A/N: I do have the plot planned out for the story—it's much different than what someone would expect it to be, but I love anything supernatural, especially angels.
Disclaimer | I do not own the Clique. I only own the plot of the stories—I claim no rights to canon characters, brand names, mentions of social media, or anything else.
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The amber eyes of Massie Block flitted across the room, falling on the caramel suede couch her parents had bought to stage the house, a house they had grown too attached to to sell. They had stayed with memories, leaving the over-expensive furniture she felt had no value of comfort, only designed to look modern and beautiful.
She could have sworn the pillows were positioned differently than they had been when she had fallen asleep.
She noticed these small things surrounding her constantly. They were small, but they were there—when a binder had fallen in front of her to trip her, it was moved to the side before she could fall over it.
When she slammed her locker shut in a dramatic display of anger that made it pop back open quickly, it was paused before it could hit her by something she was damn well sure wasn't gravity.
And when she slept each night, the couch pillows and down of the suede was smally different than it had been the night prior.
She never mentioned it—she had always opted for silence, watching stilly as the things around her seamlessly shifted or moved to keep her safe or away from embarrassment.
In fourth grade, a girl had thrown her coffee cup filled with steaming pumpkin spice coffee to the amber eyed girl because who the girl liked liked Massie in return. Before the coffee could burn Massie, the girl tripped and spilled it on herself.
In seventh grade, Massie had tripped over her shoelace while walking down stairs. Her foot had locked without her will against the edge of a stair, keeping herself from cracking open her forehead open on the stone stairs.
In ninth grade, an enemy had taken a photo of Massie changing into her sports bra for cross country and threatened to post it on Facebook. The girl deleted the photo mistakenly while she had tried to update it, something Massie knew she would never willingly do.
Each time harm came her way, it was deflected with a wave of confusion.
She had only told Claire about this, hoping the platinum blonde would see through what the amber eyed girl was trying to tell her, that a strange something filled the air around her and pinned her behind a wall of confusion and safety than annoyed the hell out of her.
Claire didn't understand.
It frustrated her that her best friend didn't, but it was something she tried to think as little of as possible. It was easier to act as though she didn't see the shifting objects around her, disappearing obstacles, and the way the pillows moved each night.
While she knew there was something away from the norm moving about her, the thought of a golden-eyed boy watching over her with a reckless spirit and a protective gaze was the last prospect from her mind.
She had never been the most religious person—she was more scientific in the way that she believed what she saw, and put her mind behind solid facts rather than the supernatural.
Magic was difficult for a human mind to understand, and the scarce humans who had truly seen and believed magic were easily grown to insanity. The images of truth behind the glamour set out to protect a humans fragile mind from the reality of the creatures made of heaven and hell protecting and destroying the beings born from earth too bright for them to see.
There was scarcely a soul every thousand years strong enough to see through glamour, a talent to be developed and crafted once after the veil was let down.
It still was dangerous.
Massie was that soul.
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Golden eyes flickered over his charge, paying little attention to the apprentice beside him, speaking of something he couldn't follow—he knew Cameron was speaking of seraphs, the angels who worked strictly in heaven and directly to God, much different and much easier than being a guardian.
He couldn't pay attention.
His charge was walking in a whirl of cold wind and rain, battering her face and prickling bumps over her arms, naked to the rain with her thin tank top, left sticking and sheer to her lightly tanned body.
It was a sight he would have normally thanked the stars for, but he was too concerned and swarmed by his curiosity and natural protective instinct for her to think of anything to materialize and ask her what the hell she was doing in the rain and wind, walking God knows where.
The sight would more likely drive her to insanity, but it was a tempting idea nonetheless.
"Derrick."
The golden-eyed man nodded towards his apprentice, keeping his eyes on the walking girl as he easily glided on the thin air above her, his powerful wings beating the rain away from her slightly so she wouldn't be too cold.
He wasn't supposed to practice this sort of exercise by the high law, but he had always been reckless, the amber-eyed girl making him much more reckless than he had been before. He broke laws he had followed for years for her, for her happiness and for her safety both and physically and mentally.
His job was simply to protect her from demons.
"What the hell does she think she's doing?"
"She probably thinks she's walking home."
"She came from her home."
Cam sighed, running a hair through his raven hair, the glamour on him letting the rain slip off of him and not wet his body, hair, clothes, or wings.
He never understood Derrick's protective infatuation with his charge.
"She'll be fine Derrick."
Loving her this way is dangerous, Derrick.
The second thought told him he was a hypocrite—even as the thought to Derrick's reckless regards passed his mind, the other prominent half of his mind was clouded over by a desire to go to Claire's side and see how she was.
The only reason he refused was as to his knowledge she would be with her boyfriend, Kemp Hurley. He had little reason to, but he hated the adolescent teenage boy constantly locking lips with the girl Cam thought to be his angel.
He nearly materialized and burnt Kemp a night he saw his hand go up the platinum blonde girls shirt, the jealousy driving him to snap out the open window before he could see her pull away, telling the boy she felt it to not be right.
It was hard not to be able to speak to her, but it was even harder to not be jealous as he watched another make her smile or laugh.
He was turning into Derrick—he didn't speak so violently or angrily, but he was always more calm than his upper hand, and never slaughtered his inner demons by hunting down a physical one as Derrick so loved to.
"Where is she going?" Cam glanced up at Derrick's charge, his confusion spurred by Derrick's words as he truly watched the amber eyed girl, looking to her the way Derrick was.
Massie was walking slowly despite the rain battering her face, tugging at her clothes and making her hands tremble, but her face didn't hold the shivering pain she was in. She never looked down to avoid a puddle or crack—she kept her eyes geared forward, not letting them flicker over the grey roads as they usually would.
Her body was rigid, walking with steps that could more easily be described as mechanical than as fluid, her long limbs looking as though they had dried out, stressing them to move in the way someone ordinary would.
Her face looked toneless, her eyes looking as though they were dead.
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"Fuck."
Derrick's golden eyes went over his charge, his throat feeling cold where the necklace all full-guardians wore, pendants of ice slivering down his throat.
He recognized the feeling with a distant clarity than burnt his ice-ridden bones.
His charge wasn't possessed, but she was halfway there.
Flying in front of the amber-eyed girl backwards, he let his golden eyes look directly into hers, something that always pained him in an emptying way when she simply looked directly through him.
She was the one empty now.
Her eyes looked hollowed, emptied into a hollowness he had seen only scarcely many years ago. The look in her eyes were only caused by the offspring of a human and a demon, a people he tried to avoid the best he could.
Necromancers.
Massie wasn't fully possessed, he could tell—she seemed to be under a spell of compulsion, the spelled look swirling in her amber eyes flickering in sparks of darkness within the normally bright pools of amber.
Derrick didn't have a single doubt it was the work of a necromancer, one of the only beings he truly feared. He knew many, and he knew them to never fight fair or play by rules set by the seraphs, twisting words into ones they could against the guardians.
They never killed the guardians—they twisted into their minds into a form of torture, the torture killing them slowly, yet not letting them die.
Insanity was often believed to be worse than death.
He didn't notice Cam's confused look, the raven-haired boy only noticing a robotic-looking girl and a golden-eyed man looking like he was about to stab someone and cry at the same time, something he hadn't seen on his uppers face in the years he had known him.
It was fear, terror, and slivers of fragile hope swirled into a single look of disbelief and despair.
"Derrick?"
"Cam."
"What's up?" Cam tried not to let on how stupid he sounded as he watched Derrick, flying back up to him.
"Massie's spelled."
Cam's head snapped towards his golden friends with a speed that resulted in cramping his neck, the raven-haired boy seeming to not mind the pain too much—he was more interested in watching Derrick's explanation of the least likely scenario that could possibly happen to the amber-eyed girl.
"What, exactly, makes you believe that?"
"Have you looked at her?"
"Maybe someone drugged her while you weren't looking."
Derrick gave his apprentice a look telling him it was wiser for him to simply shut up and believe him, something that was most times wise for the raven-haired boy, something he was always too impulsive to follow.
"Look at her eyes."
Cam's eyes went down to Massie's, still not taking Derrick's prose as a likely scenario.
He was sure his upper had finally gone insane.
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Claire was pressed against the window of her rusted pickup truck, arching her back as familiar lips attacked her throat, biting and sucking at the skin there.
Oddly enough, with her boyfriend pressed against her and placing lovebites on her throat, she was daydreaming.
The images swirling in her mind were strange to her—it was less of a daydream and more of a remembrance of a dream the night before, small flashes of golden light flickering through her mind, the dream finding its way back to her mind if she closed her eyes for long enough.
The boy was glowing—his skin had bands of gold circling him, the pure radiance of the gold color something she had only seen in the sun, something he resembled to her. His aura seemed to be the sun—dimmer and less bright, but still somehow illuminating the pitch black room.
He had off-white wings that could spread to the size of the boys body, made of feathers that seemed to be as soft as a liquid silk, something she knew even without laying a hand on the surreal feathers.
His back was to her, only revealing the wings, glowing skin, and hair than shone with a straight texture, looking to be made of the purest coal, cold yet boyish.
She breathed softly, and the winged boy turned, meeting her green eyes with one that was ice blue, and another a deep green, fixating the mixed eyes on her in a way that made her nearly shudder with a thrill.
His skin was light-toned, not minding the gold glow, and his lips were turned into a look of confusion, something also a smirk, looking as though he knew her through and through without even once speaking to her.
He was an angel.
And suddenly, Claire was falling, tumbling through blackness.
The black became gold, and he caught her in leanly muscled arms, looking down at her and making her feel like she was falling again with his blue and green eyed stare.
"Claire?"
The voice of her boyfriend rolled her back to the waking world, startling her. She blinked her green eyes rapidly, trying to let the beautiful boy created by her dreams fall away from her mind, attempting at focusing her attention on Kemp.
"Hmm?"
"You seem distracted."
"Oh."
"Can you try and speak more than a single word?"
"Yeah—I mean, of course I can."
Claire was rolled out of her seat and into a new one in his laps, feeling distracted still as his arms went about her and he turned her to face him.
"Claire, you can tell me."
"I know." Claire leant forward, letting her plush cherry lips meet with his rough ones, closing her eyes and letting her tongue fall through his lips to meet with his.
She kissed him roughly to forget her dream boy.
It was easier.
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The amber-eyed girl continued her slow walking pace, not caring that her hands trembled with the violence of the rain and wind that battered her soft face, not knowing that the two angels behind her were worried for her life, safety, sanity, and protection of her mind as they floated gently through the air behind her. She couldn't see them whisper to each other words of concern as though they could hear her; she couldn't see anything.
She was alone in her mind, not having a thought but to go forward without even the knowledge as to why she was going forward, where she was going, or why she was going the place she was.
She was going nowhere; she wasn't there.
She didn't know she wasn't present in her mind.
The amber-eyed girl had gotten exemplary grades on her every report card since she was twelve, been accepted to top-notch colleges, and had read every book on her shelf, but now? She didn't know, and didn't care to know anything—she was lost, she was gone.
She was stolen by the castor, placed under a trance in which she wasn't in control of herself—she didn't know how to control herself because the glamour she was under blurred her from seeing her lack of self control.
She didn't see the castor watching her through the clear portal, something neither of the angels could see either.
Massabielle Block didn't see the car spinning of the side of the road, falling towards her, something only the spell caught sight of.
She stepped in front of the truck, and let her life be taken.
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Golden eyes stayed still as Derrick fell to the ground quickly, materializing for the first time on the grounds of earth that he ever had.
He could be banished for doing so.
His skin still glowed, his halo still held, his wings still moved behind him as he kneeled besides the dead body of his charge, the dead body of the woman he had fallen so hard in love with.
His aura seemed to darken for only a moment as he watched the girl, looking more like she was sleeping than someone who had been taken by the ice-ridden hand of a calm death. She looked beautiful still, making him feel like she was the more of an angel than he because she was so pure.
It didn't matter; she was dead.
He could hear the voice of his apprentice telling him to appreciate her life, and be grateful she had allowed him to fall in love with her, not mentioning she had never seen him.
Even with the dead brunette lying in front of his upper, he couldn't block the trickle of thoughts that this would result with Derrick having a new charge, far from Claire.
The trickle of thoughts turned to a dam of loneliness, then regret, imagining the beautiful green-eyed girl in Massie's place.
He wouldn't handle it so well as Derrick—Derrick was always one to hide his emotions, believing they were easier to fight when they weren't present inside of him.
Derrick was one to take action, never one to mourn.
Cam's thoughts came quickly to match with Derrick's actions, watching his upper's hand tremble by his side, quickly lost again.
The golden-eyed man brought his hand to rest on the brunettes chest, feeling her stilled heart and feeling his own chest constrict, wishing to punch something or kill some hellish creature in the avoiding way he always loved to to avoid the feelings that seemed to be crushing him, twisting him, killing him.
His hand pressed harder on her chest, and a surge of golden light the same color as Derrick's eyes spurred from his tan hand on her chest, making the skin above her fragile heart illuminate in the way Derrick's aura glew.
The heart beneath his hand stuttered nervously before thrumming against his fingertips in a symphony that made his own grow still, the pale skin seeming to become more tanned with a life he wasn't aware she lacked while she was dead.
Her hand moved, her fingertips curling around his wrist before he could pull it from her chest, his gold eyes widening at both the movement and the beat of heat that fled through where her skin touched his in a way he had always yearned for but was never allowed.
Her amber eyes opened, and she looked to him—not through him as she had so many times before, but to him, watching him with a wonder as to his skin glowing, a confusion as to why he was wearing what she assumed to be wings from a beautifully designed Halloween costume, and amazement that someone so beautiful could live.
"Who are you?"
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Question Of The Day:
who is your otp?
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