#''I will work on Silent One'' I said. full of hubris and hope

[raiswanson]

so I may have decided to work on a short (or...a series of shorts) that serves as backstory/a prequel to another cluster of WIPs, instead of working on the WIPs themselves, and--

-drops a gift- uh merry christmas happy new year idk -sprints away-

Another snippet shared in [this] post!

~~~

“I plead for your protection, honored one. For safety.” I wet my lips, all too aware of how many eyes were watching from the corners of the room. “My family aims to send me away for their own gain, but I wish for happiness. I will not sacrifice myself for them.”

A low chuckle rumbled through the roost. “Are familial ties not precious to mortals? Do you not consider such sacrifice to be your duty?” He asked, amber eyes glowing through the thin curtain.

I stood taller before realizing it could be taken as defiance and tipped my head forward again. “This mortal does not,” I said through gritted teeth. My hands trembled as I reached for my collar—not from fear, from rage—and unbuttoned it to reveal my throat, still ringed in vibrant bruises from choking fingers. “I’ve given enough in the name of family. I desire only freedom.”

Silence answered. Long enough that my gaze slid toward the attending priests, certain I’d been dismissed before I could finish pleading my case. But no, their eyes remained on the curtain. Waiting. Listening. I took a steadying breath and remained on the platform, tapping out the seconds on my knuckles.

“Why have you come here, to me?” He asked finally, and I was surprised to hear what could almost be genuine curiosity in His voice. “My sister by the sea is better known for offering safety to those who plead her favor, and I am certainly not known for the same generosity. Yet you made the long, hard journey to my cliffs instead. You will find little protection here. Seekers come to me for vengeance. Power. I fear you’ve come to the wrong place, mortal.”

[gisellelx]

Faces

Carlisle x Esme 2200 words

for @needahugfromesme

Faces

Fall, 1934 Amherst, MA

It was an utterly ordinary afternoon. Rosalie and Edward had recently returned from university, and the sounds of their bickering rose up the stairs. Why the two of them did not find their peace elsewhere, she didn’t know. She might send them off to hunt, she thought. Perhaps in different counties.

Yet there was something familiar about the way the two of them had fallen into rhythm as siblings. Edward, older and younger brother at once. Rosalie, full of disastrously-won wisdom and always aggrieved, unwilling to listen to Edward’s point of view. There was no sign that they would ever be the partners Esme’s husband had once imagined, hoping that a woman might solve the same hole in Edward’s heart that Esme herself had solved in his. And yet there was a camaraderie in their arguments and insults, a rhythm to their family dynamic that somehow made it more whole. They were true siblings—occasionally quietly bonded over the latest news from Chevrolet, more often sniping like children about closed bedroom doors.

Carlisle, though—he was more difficult. Rosalie had snapped at him before he’d left for work. Her resentment knew no bounds, exacerbated by the knowledge that even in his moment of profoundly foolish savior-complex, he had been thinking of Edward, and the pain that still burned in his own heart, two years after their prodigal son had returned…

Esme wasn’t sure Rosalie would ever forgive him.

She wasn’t sure Rosalie should.

Her husband didn’t know how to relate to a daughter, Esme understood. His son had completed him so fully—unlocking with his gift the centuries of solitude which made Carlisle Cullen who he was. Like everything of importance Carlisle did, he had turned Rosalie it rashly, without regard to her effects on anyone else.

Rosalie was just strong enough to force him to pay the price for that.

Esme recalled her husband’s slumped shoulders as he exited the house after the latest round of berating from his daughter. The look in his eyes of utter defeat.

“She’ll cool off,” Esme had whispered to him hours before, but she hadn’t—as usual, she had taken her discomfort out on Edward. And as Esme listened to the voices reaching a fever pitch downstairs—a back and forth which grew increasingly intense but did not reach a point where she needed to intervene—she selected charcoal, her hand flying across the paper on her easel before she even knew what she was beginning. As so many times before, it was her husband’s face her fingers brought to mind. She had drawn him how many dozens of times in the ten years between the time she had met him and when she had awoken to this new life. The high cheekbones, the square jaw, the singular lock of utterly unruly hair at his temple which seemed to exist only to prove that there were some things Carlisle Cullen could never control. She had forced herself to recall those features over and over, to render them in more permanent forms—charcoal, pencil, oil pastel. Over and over she had drawn him until his face had been committed not only to the memory of her mind but also the memory of her fingers.

She had never planned to have a daughter. She had known, somehow, from the moment she felt the first strange sensation in her abdomen. Not a kick or a flutter or any of the things that her girlfriends had told her to expect, but instead as though some of her internal organs simply…flipped over. She had touched her own belly in awe, and had known right then, without thinking, that it was a male child. Perhaps a daughter would have softened her husband, but she knew, somehow, that a male child was in greater danger. That he would not be protected; that he would be pushed, that the expectation upon his barely-formed shoulders would be impossible. It had been that conviction that had put her on the Great Lakes train, whisked her to a state she’d never seen before,  and which later drove her from her cousin’s to the very northern tip of the country.

Then her son had been born, with his tiny squalling body and his perfect smell, only to be ripped away fewer than two days later. And she had reached out in despair and found not her son, but the gentle face she had sketched for  a decade, staring down at her.

Today, as she laid out the roughest of her husband’s familiar form, Esme was not fully aware that somehow, she had softened the beautiful severity of his cheekbones, that she had added subtle curvature to the sharpness of his jaw. But she had done so, and it wasn’t Carlisle’s face which was emerging.

It had been an entire year, now, that their family of three had been a family of four. And a scant single score of years that the hardened bachelor and his beloved son had welcomed any feminine presence into their lives. She had worried about being a bother to them both, and she knew, that sometimes, she was—the way Edward’s eyes would narrow from time to time, the way Carlisle shadowed him when he was upset.

And so she tried. She tried to reach to Rosalie. She tried to bridge the shared elements of their past, only to be met with the coldest of shoulders. This family, Rosalie seemed to say, was the world of the men. Rose hated Carlisle for his hubris, hated Edward for his gift, and if she didn’t hate Esme, it was only for Esme’s shared experience of these two things.

So, as she thought of her daughter, listened to bickering give way to quiet conversation, and then to silence, and then to the gentle chords of a sonata, the cheekbones softened, the jawbone became subtler, the high forehead became heart-shaped with a widow’s peak. The nose became thinner, the lips softer, and the single unruly lock of golden hair became dozens, spilling onto shoulders which sloped more gently.

It was difficult for vampires to get fully lost in work, and so she heard when the front door open and close. Edward was still playing, and wherever Rose had moved to—her bedroom, if the distance to her scent was to believed—she was quiet. So Esme knew that her husband was home even before she heard a briefcase drop gently to the floor and before the waft of smoked cinnamon made its way to her nose. She had a split-second to consider this fact before warm lips had buried themselves where her neck met her collarbone.

“What are you drawing,” her husband muttered, and she shook her head.

“Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing.” He stepped back and appraised the easel, reaching out with one hand. She laid down her charcoal and smacked his arm playfully.

“It isn’t nothing. But I’m not finished yet. Go bother the children.”

He sighed. “They’re fighting.”

“They’ve been fighting all afternoon. It’s quieter, now.”

Her husband chuckled, pressing his lips to her neck again. “I apologize for leaving you alone all day with that.”  

She shook her head. “Edward plays impromptus when he’s angry with Rose. It’s good background.” It had been Fauré , today—the impossibly fast descending scales across the keyboard, sounding like water. Esme had never bothered to learn the details of classical music before, but now it was impossible not to—she marveled at times at the way her mind was able to store the names of styles and composers and even the actual beats of the music itself. She hadn’t cared, before, but with Edward, it became a thing about which one cared. To love Edward was to love his piano, and that meant that all of them learned to understand it.

“Give me another half-hour?” she asked.

Her husband nodded, kissing her neck again and then disappearing. The piano stopped mid-phrase, and she heard only one-sided murmurs which told her that Carlisle and Edward were engaged in one of their desperately intimate conversations. If she strained, she could hear them, no doubt, but she chose not to, letting her hand bring shape to the face whose provenance she now understood. She kept the long eyelashes, and the light-hued eyes. She made the lips ever so slightly fuller, and drew the slightest hint of a bosom at the bottom of the page.

It was longer than a half hour before Carlisle returned. From the subtle addition to his scent, it seemed likely he had been sitting with Edward at the piano, having one of their near-silent conversations. Edward could read Carlisle’s mind, of course, but after a decade and a half, it often seemed that Carlisle could read Edward’s almost as surely. They often sat in silent companionship, Edward plying, Carlisle listening, bonded by their thoughts and impenetrable by either Rosalie or Esme.

Carlisle kissed her before even bothering to look at the easel. She let herself fall into the kiss, the way her husband’s supple lips moved against her own. It was only several minutes later that he seemed to remember what he had intended to inquire after, and pulled away to appraise the drawing. His head cocked to one side as he gazed at it, his mouth falling open slightly in recognition.

He had revealed this sad fact in their very first conversation. She, half-delirious from the laudanum, he, trying bravely to keep his demeanor professional. Yet she recalled it with her hazy, opiate-influenced human memory, nearly with the same crystal clarity that he did. As she’d asked after his name, and after receiving his title, asked his first name, which he had, to his own surprise, volunteered.

“I’ve never met a Carlisle before,” she’d told him, and he’d only smirked.

“Nor I an Esme. One wonders why you are not a Mary, or a Margaret.”

And she’d returned his smile and his gentle banter. She had inquired where the unusual name had come from, and he had answered that perhaps it was his mother’s maiden name, and then she had asked after his mother, eliciting the same pained, faraway look that graced his features now as he explained how and when she had died...

“Not knowing what your father looked like,” Esme offered as he stared silently, “I wasn’t sure which of your features to subtract, but…”

The gulp was audible. “No,” her husband said quietly, “I imagine this is about right.” Another deep swallow, then: “What brought this on?”

She shrugged. “I’m not even sure myself.” Involuntarily, her right hand opened and closed, feeling the ghost of the charcoal still in her fingers. She sighed.

“Rosalie,” she said quietly.

Carlisle shot her a quizzical look.

“I suppose I was thinking about Rosalie. And how you left with her still angry.”

There were two stools in her studio, one before each easel, both unnecessary in the strictest sense, but they encouraged the right posture for sweeping her arm across wide paper or canvas. Carlisle pulled the second one near her and sat down, his lips suddenly pressed tight.

“She hates me,” he muttered.

Esme nodded. “Sometimes, yes. You don’t always make it easy for her.”

He thrust a hand into his hair, and the unruly lock fell through his fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was clipped with frustration. “I just want her to be happy.”

“You can’t force people to be happy, Carlisle.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “You’d think that after what happened with Edward, I’d know that.”

She laughed in answer. Two years on, their mercurial son was beginning to recover from his shame and anger. Gentler songs came from the piano more often than not, and every now and then, even an original composition. Slowly, month by month, arpeggio by arpeggio, he was coming back to them.

“I suppose…” she began. When she hadn’t finished her sentence a moment later, Carlisle prodded.

“You suppose?”

She gestured. She had drawn the woman with the same tired but indulgently kind eyes her husband had. Eyes that suggested that whatever the person being looked on was wont to do, they would be forgiven. They would be loved.

“You have a daughter now,” she said gently. “I thought it might be helpful for you to remember that once, you had a mother, too.”

Her husband’s thin lips pressed together even more tightly, and she saw his adam’s apple move yet again. She stood up, brushing the charcoal off her fingertips against her skirt as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. She laid a hand on his shoulder briefly, then went down the stairs.

It was nearly two hours of listening to the piano later, watching Rosalie read and pretend not to care what Edward was playing, before Esme bothered to creep back up to her studio. The door was still open a crack, and the air was still thick with the smoked cinnamon that was her husband’s scent as she peeked inside.

Carlisle sat alone in the utter dark, his legs crossed, the moonbeams shading in through the window making his skin a translucent blue white as he gazed up into the portrait’s kind, pale eyes. Slowly, his hand crept from his side to reach out, the pad of his finger tracing the jawline she had sketched. And then it hung there, index finger outstretched, as though it was not the strong, assured hand of a surgeon but the beseeching hand of a child, reaching, desperately, across space and time.

Quietly, Esme pulled the door closed and went to find her daughter.

[riversofmars]

Can I ask you for a prompt about Thirteen stalking River at a dozen points throughout River's timeline (and all out of order)?? xx Thank you.

Hello! This is a brilliant prompt that I’ve actually been saving for the right moment :D I wanted to do it as a slightly bigger project and here we are. So this is going to be the first chapter of 12, one for each encounter (no way was I gonna do this in a one-shot lol), they’ll probably vary in length. I’m also planning on using some of the other prompts I’ve got sitting here for the encounters cause some are just perfect for it. All one big story though, chronological from the Doctor’s point of view, all over the place for River. :D

Starting off a bit serious but will turn lighter as we go along. Something (relatively) light and entertaining before I throw myself into something more serious again. Hope you’ll enjoy this!

Rating: G

Word Count: 2600

Read below or on AO3

Big, Vast, Complicated and Ridiculous

Chapter 1: The Library

The TARDIS materialised in the complete silence that engulfed the Library. Only the light atop the TARDIS reflected on the marble floor, the whole planet was shrouded in living, breathing darkness. There were a great many terrifying things in the universe, the Vashta Nerada certainly ranked right up there, but very few things actually scared the Doctor anymore. When she opened the TARDIS door, the golden light shining from behind her pushed the shadows back.

“I’m the Doctor, remember me?“ She spoke into the silence as she stepped out of her TARDIS and the shadows retreated from where she set her foot. “I’m not here to disturb you, I just want to see my wife.“ She said but didn’t get a response. She hadn’t expected one, there was no body for the shadows to inhabit and talk to her. “I just destroyed an army of Daleks… don’t mess with me right now, keep out of my hair and I will keep out of yours.“ Her voice was low and threatening. She hardly recognised herself anymore. It was one of the many reasons she was here. Nineteen years she had spent locked away with plenty of time to think. Being rescued and seeing off a Dalek invasion hadn’t done much to alleviate her gloom. If anything, it had pushed her further in a direction she wasn’t sure she wanted to be going in.

“Where are we going to go?“ Yaz had asked after Ryan and Graham had left the TARDIS.

“I…“ the Doctor hadn’t been sure what to say, heading off on another random adventure just didn’t feel right. Not when she had so many questions that needed answering, so many things she needed to figure out about herself. “I need to find out who I am, Yaz…“ She had said at last, squaring her jaw. She couldn’t just keep going, carrying all these questions with her. She felt so far removed from herself, how could she be carrying on in the name of the Doctor, when she didn’t even know who that person was anymore?

“Then we will do that.“ Yaz had said encouragingly. “Where do you want to start?“

The Doctor had thought about the answer to that question a lot in the nineteen years she’d been locked up. She’d taken a deep breath, gathering herself.

“There is someone I need to go and see, someone that knows me better than anyone else in the universe.“ She’d answered.

“Right, great, who is it? Where are we going?“ Yaz had asked, full of enthusiasm that had just been too much for the Doctor at the time.

“Yaz, this is something I need to do by myself…“ She’d said after brief consideration and Yaz’s face had fallen. “I promise I won’t keep you waiting long, I will pick you up again soon, but this bit… it’s personal.“ The Doctor had looked away, busying herself by setting coordinates and not face Yaz’s disappointment.

“Oh… but you said…“ Yaz hadn’t given up easily and it had taken a lot out of the Doctor to muster the needed enthusiasm.

“I’ll be back by the time you’ve packed a bag.“ The Doctor had smiled and meant it. She was glad at least one of her friends still wanted to travel with her but the place she needed to go, that was something she had to do by herself.

“I will be back here in an hour and if you’re not, Doctor, so help me, I…“ Yaz had tried her best to understand, she’d known her friend was struggling and if that was something she had to do by herself, she would have to give her that time.

“One hour it is.“ The Doctor had put on an optimistic smile. “I got my phone back as well, you can reach me any time, don’t worry.“

Yaz had given in to her persuasive and optimistic promise. Any trace of that enthusiasm the Doctor had mustered for her companion had drained away now. She didn’t need to pretend here, amongst the shadows. She had every right to be bitter, every right to be angry and sad and grieving. The shadows had been there and seen it all and they understood. Her threatening tone certainly had the desired effect as the shadows retreated and created a walk way to the nearest computer screen. The Doctor made her way over to the terminal and accessed it right away, before she could let her anxieties overwhelm her.

“CAL?“ She spoke as the computer engaged and powered up. “CAL? I need to talk to River.“

“Way ahead of you, Sweetie.“ River’s face appeared on the screen, giving her a warm smile that made the Doctor’s chest tighten immediately. She’d known seeing her like this would be hard, but to see that love and warmth in her eyes was more painful than anger at her long absence could have been.

“River, I… I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner…“ The Doctor grabbed on to the terminal, trying to get as close as she could although she knew, of course, that it made no difference. River wasn’t physically there. She was just a voice, a consciousness, inside a computer. That knowledge made it hard for the Doctor to breath.

“I’m sure you have been very busy, saving the universe and all that.“ River chuckled lightheartedly and the Doctor couldn’t be sure if she actually meant it or if she was being sarcastic. She wasn’t good at reading people’s expressions at the best of times and she certainly didn’t feel her best right about now. “What brings you here now?“ River asked, tilting her head and the Doctor’s hearts sank. She knew her too well to assume she’d come without an anterior motive.

“I, uh… I’m feeling really lost right now and I thought… I just needed to see you again… I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be the Doctor…“ The Doctor confessed, unable to keep up the pretence any longer. They were alone, just her and River, the woman who had seen the best and the worst of her, knew everything about her, every face, everything she’d done… and still loved her regardless.

“Ah this again.“ River gave her a kind smile. “You have an identity crisis and you come to your old wife for a pep talk?“ She chuckled.

“River, you don’t understand, the timelords, they kept so much from me, I don’t even know my own life. I’m not even one of them. Turns out I’m just a foundling with these abilities that they then took for themselves. And I don’t even remember any of it, they took the memories…“ The Doctor started rambling. She didn’t know what to say or how to explain, it was just so much. River remained silent, just listening, allowing her to carry on: “I’m just so angry, I’ve done some really bad things and I can feel myself slipping into all that anger and…“ The Doctor closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory of Gallifrey burning, of the Master laughing, of her destroying a TARDIS to wipe out the Daleks…

“The anger of a good man is not a problem.“ River smiled, echoing a voice from their joint past and the Doctor actually laughed.

“You know I’m not a good man, River.“ She shook her head bitterly.

“That’s where you’re wrong, my Love. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. Or woman, come to think of it.“ River chuckled.

“I’m being serious, River.“ The Doctor shook her head. Why wasn’t she taking her seriously?

“So am I.“ River replied more firmly and the Doctor looked up at her. “You might feel yourself slipping and you might end up doing bad things, terrible things even but never without reason. Sometimes there isn’t a right choice so you have to make a hard one and you do. It’s what you have to do. And it’s not always easy but you always find your way back to yourself.“

“Last time this happened, you were there, to pull me back from the brink. At Demon’s Run. You said I make them so afraid… and I could see that. And I do again, now. This is not what Doctor is supposed to mean.“ The Doctor lowered her eyes again, ashamed for her actions. She remembered Demon’s Run well. Her hubris had been her downfall then. She could feel herself slipping back into that dark mindset, the anger she’d felt towards Madame Kovarian, the fear for Amy…

“Oh darling, you might have a temporary and possibly well founded identity crisis but you’re still the Doctor, my Doctor.“ River smiled kindly as it was the best she could do and the Doctor wished nothing more than to be able to touch her. Fall into her arms and have her tell her everything would be alright again. That she would work it out like she always did. That she was still proud of her, still believed in her, still loved her.

“You know I want nothing more than to be that person. For you, if nothing else. But how do I do it?“ She retorted, almost desperately.

“I’m sorry, my Love, I can’t tell you that, those experiences have to be lived, not told. I think you’d been sitting still for too long, you’ve forgotten what the thrill of adventure feels like, the joy of helping and saving someone. What it means to be the good guy and stand up for what’s right… To actually have fun again.“ River’s smile was full of compassion.

“Is that your advice? Just go back out there and find adventure and live?“ The Doctor laughed in a bitter sort of way and shook her head in disbelief.

“Something like that. Answers to the big questions have a habit of finding you along the way… I’m afraid you have quite a way to go yet before then but you want to be your best self when you do, don’t you?“ River shrugged.

“That’s not… how am I to do that if I don’t know how to carry on?“ The Doctor snapped, frustrated. Did River not understand what she was saying? How could she just suggest she carry on and find herself along the way. She had tried on Earth, fighting off the Daleks, and she had not acted like the Doctor at all. If she put herself in the midst of another adventure, what was to stop her from making the wrong choices? How was she to act like the Doctor if she couldn’t think like them anymore?

“What did you expect to find here? I’m just a face in a computer.“ River retorted pulling the Doctor out of her frenzied thoughts.

“River you…“ The Doctor felt guilty immediately, she had been so wrapped up in herself. River was so much more than that to her, even now.

“No, Doctor, you can’t come here and expect me to help fix you, you’ll have to do that yourself and you’re only going to do that by carrying on.“ River said sternly.

“To do that, I need you, I need your help.“ The Doctor confessed why she had really come. “When I’m with you, it’s like… I know who I’m meant to be. You make me a better person.“ She couldn’t help but think back to the time right after Darillium. How she had kept her diary close, River’s words guiding her through some of the hardest decisions of her life. She pushed her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out River’s diary. “I need… I need more.“ She looked at the well worn blue cover and then to River. She could see the flash of deep emotion in her eyes that she tried to hide with a dazzling smile as usual.

“Then you have come to the wrong version of me, haven’t you.“ River chuckled, the sadness gone from her eyes. “I’m stuck in a computer, Doctor, but there are plenty younger versions of me running around out there.“

“But, the diary…“ The Doctor had read it cover to cover many times. Even all the encounters River had had with her past selves before she’d even known who she was. It was all there. She had lived and read it all already.

“Oh Doctor, my dear Doctor, I was never going to put it all in there, was I.“ River smirked and the Doctor looked up dumbfounded as the penny dropped.

“You recognised me!“ She exclaimed. “You knew it was me straight away!“

“Of course I did, Sweetie. That particularly pretty face of yours has been all over my timeline.“ River grinned.

“It has?“ The Doctor’s head was spinning as her world turned upside down. Was this River’s way of telling her that this was not the end of their story?

“Well, it’s one of those timey wimey things, isn’t it. You come here distraught and talk to me, I tell you to see my younger selves, you tell my younger self not to put it in the diary, so you don’t know about those adventures and come here distraught to talk to me…“ River smirked drawing a circle in the air as the Doctor buried her face in her hands and groaned, annoyed at how she hadn’t seen this coming, it was just them all over. Her and River, time and space… Rule 1: The Doctor and River lie. She looked at River’s smiling face and felt much lighter than she had in a long time. Perhaps she could do this after all. Perhaps if she had those encounters to look forward to, she could keep going. River laughed: “See Sweetie, it’s never over for us, is it. All that time and space, we’re still running together, somewhere out there, and we will never stop. Maybe just delay for a time.“

“Maybe I’ll even get you out of here one day.“ The Doctor said the words before she could think better of it. Maybe she could, one day, make up for the one thing she regretted more than anything else.

“Maybe you will.“ River chuckled airily. “Until then, have fun with my younger self. Those were some good times.“ She gave her a wink.

“I will come back.“ The Doctor promised with renewed determination.

“Until then, my love.“ River blew her a kiss and before the Doctor could muster the strength for more meaningful goodbyes, the screen went black. The Doctor shook her head to herself, she was sure River had done it on purpose to make sure she would actually come back.

It was a strange mix of feelings as she returned to the TARDIS, she still felt the anger bubbling inside her, the nagging questions… but there was hope now, too, something to look forward to. The TARDIS hummed and wheezed as the Doctor closed the door behind herself, back in the comforting light and safety.

“Yes, she’s fine…“ The Doctor answered the TARDIS’s question as she stepped up to the console. “At least I think so… I didn’t exactly ask but she looked fine… I mean, she’s an image on a computer screen so of course she looks fine, she’ll always look like she did when she was uploaded I guess… But she didn’t say anything about not being fine… She did say we would see her again though.“ The Doctor found herself grinning now. “Let’s pick up Yaz and then, who knows… maybe we will run into her, wouldn’t that be something.“ She pushed the lever down and the TARDIS jumped into the time vortex. Th journey took no time at all and they landed only moments later. The Doctor skipped over to the door, already picking out suitable travel destinations in her head for their next adventure, and ready to welcome Yaz back.

“Okay… this is not Sheffield!“ The Doctor’s face fell as she opened the TARDIS door. Slowly, she stepped outside into blinding sunshine. “Yaz is going to kill me if I’m late.“ She scolded the TARDIS. “Why are you doing this?“  

[i-lionheart]

IT'S NOT A WIP ANYMORE BITCHES!!!!!

Ok so i wrote a fic that's basically this post by the-modern-typewriter but i took the concept and some main elements and rewrote it as a kylo ren self insert because of course i did i wanted a comfort fic and i refuse to apologize its not plagiarism i cited my sources k thx

anyways this is a Kylo ren x fem!reader (but the only time reader's gender is referenced as when they're referred to as "good girl" so make of that what you will). Angst, torture mention, self harm tw, suicide tw, depression tw, safe for work but implicit nudity. Also there's none of that "y/n" or (name) shit because I just personally hate it. I made this for me not you but it totally fukin slaps so read on at your own risk lmao

Tell Me Why

“You’ve been astonishingly resilient,” Ren said softly. “What a shame it has to come to this.”

His gaze roamed over you lazily, possessively, drinking in the sight of you. You were bound, gagged, and strapped down to an interrogation table. In his personal quarters, of all places.

You would trade every star in the galaxy to be anywhere but here.

Ren picked up a syringe full of clear, thick liquid off the tray of wicked-looking instruments that lay beside you and held it in front of your eyes. “I’m expect you’re quite familiar with this," he said, voice deceptively casual. "The resistance undoubtedly trained you to resist truth serum as insurance against the unthinkable. Obviously,” he said, indicating your current predicament, “They are fools.”

So it would be truth serum. You could handle this easily enough. All you had to do was tell him the truth, but not the one he was looking for. Simple.

Some miniscule change in your expression must have given your hubris away. Ren chuckled. “You poor thing.” he said. “Do you really think that we haven’t made… improvements on this since my grandfather held your precious General captive so long ago?”

You swallowed thickly, blood pounding through your temples as your breath caught in your throat. What could he possibly be talking about? Truth serum had been perfected in the days of Old Republic and hadn’t changed for centuries.

What advantage could he possibly hope to have?

Ren lowered his face until his eyes were level with yours. Though every fiber of your being screamed at you to look away, you met his gaze, trembling.

“You know as well as I do that the Old Republic, the Jedi, were weak. Fools,” he spat. “They were afraid to do what was truly necessary to meet their goals. The First Order has no such weaknesses.”

He lowered his mouth and whispered rapidly in your ear, his breath ghosting along your skin. “Unfortunately for you, I am not a Jedi, and this will hurt quite a bit. I only wish that I could remove that gag and hear every shriek that comes out of that pretty little mouth without risking you biting off your own tongue.” He clucked his tongue softly as he stood up. “What a shame.”

He replaced the syringe on the tray and selected a small pair of medical scissors, then began to methodically cut through the fabric of your sleeve. "I would apologize for the outfit," he said sardonically, "but I rather suspect that you have much bigger things to be worrying about at the moment."

Once your sleeve was split all the way to your elbow, Ren set the scissors down and set his leather-clad fingers to the task of spreading the halved fabric of your sleeve to fully reveal your bare skin. He was agonizingly gentle, as though trying to spread the petals of a struggling flower and help it bloom.

His work complete, his eyes and his fingers roved over your exposed arm, relishing your vulnerability. If you weren't paralyzed with fear, you would have squirmed, thrashed, done anything to flee his scrutiny.

Force, please, you thought desperately, don't let him see them. Please, anything but that. I'll give anything. Let him do what he wishes to me as long as they go unnoticed. Please.

As though sensing your frantic pleas, Ren's eyes locked onto your wrist, onto the unnaturally straight cuts and scars criss crossing your skin.

"What is this?" he said softly.

Shit.

It was the last straw. The spell of fear holding you in place broke. You twisted your arm as far as you could in the restraints, trying to hide what it was far too late to conceal. Instantly his hand shot out and pinned your wrist to the table as you writhed in his grasp.

"You know as well as I do that you cannot take back what has been revealed. The mynock is out of the bag, little one. Are you going to lie still, and let me finish what your own foolish actions have started? Or am I going to have to make you?"

Realizing it was of no use, that you were absolutely, utterly powerless, you stopped thrashing. Tears glistened on your cheeks. Your breath hitched as choked sobs pushed their way past your gag. You fought for every inhale and exhale, lungs crushed under the weight of your own rising panic.

But bewilderingly, inexorably, you were still.

"Good girl," he breathed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand from your wrist. When you remained motionless, even without his grip holding you to the table, his hands moved to your elbow and, abandoning those damn scissors, he began to finish what he had started.

He tore first one sleeve, then the other, and made short work of everything else until you were laid bare before him. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

Kylo Ren's eyes roved over you, taking in every mark, every scar, every bruise on your bare skin. You wanted to fight it so badly, wanted twist yourself away from his agonizing scrutiny, but all you could do was shut your eyes and pray for it to be over. His burning gaze held you immobile like the galaxy's most powerful vice.

"I know what marks I've left on this body, little one," he said, voice unbearably tender. "I know what scars one gets from doing what we do. But this-" his fingers brushed your wrists, your thighs, your torso, tracing the bar code that you had marked yourself with in so many places- "this is not that." His voice, though still intolerably gentle, was taut, hinting at the tightly leashed rage that you could feel bubbling just below his deceptively calm exterior.

For so long, you had been terrified that someone would find out, would ask an unavoidable question, would see something they shouldn't have because you slipped up.

You hadn't expected it to be him.

What the hell was he going to do to you?

After another excruciating moment of consideration, he reached up and unbuckled the gag, carefully sliding it out from between your teeth and setting it on the tray beside the scissors and abandoned syringe. You worked your jaw, gratefully bringing a bit of relief to your sore muscles and parched mouth. You were so tired. So, so tired, too physically and psychologically exhausted to care what happened to you anymore. You had already been on this table for an eternity too long. Let him get what he wanted from you and finally, at long last, leave you for dead.

"What is it?" he asked evenly. "Control? Punishment? Or something else?"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with fear and shock, only to find your gaze locked together with his.

"What?" The word came out of your mouth in a grating, dry rasp.

"You heard me," he said. "Why do you do it?"

How dare he. How dare he. The absolute nerve he had, to strap you to a table you and torture you endlessly, and then find out about this and pretend that he cared.

"Fuck off," you said.

"That's no answer."

"You don't even care." You glanced away, eyes flooded with silent tears that you were too embarrassed about to let him see. "No one does."

You flinched as you felt a leather glove hand touch you, then realized that he was caressing your face. Stroking your hair. Comforting you, exactly where you needed it. Holding you like your mother did, so long ago. Touching you the way you had been starving for for so long.

How could he possibly know what you needed so desperately, much less be doing it of his own accord? What happened to him?

You finally mustered up the courage to look back at him, despite the blinding tears and your fear of what you might see. When you finally wrenched your gaze up to meet his, you were shocked by what you saw.

Pity. Concern. Genuine worry. Anger, not at you, but at the people who watched you spiral so far down and did nothing.

All this he told you with his eyes alone.

How was this possible? Stars' sake, he was your enemy. He hated you. So why was he looking at you like he was trying to offer you a lifeline when he was supposed to want you dead?

"Why are you doing this to me?" you whispered.

"Answer me," he said quietly, "And I'll stop."

You took a rattling breath in, and shut your eyes.

You had no choice.

"It's everything," you said softly. "The control. The punishment. All of it." You opened your eyes again and looked back at him as a sob built in your throat. "It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

---

"It keeps me alive, even though I don't deserve to be."

The words hit Kylo like a dagger to the heart.

So that was why you had never acted on the desires he sensed in you, why you wanted to join him so badly but rejected his offers at every turn. That was why, when he offered you his hand, his teaching, his service, a position by his side, you almost took it before you wrenched yourself away. The Resistance never understood you, saw you as nothing more than a tool for a job. And you didn't think you deserved the what he could provide.

The sobs he had watched you struggle against for so long finally spilled past your lips in a tidal wave. He shushed you as one would a frightened animal, brushed away your tears with his thumb, and quickly undid the restraints at your ankles and wrist. He slid his arms under you and lifted you as easily as though you were a child, one arm under your legs to support your weight, the other pressing your head to his chest as you sobbed, the Force supporting you where he couldn't.

"Easy now," he said, voice low and soothing. "Easy, easy, easy- there we go, come on, come on, there's a good girl. I've got you. I've got you. You're safe now. You're safe. Good girl, come with me. Come with me, now."

He kept up the constant stream of reassurances as he carried you to his bed, holding you with one arm and the Force as he pulled back the covers with the other before setting you in the bed. He kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, pulling you close to his chest, telling you what you had needed to hear for so long.

You were going to be okay, he told you. He promised. Vowed to keep you by his side and give you everything he had to offer, fulfill your every need.

He'd give you the galaxy, if you asked for it. But all you needed was him.

The two of you stayed there until your sobs subsided, his hand absently stroking your hair, your tears soaking his shirt. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew.

You were finally where you belonged. And you were here to stay.

[themagnusaesthetic]

Wow an original post? On this blog? Wild! This blog hasn't existed for that long, but I have been listening to tma for A While now, and I think that I, 3 episodes before it all ends, have figured out how it will end. I have laid the puzzle pieces out in front of me, put them together, and filled in the gaps. I am more sure of this theory than I have been of any of my previous ones, which is why I am posting this one here for everyone to see.

Obviously I dont have the full detailed script, but I think I roughly know whats going to happen, and I even have enough hubris to say I think I know what the final lines in the show are going to be, bear with me here please.

This theory works on the premise that they definitely will execute the plan Annabelle laid out for them in MAG197.

Basira will take Jon's lighter and set off the explosion (her character narrative has reached its end and shes running on borrowed time from when she escaped the dance at the Unknowing, she's not coming back from this, I'll be sad to see her go but at least she gets to commit arson and go out with a bang), someone else will go fuck up Jonah.

I haven't quite figured out who this second person is going to be, but thats okay, I think it will be either Melanie, Martin, or potentially even Jon (if I stretch it, it could even be Georgie because shes technically still running on borrowed time from her encounter with the End). In any case, someone will go kill Jonah.

Once all that is successfully set off, and I do believe they will be successful, we'll get some sick soundscaping of the fears rushing along the tapes and through the dimension hole, which will end with a Big Ol Noise and things will go silent for a sec.

Then a tape recorder will click on, probably the last one left in this dimension, now non-spooky flavoured cuz all the fears are gone. Whoever remains after the panopticon destruction will have picked it up and say smth about how the deed is done, how the world is broken and scarred but at least people are free to start living again, and how they hope the next dimension will fare better than their own. (if Jon is still around by this point, I think he'll be monologuing this, and he'll start to sound more and more like he did at Upton House as he goes on, indicating that yeah hes free now but being without the Eye still fucked him up big time and it's going to get worse from there for him.) Then the tape will click off.

Then there will be a slightly longer pause than usual, a final tape recorder will click on, and the last lines will be as follows:

"Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right.

[COUGH]

My name is Jonathan Sims. I work for the Magnus Institute, London, an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal. [...]"

After Jon says 'paranormal' his lines will start to fade out as the outro music fades in, overlaps them, and then drowns them out.

The Magnus Archives will end exactly how it began, because the real tragedy is the realisation that the dimension we witnessed in full is not the first iteration of the fears bringing pain and suffering and a terrible apocalypse, and it is also far from the last.

And thats my theory,,, As I said at the start I'm quite certain of this one, and perhaps that's a sign of how filled with hubris I am, but I'm going to hold onto this as my final theory and if I'm wrong then I guess Jonny Sims himself will break into my house to knock me off of my high horse.

[kkshowtunes]

Hey folks! I wrote a short story and wanted to share it with y’all! Hope you enjoy

Summary: When Ella finds out her principal is homophobic, she can’t just sand by.

Story under the cut

 “Ella Delta, report to the principal’s office,” the loudspeaker crackled. I rolled my eyes as the class oohed and side-eyed me. I stretched, got out of my chair, and made my way over to the principal’s office. I dragged my feet across the linoleum halls to our surly and impatient principal’s lair. I was far more nervous than I led my peers to believe. My hands were shaking and my shoulders felt warm and tense. I shrugged off my nervousness, and gritted my teeth as I reminded myself that any multitude of things could happen in the principal's office at 9:28 in the morning. Still, the knot in my stomach persisted.

When I arrived inside, I was met by the principal who was leaning forward in her glossy wooden chair. Mrs. Wolfe was a tall and thin woman with curly blond hair cut into a bob. She had sunken gray eyes and defined cheekbones, giving her a skeletal appearance. She stared at me for a second, examining my face with her angry gray eyes. 

“Ms. Delta, we need to talk,” she said in her usual condescending voice. My nose scrunched up as I smelled the scent of strong perfume in her office.

“What is it, Mrs. Wolfe?” I asked with a smile. I tried to ignore the anxious thumping in my chest as I took a seat at Mrs. Wolfe’s mahogany desk with all of her stationery meticulously placed. Mrs. Wolfe was not the kind of person to call people into her office for no reason.

“Your pin,” she said, as she pointed one boney finger at the pride pin I wore on my blue denim jacket. I kicked my legs lightly to dissipate some of my nervous energy. I tried to reassure myself that nothing would happen. I told myself I would be in and out in a second. But all the kids called her Big Bad Wolfe for a reason.

“Take it off,” she said, her expression changing to one of deep seriosity. 

“Why?” I asked with more hubris than a greek god who just cheated on his wife. Mrs. Wolfe pushed her oval glasses up her thin and crooked nose bridge and sighed.

“Here at Western Pine School, we don’t support those kinds of… Beliefs,” She spat out the last word as if it was poison. I sat rigid in my seat, shocked at the words that I had just heard my principal use. I cocked my head and my shoulders tensed as I continued to listen.

“While we do not support these kinds of sins in our facility, we all hope you get better,” The words rolled off of Mrs. Wolfe’s tongue like small daggers, each hitting me in the face as I became painfully aware of what she was talking about. I stared at my palms in dumbfounded disbelief. I bounced my leg and bit at the side of my lip. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth to say something, but decided better of it and just left my jaw hanging lightly. 

“If you take it off, I can leave you with a warning, but if I see it again, there will be more… serious consequences,” she growled with a stern face. I hesitated for a moment, and the room was totally silent except for the sound of Mrs. Wolfe rapping her long fingers against the wooden desk.

I wanted to revolt. 

I wanted to say No. 

I wanted to say something, anything at all. Instead, I removed the rainbow pin from the rough denim of my jacket and stuffed it into the side pocket of my pants. 

  “Am I free to go?” I asked shakily. I winced at my sentence. I sounded like I was asking an angry police officer. Mrs. Wolfe narrowed her eyes and examined me once more.

“You are free to go,” she said with her mouth smiling, but not her eyes. I nodded weakly, wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and hoisted myself out of the chair.

By the time I was out of Mrs. Wolfe’s office, it was lunchtime. The original shock had worn off and I was filled with rage. I wiped the stressed tears from my eyes as I headed to my lunch table. Waiting for me were my two best friends, Sam and Lexi. 

Sam was a small boy with big sad eyes and hair that was impossibly poofy. He was shy to people he didn’t know, but he was super outgoing with the rest of the group. 

Lexi was a rebellious girl with dirty blonde hair with electric red streaks. Lexi’s personality was as fiery as the streaks in her hair and injustice was her worst enemy. Together, we were the outcasts of the school’s social scheme. We weren’t popular, we weren’t picked on, and everyone else just seemed to pretend we didn’t exist.

“Els! Over here!” Sam shouted, smiling wide to reveal a mouth full of braces. His smile dropped to a look of concern when he noticed my face. 

“What happened in there? You look like hell,” He stated matter of factly. 

I took a deep breath before spilling everything that had happened.

“I know it’s not that big of a deal-” I started after I finished explaining the situation.

“Not that big of a deal?! Sweetheart, this is a problem!” Lexi said with an angry-protective snarl spread across her rounded jaw. 

“Same thing happened to me, actually,” said Sam shyly.

“It did?! Why didn’t you tell us?” exclaimed Lexi. She took an exasperated breath as she continued. “Okay I know you guys might think this is okay, but we gotta do something!”

“What? You really think we, the weird loner kids, could do something?” asked Sam with a laugh.

“Yep,” said Lexi with a wide smile, a hint of rage still tinting her tone, “The real question is what we’re gonna do about it.”

“Uh, we could, leave school?” mentioned Sam, his eyes narrowing slightly. I was surprised he was even humoring Lexi’s dreams of justice. 

“Like… a walkout?” Lexi framed it as a question but didn’t give us time to answer before jumping into the next idea. “Oh! We could walk out and host a parade! And… maybe we could invite kids from schools all around the city! Sam! Els! This is gonna be big!” 

My skeptical smirk turned into a grin of joy as I listened to Lexi think out loud. 

Maybe we really could make a difference I thought to myself Even if it’s small, it’s still a difference.

“One problem, Lex,” Sam started, breaking me out of my internal monologue, “How are we supposed to get the word out without Big Bad noticing?” 

Lexi looked at him and tilted her head slightly. She raised one eyebrow at him as if she was surprised that he wouldn’t know the answer. Her eyes quickly softened though, as she began to speak. “Social media, duh,” she said. I was still confused. I had a couple of socials, but I was rarely active and I was far from popular.

“Wolfie isn’t online at all. She says it’s ‘ruining the minds of youths’ and ‘imprinting poor ideas into our impressionable minds’, ” Lexi chuckled as she made quote marks in the air with her hands as she quoted Wolfe’s outdated conspiracies. Lexi had a point. Ms. Wolfe did have a vendetta against all technology, yet she begrudgingly allowed computers. Lexi was relatively famous online. Sure, she was famous on Tumblr, a site everyone thought died back in 2013, but fame is fame I guess.

“I… think this might work out,” Sam exclaimed with a hint of hesitation in his voice. His eyebrows unfurrowed from their worried position to a more relaxed form. I myself was getting hyped, too.

“It’s Thursday now…” Lexi stated as if it was some great discovery, “I think we can get our act together by next Wednesday.”

We’re actually doing this? I asked myself. I twirled the pin back and forth in my pocket, considering my options. I stalled for just a moment before mustering up all the courage I could and pushing away the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. 

“Sounds like a plan!”

I shoved aside my calculus homework and checked my phone. Lexi had texted me.

Lexi: Hey

Me: Hey

I never knew how to respond to texts. I usually just sent over single words and emojis, hoping to get my point across in as little words as possible. Lexi on the other hand was a technological genius, and didn’t share in my painful lack of charisma.

Lexi: Drafting the post now :)

I took an excited little gasp as I read the text. Each second that passed made this whole thing feel real. I bounced slightly in my chair as I typed back.

Me: aaaaaa make sure u send it to me when ur done!

I bounced my leg and fidgeted, the excitement bouncing off of me like an aura. A big childish grin spread across my face as I awaited a reply. Out of my peripheral vision, I spotted the pride pin. I had taken it out of my pocket when I rolled over on my bed and it stabbed me in the thigh, drawing a small bead of blood. I grabbed it and rolled it across my knuckles like a coin. I stared fixated at my screen, the blue light shining into my brown eyes. Homework can wait, I was waiting for Lexi and her internet magic.

Lexi: Here it is

My heart started beating quicker as the three dots appeared meaning she was typing. I clenched the pin as tight as possible and took a breath as the message appeared.

Lexi: Hi guys, gals, and non-binary pals of the West Pine area! Help stick it to me and my friend El’s homophobic excuse of a principal. She made two of my friends stop showing who they are and forced her homophobic ideas onto them. All you have to do is show up at Western Pine school at 9:00 AM this Wednesday (I know it’s early, sorry). I will post updates and you can show your support at #Take-Down-Big-Bad-Wolfe! 

#lgbtqia+ #help

I never understood how Lexi could talk and people would listen. Whenever I said anything I felt like I was screaming into the void, but maybe that’s how everyone feels. I don’t know what I would do in life if it wasn’t for Lexi and Sam. Lexi and Sam were the ones who listened when everyone else couldn’t understand.

 I shot Lexi back a quick and sincere thank you text and closed my computer with a wavering breath. I absent-mindedly scribbled down the answers to the last couple of calculus questions while thinking about the walkout. I evened out the pages of homework and shoved them haphazardly into my binder. Then, I flopped down on my bed and shut my eyes tight. I tried to sleep but the thoughts and questions kept flooding my mind in the place of dreams. My eyes and limbs screamed at me to sleep but I just couldn’t silence the stream of thoughts.

After fifteen minutes of trying in vain to sleep, I dragged myself back to my desk. My fingers were itching to write down all my thoughts. I grabbed a couple of sheets of loose-leaf and a number two pencil from the supply cubby near my desk. I took another heaving breath before titling the page

Questions

After the title was written, my hands started to work. My brain’s overfilling thoughts translating into graphite sticks and swirls on a page. I decided to write the questions I needed the answers to. How to do things, what to do, the repercussions, and every other query I had swimming about my brain. 

What are the logistics?

I thought about the question for a good two minutes before realizing the answer was right before my eyes. We didn’t need to overthink it. We didn’t need permission to rebel. 

What will I do to make it special?

The golden question that had been bugging me all night. The whole thing, while powerful, felt oddly depersonalized. Sam was the brains, Lexi was the mouth, but who was I? The meek victim? The useless third wheel? I shook the uncomfortable thoughts out of my head before mulling over the options. Then I had an idea. I loved to write, and I loved what was right. The answer seemed obvious. My eyes lit up like fiery sparklers as I got out a new sheet of paper. I moved my pencil hurriedly across the top of the page. All the gray scratches and streaks turning into two words.

My Speech

I began to write and the words came easily. I wrote out my thoughts. All the abstract wisps of ideas firing through my neurons into tangible lead-colored shapes on a page. By the time I finished writing, my wrists were numb and weak and my eyelids were drooping with the threat of sleep. I looked over at the clock and- crap. The little red numbers on my digital clock read 3:08. I anxiously ran my fingers through the front of my hair before falling onto my mattress. It was mere seconds before I was asleep.

Despite only getting about four and a half hours of sleep, I woke up feeling more alive than I ever had before. I bounced out of my bed and slid over to my dresser to pick out some clothes. After some light deliberation, I decided to wear a Dear Evan Hansen shirt, blue jeans, and a soft pink hoodie. I cuffed my jeans quickly before heading out of my room, eating a bite of toast, and brushing my teeth. Before heading out the door, I noticed the pin, still on my desk. I wavered for a second before shoving it into my pockets in silent rebellion.

As I walked into school I saw Lexi leaning against her locker. Lexi had a cinnamon stick hanging from her mouth that looked like an old brown cigar. It flopped over as she gave me a wide grin and a wave.

“Els! Over here!” she called with a smirk. She propped her cinnamon stick back in her mouth before continuing. “Look,” she said vaguely, raising an eyebrow while shoving her phone into my hands. I let out a gasp as I scrolled down the #Take-Down-Big-Bad-Wolfe tag. There were people from all over, showing us their support. Lexi glanced at me and I shook my head in approval. The bell rang so we headed off in our respective directions.

As Mr. Thorne blabbered on about history and the past, my mind was fixed on the future. I rubbed the smooth end of the forbidden pin in my pocket. I went away to my little world in my brain, re-writing and adding to my speech. I felt the looming anxiety related to public speaking. Sure, I wrote the speech, but for some reason saying it out loud was petrifying for some reason.

  “Ms. Delta, are you there?” I was burst out of my daydreams by the sound of my history teacher’s deep nasally voice.

“Hm?” I asked, my eyes darting around the room at the inquisitive stares of my peers. 

“Maybe you should try staying in the present from now on,” said Mr. Thorne with his fingers pressed against his temple and forehead.

“Says the history teacher,” I retorted with a slight smirk. My eyes widened as I realized that I didn’t just say that in my head. The class burst into laughter and Mr. Thorne’s face became a shade of angry pink.

“I- uh- Ms- Ell- you- no-'' Mr. Thorne stuttered, his breathing choppy. I just crossed my fingers and, for the first time in my life, didn’t fear the consequences. I also felt like everyone in class heard me. I suddenly felt better about speaking in front of all those people.

It was finally the day. The day I had been waiting for all week. The day of the walkout. I bit at my cuticles nervously throughout first period. By the time the clock struck 8:55, I felt as if I could jump out of my skin with excited nervousness. I was trying to subdue the anxious bouncing of my leg. Then the intrusive thoughts started to flood in.

No one will come. I shook my head. They would come. Why wouldn’t they? We spread the word to the trustworthy kids at school and got a trending post on social media. Why wouldn’t people show up?

You're wasting your time. You’ll look like a fool. You’ll just embarrass yourself. Imagine you, standing out there alone, pathetic. The words spinning through my head like venom.

Pathetic. Worthless. Stupid. Dumb-

I looked over and the clock struck nine. I stayed in my chair for a second before seeing a majority of the kids in my class standing up. My eyes welled with tears of joy as we all headed out the door, to the chagrin of the teachers. We headed to the curb and I felt the greatest sense of pride seeing Lexi and Sam pulling their respective pride flags out of their pockets. The black, white, purple, and gray of Sam’s ace flag. The purple, pink, orange, and white of Lexi’s lesbian flag. I led the crowd, heading to the parking lot as a herd of angry and confused teachers lumbered after us. My heart gave an agitated flutter as I noticed kids from other schools piling in.

I gave Lexi a hurried thank you again when the news trucks came. I tried to make my way through the crowd of angry teenagers and colorful flags when I stop dead in my tracks when the crowd goes quiet. I turn my head and see my principal, red in the face. Her brown pencil-skirt swaying as she stomped over to the podium where I would make my speech. I swallowed hard as I turned to face her. Some of my anxiety eased as I felt Lexi by my side, squeezing my hand.

“Stop this foul behavior at once!” she screeched, “Everyone here is a truly lost soul. I apologize that your young minds have been perverted, but God will forgive you if you change your ways.” 

My eyes welled up with tears. I felt worthless. That is until I heard the most beautiful sound.

“Stay tuned for more Channel 7 news!”

The news vans! My smile widened as I realized my principal’s rant had been televised to the entire city. Mrs. Wolfe seemed to realize that too, as she was beginning to panic.

I walked through the crowd over to the tall and lanky newscaster in a suit. He looked slightly like a red-headed John Mulaney. 

“Mike Drum, Channel 7 news,” he said introducing himself. I noticed his actual speaking voice was much different from his formal reporting voice. He had a light New York accent in real life.  “Amazing turnout today,” He said with a half smile and friendly nod.

I almost melted. A newscaster. Reporting my story. “T-thank you,” I stuttered. He stuck out his hand for a handshake and laughed as I went in for a weird sideways high five.

“No problem, Kiddo. You got a speech to make! Go get ‘em!” he said with a wink, patting me on the back. I cocked my head as I wondered how he knew I would make a speech. Maybe he was magic. Then I realized the entire crowd chanting.

Speech! Speech Speech! I headed towards the podium with a little laugh, enjoying the time before my anxiety kicked in.

I took in a choppy breath as I stood upon the podium. I ran over my short speech in my head as I brushed my fingers across the glossy auburn wood. I shook away every thought of chickening out and threaded the point of my pride pin through the heart-area of my hoodie. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth to speak. My mouth was dry but my mind was ready.

“In an ideal society, life is like a roller coaster,” The crowd quieted and looked over at me. I started to regret every decision I have ever made.  This was a dumb desision...

“We try to enjoy ourselves and try not to go out of our way to make others have a bad trip,” I stammered a little bit but kept my nerves under control.

 “We know it might be scary at times, but we also stick around for the ride,” I spotted Sam in the audience, giving me an encouraging smile. 

“Unfortunately, this is not the ideal society. People will be rude or biased. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t stick up for what’s right,” I smiled a bit when I noticed Lexi giving me two thumbs up. “We can stick up for each other, and for what we feel is right. We can be prideful in who we are. So thank you again for coming, and showing you care for what’s right!”

I skipped off the podium and found Sam and Lexi. Lexi gave me a big bear-hug and Sam was flapping his hands in excitement.

“Oh my god! Els! You did so great!” Sam said between choppy little breaths. 

“Thank you so much-” I started but Sam shushed me as he noticed Newscaster Drum walking straight towards us.

“Heya kid! Nice speech out there! You got real potential,” he said. 

“Oh my god- You’re Mike Drum!” Sam said a look of giddy mortification spread wide across his face.

“Oh my god, I’m Mike Drum!” Mr. Drum replied, eyes jokingly wide. Sam squealed, his hands flapping wildly as he stood a bit too close to Mr. Drum. “Nice to meet ya, buddy,” Mr. Drum said, his usual charismatic grin on his face. Sam started to bombard him with questions and I gave Mr. Drum a look of Okay-thank-you-I’ll-leave-him-with-you.

As I walked through the crowd of righteous teenagers, I felt the pride swell in my chest; Pride and confidence. That’s what got us here above all else. Pride in our abilities, confidence in our rights, and pride and confidence in who we were. I knew there would be consequences for today. Deep down, I knew my actions today would have repercussions I would inevitably have to pay for. I knew I would have to deal with Mrs. Wolfe and her pack of angry PTA cronies. But the voice in my head told me it would be alright. Anyway, I was starting to get used to living in the moment.

[a-forlorn-soul]

Donning the Mask

Prompt: Foster

Timeframe: Past

Trigger warnings: None

Character: Akihide Shibata, Mateus Server

“The best way to prevent being discovered is to foster as much good will with those in charge of you as possible. People are less likely to believe accusations about those they believe they know and trust.”

These words rang in his head as he stood outside of the Centurio’s office. Being accepted into this unit was the whole goal of his mission in the Garlean ranks, if he failed to do this then everything he had endured up until then was all for not. Too many rumors had reached the forum about the research this unit of the IVth Legion was conducting, and they needed to verify them and keep an eye on the man behind it all, a Centurio named Drusus quo Caelestis.

“Akihide Aan Shibata!”

A sigh escaped him as he moved to enter the office. It felt weird hearing his name said like that, though not nearly as weird as responding to a name that wasn’t his own. The best cover is one that has the least amount of lies, or at least that is what they drilled into him. Standing up as this all went through his head he opened the door and came to a stop in front of the Centurio’s desk while at attention, his gaze locked straight forward as he held himself completely still.

“Akihide aan Shibata reporting as ordered sir!”

“At ease soldier,” Drusus told him, to which Aki relaxed to mimic the Garlean parade rest, “It’s not often that someone from a Province gets referred to this unit. Especially someone with a past like yours. I see you had initially been sent to one of the prison camps for fighting against the Empire and then were conscripted into our forces after they discovered you had an aptitude for working with Magitek.”

“That is correct sir.”

“So tell me… why? What has made you go to such lengths to help our ranks and brought you to me?”

This was the moment of truth, if he messed up here it was all over. “Permission to speak freely sir?”

“Of course.”

“I won’t lie. I hated the empire. The stories I heard growing up, I didn’t want them to take over my home,” he admitted, “Even after we failed I hated the empire. Yet when I was conscripted I heard that one of the Legions was different from the others. I heard what the IVth was like, and it was then that I realized that if anyone could change how this world works and bring an end to all the conflict it would be Legatus Noah van Gabranth. I want peace brought to this star, and I wholly believe that the IVth is the key to it.”

For a moment the Centurio just stared at him before starting to chuckle and then went into full laughter. Reaching up he removed the helm of his uniform and caused Aki to blink in absolute shock. For so long he, and everyone back in Sharlayan, had assumed that Drusus quo Caelestis was a pure blooded Garlean. It was after all the standard for those high in power in the Garlean Legions except for the XIVth under Gaius van Baelsar. Yet here was a normal Hyuran man standing there without the Garlean eye.

“You are not alone here, Akihide. Many of us are from lands that fell to the Empire, and many of us learned that not all of the Legions hold the same values,” Drusus stated, “Legatus Gabranth is a visionary and one whose ideal for the empire differs greatly from the others, save mayhaps the Black Wolf. Like the XIVth a number of non-Garlean soldiers hold positions of power, and I hope one day you will be among them.”

“Does that mean you are accepting my transfer sir?” Aki asked with anticipation in his voice.

“It does. From this day forward you are part of my Magitek Research unit. Together we will unlock the secrets of aether so that the gift can be shared amongst all. Hells, by your file I will likely put you working right under me. You are malms more qualified than the others.”

A smile tugged at Aki’s lips, though not for the reason Drusus likely assumed. He had managed to actually infiltrate the unit after all. Now, all he had to do was silently send reports back to Sharlayan and interfere with their process whenever he could without raising suspicion. Honestly he had assumed it wouldn’t work, that he was laying it on too thick but instead it appeared that the hubris of the Garlean military was even greater than he had realized.

[shnuggletea]

Head up, smoots below!

So I know this is late but it was this or nothing yeah? Anyway here is my Pride for Sins week!

If you don’t want the lemons, read it on Fanfiction or AO3 as they are edited. I know most don’t care but I KNOW I have a few readers that aren’t into lemons and I didn’t have any warnings. I wasn’t sure I was going to do smoots. I wanted them but I wasn’t sure I’d get them in. That’s the main reason this is late actually, it takes longer to write a lemon than a clean chapter lmao.

It’s also on my Patreon for free in it’s full glory so if you have preferences, I have given you many choices I think, yeah? And don’t forget to check out the collection! It’s where you can easily find all the Sins Week contributions. Art, fics, it’s amazing!

Lovely Sins Art by @clearwillow! Thank you to the mods; @lemonlushff, @neutronstarchild, and @ruddcatha!

Also, I made a playlist. I know no one really ever looks at these but it’s my thing okay, let it go! LOL! This is me procrastinating btw.... it’s here if you wanna take a listen.

TAG WALL!!!!!

@underwater0phelia@lavendertwilight89 @mamabearcat @nartista @nopenname22 @echobows@superpixie42 @smmahamazing @redflamesofpassion @jme-chan@cstorm86 @cicleydark-light @ruddcatha @lavaffair @kirrtash @sistasecbhere@inusgirl @obsessandfangirl @britonell @lordofthechips @mcornilliac@faolenwolf @classyhumanathletepalace @keichanz @phoenix-before-the-flame @artisticloveexpressitsall @lamuertadehambre @noyourenotreal @mitty-san @thenoammonster @little-deeluna @royaltrashpanda @sailorbabydoll92@storyweaver2017 @malditamigs @adorabubblesblog @lilms-obsessed@petri808 @anniehcresta @fan-dumpp @itzatakahashi @utakuprincess@theschultinator @all-too-ale @little-inukag-obsessed @theseagullqueen@queenofthesquirps @inusgirl @jolinaaa00 @knowall7k @neutronstarchild@fawn-eyed-girl @eringobroke @sapphirestarxx​ @clearwillow @dangerouspompadour @anxietyaardvark @bluejay785 @arcprz @whoisresponsible @zelink-inukag​ @lady-dark-69​

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

None of us said a word the whole way back to our apartment. Kikyo was still with us, walking in behind Inuyasha and I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her to get the fuck out. If she was staying, then I had no problem spending the rest of the night in my room. I already had high hopes for doing that. 

We made it to the living room before, shockingly, Kagome turned on Kikyo. “You need to go home…”

Before she could finish, Kikyo jumped on her. “You guys are overreacting! I was helping them! Doing something good for them! You’re both just too full of yourselves to see it!”

Kagome was calm to a point that it was scaring me. Slowly shaking her head at Kikyo she took her time and chose her words wisely. Something I never would have had the willpower to do in a million years. “I get that you think that, that you think you were helping them but…”

“I was!!!” Kikyo spat, cutting Kagome off again “Don’t you get it? These guys, they’re vir...gins. As in pure and innocent?! That’s the last thing you want and what they wanted, not knowing their way around a woman’s body? I was helping the two of you out too…”

This time, Kagome cut off Kikyo and it was not pretty. “You did exactly what you wanted to as always, Kikyo. They’re our mates, not yours but you’re so determined to make them into the men you think they should be that you’ve lost your own mate.” I was sure Kagome had never yelled at Kikyo that way. It was honest and it was clear Kikyo’s pride was broken getting scalded in front of so many. Kagome sighed and grabbed her shoulders tight. “You need to go home because Naraku is waiting for you there. Go talk to him, please.”

Leaving it at that as well as the rest of us, Kagome went to her room and we all stood there awkwardly for a moment. Kikyo silently sulked towards the door so I went for mine. Last thing I wanted was to be left alone with Inuyasha and Miroku. 

Fully planning on getting my shower, I made it across my room to my hamper before I was no longer alone. I knew it was Miroku. Process of elimination as well as just knowing. “Just because you spent the day watching naked women shake their asses at you doesn’t mean I’m okay with you seeing me naked too. Get out!”

I refused to look at him, keeping my back to him and trying to get my shaking under control. Everything hurt and I wanted a hot shower even more. It had been a long day and the sun was only now heading for bed. The bright orange light filled my room with light and silence as he chewed on my words. He was still there, the door hadn’t squeaked like it always did when opened. Even if it didn’t do that, I knew he was there. 

I could feel him. 

That, above everything else, bothered me the most. It was clear we were connected to each other. The cocky man behind me was my soulmate and he was going to break me. It was inevitable. If my past had taught me anything it was that men like him use you up and spit you out. And I was tied to him? How was any of this fair, we should have never done that stupid spell!!

“Kikyo…” his voice was soft and unexpected, making me shiver at the sound of it, “she was only trying to help.”

I laughed hollowly and watched as I twisted my fingers together painfully. “Help. Right. All she did was help me to see your real needs.”

He took a step closer. I knew not because I heard it or saw it. I could feel that he was closer to me and my skin began to heat up in an unpleasant manner. “She was right. You are nothing but hubris. You think because I am your Mate that there is no work required to be together when all you’ve been is work for me.”

The knife he planted in my back, right in my heart, caused a numbness to slowly spread across my body. Now, his nearness didn’t burn at all. 

I felt nothing. 

“Then she did help you. Helped you to escape ‘the work’ of being with me as I want nothing to do with you anymore. We’re done.” He was still there though and the last thing I wanted was to give him another pair of breasts to look at and compare. So I faced him, planning to strip in the bathroom and his eyes were dull and lifeless. “You should just go back to where you came from.”

I made it to the bathroom in one piece, stripping as if my life depended on it. Because I felt like I might freeze to death if I didn’t get in the warm water soon. The hot water helped but I felt like I was getting sick. Having a demon from unknown origins touch you all over had to spread germs, right?

The stream had chilled so I turned up the heat when my curtain squealed back on the rod. I squealed too, covering all I could of my front and backing up into the corner for the rest. Miroku ignored me, stepping into the shower, naked as when I met him. 

“What are you doing?! Get out!!!!”

He continued to ignore me, stepping into my water and getting good and wet. His hair free, I watched with trance like fascination as it dampened and stuck to his skin. The black made his skin look a little paler and I found myself looking at other parts, like his shoulders to start. Then his chest, wide and thick. Then his belly which wasn’t rippled like Inuyasha’s but soft and comfortable looking. But then I wrenched my eyes to the ceiling. 

Don’t look at his penis, don’t look at his penis, don’t look at his….

“You can look, you know? You’ve seen it before and I really don’t mind.”

He was smirking, watching me and I glowered back. “Finish your shower and get out.”

Miroku clucked his fucking tongue at me and I nearly pounced on the cocky bastard. “That’s not very nice. But I know you don’t mean it.”

“I do!!!”

Chuckling, he shook his head at me and grabbed my elbow. It was either release my breasts and push him back or let him fold me into him. So I let him pull me in, unable to allow him the satisfaction of my naked body. I looked at the wall while he looked down at me, his hot breath warmer than the water we stood in as he panted on me. “Sango… why are you clinging so hard to your ego?”

Scoffing, I tried to step back but he held firm. “It’s not my ego, it’s you! How am I supposed to even look at you without seeing a naked woman on your lap?”

“By evening the odds.” Now I looked at him, utterly confused. “How many men have you had? Before we met, how many men have you slept with?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“I see. So it’s a lot?”

I slapped him then slapped myself when I covered my chest again. “That’s not the point! I didn’t know you yet!”

Biting my lip at my slip, I let him digest my words but he didn’t take long. “How am I supposed to function? Knowing that you’ll be comparing me to all those men? I have no experience, Sango. You are my first everything.”

“Not your first breasts!” I spat venomously. 

It wasn’t fair and I knew it but I couldn’t stop myself. Miroku was right, my pride had been wounded. Before, I would have had no problem stripping for him and showing him all of my body. If I had known he was a virgin, I wouldn’t have hesitated, all my body issues would have melted away knowing he would have nothing to compare me to. But now? He had a hell of a lot to compare. And it was all fresh in his mind.

Grabbing my chin, I was forced to look at him. But once I met his dark blue eyes I felt trapped, unable or willing to look anywhere else. “If there is one thing I’ve learned today, it’s that no one is as beautiful as you, Sango.” I huffed as his cheesy line but he frowned. “No one.”

His mouth crashed to mine and my body reacted, wrapping around him just like an octopus. He wrapped around me as well, bending me back with his passion as he kissed the hell out of me. But the wicked thoughts remained in my head as he ran his hands over my back to my ass. Like what he thought of its size? The dips of cellulite? Was my skin smooth enough or tight enough? It was enough for me to push and pull from him, backing up into my corner again and catching my breath. 

Now he could look at me fully, standing a good distance from him. I had my hands on the tops of my thighs to try and hide even if foolish. I had no problems with my stomach or my breasts. They weren’t as great as some of the strippers but they were a good size and shape and my belly was flat even if not toned. It was everything below my waist I struggled with. And Miroku had zeroed in on that part of my anatomy from the start.

I watched the floor and his feet, feeling his eyes drink me in so hard, it burned. He took the small step to me and my chin was grabbed again. I swear there was red in his eyes. A strange ember that was burning around his iris. It was scary but thrilling at the same time. And it had me back in my trance. 

“No one compares to you.” He mumbled, stuck in the same trance with me.

Cornered, Miroku mushed into me, pressing his entire body against mine. He felt nice, not too hard and not too soft. Just like his kisses, heating up my body with his intense but gentle lips. His cock, which was pressing into my belly, was not soft at all. It was very hard. A voice whispered in my head, wondering if he got like this because of me or the other women he saw today? So I pressed my tongue to his, trying like hell to silence the voice, my ego speaking loudly in my brain. 

His mouth trailed down my skin, pressing hot lips to my pulse. While his hands lifted my breasts into his hold, testing their weight before messaging the lumps. Miroku’s wet hair was wrapped around my fingers, grabbing and leading him around to where I wanted his mouth. I was fully ready to give everything to this man, my body, heart, and soul and I had known him for less than twenty-four hours.

Pushing as gently as my hot need would allow, I had him poised over a breast, wanting him to do everything to it. He grabbed my wrists first, pulling my hold off his head before barely licking my nipple. I arched on instinct, wanting more, but I suddenly found myself facing the wall. Miroku had flipped me around and now had my ass facing him.

I tried to spin back around but he held me still, my wrists in his hold and above my head. I was trapped. “What are you doing?!”

He was still pressed against me so at least he wasn’t looking at me. “Giving you what you need.”

This wasn’t what I needed. I fought against his hold but he just put my hands into one of his large ones and stood back. Miroku was examining me, looking over my weakest point of myself. The flame I had, the one he ignited, was quickly going out and all I wanted to do now was cry.

The hand that didn’t hold me still ran down my back, feather touches to my spine until it hit the top of my ass. “You’re so beautiful, Sango.”

Hot tears fell down my cheeks and I whimpered as his hand settled over one of my butt cheeks. “Liar.”

“I’m not.”

“How do I know? How could I ever know? And how could I ever believe you when you were soooo happy with those other women today?”

He squeezed my ass hard and groaned. “How would you ever believe me if I hadn’t? I could tell you till I was blue in the face that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But if you were the only one I had seen, then you would never believe me.”

He was right but I still couldn’t give in to him. Call it condescension, I just couldn’t let him win. “If I was the only woman you’d ever seen then I would be the most beautiful to you. And that would have been more than enough.”

Miroku was pressed against me again, his dick digging in between my lower cheeks. “Sango, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Every part of you is perfect. Will you please be my first?”

My hands were released and I slowly turned to face him. His eyes were glowing now, thanks to his smile and the red fire inside them. It was nothing like the smile he had given to the girls at the club earlier. There was something more to it, something else inside it that hadn’t been there before. It made me feel warm and gooey inside. And in between my legs, the urge to find out what his strange penis felt like strong. 

Guess he would be a first for me too, I’d never had sex with a demon before.

I don’t know if he just knew my answer or didn’t care, cause I had said and done nothing when he grabbed my ass and lifted me up. My back was flush with the wall and I watched as he lined himself up. Seeing him at half mast didn’t prepare me at all, his cock now full of blood and raging. Most penises were a bit red when ‘angry’. Miroku’s was slightly purple. I didn’t know if that was from years of wanting or from all the teasing today but neither explained the large bumps along his shaft. 

He looked like a dildo.

The water on it made it glitter like one too, looking just like the one I used to have before a jealous boyfriend got pissed and threw it out. He didn’t want to be compared to a toy and, given my body issues, I couldn’t argue with him on it. Wonder how he would feel knowing I was about to fuck the near copy of that dildo? 

Probably nothing since he was happy with his tiny new wife.

Having that dildo was a blessing in disguise, because I was sure most would be freaked out or terrified by Miroku. The look he gave me when I remained calm but needy told me I was right, he had body issues too. That made my heart pound like crazy in my chest, a beautiful man like Miroku, who was full of pride, struggled with parts of himself too.

He was eager, getting his tip in slowly but then rushing the rest. In a blink, he had my pussy full of him but I didn’t mind. It wasn't my first time and he was struggling to contain himself. That, and shit he felt good. Better than the damn dildo. Miroku was warm and alive, pulsing and twitching inside me just like I was.

Frozen, he groaned with every slight movement so I remained still so he could recover. All I did was encourage, stroking his hair and kissing his temple and cheek. 

“I’m sorry…” He groaned after a few moments.

I found his ear and pressed my lips to it. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

That was all he needed, my encouragement, to rally. I felt every delicious bump of his shaft as he pulled out of me. He was slow to pull out but fast to thrust back in. As if he hated to leave me. It wasn’t long until he had a rhythm, tickling me from my entrance to my dam as he bounced me. 

Wrapping my legs around him, I used my hips to help him, putting our bodies flush and getting him deeper. It had him pressing hard on my clit with his pelvis, my walls twitching and juice flooding from the change. 

Miroku released one hand from my ass and grabbed my hair instead, pulling my head back to get my neck. He was growling, biting and sucking to leave many marks on me. I didn’t care, I was seconds away from one of the best orgasms of my life. 

“You feel… so amazing… oh Sango, I’m glad I waited…. You’re perfect… so perfect…”

Miroku was a talker, mumbling words into my neck while his tip danced, coming right before me. I grabbed his hair now, pulling his face back to look him in the eyes. “Don’t you dare stop!”

He didn’t. Instead, he grabbed my ass in both hands again and lifted me up and down on him. While he continued to thrust. It had him pounding my clit and rubbing my spot. All of him rubbed me actually, the man growing after coming and stretching me around him more. I was sure I was ripping out hair but I couldn’t stop, euphoria shaking me to my core as white overtook my vision. I heard Miroku groan again but I didn’t know if it was my grip on his hair or my grip on his cock, my pussy squeezing him as I came. I was still convulsing around him when he stopped, letting my walls press against him over and over again. It was like nothing I had ever had before, sometimes needing to finish myself with past lovers. 

There was no need with Miroku, I was boneless as it was, unable to move in his arms at all. He continued to hold me tight to him, both of us out of breath. I registered him turning off the water, leaving it on the entire time we fucked. But then, Miroku pulled us from our corner and didn’t put me down. Not even to pull his cock from inside me. 

“What are you doing?!”

I cowered a little at my bruskness, he had just given me the best sex and I was already yelling at him again. But he took it in stride, not losing his gorgeous smile. “Thank you, Mate, for a memorable first time. I thoroughly enjoyed it and will now take you as many times as I please.”

oOo

The loftiness of those two. Just because they finally have a man, they think they're better than me. Was that all I was to them? A good time? I was always there for them in the bad, getting them dates and taking them out when they got dumped. 

God, they were just as bad as men, getting what they wanted from me then moving on.

Who needed friends like that? To lie to my face, just to get rid of me too. No way was Naraku just sitting here wai…

I stopped dead in my tracks, Naraku leaning up against my door. It was easy to forget the crazy, bird moment he had earlier, looking so sexy with his dark waves standing out on his white undershirt. He still had on his jeans, the hoodie he left in gone. He must have gotten hot and taken it off. And just how many women did he have wrapped around his finger after today?

Even though I never asked, I was pretty sure he wasn’t a virgin when we met. He was far too eager and sure of himself when we fucked. There was nothing that was just mine, I had to share my soulmate too.

He moved to the side so I could unlock and open the door. But that was all he gave me, silent as he followed me inside. My place was the same size as Kagome’s and Sango’s but it was all mine. They never asked me to room with them but I liked living alone anyway.

Naraku stood, annoyed, just behind me as I moved to my bedroom and stripped off my jeans. “What are you doing here?”

His response was to enter deeper into the room, standing up to me. Grabbing my hips, he pulled us flush against each other. If I had protests, I wouldn’t have been able to voice them as he captured my mouth at such a speed it would’ve been impossible. 

We both moved, backing me around to the bed. When I fell to it, he remained standing to strip and I watched. The way he stood, naked with his cock straining at attention, there was no way I was his first. 

I let that thought linger while he crawled over me, ripping my top off me in my daze. He was already inside me when I woke up from my revelry, slowly pulling in and out of me like lovers. It felt good. Amazing really, especially with the attention he was giving my breasts, licking and sucking them. But I just wasn’t in the mood.

I flipped us and he didn’t complain, putting my weight on his shoulders to angle myself perfectly. It was what I did when I just wanted to get off, my clit pressed to his hips and my nipples rubbing on his chest. All while I pushed his dick into my g-spot. Now, it felt amazing, tipping towards my end quickly. 

Damn if the bastard didn’t flip us again. I glowered up at him as he held himself over me. He smirked back, grabbing my knee and pulling it up to my chest. When he rammed into me, I was surprised. That’s why I cried out. Not because he was revolutionary or anything. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he made my head spin. 

Naraku was going at my pussy hard now, really fucking me and I was seconds from falling into bliss again, when he started squawking. 

Fuck it was distracting, grabbing his face in my hands and stopping all movements and sounds. “Don’t do that!”

“What?”

“Squawk!!!”

He grinned, slowly moving his hips again and teasing me. “It’s a compliment. I don’t let out my animal side for anyone.”

“You did this afternoon….”

“That was different. Just shut up and let me enjoy you.”

Talking was over and I was partly glad. I didn’t like talking in bed. Naraku went back to ramming and squawking and I closed my senses off to it, focusing on his dick as much as possible. My orgasm hit and I moved against him, trying to get as much as possible from him as I came. He dropped my leg and ground his pelvis against my clit, making explosions of pleasure shoot through me until I finished. The last thing he did was pull out to come in his palm, rushing off to the bathroom a few minutes later.

I was pulling on fresh clothes when he returned, looking me over as if confused. Did he think we would cuddle? Or go again? I wasn’t in the mood for either at the moment, a bit pissed at myself for falling back into bed with this man so easily. “Why did you come back?”

He shrugged, “I was told to return.”

I swallowed the bitterness that was in my mouth from that statement. “What does that mean?” He was silent and I tore my eyes from him back to nothing. “If you don’t want to be here, then leave.”

“I’m supposed to talk to you first.”

Great, I hated it when men said they ‘wanted to talk’. It was never good. Especially right after sex. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Naraku moved to sit on the bed, flopping in a manner that I could only describe as not sexy. “You’re unfaithful. How am I ever to trust you as a mate?”

“Me?! You’re the one propositioning Kagome right in front of me,” his eyes went wide and I grimaced at him, “I could hear you, you idiot.”

“Impressive hearing for a human. Especially one that only listens to themself.”

I growled back at him, “how would you know? You’ve barely spent ten minutes with me where you weren’t fucking me…”

“And who’s fault is that? You left me with others to go on a date!” Now my mouth hung open. “I could hear you too, you idiot.”

“Arrggg, I never should have summoned you! I don’t want you!”

Your cunt says otherwise! If it wasn’t for Master’s commands, I would be long gone!”

“Wait, what?” I squeaked. 

I expected a fight or something but he was all too willing to fill me in… as usual. “Kagome. She is our Master and it’s for the best that we obey…..”

“Does she know this?”

I stared at him, searching his face for a lie. But he had never lied to me and now wasn’t different. He shook his head to say he wasn’t sure but I was. In a rush, I grabbed my jeans back up and started shoving them on. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to Kagome’s. She needs to be stopped before she ruins In… others.”

If I hurried, I could stop Kagome from controlling Inuyasha. Whether she knew it or not. And he could be mine instead.

oOo

I went into my room but I didn’t really have much of a reason. Other than wanting to be alone. It was way too early for me to go to bed. I probably should have showered but I could hear Sango’s shower going. The apartment was older and didn’t allow two showers at once. Unless you wanted a cold one. 

With nothing more to do, I changed and got in the bed only to lie there. I was exhausted. A day from hell. But my brain would not shut the fuck up.

From the moment I met Inuyasha, to his jealousy over Naraku, and to him dancing on the stage I thought about each and every moment, marking when I said something to him to influence him. Was it only when I spoke? Or did it go off my thoughts too? I had wanted him to hold me and be here for me. I would be happy with being friends too, just a good, strong male friend that could comfort me like my friends couldn’t. There was just something about a man that cares for you that a female can’t cover.

I was so lost in thought, I missed when I stopped being alone. The bed shifted and before I could turn, Inuyasha spooned against me. His arms wrapped around me, filling me with comfort that quickly soured. I didn’t know if he was here because he wanted to be or because my thoughts brought him. 

As gently as possible, I pushed at his hold. “Inuyasha, I think you should sleep on the floor.”

“Why?” I was biting my tongue, not wanting to command him to do anything out of fear he would follow. “Is it because of that place? Those women?”

I really didn’t care that he went to a strip club. He was the main attraction there anyway, dancing better than the midday B squad. 

He misunderstood my silence. It wasn’t that I was angry, I was terrified to speak! But it didn’t deter Inuyasha, his nose digging through my hair until he found the back of my neck. “Don’t be mad, Master.”

I cringed and stiffened, trying again to pull away from him. I felt sick but Inuyasha refused to let me go. What could I say? Nothing. It would force his hand either way. He was rubbing his face into me, up and down the back of my neck. His lips grazed my skin along the top of my spine and I felt my entire body catch flame. None of me wanted him to stop and I didn’t know if he knew that. If he could feel it and was compelled by it. 

“Can you… hear my thoughts?” He froze and shook his head, his nose going side to side on my neck. “So you don’t know what I want?”

“I wish I did.” I felt it was obvious but he was innocent and naive. “I want you, Master. No one else. You have to know that, right?”

I wanted him too, my body was practically screaming for him. “I… I…”

Clamping my mouth shut, I stopped myself from saying anything. Anything from my mouth could sway him and I didn’t want that. The last thing I wanted was to control him and make him do anything with this power I had. One that I didn’t understand but was there.

His hands were starting to move, going up to my ribs and turning around to go to my hips and back. He wanted my permission but I couldn’t get my mouth to move to give it. Each time his hands landed on my hips, they twitched, trying to move his touch elsewhere without saying a word. His hips moved too, pressing into my ass with a rhythm that I was meeting. His hardness was between my cheeks, grinding. And I ground back. 

“Master…” he moaned and I whimpered back, “tell me what you want…”

I was going to die. I wanted… no needed him but he was waiting for my command. I refused to give it, I wouldn’t do that to him ever. “I want… you to stop calling me Master.”

He growled, “Kagome,” and I swear I nearly came from that alone. Then he grabbed my knee, slinging it over his hip and putting his hand flat on my inner thigh. I was now spread out for him on my side.”Show me what you want… what to do…”

With his hand inching closer and closer to warmth, I didn’t need more to understand. So I took the hand he had on my thigh and pulled two of his fingers free. Using my fingers, I pressed him to my folds. My panties were already wet and they were only getting wetter as I showed him what to do. He took over in a few shuddering breaths, placing a hand over my mouth instead so I didn’t get too loud. 

Sango was still in the shower for now but who knew when she’d get out and be able to hear us. 

He stopped but only so he could slip his hand inside my panties instead. A finger slipped and neared my entrance, but what was an accident caused me to whimper loudly and Inuyasha to explore. His finger slid inside me with ease and my body reacted, my hips twisting to get more. 

Maybe it was curiosity, seeing pairs of breasts earlier that day? Or that I was panting and mine were bouncing, but Inuyasha took his free hand to cup a breast and squeeze. It caused me to squeeze his finger with my walls. To which, Inuyasha growled again and slipped another finger inside me, gripping my breast tight. 

With all this attention, my nipples were standing at attention through my shirt. When Inuyasha started strumming it, my mind started spinning. I was pretty sure I was hopping on his fingers, wiggling against his touch. 

He stopped again, pulling his fingers out of me and his hand out of my underwear. This time, it was to rip them in half, my cloth panties now strips of nothing. He gently pushed my leg off of him to shift behind me, getting his pants down. Soon, he had his cock pressed against my ass with nothing between us. It was hot and large. I wanted to look at it but with him behind me, it was impossible. I didn’t need to, I could feel it’s length and girth. 

Inuyasha was huge.

My leg was back on his hip again and his fingers were in my folds, splitting them until he found my clit. The hard nob stood out and I jumped when he pinched it, telling him he had found what he was looking for. 

With his hands occupied, he had to put himself in without assistance. Lining himself up, he twisted his hips around then pushed. I could feel him, pressing my entrance but then slipping past it. I was wet and ready but he was big and struggled to go inside. 

So I reached down and held him in place. 

Every inch of him forced me to stretch around him, my body expanding to accommodate but doing so willingly. Once up to his hilt, I felt impossibly full. Now Inuyasha was the one whimpering, his husky sighs of want vibrated my ear and neck. With him still rubbing my clit, I was pulsing around him. It wasn’t going to take me long to come, not with his large cock and stroking fingers. I didn’t expect him to last long either, what with it his first time. 

He started moving and my entire insides fluttered. It was like being on a roller coaster, doing a loopty-loop. And I loved roller coasters. Inuyasha was giving me one hell of a ride, twisting his hips to move more. I pushed on the bed, backing up into him and holding myself still against his thrusts. I wasn’t going anywhere, his arms locked around me, a hand in my snatch and one on my breast. But I felt like I was falling so I held on tight. 

Wrapping his finger and thumb around it, Inuyasha rolled my clit around and hit my lovely spot inside at the same time. I was crying, begging him not to stop even though he hadn’t so much as hesitated. Coming hard and strong left me saying crazy things.

Heat was spreading through my bones and Inuyasha was still pumping more pleasure into me. The last of my orgasm squeezed all of me tight, my body tensing and Inuyasha moaned loudly in my ear. With us both still, I could feel him as he pumped into me, coming just as I finished like a good lover. 

We didn’t move, still wrapped up in each other and catching our breath. I don’t know how much time passed but I did notice that Inuyasha was still hard. Impossible to miss with him still inside me. “Was that… good?” He had to ask? I couldn’t help but giggle at him and nod. Inuyasha squeezed me tighter and rubbed his lips along my neck again. “Can we… do it again?”

I wanted to. Dear god did I. But I needed a minute, pushing gently on him to get free. “Some water first, please?”

Turning to face him, I caught the brilliant glow of his eyes before he pressed a hard and fast kiss to my lips. He kissed me a few times, trying to start round two now. With a little pushing I got free of his lips, giggling when he continued to try. He gave up soon, getting to his feet and quickly fixing his pants. I could still see his hard on inside his sweats.

When I tried to get up, he gently pushed me back down. “I’ll get your water. You stay and keep your clothes on,” he said suddenly and I looked at him to question, “I want to be the one to take them off you.”

Even with us just having sex, I still blushed at his words. Inuyasha was gone a second when the door flew open again, Sango flying into my room. I caught the wild look of her hair and the towel she had wrapped around her and found myself once again confused. “Did you just get out of the shower??”

“Kagome, you have to help me. He won’t stop.”

“Sango!”

I was stunned to my bed, not wearing much more than Sango, when Miroku stormed in. He wore a towel too, thankfully. Seeing him naked once was enough for me. 

He was grabbing Sango, trying to pull her into his arms and Sango was trying to turn him down. It looked like she didn’t know how to tell him no. I struggled to understand just what the problem was. “Miroku! Listen to Sango!!”

My stomach turned when he stopped and did as I ordered, gently holding Sango instead of pulling her to his mouth. “I need a break!”

“But… I want more…”

“So do I but I need to rest at least a little bit!!!” Sango screamed.

If they were talking about what I thought they were, they needed to do it elsewhere. I was still trying to calm my stomach as it was, getting off the bed to search out Inuyasha. He wanted me to wait for him here but I was pretty sure he didn’t know where the glasses were. 

I had to push the couple out of my way to get out only to glance back at them in confusion. Was I asleep or something? Or had I hit my head? Did Inuyasha and I not just make love? Or was all of it in my head starting from his care for me?

I was questioning everything but that’s what happens when you walk out to your soulmate kissing another woman, Inuyasha and Kikyo mid makeout while my heart cracked into a million pieces. 

No guarantees on another chapter today guys. I’m going to try but it’s not looking good already. Sorry!

[phoenixtakaramono]

SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and their tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute. 

【Understood. Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" with one other.】

“Who?”

【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】

“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”

(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic “Bing gē” from the released Extra short story. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.)

There was an important takeaway to be had from tonight’s interaction: Shen Yuan had asserted his place as the lord of this residence and as Luo Binghe’s future ally.

Several thoughts had, however, been plaguing him ever since Shen Yuan gifted Luo Binghe the handscrolls, leaving like the composed gentleman he was while the half-demon pondered over the newfound revelations for the night. Those thoughts filled Shen Yuan’s brain with a renewed vigor that his exhausted body did not feel, roiling through him as he changed into his night clothes. Even now, lying down with his hands folded over his stomach, they consumed his mind as he stared up at the azure, gauzy canopy that looked eerily similar to the one in the guest bedchamber that Luo Binghe now slept in.

Wisps of hazy white rose from the lotus-shaped censer he’d brought to his bed. The coals within were still fresh in the copper, keeping him warm in the night, with the fragrance of sandalwood circulating within the room.

His unyielding companion, the blue text box, hovered above. Shen Yuan kept his gaze averted from it; he had read and reread the Chinese characters countless times that if he closed his eyes, he could still see the most recent notification engraved in his mind’s eye.

【Prediction! Future Event <<A NIGHT OF PASSION>> has been changed into <<LOADING CHEKHOV'S GUN>>. You have reached the conditions to clear the scenario. Countdown commencing. Reward: B-Points +50.】

The planes of his face were bathed in a soft blue glow as he ruminated. Shen Yuan couldn’t find it within him to feel any guilt or to throw blame at anyone other than himself. He’d unlocked the <<TRUE END>> main scenario and, judging by how the <<SYSTEM>> was not giving him a choice, he had to build that rapport between themselves and see that friendship through.

These are the seeds you’ve sown, he reminded himself. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. He could only dig his hands into the soil and watch the seeds slowly bear fruit.

Bing gē—or, rather, Luo Binghe—was not a 2D character on paper; he was now a real person who breathed and talked and had a will of his own. Even so, Shen Yuan didn’t know the extent of the ramifications if an extraordinary “prodigy” gained self-awareness that he was the male protagonist of a fictional erotica series.

It’d be interesting. If someone found out one day that they were a precious existence in a world which catered to them because of “narrative convenience,” they’d naturally become audacious. All the attractive people belonged to them, hearts were won over for no real reason, and enemies would be seen as less of a threat and more as an annoyance in the eyes of a protagonist with infinite power levels. Shen Yuan could envision it; Luo Binghe would probably behave more recklessly, bolstered by the certainty that he was protected by plot armor. He’d be a spoilt menace in a male power fantasy world—riding the power trip until the novelty wore off inevitably.

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth curved. He didn’t know how likeminded Luo Binghe was, but if he thought like he did, he’d exploit his advantages. A protagonist’s existence was akin to a cockroach, dragged from door’s death each time without fail.

This was not merely a case of schadenfreude—another difficult foreign term he’d learned during his pursuit as a novelist—where he reveled in another person’s misfortunes. It was a well-established trope in all forms of literature that when a person was casually dropped into a life-or-death situation, they would resurface as calamities. Since Luo Binghe was an important main character, he would naturally benefit.

...Sorry, youngster. Shen Yuan raised a white flag in commiseration for him in his heart. I didn’t mean to conscript you, but you must continue to work hard. Nationalistic pride exists among many Chinese writers.

Even pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had not been exempt from that.

In most narratives, a protagonist’s role was to rise above the rest and “smash the system.” They were akin to power kegs just waiting to be ignited.

Shen Yuan squinted up at the UI, his eyes beginning to water from its bright glow. He blinked rapidly, but the strain in his eyes refused to ease. This better not be the sort of tale where he and Luo Binghe had to compete to establish who was the one true protagonist, having to assert narrative dominance. Shen Yuan had no intention of pulling aggro to himself.

Raising a forearm up to shadow his vision, he groaned. He declared to no one, “Airplane brother, you’ve done your first son a great disservice.”

(He couldn’t help thinking the author had done a disservice to the original Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan among many others.)

The events that had played out tonight strengthened Shen Yuan’s conviction. He could now see how people easily fell for Luo Binghe’s act; the charisma of a stallion protagonist was potent. Even so, he had capitalized on his goodwill—and Luo Binghe’s strange fixation—hoping continuous acts of kindness being demonstrated toward him would soften him toward Shen Yuan and prove his intentions were sincere. His goal to leave a favorable impression was already well underway, with the endgame of establishing how it would be in Luo Binghe’s best interests to remember Shen Yuan’s acts of compassion and to return them tenfold in the future.

Should Shen Yuan prove himself to be of use, surely even a cutthroat person like Bing gē would not discard a loyal comrade—no, a valuable asset—during his rise to power?

Under no circumstances must Luo Binghe see the strange celestial fortuneteller as a threat or as a jealous rat. In the stories where the main character was an antihero, the few ways to survive their malice was by entering their harem, becoming the sole lover, being exiled—like Luo Binghe’s rival, the “second male lead” Gongyi Xiao—or becoming an indispensable friend or ally. Even though Shen Yuan was protected by plot armor, he should not assume its protection was absolute. His own transmigration here was proof that life was full of unknown variables.

But with Luo Binghe’s appearance here, his days of treating the other protagonist’s existence like colorless air were over.

To avoid future headaches, the only method Shen Yuan could foresee showing his fellow protagonist that his services were indispensable was by lending him his intelligence—and his predictions of the future. As the ancient proverb went, a friend who brings coal in the snow is most precious. If he availed to continue fostering goodwill and his undying support, those efforts would be rewarded handsomely. As a protagonist of the xianxia genre, Luo Binge followed a code of honor—even more so as a cultivator taught in the martial and mystical arts.

He recalled the last question Luo Binghe had asked of him before Shen Yuan left, regarding the compatibility of his fated person.

What he’d told Luo Binghe during the palm-reading was admittedly due to Shen Yuan’s own internal bias. It’d made Shen Yuan want to laugh at his own past naivety. He had to reevaluate everything he’d erroneously taken to be true and canon.

As a novelist, Peerless Cucumber wasn’t as generous as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky who’d spoiled his stallion protagonist with far-too-easy conquests as a result of pandering to his audience with fanservice. While Shen Yuan’s unique stamp was focusing less on romance and more on worldbuilding, he developed his romances gradually; like reality, his characters had to learn to work with each other’s strengths and flaws, overcome challenges, mutually pine for each other, and to be able to see a future together.

Only then did the payoff seem all the more impactful in his storylines.

A conflicted expression descended upon Shen Yuan’s face.

While there was entertainment to be had following the adventures of a “blackened” antihero crushing his opponents under his foot, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but count his blessings again that he wasn’t a young woman who had been reincarnated in the body of the villainess or a side character. That archetype always seemed to hope to enjoy her new lavish life in the sidelines watching the romance unfold between the male and female leads, but was swept into the mechanisms of palace intrigue—secret schemes and political power struggles—when the male lead inevitably turned his attention towards her.

Shen Yuan also took solace in his good fortune of not having been transmigrated into the body of an antagonist or a cannon fodder—which meant it wasn’t necessary for him to embrace the plot device of hugging the protagonist’s golden thighs and painstakingly preserving the pretense of being another person.

There were two less flags to be concerned over.

His purpose here was to surpass his rival in the danmei genre. That meant there must be two male leads. But Luo Binghe didn’t come from his own intellectual properties; his creation had been birthed from Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s imagination.

In this case, since it was a crossover, didn’t that mean Shen Yuan had essentially adopted Luo Binghe as his male lead? So as his responsibility, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to find the xiǎo láng gǒu—little wolfdog—a love interest? Give him an OTP? Help him tie the knot?

...Would it truly be okay if this tired uncle wrote a predestined romance for once? As much as Shen Yuan favored defying expectations, there was a formulaic structure that made their literature different from those in the Western market whose shocking narratives could not only arouse pity in their audience, but also a sense of awe, excitement, fear, and suffering.

Chinese protagonists were not always someone of high society; they often hailed from humble origins as a device for the writer to underscore the merits of working hard and to criticize the system—a fictional one though, to avoid absolute censorship by the Chinese government. Their heroes began as nothing more than a windblown leaf in the social structure and years of ethical traditions set in place. They started on the bottom rungs of society to draw people’s attention to their lives, to the injustice and unfairness, which made their struggles and triumphs all the more impactful to the reader.

The fates of the leading characters were tied to the juxtaposition of the harmonious ideal of society and the reality of a flawed system. Chinese tales were inherently romantic oftentimes, with tragic conflicts written to emphasize the beauty of a bond and rousing sympathy and pity for their plight. The archetype of a tragic hero was meant to be presented so profoundly that great reverence would well up spontaneously in one’s heart.

In his opinion, Luo Binghe had suffered plenty in his role as the avenging, wronged hero.

Under normal circumstances, as Peerless Cucumber, Shen Yuan was the sort of novelist known for deconstructing unoriginal, formulaic conventions. He’d satirized enough classic and tired tropes in whichever genre he was writing for, it almost became expected of him to subvert expectations in all of his publications. It was just his contrarian nature to write something out of spite. It would therefore not be considered strange for him to challenge the established romantic convention of soulmates by emphasizing different degrees of compatibility, by making his leading characters come together as platonic comrades or as destined adversaries instead of the cliché as predestined lovers.

But this Luo Binghe is now a real person, Shen Yuan had to remind himself yet again, and is no longer an imaginary concept on paper.  

Peh, I never knew you were such a romantic, Protagonist A. To think I have to break the discipline I’ve kept for these past few decades of my life…. Who knew a little wolfdog like you would still yearn for a tacky “match made in heaven” even though you’ve been “dual cultivating” with so many beauties….

For the first time in a long while, guilt weighed heavily on Shen Yuan’s mind. He swallowed hard. While he understood the implicit reality of his situation, he still felt like he was, in some way, disappointing his audience by not living up to his reputation. The shame he felt was bizarre.

He cast his plea into the void, my cherished readers, please understand. Forgive this writer if I don’t subvert your expectations in this aspect just this once.

The harem was the closest Luo Binghe had to a family. After the parental kindness of the washerwoman was torn away from him early in his life, after having endured the unhealthy environment that followed, the only love and tenderness he received in his life came in the arms of beautiful women. Tokens of affection were given in the form of intimate acts. It was no wonder Bing gē ’s character had ended up twisted. With his inferiority complex, he collected beauties with a greed not unlike a hedonistic minister who expected tributes and bribes.

The shortcomings of a younger, less experienced Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky made Shen Yuan’s heart ache for all of the original cast of characters. Airplane brother couldn’t have known his own writing would give birth to fully-actualized, breathing persons. As a webnovel writer, there was pressure to meet the self-imposed deadlines set on the online platform of choice to earn virtual coins per chapter, oftentimes leading one to forsake their own creative integrity.

The appeal of an underdog overcoming the odds had been a timeless theme for many reasons. The young, pre-enlightened Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky must have felt obligated to make his protagonist suffer through every cliché in the book for angst points just so that when the love interests took care of him, the juxtaposition seemed “fluffier” and served their function as “healing element” in the story. But the setup was written clumsily, formulaically, like he’d written the angst first and rushed the payoffs.

There were so many women in the harem whose narrative potential stayed underdeveloped. Like cardboard cutouts, most didn’t have much of a personality other than looking beautiful. The heroines were trophies meant to stroke the male protagonist’s ego—who made him feel masculine, manly, and powerful—and to enable him to act in an unrestrained capacity. They were the author’s story device to show his cruel and brutal antihero still had a heart. In the presence of Luo Binghe, each one was gentle, kind, respectful, and submissive. To the other harem members, the once innocent maidens had to learn how to be shameless, who only knew to fight for a man’s favor.

But on a fundamental level, it was because his lovers were blinded by Luo Binghe’s bright, limitless future that nobody truly understood him beyond being a “main capture target.” They saw his worth as a strong, undefeatable husband material. And, in return, beneath the author’s veneer of romance, they were essentially relegated into the role not unlike that of “human cauldrons,” living furnaces that were drained of their vital energies to boost the protagonist’s longevity or cultivation powers through dual cultivation.

When Shen Yuan had read the original series, he came to recognize that the novelist must have wanted to create a dark, tragic antihero who obliterated obstacles to show how far he had come. Writing was supposed to be therapeutic, and Airplane brother must have wanted his story to stand out. The original Luo Binghe was a person motivated by his own grudges, by envy, and by pride—a hungry, ravenous young man fueled by the rage he’d been carrying for far too long. With his “origin story,” as somebody who had undergone the traumas that he had, after all the injustices he had suffered, after all the people and the society he’d been let down by, it was only natural that he carried a lot of emotional baggage.

What this Luo Binghe needed was somebody who was a foil to his temperament, patient, charismatic, and well-educated. Since he would be uniting the Three Realms, they also needed to be proactive keeping him in check from becoming a self-indulgent, fatuous ruler. A sensible head was needed on their shoulders to guide their merciless husband in understanding right from wrong, from succumbing to madness, and from any sycophants looking to lead him astray. It was integral to help Protagonist A maintain a harmonious empire so that, together, they could lead a golden age of reform.

When Cao Zijian first saw the Luò River Goddess, Shen Yuan abruptly recalled, he wrote a verse about her unrivaled beauty and charm.

Whether or not it was Liu Mingyan, a man, or somebody else, it would be poetic if Luo Binghe found his own Luo Shen in the form of somebody who understood him, a person who was well-versed in the language of his cues and subtleties. If Bing gē was truly interested in a man, then Shen Yuan will make sure to find him someone compatible. To draw a protagonist’s eye and maintain it, the candidate must be witty and gutsy, empathetic to a degree and with appropriate ambitions. To stand out from the beauties in the harem, one must not be passive or pretentious.

Their existence would be like a fairytale dream come true. A breath of fresh air. Were Luo Binghe to have intentions on somebody whose standards were significantly much more difficult to meet, he might realize he’d actually have to put in the extra effort to increase his favorability rating with them.

It was a common saying that a man’s personality will undergo change once he falls in love, arousing his desire to protect and provide.

If it was a level of deep love that was truly matchless in this age, a romance that transcended heaven and earth, ordained by fate, even an old man like himself would shed tears of emotion and wish the young newlyweds happy nuptials and an everlasting love in every lifetime.

Shen Yuan wondered if there even existed such an extraordinary person in this setting.

A fated match was bound by string even though a thousand miles. If such a person did not hail from Airplane brother’s imagination, then they must originate from Shen Yuan’s.

And if such a “child” did hail from himself, then Luo Binghe had more to prove to him, demonstrating that an emotionally-stunted half-demon as himself was capable of being sensitive and having a healthy relationship—lest Shen Yuan be forced to skewer him with Yue Ying if this “black-bellied” junior turned out to be overbearing, pursuing and pressuring this novelist’s precious “child” despite being refused. There must exist a chemistry between them, or a mutual romantic interest.

Luo Binghe’s reputation was already in tatters in the Mortal Realm on the account of having a demonic heritage and having razed down the great righteous sects. The current settings of the world defined anyone of demon blood as abominations to be exorcised or slayed without impunity. Whatever goodwill he’d originally cultivated with his deceptive “nice guy” act had to be regained. The elites of the upper class, staunch proponents of maintaining the status quo, would curse anyone of lowly background to be despicable persons who sought connections far above their status. Winning the war against the son of heaven and finding a match of great affinity would be integral in swaying public opinion to his favor.

In public, the lovers must persevere to present a united front, ruthless and fearless against their opposition but dependable and benevolent towards their subjects. They must accumulate enough reverence. It was only over time that the Sacred Rulers would prove themselves worthy of being beloved, idolized by the common people and giving the traditionalists found in high society—who held standards above the ceiling—no choice but to accept their reign lest they risk annihilation from their new rulers.

Until such a person was found, he supposed he could step into the role as his counsel if Luo Binghe ever sought him out.

There’s no medicine for regret, he thought with resolve. Although the <<SYSTEM>> made unsubtle prompts for him to make peace with Luo Binghe, as a direct result of his own decision-making, it had set Shen Yuan down the path of cooperation. He would try his hand at the impossible task of becoming Bing gē’s friend.

It would be an uphill battle, but he must broaden his view early on and engrave these words into his head: the once two-dimensional novel characters were now three-dimensional, multifaceted people.

Their upbringings were nothing alike, but destiny had come as a spring rain and brought them under the same roof.

Luo Binghe came from a destitute background. He’d witnessed firsthand, for himself, the injustices in life being born in abject poverty and with no background. After his stepmother, no one watered the mind of the tender sprout that was a young Luo Binghe, forcing the child to learn how to fend for himself. With his upbringing, it made sense why he had misanthropic tendencies. He’d seen for himself the wretchedness of people’s hearts, that those in high positions—whether it be the sons of noblemen, a Peak lord, or the emperor—had the power to push people around. Now in a similar position, he wouldn’t forget the harsh lessons. Grown up, he was a fearsome existence that very few—if any—could topple. He swore to make his enemies pay in blood.

On the other side of the spectrum, Shen Yuan was a son of entrepreneurs, born with a golden spoon in his mouth. He had the basic business acumen, brought up on Chinese pragmatism and the merit of achieving prosperity. Life might have led him down a different path as a profession, but he was educated in the principles of economics and had graduated from a reputable university focused on self-discipline and social commitment. A writer’s pastime was observing human behavior and implementing real world examples into the imaginary worlds they’ve constructed. From all the books he’d read and the programs he’d watched, he’d accumulated a wealth of random knowledge here and there, with a personal interest in reading up on tactical wartime strategies of the past.

As the older party, he could set the bare minimum standard Luo Binghe could emulate as the type of leader he could be, and to help him grow from his insecurities. The innovations and potential comforts of a technologically-advanced civilization were ingrained into a transmigrator’s brain. His handsome junior could be inspired by some of Shen Yuan’s “wisdom” and put them into practice for any of his policymaking.

Like the spring breeze that thawed the frozen soil, he would be someone who reached into the abyss and grabbed that bloodstained hand. Under his guise as a higher order of being, Shen Yuan would ensure the arrogant, domineering playboy matured into his full potential as a capable and virtuous ruler of the future.

In this world, his modern knowledge and his knowledge of both novel series were his cheats.

He’ll give him pointers so that he wouldn’t continue on the path of self-destruction. He’ll scathingly denounce and safeguard him from conniving shrews and from scheming aristocrats of unscrupulous greed, and from trope pitfalls and foolish mistakes, and to happily hand that duty off when Luo Binghe’s star-crossed lover—a nuanced person of honesty and integrity—inevitably turned up. And maybe, just maybe, even if Bing gē still curated a reputation as a fair but ruthless viper, the new reign might be salvageable and worthy of pride for generations to come.

Let us work together for the unification of the world, okay, Luo Binghe? I know you can do it. This old man will try to advise you during your prime.

It would be like tossing a peach and getting a plum back. It was a smart investment, in hopes of a great return.

“I’d redeemed you once,” Shen Yuan murmured, white lashes fanning against his cheeks. He closed his eyes in reminiscence of his own fanfiction, inhaling the light, woody scent of the censer nearby. “I can do it again.”

In the meantime, preparedness was quintessential. He reflected, I must collect more merits. I cannot be lazy and lag behind in accomplishments.

While Luo Binghe fought his battles, Shen Yuan should avail himself to avoid the fate of the Second Lead Syndrome. A bland comparison metric to be used against the protagonist, that archetype of the second male lead had everything stolen from him—from his time in the spotlight, even to his favorite woman—all to be handed over to the main character. It was a tragic fate. Shen Yuan did not wish to see his own successes being overshadowed by the radiant presence of a hardworking young man.

If his efforts bore fruit, he and Luo Binghe might even be comrades who respected each other, who trusted each other and would never dare to raise a blade at each other’s throat. They would unlock the epilogue together and find their star-crossed lovers. And once everything was set in stone, once the adults ground themselves to dust and were ready to step down to make way for the new generation, they could all live the rest of their lives in peaceful retirement.

And should fate permit them each to father their own child, should harmony blossom between the lovers they doted on and should such a good supportive relationship be maintained, as “uncles” they might even consider arranging an engagement for their descendants—a symbol of uniting the celestial, mortal, and demon bloodlines through marriage.

He could just weep from that beautiful imagery. May their lives be full of warmth and sweetness.

“...System?” he inquired drowsily, his voice barely above a whisper. Turning on his side, he stared at a faraway wall. The glazed white surface of the porcelain pillow felt cold against his cheek, its smoothness reminiscent of jade. “Can you hear me?”

Ping.

【This <<SYSTEM>> provides the Esteemed Host a 24-hour service.】

“I don’t remember Airplane brother going into detail about what the education system is like in this setting. Is it supposed to be historically accurate to the ancient feudal model or…?”

Ping.

As he listened to the long encyclopedic explanation, what he’d heard seemed to reconfirm his worst fears. Education was the privilege of the elites. With a cultivator’s narrow-minded focus on self-enlightenment, it made sense that the basic education curriculum of the twenty-first century could be seen as innovative in the pre-established setting of this strange world.

Wait a moment, wouldn’t this mean even a secondary school student would be seen as a prodigy in this world? ...Then what would a middle-aged uncle of university-level education be considered as?

...A wise sage?

Shen Yuan formed a complicated expression. Immortal cultivators prioritized studying matters of the “spiritual heart” and Qi refinement, in the martial and mystical arts, breaking through the bottleneck of each cultivation stage until their dedication allowed them to reach the pinnacle that was the Ninth Stage.

In the early webnovels, Bing gē had stagnated as a late-stage Core Formation expert. The constant sabotage in his early life had ensured that his education in the esoteric art of cultivation remained incomplete, ensuring that Luo Binghe’s cultivation remained rough around the edges and unpolished, with the end result being the gaps in his knowledge that had to be overcompensated by creativity and sheer determination.

Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, in his laziness to research the many intricate nuances of the Cultivation World, had waved the illogicalness of the protagonist’s OPness away by attributing it to his ancient, heaven-fallen demonic heritage and to the deus ex machina that was his legendary sword. (Yet, even then, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky still occasionally confused the Foundation Establishment with the Nascent Soul stages.)

It wouldn’t be until the end of the series—after the outcry of the netizens—that the unsatisfied Luo Binghe made the breakthrough into the proper Nascent Soul stage with the help of his wives and their many gratuitous papapa scenes.

Then in the epilogue, the author had infuriatingly time-skipped all the way to the penultimate Ninth Stage, describing how Luo Binghe somehow became a legend among legends who had finally attained eternal youth and aged back into his late twenties in his new immortal body after having miraculously passed the Heavenly Tribulations—disasters from heaven which were akin to nuclear radiation for those of demon blood. After an unspecified many years of rule, he’d left his legacy behind—with the uncountable size of his harem and a boundless number of his descendants “mourning the loss of a great and oftentimes misunderstood man.”

Just remembering it made Shen Yuan’s blood pressure spike dangerously. Taking deep, calming breaths, he rolled onto his back again as he forced himself to attain catharsis from listening to the mind-numbing exposition the <<SYSTEM>> was extolling to him like a history program. His fingers clenched the bed sheet.

Eventually he found himself feeling adrift, the words beginning to lose their coherency to him as he phased in and out of consciousness, his mind becoming wrapped in a haze of scented smoke. Tense muscles soon relaxed.

The countdown had reached 00:00:00 when sleep finally claimed him.

XXXXXXXXXX

He’d read and heard several accounts of people who have claimed to have had lucid dreams before, but this was the first time Shen Yuan was aware that he was having an “out-of-body” experience.

It’d felt like his “soul” was being lifted into the air. His head was spinning, a ringing in his ears. When he finally “opened his eyes,” he was floating upright in a world devoid of color. Iridescent grids pulsed in and out of existence in the fog below, running like gossamer lines of circuits which resembled the pre-rendered level of a video game.

In the desolate void of white mist, a single incomplete, dark brushstroke circled overhead in an endless rotation of a wheel. He stared up at it. “...Is...it buffering?” Clouds escaped his mouth as he spoke, tasting pure, winter frost with each breath.

Color was beginning to spread, like somebody had dipped a daub of green watercolor beneath his feet.

Ping.

【Answer! Welcome, lăoshī! This <<System>> begs the Esteemed Host’s patience. We have encountered a bug and are thusly limiting the open world configurations. Please be patient while we load the rest of the map assets.】

Alarm bells were blaring inside his head, and he swore he could hear the clanging manifested—but muffled. He began to think that there must have been something suppressive in the air, something that muted all normal sounds. Covering his ears to deafen the noise still, he demanded, “What bug?”

In his muffled hearing, the answering ping pierced through the quiet .

The <<SYSTEM>> spoke clearly and unobstructedly.【This is the world within a dream realm. To adhere to lăoshī’s traditional xianxia expectations, please be aware that celestials are considered the antithesis to every demon in the world. We have thusly isolated your divine presence in a barrier separate from the dream realm influence of Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> and Supporting Character <<MENG MO>>, sealing away the demonic Qi bordering lăoshī’s dream realm. You are expected to clear the important plot scenario before you are allowed to return to your waking state.】

That was as official of a “reality check” as he could perform.

Shen Yuan had to sit down.

From faraway, his countenance was of a man with legs dangling over the leafy green rim of a giant water lily. The paleness to his complexion lent him a deceptive image of fragility. His long white hair was down, and the loose white sleeves of his night garment billowed even though there was no wind. A garden pavilion was forming behind him, similar in design to the thirteen bordering the lotus pond he’d rescued Luo Binghe from.

Time stretched on. And on. In the accustomization period, it was as if the fog had stolen his senses, leaving him in a vacuum—with him staring at emptiness. Finally, after an interminable wait, the buffering wheel vanished.

Things were slowly beginning to take shape before his very eyes. He felt like he was watching a time lapse video of a painting master having finally taken their brush to paper.

Dark brushstrokes were painting the rest of the world unknown. He saw something resembling the jagged peaks of a mountainous landscape. The strong black lines, ink wash, and the dotted clusters eventually faded into softer, rubbed brushwork suggesting rolling hills and a river. Thin, delicate flicks took the shape of bamboo leaves. The once-empty world before him bled into a scenic vista not unlike that of the Wuyi Mountains he’d toured once in the Fujian province. Mist passed through the scenery like silkscreen, secreting whatever was beneath from his eyes.

The frigid air bit at his exposed neck. He glanced down and balked immediately at the eyeful of his chest. With a curse, he gripped the thin fabric and wrapped them tightly around himself. He breathed in deeply to reorient himself.

This setting was indeed a place that hid tigers and dragons, each one better than the other. Shen Yuan’s mind was still a half-awake jumbled mess as he tried to process that, whether unconsciously or on purpose, an attempt had been made to drag him into a dream world.

Him, Protagonist B—an uninvolved third-party. An innocent outsider. A stranger.

Ah, but dreams are a narrative convenience, is it not?

Memory was stirred of his halcyon days of youth. His time spent as an undergraduate was a fargone blip in his life, a bubble of time separate from everything that had happened before and after. Long ago, a younger Shen Yuan had the privilege of enrolling in throwaway lectures—one of them memorably being a class where he remembered writing detailed study guides about the phenomenology of dreams and imagination. (He faintly recalled his thought process, at the time, must have been: if he’d needed to fulfill his GE credits anyway, he might as well sign up for a few interesting courses pertaining to his hobbies.)

While he never once experienced a lucid dream, he was surprised by the amount of free thinking he seemed to be able to exercise at this present moment. While the lucid-dreamer could deliberately affect the nature of their hallucinatory experience, Shen Yuan dimly recalled the supposed restrictions on the hyperkinetic dream state—the loss of the capability to doubt, for one. Going with the nonsensical flow and the loss of impulse control, as another.

This was entirely uncharted territory.

He wanted to be angry but reaching for it, he found it slipping through the cracks of his fingers like water. The longer he stared down at the clouds of mist, the more that a sense of serenity seeped into him.

The chaos in his mind calming into a tranquil lake, Shen Yuan gazed up at the pair of moons sharing the same sky. A thin sliver of space existed between the two as though an invisible force was prying the two gravitational forces apart, preventing their collision.

In his daze, he could faintly hear the familiar traditional notes of the two-stringed fiddle of the erhu and the gentle plucking of the seven-stringed guqin ; it was as if there were an invisible troupe of musicians playing the essence of Chinese aestheticism and philosophy in the background for him, setting the mood.

In the context of the imaginary, he wasn’t necessarily at a disadvantage.

It was fortunate that the <<SYSTEM>> had preserved control of his consciousness for him, instead of him having to wrest it back.

Allowing his mind to wander, he studied the composition of the painterly world. While Shen Yuan wasn’t an artist himself, he could discern that the expressionistic brushwork and precise details were what art collectors might consider authentic. Enraptured by the flow of the brushwork, he asked, “System, please correct me if I’m wrong, but is the aesthetic of the Heavenly Realm meant to resemble traditional landscape paintings?”

Ping.

【Answer! Much of the open world has been configured to match the existing prerequisites of being ethereal and otherworldly. Would the Esteemed Host like to expend 1,000 B-Points to change the map skin?】

“No!” A dulled pain dug into his palms. The miser in him thought viciously, 1,000 B-Points! Just to change a skin? What a waste!

This abstract setting of celestials and the Heavenly Realm—and whatever else that followed—must have somehow originated from his own imagination. They couldn't have come from his competitor's unpublished drafts; none of this was Airplane brother's style.

Taking another deep breath, he spoke, “System, you said the scenario was called ‘Loading Chekhov’s Gun.’”

Setting aside his omniscient reader viewpoint and writer’s perspective, he supposed it made sense. Being a fortuneteller, his class skill was to divine the future. He didn’t have the whole picture quite just yet, but the <<SYSTEM>> seemed to have faith that he could begin to collect the threads.

“I’m guessing the criteria is discovering most—if not all—the big foreshadowing elements of my unwritten danmei for me to clear it.” Recalling the contents of both webnovels, he spoke carefully, “I was dragged here without my volition by demonic interference. So if I wish to escape, I will need to destroy the core of the illusion—but in a pacifist way?”

Ping.

【Both are correct. Completing the mission objective with an S-Rank will reward the Esteemed Host with 500 B-Points. Lăoshī, jiāyóu!】

There was no mercy in its vocabulary.

“...Yes. Jiāyóu." He repeated the encouragement wryly, dropping his gaze back at his surroundings. He could only thank lǎo tiān yé—god in heaven—that he’d maxed out his charisma.

Shen Yuan definitely needed all the good luck he could get.

Through the mist, the long, snaking river was a black serpent threading through the ashy grayscale of the valleys as far as the eye could see. And then he remembered. Seeing it, he felt a pang of emotion so strong, it exerted a physical pressure on his chest.

“What about Luo Binghe?” His knuckles were as white as his robe. “What has that little demon been up to now, System?”

...Ping!

【Begging the Esteemed Host’s pardon! This <<SYSTEM>> is keyed to Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>>. If the Esteemed Host is willing to cross the boundary, there is an option to uncover the story with Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>>. Providing him assistance will ensure Protagonist A’s Satisfaction points.】

The time has finally come.  

The water lily trembled under him as he straightened to his feet. From his high altitude, Shen Yuan can see where the mist hugged along the so-called boundary line that separated his dreamworld from Luo Binghe’s.

Since Luo Binghe evidently desired his company, Shen Yuan might as well take initiative and go to him on his own terms. If the mountain cannot come to him, then he will go to the mountain. Overall unity was important to maintain harmony between the protagonists.  

“I will store the past and compile a beautiful dream for you,” he promised. He was going to craft a story that was romantic and tangled, replete with heroes, villains, and a well-deserved conquest.

With one foot off the plant, the world spun and he suddenly found himself enclosed in thick walls. He glanced around. Everything had a rough, unfinished painterly quality resembling dried ink wash on paper. Bathed in the shadows, he marched forward in the fog, looking for the nearest exit. His head passed by a circular window, the ricepaper resembling the glow of the moon.

His gaze traveled past the miniature bonsai tree underneath the window’s wooden lattice. Frown lines formed on his face at how thin and small it was.

The visual of it abruptly reminded him of how Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had described Bing gē to be as small and skinny as a carrot at fourteen years of age. In the earlier chapters that took place in his dreamscape, his diantian was a gnarled, black tree overlooking a meadow, with the scantest of flower buds blooming in a barren wasteland—very much indicative of the protagonist’s mindset at the time.

Shen Yuan’s hand drifted absently to his abdomen as he gracefully passed by the pedestal. The source of one’s ability to cultivate was located in the lower stomach, a natural center of the body’s spiritual energy. He could only wonder how his own diantian would appear. Would it reflect his inexperience as a sapling—frail and waning? Or would it have the appearance and bearing of an old, ancient tree—befitting an immortal celestial being?

Funny how it means “elixir field,” he mused to himself, but us authors somehow always depict it as a tree… .

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

As he peered up at the origin of the noise, words suddenly materialized around him. They’d peeled off the building like black strips of paper, suspended midair around him as though they were a sea of constellations surrounding the moon. The small, densely-packed lines of Chinese characters blurred in his vision but he instantly understood.

They were a manifestation of all the predictions he was capable of.

A gust of wind blew. As bountiful as the leaves of a forest canopy, the bamboo scrolls strung overhead swayed with the wind, knocking into each other with crisp clunks.  

The long, narrow strips reminded him of the scrolls he had shelved in the Archives room. His servants had shown him how they’d cut and roasted the white bamboo stalks until they became dark, later binding the dried strips with durable thread. All were prepared for their master, to transcribe his manuscripts if not his oracles.

He heard the sloshing of water. Ripples formed beneath his stride as a pale hand reached up. The wide sleeve slipped down his forearm as his fingertips grazed the bottom of a random brown scroll that somehow called to him.

An opulent array of gold flooded his vision.  

The imperial palace was a splendor of the Mortal Realm that could not be described, a piece of history that inspired great awe and reverence. In the starry skies, Shen Yuan saw a resplendent celestial being, wearing a monocle of a pearlescent sheen, descend from the full moon. Upon their feet touching the secular world, white faded to black. His hair was tied back and as black as sable, his original facial features—although pale—presented to the world as he approached the solitary figure seated at his rightful place atop the dragon throne.

Like the sun in the skies, Luo Binghe shined with a bright light in one’s eyes. With eyes filled with a thousand words, he was a young emperor in formal black, his austere and distinguished presence instilling a sense of respect into others. An armored cloak decorated his shoulders; the thick white fur sewn into the collar of the embroidered brocade appeared familiar to Shen Yuan for an inexplicable reason.

There was a strange intensity to his expression. With a half-formed smile of indulgence, the newly crowned sovereign was watching how the visiting fortuneteller gazed upon him with immense pride. He genuflected to Luo Binghe in a proper bow.

Time had not left any residue on their faces; they were arguably as handsome as they had been when they’d first met at the beginning. Both held the innate ability to hold one’s eyes on their presence.

Earnest congratulations swelled in the air, stirring the hearts of those in the coronation ceremony when the wise-looking, austere guest gifted the Heavenly Demon official amnesty from the Heavens.

Suddenly Shen Yuan found himself outside.

A fragrance of flowers filled the imperial gardens during the eighth lunar month, a fresh scent that was quiet and distant but able to inspire heartfelt emotions. The courtyard bloomed with lush red and purple chrysanthemums.

He saw himself stopping in place below an osmanthus tree, with the oil-paper umbrella he’d carried shading him. Dancers ahead were moving with dainty steps to a stunning choreography, performing the tale of yearly weather from spring to summer, fall and winter.

Behind his reading monocle, his celestial gaze did not carry evil intent; it was pure and admiring of the beauties capable of overthrowing cities and kingdoms. Respectfully keeping his distance, he maintained a thick atmosphere of an educated appearance, dignified and decently conducted. Next to him were the pots of white blossoms—the sight of them naturally not being a joyous thing for one to gaze at without being reminded of funerals.

From the crowd of spectators appreciating the flowers, the dance, and poems being composed, four sets of eyes flitted over to him—one scarlet and one an overcast sky, and two that were pitch-black.

A Demon Saint, dressed in her infamous gauzy red silks and tiny bells, as coquettish as a temptress. Her complexion was naturally fair, with a type of rare grandeur and dignity in her brows.

A human cultivator who wore a veil over the lower half of her face, hiding the dazzling beauty that was like lilies blooming out of fresh water; a calm and composed beauty that snatched people’s souls.

A young mistress of wealthy bearing, willful and adorable with her childlike-face, wearing her long hair up in a flying fairy style, decorated with pink pearls to match her long, extravagant palace dress. A whip had been strapped to her willow waist.

And another young lady, as fair as a magnolia—and whose lovely mature face had turned ghastly. Became ashen. “It can’t be....” As though she were seeing a ghost from her past, she took an involuntary, compulsive step to him. “Shen Jiu…?”

Various emotions flashed over their fair countenances. Shock. Fear. Disbelief. Confusion. Then a reignited deep hostility formed between their brows, their unsettled eyes as dead as stagnant water—unable to tear like a dry well but filled with bottomless loathing.

A flurry of fabrics blurred in his sight. An arc of red sprayed widely over the flowers of the courtyard, the droplets scattering like crimson petals against the walls. The umbrella clattered to the ground.

A headless body collapsed heavily to its knees. Fell sideways like a log.

A round object soon tumbled over the hot, sticky blood seeping into the cracks of the paved limestone. Red began to stain the long, black roots that were fading back into the color of moonlight.

Through the music and shrill cries, one deep shout shook the Heavens. A howl of rage, there existed the unexpected raw sound of anguish that could chill the blood. There had been too many complicated emotions condensed into that single vocalization, it made everyone who heard this sound feel a stone in their throat.

The swift winds of calamity approached.

A faltering scream, or something like a scream was heard with the sound of numerous lives being extinguished. It was a demented, gut-wrenching retribution that didn’t end, a subjugation forever to be carved into the annals of history.

Shen Yuan broke free from the premonition, gasping like a dying man. His hand scrambled to his neck. Fear tasted like iron in his mouth, the muscles at the base of his throat working convulsively.

Cold sweat beaded down his face as he staggered forward. He felt as though he’d resurfaced from the deep depths of the sea he’d been drowning from. The water sloshed beneath his movements, his inner robe loosening from his abrupt movements.

Ping!

【Prediction! A Death Flag has been discovered. +44 Points. Future Events unlocked. Objectives <<INVITATION TO THE CHRYSANTHEMUM BANQUET>> and <<DEFEATING THE MECHANISMS OF THE PALACE COURT!>> will be available.】

System, why are you giving me so many inauspicious fours! He wanted to tear his hair out! He screamed in his head, The future me was helping your husband for the sake of securing your peace and prosperity! How did you not realize cutting the neck of a celestial immortal from the exalted Heavens would be considered an evil action? Did you think your actions were just and thus exempted from karmic, divine retribution?

Have they lost their minds? How can anyone mistake him for Shen Qingqiu? He was not Shen Jiu!

What a messy affair!

What a disaster!

To say he felt vexed was an understatement. Just now, everything had happened too suddenly. The tangled, chaotic mess of information was too shocking, too absurd. Just what happened to his invincible golden halo? Did inhabiting the mortal coil temporarily dispel it? Was this the stupid【Hidden Penalty】applied to his character creation?

Don’t tell him it was because he was the sort of cutthroat writer who’d kill off his own protagonists for shock value!

He smiled with a trace of bitterness. It was precisely in line with what he’d write. This was just the sort of first-draft content a writer like him might throw in just to be evil but would later put on the chopping block upon revision, when he was no longer fueled by spite.

If he had his laptop, in true keyboard warrior fashion, he’d finger-smash his frustrations in an unintelligible burst of Chinese characters. He’d signed up for a heartwarming, “feel good” pseudo-historical fantasy redemption story with blood-pumping battles and sworn brotherhoods. He did not sign up for angst and heavy subject matters like genocide.

Regaining his equilibrium, he shuddered. Abruptly he recalled a novel passage describing how those who die from a beheading were never to reincarnate. His hand clenched into a fist, his fighting spirit ignited. Shen Yuan resolved himself to trample that death flag. As a transmigrator, he would improve their attitudes toward him and rewrite fate!

He will survive in this world without fail and use whatever means necessary!

However much he didn’t wish to dwell on the vision, he knew he’d seen that monocle somewhere before. The Store inventory?

His heart racing, he threw his memory a little further back until he saw it—vivid and picture-clear in his mind’s eye. It was as if a scene from the distant past had superposed with the present.

<<MONOCLE OF DIVINE CLARITY>>

Wondrous item, legendary

A rare artifact once belonging to Xīwángmǔ, the enchanted crystal lens is rimmed with silver and has a fine chain attached to a jade earclip. Magical properties include Resist Mental Compulsion, True Sight, and enhancement of the wearer’s divination. Effects shall remain active as long as the owner wears it.

Cost: 500,000 B-Points

He’d remembered thinking, Just whose imagination did this goddess’ treasure originate from? So expensive! Monocles were a fashion statement used to highlight certain shrewd men in Chinese novels, but the eyewear was ultimately a Western 18th-century invention overseas and not of ancient China. Such historical inaccuracy! He’d wished to file a complaint! Shen Yuan remembered the grievances he’d lamented to the <<SYSTEM>>, only to be coolly rebuffed with the encouragement to continue to work hard.

But despite its exorbitant price-tag, he’d now received visual confirmation that he would eventually acquire ownership—whether the relic would be purchased by his own merit or it would enter his hands as a byproduct of the halo’s extraordinary luck. Although there was a sense of accomplishment in knowing, it paled in comparison against his newfound conviction.

Only the shallow groove between his brows betrayed his profound distress. There was no point dwelling on an omen that hadn’t happened yet. His counterattack would have to wait.

With a hand still shielding his throat, his breathing slowly, eventually, returning to a semblance of normalcy, Shen Yuan warily glanced around the painterly surroundings.

Somehow he’d found his way to the border. No words could capture the feeling he felt standing in the midst of a bamboo grove painted into existence from ground charcoal and ink wash. A retinue of monumental statues flanked him, weathered with time—and unrecognizable with their faceless features.

Walking by, he craned his neck to stare momentarily up at the features of two of them. A man and a woman. The man was of taller stature, with the suggestion of a goatee. The woman wore a headdress; an ominous hairline crack bisected her torso. Their placement indicated they were husband and wife, the intricate details carved on the white jade making them appear regal and imposing.

A sense of dejavú filled his thoughts. He couldn’t tell who they were meant to represent, but they felt familiar. Like he should know who they all were, but recognition of gods and the divine slipped through his fingers.

The misty ground had given way back to a transient void of white. He could see clearly where his dream realm ended and Luo Binghe’s dream realm started. It was as though a curtain had been drawn, an aurora of northern lights protecting a blank white canvas from being blotted. Across the boundary, he could see something up ahead in the eternal darkness. In the desolation that engulfed the night, an ominous shroud of miasma roiled overhead.

Like a soldier preparing for the battlefield, he steeled his resolve. With one firm slap to his cheeks, he bridged the gap.

The moment he crossed the threshold, a fierce demonic Qi surged toward him like a violent gale of desert wind which threatened to strip the skin from his bones. His knees nearly buckled under him as irony, sorrow, and bitterness besieged him. He had to resist all compulsion to turn back as the darkness caged him at once. He floated aimlessly in the darkened landscape, inexplicable feelings of loneliness arising within.

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes, calming his inner turmoil.

He had to tell himself dreams did not reflect reality; they were merely a projection of someone’s subconscious. Even so, it painted a bleak picture of his xiōng dì's mental state.

Descending from the night skies, Shen Yuan was an ethereal figure dressed in white, the thin garment fluttering behind him as he took the invisible steps down into the foreign dream realm. In the infinite cosmos, he saw nothing but stars. He cast a cursory look over the bioluminescent glow rippling under him with each tread, like an otherworldly procession, until his feet finally touched the earth.

The sound of wings flapping caught his attention. Shen Yuan twisted his head, seeing a majestic fènghuáng burst free from his own heavenly realm. The immortal phoenix soared high overhead, the five sacred colors—red, blue, yellow, white, and black—of its serrated tail feathers trailing behind it. A beautiful cry escaped its throat like a song.

A mighty roar shattered the night. The air pressure shifted. As though answering the phoenix’s call, a fierce and powerful lóng ascended from the dark depths of the realm, brackish water trembling off its black scales as it shot up to give chase after the fènghuáng ’s vibrant plumage.

He watched their aerial dance in flight. Like yin and yang coming together, seeing their bodies twist and weave with one another in a harmonious sight made an intensity arise from the bottom of his heart.

The relief he felt was all-consuming. Every Chineseman knew of the dragon-and-phoenix metaphor of olden times. And if the mythical phoenix dared to take flight in this dream realm, in a demon’s home turf, surely it was an auspicious sign that Bing gē was not too far gone in darkness and corruption.

Feeling a renewed lightness on his feet, Shen Yuan went to follow.

The moment that the dragon surfaced, he had registered a faraway presence. It was a feeling of awareness, a slight prickling sensation of the scalp, making him feel self-conscious. He was hyper-aware that he was not alone. Even if Luo Binghe had been preoccupied, there was no way Protagonist A would not have sensed Protagonist B’s presence—and vice versa.

If Shen Yuan’s world had been representative of the heavenly air and water, much like the man himself Luo Binghe’s spirit root was aligned with the earth. His hand drifted back to his throat. The air was as arid as a desert. If memory served Shen Yuan correctly, Luo Binghe also had an innate affinity with the fire attribute. It’d been discovered during his time in the Endless Abyss arc once the demon seal had been broken, indicative of his high sensibility to the fire type of Qi.

Hearing noises behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. Leaves had sprung from the blackened branches, rustling in the wind. Moonlight dripped through the gaps in the canopy, reflecting mottled shadows. He had been following along a ravine which’d shimmered gold, curious where the running water led to. Presumably it would take him to wherever Luo Binghe—and Meng Mo?—wanted him to see.

Tucking the long strands of his hair behind an ear, he halted midstride when he heard, “...a...re...f...ul….”

He’d heard that quiet murmur before—that time at the pond, didn’t he? A woman’s cadence. Like the babbling of a brook, as faint as the wind, with accents of a beauty hitherto unknown. He glanced at the waters, keeping his expression impassive.

Ping.

【Do exercise caution, Esteemed Host! One should not turn their back on an opponent.】

Shen Yuan was silent. He cast his gaze sidelong to the trees for a fleeting moment. As though addressing someone in the prevailing shadows, he purposely stated aloud, “I don’t make mistakes in recognizing talent. I have no intention of making Luo Binghe my opponent.”  

Without another word, he resumed his stroll. His sight was fixed on the miasma ahead.

On the account of the premonition, it was at no fault of Luo Binghe’s that Shen Yuan would lose his head to the man’s wives. If anything, it’d sounded as though Protagonist A would seek to avenge him—even if the way he reacted was extreme and heartless.

Don’t you know, he wanted to tell his junior, if you do too many bad things, you will get retribution?

Truly, the future Shen Yuan must have maxed out his affection meter. Luo Binghe must have deeply treasured their friendship—or his counsel—to the point where he was capable of callously dismissing his former lovey-dovey attachments to help the dead deliver justice. However much pity Shen Yuan felt for the young women for how easily their husband detestably threw them aside, it was still an immensely heartfelt gesture he showed for the deceased. Even a rock would feel moved.

It made him remember the con-crit he’d left on the online forum, where he detailed how cool he felt the portrayal of a hateful and sinister Bing gē was—a refreshingly blackened hero who repaid debts of kindness and grudges. As expected of the “black-bellied” male lead, once the favorability meter was full, his inner protectiveness to the ones he held in high esteem would appear.

...Shen Yuan, you are putting the cart before the horse, he scolded himself. Stop thinking about something useless. Don’t meddle in his personal affairs too much.

Petals scattered, rolling along with no control whatsoever over their destiny, adrift and aimless. Strands of moonlit hair billowed with the breeze, leading his attention from his feet to across the distance. He focused on the sparse meadow that had wrapped itself in the embrace of the autumn equinox.

In the inky darkness, he saw a field of red spider lilies blooming in the hellish wasteland along a golden stream, leading to the gnarled tree—dark and twisted and silhouetted with demonic Qi.  

So this was Luo Binghe’s diantian.... It was as depressing of a sight as Shen Yuan had envisioned. The scent of death lingered in the air, an earthy perfume of graveyard soil and decay intermingling into the overwhelmingly floral fragrance, suffusing into the senses.

Under the swathe of demonic miasma drifting down from the sky like ash, the drooping red petals seemed ready to fall, swaying dreamily, but holding fast to their slim, strong stalks. The movement added something alive to the manjusaka’s fragility, to their ethereal quality, almost human in the way a flower could demonstrate both frailty and endurance at the same time.

He felt a faint sense of dread as he began to wander deeper into the crimson field, feeling a pressure over his head that was overbearing and suffocating. The flowers parted before him, the petals brushing his sleeves and hair like covetous fingers. He’d half-expected to see the heavenly flowers descending from the realm of the Gods, according to Buddhist scriptures. There was an old Chinese legend of two fairies who had been punished by the gods to be seperated for all eternity. As gods’ design, the petals could only blossom when the leaves were all withered away.

A flower of separation, and with its poisonous bulb, the red spider lily held a dark connotation that appealed to writers. They were well-known metaphors in eastern literature.

Memories poured in like the tide. Grown in Diyu—the realm of the dead or “hell” where souls were sent to repent and be purified—they were symbolic of guiding the dead into their next reincarnation. If anyone had asked him about what it meant in the language of flowers, Shen Yuan would say he associated the red spider lily with feelings of abandonment, longing, lost memories, and final parting. He’d referenced the symbolism before in a past work, underscoring its morbid resemblance to splashes of blood.

Shen Yuan stared with narrowed eyes. There was a certainty in him that he could not describe. But with how the dream realm had been described in the webnovels, there was absolutely no way Luo Binghe, or the elder Meng Mo, had a hand in this.

For any onlookers looking in from the outskirts, this scene must have presented a baffling sight. He remembered the pride displayed by both versions of the elder dream demon when it came to showing off their control over illusions to a young and impressionable disciple of mixed-blood. Shen Yuan wouldn’t be surprised if Meng Mo was presently frothing at the mouth, seeing a celestial being mess with his precious host’s control.

There was an indescribable eeriness permeating everywhere ever since he’d walked into the flower field.

System, he accused, this must be your doing. Just what are you trying to prove to this old man?  

There was no story without coincidences. When countless coincidences crashed altogether, the truth came to light.

Ping.

【Answering the Esteemed Host, the thousand year white resurrection lily is a gateway to the world of the deceased. It receives the memories of a departing soul before one crosses the Nai Ha bridge to pass into their next life, and can therefore be harvested to bring back the souls of the dead. Should Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> accept the quest, there is a resurrection subplot to bring back wronged supporting characters from the Earth Realm.】

Hearing the explanation, Shen Yuan’s mind leapt to the original Shen Qingqiu.

Even Shen Yuan, who’d originally called for the “scumbag’s” castration like many other fans, after having read the rebooted series, felt that the original Shen Qingqiu was deserving of sympathy points. At the mercy of his own duplicitous personality, the emotionally stunted character had adhered to the mensao archetype through and through—flopping between the two states of “hot and cold.” It had been revealed that many of the crimes Shen Qingqiu had been accused of had been the result of various egregious misunderstandings and miscommunications.

An ache wormed its way into his heart. There had been so many casualties, so many people who had their lives cut short. The Qing Jing Peak Lord, Shen Qingqiu; the Sect Master of the Qiong Ding Peak, Yue Qingyuan; the Bai Zhan Peak Lord and Liu Mingyan’s elder brother, Liu Qingge; Luo Binghe’s blood-related parents Su Xiyan and Tianlang jun….

They were good people. They weren’t his creations, but their roles as the small “mobs”—side characters—led to their potential being shorn woefully short.

It was perhaps pretentious and presumptuous of him to decide those to be allowed to come back from the dead—defying the natural order of things—but for someone to be essentially granted a second chance at life, to right regrets and live their rebirth to the fullest, who would refuse? Celestial beings were meant to have magnanimous hearts, moving the sky and earth for once-in-a-lifetime noble souls.

So wasn’t it just and righteous if such extreme action was taken?

Ping.

【Optional objective <<JOURNEY TO THE NETHERWORLD>> is available. Does the Esteemed Host wish to accept? Y/N?】

He glanced at the UI. Within that brief moment, Shen Yuan had already made many deliberations and judgements. Just as he was about to cement his decision, he heard the faintest trickle of music—and with it, murmurs.

“...P...le...ase….”  

His body instinctively tensed. A thick stench of blood pervaded the air, suffocating the floral fragrance with a metallic odor of iron.

...Why do I hear <<BOSS>> music?

Shen Yuan swatted the interface away from him, hissing beneath his breath, “Some other time.”

Whispers, male and female, crept through the silence. They drifted into his hearing, mournful and piteous, like wounded animals in close pursuit of their prey. Growing louder and louder.

“May...the Heavens...have mercy....”

“Save us.”

“Anyone….”

Under the night sky, he appeared calm, but his mind was already as turbulent as the storming seas.

At the sound of rustling, an archaic flight instinct had him spinning on his feet. A crack had formed in his expression. Skeletal arms were outstretched toward him from the crimson field.

Infinitely long, they dripped with blood, the droplets scattering onto the lilies like rain.

His hand instinctively reached for his sword as he watched the illusion crawl toward his ankles and the hem of his robe. His brows tightly-knitted, there was a chill to his face that was very different than during the daytime—as if he were a different person.

Some battles had to be fought another day. To avoid damaging his or Luo Binghe’s psyche, he’d have to beat a tactical retreat.

Just as he was about to soar away like a sparrow, he heard a distinct, metallic shnnk. He jerked in surprise when an arm abruptly materialized around his waist, embracing Shen Yuan from behind like an iron snare.

A black demonic blade swung in a wide arc.

The skeletal arms were obliterated in a torrent of midnight wildfire, limbs bursting open in wet splatters of blood.

The heat pressed against his back was as solid and grounding as a tree trunk, the strong and rapid heartbeat incomparably clear in his ears as the roaring flames extinguished themselves. All petals had been scattered from the mighty gust, strands of black and white hair flowing together in the wind.

In the blanket of darkness came the hysterical thought of a wild Bing gē having appeared. The culprit has, at last, deigned to show his guilty face.

“Shizun….”

The mere sound of him strummed the bowstring in his own heart with a loud tremor.

In a tone as soft as peach blossoms, silky and gentle, Luo Binghe whispered to Shen Yuan, “I’ve finally found you.”

The hoarseness of the man’s voice was albeit strange. Thrown off-kilter, Shen Yuan thought that there might have been something wrong, but he didn’t trust himself to say anything yet without it being misconstrued.

Hot puffs of air brushed against his cheek. That, with the scent of rice water and rose petals and something else masculine and unfamiliar, was distracting. Luo Binghe was quietly repeating the phrase, "I found you."

Mustering his courage, Shen Yuan peered over his shoulder. Both brows soared to his hairline when he saw a hallucination of a hundred flowers blooming at once.

A circle of red peeked out from the charcoal of Luo Binghe’s eyes. His attractive features were akin to the warmth of the early spring sunshine on flower petals that, for a moment, Shen Yuan could not differentiate between north and south.

Shen Yuan blinked once—twice, to clear the hallucination. It was only when he realized what he was seeing that Shen Yuan felt dumbstruck. He could feel his own facial muscles beginning to contort.

Unbelievable. The corners of his mouth launched upwards out of his control, but the ludicrous smile was suppressed by him before it could take flight completely. How utterly audacious.

Luo Binghe’s long, dark hair was let loose like a waterfall. And he was shamelessly wearing nothing but a thick, white pelt over his bare torso.

Having been the one to strike down the mythical beast, Shen Yuan instantly recognized the fur draped over broad shoulders. It was the divine báihǔ pelt the servants had laid out over the bed to help their guest conserve heat for the winter. Draped over bare skin, it’d lent the younger man a distinctly wild impression.

Luo Binghe’s breathing was a little unstable. Wrapping his other arm around Shen Yuan, he closed his eyes. Nosing the soft white hair, he remarked, "Shizun has a pleasant scent...."

Shen Yuan’s expression remained a frozen lake. What was with this ambience?

Faced with an unprecedented scenario, Shen Yuan didn’t know how to make it less awkward and help them both save face. The extent of his adult experience with hugging strangers had been starting conversations or meetings with a handshake, and ending it with a brisk hug whenever the whim hit. Even his own father, himself and his two brothers had communicated mostly with manly pats to the shoulder or the back. Perhaps such discomfort could be attributed to a cultural custom which persisted long after the death of Chairman Mao back in 1976. Initiating physical contact still remained somewhat of a learning curve among friends and family members, with some notable exceptions like the comforting touches given to a cute child or the hugs given by an overbearing grandparent.

Despite his current appearance, Shen Yuan was still a man; even though it was not the soft figure of a woman being pressed up against him, it was embarrassing being held by another man so fiercely.

Even knowing everything there was to know about Luo Binghe, he was essentially a stranger to Shen Yuan. The whole experience was surreal, like being hugged by a movie star who could just as easily change his mind and decide to crush his windpipe.

Shen Yuan didn’t dare to look down to confirm the extent of Luo Binghe’s undressed state. What if he accidentally bore witness to a wardrobe mishap and caught a glimpse of that legendary, heavenly sky pillar—or see a blinding tower of light? He wouldn’t be able to recover from such humiliation! To avoid that blow to his ego, he would be better off pretending everything was normal. I am a morally upright citizen with the heart of an angel, he chanted to himself like a sutra. I must remain patient and benevolent with today’s hot-blooded youth.  

With the two of them locked in a stalemate, Shen Yuan slowly felt his sanity returning to him. Standing as still as a statue, he ruminated on the best method to address this situation with an appropriateness that wouldn’t trigger a landmine.

He patted Luo Binghe’s forearm in a consoling manner, but it was also an unsubtle cue for him to release him.

The arms only tightened in persistence.

Shen Yuan frowned at his “stickiness.” He felt as though they were unintentionally stealing this particular romantic encounter from a youth’s passionate spring dreams. Since this was ancient China, it was truly lucky that he wasn’t being hugged by a young woman, or else he’d be worried about impacting her reputation—even if nothing had happened.

Traces of resignation formed between unpigmented brows. “...Xiōng dì, I am appreciative to you for having found your way to me.” Now that the arrow had been drawn, it had to be released. As exasperated as he felt, he asked with no small amount of concern, “Are you suffering from any mental backlash? I am aware of what happens when one retaliates at an illusion.”

A shaky exhalation of breath was heard. Instead of answering his question, Luo Binghe replied with much sorrow, “This lord deserves to die. However much this lord hastened to reunite with you the moment I saw your resplendent presence descending from the sky, it is unfortunate we met just as harm was about to befall upon Shizun.”

His voice had been mellow, with a hint of the liveliness to it that only young people had. It made it all the more easy for people to develop goodwill towards a valiant, dazzlingly handsome lord.

...I know of your tricks, little demon. Are you testing the sincerity of my well intentions? Furthermore, how do you manage to sound like a pitiful puppy...while your body...looks so erotic...? Bing gē, you truly have a duplicitous, villainous heart.

Shen Yuan refused to fall into the scheme of this little wolfdog. To avoid a perilous situation, he must go on the counterattack.

Instead, he turned in his arms. Luo Binghe’s eyes snapped open when Shen Yuan framed his face in his gloveless palms.

Shen Yuan inspected his features closely, putting on a stern look. He wiped away the big drops of sweat that flowed down the Heavenly Demon’s forehead, chastising, “You move me to tears, Luo Binghe. Did I not warn you to work on your bad habit of bearing everything silently?” Every word and sentence was leaden with camaraderie. His fingers drifted down to clasp him by the elbows. “You’ve forgotten this one is clairvoyant. Instead of concealing your intentions from me, this master shall willingly lend you his ear if you come bearing any troubling thoughts or concerns.”

What was the use of having a glib tongue if it couldn’t be put to good use? Time to wield his +20 CHARISMA to its full devastating potential!

“Although we are strangers, I hope, with time, you can be the truest version of yourself with me. I will not think any less of you at a sign of weakness.” The nature of heroic warriors emphasised on cultivating relationships and respect. Shen Yuan knew to repay a kind act with gratitude. Concentrating on his channels, he sent a pulse of his spirit energy to his yin -depleted companion through their point of contact.

Luo Binghe’s eyelids fluttered half-mast as gentle and clean spiritual power circulated throughout his meridians. The sensation was reminiscent of a cold spring drizzle watering the arid soil, the strain in his body receding for the time being.

Under a more impertinent tone, Shen Yuan told him, “Even if you willfully choose to disregard my reading, I cannot help but be concerned seeing how gallantly and recklessly you continue down this path of self-destruction. Just look at the state of your own diantian. Even the peerless ‘Luo Demon’ of the battlefield who is said to be able ‘to withstand the skies and earth’ should not be uncompromising regarding one’s own health.”

Shen Yuan knew from personal experience. However much the spirit was willing, the flesh was weak.

A hand slowly left his waist, moving to close over the back of Shen Yuan’s palm. Carefully sizing him up, his scarlet gaze, as he looked at Shen Yuan, held a few degrees more affection.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +25.】

Twenty-five points instead of five or ten? You must have felt so good, you’d reached the heavens. Shen Yuan granted a lukewarm smile towards the future tyrant, patting the white fur over his shoulder in a friendly manner. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Many thanks to Shizun.” His line of sight drifted downward, and suddenly his attention was the ravenous gaze of a tiger.

Heat rushed in Shen Yuan’s body like the torrential flood. You’re a married husband who’s bedded countless beauties throughout the years , he’d nearly rebuked. What was so interesting about seeing an old man’s chest anyway? He averted his face. Forcing a calm and unwavering tone, he invited, “Since we’re here, walk with me, Luo Binghe.”

Perhaps it was due to the strange air of two men bonding that grinded down Luo Binghe’s stubborn temperament, but his iron hold had loosened, giving Shen Yuan ample opportunity to break free. Righting the night garment back into its proper place, he turned his feet in the direction toward his own dream realm.

“Luo Binghe…. My son….”

Shen Yuan glanced over his shoulder, his stride slowing. Somehow,  even as a figment of his imagination, he instantly knew whom this voice was supposed to belong to—maternal and lonely and sorrowful, full of regrets.

“I beg of you…. Help him….”

“Shizun?”

He gazed at the field of spider lilies with a considering look. With each step they’d taken, the blood-red color had faded into white. “...You do not hear anything?” he asked slowly.

Luo Binghe granted him an unfathomable look, before shaking his head. The fur of the báihǔ rustled with the small movements.

“So it’s like that.... May the elder dream demon who has taken this younger demon under his wing forgive my divine interference.” Sensing he’d captured Luo Binghe’s rapt attention from that frivolous declaration, Shen Yuan scrutinized the person who had been walking shoulder to shoulder with him.

To anyone looking in, they perhaps presented an incompatible image. Visually, as protagonists, they were as different as day and night—indicative of the two different writing styles of the two novelists.

As the celestial representative, there was a kind of romantic, quiet and unrestrained air of a distinguished literary person. Even with such mature looks, like the dark side of the moon, they paled in comparison to the blinding brilliance that was Luo Binghe whose presence was as bright as the sun in the sky. He personified those who walked with a dragon’s gait and firm tiger’s steps, with a vigour and prestige that unknowingly overflowed out; and with a cultivator’s valor, such presentation could make his opponent easily frightened. Shen Yuan could still recall his rough touch and that vise-like strength. Although Luo Binghe appeared innocent, he was actually enigmatic and difficult-to-predict. It made Shen Yuan want to test him.

Affecting an air of indifference, Shen Yuan mentioned as casually as he could, “That aside, I have a question for you. I was hoping you could satisfy my curiosity.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze was a dozen stones piled on the side of his face. He bade, “May Shizun speak candidly.”

“You must have given thought to my predictions. Knowing what xiōng dì knows now, what else does Luo Binghe intend to ask this one?” Seeing Luo Binghe was about to respond, Shen Yuan shook his head. “Don’t give me the answer you think I will want to hear. Be frank. For you to chase me in my dreams, you must be burdened with a thirst for knowledge.”

“...This lord wishes to learn more,” Luo Binghe confessed, looking unapologetic. “The strong prey on the weak; that is how the world works. As one who can get a glimpse of fate, Shizun is an indispensable source of guidance. Before this lord arrived here, I had been in a daze and felt helpless. Then elder Shen Yuan helped clear the fog in my head. The future has never been clearer.”

Shen Yuan hid the cynical smile in his heart.

Now we get to the crux of the matter…. Very well; he will fulfill the desperate wish of the imaginary Su Xiyan. He would help her son.

First, he had to establish a common enemy or obstacle.

“You are fortunate. Although it’s unorthodox, seeing as we are in a dream realm, seeing once is preferable to hearing a hundred times. You can do with the knowledge of your future later however you want.” He glanced forward, seeing the boundary line just across the barren wasteland. “Should you see intervening forces or hindrances to your survival or success, even if both parties once harbored goodwill, what will Luo Binghe do?”

There were countless variables on the chessboard. How he chose to answer him would decide where Shen Yuan will point the spear to.

Sensing the weight of his tone, Luo Binghe mulled over his words for a moment. A dark storm swirled in his eyes. Gazing at him as though he intended to test him, he spoke with severity, unfalteringly, “If one were to offend me, this lord will definitely exterminate the entire family.”

Shen Yuan somehow managed a serene expression despite hearing such a bloodthirsty declaration. A ferocious answer that has exceeded expectations, of course. Bing gē, your inferiority complex is showing.  

He knew just the perfect scapegoats.

One was the son of heaven—the current emperor of the Mortal Realm himself. His fate was sealed the moment he’d declared the exceptional demon lord to be a threat and that the middle kingdom would not be content with nothing short of his destruction.

Second was the Old Palace Master—the sect leader of the still-surviving Huan Hua Palace. That pervert was the poisonous snake that was entrenched in the grass, waiting for an opportunity to strike and bite his son-in-law to death.

And lastly, the most crucial, would be the symbol of everything that had gone wrong in Luo Binghe’s life. He was the ideal sacrificial pawn, for that person was an existence Luo Binghe would definitely not be able to touch even if he harbored resentment.

Ping!

【Warning! Allowing Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> knowledge of the powers that be is prohibited. A penalty will be imposed on the Esteemed Host should you continue!】

System, Shen Yuan roared in his head, must you undermine everything I do? Even as his fingers curled into fists, he resolutely maintained his mild forbearance as they approached the boundary. He thought viciously, If you’re so worried, then why don’t you activate a filter to edit what I’m saying into something that suits this world?

Ping.

【The Esteemed Host voluntarily wishes for censorship?】

Not censorship! Just filter any forbidden words into something of similar equivalence. I give you permission! Just don’t meddle! This is a critical stage toward jumpstarting Bing gē’s character development!

Now that he thought about it, naturally the main reason why many of the modern characters never admitted to being a transmigrator was out of fear of being seen as crazy. Shen Yuan could count on one hand the number of stories where the protagonist admitted to actually being one.

Wasn’t he in an optimal position where he could be believed? The intimate act of exchanging secrets brought people even closer. Shen Yuan was not above using the same emotional tricks to lure Luo Binghe to his side.

A sudden warmth jostled him out of his thoughts. Just as he heard the notification that the filter had been activated, he noticed Luo Binghe had stepped closer to him. Body heat transferred to Shen Yuan from their proximity. He could smell the scent of fur.

His smile was ferocious, as if he were a vicious wolf. “The ways of the heavens are merciless.” A hand lifted to play with the loose white strands. Luo Binghe seemed to have found his albinism curious. “While this lord is appreciative to elder Shen Yuan, I am aware that immense hatred and bad blood has existed between the moral sects and demonkind for generations. Yet you’ve magnanimously harbored me at your residence and shared with me my bright future. Aren’t you worried your celestial brethren will accuse you of collusion with this lord for your own benefit?”

Brows that were as pale as the snow rose at the provocative words. Although I haven’t met such “celestial brethren,” to think you would see the bigger picture of classism and discrimination.... Sighing in his heart, Shen Yuan realized he must have misjudged him. He hadn’t thought a formidable, blackhearted stallion protagonist like himself could be broad-sighted. Luo Binghe, I never thought you’d grow up overnight.

“...I don’t think you’re rotten.”

“Hm?”

“On account of you being half-demon,” he clarified. “Judging a person by their birth and social status is proof that a person is narrow-minded. I have seen with my own eyes how hard you work and I sincerely admire your potential.”

As the old saying went, one should never look down on youngsters. If they worked hard, the future of young people was boundless, and they will inevitably turn the situation around.

On the surface level, Luo Binghe spoke with a refreshing candor and treated others warmly and sincerely. He was not unreasonable, and he was as filial as they come—showing favoritism and loyalty toward those he held in high esteem. It was only when he faced adversity or found himself on the battlefield that he would be merciless—so no matter how much goodwill others showed him, it was useless if he held secret grievances toward them in his heart.

“Moreover, you’ve surely heard for all your life that an alliance between a human and a demon would truly be a laughingstock of this world.” He held Luo Binghe’s riveted stare. “...But I’m looking at that impossible unity right now.”

A brittle expression melted into existence. “...And what of the celestial gods and fairies of the Heavenly Realm?”

“What of them?”

“Do they hold the same broadmindedness as Shizun?”

Shen Yuan eyed him. When he remained silent, Luo Binghe understood he had gotten his answer.

“...Shizun is a precious existence,” Luo Binghe remarked. “The world has its own rules. And everything within it follows them.”

While it was true that good wordbuilding was kept within its sandbox, Shen Yuan didn’t think upholding such a limitation applied to individuals equipped with the protagonist’s halo. Protagonists were meant to break convention.

Shen Yuan corrected, “Just because a celestial is an immortal body of divinity does not mean I am beholden to share the same outdated values.【My way of thinking is modern and doesn’t suit the current times.】Knowing what I know, naturally there would be some deviation.”

He paused, realizing what had emerged from his mouth.

What he’d meant to say was that he was a transmigrator and that was why his way of thinking deviated from canon NPCs! This was supposed to be the moment he revealed to him his shocking identity!

Shen Yuan tried again, “It would be the height of folly to dismiss your capabilities just because of your birthright.【You are meant to stand at the peak of the dynasty overlooking all living beings.】Regardless, I will support you whether you choose to be the Sacred Ruler or if you decide to live a simpler life.”

His expression immediately sunk. It happened again! He’d meant to say, because Luo Binghe was the stallion protagonist, his meteoric rise was inevitable.

Luo Binghe had been keenly watching the byplay of emotions on Shen Yuan’s face as he spoke. As he saw the neutrality melt into heated frustration, Luo Binghe naturally formed his own assumptions from it. Under a softened tone, he repeated, “A simpler life?”

A stone had lodged itself in his throat. Shen Yuan had wanted to express to the young man that he didn’t want to pressure him into taking on the burden and responsibilities of a duty he wasn’t ready for, but he hadn’t expected to be hit with a burst of memories.

It made him remember his own family life. Before this madness.

“Being alive is actually a wonderful thing.” Nostalgia swept across his features. “...You are a grown man, Luo Binghe. Just because you have the potential to be great doesn’t mean you should be forced into something if it isn’t what you want to do.”

Wracking his brain for how to address the concept of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky without having Shen Yuan’s original intention changed drastically, he confided, “I’m not like your creator. I don’t want to erase your agency; I wish to see if you can transcend your original settings.”

The mood changed in a flash. “My creator?” Luo Binghe’s tone was sharp. The white hair was released as he impulsively reached for Shen Yuan’s arms. “What does Shizun mean?”

He could see the vibrancy of the demon crest on Luo Binghe’s forehead, being this close to him. As though commenting on the weather, Shen Yuan remarked cavalierly, “Have you not found it strange that, despite not committing any wrongdoings, you’d perhaps suffered more misfortunes than anyone else—as though they’d been preordained? A storm tests the strength of a blade of grass. You were orphaned, twice, as a child. People picked on you when you were defenseless. A reputably famous immortal selected you as a disciple, but upon seeing your potential, swiftly went to undercut it. At just a young age, you’ve seen the duplicity of human hearts, fought countless tough opponents, and endured numerous betrayals and hardships.”

Luo Binghe’s expression had hardened.

“Your destiny has been【manipulated by a higher power】to hasten your growth.” Undergoing tribulations was not a foreign concept. In the Cultivation World, cultivators were expected to undergo tests from the Heavens to determine if they were worthy of ascension. “Most would be crushed under such trials, but your will to live is strong. Thus your rate of progress has been accelerated because of such painstaking efforts.”

You are indeed a far mightier man than I could ever be. With your head-start, even if I challenge you countless times, I will never be able to claim victory currently with how unfairly OP you are.

“You are claiming there has been a higher power who has caused this lord much grief and misery, all in accordance to a predestined plan he has prophesied for me?” Luo Binghe’s voice was deceptively gentle.

Shen Yuan hesitated.

“Shen Yuan.”

Seeing that all pretenses were already thrown to the wind, Shen Yuan had no inhibitions anymore. He could only apologize to Airplane brother in his heart, for turning his creation against him and making him an unfilial son.

Shen Yuan opened his mouth. “You aren’t【my creation.】It is frowned upon for【gods and immortals】to poach【extraordinary heroes】from their【patronage】without permission.”

Maintaining a genial facade, Luo Binghe expressed with a sincerity that rang a little false, “This lord simply wishes to know which deity to pay humble respects to for their gracious sponsorship.”

An enigmatic smile stole across Shen Yuan’s face. “One could say every living thing such as yourself and everything beautiful and evil in this world sprung from his imagination. His【name has been lost with time.】But I know him as elder Xiàng Tiān Dà Fēijī."

Those dark brows drew downward. “Xiàng Tiān Dà...Fēijī?”

Ah, of course you wouldn’t know what an airplane is. Shen Yuan ruminated for a moment before reaching up for Luo Binghe’s wrists. As though he were an older brother admonishing one’s insensible younger brother, he said graciously, “Fēijī gēis a controversial but well-respected figure within our circles. His writings are not without merit.”

His words were mostly self-serving, but had Airplane brother been in his shoes, Shen Yuan would have wanted him to elevate his standing in front of his “children.” Even if it was just by a little.

Under the same earnest tone, Shen Yuan insisted, “He might have lost his integrity in the past but he has always held well intentions and wants to see his【creations】flourish. You, especially, were his original written masterpiece.”

Luo Binghe’s gaze fell on the pale fingers encircled around his wrists. “And where does Shen Yuan fall into all this?”

In life, it was not possible to bloom bright flowers from lies. Try as he might to hide it, his smile became strained from the memories of his painful past—of how much time he’d wasted, how much rénmínbì he’d spent out of his own wallet. Shen Yuan confessed, “I was once an admirer of his before I grew disillusioned. Your life is full of tragic misunderstandings. That’s why I want to see if I can rewrite the travesty of the future you’ve been shoehorned into. Your journey has been of interest to me the moment he【birthed】you and this world.”

Luo Binghe’s hands refused to budge from him no matter how much force was exerted. Shen Yuan frowned.

“Is your remark real?” Seeing Shen Yuan’s confusion, he clarified, “That you would be willing to overstep boundaries and break from celestial tradition to offer your support to this lord?”

“I’m not being facetious.” Shen Yuan scrutinized his handsome features. “We know what you are meant to do. Fēijī gē had set you up for greatness. With your power, you will surely achieve justice and bring the evils of the Three Realms to judgement, and unify the realms as the Sacred Ruler. And once you’ve served your purpose, your story is at its end. I’ve seen your ending. Your great legacy will ultimately be remembered as nothing more than a tragic, bitter wastrel who, even with your accomplishments, had wasted away and perished under suspicious circumstances.”

Dark storm clouds gathered in Luo Binghe’s expression.

“But knowing all that, what does Luo Binghe want to do?” Shen Yuan spoke brusquely. “Don’t care what I think. You have free will, do you not? It’s one thing for me to advise you against the misfortunes you’ll encounter. But do you even want to be a Sacred Ruler? I would like to hear the input of his own creation.”

“...In the eyes of the virtuous, this lord will always be a wicked and unspeakable evil that must be slayed. In the eyes of aristocrats, I will never get ahead. To them, I will always be the son of a penniless washerwoman.” His voice had been calm and waveless, but there was a trace of heavy tension—and a fatalism that’d felt suffocating. With the air of a galvanized, hot-blooded warlord in battle, Luo Binghe declared, “This lord will not find peace until none would dare oppose me, and I attain everything that has been denied to me.”

How selfish, Shen Yuan couldn’t help but think. But he supposed it made sense. In the past, Luo Binghe had always been the one trampled underfoot, but now that the shoe was on the other foot, it was to be expected he’d want to take everything he thought to belong to him.

He asked Luo Binghe again, “Do you still want to honor Fēijī’s wishes for you and become his Sacred Ruler? Or do you want to travel a different path? The present is different from the past or future. I will respect whichever decision you make.”

Luo Binghe repeated the words “the present is different from the past or future” softly. Those charcoal eyes scrutinized him back.

Shen Yuan had a sudden realisation in his heart when Luo Binghe raised his palm reverently to the back of Shen Yuan’s hand. He kept his expression wooden when a beatific smile bloomed across Luo Binghe’s features, chasing away the prior shadows.

“This lord,” Luo Binghe announced with the finality of a man making a solemn vow, “will never accept Fēijī ’s patronage. Such a thoughtless, presumptuous, good-for-nothing creator is unfit to lick my boots.”

...I express my deepest apologies, Airplane brother. Please do not transmigrate into this world like your Self-Insert in the rebooted novels—or you will be made into mincemeat.

Ping.

【Protagonist A Satisfaction points +99.】

Shen Yuan nearly swallowed his tongue upon hearing it. It took everything in he not to reveal his astonishment. Although he had expected to have made a dent in Luo Binghe’s heart, it was staggering by how much impact his words had! In his incredulity, he’d almost missed what was declared next.

“Instead, this lord shall only truly accept Shen Yuan.” His dark lashes fluttered shut as he lifted their entwined fingers just below his jaw, his breath fanning across Shen Yuan’s knuckles. “My Shizun is honorable, honest, and foreseeing. None can compare. In return for guiding this lord with his oracles, I will ensure they come to pass, and swear to protect him from his back. You will achieve the results desired.”

Oh, my mother. A feeling arose in him that he had somehow enmeshed himself in a trap of his own devising.

“This lord understands. Your heart had suffered so long enduring the injustices this one had to suffer while I was weak and oppressed. Shen Yuan must have felt helpless being unable to directly interfere with matters of the secular world, retained at the residence of the Heavenly Realm and not being allowed to see me. It is because this lord has only now managed to find a way to Shizun that you have seized the opportunity.”

He’d just dealt him a fatal blow. You understand nothing , Shen Yuan wanted to bellow! If this were a tabletop game, then he had just rolled a Nat20 with his Charisma check. It was too good of a roll! Aren’t you just projecting your ideal Shizun onto me?

“Thanking Shizun for the lesson. Your insightfulness continues to impress this lord.”

Shen Yuan’s eyes shook when Luo Binghe lifted his head. And then he realized how close they’d gotten again. Close, too close! He could practically see the jut of his collarbones peeking above the soft fur.

His heart wavered for a moment. Pulling his hand away, he feigned a cough into his fist. Taking the time to regain his composure, he said, “You know, we might not be kinsmen, but helping each other should be just enough to be good friends.”

“An offer of friendship?” His tone was deceptively intimate and unpredictable. To Shen Yuan’s wide eyes, Luo Binghe went to cup his hand over a fist in a formal gesture. Bending the steel sword that was his spine, he proclaimed to him, “Then this lord shall avail to raise his reputation and prowess. To be regarded as worthy in Shen Yuan’s eyes and in the eyes of the Heavens, this one will surpass expectations.”

The soft waves of his dark hair fell over the white fur as Shen Yuan exasperatedly tugged at Luo Binghe’s arms, encouraging the demon lord to stand back up from his unnecessary display of supplication. He had the feeling they’d cleared some sort of checkpoint or hurdle.

How dangerous. The allure of Luo Binghe’s every word and smile were like spring waters trickling gently past Shen Yuan’s ironclad defenses. His own charisma made Shen Yuan, who had resolved to remain highly vigilant, want to believe his words just like that.

He noticed that Luo Binghe had stopped directly at the boundary. The demon lord was looking at the fog as though it had wronged him in some way.

Ping.

【Notifying the Esteemed Host! Skinship is required for Protagonist A to gain entry. Would Protagonist <<SHEN YUAN>> like to add Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> to his party? Y/N?】

Since it was like that, he could only comply. Secreting the weary sigh in his heart, Shen Yuan took the initiative. With one step into the swirling white mist, he twisted his body sideways and extended his palm. He gazed at him expectantly.

Without hesitation, Luo Binghe took his hand. And Shen Yuan pulled him into his world.

Ping.

【Congratulations! Protagonist <<LUO BINGHE>> has been successfully added to the party!】

Ping.

【Reloading the map! Loading...loading...success! The simulation has been reconfigured! Jiāyóu, lăoshī!】

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #28: Humiliations Galore

Prompt: irenic | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is partially in response to @ahlis-xiv‘s fill for ultracrepidarian, which you can read HERE! (And it goes without saying you should read her other fills and assorted writing, too!) The Ahlis mentioned herein, of course, belongs to her. \o/

--

Synnove felt her face twist into something foul and ugly and absolutely capable of curdling milk as she stared down at the letter on her desk. Halulu took one look at her and immediately fled back to the relative safety of her own office one floor down.

The envelope was fine vellum, waxed to protect its contents, tied with twine and the tie further sealed with wax. It was unremarkable, really, and appeared no different from any other important missive that Mealvaan’s Gate might receive from near and far.

Save for the seal of the University of Radz-at-Han pressed into the wax.

Synnove’s lip curled up in a sneer.

Mama, just open it, Galette sighed from her usual perch draped around her shoulders.

Synnove grimaced, but reached for the envelope and slid it closer to herself on the desk. She wedged her thumbnail beneath the wax seal and wiggled back and forth until it popped off, then slid the vellum from the twine and opened the flap. Reaching in, she pulled out two letters, folded over and individually sealed with different wax and stamps, at which she frowned.

And then raised her eyebrows as she noticed the thicker letter of the two, the one closed by deep red wax with a plain stamp, had writing in a very familiar hand on the outside.

READ THE OTHER ONE FIRST.

Now, what in the six hells was Thaisie Valeroyant up to?

Synnove stared with narrow, suspicious eyes at the letter from the Chair of the Department of Arcanima from the University of Radz-at-Han’s College of Mathematics, drumming her fingers on her desk for long moments as she mentally flicked through a list of possibilities. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and scowled, snatching up the other letter, popping the wax seal, and unfolding it.

My dearest Mistress Greywolfe—

Synnove dropped the parchment, recoiling with a disgusted shriek. Galette HISSED, rising to a crouch as she bared her teeth and bristled her fur, tails lashing.

She knew that handwriting, knew that deep blue ink, knew that absolutely repulsive cologne that wafted into her face.

The first letter was in her hand in an instant, wax seal ripped off and parchment unfolded.

I promise, Synnove, the other letter is worth soiling your fingers and eyes.

Synnove ground her teeth, rage roiling through her, but she took a deep breath through her nose for a five count. Held it for another five count. Let it out with a final five count.

“Thaisie, you are going to owe me so much alcohol,” she muttered under her breath. She set down Thaisie’s letter and reached up to pet Galette, soothing them both for a few moments. Then, she picked up one of the half-sticks of graphite from the pile in the corner of her desk, and used it to poke the other letter flat, sneering as she did. Once that was done, she threw the graphite into her trash bin.

Finally, with a grimace, she leaned over her desk to read the letter from Bahram Zarir.

Synnove sat back after the first flowery paragraph and exchanged a confused look with Galette. “Did he actually…?”

I think so? Galette chittered, ears flat against her head.

They leaned forward again to read the next paragraph.

“…Ah. Never mind. He still, in fact, has his head shoved up his ass so far that the apple on his throat is actually his nose. Good gods, how as he gone this long without developing critical thinking skills, or the ability to remember what he wrote in a previous paragraph?”

She continued reading, occasionally muttering comments such as, “My gods, you absolutely disgusting piece of worm-ridden filth,” to which Galette snickered. Finally, she reached the end of the letter, and slid back into her chair.

And started giggling.

It evolved into a full body guffaw, rising from deep in her belly, and Synnove bent over as she howled with laughter, for so hard and so long it became silent heaving that shook her whole body. Galette sighed and rolled her eyes, holding on as her perch pitched to and fro. As Synnove finally calmed again, she brushed tears from her eyes.

“Oh, my gods, that was hilarious,” she wheezed. “Gods, I only hope I’m there on the day his hubris gets his sorry plagiarizing ass killed so I can laugh him all the way to the Hell of Water. What a cunt.”

Still chortling and catching her breath, Synnove carefully picked up Bahram Zarir’s letter with the very tip of her thumb and forefinger, and dumped it in the trash.

“Please remind me to get Ivar to burn that later,” she said, wiping her hand on her pants.

Yes, Mama!

Then, finally, she picked up Thaisie’s letter to read.

He really is such a prick, isn’t he? It’s a wonder he hasn’t become a victim of Thavnairian politics, but then he’s probably too thick to be a credible threat to any of his relatives or their myriad enemies. Just a shame we got stuck with him. I’m fairly certain the dean was dreaming about defenestrating him and a few other of the legacy children during the last open thesis read.

In any event, I thought you might enjoy the attached to make up for the toad’s sorry attempt at civility: a copy of the abstract for Master Zarir’s latest article. It’s still technically in peer review, but you’re a peer, as dirty as that no doubt makes you feel. Do what you will with this.

Also, yes, I know, I owe you alcohol. I already have a nice bottle of arak picked out for the next time Thubyrgeim allows you off your leash, or I’m able to attend a Lominsan conference.

Kisses!

Thaisie

“You’re such an asshole, Thaisie,” Synnove said fondly, shuffling the parchment to the second page. Zarir’s greatest weakness as a researcher was that frequently, he did have original ideas…but was frankly terrible at the execution and he outright stole others’ work in bits and pieces and tried to make a whole from it that fell apart if one breathed on it too hard. So, what trash was he on about now?

She read the abstract once. Blinked. Read it again, slower this time, than gave it a third pass.

Synnove set the parchment down flat on her desk, mind racing.

Zarir’s article was in peer review, and therefore it wasn’t public knowledge or in open circulation; the only individuals with copies would be Zarir, the reviewers, and Thaisie. He wouldn’t be able to add anything, with how the University handled its legacies’ attempts at academia, the peer review was mostly for show and the article would be published in the latest issue of their mathematics journal. There would be no turnaround time for Zarir.

And there was no way for anyone else to possibly know what he was publishing. Further, it was incredibly common for academics to hit on similar ideas and develop them in parallel without knowing until the other was published.

Zarir’s idea was similar to that of someone else’s here at the Gate. Oh, not hugely similar, but enough for the mainstays in the field to have a solid guess of which articles either had been reading and drawing inspiration from. But Ahlis had gone off in a completely different direction and what was more, her math was sound, the research actually done rather than theorized, and with a high chance of her succeeding and creating a new breakthrough in arcanima. And Ahlis’s work was ready for presentation at the upcoming research symposium. At which a few of the Hannish—not Zarir, if only because the dean didn’t want to deal with the political fallout of letting him set foot in Limsa Lominsa and the resulting murder—from the University would be attending.

Synnove smiled, slow and deliberate and sharklike, a dark chuckle rising in her throat, as she reached for a piece of fresh parchment and a graphite stick. She was quite thankful now that she hadn’t replied to Ahlis’s note just yet.

Ahlis,

I think you are more than ready! You’ve done your due diligence, even surpassed it, in laying your foundation. I still cannot find flaws in the theorems and equations you’ve laid out—your mathematics might need the occasional proofing, but your grasp of the principles is superb, and we’ve all needed a second set of eyes on our work when we’ve looked at the numbers for too long.

You are an excellent arcanist, Ahlis. As intimidating as it is to present research, the symposium presents a wonderful opportunity to receive feedback and collaborate on further avenues to explore your hypothesis. And, if word on the grapevine is true, I have no doubt your work will be leaving certain members of our community absolutely green with envy.

Give ‘em hell!

-Synnove

She signed with a flourish and folded the letter into neat thirds, wrote Ahlis’s name on it, and bound it with some of the leftover twine from Thaisie’s packet. “Amandina, Roksana,” she called out as she tied off the string, “would you like to run an errand for me?”

The twins poked their heads over the edge of their basket, the picture book they had been carefully pawing through forgotten. Their ears stood straight up, noses twitching in excitement—and then they were tumbling out of the basket and darting right for Synnove’s desk. Oh oh oh yes yes yes! they peeped excitedly. Errand errand errand we can do it!

The carbunclets skidded to a halt at their mama’s feet and looked up at her with huge eyes, their mass of tails shaking with excitement. Galette huffed, exasperated as always with their endless amounts of energy, but didn’t otherwise say anything as Synnove leaned over with the letter in hand.

“Do you remember where the Gate’s mailroom is?” she said, solemn.

Yeah!

The arcanist held out the letter, and Amandina very carefully accepted it, clamping down with her teeth to hold it firmly.

“Bring this down to the mailroom,” Synnove said, “and give it to Coster, and only Coster. He’ll make sure it’s delivered to its intended recipient! And then, once you’re done, come right back here, all right?”

Okay, Mommy! warbled Amandina, a determined set to her face.

We’ll be right back! said Roksana with a peppy chirp.

Then, rather than turn and trundle towards the door to her office, as Synnove thought they would, Roksana took one of Amandina’s ears into her mouth, and with a pop! of displaced air they were…gone.

Dead silence, as arcanist and carbuncle both stared, jaws hanging open, at the space the twins had been in just a few moments before.

“When did they learn to do that?” Synnove said, faint and bewildered.

I dunno. Galette tilted her head. Can I learn how to do that?

“Absolutely not, you’ll use it to break into the coldbox for my pies.”

Galette slumped into a full body sulk.

[sapphiewritesandstuff]

I hope requests are open but can I have some fluff/angst with Teru where the reader is normally cheerful and outgoing hubris falling back into old depressive habits :,) I have been feeling quite down lately and I need some Teru comfort fluff

Omg I might have turned this into slight angst I’m so sorry-

While I was writing, I missed the parts of the request, and turned this into slight angst, so sorry 🙏 But aside from that, I hope this can bring some form of comfort to you! If you’re ever feeling down, don’t hesitate to message me or send something in. My inbox is always opened for you ❤️❤️❤️

Please enjoy~

Warning: Mentions of depression and cutting. Reader discretion is advised.

Minamoton Teru with a stressed reader who is falling back into depression.

Lately, you’ve been incredibly stressed. May it be school work, relationships, or your own emotions, everything seemed to be against you.

You deliberately kept this a secret from your boyfriend, Teru.

You two had only been dating for a few months, but in those few months, you’d come to learn the other sides of Teru others don’t often witness.

The vulnerable side of him, the soft side, and of course, his protective side. You fear his reaction if he learns of your recent unhappiness. You could only imagine his reaction; his misunderstanding of your situation leading to the eldest Minamoto boy hurting an innocent bystander in your life who he presumed had offended you.

And you kept everything under wraps, taking your medication and talking to your therapist about your situation (keeping some information to yourself).

However, one day, too much happened too quickly for you to handle.

It didn’t help that the weather decided to change from its previous sunny, cloudless form to a darker, stormier version complete with pelting rain and freezing temperatures.

It was dinnertime, and you could hear the impatience in your mom’s voice as she called for the third time for you to get your butt to the dinner table.

You clutched at your hair, trying to block her voice out.

The day had already been horrible for you. You had almost arrived late at school thanks to you staying up late last night, studying for a test.

Not only that,ever since you had started dating Teru, other girls would talk to you in a passive-aggressive way, always insulting you under the mask of friendliness.

“Wow, it must be so hard being Minamoto-san’s girlfriend. Messy hair is a no-go, crumpled uniform is not acceptable, and always having to keep up your grades must be hard!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so lucky. I mean, Teru-kun chose you out of all the other girls at this school. And no offence, but you’re hardly the prettiest nor the smartest at this school.”

You tried to ignore the scathing undertones, smiling politely and excusing yourself to the third floor bathroom.

Inside the last stall, you let your sadness out, shedding silent tears.

You could’ve sworn you heard a concerned whisper but you brushed it off as another effect of sleep deprivation.

But life has to go on and for the rest of the day, everything seemed normal.

You sat with Teru at lunch, letting him nag at you only half jokingly about recent failed tests.

At last, when you arrive at home, bag heavy with homework, the first thing you get when you open the door is your frowning father.

“I heard your grade in math dropped.”

At this point, you could barely blink back the tide of tears that threatened to flow out. Your dad didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, lowering your eyes to the floor.

Ignoring your apology, your dad continued, “What’s sorry going to do to fix your grade? I heard Okamoto-san’s daughter has full marks on everything.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms.

“Honestly, why can’t you be more like—”

“I’m not, okay?! I can’t be more like Yua-chan because I’m not her!”

Pushing past your dad, you fled to your room, but not quickly enough to escape the sigh of disappointment.

Now, in the silence of your room, you listened to the pattering of rain outside, eyes constantly drifting away from your textbooks and back to a single object on the table: your scissors.

Before you and Teru began dating, you had been floating around the deepest, darkest recess of your mind for God knows how long. Eventually, with your beloved boyfriend’s help (along with prescribed medicine and therapy), you eased out of your depressed state.

But now, as the echoes of your father’s and countless other nameless students’ words tumbled around your head, your hand began to reach over to the sharp blades, ignorant of your weak protests.

“(Name), hurry it up, we aren’t going to wait all night for you!”

You snapped.

Blindly grabbing at the scissors, you brought the sharp end down on your arm. The pain failed to bring any reaction, so you stabbed, again, watching as bright crimson drops slid smoothly down the surface of your arm, staining the bleached white paper of your notebook.

Your door slammed open.

“(Name)! How many times do I have to—”

It felt like you were watching the situation unfold from a bystander’s point of view.

You watched as your mom caught sight of your bloodied arm and dull (Eye Color) eyes, your mom’s own widened, concern and regret filling her (Eye Color) orbs.

You refused to take her pity, pushing your chair back with a ugly scraping noise. You could hear your father’s footsteps on the stairs.

Grabbing a thin coat, you pushed past her, brushing shoulders with your unsuspecting father on the way down.

Ignoring your parents’ cries for you to stop, you yanked open the front door before running out into the unforgiving storm.

The rain pelted down on you, instantly soaking you to the bones.

You felt numb, from the cold or your jumbled thoughts, you could not tell.

Your feet led you to the one place you knew would take you in with open arms: Teru’s house.

When you stumbled onto his porch, he was already there, rushing out to wrap a fluffy, warm towel around your drenched form.

He said nothing, murmuring reassuring words under his breath; for you or for him, you didn’t know.

It was a blur, but soon enough, you were in Teru’s arms, a thick, fluffy blanket around you.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but when you looked up, Teru’s face remained clear in the blurry mess of the world behind him.

His blue eyes reflected the crackling fire in the fireplace and his blonde hair was ruffled in the process of warming you up.

You could see the conflict of concern, relief, and guilt in his eyes.

“It’s not you,” you slurred, burying your head into the crook of his neck.

Teru’s hand tightened around your waist, but he merely whispered in your ear, “Shhh, we can talk about this when you wake up.”

As if his one command drove all the tension out of your body, you relaxed, allowing the sweet embrace of sleep take you. But not before you heard his last barely audible whisper.

“I’ll always be here for you, no matter what happens.”

[pagesoflauren]

Ride & Prejudice Ch. 2 (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy AU)

Summary: A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Warnings: mentions of violence, reader has PTSD & traumatic flashbacks, guns, mentions of animal violence, non-human-inflicted animal injury, swearing, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

A/N: So I projected a lot into this chapter, my inner nerd came out. It’s also a day early because I’m too excited for tomorrow and ended up writing all day in order to keep myself from staring at the clock. I hope you like it!

Word count: 4,802

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Posted December 26, 2019

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve sits with Bucky on his left. Nat sits to Bucky’s left at the head of the table. Peter sits between you and Nat. 

Steve’s glowering at you doesn’t let up as he sits across from you at the table and you start to wonder if that’s just his normal face. Maybe instead of “resting bitch face” you can coin “resting Steve face.” 

You smile to yourself at the thought.

“Something funny?” he bites, words full of venom. 

“Just your face. I think you need to relax your eyebrows or they might get stuck like that.” 

Peter stifles a laugh, though you think it’s because he’s living with Steve and doesn’t want any tension in the house. 

Bucky, on the other hand, guffaws with his mouth full and you cringe away from the sight as Nat rolls her eyes but throws a wink your way.

“Oh man, she got you Stevie!” he says, slapping Steve’s shoulder. 

“For someone looking for a job on my ranch you sure got some attitude towards your boss,” Steve gripes, aggressively biting a piece of roast chicken from the drumstick on his plate. You blink.

“Sorry.” 

“See, this is why I don’t like you city folk,” he says, “Think you’re so clever all the time that you’re just arrogant little bitches.” 

“Maybe if you weren’t glaring at me so much I wouldn’t have said it,” you bite back. Two could play at this game and you were ready to roll the dice. 

Steve takes another aggressive bite, seeming angry that you’re right. You use your fork push around what’s left on your plate: a few leaves from your salad, a bone from a drumstick, and a few pieces of potatoes. 

As Steve chews emphatically, jaw moving from side to side before his swallows. 

“Alright. I’ll admit, in Nat’s condition, I can’t have her join us all the time.”

You look at her and she pats her belly to answer your silent question. 

“But,” he continues, putting the bone down and pointing a greasy finger at you, “I ain’t training you. Can you ride?” 

You shake your head.

“Damn shame, then,” he said, his tone carrying more of a message than his words. You translated it as, “Well darn, guess we’re shit outta luck and you can’t work here.” 

For someone who calls city folk arrogant, he carries a lot of hubris himself, you think. 

“Oh shut up, Steve, you ain’t the only one who can teach someone how to ride a horse,” Nat says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll teach ya,” she smiles. “First thing tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” you return her smile, “I’m excited.” 

Steve snorts a laugh. “Have fun. She’s taking Brego.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky helps wash dishes, Steve dries and Peter puts them away. The girls had gone upstairs to set up the guest room. 

“You know, it’s probably not gonna be as bad as you think it’ll be,” Bucky says, his drawl dragging out due to the bottle of beer he had. 

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes at his friend’s optimism.

“All I’m saying is havin’ a pretty girl wantin’ to help out on your ranch ain’t the worst thing to happen.”

“If you think her face is enough for me to ignore the fact that she’s from the city, you got another thing comin’ to ya,” Steve scoffs as he hands Peter a dried glass. 

“Mr. Rogers,” Peter starts, shrinking away from Steve’s hard glare, “Sorry. But whatcha got against city people anyway?”

“Some lessons from your pa just stick themselves to your brain. And some shit your siblings do just show you your old man’s right.”

Peter doesn’t find that answer satisfactory. Rather, he cranes his neck to look at Bucky who’s finishing the last dish. Bucky just shakes his head in return. Though Peter knows Bucky knows the whole story, he just won’t say anything because it’s Steve’s story to tell. Maybe. Who knows if he’ll ever get it out of him?

Steve appears to sense the questioning in the air: “You don’t need’a know the whole story, kid. You just need to understand that people like her ain’t worth your trust.”

“C’mon Steve,” Bucky says, empathically rolling his eyes and putting his hands on his hips, “you don’t even know the girl.” 

“I know enough about city folk, alright?” he says, slapping the towel on the counter. “Ain’t nothin’ she can do to change what I already know.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“...Ain’t nothin’ she can do to change what I already know,” you hear him say from the guest bedroom as Nat helps you unpack your things.

“Well, good to know my boss hates me,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“He’s a bit of a proud guy,” Nat replies as she shuts a drawer full of t-shirts. “I wouldn’t count on him liking you, but he may...tolerate you.”

“Hm, a comforting thought,” you smile at her. 

Nat moves over to the other side of the bed to help you put the fitted sheet over the mattress. 

Once it’s done, Nat huffs. “Right, so we have pillows to spare. You have three right there on that dresser. It can get a little chilly here at night, so you have two blankets. If you need anymore, you can just go to that first cabinet in the hall and grab another or two or three.”

“Great. So what time do we start tomorrow?”

“Things ‘round here start at dawn.”

She laughs at your dropped jaw. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, “I just…”

“Don’t wake up at dawn?” 

“Nope.”

“I’ll wake ya,” she laughs. 

------------------------------------------------

“Rise and shine, honey,” you hear, despite your mind still fuzzy from sleep. 

“Hmm?” you hum, your eyes opening to the white ceiling, which appeared gray in the dark. Your turn your head to the left to look out the window, noticing it was still dark out.

“I thought you said ‘dawn,’” you whined. 

“We start at dawn. You gotta wake up before dawn to start by then,” she chuckles as you start rolling towards the edge of the bed. “Get ready. There’s coffee and breakfast downstairs.” 

As you shift your body to place your feet on the floor, you notice the sheets twisted around your middle. You pull them off and fold them at the foot, ready to be pulled up later that night. 

I can’t wait to go to bed, you think as you stand and stretch before crossing the room to shut the door and get dressed. You step lightly as you come down the stairs before you hear Bucky call out to you, making your steps stutter.

“No point in sneaking around, sweetheart. This is your house too.”

You regain your footing, holding onto the banister with two hands. As you descend the last few steps, you hear the toaster click and something sizzling on the stovetop. You turn to look into the kitchen, seeing Nat at the stove and Bucky taking things out of the fridge.

He places a glass jug of milk on the island, more towards the side opposite of the stove. Next to it, he places a carafe of coffee  As you draw closer, you notice some stools tucked underneath where the marble extends past the wooden base of the island.

“Have a seat,” he smiles at you, gesturing to the stools before plating the toast.

“Can I help?” 

He gives you a kind smile that you return. “Plates are in that second cupboard and mugs are in the first. Can you grab five of each? And the forks ‘n knives ‘n all are in that first drawer.”

You follow his instructions, carefully taking out a stack of plates and setting each one in front of a stool. You turn back and grab four mugs by their handles, two in each hand. You place them to the right of every plate, then turn around to grab the fifth mug. After putting it in the last place setting, you turn again to pull open the drawer and shuffle through to pick up cutlery. Before placing them down, you grab napkins and fold them in half diagonally, placing them in the center of the plate. As you start laying the forks and knives on the plates, you hear Bucky snort.

“Shoot, I didn’t mean put them all nice-like. You could’a just put them however.”

“My first job was at a restaurant,” you chuckle, “Was there for the entirety of college. Some things just don’t leave your muscle memory.” 

“Well, let’s hope horse riding sticks with ya like table settings,” he laughs, the sides of his eyes crinkling. You don’t think you’ve ever met a sweeter man in your life and you smile with fondness as Nat turns her head to look at him and smiles too. You’ve known these people for less than twenty four hours and you were already attached to them. 

You hear the front door click open and two pairs of feet: one barely makes a sound despite the aged floorboards beneath them and the other makes their presence known, treading heavily. From the hallway emerge Peter first, holding his hat by the brim, and his eyes widen at your plate settings. 

“Wow, this is so fancy!” he says with such boyish excitement as he rushes to the first spot at the breakfast bar and your heart squeezes. You resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. 

“C’mon Steve, you’re inside, ya don’t need to wear your hat in here.”

His face is hard to read, always neutral, but he rolls his eyes. When he takes off his wide-brimmed cliche cowboy hat, you hate the way he runs a hand through his hair, shaking it out and smoothing out down. When he runs a hand over his beard, his head turns toward you and he frowns again. 

“Damn, I was hoping it was a bad dream, meeting you,” he drawls, and you hate him.

“Well, like every bad dream, I’m gonna haunt your every waking moment,” you reply flatly. 

“Pshh,” he exhales, setting his hat on the counter and pulling the stool next to Peter’s. He grabs the coffee carafe and pours himself a mug. You watch as he drinks it black, nose wrinkling at the thought. You have a sweet tooth yourself and are guilty of drinking coffee when it’s beige. 

“Have a seat, hon,” Nat says, pointing the spatula at you. “And how do you like your eggs?”

You answer as you stretch your foot to give yourself extra height and use your hands on the seat of the stool to give yourself leverage. Once your bottom is settled on the seat, you hear Steve huff a laugh. 

“Shit, Nat, you couldn’t of hired someone taller?”

“First of all, it should be ‘couldn’t have.’ Second of all, now you’re gonna make height jokes? You’re really running out of clever shit to say, aren’t you?”

“Maybe so, but at least I didn’t go nitpicking at your grammar.”

“Maybe if your grammar was correct your insults would land better.”

Steve’s eyebrows just furrow at that, his lips pressing in a tight line hard to see with his beard.

“I can do this all day,” you smirk. You then turn to Bucky. “Can you pass me the coffee and milk, please?”

He chuckles at your nonchalance after the banter with his best friend, complying with your request. “You got it.” 

---

Bucky holds Nat’s hand as you all walk to the stable, you walking next to them as Peter and Steve walk ahead of you. Steve’s heavy footfalls cause dirt from the road to cloud up with every step. 

“Has he always been such a grump?” you ask.

“Well, no. But he also hasn’t been ‘round new people in a few years,” Bucky answers.

“But I doubt it’s just me.”

“You’re right,” Steve says, turning his head, “it’s also the fact that you’re from the city. If you’re gonna gossip about me, you should try to speak in lower tones.” 

As you approach the house, you hear a dog bark from the inside. Steve bounds up the stairs, skipping every other one before unlocking the door. The dog hops up, front paws excitedly pushing on Steve’s stomach and you’re surprised to see him actually smile. The dog follows as he comes back down the stairs and walks the rest of the way to the stable. He unlatches the door and Peter scurries in, greeting his horse in its stall. The dog sits itself near the door, panting with excitement. 

“Hey buddy,” he says excitedly, giving his horse a scratch on its nose. 

Bucky and Natasha’s horses are next to each other. Natasha approaches a white horse with braids in its mane and greets her in a similar way to how Peter greeted his horse. You hear Bucky speaking a different language to his horse, one that sounds Eastern European. Steve’s horse is a little further from the others, two stalls away from Peter’s. You watch as he and his horse touch foreheads, then notice his lips moving, whispering something to it. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Peter asks, looking at you and snapping you out of your daze.

“Hm? Oh, yes.”

“Would you like to pet him?” he offers, “He’s really friendly!”

“Sure,” you smile.

“He likes it down his neck,” he stays pointing.

“What’s his name?” 

“Palpatine,” he says proudly.

“Big Star Wars fan?” you laugh, slowly raising your hand to stroke the horse. When the horse snuffs and jerks his head, you flinch away.

Peter shushes, grabbing the horse’s face with both hands and mumbling a series of “shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, she’s a friend.” 

When Peter nods at you, you slowly try again. Once you make contact with the soft hide of the horse, you exhale in relief, using light, long strokes to pet the horse. 

“Alright, come on, Peter,” Steve says, hat back on and his horse haltered, “we don’t have all day.”

“Technically you do,” you say, “Don’t you come back after the sun comes down?”

“Don’t you have to get started on breaking Brego?”

“Brego?” you ask, “Like Aragorn’s horse?” 

When Steve’s face shifts into surprise, you feel surprise too.

“You like Lord of the Rings, too?” 

“It was my favorite book to read when I was a teenager.” 

You look at each other for a moment before Bucky clears his throat, ready to go as well. 

“Steve, you did say we didn’t have all day.” 

“Right. Peter, let’s go,” he says, not giving you a second look. Bucky walks by as well, waggling his eyebrows, to which you roll your eyes at. The dog follows after them. You look at Nat, who’s gesturing for you to move to the left. Once you do, Peter opens the stall and leads his horse out, waving at you as if he’s a little kid waving goodbye to his mom before getting on the school bus.

You laugh as you wave back. When you look at Nat again, her horse is also haltered. 

“I’m just gonna take him out to the corral to run around. I’ll be back.”

“What’s his name?” you ask.

“Ivan, after my father,” she answers. “Brego’s in the back. We’ll start once I get back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, for a guy who says there’s nothin’ she can do to change your mind, you made some big goo goo eyes at her.”

“I did not make goo goo eyes at her.”

“Really? ‘Oh wow, you like Lord of the Rings too? That’s amazing, will you marry me?’” Bucky teases, drawing a belly laugh from Peter.

“That’s a good one, Mr. Barnes!” 

“Thanks, kid.”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you two.”

“C’mon, Steve, why not give her a chance. You should’a seen the way she was looking at you when you took your hat off. It was like she was staring at some male model on the cover of a magazine.”

“Why would she be starin’ at me?”

“You know why.”

Steve throws a confused look over your shoulder. Confusion gives way to the desire to push Bucky off his horse as he mimics tossing hair.

“She was right swoonin’.”

“Like I said,” he bites, “That’s enough outta you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Relax,” Nat says again, “You ever heard’a horse sense?” 

“Well, yes, but I didn’t think it was an actual thing.” 

“Trust me, honey, it’s real.”

When you try again, Brego stomps and whinnies, making you shrink away.

“Okay, okay, stop,” she says. You huff defeatedly, sighing as you turn to her. “Let’s give him some time, too. We’ll check on Ivan and the chickens.”

You follow her out. You don’t need to ask; instead, she supplies the story on her own.

“Steve bought him off some sellar who was passing through. They had him in a trailer and he was stomping and making a lot of noise. They stopped just by the grazing area where the cows were and they let him out and he ran off. They were shouting and Steve was able to lasso him--”

“Wait you mean like…” you trail off, mimicking a lasso motion, fist closed as your hand went around in a circle. 

“Yes, we actually do that here,” she laughs. “Anyway, he got him, brought him back to the men. He wasn’t going willingly, just really resistant. Then they pulled too hard and he fell and they just...dragged him on the ground towards the trailer. Steve wasn’t gonna let them leave with him. He actually emptied his wallet for him and took off his watch. Ever since then, we’ve just taken him out here to exercise. But he usually won’t let anyone other than Steve close.”

“Did Steve give him to me on purpose, then?”

“Not entirely. He’s definitely up to something, giving you the hardest horse to break, but Brego’s also the only horse that’s not being used by anyone.”

“Fair point.” 

Nat walks you (literally) through the chores on the farm, filling Ivan’s water and food trough, showing you the barn where the cows live, feeding chickens and cleaning stables. Once you’re done, the sun’s not even close to its highest point. 

“Ready to try again?” 

---

“Try speaking to him, or singing,” Nat suggests, seeing Brego get uneasy as you approach him. 

The only song that comes to mind is “Yellow” by Coldplay, so you start singing it very softly. 

Your skin, yeah your skin and bones Turn into something beautiful.

He seems to be settling as you continue to inch closer, hand extended.

You know You know I love you so

With little distance left between you, you feel his nose press into your palm. 

You know I love you so. 

“Well done,” Nat says quietly. “Let’s just stay here for a few minutes.” 

You continue to stand with Brego, singing the rest of the song to him and mumbling interesting facts about his namesake and the story it comes from. You’re in the middle of describing Two Towers when Nat leaves and comes back with lunch for the three of you: sandwiches and apple slices. 

Brego eats out of the palm of your hand (literally) and you continue to talk to him, much to Nat’s amusement. She teaches you more things like grooming as well as your tone when talking to him.

“Treat him like a toddler, cuz that’s essentially how all horses can behave sometimes.” 

“Really?” you laugh.

“Yeah. Stop petting him for a sec.”

When you follow her instructions, Brego starts whinneying and stomping, though you can tell this is different than what you saw earlier.

“Start petting him again, carefully.” 

Again, you do as you’re told, stroking him down the center of his face and he immediately stops, calming down and nudging into your hand. You chuckle to yourself, then speak to him lightly.

“You’re gonna be such a spoiled horse. I’m gonna take such good care of you.” 

---

You and Nat work together to carefully lead Brego out to the corral to run around and be with Ivan, you singing while she loosely halters him and walks him out. 

“Will we have to bring them back in?”

“No, the boys do that. We, on the other hand, have to start making dinner.”

Nat delegates what goes on in the kitchen, assigning you to chopping, mixing and sauteing various vegetables and meats. As the sun sets, you ask Nat if you can meet the boys as they come home to say goodnight to Brego. 

“You’re taking this really seriously, aren’t you?” she asks, her tone slightly impressed.

“Well, this is gonna be my life from now on,” you say, realizing what your words mean after you say them. “I may as well get invested.” 

Nat looks at you sympathetically. “Yeah, saying goodnight to Brego sounds like a great idea.”

You noticed she changed the subject, but you understand why. You walk to the front door, hearing the boys distantly directing the cows as the dog barks. You watch them come around the far side of the stable, looking relaxed and tired from the day. When they dismount and head into the stable, you figure it’s a good time to step out and follow them before they bring the other horses in. 

Steve and Bucky emerge holding a rope and a halter respectively.

“Hey, wait up!” you call, jogging the rest of the way.

“What’re ya doin’?” Bucky asks, head tilting, still wearing his hat even though there’s no need to block the sun from his face and neck.

“I want to say goodnight to Brego. I’m trying to leave a good first impression.”

“You know how to get him in?” Bucky asks, “You ain’t got any apples with ya.”

“Well, I don’t know how to get the rope around him, but--”

“I’ll do it,” Steve says easily, “I’ll do it and you can bring him in.”

Not only are you taken aback by his offer, but you also notice Bucky’s surprise as well. 

“Thank you…” you say awkwardly, “That’s very kind.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s something you city folk ain’t used to,” Steve says, turning to walk towards the corral.

“And he’s back,” you say to yourself, making Bucky laugh.

You watch in awe as Bucky whistles to call Ivan, who comes trotting over immediately. 

“Wow, that’s amazing,” you gawp. 

Bucky chuckles, “You and Brego will get there one day, I’m sure of it.”

You watch him lead Ivan out of the corral and into the stable. The corral fence creaks on its hinges as Steve opens it up. 

“Watch close, cuz I ain’t doin’ this again. He’s your horse.” 

“But Bucky does it for Nat--”

“Do we look married, sugar cube?” he says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Didn’t think so,” he finishes when you don’t say anything. 

He walks slowly to Brego, who stands against the corral fence on the far side from you. When Brego sees him drawing near, he gets restless.

“Hey buddy, no need for that. It’s just me, you know I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Steve stops and takes a few steps back when Brego gets on his hind legs, kicking out his front hooves before setting them back down. Steve waits a couple seconds before starting towards him again, getting closer this time. You begin to worry when Steve backs up. The sun is setting fast and once all the sunlight is gone, it’ll be even harder to get Brego inside. Horses don’t do well in the dark.

You open the fence and Steve hears the hinges creak with the movement.

“The fuck are you doin’? Get back!” 

“I just wanna try something--”

“No, like hell you are. He’s jittery, he ain’t gonna--”

“Look, I sat with him all day, maybe seeing me again will--”

“Oh, you sat with him all day and suddenly you’re a horse expert?” 

“You know, you don’t have to be so sarcastic with me all the time. You could at least try to give me a damn chance, it’s not like I chose to be here.”

“I thought you did.”

“Huh?”

“You said last night. You said you came here because your business fell through, so you decided to come live the farm life.”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“I...yes. That’s what I meant. I didn’t choose for the business to fail so I technically didn’t choose this.”

Steve’s eyes narrow.

“Another technicality. And you said we don’t have time for those and we actually don’t this time so let me try something.” 

You turn away quickly, avoiding his skeptical glare at you. You hope your singing is distracting enough for him and Brego. 

Look at the stars Look how they shine for you And everything that you do.  Yeah, they were all yellow.

Brego settles, calming down. You start moving closer, motioning for Steve to follow behind you. You step together as you keep singing, Steve moving to tie the rope around his nose. 

I came along I wrote a song for you And all the things you do And it was called “Yellow”

Steve gets close and you hold your hand out, making sure most of Brego’s focus is on you.

So then I took my turn Oh what a thing to have done And it was all yellow.

When Steve quickly gets the rope around him, he stomps in an attempt to get away. You keep singing.

Your skin Oh yeah, your skin and bones

You motion for Steve to move away.

Turn into something beautiful You know  You know I love you so.

You grab the loose end of the rope and hold him in place, getting close and whispering into his skin.

You know I love you so.

He calms down as you continue to pet him, whispering calming phrases and shushing him gently. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steve watches as you whisper to him, in awe of how you’ve managed to get him settled so quickly. He stands there amazed, thankful for the darkening sky as you look at him and he feels his face flush. 

“I think I got him,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I think you do, too.” 

He hates the smile you give him.

“Can you get the gate for us?” 

“Yeah,” he says, walking towards it and turning to see you still talking to Brego to keep him calm. He unlatches the gate and holds it open for you and the horse to go through before locking it. When you go back into the stable, he stands at the door, watching as you walk Brego to his stall, open it for him and lead him in. You continue to whisper to him as you reach for a carrot from the basket you and Nat brought earlier. 

“Goo goo eyes,” Bucky chuckles, suddenly appearing next to him.

“Shut up,” Steve says, punching Bucky’s arm.

---

Steve watches you play with his dog Ransom in the living room while he absentmindedly hands dishes to Peter.

“Steve, this one isn’t even dry,” Peter says.

“Huh? Oh,” he says, taking it back and drying it, still watching you.

“Steve, you’ve been drying that dish for a hot minute now, I think it’s dry.”

“Oh, uh, here you go, kid.” 

Peter thanks him and throws Bucky a confused look.

“Goo goo eyes,” Bucky says again, handing Steve a glass.

“Would you quit saying that?” Steve snaps.

“It’s true!”

“I don’t trust her,” Steve says. “She’s up to something.”

“What could she be up to?”

“She said she didn’t choose to come here. But don’t you remember what she said last night? She decided to come after her business fell through.”

“Maybe there’s more to the story than she’s told us.”

“Nah, I think something’s up.”

“Steve, I get it. ‘You don’t trust city folk.’ But think about it, what could she possibly be up to? Really?”

“I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.”

“Steve, remember what your Ma said? Don’t go stickin’ your nose in places it don’t belong.” 

Steve can hear his mom’s voice in his head saying those words. 

“Well, she’s working on my farm, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, but let her tell ya, don’t go pokin’ around.” 

Bucky hands him the last dish and dries his hands.

“I mean it, Steve. Just...let it go. Pretend ya never heard it.”

Steve swipes the towel over the plate and turns to hand it to Peter.

“Mis--Steve, I know it’s not really my place…”

“It’s not.”

“...but I agree with Mis--Bucky. I think we should let her talk about it when she’s ready, if there is something to talk about.” 

Steve is quiet for a moment.

“Yeah, you’re right, kid.”

Peter smiles as he takes the plate to put away and Steve is grateful for one thing: his brother may have called him a bad liar, but he was good enough to lie to the kid.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

[the--sad--hatter]

No Survivors - Chapter One

Fandom: None, this is an original work of fiction.

Genre: Sci-fi, fantasy, space opera

Rating and warnings: 18+ ONLY. Contains scenes of graphic violence, death, gore, cursing, and scenes of a sexual nature.

Disclaimer: All content and characters are created and owned by me, and my work is NOT to be reposted anywhere else without my explicit permission. Reblogs are fine, and very much appreciated.

Masterlist

Blurb:

6000 years into the future and humanity is thriving, having made their home in The Emerald Galaxy, light-years away from their home planet. They’ve come a long way since the days of Earth. Lifespans have tripled, interstellar travel is a daily occurrence and humans have successfully integrated with alien species. All is well.

But for Captain Ice, nothing has been well for a long time. The once distinguished Captain is now a disgrace and a liability, carrying the weight of the cost of war on her shoulders. All Ice wants to do is carry on drinking herself into an early grave pod, but the Emerald Empire has a use for her yet.

Deep in The Emerald Galaxy lies Sector 12, or The Empires armpit as it’s referred to in polite company. When Sector 12’s Captain retires, General Felicity Hart decided to rid herself of a nuisance and instructs Ice to form a new crew and take over the job of glorified janitor.

Humanity survived the annihilation of its home planet and a journey across the universe, but can it survive the adventures of a disgraced Captain and her mismatched crew, or will there be… No Survivors?

A/N - This is a short tester chapter from my series, to see if it has potential as a Webfic. 

Deep in space, beyond shining nebulae and lonely asteroids, amongst stars that are dying and suns that are blazing, there is the colour green. Swirling Hues of Chartreuse, Jade and most notably, Emerald. An Emerald galaxy that shines bright, bright enough to beckon humanity to it while they drifted through space searching for a home to replace the one they had fled. Nestled inside The Emerald Galaxy they found thriving solar systems, planets capable of supporting life. Some of those planets already had lifeforms on them, and more were soon terraformed. Why have one new planet when you can have hundreds? The hubris of humanity did not die with the Earth. They spread out over the galaxy, planting themselves like seeds, and for thousands of years, they grew. In the centre of the Galaxy, in the Oz Solar System, or Sector One as it came to be known, was the planet that became the beating heart of the new human order, the crown jewel of The Emerald Empire. The Planet called Heart.

In the year 8372, in the tallest spire of the tallest building in the main citadel of Heart, General Felicity Hart’s boots clacked loudly on the marble floors of the Empire’s main Army base as she strode through the winding hallways. She didn’t pause to acknowledge the respect shown to her by everyone she and her retinue of guards passed, eyes boring ahead instead of flickering across the people who stood to attention and thumped their right fist over their hearts. She’d been General of the army for long enough to grow unimpressed by the shows of obedience, but more importantly, she had a task to fulfil and it was her singular focus. A wordless twitch of her hand had the four men flanking her halting immediately as they approached a set of iron doors and she proceeded through them alone. Silently she stalked down the hallway of the Citadel prison wing, ignoring the empty cells that lined it until she found the one she was looking for. The cell in question was as empty as the others, the metal cot untouched. All she could see was the flicker of her own reflection in the reinforced glass that sealed the cell, but she spoke aloud anyway.

“You were supposed to be here two weeks ago Captain. And I don’t remember telling you to crash your ship into the loading dock, landing it would have been just fine.” She said wryly, contempt and impatience bleeding through her professional demeanour in a rare show of emotion.  

 The shadows in the back of the cell shifted as a figure unfurled themselves from them, pushing herself lithely away from the wall. As she stepped into the light, she flinched away from it’s brightness, her bloodshot eyes squinting as they adjusted. Adjusting the dark worn leather Captains coat draped around her body she shuffled over to the glass, leaning against it casually and peering up at Hart as she cleared her throat, not managing to shake off the croak in her voice.

 “Landing and crashing are the same thing, ones just a little more hap-hazardous.”

 Hart narrowed her eyes at the impertinent tone in Captain Ice’s voice and straightened her spine, elevating her already imposing height. One sentence from Ice was more than sufficient to invoke her ire. The loathing she had for the woman before her was very specific kind of hatred, the kind of hatred that in another life could have been friendship if the two of them weren’t constant opposing forces. If Ice were the kind of person she could have been instead of the woman she had allowed herself to become. The war torn soul of Captain Ice was a waste of potential, a waste of prowess, a waste of power.

 “You’re a Captain of the Empire’s army, you can’t drunkenly crash your ship into the citadel!” The general snapped, though why she bothered, she did not know. Reprimanding Ice had never proved successful before.

 “I think recent events prove that I can in fact drunkenly crash my ship into the citadel.” Ice rebutted, her lips twitching in amusement.  

Hart took a deep calming breath, clenching her fists as she fought the almost overwhelming desire to wring Ice’s neck.

  “Open the cell, she’s sobered up.” She hissed at the security cameras, trusting the AI’s to take her orders as seriously as their flesh and bone comrades did.

 The glass slid open and Ice nonchalantly stepped into the hall, walking past Hart and rolling her shoulders to ease the crick of discomfort. Her bones clicked and creaked, sounding like the old tavern the Captain smelled of.

 “Those mattresses never get any easier to sleep on.” She muttered, falling into step beside Hart.

  “The simple answer would of course be to stop getting yourself put in the holding cells.” Hart suggested, rolling her eyes in irritation.

  “You’ve known me for years and you’re still holding out hope I’ll do things the simple way?” Ice said bemusedly.

  “Yes actually, it’s why I asked you to meet with me. Two weeks ago.” Hart said dryly, sighed impatiently as Ice reached the vacant warden’s desk and vaulted over it, rummaging around the drawers and boxes until she found her confiscated things.

 “You’re lucky I came at all Hart.” Ice pointed out as she pulled out a box full of guns and knives and began re holstering them all.

 Six guns, and fourteen knives later, Hart raised her eyebrows as Ice continued to stow weapons on her person. Finally Ice took the final item out of the box, an intricately designed silver hip flask, and took a long, satisfying a swig from it, ignoring Hart’s disgusted glare.

  “I see you’ve got your priorities in order.”  

  “You summoned me and I’m here, granted I didn’t arrive in the time or fashion you’d hoped but let’s be honest, it could have been worse.” Ice pointed out, gurgling whatever foul concoction resided in the flask.

  “You are always drunk Ice and it’s never once affected your skills; I know you crashed that ship on purpose.” Hart accused.

  “So, reprimand me.” Ice challenged.

  “I can’t and you know it. The engines on your ship failed, the crash wasn’t your fault and you’ve spent the last day under medical watch. That’s the official story.” Hart snapped, venomous resentment dripping from her tone.

 She was the General of the most powerful army in the entire Galaxy and still she was little more than a babysitter, cleaning up all of Ice’s messes. She ground her teeth together so hard that Ice heard it, eyes flickering over the General smugly as she neatly leapt back over the desk and stumbled towards the door, forcing Hart the stride after her. her soldiers falling into step behind her as she passed them.

 “Captain Erskine retired, which means Sector Twelve needs a Captain. I’ve recommended you for the position.” Hart called at Ice’s retreating back.

  Ice stopped dead in her tracks, forcing Hart and her soldiers to a sudden halt as well.

  “I don’t do responsibility, especially not of that shit hole.” Ice told her vehemently.

  “You are a disgrace to The Empire, covering up your antics is a full-time job and in the last few years you haven’t done any real work. This is the first time you’ve been inside the citadel for years. Enough is enough Ice, the war is over. You need to move on.” The General snapped, finally at the end of her tether.

  “If I am such a burden, relieve me of command.” Ice’s voice dropped several octaves and it felt like the temperature dropped with it.

 She slowly turned and faced The General, face blank and eyes devoid of any traces of emotion.  The soldiers rested their hands on their guns, aware of the dangerous change in Ice’s mood.

 “Except you can’t do that, can you? After all I did for the Empire, everything I sacrificed for it… You can’t get rid of me. You want me out of the way but there’s nothing you can do. If you weren’t so afraid of me, I’d have probably met with an unfortunate accident by now.” Ice taunted, her eyes flicking from the General to the obnoxiously brave soldier who was slowly unholstering his gun.

 “If you pull that gun any further out of your holster, soldier, I’ll make you eat it.” Ice drawled, glaring at him.  

 “I am not afraid of you. Step away from the General. Now.” He said autocratically, raising his chin to stare ice down.  

He stepped forward, towards Ice and General Hart hissed a warning through clenched teeth  “Wilson, stand down!”

 But it was too late. Before anyone could even think about reacting, Ice had Wilson on the ground whimpering in pain and his gun in her hand. The other three soldiers leapt into action and attempted to disarm her. She tossed the gun in the air and grabbed a soldiers shoulder with each hand, using the two men to lift herself into the air and kick the third one in the face.  Pulling the other two to the ground and slamming their heads into the floor, she caught the gun just as Wilson got to his knees. Spinning spun the gun in her hand she used the butt of it to whack Wilson in the jaw. Blood and teeth flew from his mouth as he hit the ground again, this time unconscious and Ice brought her arm up, the barrel of the gun aimed at Hart.

  “I am literally holding the General of the entire army at gunpoint and you still won’t relieve me of command will you?” Ice asked derisively.

 Hart stared down the barrel of the gun, listening to the almost inaudible whirring of the laser beam inside it heating up.

  “No. I won’t.”

 Ice scoffed and lowered her arm, tossing the pilfered Gun onto Wilson’s battered form and turning away from the chaotic scene like it meant nothing.

“Nobody cares about Sector Twelve, you can do whatever you like. It’ll be your own personal playground.” Hart tried as the loathsome woman swaggered away from her.

 “Not interested.” Ice called back over her shoulder.

  “You can pick your own crew, from anyone in the Citadel.” Hart enticed.

  Ice just ignored her and continued walking away.

  “You’ll get a new ship, your choice of ship.” Hart sighed, playing her final card.

  Ice faltered and slowly turned to look at Hart.

  “I want a Phoenix SS92.”

  “They’re out of production, I don’t think we even have one.” Hart said exasperatedly.

  “There’s one on sub level four, she’s called The Bellator. Her engine is shot to hell, but I know I guy who can fix her up in no time.” Ice said.

  “Fine. She’s yours. Enjoy Sector Eleven Captain, now go and pick your crew. You leave as soon as possible and good riddance.” Hart snapped, relieved and exhausted in equal measure.

  Ice smirked and walked away, leaving Hart stood looking pissed off with her four unconscious soldiers on the ground.

A/N - If you read this, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it. Thank you. 

I’ve posted quite a bit of fanfiction on here but never anything like this. Original, mine, and completely untethered to anything. It’s terrifying. If you liked it, please let me know. If you didn’t, that’s ok, and I’d like to know why so I can try to grow as a writer and improve. 

If this is received well then I will post the chapters quite regularly, but they will be much longer than this slight tester. And it may be hasty of me to say, but I will start a taglist if anyone wants to be on it. 

If you liked it at all, please consider reblogging. This story is so dear to me and I really want to tell it, which is why I decided to make it a webfic rather than try to publish it. 

Click here for the official No Survivors Tumblr Blog

[calzonafan2014]

Calzona fanfic: A Moment in Time

Fic: A Moment in Time

Author: Calzonafan2014

Rating: PG

Title: A Moment in Time

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own the characters or the show. I just suffer from the classic fan hubris that if only I did…

Description: Complete and total speculation about how rapprochement might take place a few months down the line including the use of all spoilers and speculation released to-date for season 10. The end is the beginning is the end.

Thanks to Mangommummu for being my Beta

Author’s Note: This is an old fic from the Livejournal Archives. The setting is season 10. The notion that Callie and Arizona could meet again in a dirty bar bathroom is not terribly original. I’m sure a majority of us have envisioned just such a scenario over the years. Why? Because it’s a fantastic jumping off point for people like fluffycalzona and myself to run with. While our stories may have some similarities based in character, I think they each very much stand on their own.

———-

Seattle Grace -- OR

“You know, I cheated on Cristina.” Owen suddenly said, breaking the tacit silence that had become the de facto standard in Callie’s OR.

Callie glanced up from repairing the compound femur fracture of the young woman before her, shooting Owen the look of death before resuming the challenging surgery. Owen didn’t take the hint.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. And that’s saying something. I know Cristina felt…”

“Do NOT dare tell me how Cristina felt.” Callie said, not bothering to look up as she completed the final stitch on the partially severed femoral artery.

“Everything you’re feeling, she felt it too. Believe me. But we worked through it. And if anything our relationship is stronger now than it was before.”

“Uh huh. That must be why you’re so happy together.” Callie said as she turned her attention to fixing a leg that she wasn’t entirely sure was salvageable.

“The only reason we’re not together right this very second is because I want a kid and Cristina…doesn’t. You and Arizona, you have a child together. You want the same things. And I know you still love her or you wouldn’t be being such a giant pain in everyone’s ass.”

One of the nurses snorted at that one, and Callie attempted a glare, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Callie, I’m not saying I deserved to be forgiven. Who does? But then again, who doesn’t?”

Callie refused to look up at Owen; instead, she took a shuddering breath, focused on her patient, and tried desperately to maintain the solid ice encasing her heart.

------

It’d been a ridiculously long night, but with Sofia under the watchful eye of Derek and Meredith’s nanny, Callie wasn’t ready to return home to her quiet apartment and very empty bed. So without much thought, she found herself walking into Joe’s at just before midnight. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, so she ignored the bar’s inhabitants, grabbed a stool in the far corner by the door and ordered up a double scotch and soda. No use pretending she wasn’t here to get her drunk on.

At first she didn’t recognize the highly inebriated and belligerent voice at the other end of the bar demanding to be served. Which made some sense because in their entire relationship, she’d never actually seen Arizona plastered. Tipsy? Sure. But Arizona Robbins was a Type-A control freak. She didn’t do drunk.

The stool crashing to the ground snagged Callie’s attention. She turned, and without thought was on her feet, ready to rush over until Arizona caught herself, self-consciously adjusted, and then began a drunk’s steady march towards the bathroom door. Unable to turn away, Callie watched her wife theatrically shove open the door and disappear. Turning to the bartender she tossed him a wry smile, shrugged, then pounded her drink and headed into the lion’s den.

----

Arizona stared at herself in the mirror overlooking the sink in the dirty bar bathroom, desperately trying to figure out when and how her life had gotten so far out of her control. Her wife had been…stunning – breathtakingly beautiful at the gala. And instead of getting to touch her and dance with her and let everyone know that this was her woman, she’d been forced to watch from afar as some richy rich guy had blatantly ogled every inch of her wife’s impressive body. He’d practically salivated. And instead of flicking him off, Callie had laughed and flirted to the point that Arizona thought she was going to come out of her skin. She’d excused herself from the festivities just before everything had gone all to hell.

Lost in the bowels of her private pity party, Arizona didn’t notice the bathroom door open and close behind her until a quiet cough caught her attention. She looked up into the mirror and met the solemn gaze of her wife.

Her heart sped up. A small tear escaped and she made a face, even as she attempted to ruthlessly scrub it away. Callie’s gaze didn’t waver even as she leaned back into the corner and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Peds, right?” Callie asked.

Their gazes remained caught in the mirror for a long beat as Arizona flashed back to that first meeting, so indelibly etched in her brain.

“Callie Torres, ortho. I’ve seen you.” Snort. “A whole lot of you, and you seemed upset.”

Arizona’s face scrunched up even as she carefully nodded her head, took a deep breath, and slowly turned to face her partner.

“I messed up,” she began. “And I’m not sure that the most amazing, beautiful woman in the world is ever going to forgive me.”

Callie’s eyes flashed, even as she read the sincerity bleeding off her wife and she took a deep breath.

“Beautiful huh?” She asked.

“Gorgeous.” Arizona immediately replied.

Callie quirked a brow, “Not dirty hot?”

Arizona shrugged and gave Callie a slow perusal, “Sexy.” She finally said. Then she looked into Callie’s eyes. “Pretty.”

Callie absorbed the impact of that last word, dropped her arms, pushed herself off the wall and took her first step towards Arizona.

“You know, as a doctor, scar tissue is much stronger than regular tissue,” Callie said.

Arizona nodded, terrified to so much as blink should Callie disappear.

“Broken hearts. They take a really long time to heal. But when they do, they have the power to be even stronger than before.” Callie stood directly in front of Arizona, reached up and brushed an errant hair away from Arizona’s face.

The kiss was soft, and light and Arizona wanted to grab on and never let go, but instead she stood stock-still and let Callie take full control.

Callie finally ended the kiss and took a step back. She stood there silently for a long moment, staring intently at Arizona, who expected her to disappear just as suddenly as she’d appeared. Instead, she spoke.

“I was thirteen the first time someone called me dirty hot. I had filled out early and I didn’t even know what it meant.” She snorted at this old memory. “But I learned. I learned that it meant that most people didn’t see me as a…as a person, with feelings. All they saw was a, a body.” Callie’s eyes cleared and she looked directly at Arizona.

“And then I met someone. And for the first time in my life I felt beautiful.” Callie smiled fully for the first time in what felt like years, and then she laughed. She looked at Arizona, really looked at her, and the anger and venom encasing her heart melted ever so slightly.

Her smile turned indulgent. “You, Arizona Robbins, are beautiful. I hope you feel that way again soon.” And then she turned and walked out the door.

Arizona stared after her, and the tears she had so ruthlessly tried to scrub away cascaded down her face in blessed relief

[friendshipcampaign]

Session Recap 6/30/19: Stormcrows and Swords

When the party all awoke that morning, there were messages waiting for them from the Gatekeepers in the Infinite Library. 

Kriv, who had asked about the Three of Eyes and the DPL, received a message from Hubris that read:

theyre a nasty piece of work. most demon cultists are seeking power or influence, even if theyve decided the best way to accomplish that is bloody destruction. but the three of eyes seek nothing less than the total domination of the abyss over the prime material plane and everything it touches. they dont worship one of the lords. they worship the abyss itself. weve always been able to stop them because theyre inherently unstable semicolon the most revered members are those so fluent in abyssal that they have experienced the third dark letter, enabling them to hear the whispers of the abyss unfiltered. But no mortal mind or body can withstand that for long, so theyre more likely to go out in a blaze of demonic glory than to hatch any real longterm plans. lucky for us exclamation point. keep your eyes open. 

heard from a and p that youre in veritas. the cult is most likely trying to take advantage of the instability from the breach to open a new portal. theyd need some powerful demons for that, or an alkilith that hastens the formation of abyssal breaches. well be watching for problems in the area, but theres enough residual abyssal energy that its hard to get a clear picture. re the goddess, ill do some digging. im familiar with the symbolism but not whether the deity has been identified. 

re the dpl. weve met them. they like alembic. they dont like me at all exclamation point. better to avoid them unless theres an emergency. 

best, hubris

Erwyn had asked Alembic and Palava about their experiences in Veritas the months prior and also received a message back, reading:

dear erwyn, 

we are always happy to help how we can. the breach in veritas was to an uncatalogued layer of the abyss. so, on the one hand, we can only tell you what we saw, but on the other hand what we saw is as much as anyone knows.

the creature that came through was vast and amorphous, not really an ooze but something like a huge, growing slab of purplish muscle. it gave off a poison that made anyone exposed to it laugh uncontrollably. if theres any of that still around remember that it is a poison, not a magical effect, so be smarter than me and invest in a mask. 

the weird thing about this creature, and the one that makes it particularly dangerous to the prime material plane, is that it could grow more demons. At first we thought there were reinforcements coming through the portal, but they kept showing up even after alembic closed the breach, and then we found some that were halfformed, embedded in strange growths in its body. those new demons always grew in circles around a clear pod where it held some person or animal it had trapped, and it seemed to be using its captives as some kind of inspiration. the demons it grew from them were a similar size and shape. its possible it needed living captives. when we broke the clear pods the people inside were all right as long as there was healing on hand, so we saved a dozen or so humanoids and a dog. 

now, we did our level best to wipe it out for good. couldnt see hide nor hair of it when we were done, and the demonology prevention league was planning on keeping watch on the area in case it found a way to come back. at this point were most concerned about some cultist locating the layer and summoning themselves an endless supply of demons so were all trying to keep the details under wraps. i wouldnt be unduly worried, but do keep your eyes out and let us know if you find anything stranger than expected. 

be careful and stay in touch, 

alembic and palava

And finally, Ditto, who had asked a more complex question, received back:

i will look exclamation point. nothing that is immediately accessible but thats what research is for exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point. 

cheerio, 

hubris

To start out their investigations for the day, the group followed Tiktik to the place they had seen the demon disappear inside the previous night. The building was on Needle Row, where the tailors’ and cloth merchants’ shops were, but was itself a boarded-up warehouse. There was a shop next to it, however, which the group decided to check out to see if they could notice anything odd. They entered on the pretense that Amaranth needed her coat repaired a bit and Voski suggested checking out the “finer” wares along the walls -- though it took Erwyn a second to catch on to her actual meaning and she had to steer him gently inside. 

The tailor who owned the place was a half-orc with two assistants, a halfling and a goblin. He became very engaged talking to Amaranth about her coat repair. Voski also took the opportunity to scout out some nice prints, for inspiration. With the tailor occupied, Erwyn approached the wall nearest the warehouse on the other side and cast Detect Magic -- but it set off one of his Wild Magic surges, causing a swarm of dusky blue butterflies with silver eyes to manifest inside the store.

The goblin assistant muttered under her breath and Kriv apologized, recognizing the word for “adventurer.”

Some of the party and the shop workers both attempted to shoo the butterflies out the door. After a minute though, they all vanished. While Erwyn was mortified, he stayed silent, hoping to still glean some information from his spell. He managed to detect both faint Abjuration and Divination spells from the other side of the wall, as well as a magical effect on one of the tailor’s needles. 

Once she noted Erwyn had finished his investigation, Amaranth swiftly told the tailor they were late for a thing and had to run, taking her coat with her. The party all shuffled outside and Erwyn explained what he had noticed.

The party next headed to the address Amaranth had been given by the orc woman she’d spoken to at the bar the night before, hoping to get a glimpse of the Obsidian Shard drop point. It seemed to be a laundry, which was in line with the instructions Amaranth had been given about dropping off something needing mending to contact them. She also noted a beggar’s mark that signified the place as off-limits for thieves, and an unfamiliar narrow diamond shape drawn in black. Unable to spot any unusual activity in the area at this time, the party moved along.

As they headed towards the office of the private investigator Squall had hired previously, it became clear they were entering the poorer part of town. The building itself was very run-down, with a big sign out front that read “Eckjeth Investigations” and an oil lamp visible inside. Eckjeth poked her head out to greet them. She was a half-elf with pointy face and twitchy ears, whose hair was braided in a faux-elven style that had clearly been done about three days ago. She let them inside and revealed an office with cases of showy books covered in dust, and boxes packed full of tinctures that were shoved to the sides in an attempt to make them less obvious.

She invited the party to sit, but most of them refrained. Amaranth pulled a chair over and turned it around, sitting on it backwards. Ditto sat on the desk. Before getting into the conversation, Eckjeth poured herself a drink and added one of the tinctures to it, looking genuinely relieved as she did so. She asked what they were here for and seemed annoyed when they said they were looking for Quest, snapping that missing persons cases were a lesson in futility in Veritas right now. She admitted that when she’d gone to the Stormcrows they couldn’t confirm that Quest was dead, since Eckjeth didn’t know her personally, but it seemed clear that this was her assumption. 

Interestingly, the case seemed to be less on Eckjeth’s mind than other things. She looked to be extremely stressed and tired. When the group asked about this she admitted her desire to get out of the city, since it seemed like there was nothing the common people of the city could do about the Abyssal influences lingering since the incursion. Voski then asked her about the tincture she’d put in her drink and Eckjeth stiffened -- it seemed she had a sort of love-hate relationship with the things.

Eckjeth told the group that the tinctures had been brought to the city by a wealthy philanthropist named Karin Mordechai, who would come to the city sometimes and do spontaneous demonstrations, professing their virtues and how they could keep the public safe from the effects of the breach. Eckjeth said she was based somewhere east of Veritas, so while she rented a place in the city during her visits she wasn’t around often, and would sometimes teleport in thanks to a wizard in her employ. Apparently Karin was also planning on attending the upcoming Guildhall Gala, though she had managed to receive special dispensation privileges from the guilds so that people selling the tinctures didn’t need memberships to operate.

When asked what the tinctures were made out of, Eckjeth informed the party they were made outside of the city, since Veritas was too “unstable,” out of materials straight from the elemental planes. Kriv asked if she had been feeling alright and if he could cast a spell to check up on her and she agreed. When he cast Detect Poison and Disease, he picked up on something similar to what he’d detected on Clarity the other night. Eckjeth tried to pitch the tinctures to them and Erwyn tentatively bought one of them, hoping to investigate it later. Eckjeth also gave the party her investigation notes, which started out more organized and grew increasingly more scrawled. 

The detective also let them know about a member of the lamplighter’s guild, Deveron Wick, who had been at the guildhouse the night of Quest’s disappearance and said he had seen her briefly, but had offered no additional information. Additionally, she shared her notes on the outfit Quest had last worn as well as the blades she’d had on her -- a sort of “rescue” enchanted sword that was anxious around others, called Stív, and two fae daggers, one affiliated with fire and the other with ice, that could be used to find each other. Kriv offered Eckjeth a few gold as a tip for the information, subtly using Lay on Hands to heal a bit her as he handed them over.

Deciding to talk to the Stormcrows next, the party headed to the temporary temple to the Raven Queen set up near the exclusion zone. When they arrived, one of the raven-masked clerics was talking to a member of the city watch outside, saying they hadn’t been expecting difficulties today. An acolyte greeted them inside, but Erwyn and Voski both noted a lock on the door leading to the morgue that had apparently been blasted open, and what seemed to be signs of some kind of magical altercation.

When Voski inquired about what had happened, the acolyte explained that there had been an incident -- though they assured the group it hadn’t involved necromancy. They quickly switched subjects to ask the group what they were here for, and Amaranth asked if they could confirm whether or not Quest was still alive. When she said she was asking as a friend, the acolyte lead them to a back chamber. Sitting inside was a kenku with magpie plumage, who also wore a leather raven mask and a small, black leather crown. Her mask reached over her beak and seemed to have buckles that could close it shut. The acolyte introduced her as Susurrus, the Crowned Crow.

After Amaranth described Quest, the crowned cleric lit a bowl of incense in front of her and breathed in the smoke before raising her head, waiting for a moment, extremely still. She then lowered it and turned to the acolyte who had brought them in, signing a message. The acolyte informed the party that she said no one of Quest’s description had passed through the Astral Plane yet. They clarified that this wasn’t a sure sign she was among the living, but still meant it was likely.

As they left the chamber, Ditto asked more about what had happened in the morgue. The acolyte, apparently too unnerved by the events to remain secretive a second time, answered her in a hushed whisper. They said a group of individuals had used Feign Death to disguise themselves as corpses to get into the morgue, then escaped with three bodies that the clerics had been told to keep safe using Gentle Repose so that the Watch could return to cast Speak With Dead and complete an interrogation. The watch and DPL were apparently both very upset about the situation.

“I hope you find your friend,” the acolyte told them in parting.

“Thank you. I hope you find your bodies!” Ditto replied.

Noting that the argument outside had increased in fervor, Ditto tucked herself behind Voski and started trying to cast a spell under her breath. Voski nudged her before she could finish and slightly shook her head, causing her to cease the casting. As the group started to head away there was further commotion as several DPL agents arrived on the scene. The party high-tailed it away.

As they passed the Obsidian Shard drop point again, Voski cast a Locate Object to see if there were any Three of Eyes pendants in the building. While there, Voski and Amaranth both noted a little spider-like construct scurrying along the street with a scroll held in a sling. When it was pointed out to the others, Erwyn wanted to follow it, but some of the others were hesitant. Voski suggested Tiktik trail it instead. Ditto was hesitant to ask them to follow a potentially dangerous stranger again so soon, but the familiar was willing and went after it. As Tiktik headed off, Ditto also tried casting Detect Thoughts to see if the spider-construct had any. It didn’t.

The party then headed to the home of Winstanus Albach, the customer who’d last bought a sword from Quest. Outside, a flying sword was attempting to cut the grass on the lawn -- though it was only broadly successful. Voski waved at it and it paused to wave back. When they knocked on the door, a number of interesting bumps and clattering noises followed from inside. Then an elderly human man with a huge mustache answered the door, holding a number of leashes which each had a flying sword at the end, and scolded several of the more active ones by name for being rude to company.

When the party explained they were here to speak with him, Winstanus invited them all in, explaining he would put the swords in his “gladiary” -- a word he devised by combining the Celestial “Gladius” and the Common “aviary” -- for their safety. He then lead them to a nice sitting room, which was finely furnished but clearly had many sewn- and patched-up gashes. He offered them all biscuits on plates with little paintings of swords on them, and seemed sad to hear that Quest was still missing. Apparently he was a go-to for her when she had flying swords with slight behavioral issues, as he was an avid collector and didn’t mind their quirks. He was doubly concerned for her well-being because he also had arrangements with her to help find his swords good homes when he passed on.

The last sword he had purchased from her was from the Faewilds -- a long, leaf-shaped mithril one with vine patterns on the blade and metal and crystal flowers on the hilt that struggled a little on its leash as he fetched it. Apparently it had once been a part of an entire flock, but the swords were let go and Quest, who specialized in fae artifacts, had found it running feral. He also said it emitted faint sunlight at all times, and he hadn’t yet thought of a proper name for it. Erwyn asked if he could handle the sword, curious, and Winstanus warned him to watch his fingers, though also noted that as he was an elf the fae blade might receive him a little more kindly. Erwyn carefully examined the sword and noted a Sylvan inscription on it that read, “I and my sisters guard the third court.”

Ditto asked Winstanus if anyone had bothered him recently looking for information on swords. He said a blacksmith named Filigree Black had stopped by before the Abyssal incursion happened, interested in learning about historical smithing techniques, but that was all. In the meantime, Amaranth tried petting a little geriatric dagger floating near her, but accidentally bonked it into the table. It scurried fearfully behind Winstanus. She apologetically held out one of her own daggers for it to investigate.

Winstanus then told the group about the Veritas Amateur Historians Society, which he was a member of, though he mentioned it hadn’t had regular meetings for a while. He gave them the name of the organizer, a dragonborn named Lomik Turnuroth, who was the head of staff at the Zisisvoyni mansion uptown. He also mentioned that both Squall and Eckjeth had stopped by to speak with him about Quest, as well as some of the Watch, though their investigation had seemed half-hearted.

Towards the end of their visit, Amaranth told Winstanus that she’d bought her own sword from Quest, and he congratulated her on the purchase. He delightedly talked swords with her for a bit, and the shy dagger from earlier finally grew interested in her and wandered over, now less afraid.

[mdelpin]

To Kill A Dragon - Chapter 8

Previous: Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Next: Ch 9

Chapter 8: Friend or Foe?

A chorus of "WHAT?!" erupted in the Fairy Tail guild library as everyone gaped at the healer in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, I could have sworn you just said that Natsu was pregnant," Lyon repeated dumbly, trying to wrap his head around the healer's announcement.

"That's exactly what I said."

"But how could that be? He's a guy," Lucy pointed out, earning herself a glare from the healer.

"Natsu did mention she tricked him into taking some sort of solution to induce a dragon heat," Laxus said sheepishly, knowing full well he had purposefully left out that information.

Makarov studied his grandson thoughtfully, wondering what else Laxus was keeping from them.

"Yes, he did say that, but he also mentioned the solution was created to keep dragons from dying out," Porlyusica corrected him.

"That's what made me decide to test him in the first place. If I had the solution here, I could analyze it, but my guess is it was actually some kind of fertility drug for dragons. Tiamat used it to impregnate him, and now a demigod is growing inside of him."

"How long will the pregnancy last?" Makarov inquired before anyone could say something that would upset Porlyusica.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what the gestation period is for a magically induced pregnancy of a demigod in a male?" Porlyusica screeched at Makarov.

She was starting to get agitated again. She didn't like being around people on the best of days, and she was quickly reaching her limit. The idiotic looks on all of their faces were not helping.

"Have you told him already?" Makarov asked her quietly.

"Of course not! He's too weak, both physically and emotionally at the moment to handle any of this. I recommend you don't tell him until he's had a chance to deal with his torture and captivity. Hopefully, he won't have any symptoms for a while." Porlyusica left the library and made her way back to the infirmary.

The room remained silent as they all watched her disappear up the stairs. Moments later Sting and Rogue made their way into the library, matching horrified expressions etched across their faces.

"Did that crazy woman actually say that Natsu is pregnant?" Sting looked to Laxus for confirmation.

The sound of laughter erupted in the room. Everyone looked for the source of the sound. Gray was laughing, tears flowing freely from his eyes as he finally snapped from the stress he'd been under since Natsu had disappeared. He noticed everyone looking at him worriedly and wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling to himself.

"I'm sorry, I know it's not funny, but I mean, seriously, only Natsu could manage to go from rejecting Erza to getting himself knocked up by a god in three days. He's never even been on a date! It's completely ridiculous," Gray's voice changed from amusement to sadness as he realized the truth of his statement.

Natsu had never gotten the chance to enjoy physical closeness with anyone on his own terms. It really wasn't fair for this to happen to him. Erza put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a half-hug, but he shrugged her off.

"Let's keep this information between us for now. I don't want Natsu finding out by overhearing someone talking about it in the guild," Makarov instructed the small group in the library. "We will wait until he is doing better to tell him," The Fairy Tail master viewed Gray with concern, not quite sure what to do for him.

"Sting, go upstairs and have Porlyusica test you," Makarov ordered.

"What? No, that's ridiculous. I didn't drink anything when I was with her, and I feel fine."

Makarov glanced at Rogue Cheney, who nodded and dragged the protesting master of Sabertooth up to the infirmary. He then took Laxus upstairs to his office for a private talk.

Erza, Gray, and Lyon left the researchers and made their way back to the main guild room. They sat at a table near the back, quietly absorbing the shocking news they had just received when the large wooden doors of the guild entrance opened.

They watched curiously as two men entered the hall. The men looked around the guild nervously, as if they were looking for someone. They were wearing cloaks with some kind of symbol on the back but were too far away for them to make it out.

Mira hurried over to welcome them, and when the men turned to greet her, they were able to see the symbol. Five differently colored dragon heads joined at the neck to make a circle.

Erza reacted first. She requipped a sword into her hand and hurried towards the two men, violence implied in every step. Gray got up to follow her but stopped for a minute, looking up towards the infirmary.

"Go tell the dragon slayers to stay out of sight," Gray ordered Lyon quietly but urgently. The Lamia Scale mage quickly got up and hurried upstairs.

Gray walked quickly to stand next to Erza, his face impassive, but his stance leaving no doubt he was ready for battle.

xxx

A giant five headed dragon flew above the clouds. Now that Tiamat had both the white and red dragon's powers, she was capable of holding her dragon form for more extended periods.

It had been several days since she'd set fire to the building where she had been held captive, but Tiamat still felt satisfaction from the surprised looks on the cultists' faces. Looks that had quickly turned to terror when they realized she was outside the magic sealing stone where they had kept her prisoner.

She could still hear their agonized screams as they burned from her fire. They were melodious, like music to her ears. She wasn't sure if she'd gotten them all, but she was confident they would not be coming for her anytime soon. Tiamat was free.

'Fools,' she thought, annoyed by their hubris, 'They really thought they could contain me with that pathetic binding spell.'

She had spent the time since following a faint dragon scent that she hoped would lead her to the black dragon Acnologia. A chromatic dragon of that caliber would be an excellent ally to have.

Tiamat was determined to restore dragons to their former glory and undo all the tragedy that Igneel and his friends had caused. Once that happened, the humans were going to pay for their insolence. She would bring about a new age of dragons, and this time, there wouldn't be enough dragon slayers to stop her.

Tiamat continued to follow the trail over a range of mountains. She was hungry and had begun to tire, but an enticing smell caught her attention, and she dove towards it.

She followed it to a patch of grass where a group of goats was calmly grazing. After making quick work of them, she looked for a cave to shelter her while she rested.

Tiamat flew higher until she saw a cave large enough to suit her purposes. She walked inside and sniffed to make sure she was alone. That faint dragon smell was present here, but it was old. Once satisfied, she changed back to her Dark Lady avatar, lay down and went to sleep content and with a full belly. She woke to a rustling noise outside and moved cautiously to seek it out.

Even though it was still mostly dark out, she could detect a man standing outside the cave. He was muscular with spiky, long, dark blue hair. Blue markings covered his body. He looked at her haughtily, but there was no hiding the air of danger that surrounded him, and even though he appeared unarmed, she was instantly wary.

"What are you doing in my cave?" he asked her angrily.

"I sought shelter, but I will be happy to be on my way," Tiamat sniffed the air carefully, trying to determine what it was about this man that had her on edge.

The man narrowed his eyes at her when he noticed what she was doing and began to do the same. He looked surprised at whatever he found and immediately got into a battle stance.

"Who are you? Are you the one who has been following me?"

She stiffened as she finally recognized the scent she had been following pouring off this man. How could that be? She changed into her dragon form and took to the air. She hovered above him.

"I am Tiamat, Dragon Goddess and Queen of the Chromatic Dragons. I am looking for the black dragon they call Acnologia. Why do you smell like him, are you his dragon slayer?"

Acnologia quickly changed into his dragon form and took to the sky, leaving room between them for the moment. He roared with laughter.

"Indeed I am, Your Highness," he said mockingly, "Did you think I was a black dragon? All the dragons are dead. I made sure of that over four hundred years ago. All except for you, I thought you had been banished during the War."

He was getting excited at the idea of fighting a proper dragon, a goddess no less. It had been a long time since he'd had a truly good fight. One where the outcome was not decided before the battle began.

"YOU, A LOWLY HUMAN, KILLED MY PRECIOUS DRAGONS?" Tiamat roared.

Her voice echoed through the mountains, sounding like a judgment from the heavens themselves. She was furious, and her heart instantly filled with hatred. She'd been looking to make an alliance with the black dragon, but now, now she just wanted to destroy him. Tear him limb from limb with her claws and fangs and blast him with all her magic. But that would be mercy after what he'd done, so she would heal him so she could do it over and over until he begged her for death.

She flew at him, her red head already roaring dragon fire at Acnologia, hotter than any mere dragon slayer could manage. Her white head simultaneously attacking with holy light. Her other three heads were divided between hurling insults at the black dragon and encouraging the fighting heads on in their assault.

Acnologia quickly dodged her attacks and responded with his own dragon roar. Tiamat flew out of the way of most of it, but she'd already been tired before she got to the cave and knew she wouldn't be able to fight for very long.

She could already see she was going to require more power than what she currently had to be able to defeat him. She needed to get away so she could get the rest of her magic from the last three dragon slayers. Only then would she be able to destroy him. She concentrated all of her remaining magic into one spell and teleported herself away from Acnologia.

She was sure the dragons slayers were already huddled in Magnolia with Fairy Tail, so she decided to head to Era. The poison dragon slayer was isolated and should make for an easy target.

A/N: Making progress! Hoping to get a few more of these out this week.