sorry it took so long!!!!!

the-corpses-were-fake  asked:

(okay no we have to change that you don't get stuff for ask memes so if you're up for it how about 84 or 85 in the writing one :3? Because your hamburr au au was really really cute btw!!! )

This has been sitting in my inbox for the longest time now I am so s o r r y

So! Here it is! Number 85: Write an AU fic! Including canon era idiots, a soulmate au premise, and canon divergence because I wanted to avoid death if at all possible!


For most people, soulmates only exist as a nuisance. As something to complain about when they stub their toe or trip and skin their knee, because when one of a pair does, the other feels that pain as surely as if it were their own.

Most people don’t meet their soulmates in their lifetime. The world is, after all, very wide. Those who do are considered fortunate. Those who don’t find them, though, tend to find love on their own terms and are none the worse for it. Even though the pain that your soulmate feels is a constant that never goes away, no matter how hard you fall for someone else. An aching reminder that there is supposedly someone out there meant for you and you alone.

Burr has never given much thought to his soulmate, and when he does, it is nothing but annoyance, because it seems that whoever they are, they are constantly getting themselves into trouble. Have been since they were a kid. But as soon as the gun goes off, he knows, because he is watching with dread to see where the bullet strikes, his shout still ringing in the air but doing nothing to stop its deadly advance. I didn’t mean it, he thinks, and the bullet strikes right between Hamilton’s ribs.

An identical pain blooms in his chest, and it is all he can do to stay upright, and he knows.

He thinks he staggers forward. Hard to say; everything has gone a bit blurry and indistinct. He can hear nothing but the roaring of blood in his ears, can feel nothing but the sharp, stabbing pains running through him. The wound could very well be fatal, but he shies away from that thought. It won’t be; Hamilton will pull through, like he always does, and if he could just speak to him-

Then, he is being pulled back, and it is Van Ness’ hands on his shoulders, Van Ness who is saying something to him, his face frantic. There are few people out there who he would actually consider his friend, but Van Ness is one of them.

Once upon a time, Alexander had been another.

“-pull yourself together! We need to get you out of here, and-”

“William,” he breathes, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest. There should be blood there, but there isn’t, because it is Hamilton’s wound, not his, a wound that he dealt and-

He doesn’t know what his face looks like, but it must be a sight to behold. Whatever expression he’s making makes Van Ness stop where he is and stare, his gaze flickering back and forth between him and where Hamilton is lying on the ground.

“Shit,” he breathes after a moment, and Aaron can’t help but nod in agreement. “He’s your…? Nevermind, that just makes it more important to get you out of here right now.”

This time, he doesn’t protest, allows himself to be escorted away. His mind has gone blissfully numb.


Miraculously, Hamilton survives the night. And the next. And the next. Aaron begins to suspect, even as he rubs at the incessant ache, that while the literal bullet hit its mark, they have dodged the figurative one.

One of them, at least.


And that is how he finds himself on the Hamiltons’ doorstep one day, in no small amount of distress as Angelica Church glares at him, halfway hidden behind the door to her brother-in-law’s home. “Give me one good reason,” she is saying, “as to why I should allow you inside. Haven’t you done enough damage already?” Every word is like a viper sent to bite at his ankles, and for a moment, he considers running.

But that is not what he has come here to do.

“My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Church,” he says. “I have no intentions of doing anyone any harm today. But please, I really must speak to Hamilton, it is of utmost importance to me-”

Her glower deepens. “Oh, you must, must you?” she snaps, and then her attention is taken by a voice from inside. “Yes, it’s him,” she says, and pauses. The indistinct voice says something else. “No, I was just sending him on his way, but-” And then, the door opens wider, revealing Elizabeth Hamilton, eyes tired and sad.

“Come in, Mr. Burr,” she says. “I assume you are not here to carry out what you started with?”

“I am not, and even if I was, I am unarmed,” he assures her, and enters at her bidding. She leads him down the hallway in silence, their footsteps echoing one another’s. She stops at the foot of a staircase.

“Your actions almost cost me my husband,” she tells him, and he bows his head. Before he can respond, however, she continues. “And I fear they still will.” She stares pointedly at his chest, and he realizes with a start that he was rubbing at it again, absentmindedly. And looking into her eyes, he can tell that she knows exactly why he’s here.

“I have no intention of taking him from you,” he says.

She smiles, a small, sad thing, and shakes her head. “You couldn’t if you tried,” she says, “and I doubt you would. My worry is that he will go with you willingly.”

The worst thing is that he cannot even tell her that her fears are unfounded. And she knows it. She sighs.

“Do what you came here to do,” she tells him. “His room is the first you’ll come on.”

He thanks her and walks up the stairs. What else can he do? He cannot ease her pain anymore than she can ease his.

Eliza, he thinks, is a wise woman. She will outlive them all yet.

Hamilton is waiting for him. It is obvious in the lack of surprise in his eyes and bearing when he knocks and enters. And the way his gaze holds for a breath too long at his chest makes something else glaringly clear.

“You knew,” Aaron says, slumping into a chair by Hamilton’s bedside. “You knew.”

Hamilton’s eyes are tired too, though in a different way than Eliza’s. Perhaps this is why he answers in the way he does. “Yes,” he says simply, without prevarication or elaboration.

“You would have let me kill you.” It is not a question. Aaron already knows the answer. What he wants to know is why, and Hamilton knows it too.

“I suppose,” he replies. “I have to admit, I didn’t really expect you to. That came as a surprise. I still don’t understand why you were so angry. It was politics, not personal.”

Aaron laughs, and is surprised by the bitterness in it. “With us, it’s always personal,” he says, and feels slightly gratified when Hamilton concedes the point with a nod of his head, cracking a wry smile.

“You have a point,” he allows. “And in any case, I had no intention of hurting you. I’ve never wanted that, even putting all of-” He gestures to the two of them- “this aside.”

And that brings them right back to the point, something for which Aaron is grateful. He doesn’t particularly want to discuss the duel at the moment. Or ever, if he’s being honest. “How long have you known?” he asks, and they wince in tandem at the pain that shoots through them when Hamilton shrugs.

“Since the war,” he admits, and Aaron is surprised at the red hot anger that the words summon. “When you got heatstroke, do you remember? I’ll admit, dealing with that on top of everything else made things rather-”

“You knew all this time and you didn’t tell me.”

“And what should I have said?” Hamilton snaps, and oh, yes, there is that temper. Aaron can almost admit he missed it, as little sense as that makes. “I had Eliza and you had your Theodosia, and we were both happy. Upsetting the balance seemed foolish.”

“You mean upsetting your reputation seemed foolish,” Aaron corrects, and stands. At this point, he doesn’t know what to think anymore. One one hand, he knows that Hamilton makes a good point; he loved Theo and still does, and adding Hamilton to that would only have caused unnecessary confusion and strife.

But at the same time, knowing that Hamilton, his soulmate- and he still doesn’t know what he should do with that information- was within arms reach for most of his life and saw fit not to tell him about it… that burns.

“I don’t know what I thought I’d accomplish here,” he says, and moves toward the door. His visit thus far has caused him nothing but frustration, and at this point, he is ready to leave. There is only so much exposure to Hamilton he can take in one sitting.

He has almost exited before Hamilton makes his move. “Burr, wait!” he calls, and he must shift in place or try to sit up or do something, because a fresh wave of agony rips through him and leaves him fighting for breath and leaning heavily on the doorframe. Behind him, Hamilton is panting in a similar manner.

You did this, he reminds himself, as if he could ever forget.

“What is it you want from me, Alexander?” he asks, the familiar name slipping out without his consent. He hates the way his voice sounds far more pleading than angry, but it is too late to take it back.

There is a beat of silence, and then:

“Stay?” Alexander asks softly, and he turns to look at the man, this man he has known and loved and hated his entire life.

He should leave.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he crosses the floor to sit back down in that chair, and he stays. And he knows exactly the reason why, even if it’s not something he’ll ever care to admit.

Alexander has always been a difficult man to say no to.

Warm As Wool

Originally posted by v-writings

Prompt: 13 & 22

“You can borrow mine.”
“You’re warm.”

A/n: I’ve never tried writing for Jonathan or any Stranger Things character before so I’m open to any criticism or feedback you have!

Being good friends with the friendly neighborhood outcast was always an interesting time, even if you weren’t particularly well known in the student body either. Most of that being thanks to the fact that you spent almost all of your free time in the library, and when you weren’t there you could most likely be found at home, painting or tending to your plants.

But it wasn’t that people didn’t like you either, they just didn’t particularly know you very well, but the ones that did were incredibly fond of you. One of them being Steve Harrington. He was the closest you could call a friend among his own group, he was one of the few who didn’t constantly ask you for with history or english homework or if you knew the best possible way to grow roses for an upcoming anniversary.

That being said, Steve still wasn’t your only close friend, the other Jonathan Byers, the infamous outcast mentioned earlier. You’d had known him for over two years and in that time you two got to know and understand one another. He preferred to observe people from angle that was less warped by personal perspective, thus why he was constantly taking pictures, they only showed the truth about people.

And your reasons were a little less poetic. You just would rather spend your time with your books and plants as opposed to the usual pleasantries that was expected of the average teenager. The two of you had a mutual understanding of one another, and thus a friendship was formed.

Though as time passed, the lines  began to blur between companionship and deeper affection for Jonathan, though it wasn’t really a surprise for him. He’d never had someone in his life who understood him so well, apart from his brother but even then there were some things that made it seem you were the only one whom he could talk to of.

However, his shy and more reserved nature made it more of a problem to confront his feelings for you, so he instead preferred to admire from afar and keep it to himself until he had more confirmation about how you felt him.

And while he knew he was more obvious in his fondness for you, as his mother so kindly pointed out one day after you had left his house one day when you had come over as always until your parents would return from work.

“So have you told her yet?” Joyce asked him as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

Jonathan looked from the small pile of polaroids that he had in front of him. “I don’t know what you mean?”

Joyce held back the laugh and strolled over to the dining table and plucking one of the photos from it’s spot before Jonathan could move it away from her. She flipped it over and with a triumphant smiled she showed the photo to him, a candid of you pouring over a History textbook while your reading glasses slowly descended down the bridge of your nose.

“Are you sure about that?” Joyce mused.

Jonathan quickly felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck and it slowly made it’s way to his cheeks as he quickly took the photo from his mother and hiding it away from her. “It was a nice angle.” He mumbled quietly.

Enjoying the newfound embarrassment she was bringing to him. Joyce’s eyes swept across the other photo’s he was trying to hide with his arms. “Really? Is that why you took six of them?” She said with a profound amount of amusement in her tone, only meaning to tease him.

“Please don’t say anything?” He asked helplessly.

Joyce shook her head and crossed her heart. “Not a word.”

                                                   ~

“Oh damn.” You said as you scavenged through your bag for your scarf, letting out an annoyed sigh once you realized it wasn’t there. “So much for that.”

“Here.” Jonathan said, taking off his own jacket and placing it on you. “You can borrow mine, I’m not that cold anyways.”

You laughed after he put it on. “No kidding, this is like an oven here.” You said looking over at him with a grin. “You know you’re pretty warm.”

Jonathan smiled and looked down at the gravel. “Yeah, Will tells me the same thing every time I let him wear it too.”

“How is he anyways? Still holding up fine?” You asked him curiously. You had only met Will a few times, anytime you were over at the Byers he was at the Wheeler’s. And during the whole ordeal whenever he was missing you were out of town, and you only received minimal details of what had happened. That being said you were extremely fond of the kid and he looked up to you because of your mutual love for science and art.

Jonathan looked sideways for a second, seeing the genuine look on your face made him feel all warm in his chest. “He’s doing fine, thanks.” He told you, looking up at meeting your eyes for a second before he looked shyly back at the ground. “You know I’ve been meaning to-”

“(Y/n)!”

Steve’s voice came calling from the front of the school doors and both you and Jonathan turned to find him coming out of the library doors and jogging up to where you were.

He pulled a bundle of bright red fabric from behind his back and shot you a wide smile. “You almost forgot this.” He said, handing it out for you.

“Oh thank you! I was just gonna get it from the lost and found tomorrow.” You told him, wrapping the scarf around your hands.

Steve shot you a wink and saluted. “Not a problem, I’m always here to help a damsel in distress.”

The two of you shared a laugh before you waved him off, turning to find Jonathan looking pointedly at the ground. “I didn’t know you were with Steve.”

You sighed, knowing the history the two of them had. “He wanted a little extra help with the English assignment and I offered him some help.”

“Oh.”

You played with the ends of your scarf for a few seconds before walking up to him and wrapping it around his neck. “Don’t be cross with me, he’s just a friend.”

Jonathan’s eyes fixated themselves on the sudden color around his neck and he smiled. “I’m not mad.” He assured.

“Good! Now come on, I wanna go say hello to your mom.”

“Fine, I’m keeping the scarf though, I think the color suits me better.”

“Only if I can keep the jacket.”

“…Deal.”

Very long overdue art trade with my dearest friend bounoromato Sorey & Mikleo from the game Tales of Zestiria ! Please check out her art blog (manos-art) for more gorgeous drawings of these two (。♥‿♥。)

kibuto  asked:

Known-for: Being incredibly fashionable, of course!

In your opinion, what is my muse best known for?

This was from a few months ago and it’s increased since. I reglamour my healer and black mage outfits at least once a month, and I can guarantee it takes me at least 30 mins to decide on an outfit before an rp event. So yes, Kistenian is very much the stereotypical I-have-loads-of-clothes-but-nothing-to-wear and takes-2-hours-to-get-ready, always on top of fashion but at the cost of time and gil, because that’s how I am with him.

Worth it though

anonymous asked:

Ask Demonic Administration said that a demon's sex life (i.e. one or multiple partners during their life) is dependant on what their preference is. But you keep saying you'll only ever have one mate based on your breed of devil???

Well, you see Alphas, Betas and Omegas are not the same as regular devils and demons. We appeared to bring up Hell’s population. An Alpha and an Omega, once mated, will become a breeding pair. They stay with each other because if they were to breed with other Alphas and Omegas, then their genes will pass to more offspring and the more off spring they have with others that are not their mates, then the more likely it is for two with the same genetics, mind you don’t have to be half siblings but could be cousins, if they were to breed then genetic defects would happen. So while regular demons and devils can do whatever the fuck they want with their bodies with as many partners as they want, there is a rule for Alphas, Betas and Omegas.

7

A messy little comic where a discovery is made (and the masses eat it up).

Part 2

I told you I would return lol