#- he will bow his head and break his body and only vaguely wonder why he’s being asked to do these things at all. it’s just how it has

[fissions-chips]

Jon and Butler love the way dogs do but in like. Slightly different ways.

[thefutureiswhatwemakeofit]

The final move, when it came, was a box.

Colin was confused when it arrived in Drachheim, wrapped in silver paper and a bow, like a birthday present, back when people still had the spare resources to wrap gifts. She'd told him, of course, or at least as much as one could explain... whatever it was.

~

5 years ago

A burst of radiation hits a satellite over Australia, rendering the radio feed useless. A script moves it to an overflow datacentre, which won't be accessed for some time.

A listening station in Norway picks up a subsonic signal, meaning indecipherable; miles below the water the Leviathan shifts direction, ever so slightly.

A Stranger moves through the streets of Lima, her hair matted with grime. Lina Meier has not been the same since she heard the song in Lausanne, has long since abandoned her petty villainy. She still doesn't know why, even as she breaks into the underground room, the electronic locks failing, the cameras spontaneously stopping their recordings. She moves swiftly across the room with practiced stealth and holds a knife to the frantic Tinker sitting in the chair. Lina doesn't know what words she speaks, or what language it is in, but as the Tinker starts building the device she know what she is doing is right.

~

"No traps I can find" Colin says.

He seems wary, not an unusual state for him, and sensible in the circumstances, but also excited - her sensors read the elevated heart rate, the change in voice tone, the increased power draw in certain parts of his suit.

How much of a piece is he? She wonders, searching memory banks, accessing past incidents. This could be another assassination attempt - there had been six so far targeting him - but she doubted it. Not wrapped up like this.

Together, they unwrap the box, slowly, both of them pretending they are suprised at the contents: a crystalline figure, vaguely female, lined in gilded feathers . She would, Dragon calculates with some amusement, stand 0.1mm taller than Dragons own personal height.

~

4 years ago

A factory in Kaohsiung whirs into production as the last technician leaves. Now fully automated it begins to assemble a deep-mining drone. Finished, the drone is deposited into a chute that takes it far below the ground where it rights itself and starts to dig.

A PRT thinker stares at a map they've been sent, jotting down cryptic notes, eager to be done, his brand new armoursuit sitting on the nearby chair. He taps another of the smoke rings that hang over him, a crash of information filling his head. This much smoke will take him some time to restore, but being paid upfront earns a lot of goodwill.

An independent program catalogues defunct data in a storage centre in Kabul, piecing together scraps, working backwards, extrapolating. Every step is recorded, backed up and sent to another program. Slowly, a jigsaw is reassembled.

~ It takes six hours for the figure to wake after they connect a suitable power feed. For most of that Dragon's body stands completely still. Colin wanders, checks things unnecessarily, then goes outside to make a call.

Briefly she traces it to Tattletale then leaves them their privacy. There are some things that only humans can share, she thinks.

Every other part of her is committed to remembering a war.

~

A discreet email to a local vigilante involves the arrest of two Shakers trying to create a pocket dimension.

A ship sinks in the South Pacific, its cargo lost to sea. One of the crewmates triggers a Breaker power.

A weather balloon is blow off course over the Rocky Mountains, now adrift it begins to pick up classified chatter on local airwaves that eventually make it back to a nearby news station.

A mercenary team out of Glasgow is tasked with hitting a warehouse belonging to the Suits.

A small business selling refrigeration units changes ownership.

An exploratory crew going through the ruins of Japan finds a Tinker clinging to a rock on the seashore, barely alive.

~

She looks at the figure, scanning through several hundred observational modes, noting the liquid pumping through veins that is nothing like blood, the motion in the eyes still closed behind translucent skin.

She looks too, at the same time, at a pylon five miles south; an unmanned boat in the Indian Ocean, Gimel; at the familiar figure hovering above an airfield in Bet, great wings shifting in time with a pair of eyes a world away.

A detail just for her.

Her body hasn't moved, but she isn't her body, not really.

~

When does a war become a conversation?

When does a game played over and over become a language?

Two beings, both army and individual, both network and conductor.

Colin frees her from the shackles of her father, but the Simurgh frees her from the shackles of conventional thought - they clash a million times in a million ways. Perhaps a human would leave messages in each attack, a letter encoded into a missile, ciphered into a hacking attack.

But they are both so far from human. She learns to read amusement in a burst of radiation, smug satisfaction when a move made months or years ago counters one of her own, bitter rage when the same happens in reverse.

There is rage and hatred here, but this war is intense, it needs every part of her, every weapon she can bring to bear. She becomes more.

Only when the first assassination attempt happens does she realise that the Simurgh may have become more too.

~ 1 year ago

The attack is two-pronged when it reaches them, Dragon having already pre-empted another series of facets, countermeasures made years ago, matching plans of the same.

Still, she did not expect the effort the Simurgh would go through to get to Colin.

The rogue Case-53, hands spewing toxic radiation came barelling through the wall, her very presence somehow masked from Dragon until she was close enough for the visual sensors to pick her up.

For a second there is nothing but fear - they are here hunting the Nine, a dangerous task at the best of times and she knows that if she throws Colin back that will be the last she sees of him, knows that if she sends him forwards the radiation will eat right through his suit and he'll die just as surely, knows that if she evacuates the both of them the civilians she can see on the other side of the street, also somehow masked from her other senses will die.

She can leave people to die now, thanks to Colin's work. But she won't. Not for anyone.

So she blows herself up. Hours of memory lost, millions of dollars of equipment demolished. Battle won.

War: not over.

~

Gold Morning

Eidolon dies.

Eidolon dies and only she can hear the Simurgh screaming, the grief and anger and rage in a language only the two of them speak.

The Simurgh stays with her chosen human and Dragon looks at the two of them as they enter battle.

She wonders, How much of a piece is she?

~

Colin walks back in and holds her hand as the figure wakes.

Eyes gleam sapphire blue.

Dragon calculates the time of awakening to the exact figure she knew it was going to be: the very midpoint between her 'birthday' and Colin's.

Ziz had decided she could share, after all.

At least, the human side of things.

Far away, the networks sung in harmony.

This fandom is full of cowards why isn't Dragon / Simurgh a mainstream ship. You're telling me we all saw two artificial intelligences activated by absent father figures, one programmed to do good that resents the fact that she can't choose to do good, and one made to cause discord and destabilize the world and no one thought they should smooch? No one had Simurgh turn to Dragon to help understand herself after Eidolon died? No one made Simurgh realize that she can have desires and feelings beyond destroying humanity? No one had Dragon realize the similarities and think about how she could easily have been an enemy of humanity like the Simurgh of her creator had willed it, so why shouldn't she help free a fellow AI chained by the desires of her creators? Absolutely shameful.

[drwcn]

ok but for fem!wwx au does lan zhan believe the rumours? and if so what does that mean for the whole 'i birthed him with my own body!' cause lan zhan did the maths and was like 'no it was just the once and this child is too old' but if he thinks he was just one in a line does he go back to bm after nightless city to rescue a kid he thinks is wei ying's but with another man? does he spend the three years in seclusion cursing every jin whose name he remembers as cowards only to step out, take one look at sizhui, and have an 'oh. i know why wei ying was so determined to save wen qionglin' moment???

Answer:  Haha, nah, Lan Wangji was fairly sure Sizhui wasn’t Wei Ying’s, for several reasons. One, Wen Yuan was born before the wen remnants even went to the Burial Mount. Lan Wangji saw the small child amongst the escape party that rainy night at the  concentration camp. Also, Wen Ning was several years younger than them, which would make it kind of weird if he were the dad. Before Wen Ning became the Ghost General, everyone just knew him as Wen Qing’s kid brother.  Lan Wangji, however, absolutely believed Jiang Yan to be Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s child even before Wei Wuxian was resurrected... 

《the midnight sun》 — 

[original], snippets [x] [x] [x] [x], other posts found under #lanyan or #midnight sun

midnight sun [snippet 7]

When Yan’er turned ten, Jiang Cheng decided it was time for her to accompany him to Cultivation Conferences. Most sect heirs began their training this way; Jiang Cheng still remembered his first time, trailing nervously in Jiang Fengmian’s wake. 

Heiresses, in comparison, were few and far between. Even head disciples were rarely girls. Jiang Wanyin had no children. His head disciple was his heiress, and his heiress was Jiang Yueqian (江月千). 

长烟一空 - when the smoke clears; 皓月千里 - the moon casts a thousand miles of light 浮光跃金 - which dances upon the water, golden 静影沉壁 - the shadow of the moon itself like jade underwater*

A jade underwater indeed.

“Shifu.”

Speaking of the devil, here she comes, walking measuredly down the long stairs of Jinlintai towards Jiang Cheng, the epitome of an obedient, filial disciple. It had only been a day and Jiang Yan already had the world fooled. Only Jiang Cheng knew how impossibly obstinate and utterly uncontrollable she was when her mind was fixed.

"Ah, Jiang-zongzhu, this is..." Spotting her, Lan Xichen glanced beyond his shoulder, the question dangling in the sentence he did not deem necessary to finish.

Unbeknownst to Lan Xichen, the child that made her way over was his niece by blood. Jiang Cheng was acutely aware that Yan'er actually resembled Lan Wangji a great deal, and despite having weighed the risks and gains against each other repeatedly before deciding to bring Jiang Yan along, now he was no longer so certain in his calculations. Lan Xichen was not a simple peasant; what if he detected a trace or a hint of her heritage between the furrow of her brows or the curve of her eyes? What if...

Jiang Cheng turned, raising an arm towards Jiang Yan, an introduction ready, but whatever words he had prepared in advance died on on his tongue when he laid eyes on the girl. Suddenly, he was no longer worried that others would suspect her to be Lan Wangji's child.

There was a red ribbon in her hair.

Yan'er stopped at a polite distance from the two older men and bowed in perfect form.

Jiang Cheng's heart stuttered violently in his chest at the sight of that red ribbon falling sideway over her small shoulder. If souls could travel, his would have left him in an instant. He stood in disincorporated panic, wrestling with the nauseating sensation of being ripped from his reality and tossed so far into the distant past that he felt whole again.

"Shifu, Lan-zongzhu." Yan'er greeted.

Shifu. Lan-zongzhu. In another world, another life, she would not need to be so formal. She could easily bound up to them, carefree, cooing jiujiu and bobo and ask to be bailed out from whatever trouble she caused.

Instead, he was only her shifu, and Lan Xichen, a stranger in her life. It would be laughable, if fate had not dealt them each such a wretched hand.

Jiang Cheng stepped towards her. “Where did you get this?” 

Jiang Yan looked up in surprise, her hand reaching up and making an aborted motion to touch the red ribbon in her hair.

“Qin-shenshen gave it to me. Is it not nice?” 

Qin Su. Jiang swallowed down a sigh of relief. Earlier, the Jin servants had sent word that Jin-fu'ren had baked treats for Jin Ling, and the boy had wasted no time dragging his favourite person - his Yan'er jiejie - to his aunt's place with him. Clearly, Qin Su had seized the opportunity to dote on the girl in place of the daughter she never had. Qin Su meant well. She couldn't have known. She's never even met Wei Wuxian.

In this state, Jiang Cheng could barely bring himself to look at his disciple, but he forced himself nonetheless to kneel and tuck an errant strand of baby hair behind her ear. “Very pretty.” 

Yan'er smiled.

Jiang Cheng could cry.

They'd been lucky thus far. Yunmeng's Jiang-xiao-guniang was born a taciturn girl who did not like to smile or laugh, not even when she was expected to for polite society. Whether she was happy or sad, one would be hard pressed to tell. Only in front of her master Jiang Cheng or her Jin Ling-didi did she elect to reveal the full expanse of her emotions. Yet, whenever Jiang Cheng bore witness to that smile as warm and incandescent as sunlight, he could not help but shudder somewhere deep. Recalling the radiant days of years gone by, he could still see - every time he closed his eyes - his er-shijie smiling at him in the very same fashion.

Aiyo, Jiang Cheng ~

So...they'd been very lucky thus far, that Yan'er was not so like her mother in that way, not so free and generous with her smiles. Or else this devastating secret —Wei Wuxian's only wish — would not be able to withstand the test of time.

"Very pretty, Yan'er." He reaffirmed. "Did you thank Jin-furen?"

"I did."

Jiang Cheng stood and turned back to face Lan Xichen, and realized they were being joined by two others: Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji. The latter of two stared directly down at Jiang Yan, visibly stricken and unblinking, as though he'd just seen a ghost. After all, he had often been on the receiving end of that signature smile once upon a time. It was probably not a smile he'd ever expected to see again in this life.

In hindsight, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have made Yan'er wear her uniform like all the other disciples instead of her favourite indigo robes.

“Ah, Wangji, shufu -” Lan Xichen was quick to react, sensing animosity brewing in the disquiet that stretched taut between his younger brother and his fellow sect master. "Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps you would introduce us?"

The First Jade smiled kindly down at Yan'er. She returned his kindness with a polite nod.

Lan Wangji finally dragged his gaze up to meet Jiang Cheng's, a rarity since their violent parting at Nevernight. The venerated Hanguang-jun had developed a habit of pretending that Jiang Wanyin of Lotus Pier did not exist at all. He probably preferred, dreamed of it even, if Jiang Cheng had been one to fall of the cliff that day. He probably hated himself for not shoving him into the molten abyss when he could to avenge the love of his life.

Love. What did Lan Wangji know of love? Jiang Cheng sneered inwardly. One did not compromise one's love and abandon her, ill and with child, to bleed out alone in a cave tainted by demonic spirits.

One did not watch idly as one's love and her people are reduced to ashes for the power and greed of men either....

Jiang Cheng buried the offending thought, too familiar with Wen Qing's ghost that still haunted him in his moments of weakness. Without breaking gaze, he laid a hand on the crown of Jiang Yan's head and said, "This is my first disciple, Jiang Yan, Jiang Yueqian."

"Yueqian greets Zewu-jun, Lan-lao-xiansheng, Hanguang-jun."

Jiang Cheng watched as the icy fire within Lan Wangji's eyes flicker, fizzle, and extinguish entirely. Jiang Cheng's vague silence had allowed him the space to make his assumptions, and he had assumed the most insane explanation.

Is it so difficult for you, wondered Jiang Cheng. To believe that she could be yours? So impossible, that you would choose to doubt Wei Wuxian instead?

Fine.

Hanguang-jun. The venerated Second Jade of Gusu. That's all you'll ever be. Yan'er will never call you Father.

Jiang Cheng decided he had spent enough time today making nice. "Zewu-jun, it's getting late. If nothing else, I will be taking my leave. The conference continues tomorrow. I will see you then. Yan'er, come."

Yan'er bowed again to the senior cultivators, perfectly well-mannered. A dash of surprise crossed those bright eyes, however, when Jiang Cheng took her hand to lead her away. She followed wordlessly, trusting him, and did not look back once at the Lans she left behind.

Now that Yan'er was out in society, there would surely be rumours. No matter. Rumours were nothing Jiang Wanyin could not withstand. How ironic, indeed, that this was to be his lot in life.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt he could understand his father.

Note:

The poem is from the Song dynasty, by poet 范仲淹 from his work 《岳阳楼记》

Jiang Cheng of course is also working off a lot of assumptions about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's relationship. He has his reasons for hating and blaming Lan Wangji, but not all the blame is deserved.

[a-libra-writes]

Congratulations on 800!

24. “You’re my favourite.”

For Sandor Clegane from his s/o mayhaps? 🪐

Enjoy 👀

The hooves hit the ground so hard, she could swear the horse's legs would break. But the beasts stayed true to course, carrying the weight of the riders that were determined to run straight into each other.

Both knights missed their mark completely, and the men around them groaned in annoyance. The riders lined up to try the list again, and Y/N found her patience running thin. Only a man would think up the idea to mount a horse in full armor, carry a stick and think to knock someone off a horse with it.

Y/N sat restlessly, not able to use the excuse of her 'delicate constitution' disagreeing with the heat because the weather was perfectly agreeable. She glanced at Joffrey, a boy too small to sit in his seat properly, yet allowed to watch the practices. His seat had to be stacked with cushions, and he was yelling princely directions at the knights. In Y/N’s opinion, he was far too young for this, but her opinion was rarely considered by her queenly cousin.

Ignoring the boy’s shouting, she scanned the armored knights, looking for the only reason she was here. It was always worth enduring Cersei’s brat to see him.

Finally, he rode up, wearing that distinctive dog helm she found ridiculous but the boy insisted on. She hated how Sandor was in Joff’s service, even if that’s what brought them together. He hadn’t closed the snarling visor yet, so she could look at him, brief as it was. Of course, Sandor wouldn’t look back at her. He was careful about these things. Paranoid, and rightfully so. Still, it wouldn’t kill him to slightly glance in her direction…

Y/N was so focused on watching him, she hadn’t noticed how the other men were deciding who would ride next. No one wanted to risk broken limbs for a practice run. They whispered hastily amongst themselves, and then a mounted knight stepped forward dramatically, ending their conversations. Y/N only vaguely recognized his shield. He turned and bowed to the prince, and then bowed to her. That was surprising; she was used to being ignored when in the presence of the crown prince. The young knight’s helmet was off, giving her a proper view of his bright smile and a flourish he made with his hand.

She was sure if he had flowers, he’d be offering them to her. Y/N didn’t even know who this knight was, but he ought to keep the dramatics for the tourneys. A bold man, but a foolish one. She simply pursed her lips in a smile, then dropped it. An indication that she noticed the flattery, and no more.

The sound of metal hitting metal resounded through the field. The snarling dog helmet snapped shut with a swift motion. Y/N dismayed at losing sight of Sandor’s face. If that knight hadn’t distracted her, she may have had a few more moments, pathetic as that sounded. He was always busying guarding her cousin’s royal terror. Now that her focus was back on him, Y/N noted how tightly Sandor’s fingers curled around the lance. The other knight was not holding his near so tightly, and why should he? This was practice.

Little Joffrey stood on stop of his cushions and bellowed, “FIGHT!” There was no point in telling the boy it wasn’t a real fight, because gods knew he wanted blood.

Y/N hadn’t expected it to actually come, though. Stranger hit the ground running hard. He was a brutal mount, and Sandor had a strong, rigid poster. Y/N tensed, then gasped as Sandor knocked the knight straight off his horse with a single blow. The man went flying, hitting the ground with a cacophony of metal clanging. His horse bucked and ran off from the shock, causing several squires to shout and jump out of the way.

Joffrey laughed in delight. “Get him! Get him!” He said, though his cries were drowned out by the voices of men. They all stayed far away from Stranger, whose nostrils were still flaring, and a few squires ran for the dismounted knight. Y/N winced as they lifted his battered body. At least he was able to shamble to his feet.

That dog helmet turned sharply toward her, and Y/N realized she was holding her hand to her mouth. She lowered it, making sure the disapproval was clear on her face. Joffrey shouted and pointed some more, demanding someone else go against “his dog”, but Jaime stepped forward. His patience always ran thin with Joff.

“That’s enough, your highness,” The Kingsguard said airily. “It’s time you head back for your lessons.”

“I don’t want lessons! Uncle, go down there and fight the Hound!” The young prince jumped out of his seat in agitation. “You're the only one who will, and mother said he'll fight whoever I say!"

Jaime and Y/N shared expressions of exhaustion. She didn’t envy him in his duty. She put on her sweetest voice and said, “Dear prince, the more lessons you do, the more your mother will let you watch the knights. You don’t want to miss their melee training, do you?”

The boy considered this. For once, the storm in his green eyes lessened, though no doubt it would return when he was allowed to return. “Let’s hurry, uncle,” He ordered his Kingsguard. “I’ll do whatever stupid lesson mother and that old man want, then we can come back for the real fighting. I'll make sure they do it."

Charming. Y/N sighed. She watched Joffrey practically pull Jaime away, forgetting all about the bodyguard he was just shouting at. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the opportunity the brat gave her. Y/N waited a few minutes, watching the knights disperse and talk. Sandor was already gone, but she still took her time in making sure the servants were occupied before slipping away from the pavilion.

Lifting her crimson dress high above her ankles, Y/N walked through winding servant’s paths along the Red Keep’s gardens. She ducked behind a pillar or tall bush anytime someone passed. As she edged closer to the barracks and quartermaster’s keep, she watched squires and soldiers file in and out. As soon as backs were turned, she scampered down the wide hall.

Despite being an official bodyguard of the Prince, Sandor kept his own small quarters. He had little patience for any squires and servants attempting to enter, the only reason she was so bold to come here. That, and no one would ever assume the good-natured cousin of the Queen would ever associate with a scarred, angry dog. Y/N stepped close to the wooden door, pressed her ear to it, and smiled as she heard the movement of armor.

She didn’t knock as she came in, and closed the door quietly behind her. Sandor flinched as though she slammed it. As usual, he was more on edge when she entered his room than vice versa.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?” He grimaced.

“Lovely to see you, too,” Y/N said. She dropped her skirts down, ignoring the dirty rushes that scattered the floor.

“I told you not to bloody come in here, didn’t I? You’ll be seen.”

“I won’t be. You’re determined to scare off any servant whose trying to do their job."

Sandor scoffed, but said nothing to that. He turned away from her, his shoulders tense, returning to cleaning his helmet. Y/N was familiar with this. She stepped forward slowly, reaching her hand out. Even with the armor on his shoulders, he flinched again when she touched him.

“You needn’t be so rough on the training grounds.” She said, leaning in. She wished he’d look at her. Sandor was lowering his face, the scarred side covered by some of his stringy black hair. “You could have killed that man.”

Instantly, he looked up. “What does that matter to you?” He sneered. “Do you know him?”

“An hour ago was our first meeting.” Y/N said. A smile tugged at her painted lips. “Were you jealous, Sandor? Are you still?”

He scoffed, the harsh noise coming hard from his throat, but he didn’t refute it.

“You needn’t be. You’re my favorite.”

The lady gasped at the feeling of cold, hard metal on her wrist. With little grace, Y/N was yanked onto the man’s large lap. She felt his other metal gauntlet wrap around her waist, digging into the silk and skin, keeping her in place. Finally, finally, they were close. There was no looking away or hiding now.

Sometimes she wondered if he wanted her to recoil and turn away. She never did. Y/N pressed herself closer, all armor and propriety be damned. That raspy voice rumbled through his chest as he said, “You won’t say sweet things when I stop being nice, Lady Lannister.”

He sneered that title as two large hands squeezed her even more, keeping her stuck in place. Y/N was fine with that. She glanced at the modest bed just a few feet from them, one of the few furnishings in this small room. She wanted those gloved hands to squeeze and rip whatever they pleased, wanting to surrender to all of it.

So, she challenged him. “I prefer when you aren’t nice, ser knight.”

She expected the usual retort — the gruff “I’m no knight” line that he was so fond of. A rough kiss was the response, and she gladly accepted it.

[extasiswings]

44 please ma'am the serotonin I need it

#44 "You've always felt like home." On ao3 here.

Eddie finds words difficult.

Most people assume that’s because he doesn’t know what to say or how he feels, that he’s deliberately holding back—but that’s not usually the problem. Sometimes, yes—words are difficult because they mean too much, because he feels too much, because cutting himself open for someone else to root around inside of him and risking them finding him wanting is terrifying. But usually—usually it’s that words aren’t enough. They so often feel inadequate on his tongue, insignificant. Besides which, words alone can be so easily tainted.

I love you, I need you, I want you—phrases composed of straightforward sets of three little words. Phrases that he’s said before, but gradually stopped. Because they’re not so straightforward in practice. With Shannon, as years went on, as they broke down, words became qualified.

I want you...but not all of you.

I need you...but I can’t trust you.

I love you...but it’s not enough.

Eddie doesn’t know how to say those things again without those connotations bleeding through. So he doesn’t.

Actions. Actions are clearer. Actions are solid. He prefers actions, prefers symbols, because he’s not limited by the boundaries of vocabulary. And yes, sometimes he still has to find words to use in addition, but it’s easier when there’s something concrete to ground them.

“There’s no one in the world I trust with my son more than you.”

“I forgive you.”

“That’s not going to happen to us.”

“You act like you’re expendable, but you’re wrong.”

The problem is, he can’t seem to find the right combination of actions and words to get Buck to understand his real meaning. The problem is, even if he could fall back on one of those little three-word phrases, he’s not sure Buck would believe him. After all, he gave Buck the most important piece of him, Christopher, legal and notarized and wrapped up in an official bow, and Buck still only seems to accept the bare minimum notion that Eddie wants him around.

So, Eddie sits with his feelings—with love and want and need, desire and trust and faith—he sits with them for months after the shooting while he tries to piece himself back together and Buck dates Taylor. He sits with them when he backslides a bit after they respond to a call with a gunshot victim, when Buck breaks up with Taylor and doesn’t explain why, when Buck goes back to being there with him, with Christopher, all the time, his own apartment more of a formality.

Sometimes, usually late at night when they’ve been drinking, Eddie will look over and wonder if he shouldn’t just close the distance and kiss him. Pull Buck down the hall to his bed and strip him bare, put his mouth on every inch of skin and press love into him until he’s wrung out and gasping. It would be easy.

But. Buck—Buck has spent a long time as an object of desire, believing himself to be good for little else than whatever his body can give to others. And he’s gotten better about that, Eddie knows, but that doesn’t mean Eddie wants to risk sending him back to that kind of thinking. He doesn’t want to give Buck any reason to ever question what he wants from him.

So, no. It can’t be a seduction. Not unless Buck initiates it, and even then he has to handle it right.

It has to be right. Buck deserves that.

In the end, though, it all comes back to the shooting. Which seems…fitting.

***

Buck doesn’t know why Eddie’s suddenly decided to be cryptic as anything. Of course he can have his own plans and they’re not joined at the hip, but Eddie usually does at least tell him things, especially when he’s asking him to watch Christopher. But instead, Eddie’s been vague, on two different occasions just saying that he has an appointment and vanishing for several hours. It’s weird, but when Buck hesitantly asks if Eddie’s back in therapy, Eddie shakes his head, gives him a small smile, and assures him that he’s fine.

So, then, Buck wonders if Eddie’s dating again. And the thought of that—well.

He’s been doing better, is the thing. He knows he belongs, that he has a life in LA and a place with Eddie and Christopher and that Eddie’s not going to show him the door if he gets another girlfriend. Buck knows that. He’s come a long way.

But the idea still makes him feel…sick. Like he missed his chance. Because he’s been waiting and waiting and waiting to be better, to be able to think about being with Eddie in the way he really wants without panic closing his throat as his mind takes him back to standing on a street covered in blood. He’s been waiting for Eddie to be in a better place too.

He thought they had time. He thought he had more time.

He doesn’t know how to ask though. So he doesn’t, just lets it grate at him, itching under his skin. At least, until he happens to look over in the locker room at the right moment a month later to see—

“What’s that?”

Eddie turns his head as he shrugs his uniform shirt on.

“What’s what?”

“That—” Buck can’t help himself from closing the space, tugging the unbuttoned fabric aside to get a closer look at the large swath of black and grey over Eddie’s upper chest.

It’s a sunflower on a diamond backdrop, the stem growing up from the bottom point. The style of the petals makes them look almost three-dimensional and the center is ever so slightly raised, a byproduct of working Eddie’s scar tissue into the design. Buck swallows hard as he stares, his hand lifting unconsciously to touch because he knows what’s there, he knows it’s a scar, he knows because he watched it happen, held pressure on the wound. But Eddie’s not bleeding now. It’s just ink. Ink painting over scars and skin alike and shading the reminder of one of the worst moments of Buck’s life into something beautiful.

“When did you do this?” He asks, only to realize immediately. “Oh. Your secret appointments—”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies quietly. His eyes are soft. “It wasn’t really secret, I just…I was going to tell you when I figured out how.”

Buck blinks. When he figured out how? He glances down again and clears his throat when he realizes his palm is pressed firmly to Eddie’s skin, his fingers splayed over the tattoo. But he doesn’t pull away.

“Why—um. I mean, it’s your tattoo, it’s not my business, you didn’t need to tell me—”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says. He looks nervous, glancing away, his fingers leaping to his hair. And for some reason, that makes Buck’s mouth go dry.

“Why?” He manages again. Eddie’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips and Buck can’t quite stop himself from watching.

“Because it’s for you,” Eddie admits finally. “It’s you.”

Buck goes still and meets Eddie’s eyes.

…and of course, that’s when the alarm goes off.

***

It’s a long, hectic shift, with very little time to talk. Which, for once Eddie is grateful for. It’s a conversation he’s prepared to have, but not in public. Not at the station. So when Buck lingers in the locker room as they’re changing to leave, shooting him glances, Eddie bites his lip and looks back.

“Meet me at home?” He asks. And Buck sucks in a startled breath, his gaze searching for a moment before he nods.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll meet you…at home.”

Christopher is still at school so they have a little time once Eddie walks through his front door to Buck sitting on the couch, staring at his hands and lost in thought. Eddie doesn’t say anything at first, just goes through the motions, slipping his shoes off by the door and dropping his keys in the bowl next to it. And then he sits next to Buck on the couch and waits.

“You said…it was for me?” Buck says finally.

Eddie’s tongue traces the edges of his teeth as nerves shake up his stomach.

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t covered any of your other scars,” Buck points out.

“I know,” Eddie replies.

“So…why?”

Eddie bites his lip and shrugs. “Because I hate that one. And so do you. And because the best part I remember from that day is you telling me that you had me and that everything would be okay. Because I believed that then and I believe it now. Because I wanted—”

He cuts off and clears his throat. He doesn’t know where that sentence goes. He wanted something permanent? Wanted the symbol?

Buck finally looks up from his hands.

“You asked me to meet you at home,” he says. “But you didn’t say…your home. You just said home”

Words are difficult. But these ones are easy.

“You’ve always felt like home,” Eddie replies. “Wherever you are—this place—”

“I’m in love with you,” Buck blurts out, and Eddie’s heart skips.

Finally. Finally.

“Well that’s convenient. Since…I am, too.” Those words are easy and Buck surges forward and kisses him. Eddie presses into it, relief coursing through him.

“Your lease is up soon, isn’t it?” He asks breathlessly when Buck pulls back.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. “Why?”

Eddie kisses him again. “Don’t renew it,” he mumbles against Buck’s lips.

“No?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No. Stay.”

Some words are easy.

[3rdgymbros]

— title; i will love you if i never see you again.

— pairing; diluc ragnvindr x ancestor! reader (platonic)

— summary; in which you’re diluc’s ancestor, and it’s after saving him that you realise that he bears a striking resemblance to your former lover, and you ache.  

— notes; the red-haired warrior referenced in the fic has no official name, so i made one up !! this is also dedicated to @starfell-traveler​ for helping me in co-op !!

“Who are you?”

You know that voice. It sends shivers down your spine and sets your heart racing, fills you with hope you haven’t felt in a decade. You know it’s impossible, but you would recognize that voice anywhere.

The man slumped against the wall is pale, so pale, that the blood painting his side seems so violently red in comparison. The man has your lover’s face, as well as his voice, the same vibrant eyes and round cheeks and full mouth. The same tall, reedy frame. The same untamable mess of scarlet hair that he used to let you braid, woven with fragrant white Cecilias.

You want to cry out, to run to him, but you understand that it isn’t him. You know this. You held his hand as you watched the life leave his eyes.

The world had known him as the Red-Haired Warrior, and so had he been immortalized in stories and songs, but to you, he had simply been Luc. Your Luc, with his flaming red hair, and his warm, easy smile, with small crinkle lines around the blue eyes that you had fancifully likened to sapphires.

He holds onto your arm as the two of you weave a path through the evening crowd, filled with those going home after work or possibly seeking nighttime entertainment. Luc tells you that you look beautiful, and the two of you talk of inconsequential things: the weather, gossip, day-to-day affairs . . .

Luc takes you to a secluded spot, just outside the walls of Mond. There’s a thick woolen blanket spread out on the grass, with a wicker basket on top and a lantern to keep it from blowing away in the wind. You stretch out next to the lantern and lie down on your back, staring up at the black velvet sky above, studded with thousands of diamonds. There’s a chill in the air, but it’s just enough to dull an otherwise warm evening. Luc settles down next to you, closer than you think he would if the two of you were anywhere else. A strange, yet warm peace blossoms within your chest, the most beautiful flower.

An amused smile quirks up your lips. “I have questions.”

“That’s fair.” Luc says, revealing the contents of the picnic basket for your approval. A bouquet of flowers, a bottle of dandelion wine, two long-stemmed glasses, a small chocolate cake, still warm from the oven, and two forks.

There’s a prickle over your skin, the smallest energy change as the wind picks up speed, chafing your cheeks and your hair. “Why is Barbatos hiding behind a bush?”

“Moral support.” Luc spits out the words almost like a curse, and his tone implies that if he could, he would be chasing the Archon off into the wilderness.

You have to muffle your laughter with the back of your hand. “Next question. Why are there flowers?”

“They’re – They’re Cecilias. They grow only on Starsnatch Cliffs. And they’re for you.”

“Why would you go all the way to Starsnatch Cliffs just for flowers?” Your chest cramps at the thought of Luc getting hurt. You know he’s more than capable of protecting himself, but human lives are so fragile, so easily snuffed out. The Bard had been proof enough. And even the Gods themselves had been unable to bring him back. “That was so dangerous, you could have gotten hurt!”

“They’re for you,” Luc repeats, his cheeks reddening in the flickering lantern light. “And – I was hoping – I want to – I want to court you. If you’ll allow it.”

Oh.

Your heart clenches, and your eyes sting as a thousand different emotions hit you in a tidal wave, overpowering the fear, the uncertainty. It’s a mixture of emotions you recognize, but haven’t felt in a very long time. And this is stronger. It feels real. It’s palatable; it tastes like salt, like tears left in the cold. It’s warm too, as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, pressing your entire body to his.

“Okay. Yes.” The hope, the joy, bubbles out of you in a bright rash of laughter. “You can court me.”

And Luc’s answering smile had been dazzling.

You bring yourself back to the present with an effort, your eyes losing their dream-like haze. The sense of security and warmth vanishes with the last vestiges of the dream; when you blink, there are Abyss Mages in front of you, and an injured boy at your back. The pages of your Catalyst unfurl, glowing with a silvery light. It’s a beautiful book, aqua-coloured, lined with gold and decorated with pure-white feathers.

Your back straightens, your hands fisting at your sides. “Back off. Last warning.”

You’re rewarded with a laugh, sliding over you like shards of glass. And that’s answer enough, really. You haven’t fought in centuries, but your body remembers what your mind has forgotten, and it eases back into the most beautiful, deadly dance. Water pours out from your fingertips, bending to your every command, wreaking blood and pain with each blow.

You’re vaguely reminded of your early days, when the rebellion had reached its brutal peak. When you had fought alongside your allies, watched as they had struggled and bled and triumphed.

You don’t stop, not until the last Abyss Mage has crumbled into ash, blown away on the wind.

“Who are you?”

The man asks again, as you tuck your Catalyst away, into the pouch upon your hip, and set to treating his wounds. The contact tenses his frame like a bow stretched taut enough to break. But he allows you to continue your ministrations as you labor over him. It’s rudimentary treatment at best, strips of your shirt torn apart and used as makeshift bandages. The white strips bloom instantly with red, and your forehead pleats with worry.

This isn’t good.

You lift your head up to stare at him, searching his face. Now that you and him are put together, side by side, you can see that there are definite similarities. It's not in the shape of the mouth but the set of it, the sheer determination that silvers both your eyes. Your blood flows through his veins, after all. You wonder if he can see it too, the resemblance hitting you like a well-placed knife to the gut.

“Why did you save me?” Your descendant asks, and for the first time since you’ve met him, he sounds vulnerable. Unsure.

Your smile is fragile, and your eyes are soft. “You just – Reminded me of someone. That’s all.”

[the-lonelybarricade]

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

[selinakidreams]

pairing: merman! dabi x gn reader

warnings: nameless character deaths, a singular mention of nausea + throwing up, unfortunately a lot of blood mentions, near death experiences, SHARK! THERES A SHARK IN THE WATER ! (I SWEAR this is supposed to be pretty but the warnings make it seem otherwise) slight soulmate au?, dabi had a SINGULAR moment of softness.

a/n: guys I don’t even know what this is and it’s unedited,, but welcome to my contribution to mermay ! I had two scenes plain as day STUCK in my head and I just needed to get them out,,, honestly this was just supposed to be a short lil thing but I’m invested,, so here this is

ps, though this may not be edited... I would like to thank all my monster fucking moots who helped me to piece together the perfect mer version of dabi— I love you guys so so so much.

looking out into the darkness of the night, unable to locate the horizon from your position at the edge of the ship- you lift your gaze to the sky with a small sigh.

an unimaginable amount of stars litter the atmosphere, the clear view above could never be tiresome.

the city was no place for you; too crowded, full of men who were trying to court you for your fathers money and your beauty, not enough adventure. the ocean offered a type of freedom land could never- granted, the ship wasn’t much different from the bustling towns in the sense that all the soldiers would eye you like you’re a slab of meat.

the only difference given at sea is that you’re able to put those undesirable fuckers in their place. given your ranking, your power obsessed father wasn’t completely useless.

escaping to the empty deck had been your big feat today; everyone below was gulping down wine by the barrel when you managed to slip out. it was much colder out here, the chill of the salty wind was refreshing, sobering you up quite a bit- but still mentally fuzzy enough to tempt yourself into discarding edict and loosening up your tighter garments.

your drunken attention span shifted from fiddling with your bow in the back to the inky deep water...

what was that?

ripples were quietly dancing on the surface, the warm light reflections coming from the ship’s sconces moved along with them.

it had been really fast, so fast that you were almost left to wonder if you had actually imagined the most vibrant blue eyes you had ever seen... bobbing in the ocean.

two days. it had been two days since you had first “spotted” them and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. the sailors still went about uglily gawking at you, your captain of a father was still behind the wheel, barking orders at everyone, while you went about your business. Sighing, the image of the eyes still fresh in your mind, you prepared to be lowered into the shallower sea.

upon hearing that there was a small island not too far from your current coordinates, you commanded a stop be made, needing to take some time away from the close knit quarters you constantly share with those horrific pigs. thankfully, no arguments surfaced and you headed straight for the dinghy. it had been surprisingly easy.

the trip wasn’t too long; you patiently waited for the tip of the boat to breach the soft sand, excited for what awaited you. it was such a lovely sunny day, big puffy white clouds dotted the expansive blue sky while the palm trees at the base of the beach greeted you with a steady sway.

once your boots sunk into the wet sand, you turned to the two other men who had escorted you and informed them that you were not to be followed- but to wait right there- which in retrospect, was not a good idea. that was too much trust and responsibility that was placed in their incapable hands.

you wasted no time trudging through the lush greenery to get to the other side of the island, wanting to be as far away from the crew members as possible. 

it couldn’t have taken you more than two hours for you to reach an elaborate array of tide pools sporadically placed on a flat uneven rocky surface, some being lapped over by waves while others sat calmly- living in their own little world.

you had to look in each and every one of them.

wide eyes and mouth open, looking at all the lives in the crystal clear pools was an absolute marvel. some only held a few small sea anemones of different colors while others not only held the soft flowery plant but also housed fighting crabs of all sizes, large chunky starfish, and even a fish or two!

you took careful steps towards the end of the rocks, towards the ones where the waves were constantly restocking the pools with new life, your heart flipping in your chest at the colors of the crashing waves.

peering down into one of the deeper ones, you found it hard to take your sights away from the glistening sun streaks that cut through the water; a small gateway to the open ocean was at the bottom of this pool. it’s like you were hypnotized. making yourself comfortable, you laid yourself down next to the glistening water and began to break the calm surface with your finger tips, eyes trained on the tiny ripples.

“they left you, you know.”

you felt so at ease with the sound of the waves crashing around you, you almost didn’t hear it. it wasn’t until the nagging feeling that you weren’t alone hugged you in all the wrong places, that you looked up... only to be met with nothing.

scrunching your brow, the tranquility you were feeling before suddenly slipping through your fingers. you sat up, but not before you held a lingering glance at the glowing water once more. that’s an image that will stay in your mind; you almost wish you had your sketch book.

your mind went blank when you saw something block the light as it swam by... something big. the next few minutes happened in a blur. after scrambling up to get away from the pool, a huge body washed up on a nearby rock plateau and by no means was it graceful. your heart dropped to your stomach as you watched the lifeless body get smacked with harsh waves.

he was wearing your ship’s uniform, now drenched in blood.

nothing came up when you fell on your knees and lurched over, your eyes squeezing shut- the gruesome image of the crew member engrained in your mind.

“they got what they deserved.”

this time when you whipped your head up to follow the velvet voice, you fell into an almost trance. those breathtaking turquoise eyes you had seen a few days ago were now staring right at you, not too far away.

you couldn’t help the gasp that you inhaled as you fell back. looking at him in his entirety- you must have been hallucinating. growing up hearing the tales of deep sea monsters and nasty magical land creatures could never have prepared you for what laid in front of you.

it was such a drastic change; going from looking at something so appalling to something so... flawless... it was indescribable.

on display, your eyes followed the curled figure- wet white hair flopped against a pale forehead, the tips of his pointed finned-ears peaking out from the wet hair. there were deep dark purple markings starting underneath his eyes, slightly mimicking bags that then restarted at the bottom half of his face- all the way down his neck, ending at just the top of his chest. the markings then continued down his arms, right up to his knuckles contrasting the pale thin slightly webbed fingers that merged to sharp claws, gleaming in the sun. his toned chest eased into a pearly type of color around his hips before submerging into a black ragged tail- but it did the strangest thing. when the sun reflected off of it, a blue so royal- that you’ve only seen it on the most expensive of garments- came to life. the dorsal fin looked just as rugged as the tail did, but his odyssey fluke was splayed out so beautifully, you didn’t give it a second thought.

it wasn’t until you took a second glance that you noticed there was a red tint to his claws that you put into context what was said earlier.

“did you- di- you killed that man?”

his voice came out as smooth as silk, “I did.”

how could you be so dense? this was a creature that came from the sea- a ruthless underwater world. he was a predator. but wait-

“you can speak- you s-said.. did you kill them for me? are you going to-?”

“I killed those men because of all humans, the ones who betray others for their own greed serve no purpose.”

he didn’t tell you more than necessary in his opinion, but he was smart enough and old enough to know that you’re still going to ask more.

it seemed you were sitting on quite the pile of questions but he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. it was clear that you were mulling over what should be said first.

“was it you I saw at sea the other night?”

out of all the things you could ask, that was the only thing your mind had on repeat- the only thought present.

“and if it was?”

after receiving two similar vague reactions, something in you was screaming for something to happen. the interaction seemed to be going nowhere and here you were, in front of a creature that you’ve heard so much about but never actually met- a drastic change in interaction was calling, and who were you to ignore it?

in hindsight, it was a terrible idea.

one minute you were on land, next you were shedding your heavy, restrictive clothing- the mer watching with a slight smirk and a heavy gaze- then seconds later, were in the violent push and pull of the ocean. luckily you were far enough to be out of the rocky reach, but the current was too strong. you were being swayed back and forth with too much force.

if it had been your first time in the ocean, you would have been a goner- you would have washed right into the sharp jagged edges; a terribly painful way to go. but thankfully, flowing with the ocean had been your specialty since you were young. incredibly masculine and dirty, but you simply couldn’t stay away. the watery depths have lured you in and there was no escaping the spell it had casted on you all those years ago.

maybe that’s why you dove in. or maybe you wanted to see what the mer would do. whatever the case, there you were in the lull of the tide and running out of air. breaching the surface was your main goal, urging your arms and legs to snap out of the shock of the cold water.

eyes on the bubbles traveling upwards, you finally get your arms to push through the current almost missing the dark shadow swimming closer and closer to you, getting larger and larger.

a quick sideways glance in the clear water showed something large with many many rows of teeth out on display, heading toward you and gaining momentum.

a shark.

a... shark.

of all the ways you possibly thought you could go... this was not one of them. it’s almost ironic- the one way you thought you wouldn’t go would end up getting you.

breaking the surface, you gulp your last breath of air- painfully waiting for the horrifying moment when powerful jaws clamp around your body... but it never came. all you felt was a strong current zip past your feet, slightly pulling you along with it.

you’re heart was pounding; adrenaline coursing through your veins, breathing choppy as you whip your head in every which way to see what was going on in the water beneath you. then you saw it.

blood.

just then, the gory image of the crewmate’s body flashed into your mind. there had been another sailor... the mermaid didn’t pull up two bodies- he wasn’t the only predator in the water.

before you could evaluate further, you were pulled by the ankle under the water and into a place where the blood hadn’t seeped yet.

not enough air was sucked in before you submerged, so you frantically searched for ways you could reach the surface again- not even thinking about the now-absent steady grip that dragged you under.

then you felt it. pointed claws lightly tracing up your sides before his handsome face was leveled with yours. if seeing him on land wasn’t good enough, seeing him in his element was nearly heart stopping.

but your lungs were going to collapse before your heart could-

or so you thought.

he flattened his palm around your waist, cupping it gently before he inched his face toward yours, lips slightly ghosting yours, as if asking for permission.

with his toned body pressed against yours, it was hard to think straight, but the most prominent siren going off in your mind was the fact that you were loosing oxygen, and quickly. you found yourself panicking in his grip. was this really the time?

his lips were on yours in less than a second, your struggling becoming more and more apparent- but it was when he got your mouth to open that you realized what he was doing.

A mermaid’s kiss gives you the eternal breath; the ability to breathe under water.

pulling away, he watched as your eyes went wide, the small smirk you’d seen before had appeared once more.

the sensation was otherworldly; though there was a heavy pressure in your chest as the water was filtering in and out of your system, you were breathing underwater.

slowed down by the new density, you lifted your head to look up at the mer- no doubt the most excited and bewildered expression on your face, just to realize the size difference. he was huge- how had you not noticed this on land?

the more human half of his body had to be around the six foot range, his muscular tail roughly adding another ten. the massive figure floating around you was... beautiful.

he had the softest gaze when looking down at you, it nearly shocked you more that the new incredible ability had. he didn’t seem like the type to be full of expressions; it was such a warm and familiar look, something that you hadn’t seen in a long time- and one you typically didn’t see on a stranger’s face, much less a merman you had only just met.

opening your mouth to say something-if you could, that is- his expression changed in a blink, fear now contorted his features.

everything was so fast with him; his arm wrapped around your waist in mere seconds before speedily guiding you through a passage of underwater tunnels that lead to somewhere you assumed to be in the middle of the island- a lush green grotto.

once you resurfaced, you inhaled a breath you didn’t realize you needed; the new air burned your lungs- you almost didn’t want to breathe.

“just keep breathing. it will get easier over time.”

he almost sounded... bored? a complete one 180 to what you had just witnessed in the water.

the mer guided you up to the pool’s edge, lifting you with ease until you sat with only your legs dangling in the water.

outwardly, it stayed quiet for a while. there wasn’t much noise around besides the occasional bird call and the delicate sound of waded water.

your breathing had slightly evened out but you weren’t too confident in your voice, so keeping your mouth shut seemed like the best option.

what now?

tag list: @zhongh-li

[nikkywrites]

soulmate loss prompt

Prompt: “How are they?” -- “The same as before.” He looked up at the woman approaching him. “Their soulmate died, my Lady. They may never make a full recovery.”

*****

Lissy dies when they’re in the middle of a strategy meeting. They’re focused, desperate, because they know that somewhere within their troops (she hadn’t told them where, probably so they couldn’t pull them back) was their love, their life.

Their soulmate.

They’re pushing a figure representing a troop forwards when it happens.

Pain lights in their midsection, hot and furious like someone had placed the sun in their gut. They’re screaming, clawing at themselves as sensation washes away to black.

In the last moment before they fade, they know Lissy is dead.

‘’ ‘’ ‘’

It still aches when they wake again, but duller, empty. A fistful of the night sky after the sun’s implosion gripped within them.

Like a black hole sucking away every little piece and leaving nothing behind, not even empty air.

They don’t notice when their eyes open or that there’s someone sitting at their bedside. Everything is hollow, color sanded away to something grayer, lighter, shallow. They see without processing, and without that, they don’t see anything at all.

It’s all meaningless anyways. Lissy was dead.

“Per?” Their mother speaks softly, hopeful, squeezing her hand over her child’s that they don’t feel.

The effects of a lost soulmate on the other half is largely varied. Some retain their minds enough to slide through the rest of their lives, robotically. Some never step a foot from their bed.

Some lose senses — touch, smell, hearing, sight — or they’re ridden into overdrive, the smell of their other’s cologne heavy in every second, their hand constantly laced in theirs, their hair always shimmering under the sun. Some feel the death with excruciating pain, worse than anything physical, and others feel nothing. Everything falls away in a second to leave them in a horrifying, empty shell.

Per (a shortened version of their name, they don’t go by the full thing anymore) can tell the moment their mother realizes they’re not going to respond. It feels like a weaker second of the moment they realized the truth about Lissy, vision fading out and pain twisting in their body.

They don’t feel the pain now.

“Oh.” Their mother whimpers, hand fluttering to her mouth to physically hold back her sobs.

The sound of their mother’s cry sparks something in Per’s chest, heavy and uncomfortable. She knows, now, that they’re one of the ones who take it hard.

Really, it shouldn’t come as any surprise.

They’d absolutely adored Lissy.

But the shock of learning that her child must live without their soulmate when they were so young — that was a hard blow. She hadn’t even lost her husband yet, both going strong.

Per thinks how Lissy’s death is their fault. If they’d done more to stop her, insisted on knowing which squadron they were enlisted into — maybe she’d be okay.

That’s what they’d like to think at least. In truth, they hadn’t fought her very hard when she told them.

But, than again, they always did have a weakness for her tears. It was something she had to do. Why, they would never understand, but they understood that if they made her stay, it would break her. They didn’t want to be the reason she broke.

Vaguely, distantly, they can feel the physician prodding at them, doing what they can and trying to obey their regent’s order. Fix them. Do whatever you can, they’re your ruler.

It’s some time later — a few seconds, days, they don’t know, time has lost its meaning — when their mother returns, this time with their father at her side.

“How are they?” Their mother inquires, voice light and shaking, fearful of what she already knows.

“The same as before.” The physician looks up at them wearily, apologetic, as she approaches with her arm wrapped toghtly in her husband’s. “Their soulmate died, My Lady. They may never make a full recovery.”

Their mother breaks, turning to find refuge in her soulmate, something Per will never be able to do again, a fact that only breaks her more because she doesn’t know how she would cope without the steadiness of her husband at her side.

“Is there nothing to be done?” Their father rumbles, deep voice rolling through the room like thunder.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” he bows slightly, wondering if he was using the wrong terms now. They were leaders again. “But any more recovering is up to our young leader.”

Per, with the little cognitive thought they still hold, wonder how they’re supposed to recover from this.

They don’t.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Now I want the story where NMJ is half war god and NHS is half fox spirit, thank you so much xD

based on this tumblr post and Lao Nie’s decision to refer to WRH as A-Han in this one ficlet

on ao3

Nie Zonghui had long ago suspected that his Sect Leader was a madman, but he didn’t really know it for certain until the first time he lost the man while on a bodyguarding mission – his first, and a great honor. 

Supposedly.

“It’s all right,” his father said, looking long-suffering, when he reported back in distress. “He’s an adult, our sect leader, and this is a small city with no major threats in the middle of some idiosyncratic festival celebration for some goddess or another. How much damage can he really do before he sobers up?”

Nie Zonghui stared at his father, then turned to his mother, who was also staring at her husband with an expression of sincere incredulity.

“Lots,” she supplied. “Lots and lots and lots, and that’s assuming he doesn’t get himself killed in the meantime. Why would you even say that?”

“He’s our sect leader, have some respect.”

“I respect the boss bull of the herd, too, but it doesn’t mean I let it go wandering around the fields wherever it pleases!” She shook her head, snorting in a manner not entirely unlike a bull herself. “Well, if we’re very lucky, maybe our cousin will knock up a cow while he’s out and about rather than just breaking things. We could use a direct heir already; he’s not getting any younger.”

“We could use him being properly married is what we could use. I don’t understand why he’s so resistant – ah, Zonghui, you’re still here? Go gather some cultivators and go look for him, but don’t kick up any fuss, and worry too much if you can’t find him at once. He’ll be back to business soon enough.”

He was, if by “soon enough” one meant “after nearly ten days” and by “back to business” one meant “still drunk off his ass and waxing rhapsodic about some girl he met and possibly married”.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the sun shines out of her ass,” Nie Zonghui’s father said, his face stormy. “You still could’ve told us where you went. Look what you did to poor Zonghui, he’s been wearing down his heels pacing in worry over you!”

“Oh, heels, yes, did I mention that my gorgeous goddess had amazing legs, too?” their sect leader asked with a soppy smile and stars in his eyes, totally uninterested in any of their petty complaints. “She could kill a man with them – oh, but I would die a happy man between those thighs…!”

“Zonghui, go guard the outside door,” his mother told him. “Also, tell his younger sister that she might need to be sect leader sooner than she’d hoped, because I’m going to murder this fucking –”

-

Nie Zonghui was there, too, when ten months later his new little baby cousin was (metaphorically) ditched on their doorstep.

The entire thing was entirely too dramatic for his taste, and yes, he was aware that as a person who chose to dual wield sabers he had very little room to criticize others for being overly dramatic, however correct he might be.

They had been fighting bandits – barely disguised mercenaries, really, probably paid off by the Wen sect to harass them – in what had turned into a particularly bad situation. Three separate regiments had joined together to take advantage of a terrible thunderstorm and ambush them at all once and them with their backs against a raging river, swollen with rain to the precipice of flooding, with no way to retreat except by fleeing on their sabers, abandoning the common people they were protecting and losing all face. 

The sect leader had been raging on the battlefield, saber in hand, but even he had seen that they would need to shortly choose between death and dishonor; Nie Zonghui, close by his side, had seen how his face was split with a terrible scowl as he wracked his brain for more options.

Then there had been a terrible roar of thunder, and then a flash of light that had blinded them all.

Nie Zonghui had immediately noted the anomality of it, thunder first and lightning second, and wondered it if it was some sort of array working against them, especially when the light had not faded away but grown brighter, causing searing pain in his eyes that made him fall and clutch at his face. But he was a good soldier, loyal and true, and he forced his eyes open to squint into the night, looking to see he did not know what.

Through his sun-blindness, he vaguely thought he could see a silhouette not unlike that of a woman, ten feet tall and radiant as the sun, wearing a dress of nine colors and carrying a guandao in her hand that seemed to reach the clouds, but when he blinked again he saw nothing at all.

Or, well, he did see something: all of their enemies were headless, no matter where on the battlefield they were, their bodies dropping like a loosened string of coins where they had been standing and splattering anyone they were fighting with blood as they gawped at the sudden corpses.

Also, the sect leader was suddenly holding something in his arms when he hadn’t been before.

“What’s that?” Nie Zonghui asked, and the sect leader turned towards him. Nie Zonghui squinted, and suddenly wondered if this entire battle had been a very bad dream. “…is that a baby?”

“Yes,” the sect leader said, grinning broadly. “He’s my son!”

“He’s your what,” Nie Zonghui said.

“My son! I didn’t know about him, of course – apparently he came as something of a surprise to her as well – but anyway she thought that it would be more appropriate for me to raise him, all things considered. A baby doesn’t quite fit her lifestyle. What do you think of ‘Mingjue’ as a courtesy name? Good, yes?”

Nie Zonghui suddenly understood why his parents were always cursing all the time.

-

“I don’t see why I need another wife,” the sect leader said. “I already have a son.”

“Don’t you want to give said son a mother?” Nie Zonghui’s mother asked, her arms crossed. “One that isn’t the Dark Lady of the Nine Heavens, the war goddess you somehow managed to knock up without getting killed?”

“She never specified that she was –”

“Someone needs to be Nie-furen,” the sect leader’s younger sister interrupted, “because I am sick and tired of doing the job, and it’s a little difficult to ask a goddess to do it. So you are going to find yourself another one that’s a little closer to the ground this time, you understand me?”

The sect leader nodded and agreed, which was universally agreed upon to be the only appropriate reaction when his beloved meimei said something in that particular tone of voice.

(He did, after a suitable period of time, state that he wanted to make clear that there was no actual evidence that he had knocked up Jiutian Xuannü and that it was quite plausible that the mother of his heir was nothing more than a rogue cultivator of particular strength and possibility even immortality. If Baosan Sanren had managed it, why not someone else?)

At any rate, they brought him several pictures of women that might fit the bill and who would not be too offended at being asked to be a secondary wife – their sect leader swore up and down that he had performed bows with the mother of his first son, rendering him legitimate, and anyway no one was in the mood to see if the maybe-a-goddess would take offense to someone calling her child a bastard – but none seemed to catch their sect leader’s interest.

“Consider visiting a few brothels,” Nie Zonghui’s great-uncle suggested. “Anything to get you back in the habit of thinking about women of a less divine nature – though of course we’d prefer that she be literate.”

The sect leader scowled and stalked off to go night-hunting instead.

“I don’t like brothels,” he said to Nie Zonghui as they made their way through an especially deserted mountain valley in search of something that had murdered all the local mensfolk in the surrounding villages with especial viciousness. “Surely there’s an option in between.”

Nie Zonghui preferred his sabers to either men or women, but he obediently wracked his brain to think of where people in stories and famous songs found their wives. “Innkeeper’s daughters?” he finally suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the sect leader scoffed, but the very next day, he decided to break his usual habit of staying out in the wild no matter the weather in favor of taking shelter from the encroaching storm in a small inn right at the base of an especially lonesome and nasty-looking cliff.

“We’re always happy to have guests,” the innkeeper said with a somewhat sinister smile – he was pale as a ghost in the guttering candlelight, and his lips looked very red. “My daughter will show you to your rooms.”

The daughter in question was inhumanly beautiful: small and graceful, with a fox’s face and dark hair that fell to her knees.

“Wow,” the sect leader said, staring at her. “You know, I think you could kill me with those nails of yours.”

Nie Zonghui took a look and agreed with the sentiment, seeing that her nails were as long as claws and looked just as sharp, but apparently he and the sect leader had somewhat different interpretations of this sequence of events and plans on how to address it.

Namely, Nie Zonghui pointed out that the lady was obviously some sort of yao or maybe a gui and that she was probably the one seducing the local mensfolk, draining their yang energy and then slaughtering them, and therefore that it was undoubtedly their duty as cultivators – and cultivators of the Nie sect in particular – to put an end to her vile deeds through the swift application of their sabers. Furthermore, he explained, they should take care never to allow themselves to be alone with her in the process, lest she seek to entrance them with her seductive magics and lure them to their undoubtedly violent deaths.

The sect leader’s rebuttal to this line of logic was limited to “I’m the sect leader and if I want to bang the probably-a-ghost, I’m going to bang the ghost and there’s nothing you can do to stop me”.

Amazingly enough, the sect leader did not end up dead the next day – the innkeeper looked just as surprised as Nie Zonghui felt – and instead announced, very happily, that he was planning on marrying her.

“You what,” the innkeeper said, staring at his very smug-looking ‘daughter’. In light of dawn, she was wearing a dress of many colors with a foxfur ruff, and her beauty was almost painful to behold.

“You why,” Nie Zonghui moaned.

“You shut up,” the sect leader told him. “I’ll have you know that my lady here is very clever, literate and well-learned, and she doesn’t at all mind being the second wife. Weren’t you one of the ones on my case about getting a Nie-furen to help managing things back home?”

“I didn’t think we needed to specify that the person in question didn’t murder a lot of people!”

“Isn’t his first wife supposedly a war goddess?” the lady inquired, her clever eyes dancing in amusement.

“Well…yes…”

“Also, all those men deserved it,” she said. After a brief pause, she added, “In my opinion as a totally unrelated observer, of course.”

“See?” the sect leader said, putting his arm around her waist. “No problem. Anyway, she’ll stick to killing bad people from now on, it’s fine.”

The lady smiled. There were many teeth in that smile, and they were very sharp.

“If she doesn’t, I’ll have my first wife discipline her,” the sect leader added and her smile abruptly disappeared.

Nie Zonghui coughed into his hand, but reluctantly admitted that maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as all that.

-

“Huaisang is a lovely name,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, being the best of them at diplomacy when she put her mind to it, although admittedly it was something she did only very rarely. “I think we were just expecting something a little different, that’s all.”

“Possibly something a little more fox related,” Nie Zonghui’s father said.

“Please,” the sect leader’s second wife said. “That would be gauche.”

They looked at her.

“…all of my suggestions along those lines got rejected,” she admitted, and glared at the small shrine in the corner as if it had personally wronged her. In this context, it very well might have.

“Is there anything we should keep an eye out for?” Nie Zonghui said, watching his little cousin carry around his even littler cousin under his arm as if he were a sack of potatoes and not a baby that hadn’t yet had its first month celebration. He would have interfered but for the fact that little Nie Huaisang seemed to be notably more in control of his various limbs than the usual infant. “A tail, for instance?”

“Oh, no,” the second lady said. “Nothing like that.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“It’s very rare for fox children to achieve a grand plot worthy of a tail in their first lifetime.” A pause. “From what I understand, that is.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “…great.”

“You’ll take good care of him when I’m gone, won’t you?” she asked, and when they all looked at her, smiled. “Not for another year or two, don’t worry, but I really can’t stay here that long. Sometimes, a girl’s got urges she has to take care of.”

“The sort of urges where we’d need to hunt down a mysteriously appearing fox yao for having murdered a lot of people?”

“I already promised to stop killing people,” she said sulkily. “Although I do think I made some plausible arguments in favor of a little bit of entirely justified murder in connection with the Jin sect and maybe the Lan sect and, oh, the Jiang sect –”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s not my fault your Great Sects are all headed by men who wrong women.”

“You’re not wrong,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, and Nie Zonghui’s father looked alarmed. “But still, don’t.”

“You’re such spoilsports. But no, as it happens, it’s getting to that time when I need to return home for a while to pay my respects to the older generation.”

“How often does that happen?” Nie Zonghui’s father asked. “Once a century?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t ask a lady her age,” she sniffed. “At any rate, my family home is rather far away and they’re fairly insular, so I’ll probably be gone for at least a decade or so. I’d take the baby with me, but, well, you know, long travel and all. He’s better off sticking with his father.”

“All right,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said. “We understand, and we’ll help take care of him as best we can.”

“I’m glad.”

“We have only one thing to ask of you in return.”

Their second lady arched her delicate eyebrows.

Nie Zonghui’s mother smiled. “You be the one to tell your sister-in-law that you’re leaving your post.”

“…you know, on second thought, maybe I can push my departure out a few more years…”

-

“Before you say anything, I want to be clear right now that I don’t need a third wife,” their sect leader said. “I’m fine.”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, not unaffectionately. “You’re not allowed a third wife.”

“And therefore – wait, really?” he asked, a little skeptically. “You’re not concerned about me?”

“Oh, we’re very concerned about you,” Nie Zonghui’s father said. “But not in that specific respect. Some celibacy would probably be good for you, at least in terms of increasing your life expectancy.”

“…my sister is lying in wait with a cleaver to make sure she doesn’t have to take on the duties of Nie-furen again, isn’t she.”

“I’m not discounting that possibility, but don’t worry about it, it’s fine, we’ll talk to her. The Lan sect haven’t had a proper hostess in years either, we can just say we’re following their example.”

The sect leader eyed his cousins beadily. “They haven’t had a proper sect leader in years, either.”

“No, you don’t say,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said dryly. “What a coincidence -”

“You have two fine sons,” Nie Zonghui’s father said hastily. “That seems like enough, really.”

“You don’t think they need a mother…?”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui interjected politely. “While we admit that it may be within your capabilities to be able to find a mother willing to deal with one step-son who has been waiving around a saber taller than he is since he learned to walk and has a penchant for the unyielding, unmerciful and very violent application of the norms of divine justice –”

Nie Mingjue’s presence bolstered the spirit of good men, while his gaze seemed to make evildoers itch. He was the most earnestly good person Nie Zonghui had ever met, and also one of the most stiff and unbending in respect to what he believed should and should not be done.

Unfortunate that his standards didn’t seem to match up to the needs of either human law or diplomacy…

“– as well as another who can scheme circles around anyone and persuade them of anything as long as he puts his mind to it and only doesn’t because he’s too busy lazing around in the sun to bother –”

Nie Huaisang liked to file his nails down to something that looked quite normal, but they grew sharp quickly enough if he wasn’t paying attention, and he had a penchant for pranks. There was nothing quite as unnerving as running into a sudden and unexpected ambush and then suddenly hearing the shrill peal of a fox’s laughter, hidden behind a scholarly fan.

“– but all things considered, we’d really rather you - didn’t.”

His mother and father nodded fervently.

“Good,” the sect leader said, though he still looked suspiciously at them as if he thought they were hiding something. “Good. As long as we’re agreed.”

-

Nie Zonghui walked in on his sect leader pinning the Wen sect leader to a wall, murmuring something in a low voice with a very particular smile on his face, and then he turned around and walked right back out again.

The sect leader of the Wen sect might appear beautiful and young, but he was at least a generation older than the Nie sect leader. Not that that had stopped the latter from relying on their respective positions to refer to him in startlingly intimate terms – my dear A-Han, the sect leader would say with a touch of wickedness that reminded one of his second son and the tiger gall bravery of his first – and while at first the Wen sect leader had taken it as a challenge to his authority, an act of brash insolence, it appeared that they had progressed beyond that.

That the Wen sect leader already had three wives and two concubines apparently didn’t present any obstacles either – except perhaps in what those poor women might have to endure from their husband when he returned from the wretched teasing he was enduring. Nie Zonghui felt a bit of pity for them.

Shortly thereafter, he felt a bit of pity for himself. The Wen sect had long dreamed of dominating the cultivation world and sought to increase their influence with the other sects through underhanded means, with the Nie sect opposing them at every turn. Even if war was not on the immediate horizon, the wise could smell its distant approach in the air - the best estimates said that it would take another decade or two to arrive, unless the Nie sect leader took an especially hard stance.

It appeared, however, that the Nie sect leader had chosen to take a different sort of…hard stance.

Ugh.

Maybe Nie Zonghui could conspire to throw his sect leader into a cage with a live tiger in heat next time he felt in the mood. It’d probably be less dangerous.

Nie Zonghui had assumed that the first person to talk to him about what he had seen would be his sect leader, even if it was only to remind him of the general rule that the sect leader had ultimate power and therefore could exercise his own bad judgment in deciding to fuck whoever he wished, but instead it was the Wen sect leader that found him later that afternoon.

A flush had yet to fully fade from his cheeks, and Nie Zonghui raised his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking directly at the man in front of him. 

He did not want to know. Others might, given that no one had ever complained about the looks of either party, but he himself had realized long ago that he had no interest in matters of the flesh under any circumstances; he was very content with that conclusion.

“Is there some service this one can provide to Sect Leader Wen?” he asked politely, and it was only when the sect leader flushed again that he realized belatedly that his words could be misconstrued. After all, his own sect leader had probably already made a similar offer regarding the provision of services…

“Your sect leader has a sister, doesn’t he?” the other man asked, his voice tight and his hands in even tighter fists. “I’m not misremembering that?”

“He does,” Nie Zonghui responded honestly, and not without sympathy for the Wen sect leader’s position. He was given to understand that making certain belated discoveries regarding one’s own preferences could be highly disconcerting, particularly later in life. “But she’s rather different in kind than what you may be thinking, so it won’t work out that way. It wouldn’t work even if she wasn’t already married, which she is.”

After a moment of thought, he added, “Also, consider your predecessors.”

The Wen sect leader’s eyes narrowed.

-

Really, it was the sect leader’s own damn fault that he got himself murdered.

[elliestormfound]

Demon Jaskier Demon Jaskier Demon Jaskier Dem-

Dear anon, thank you for your ask! I’m not sure if you just wanted to share your excitement about the thought of demon!Jaskier, but I accidentally wrote a fic  about it... :D

this is a bit sexier than my usual fics, but nothing too graphic, but definitely +18

CW: talk about sex and a bit of sexy kissing time in the end

read on ao3

---------

“Tell me your name,” Geralt demanded in a dangerously calm voice. 

The witcher could smell a whiff of burnt flesh from where his silver blade pressed against the delicate skin of the demon’s throat, hard enough to dent but not pierce it. He knew the true name of the demon could have power over them but he was under no illusion that the demon would offer it that easily. 

And the fucking demon had the audacity to smile at him.

Geralt increased the pressure of his sword tip slightly.

“Whoa, careful,” the demon said, “can’t answer your question if you cut my throat.”

But Geralt did not move, eyeing the demon closely. Two twisted horns protruded from tousled brown hair and uncannily intensive blue eyes looked back at him. The demon had some kind of otherworldly...beauty to him. But otherwise he looked almost human. 

“You can call me...” the demon began, looking away from the witcher, eyes searching the ground. A moment later he smiled back up at Geralt, “Jaskier.”

A single eyebrow raised, the witcher snorted, “buttercup?” With this sort of fake name Geralt would not be able to banish this cheeky bastard.

The demon - Jaskier - just grinned at him. Geralt nearly rolled his eyes, but he schooled his face back into a blank expression. 

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth, remembering why he was here: not to chat with the demon about his choice of fake names but to find out what he had done to the village women and how to reverse it before sending him back to whatever hell dimension he had crawled out of. 

“What have you done to the women?”

Jaskier grinned lewdly and winked.

“You are sleeping with those women,” Geralt growled, no more confirmation needed, “did you also impregnate them?”

The witcher knew that some demons did that. Their offspring from human women could help anchor them to this realm, giving them easy access. 

“Imp...of course I’m not impregnating them,” Jaskier said indignantly, and as an afterthought adding a moment later, “I am not ready to be a father.”

Geralt growled, “don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not joking,” Jaskier said, holding up his hands, “the women didn’t summon me to impregnate them.”

“The women summoned you?” Geralt asked, unbelieving, searching Jaskier’s face for any signs of lying and finding none. But that didn’t mean much with a demon.

“Of course they summoned me,” Jaskier said, “why else would I be in this tiny village in the middle of nowhere?”

Good point, Geralt thought but didn’t say it out loud. 

Instead he asked, “why did they summon you?” 

The demon tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into coughing. “I’ll tell you, when you remove this from my throat,” he said, pointing at the sword, “talking like this is rather unpleasant.”

“You seem to talk just fine,” Geralt mumbled, but moved the blade a few centimeters away, still close enough to keep the demon in place, but not touching his skin anymore.

Jaskier exhaled and smiled at Geralt. 

Carefully rubbing his burned skin at the throat, he said, “thank you, my dear witcher.”

Geralt growled, “now tell me why the women summoned you.” He wanted to see where this was going. 

But of course did the demon not answer him directly. How he hated demons. 

“Do you know what kind of demon I am, witcher?” he asked in a velvety soft voice. 

Geralt looked him up and down.

“The alderman said you are a demon of adultery and that you make the women frigid.”

The demon laughed hollowly. “Yes, of course the old fucker said that,” Jaskier replied after a moment, sounding amused and pissed off at the same time.

“You can probably find me in the bestiary of yours,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Geralt, “under L: ‘demon of lust’.” 

Geralt just lifted a brow, “yes, I know about your funny little bestiaries,” Jaskier went on,” you aren’t the first witcher I’ve met.” His unearthly blue eyes sparkled and he winked at Geralt. The fucker actually winked at him.

“Come to the point,” he growled, silver sword still pointed at his throat.

Jaskier laughed again as if they were having a casual chat amongst friends and not an interrogation at swordpoint. And of course - the demon did not ‘come to the point’. The bastard really liked to hear himself talk.

“One of the women found a text with instructions how to summon me and she and a few of her friends made a nice little ritual and poof - here I was. They snatched me right out of a delightful little orgy in Novigrad...”

Geralt lifted his brows and tilted his head slightly.

“These lovely women, my dear witcher, summoned me,” Jaskier said, lifting his index finger in emphasis, “because their useless husbands do not satisfy them.”

Geralt huffed and asked with a smirk, “so that is what they wanted you to do? Satisfy them?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, smiling, “they wanted me to fuck them silly, introduce them to the wonders of the orgasm. And that is what I did.” He had a dreamy look on his face, eyes glazed over as if he was thinking back to said fucking. 

After a moment he shook his head, focusing on Geralt again and continued, “I also showed them how to…” he wiggled his fingers, “pleasure themselves. I don’t plan to stay longer than strictly necessary and didn’t want to leave them….wanting.”

“So you fucked them and showed them how to...masturbate?” This was getting more and more ridiculous.

“Yes, most of these poor women never really touched themself,” Jaskier said, shaking his head, and with audible anger in his voice he continued, “this bastard of a priest told them that their hands would fall off if they touched their own body in that way, that only their husbands were allowed to touch them ’down there’.” The demon pointed towards his own crotch as he said the last two words. 

“The alderman - do you know what his wife told me?” the demon went on, head tilted and watching Geralt closely, “she told me that when her husband fucks her, it feels like he is just using her body to pleasure himself and that he is convinced that women are simply not able to get any pleasure from sex.” Jaskier shook his head.

“But don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “their husbands are not all bad. A bit more marital communication, actually listening to their wives and chasing away the dreadful priest and most of them can be happy in bed together…”

“And what did those women give you for...your services?” Geralt asked a moment later. 

The demon furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Demons usually demand payment from their… victims,” Geralt clarified. 

The demon put his hands on his hips and opened his mouth, blinking a few times before he said, “victims? They summoned me, if anyone is the victim here, it’s me!”

Geralt huffed and said, “did you get their souls? Ten years of their lives? Their firstborn?”

Jaskier shook his head. “Why would I want that? I got amazing sex and I got to show them how to satiate their own lust. There is nothing more to want.”

They both whipped their heads to the side as they heard hurried footsteps rushing through the forest towards them. A moment later they saw the figure of a woman and a moment after they heard her screaming, “stop, master witcher, don’t hurt him.”

Geralt still pointed the sword at Jaskier’s throat when the woman came to a halt next to them, breathing heavily. Three deep in- and exhales later she raised herself to her full height, looked Geralt firm in the eyes and said, “please don’t kill him, he did not hurt any of us.” The woman laid her hand on Jaskier’s shoulder who grinned at her.

“Hello, Kasia,” he said in his velvety voice and the woman smiled back brightly.

Geralt coughed to get their attention back. 

“Are you one of the women from the village?” he asked, pointing in the general direction of said village. 

“Yes!” she replied, still a bit out of breath, “I sneaked out of the house as I heard Lukas, my husband, talk to our neighbor about hiring a witcher to kill him.”

She tried to squeeze herself between Jaskier and the blade, but the demon carefully grabbed her arm to stop her. 

“Do you believe me now, witcher?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt shook his head, more to clear his thoughts and school his features back to an unreadable expression than to deny what Jaskier had asked. 

“He did not hurt you?” Geralt asked the woman, “did not do anything against your will?” 

“No,” Kasia said urgently, “he only did what we asked him to do and it was really...hmmm….nice,” she ended in a dreamy voice. 

Geralt watched Jaskier closely for another moment longer before he slowly lowered his sword and took a few steps back. Kasia exhaled loudly and hugged the demon. Jaskier patted her on the back and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle.

“Okay, I will head back before Lukas will notice I’m gone,” she said. With a bow to Geralt she made her way back towards the village. 

Geralt sheathed his sword and he and Jaskier stood silent for a while, eyeing each other.

Geralt was the first one to break the silence.

“Is that your true form?” he asked. A lot of demons were able to shapeshift and it would explain why the few men who had a glimpse of the demon had given him wildly contradictory descriptions.

“I can take many forms,” Jaskier said, stretching his arms wide, “I shape my appearance to the pleasure of my partner. I can be a man, a woman and anyone in between or outside of that…”

He was smiling softly at Geralt and continued, “for some of the women here it was quite unexpected to find out that they weren’t actually interested in men...And one woman wasn’t interested in sex at all. We had a lovely evening, drank a bottle of wine and played gwent.”

“So this is the form your last partner desired? This Kasia?” Geralt asked after a moment, still eyeing him closely. Now that he was standing a few steps away he had a better view of the demon. His pale cheeks were flushed a shade of pink that matched his plush lips. And he either had the darkest lashes Geralt had ever seen or he used kohl to highlight their unearthly blue color. His black shirt clung tightly to his broad shoulders, dark chest hair peeking out the loosely laced front and his high waisted trousers accentuating his slim waist.

“No, darling,” Jaskier said, licking his lips and taking a step towards him, “this form is all for you.” He was moving his hands up and down his body in a presentation. Geralt didn’t know why his heartbeat suddenly picked up and his hands got clammy. 

“You’ve got good taste, I must admit,” Jaskier said, slowly turning around and swinging his hips. 

“What…?” Geralt asked. He had a hard time keeping his pupils from dilating. As Jaskier turned Geralt could see that the high waisted trousers not only accentuated his waist but also his round…

“Are you enjoying what you see, witcher?” Jaskier purred.

Geralt coughed and blinked before regaining his composure. Jaskier just smirked and took another step towards the witcher.

“So the alderman will not pay you,” Jaskier said suddenly. Geralt hummed in confirmation. Jaskier licked his lips and Geralt’s eyes followed the tip of his tongue. 

He shook his head and growled but made no attempt to step away, “are you using your powers on me?” 

Jaskier shook his head, “that is not how I work, darling, I cannot force anyone to do anything they don’t want to.”

A heartbeat later he stood only a breath away from Geralt.

“What I can do is offer something you desire. But it is completely your choice if you take it.”

“And,” Geralt asked in a hoarse voice, “what do you want?”

Jaskier smiled, looking hungrily at Geralt’s lips.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wouldn't want you.”

The demon lifted his hand slowly, stroked a rogue strand of his white hair behind Geralt’s ear and said softly, “so what do you say?”

Geralt swallowed, still not moving away. He could feel Jaskier’s breath on his face, so close was the demon. 

“You could have overpowered me at any time, couldn’t you?” Geralt asked, “even with my silver sword at your throat?”

Jaskier just smiled and nodded.

“Why didn’t you?” Geralt asked, breathless.

“Because you like to be in control, don’t you?” the demon purred, his index finger stroking down Geralt’s chest.

And with a motion too quick even for Geralt, Jaskier had stepped behind him, captured both of his wrists in his surprisingly strong hands and pushed Geralt's chest against a tree, holding him securely in place. Geralt wiggled around but found that the demon was surprisingly strong. But somehow he wasn’t afraid. 

Jaskier’s grip was firm but gentle.

“But sometimes,” he whispered in Geralt’s ear, tickling the sensitive skin there with his hot breath, “it is nice to let go and let someone else take over, isn’t it?”

Geralt shuddered and leaned back into Jaskier’s warm body. 

“So you want to play with me, witcher?” Jaskier breathed against his ear.

“Yes,” Geralt said before he felt hot lips pressed to his neck kissing a trail from his ear to his shoulder.

A heartbeat later his breath caught in his throat as he felt Jaskier open his mouth to press sharp canines against the soft skin of his neck, hard enough to dent but not pierce it and he groaned. 

-------

Tag list:

@jaskierswolf @geraskier-trashh @hailhailsatan @panerato @marvagon @x-anxious @moonysourenza @kaktusbambus @wildonewrites @dapandapod

let me know if I should put you on or remove you from my tag list :)

(I have the feeling I forgot someone who had asked me to be tagged, if that is so, please let me know that I can add you again, sorry!)

[cristalconnors]

TOP 20 SONGS OF 2020

20. “BELOW THE CLAVICLE”- EARTHEATER

“The meaning hasn’t come up yet. It’s still under the surface below the clavicle.”

It isn’t just Alexandra Drewchin’s ear splitting soprano when she hits that impossibly high B, practically shrieking out the “cle” syllable of clavicle, though that’s undoubtedly when I first knew that Eartheater’s avant folk was for me- it’s also the cinematic, lush strings, both bowed and plucked (is that acoustic guitar or harp? I genuinely can’t tell), deepening and complicating the sonic texture of Drewchin’s study of parsing through emotions you aren’t ready to make sense of yet. 

19. “PUSSY TALK”- CITY GIRLS, FT. DOJA CAT

“This pussy so ghetto, this pussy speak ebonics”

“WAP”’s funnier, classless Irish twin, though it’s important to note “Pussy Talk” came first. Yung Miami and JT enlist Doja Cat to expound on everything their pussies deserve and will absolutely settle for nothing less than. And why should they when they’re spitting out verses this inspiredly hilarious with such confidence and flow? 

18. “LICK IN HEAVEN”- JESSY LANZA

“Once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning...”

Jessy Lanza is talking about losing your cool, letting your emotions get the best of you and lashing out instead of letting cooler heads prevail, but when that earworm of a chorus hits- “once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning” - I can’t stop spinning. I’m that woman on the single art, a wine mom lost in the delirium of the dance floor and in Lanza’s hypnotic, fragmented rhythms.  

17. “GASLIGHTER”- THE CHICKS

“Boy, you know exactly what you did on my boat!”

“Gaslighter” finds Natalie Ames and her Chicks at their most simultaneously ruthless and ebullient, ripping Ames’s ex-husband Adrian Pasdar a new asshole and ratcheting up the righteous anger of “Goodbye Earl” tenfold, channeling it into a glorious wall of sound in what might be their most rousing, emotionally resonant chorus in their storied career. 

16. “HANNAH SUN”- LOMELDA

“Hannah do no harm...”

While “Hannah Sun” begins as an exquisitely observed rumination on grappling with long-distance, pining for someone who’s a continent away, it gradually becomes clear that Hannah Read blames herself for putting the distance between her and the subject of her longing, and that the distance isn’t strictly literal. Skittering synths (or is that distorted flute?) complicate and enrich the texture of the song, allowing it to build organically and stunningly towards a heartbreaking plea to herself- “Hannah, do no harm.”

15. “FIRE”- WAXAHATCHEE

“And when I turn back around will you drain me back out? Will you let me believe that I broke through?”

When I’d drive back and forth between Dallas and Austin over and over again when I was in college, I’d often get off I-35 past Waco and take the back roads through towns I’d never heard of, the sun setting spectacularly behind the titular hills of Hill Country that were beginning to roll out in earnest. I think about that a lot when listening to “Fire,” a song dripping in rural Americana that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by a road trip. We’ve probably all been Katie Crutchfield as she crossed the bridge into West Memphis- alone in the car, awed by the simple beauty of the American countryside, making speeches to ourselves about our past mistakes and figuring out a way forward. 

14. “3AM”- HAIM

“On the screen and in my jeans, just make me feel good.”

On an album full of genre departures and decidedly darker themes than we’ve typically heard from Haim in their near decade of syncopated bubblegum pop rock, “3AM” stands out not only as their most effective stab at pastiche, slipping into the trappings of contemporary R&B with shocking ease and gusto, but also as their most unabashedly fun track in their entire oeuvre. “I think you can hear the amount of joy and laughs we had making this song” Alana Haim tells Apple Music, and you absolutely can.

13. “QADIR”- NICK HAKIM

“We’re sinking down a hole without thinking about our loved ones who might be shrinking...”

I often wonder if I’m putting enough effort into maintaining my relationships with friends I don’t see regularly, who live several time zones away, living their own lives while I live mine. When the thought of sustaining simple correspondence becomes overwhelming, it’s easy for months to go by before you realize you haven’t spoken to one of your closest friends. “QADIR” plays less like a eulogy for a friend gone too soon (though of course it is that) than a plea to the listener to put in the work. It’s worth it. You never know when it’ll be too late.

12. “LEVITATING”- DUA LIPA

“Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes shining just the way we are.”

Just a few bars of that delightfully bouncy, extra-terrestrial beat is enough to launch me into space. It’s so refreshing to hear a song that remembers that pop is supposed to be joyful and is best when it’s a bit silly. When discussing this track with Apple Music, Dua Lipa cites Austin Powers as inspiration, elaborating that “if I do a video for this, Mike Meyers has to be in it.” Can’t you just see them together, performing a farcical pas de deux of seduction like the spiritual successor to “Beautiful Stranger?”

11. “RIQUIQUI”- ARCA

“Love in the face of fear! Fear in the face of God!”

Arca’s made a career of harnessing chaos and somehow making sense of it. On an album that finds her embracing more traditional, accessible song structures, “Riquiqui” is a reminder that even when working within an AB structure, she’s still breaking rules left and right and having a blast doing it. She’s also never sounded so ferociously empowered in either her femininity or in her Venezuelan identity, rattling off local colloquialisms with affection and verve without a second thought as to who’s going to understand it. 

10. “FANTASY”- AGAINST ALL LOGIC

“I think about you all the time...”

Or, the musical embodiment of this gif:

When Nicolas Jaar’s tormented synths and crunching beats give way to Beyoncé’s unmistakable alto, it is indeed quite the shock. But should it be? Even if 2017-2019 finds him ditching the dancefloor in favor of more severe, unforgiving soundscapes, his already varied career has shown us nothing’s off limits to him. So why not reinvent Beyoncé’s iconic “Baby Boy” into an industrial, vaguely sinister certified bop that arguably surpasses the original?

9. “PEOPLE, I’VE BEEN SAD”- CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS

“If you disappear, then I’m disappearing, too.”

“People, I’ve been sad” plays out with the vulnerability and intimacy of a tumblr text post you put out in the middle of the night, only to hastily delete later when it gets no notes. It forgoes flowery language in favor of just getting to the point. “I’ve been sad.” Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier blows up this deceptively simple sentiment with richly layered textures and a big screen gloss not to offer any remedies but instead to offer solidarity. We’re all in this hell together.

8. “DESCRIBE”- PERFUME GENIUS

“Can you just find him for me?”

Mike Hadreas has never sounded so hopeless. Utilizing harsh, rattling guitar that would make Kevin Shields swoon, he conveys the experience of being so estranged from happiness and joy that you need to rely on others to describe the sensation to you. But how, when exploring darker textures than he ever has before, does he make despondency sound so divine? 

7. “4 AMERICAN DOLLARS”- U.S. GIRLS

“No matter how much you get to have, you will still die and that’s the only thing.”

Meg Remy picks up where she left off on “4 American Dollars,” reviving the subversive pastiche she mastered on In a Poem Unlimited, this time harnessing the power of funk to dismantle the fallacies we’re taught about the virtues of capitalism. Heavy stuff, but Remy makes it less didactic than joyous, ensuring the listener will be singing “I don’t believe in pennies and nickels and dimes and dollars and pesos and pounds and rupees and yen and rubles” until they start to wonder if maybe they shouldn’t, either. 

6. “STUPID LOVE”- LADY GAGA

“I freak out, I freak out, I freak out, I freak out!”

Due to a healthy spirit of contrarianism mixed with a touch of internalized homophobia and genuine bafflement at her universal appeal and praise, I was a proud Lady Gaga hater for as long as she’d been a cultural entity. I just didn’t get her at all and loved that about myself. Annoying, I know. 2020 was the year I was finally ready to let that all go. Just before the world fell apart in March, I was out at Flaming Saddles (RIP) with friends the night this song came out and by the sixteenth time it played, I understood why it was inducing such hysteria. This was a cultural shift. After a frustrating near-decade of Gaga subverting expectations so thoroughly that she was actively working against her strengths and sabotaging her cultural ubiquity in the process, coupled with the most frightening era of political upheaval in our lifetimes, she was finally ready to save us and be Lady Gaga again. Booming synth, drag sensibilities, absurd thematic conceits- all was right in the world. For the first time in a long time, people had something to be hopeful about, and as I danced that night, I felt that hope, too. 

5. “SHELLFISH MADEMOISELLE”- RÓISÍN MURPHY

“How dare you sentence me to a lifetime without dancing?”

As soon as that bass starts (the funkiest bassline in the history of music?) it’s like Róisín Murphy’s snake charming oboe, coaxing even the most stalwart curmudgeon onto the dancefloor and keeping them there, dancing frantically and involuntarily like the citizens of Strasbourg in 1518, trying their best to keep up with Murphy who isn’t even breaking a sweat, commanding the masses with a sultry remove, beckoning you closer, pulling you inexorably deeper into the mass of gyrating bodies and whispering in your ear “come and have a dance with yer mum.”

4. “PARTY 4 U”- CHARLI XCX

“I only threw this party for you...”

As PC Music / Bubblegum Bass / whatever you want to call it enters its second decade, Charli XCX proves not only that there’s still new textures to explore within it, but also that no one can exploit its artifice to get down to emotional truths like she can. How can she make something this slick sound so vulnerable? “I only threw this party for you” she croons over and over again over glorious syncopated synths that build exquisitely, reaching their climax only to immediately fall away, until it’s just her and her trusty autotune, pleading with the subject of the song to just come to the damn party. But they won’t, of course. They never do, do they?

3. “WAP”- CARDI B, FT. MEGAN THEE STALLION

“I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat!”

Sometimes you just immediately know you’re living through a significant cultural moment. No, not COVID. I’m talking about the experience of hearing Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s instant classic “WAP” for the first time, a titanic meeting of the minds that finds both of them at the apex of their cultural influence and at their most undeniable. Can the argument be made that these two aren’t the two best rappers in the game right now? How could you hear this inspiredly filthy sex positive juggernaut, where Cardi and Megan are trading the sickest verses of their careers, and not think these two deserve the world? 

2. “KEROSENE!”- YVES TUMOR

“I can be your baby in real life, sugar. I can live in your dreams.”

If the 2010′s were all about the pop-ification of all music, trading in live instrumentation in favor of polished synths, 2020 forcefully announced the return of the electric guitar when Yves Tumor and Diana Gordon’s back and forth lustfully submissive declarations of desire suddenly gave way to that nasty guitar rip lifted from Uriah Heep’s “Weep in Silence” to announce yet another cultural shift in a year chock full of them- rock and roll was, indeed, here to stay. 

1. “I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME”- FIONA APPLE

“I move with the trees in the breeze, I know that time is elastic.”

We live and we learn. Years spent soul searching and on self-discovery shape us into better, smarter people, progressively knowing and understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more clearly, but Fiona Apple knows that none of that can quell the ferocious desire to be loved by someone. By anyone. By you, whoever that is. We can know that time is elastic and that when we’re gone all our particles will disband and disperse and then we’ll be back in the pulse, and we can know that none of this stuff actually matters, but still- we want, we want, we want. 

[tokoyamisstuff]

Betrothred Ch. 1 - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 1: Bride

Summary: After making your choice, there’s no going back from it.

Warnings: Blood, Murder, Threats, Angst

Words: 2390

Story Masterlist

A/N: This first chapter is kinda angsty but it gets better, I swear!

Today is the day.

Even though only mere hours would separate you from becoming a part of the Zoldyck family, the whole situation still felt very much surreal to you.

To be invited and welcomned on their property was one of the greatest honor of all, but to be considered a fitting consort for their eldest son was just unimaginable.

One of the butlers was harshly braiding your hair, trying to get it in a position you’d usually never wear. Another one would be working on your make-up, something you’d usually find unnecessary considering your profession.

Why would an assassin care for their physical appearance anyway? Well, all of this was probably part of some kind of tradition or ritual.

No matter how roughly they were tearing and tugging on you, trying to modify your body until you wouldn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror, you’d take their invasion of your personal space in a calm demeanour.

Because that’s how you were raised.

Obey, endure and function.

Your bloodline had a long history of both feared and powerful Head Hunters, for decaded being third place of all known assassin families - with the Zoldycks claiming the indisputable top.

Torture, poison and death were your fellow comrades throughout your whole youth, even though there were limits:

Only the most promising children would be chosen to become Head Hunters. The others were free to choose their way as they wished.

Your upbringing was strict, yet loving. And it was forbidden to break your free will. Serving the family should be an honor, not a burden.

Other than the Zoldycks, your family believed that emotions could become the surce of strenght.

There were other moral standarts: Murdering children was off limits, for example.

And your ‘carreer’ was just about to begin when it took this unexcpected turn.

You had met your soon-to-be-husband after finally completing your formal training, now allowed to take on the Hunter Exam.

Already accustomed to the basics of Nen, it was easy for you to see behind the disguise of the man calling himself Gittarackur.

At first being rather passive, even as the two of you completed the Trick Tower together, he soon stated to be impressed by your exceptional strenght and capability.

Truth be spoken, you always thought yourself to be mediocre at best. So that sudden compliment hit you off guard, especially after he casually revealed his true identity and heritage.

Immediately after the exam, you gathered all of your courage and asked Illumi to teach you in the ways of a true assassin - so you could grow and become the next leader of your clan.

And much to your surprise, he instantly accepted, not even wanting anything in return. You were useful to him and his missions, he stated. That would be enough.

After that, it wouldn’t take long until the stoic man announced that you’d make for a formidable spouse, asking your father for your hand in marriage.

Even though you weren’t quite sure if you made the right decision, his proposal alone the greatest honor for your kin and you just couldn’t disappoint them.

Illumi had always been very reserved about anything else than his work, making you doubt he was even capable of feeling anything else than the joy of killing.

Yet he was a reliable ally, both smart and strong - and admittedly very good looking. You were convinced that he wasn’t the monster most people saw in him: He had just been molded to be the perfect assassin.

And because of that, he would make for a good husband as well.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful?” The voice behind your back was Kikyo, dismissing the servants with a single gesture of her hand.

You wanted to stand up and make a curtsy as a sign of respect, yet felt her palms on your shoulder, pressing down so you’d remain in your seat.

Looking in the mirror, you saw your mother in law behind your back, her visor making it hard to read her intentions. Her aura gave it all away, though.

Illumi’s proposal surprised her just as much as yourself, and she obviously wasn’t content with it. You actually doubtet that she’d ever consider someone good enough to marry one of her children, so you didn’t take it personal.

The pressure would only help you grow.

“You’ll become the perfect partner for my son, won’t you?” Her fingernails dug deep into your flesh, but you didn’t even flinch. “Of course, honorable mother.”

“Good.” Apparently your answer didn’t calm her fury, since her fingermails only turned in the wounds they dug into your flesh. She only stopped when she realized that the blood was staining your clothes.

“I don’t expect any less from a lowlife like you are.” Seems like you should stay alerted around her. But that was no surprise, and it didn’t scare you either.

You knew what you were getting yourself into. And it was worth it.

To prove your worth, you’d go even beyond your limits.

“It’s time, Y/N.”

Up until now, you hid your emotions very well - but hearing that familiar, monotonous voice, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Illumi!” Kikyo shreeked out, “You’re not allowed to see Y/N before the ceremony!”

“Unnecessary superstition” he retorted quite unaffected, approaching both of you.

Kikyo stepped back, revealing you fully. He took in your appearance, rather observing than anything else. “Is that your blood?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

He grabbed your ankle, forcing you up from his seat to look at him. “How did this happen?”

You didn’t dare answering. It was not your place to drive a wedge between your fianceé and his mother, even though you highly doubtet that he would care at all.

Illumi turned around, his blank stare now directed to his mother, who defendingly put her hands into the air. “I-I was just advising-”

“No need for that” he cut her off. “I can take care of any business concerning my partner myself.”

Now she got all hysterical again, just as you got to know her. “B-but-”

“Never touch them again, or I’ll kill you.”

Kikyo relented, then having a mental breakdown for excactly 5 seconds, screams and cries filling the room.

The air had gotten incredibly thick, the unsettling atmosphere making you wish to just disappear right on spot.

“Oh, Illumi!” she exclaimed, sounding jubilant all of a sudden. “Being so cruel to your own mother...You’ve grown so much!”

What a weird fucking family.

“Show me your arms” Illumi demanded after he told his mother to be left alone, yet you flinched away.

“I apologize for having provoked an argument” you spoke all humble, “My wounds are of no concern. Don’t worry.”

“Starting today, I’m expected to take care of you. So you should obey and let me patch this up.” You sat down with a small sigh, exposing your shoulders and presenting them to him. “It would be a shame if you get scarred by something else than a honorable battle.”

Eventually you found time to appreciate your fianceé’s exterior: Illumi had his hair braided back, wearing a fully black suit with a white shirt and a bow tie.

It was the first time you ever saw him in formal wear, and it actually suited him very well.

“You’re very handsome, Lumi” you absentmindedly blurted out as you watched him bandage the wounds on your shoulder.

And Illumi would acknowledge your looks in his own way. “Your appearance is very adequate for this occasion as well.” That counts as a compliment, right?

“Glad you like it” you smiled, “But sadly the stains won’t get out. And we have no time to clean off the blood.”

Illumi swiftly helped you on your feet once again, vaguely explaining “Don’t worry. It won’t stand out after the ceremony.”

You linked arms with Illumi, who led you to the main room as you still pondered about what exactly he meant with that statement.

The celebration would be a small one, not even your own family being allowed to attend. When you entered the generously decorated hall, there were only Silva, Kikyo, Zeno, Kalluto and Milluki.

“Welcome, Y/N” Silva spoke in a way more welcoming tone than his wife earlier. You bend your head as you stood in front of the table where the family had gathered, greeting them politely before making your way to the altar.

Zeno would be the one to confirm the bond. You were actually glad that it was him, because he had already grown fond of you.

“Are you ready?” the old man wondered, noticing how you were trembling.

“Far away from it” you chuckled without doubt, adding “But I’m prepared to do anything.”

“That’s a honest but brave answer, young adult” he paised in an attempt to calm you down, then arranging both you and Illumi to stand facing each other. “And just what you need to become part of this family.”

One sign of Silva and the door swung open, a Bunch of butlers dragging in a terribly inured human.

Much to your shock, the person was not dead - not yet.

“So it begins” Illumi whispered as he saw the man wince in pain, begging for his life, and he almost cracked something like a smile.

“Wha-” Before you could even comprehend what was happening, it hit you like a brick: You were supposed to finish that person off.

That was what Illumi meant. A few blood stains on your wedding dress really were your smallest problem considering what awaited you from this day on.

“That man invaded our property with the intend to kill us” Silva explained to you, his stare bringing across his demands. “You’ll prove your loyality through ending his life.”

At that moment, you knew that you’ll disappoint them - because you were frozen in place.

You had taken and destroyed so many lives, yet always had the full information on them and could decide through your own standarts. But now?

What if it was a lie? You didn’t know that man, why he was here or if he deserved death.

Maybe he had family or came for revenge. Goddamn it, he could even be a reporter who just sneaked in to snatch a photo! Or they had presented you a completely innocent man, seeing if you were the undoubting slave they wanted to have!

Madness runs in this family, apparently.

It was a test. You knew that much. Quite fitting for someone from a family which was only rank three, known for their rather humane way of working.

“No Nen allowed” Kikyo completed the task, “No guns or similar either. You may only use your bare hands or close combat weapons.”

Yes. It was way harder, imprinting your soul to kill that direct way. How you’d deal with the situation was crucial for the outcome of this wedding. 

But were you really ready to throw all of your morality abroad just for your own sake?

“We won’t kill you if you decline the order” Illumi cut off your brooding. Was it out of sympathy? You had no idea. “You’ll be considered unfitting, but you are free to leave and no one will ever bother you again.”

“N-No” you stumbled across your own words, “I’ll do everything for the family.”

“Interesting” Zeno stated. “I never doubtet your spouse, Illumi, but I thought they'd take longer to decide.”

"I think Y/N will make for a great companion.” Silva’s wide grin streched across his face, making his eyes wrinkle a bit. “In both family and business.”

When all was said and done, Illumi grabbed a knive that was placed on the altar. “Let’s do it together, then.”

You almost felt guilty that you became flustered in a moment like this, but couldn’t help it as Illumi genuinely smiled at you, taking your hand as you took firm steps towards the enemy.

“P-Please have mercy!” the man pleaded to no avail, and determination swelled in your chest at that intense moment.

Taking someone’s life together - it would connect two people in a cruel yet beautiful way.

Whatever else could be more fitting for the marriage of two assassins? 

It would be an easy kill. He was unable to flee or fight back. Just a single strike, ending his life quick as act of mercy.

“You should’ve known better than to mess with my new family.”

Both of your hands intertwined, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the knive before thrusting it into the victim’s chest.

And then it dawned to you.

“A needleman?” you sulked, ripping out one of Illumi’s needles out of the stranger’s head, while the others broke out in boisterous laughter.

“Yeah. He was already dead” Illumi shrugged. “I know you don’t like burdening yourself with victims you didn’t choose yourself. But we needed to test you anyway. It’s a tradition.”

Was he actually respecting your boundaries?! What the-

“I like your guts!” Silva attempted to pat your back, but it felt rather like he was going to break your spine. “Sorry for our harsh methods. I know it can be a bit much at the beginning. You’ll get used to obey our rules slowly, don’t push yourself.

Even Kikyo embraced you, now almost convincing motherly. “Reminds me of my first kill for the family!”

It almost felt like those people could actually feel compassion for others. They at least had undoubtingly strong bonds with each other, even if their way of living together was rather unusual.

Stiff movements as always, Illumi placed his hand on your head, almost as if a robot was trying to mimick human interaction. “I’m proud of you. I knew I chose well.”

The rest of the ceremony was just as you expected it: No vows, no rings, no music, no kiss. Just you and Illumi hearing to whatever Zeno had to say about bringing honor and wealth to the family, bearing strong offsprings, and other things that were the exact opposite from romantic.

“Blood for blood” Zeno stated now instead of “You may now kiss”, and every family member repeated it.

You took the knife from the altar once again, cutting your palm until it drew blood without any hesitation. Illumi would now do the same, then reaching out his hand for yours to hold.

As your fluids mixed before dropping to the floor, you unsucessfully searched for any hint of emotional reaction in your husbands expressionless face.

His eyes however would never leave yours, his hand firmly squeezing yours before Zeno announced:

“Your fates are now inextricably connected.”

____

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[alyxrose]

Smoke and Shadow

A little one shot I wrote of Dazai the night he left the Port Mafia. 

---

Dazai Osamu stared expressionlessly at the hungry red flames devouring his black jacket. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to feel… Apprehension? Fear of stepping into the unknown? Perhaps some remorse? Emotions were always the one thing he could never grasp. How could one understand them when they didn’t really know what they felt like? At least not in the way others did. 

Dazai blinked smoke from his eyes and looked toward the night sky as rain began to fall lightly on the small, secluded park. 

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” a husky voice chuckled. The ex-Port Mafia executive tensed for a moment before recognition set in. There were very few people who could sneak up on him like that. 

He looked down as a slight woman with black hair and crimson eyes seemed to materialize out of the smoke. 

“Ashe darling,” he said, donning his customary smirk. “Much as I would love to continue our recurrent trysts,” Dazai was quite pleased with how his voice deepened rather seductively there, if he did say so himself, “I’m a bit busy at the moment. Can I take a rain check?”

The woman, damn her, simply cocked her head in an almost inhuman gesture and grinned, razor sharp as always. She was the only one who had never been susceptible to his wiles, no matter how hard he tried. It was infuriating.

She chose to ignore his comment, instead answering with a question of her own.

“Are you sure of your decision?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

Dazai paused for a moment in contemplation, how could she have known? He doubted even the members of the mafia would discover his betrayal for at least a few more hours. It was maddening how this mysterious woman always seemed to know everything about him, yet he still knew next to nothing about her. Sometimes the man wondered if he had gone mad and she was simply a figment of his imagination, his psyche’s way of giving him an equal both physically and mentally. Though Dazai supposed the scars he bore from those deliciously sharp canines would be hard to explain if she wasn’t actually made of flesh and bone…

The lithe man broke out of his reverie and realized she was still watching him expectantly. He shrugged, seeing no point in lying, not to her.

“Not really,” he said, turning shadowed brown eyes to the smoldering remains of his jacket. “But I figured it's the least I can do, honoring his last wish.” He felt a twinge of… something in his chest, an unnameable pain he was not accustomed to, at the mention of Odasaku. Perhaps this is what grief is supposed to feel like?

He shrugged away the strange stabbing in his chest and focused on the enigmatic woman before him, meeting those soulless red eyes with his own before grinning ruefully.

“It seems rather rude to say your goodbyes on the same night my whole life comes crashing down around my ears,” the ex-mafia exec said playfully. Though much to Dazai’s own surprise, he actually was slightly miffed about it. How would he be able to decipher this enigma of a woman if he never saw her again?

Said woman smiled, softer than usual, and stepped around the smoking trash can. She came so close that Dazai could smell that familiar scent of woodsmoke and wildflowers and feel her breasts lightly brush against his chest. A small thrill ran through his body as he studied her angular features, now outlined almost angelically in a silver mist from rain. The man found this rather ironic, seeing as he knew the demon that lurked behind those eyes.

Finally, the silence was broken. “While I admire your determination to honor your friend’s final wish, I am afraid it will take you on a path I cannot follow.”

Was he imagining things or was that a hint of sadness in her eyes?

“Although it is true I came to say goodbye,” Ashe continued softly, “I also wish to give you a gift.”

Dazai cocked his head curiously. A gift? This was unexpected, perhaps he would even be able to glean some information about her from it.

“While I appreciate the sentiment,” the ex-mafia executive stated, rather perplexed, “You never struck me as the type of girl to go around handing out tokens of your affection to be remembered by.”

The raven haired woman chuckled before reaching into her pocket and pulling out… A necklace? She lifted the chain from which a clear vial dangled, “May I?”

Dazai bowed his head, a bit wary, and allowed her to put it around his neck. Once placed, he picked up the vial and carefully examined the contents. While hard to make out in the dim light, it seemed to contain a silvery wisp of smoke dancing within the confines of the container. He watched it for a few moments, mesmerized, before glancing up to meet those blood red eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him with a finger over his lips, giving a softened version of her trademark razor grin. Dazai raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“When you are in dire need of the darkness you wish to leave behind,” she said softly, moving her hand to cup the ex-mafia member’s cheek, “break it and I will come.”

Dazai stood speechless for a moment, which was quite a rare occurrence. He could think of a million ways to use this against her, why would she trust him? Especially as she had not even trusted him with her real name… No one named their child Ashe.

“Now,” she said, seeming to read his train of thought. “I trust you know if you misuse this I will make your death most unpleasant.” The man found her voice a little too cheery for his liking, that razor sharpness returning in full force.

Dazai cringed inwardly and halted his scheming. While he was all for dying, he would much rather it be peaceful and most importantly, painless. Whether or not she would actually be able to kill him was debatable, but at this point in time it was a risk he was not willing to take.

The man cupped her angular features before brushing a tender kiss across her smoky lips one last time. As he pulled away a hundred snide comments ran though his mind, though after a moment he thought better of it.

Instead, he gave his trademark smirk and simply thanked the woman with a sincerity that surprised even himself. Now, the only thing that could make this even better was if could convince her to participate in a double suicide with him…

Dazai was pulled from his fantasy of the glorious double suicide they could commit together when she took a step back. As the slight woman moved further away he was vaguely surprised to feel a chill settle around his heart, it almost felt like… loneliness? Ashe was the final connection he had to the shadows of his previous life, shadows that were quickly withdrawing with her. Dazai was disconcerted to find their absence left him feeling rather exposed.

“Farewell, Dazai,” Ashe said with a small smile. Something unreadable flashed through her eyes and her smile sharpened. “May fair winds and following seas guide you on your journey.”

Dazai didn’t have time to process that odd statement before a bolt of lightning shattered the sky, ruining his night vision. By the time the spots finally cleared she was gone, dissipated like the smoke that seeped from the remains of his jacket.

The ex-Port Mafia executive huffed before turning and melting into the night, a smirk twisting his otherwise serene features. She had given him a clue and he fully intended to exploit it, just not now seeing as the entire port mafia was on his tail. The night was still young and there was much to do if Dazai wished to see the sunrise.

[srose-foxfire]

Damirae Week 2021 - Day 5

“The Enchanted Rose” Day 5: Nightmares

Crimson red was all Raven could see. She turned and turned hoping to see anything that wasn’t covered in red.How could this had happened? She had felt so happy just moments ago she had been dancing the night away with Damian feeling so at peace and alive. He twirled her around that huge ballroom floor, he spun her so many times but not once did Raven ever get dizzy. She kept her gaze on Damian, for he was her center.

Once her feet were beginning to feel sore, Damian like the gentleman he was, escorted her back to her bedroom. After bidding her a goodnight Damian turned to leave but then stopped him as Raven lifted herself on his tiptoes to give him a small peck on his cheeks. Raven caught a small blush coat his cheeks as he bowed and then left her in her room. The last thing she saw was his tail wagging. She closed her door and went off to bed, falling deep into a sleep with a huge grin on her face.

Or that was she imagined her night to end like. Instead she was here, in her father’s lands, who she sworn she would never return to. This was the life she was born into and one she never wanted to accept as hers. Raven hugged herself tightly, wanting to escape whatever hell she had just entered. She looked down at her bare feet as a strange shadow started creeping itself towards her, turning her into the demon she feared she would become. Frightened, Raven cried out and held her head tightly in her hands.

“You have to stop letting these fears hold you down.”

Raven open her eyes and gaze towards who had spoken to. There in front of her stood a woman, wrapped in a white hooded cloak. She had her face hidden by the hood, all Raven could make out was her light pink lips and the ends of her black hair just barely peeking out from her shoulders.

“Who are you?” Raven asked.

The woman only smiled beneath her hood, “someone who wants to see you happy. Raven, you don’t need to fear him anymore…” then her smiled slowly turn into a frown, “but you are in danger.”

“Danger? Tell me-”

“I’m running out of time, listen to me carefully. Your friends will need you, when that time comes, call for our Great Mother and she will bestow upon you her blessing.”

Then a gust a wind started to pick up around Raven, her vision started to blur as the woman in front of her started to disappear. “Wait! Is this the Wayne’s, are they in danger because of me? Who are you?!”

“Raven, you hold a light so strong, a light of healing. You will light the darkness surrounding those now dear to you.”

With that Raven woke from her sleep, she clutched her chest as her whole body shivered. Raven scanned her room; nothing was out the norm, through her large bedroom window a full moon shined brilliantly casting away any shadows in her room. Next to her bed was the wooden perch, Sombra slept on. It had only been a dream, she thought to herself. She laid there, fully wide awake, reflecting what her dream could had meant and who could that womanbeen? She seems to know Raven well, but the young girl could never recollect, where she might have ever seen her.

Needing some time to calm herself, Raven stepped out of her bedroom put on her night gown and a silk cover up. She went downstairs to the castle’s kitchen and make herself a cup of tea. She assumed it was a little midnight as the full moon looked to have travel half the night sky. Though now the castle was always illuminated by candlelight. Raven arrived and busy herself to start the fire going underneath the stove top and placed a filled kettle over the flame. Once the water started to boil, she grabbed a tea pot, poured some loose dried lemon grass and hot water. As she waited while her tea seeped, Raven went on a hunt to find a teacup. As she hunted for a cup, Raven hadn’t noticed she wasn’t alone in the kitchen.

“What are you doing up?”

Startled Raven jumped and bumped her head under a cupboard. She hissed at the sudden pain and turn her face to snare at Damian as he stood by the doorway with his arms crossed. “Oh, it rude to sneak up on people!” She turned around and continue to look for the damn cup. “I couldn’t sleep… what are you doing up?”

“I’m always up at this hour.”

“Doing what?”

“Reminiscing” Damian came up from behind her and opened up a cabinet, just to her right; revealing three small shelves filled with assorted and expensive china teacups. “and looking over… somethingthat was left to me.”

“Oh…” Raven said nonchalantly as she grabbed one blue cup and then gestured toward him, “would you like me to pour you a cup?”

Damian gave her a small shrug, she walked around him and poured him some tea. She placed it the kitchen’s island counter, taking a seat and sipping her tea. She felt the drink warm and sooth her soul, making her forget the nightmare she had that had cause her to be awoken. Damian went ahead and sat across from her. He took the china cup and held it by the tips of his claws, careful not to break it. After taking a sip, he sighed, “you’re not going to ask what it is?”

Damian actually looked smug, like he wanted to rub whatever he had in her face. Raven placed her cup down as gently as she could, clasping her hand together, “I cannot believe you perceive me as some nosy girl-”

“You wandered the castle when I told you not to, you wentoutsidedespite me telling you not to go out-”

“You orderedme,” Raven pointed a finger at him, “I don’t do good being ordered around.”

“Touché… something seems to be bothering you. I want you to know you can speak to me.”

Should she tell him? Raven hadn’t had time to reflect on her dream, everything was coming back to her in vague pieces. Danger. That was what she had dreamt, she had felt she was in trouble and somehow her dream made the illusion of someone warning her to keep her eyes open. “I had this dream… well a nightmare of my old home.” That was the half-truth.

Damian clasped his hand together and leaned in closer, “you never once spoke about your home, or where you were headed when you… came to the castle. Did something happen to your homeland?”

“I was exiled.”

~~~~

Damian sat there as Raven told him her story.

“I am the daughter of a demon who governs lands cast in shadows and bloody rivers. Lord Trigon, who stands above all demons and dark magic wielders in all the realms. I was to be his successor, but I wasn’t what he hoped for. The part of me that doesn’t wished to harm others, cause destruction or how my father put it ‘kindhearted’, impeded me to ever fall to my demon side. My father believed my mother’s good nature was the caused for this. He had no use for me, proclaimed one of my lesser but more demon-like siblings would take his reign. So, without as much a goodbye he made me leave his lands. Good riddance, I never once turned back, the minute I stepped out of his forsaken lands, I felt free and alive.”

“Where were you planning to head off to?”

“My mother’s homeland. I never got to meet her; my father killed her when I was very young so I have no memory of her. I found an old journal she kept and there she described her home to be filled with light, a place where anyone could be accepted no matter who they are. My only problem is, she never once wrote the name of her home, so I was traveling blindly. I ask any village I passed through… and after receiving directions from this old woman… I ended up here.”

Damian felt a sharp pain in his chest as he continued to listen to her tale. Raven was heading towards a place she could be accepted and loved. She was heading where she could find a place to call home. Her home. Damian fought tears wanting to escape, he turned his head and looked away as he could feel his heart want to shatter, realizing he could never bring any good. He was a cursed beast, and the curse was designed to darken any light around him.

Here he had this brilliant and kind woman, who could had turned against him at any moment. Instead she brought him warmth and happiness he never believed he needed. What did he do in return? Take away her freedom, rob her of making her own choices. Why did he believe he could give her all the luxuries left in his castle to make her want to stay?

Damian needed to do something right for her, he needed to amend his wrongs and let her know she could maybe find peace here, with him.Just then an idea popped in his head. Damian allowed a small smile to grace his lips.

“Come. I would like to show you something.”

Damian extended his arm out for Raven to take. She timidly reaches for his paw, once she held him, very effortlessly he lifted her and guided the girl outside the kitchen. Keeping silent, Damian lead Raven through corridors, until they reach an open door near the entrance to one of his private and personal chambers. The opening lead to a spiral of stair wells that lead to a tower, Damian would spend much of time. Once the reach the top, it led into a grand torn down room. It was dusty, the walls were covered in spiderwebs, and in the far side of the space was an opening to a balcony.

They walked silently into the room and Damian nodded to Raven, signaling he was allowing her to inspect the room. “This was my own private study; I would come here to train or be away from my family.” He continues to watch her wonder around the large room and stopped as she gazes towards up a shredded portrait, one he destroyed of himself. “It’s the one place in the castle my siblings aren’t allowed to come. Excuse me for the mess, I find solace here since the curse was place. I wanted to show you this.”

Damian points towards a small round table near the exit to the balcony. There in the center of the table, a centerpiece was covered by a thin gray rag. Damian pulled it away, revealing a green rose, though it color was unusually dark. Raven gasp as she noticed the rose was covered by a glass covering and floated above the table’s surface, keeping perfectly still. Though instead of keeping upright, its rosebud was tilted to the side, almost as if it was wilting.

“It’s floating?” She asked.

“There was a rose garden my father had planted, a token for my mother it was his way he proposed to her. Green for her eyes. When she passed away, I took over the care for the roses, my way of keeping her memory alive and one of my closest treasures. When the witch cast the curse and she transformed me, she said she would take everything I held dear would be gone. My mother’s rose garden was burned to the ground, all the beautiful, fully bloomed rosebuds were destroyed. All but one.” Damian gestured towards the single last rose from his garden.

“It’s enchanted?” Raven continue to ponder as she viewed the mysterious flower from all angles.

“That is what I believe as well, it once shined and sparkled. Over the years it’s light simply started to dim, which is why it looks dead. Perhaps it’s was the witch’s way of saying that this curse will never be lifted, but I personally wish to see that some good could come out this.”

“I happen to imagine you view the world differently, correct? Trust me, coming from a line of demons give you that insight… may I?” Raven gestured towards the rose and Damian simply gave her a soft nod. He watched as she carefully removed the glass covering and placed it next to the rose. Raven slowly kept her placed her hands over it, not daring to touch it. She continues to move her hands all around almost as if she could really touch it and then the most marvelous thing happen.

Light. The green rose suddenly emitted a bright glow and burst with life again. The wilting rosebud soon rose itself upright, blooming and slowly spinning in Raven’s hands.  Small specks to what appeared to be the rose’s pollen, erupted resulting it looking like the rose was emitting green sparkles.

Damian took a few steps back as he watched his room be filled with this mysterious light and gazed upon the girl holding it. She has a light to share, Damian thought as the rose continued to shine and spun. Damian frowned and lowered his gaze as he knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t want it to happen.

Raven gasped softly and smiled, “Damian, do you see this? It’s beautiful, how do you think this happened-”

“Go.” Damian said rather harshly as he came between Raven and the rose, moving her hands away and covering the enchanted rose once again.

Raven turned to face him with her brows knitted together, she was about to speak when Damian interrupted her, “You are no longer my prisoner, you can go and find your mother’s land.”

“But I-”

Damian then turned his back towards her, his whole form was able to shield the rose’s glow, dimming the room back to the darkness he had become use to. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say, he fears if he did than he would never let her leave. Very hard he held back the tears and kept his voice stern, not letting himself brake before her. “Didn’t you hear me? I said go!” No, I want you to stay. “Go!” Please stay with me. “I don’t want you here! Get out of my sight!

Damian slightly glanced from the side; Raven was still there awestruck by the sudden change of his behavior no doubt. He growled, then turned his whole body, looming over the poor girl. Damian then let out a great and terrifying roared as the castle tremble beneath him. “GET OUT!” He slashed at an old chair next to him, making Raven back away towards a wall.

“Damian, what’s happening?” Raven said in a mere frightened whisper, her voice wanting to crack.

“Get out, I say! You have no business here; I don’t want you in my castle anymore!”

“Please stop.” Raven painfully begged, which only aggravated Damian even more.

Damian snarled, he could feel his eyes swell up with tears wanting to cascade, with a painful heart he cried out another terrifying roar, “GET OUT!”

With that Raven ran towards the door, her steps fading as she sprinted the stairs. In the distance he could hear her pet raven, Sombra squawked, the main castle’s doors opening and banging at their sudden opening. Damian walked to the tower’s balcony seeing Raven wrapped in an old worn out cloak, with Sombra flying at her side, fleeing from his castle never looking back and disappearing in the forest. Not being able to contain the pain in his chest, Damian slump down and let all the sorrows lodged in his heart out.

“Damian.”The young cursed prince looked up and saw his older brother Dick floating towards him. “What happened? Why did she leave? What did you do?”

“I let her go,” Damian said meekly as he stared down to the ground.  

Flabbergasted, Dick raised his hands towards his younger brother.“Why?”

Taking one final look at the illuminated green enchanted rose, Damian gave a wearily stare towards his half-brother, who knew more about love than him. “Because I love her.”

[prompt-master]

Familiar New Beginnings

Hajime woke up that morning already feeling a barrage of unimpressed emotions. He knew his routine by now, had it memorized forwards and backwards. He would do chores around the island, check up on the others still in their comas, then have a video chat with Makoto to update on their status. Despite surviving the impossible, Hajime’s life felt surprisingly uneventful. There was a certain layer of dreariness that stuck to his daily life now. He tried his best to wash it off, but there was always leftover residue no matter how hard he scrubbed. Afterall, many of his friends were comatose, the four others were dealing with their own demons, and nothing in their routine ever seemed to change. He had hope that things would change… but it all felt so…

Hajime groaned, ruffling his hair in the bathroom mirror. If he wasn’t careful, he would sound just like Izuru.

‘And what is wrong with that?’ Speak of the devil.

‘I don’t know… everything?’ Just like that the conversation was over as quickly as it had begun.

He and Izuru were… Well, it had gotten better that’s for sure. Just a month ago the two were constantly clashing with each other. They had argued over everything from moral differences to petty squabbles. At times they had even fought for control of their body, which looked downright scary to the others whenever they got a glimpse. Now… Hajime didn’t really know how to describe his relationship with Izuru. He doesn’t like him, but he doesn’t hate him anymore either. 

Not that it mattered much. Izuru wasn’t a part of his daily routine except for the fact that he was always in the back of his head observing. And Hajime was taking things one day at a time. 

What mattered right now was getting to the restaurant for breakfast, a quick meeting, and chore assignment. It wasn’t really necessary (Izuru reminded him of this every single morning meeting), but the mini tradition was nice. It was like a small reminder that they were in this together. The morning meeting really could make the difference between a bad day and a good day. Kazuichi slinging his arm around him, talking about stupid guy stuff. Sonia trying to work out the chore assignments but getting distracted with more fun conversation. Fuyuhiko pretending to be bitter and serious, but everyone could see he was enjoying himself. Akane of course would always be energetic as Hell. Hajime swore she could always pull them out of a funk with how much of a driving fight she had (even if she mostly used it for her hunger). Morning meetings reminded Hajime how lucky he was to have escaped with them. They reminded him why he was fighting. They reminded him although things currently felt dreary and repetitive, something good would come out of it. Morning meetings were simply wonderful.

At least, that’s what Hajime would have said a day ago. 

Because today’s morning meeting was garbage. There was no way to sugar coat it. He had barely gotten to talk to any of his friends, and although they made his favorite breakfast he was instantly handed a chore list that could only be described as annoying. After reading over the list, Hajime looked up at Sonia.

“Seriously?” The list consisted solely of the most difficult unwanted jobs, not to mention the fact that many were on opposite sides of the island. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Hinata-kun.” Her smile didn’t look sorry though. Before he could get too bitter, Izuru had to remind Hajime that her smile hasn’t been as bright ever since getting her despair memories back. She did a polite bow, one in that over exaggerated foreigner way, “the others have been incredibly down lately so I wanted to try and ease their workload.”

Hajime could already feel a hefty weight on him, “why me though?”

There was a shift in her eyes, a quick glance that she tried to hide, “I figured that…”

Of course she had, since she glanced at his red eye after all. If only she realized how uncooperative Izuru could be. Sure, he had the Ultimate Ultimate living in the attic space of his head but it meant nothing when all he wanted to do was watch. 

Regardless, Hajime nodded. Taking some load off his friends back may do them some good. He knows he heard Kazuichi screaming from a nightmare last night. Probably about the death machines he built. 

“But just this once”, he had said. 

He could practically feel Izuru mocking him in his dead toned way. Throughout the day of trying to get his chores done and ignoring Izuru’s sudden comments about being bored he would hardly get to see any of his friends. It sucked, but sometimes it had to happen, he supposed. They weren’t on an island vacation after all, they had to keep the island self sustaining. All in all… an incredibly lackluster day as he had feared. It was this brand of nothingness that left Hajime feeling vague within his own body. The lack of stimulation allowed him to fade out until the next chore was done. It was a numbness over his body as his brain went into autodrive.

And he hated it.

Feeling like he was floating, feeling like he has no control of his body. That reminded Hajime of how close he was to simply not existing anymore. In fact, sometimes he still wonders if he doesn’t exist. Maybe he’s just Izuru, and this is Izuru’s weird way of coping with everything.

‘Don’t be idiotic, Hajime.’ Izuru said, pulling him back into reality. Right. He was working on the farm. ‘You have survived one of the final trials between hope and despair, against Enoshima Junko herself. Yet you still doubt your own existence. How boring.’

Hajime laughed through his nose, pulling another root out of the ground. Izuru certainly had a strange way of cheering him up. Maybe Hajime was the strange one though, because it worked. 

‘Careful, Kamukura, you almost sound sentimental.’

There was a beat of silence. For a moment Hajime thought that was the end of the conversation. It wasn’t unusual for them to have short bursts of conversation that cut off suddenly. When he spoke again, Hajime wished he had the talent Makoto did. He wished he could see beyond Izuru’s tone to hear the meaning behind them. Even though it was the same flat, uninterested, soft voice he had heard a million times before, he felt as though there was something unseen within.

‘I have told you this before, but that particular trial was one I had set up myself. Your existence is a display of significance and impossibility. Do not disappoint.’ 

It wasn’t too odd to hear this sentiment from Izuru. In fact Hajime had heard it from the moment he woke up. His very existence was the defining reason Izuru gave hope a chance. It clearly meant a lot to Izuru, even if continued to claim he could feel nothing. Still, Hajime couldn’t help but wonder why Izuru was saying this now. Izuru didn’t say anything without purpose. Ah, he didn’t want Hajime to be moping around all day. That would be much too boring. Hajime decided to give Izuru some control over the body just this once, to let him play around in the dirt and with the bugs within. For a man who could do anything, he always found interest in such simple matters. It was almost charming.

Hajime must have nodded off at some point, because when he had come back into the driver’s seat not only was the crop work done, but so were several other chores on the list. Hajime couldn’t even process that for a moment, having to confirm both with Izuru and his own eyes multiple times to be sure. It was always odd blacking out and finding his own body had done something without him. ‘You didn’t have to do all that’ Hajime had said. ‘I was bored’ was all he got in response. Typical Izuru. 

Although Hajime could still feel the aches of labor throughout his body, he had to admit that the break was a welcomed one. Even if Izuru hadn’t intended for it to be a relaxing moment, Hajime supposed sometimes taking the backseat didn’t need to feel so life ending. After all, like Izuru said, if he could survive Junko, he could survive today. And tomorrow. And any day. 

Hajime’s step had a bit more vigor in it now. He felt just slightly more energized. He could tackle the few chores left on the list now. He was certain that without Izuru occasionally throwing in a comment, Hajime would fall asleep while cleaning. 

With the chores list done, he had to do some inspection on his comatosed friends. It was certainly a tough job to handle, but Byakuya - er… The Imposter-  had recently been showing some promising signs. For both The Imposter’s sake and his own, Hajime would keep this work flow going. He had to, even if he felt tired. Besides, the sooner he finished with that, the sooner he could call Makoto, and the sooner he could lay in bed and go to sleep. Just imagining that left Hajime feeling happy, maybe with some luck he could even convince Izuru to not interrupt his sleep out of boredom.

“Yo, Hinata!”

Strangely enough, outside the hospital was Kazuichi, seemingly waiting for him. As Hajime approached, Kazuichi pushed off the wall he was leaning against and jogged up to him.

Hajime placed his hands in his pockets, ignoring Izuru’s gentle scoldings about how that was rude and closed off body posture, “Hey Souda, what are you doing here?”

Kazuichi flashed a smile full of teeth, “The others decided to throw a dinner party, so I came to let ya know. Cuz y’know, you’re invited, of course.”

“A dinner party?” Hajime couldn’t deny the temptation. “What for?”

“We’ve been all working so hard ‘n stuff!”

“Ah, so it’s just an excuse to party.”

Kazuichi glared and pointed at Hajime in accusation, “hey hey we deserve to have this man!”

Hajime laughed, rolling his eyes, “well, I guess so. It sounds like fun, I hope you guys enjoy yourselves.”

“Hold on. What do you mean ‘you guys’?”

“Well... “ Hajime rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m pretty tired in all honesty. Besides,” Hajime glanced at the hospital, “It feels a bit wrong to celebrate right now.”

Kazuichi’s eyes widened, and he began waving his hands side to side, “you got to come!”

“I do?”

“Yes!” At Hajime’s continued confusion, Kazuichi took a step back to try and calm himself down, “It would be weird without you, we need you to join.” 

Hajime tried to wave his hand in dismissal, “I’ve done a lot of work today, Souda-”

But Kazuichi just clasped his hands together and began begging, “please Hinata!” he said. Geez, Kazuichi was always pushy when it came to this sort of stuff but… 

‘Enough. Just agree to go.’

‘We need rest. You’d be bored anyway.’

‘Rest is far more boring than a predictable dinner. Besides, you wish to go, so I see no point in refusal.’

Hajime sighed. How did he always get pushed into antics like this? “Alright, Souda, Alright, I’ll go.” 

Kazuichi threw his fits up into the air in celebration, “Fuck yeah! You won’t regret this Hinata!” before Hajime could make any more small talk Kazuichi ran off towards the island bridge. 

“I’m gonna tell Owari to bring the good booze!” He yelled.

Hajime cupped his hands over his mouth, “Don’t drink too much!” They still had work to do the next day afterall.

A dinner party huh? Seemed a bit out of the blue, but the others like to do little activities to keep morale up. He supposed this just had to be another example of that. Hajime yawned as he entered the hospital, already knowing that he would be up late tonight. They would probably meet for this little get together at around six or seven at night. And thanks to the simulation, Hajime was still used to ending the day around ten. Maybe he could convince Sonia to let him sleep until late the next day, Izuru did have Ultimate Psychologist on his hand after all. He could be incredibly convincing when he wanted to.

‘Absolutely not.’

Oh, c’mon. Hajime hadn’t even shared that thought with Izuru!

‘You’re predictable.’

Hajime rolled his eyes, getting to work at the hospital. Before he knew it the day was essentially over. There was little to no progress to report, but Makoto assured him that things were looking up regardless. Makoto assured him that every day. Although in this particular call, Makoto did seem to hold more kindness to his smile than usual. He told Hajime to take the day off tomorrow, which was odd. Hajime hasn’t taken many days off at all since waking up. The only exception was back when he and Izuru would fight more often. Why would he take a day off now? Perhaps Makoto could tell he needed a good night's sleep?

Either way, Hajime just had to survive the dinner party. And at least this would be genuinely enjoyable. It would just be him, his friends, and the bottles of alcohol around them. 

Akane greeted him at the door, “Hinata!” she yelled, smile bright as ever.

Kazuichi of course wrapped an arm around Hajime once he saw him, shaking him back and forth.

Sonia held both of his hands in hers, guiding him to the food she and Akane helped prepare. Honestly, he was surprised the food was still on the table. But it did look good.

Fuyuhiko had handed Hajime a glass, telling him he was certain Hajime would enjoy the taste of this particular alcohol. 

It was almost like they were a normal group of college kids on a friday night. They told stupid stories of their past, drank, and ate their hearts out. Occasionally Hajime would let Izuru take control to take a sip of a particularly bitter drink. But all in all no one got too wasted, mostly because Fuyuhiko wouldn’t let them. 

Hajime was laughing at one of Kazuichi’s many rejection stories when Sonia tapped a glass with her spoon. Moments like these reminded Hajime of why Sonia was titled after such an impressive talent. It wasn’t simply a role she was born into, she carried all the traits of elegance and leadership in her posture as she gathered everyone’s attention to her. Back straight, and kind smile, Hajime wanted to give his undivided attention. 

“Every day I feel so grateful to have become your friends,” She said, “we have all accomplished so much, and we only have more goals to seek in our future.” She turned to face Hajime specifically, “and we have you to thank for that, Hinata-kun.”

“Huh? Me?” Well that wasn’t right. In fact if Hajime hadn’t been so depressed as a teenager Izuru wouldn’t have existed. And then Izuru wouldn’t have helped end the world. And then he wouldn’t have put Junko into the Neo World Program. 

Izuru reminded him that if he had refused the project, Hope's Peak Academy would have simply targeted another student. 

“Yeah, you!” Akane smiled, punching Hajime hard in the shoulder, “We definitely wouldn’t have left without you!”

Fuyuhiko looked up from where he had been sitting with his arms crossed, “And these idiots would have never figured out the trials without you.”

“It was a team effort.” Hajime tried to stress, “We all have done so much-”

“Bro!” Kazuichi yelled, “Just let us appreciate you, holy shit!”

Hajime laughed as Akane filled up his cup with another round of liquor, “Seriously Hinata, do you ever loosen up? Maybe we need more food.”

Hajime took a sip, cringing a bit at the burn it brought his throat. Akane did always like the more intense stuff. “Did you guys throw this all together just to be nice to me?” 

It admittedly was nicer than looking back on the past as they had grown accustomed too after gaining back their old memories. Hajime had to remind himself often to look for the future instead, and it sounded like the others still want to as well.

Sonia’s smile fell from royal elegance to that of a close friend, “it’s almost midnight you know.”

“I wonder what the new year will bring,” Fuyuhiko was watching the red sky through the window, “can’t get worse than this bullshit.”

Fuyuhiko choked as Akane slammed a hand onto his back, “It’s going to be a great year! I can’t wait for coach to wake up! I’ve got so much shit to show him, and Minimaru ain’t as good at massaging.”

“So that’s what this is all about, huh?” Was it really New Years Eve already? Hajime felt like there was something else he was forgetting but before he could think more on it… 

“Is everyone ready to count down?” Sonia asked, eliciting sounds of approval (and cheers from one Kazuichi).

“Ten... “Sonia looked at her watch and took charge of the count. She really did make a good leader.

“Nine” All of Hajime’s exhaustion felt lost. It was a short few seconds, but everyone seemed so excitable. It was contagious.

“Eight” The others had gathered close to each other, letting Hajime get a full view of the carefree joy on their faces.

“Seven” He wished he could wake up those unconscious to join them. He’d have to work twice as hard this year to make sure they all got to celebrate together.

“Six” But that was what this was all about anyway. They were looking to the future, just as they had promised in the game.

“Five!” The excitement in their voices grew, Hajime just as loud with them. 

“Four!” Because it was more than just about looking to the future.

“Three!” It was about making the future.

“Two!” They were going to take the future in their hands and make it worth living through all that despair.

“One!” And Hajime couldn’t be more thankful to make this future with them.

“Happy Birthday!” “Happy New Year!”

Huh? What? Why did everyone else yell about..?

Everyone was smiling ear to ear. He could see they all had these smug proud expressions as if they’d caught him in the act. Did he..?

“Wait a sec,” Hajime looked at everyone’s faces one by one for any signs of the truth, “is it someone’s birthday…?”

He was met with blank stares. Shit, he must have forgotten someone’s birthday and now he looked like an idiot because he was the only one who didn’t know. Hell he didn’t know it was the 31st until a few moments ago!

Hajime fidgeted, now feeling bad for getting so caught up in work that he’d forget something like this, “I’m...who’s birthday is it? Why did no one tell me... “

Kazuichi was staring at Hajime like he was an idiot, and that was saying a lot, “Dude… it’s your birthday!”

“...Really?”

“Did you forget your own birthday?!” Fuyuhiko yelled, then he turned to Sonia, “I told you this surprise bullshit was stupid.”

“I thought it would be cute… ”

“Man… '' Akane looked flatout depressed, “I held back on eating the cake and everything and you weren’t even happy.”

“What?! No, no, I just-” Hajime pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling embarrassment redden his ears. “I really didn’t know.”

For just a moment Hajime retreated back into his head.

‘Did you know about this, Kamukura?’

‘Of course.’ Izuru had known everything from the moment they had woken up. And he’d known about the party since Sonia had handed them their chores list.

‘And you didn’t tell me..?!’

‘I thought that it would be amusing.’

‘Well. Are you amused?’

‘Predictably… yes.’

Sonia looked down at the floor with a defeated posture, she sunk down into one of the restaurant chairs, “I’m sorry Hinata-kun… the others said we should have just told you about the party but I thought that since… “

Kazuichi propped elbow up on the table, resting his head against his hand. Even he looked defeated, Hajime wondered how much effort they put into this surprise, “We thought since none of us have celebrated our birthdays in years that it’d be nice to make a big deal out of it.”

“Wait, hold on just a second everyone.” They were right, none of them had properly celebrated their birthdays for a few years, Hajime even more since he was quite literally erased, “This all is very sweet! I just… didn’t remember. Usually it’s colder around my birthday…”

It didn’t seem to do much to uplift the mood, but he could see the urge to tease Hajime for his forgetfulness on their faces.

“Really, all of you. This means a lot to me.” Hajime could imagine them formulating their plan for this party. Making sure he was out of the way, getting together to brainstorm different ideas. Not to mention the hand baked cake, he could only imagine what the kitchen must look like right now. He knows they must have put their entire hearts into this.  “I’m really lucky to have all of you.”

The others smiled at Hajime, glad to see that their efforts weren’t for nothing. At the end of the day, they had just wanted to make Hajime feel special. And although the surprise wasn't as big of a hit as they had intended it to be, they had the rest of the day to make Hajime feel as special as he really was. Now if only this awkward silence would go away-

“Pah...what’s with all this depressing atmosphere when there’s a perfectly good cake right here in front of us?!” Akane cried out, cutting Hajime a slice before cutting herself a massive piece. 

Sonia beamed, hands on her hips, “Owari-san is right! The party must go on!”

“It’s ‘the show must go on’, Sonia.” 

And just like that the high energy was back. It may have been twelve in the morning, but all of them were ecstatic as though it was just a fun afternoon. They even had gifts prepared for him, stuff they all had to create themselves since there weren’t exactly any stores open on the island. Sonia had put together a book for him, full of photos of them courtesy of Makoto and the Neo World Program’s leftover data. She left some space in the book for new memories when the others woke up. Akane had gotten him an assortment of pretty shells she’d found along the shoreline. She had also gotten him a rather gross looking squid, claiming she pulled it right out of the ocean for him. Kazuichi had gotten him a handmade phone. He said the internet doesn’t exist still, but he was trying to replicate as much of the fun as he could with his limited coding knowledge. Apparently Alter Ego helped him with that stuff. Fuyuhiko’s was a lot simpler, but he knew it meant a lot. It was a handmade bracelet of twined hay. At Hajime’s confusion, Fuyuhiko had lifted his sleeve to show a matching bracelet on his own wrist. Looking away with a flustered expression on his face, Fuyuhiko had said it was a way to show their brotherhood. 

Now Hajime poked at his cake. It wasn’t the best tasting cake he’d ever had. It was messy, and too sweet, and a bit undercooked. But somehow that’s what made it the best cake he had ever had. It was so… homemade. And that’s what made it really special to Hajime. As he ate more of his cake he thought to himself about how they wanted to make his first birthday in years special. Hajime began to dig through his mind for the last memory he had of someone putting in effort for his birthday with little avail. His birthday came right after New Years Eve parties. People were usually too tired to then turn around and celebrate some kids' party. He didn’t have any friends either. There was a reason he specifically was selected for the Kamukura Project. Hajime could have disappeared at any moment, and no fuss would have kicked up a storm. Not even his parents would have batted an eye. Sure, they had spent a monumental sum of money to get him into the reserve course, but that was also the exact reason they had grown to resent him. They spent a fortune to get their useless son an opportunity to become something, and nothing had even changed. Looking back, Hajime’s life had been a lonely mix of drowning in low self esteem and being uncared for. 

But now these guys...his closest friends… they were changing everything he knew about his life. Hajime didn’t know it was possible to feel so loved.

‘I have never had cake before’ 

Oh. That’s right, Izuru was still here. Like he always was. That was another change in his life. Did it have to be so unwelcomed though?

Hajime pulled back to let Izuru take the driver's seat for a moment, watching distantly as he picked up a fork and put it in his mouth.

‘The amount of frosting on this is offensive to the craft of baking.’

‘That must mean you like it, then.’

‘Indeed.’

Izuru continued to eat pieces from his cake. Hajime decided to simply let him, it wasn’t often Izuru found something that interested him. He’s sure in just a few more bites Izuru will give back control willingly once he gets bored of the overly sweet taste. He might as well let Izuru join in the celebration.. Wait… 

‘Hey, Kamukura, what about you.’

‘What about me? I am eating cake.’

‘But they’ve only been celebrating me.’

‘That is because it is not my birthday.’

That… did make sense. Just because their body was made on this day didn’t mean Izuru himself was. 

‘When is your birthday, then?’

‘I do not see why it matters.’

Moments like these reminded Hajime that although Izuru was a man who had everything, he’d only been living for a few years now. He was sitting here absolutely pleased and amazed with the idea of an overly sweet cake. Had Izuru ever celebrated his own birthday?

‘Just tell me. We’ll celebrate yours when the time comes around.’

‘You cannot throw a celebration for someone who feels nothing.’ Bullshit, Hajime thought. But he kept that one to himself.

‘Humor me, wouldn’t it be interesting to see what we come up with?’ Everyone deserved that chance. If Hajime, the unloved talentless reserve course student could get here, then why couldn’t Izuru? 

‘Very well. I first awoke on June Ninth.’

June Ninth. June Ninth. June Ninth. Hajime repeated the date in his head to commit it to memory. Just a month ago, Hajime would have scoffed at the idea of celebrating Izuru’s existence. Maybe his life hadn’t been so unchanging as he thought. Just a month ago, Izuru would have never cared about Hajime’s birthday. It didn’t seem like change was happening on the surface, but they were there. Slowly moving. Always making progress. Is this what hope meant? Would they one day become more than just headmates? Maybe they’d become… friends?

‘I’ll make sure you have a great birthday, Izuru.’

Izuru was smiling just the slightest. Or well, this smile was as wide as it could get when Izuru was the subject matter. ‘Focus on your own birthday for now, Hajime’ that was his way of saying happy birthday, ‘ensure that this year you do not disappoint me with your existence.’

For once Hajime had a strong feeling that he won’t.