. If adjustments are not submitted by the subsequent inbox run, Staff will issue a reminder, and an extension of compliancy by the following inbox run.

In the case that this second reminder is not met, the muse in question will be temporarily suspended and removed from the Masterlist, and the mun notified of this change. This will remain in affect until the necessary adjustments are made.

As a reminder, please send ALL inquirie to the Masterlist Inbox, which is open every Wednesday and Saturday from 6pm - 8pm EST. Inquiries posted elsewhere will be redirected.

Thank you! — The Guardians 🌟

#aevum policy updates #policy faq #policy update 001

2 notes · View notes