#can you really stand to sing while being burned alive? after you feel your lover burning and fading in your arms?

[gabriestat]

the fact that claudia's death is probably a gentler version of it recalled by armand to louis. she probably died more horrifically, unable to sing one last time but armand thinks probably that it is decency to spare louis that and give him a romanticized version of the events to cling to. okay!

[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

The Only Living Thing

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: Language.

Synopsis: You’ve been friends with BIlly Russo for as long as you can remember. Then, on that one night in New York, feelings get mixed up with the liquor that burns and everything spins out of control. So much for being the only living thing that Billy Russo has ever cared about... Or is it?  A/N: This just sort of happened. I may be writing more if you guys want, I think I can definitely take this further? I have a pretty hectic schedule but I might make it happen x

Song : Adam French - The Only Living Thing

New York, November 2019. 
 

Breathtaking. 


You are breathtaking, like the most beautiful view from atop the mountain or his biggest fear coming alive under his stare. 
 You’re a mix of excitement and terror, and you are enchanting enough to keep him on the tips of his toes, second-guessing everything, his every decision and every word... 

You are meant to leave him wanting more.

The night New York has never looked so good on a woman before.

Billy’s vision goes blurry for a second, his stomach hot and heavy.

You are glowing.

You radiate a kind of a warm sepia glow, so beautiful and genuine and so fucking effortlessy...

Smooth and unapologetic.
 


Messy strands of hair framing your face, your blushing cheeks, as you laugh your heart out, throwing your head back. Your pearl teeth flash in the dimness of the bar. Your thin black tights are torn at the thighs, your lips are red and irritated as you sink your teeth in, again and again.

Your laugh is flamboyant, intoxicating. Raw.

You are something else...

When suddenly, you see him, your black eyelashes fluttering as you wink at him. Billy’s chest feels too wide, too fragile and too hot. Do you see those unspoken words shining out of his drunken eyes?

When you make your way to him through the crowd, he’s paralyzed, afraid to move forward, afraid to scare you off, but mostly, afraid to let everyone see how desperate he is for your touch.

This is wrong, so fucking wrong, but why in hell when you come over, throwing your elegant arms around his neck, your cute perky nose touching his chest - it feels so. fucking. right?! Like you were custom-made for each other?...

Before he can stop himself, he slides an arm around your waist. You say something to him, something funny, for everyone around him snorts and chuckles, but his mind, his entire world - suddenly comes down to that spot just below his cheekbone where you plant a soft peck of your velvet pouty lips.

“Those twenty bucks we bet on? I win,” you half laugh, half exhale in his ear, your lips brushing against the lobe. “Madani is fucking obsessed with you”.

“Ah,” Billy smiles, both of his hands snaking around your waist now as he looks down at you.

...And I am fucking obsessed with us.

“And you just enjoy rubbing us - this! in her face right now, aren’t you?” he mutters instead, his temples buzzing with the gin and tonic he has been downing all night. 

God, he hopes you’re too buzzed to have noticed his slip of fucking epic proportions.

He promised himself he wouldn’t drink, not with you still around - because whatever it was that he felt for you mixed with liquid that burned equaled a very bad outcome. 

He might be well into the tipsy territory by now but Billy isn’t delusional. The chances that you would go back to his place or even kiss him back are entirely too slim.

Because friends don’t do friends.

Friends might as well become a new f-word for all Billy cares at this point.

When you throw your head back in an explosive laugh, Billy’s distracted. He gets an extensive view of your elegant neck, your delicate collarbones, but mostly - of the swell of your mouthwatering breasts, as your black silk top tightens over them. 

Fuuuuck him.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you echo his thoughts somehow as you wink at him once you’ve restored your breath, not stepping away from his embrace, however, letting him keep his hands on you. 

It’s always like this between the two of you. You’ve known each other for a while now - four, five years? After Billy bumped into you at a brunch at Liebermans’ and spilled his frappuccino all over your gorgeous rack. He wasn’t even going to come - but boy, was he glad he did - even though you wasted no time opening that sassy mouth of yours and verbally eviscerating him.

This wasn’t a love at first sight. 
 For you, at least.

“At least buy me a dinner first,” Billy barely manages, his vision a tad blurry.

He notices you giving him an unimpressed stare. Feeling stupid all at once, Billy blinks quickly and lets go of your waist...

Only to tremble on his feet and almost fall on his face.

“Heyyy,” he registers your breath on his cheek before he hears what you’re saying, your small hands holding him in place. Your touch burns through the fabric of his button down shirt as your palms slide up his sides to his shoulders. “You okay there, Russo?”

Billy squirms, chomping on his bottom lip as he grabs you by your elbows.

‘’M fine”, he says quietly, but doesn’t let go. When he lowers his stare to meet your eyes, he almost wants to cry. There’s concern in their bottomless depths, worry for him and desire to make it all better. He just wishes there was more heat there, and less of that f-word that ends with -riends.

“You don’t look fine, lover,” you retort, wiggling and pushing and pulling onto him until you’re snug under his arms and carrying his dead weight to the exit. “Let’s go get some fresh air, come on.”

Billy utters something half-heartedly, his head feeling like it’s filled with cotton. He didn’t even drink that much, as least he doesn’t think so. Must be your fucking intoxicating perfume, sweet but voluptuous and so fucking tempting...

Pure sin. 


Even drunk out of his fucking mind, he’s still the envy of every guy at that bar because he’s with a stunning, breathtaking, prettiest woman in the whole damn world that is you.

“If you were able to stand right now, that line might have gotten you laid,” you inform him with a laugh, basically carrying him to the exit on your shoulders.

Through the drunken haze, Billy realises he might have spoken those words out loud, but the terror is quickly replaced by...

“Are you shitting me?” He slurs, trying to stay vertical. “Are you saying you want me?”

By the time the words escape his mouth, you have pushed the exit door wide open and nudged him to step out. Losing his balance, Billy crashes into Frank, Stein and Madani, smoking outside.
 Dina’s eyes flash mischievously as you step out of the bar, immediately throwing your arms around Billy protectively, helping him to steady himself.

“Oh, so it’s common knowledge now, then?” Dina ventures, licking her lips bloodthirstily, her eyes never quitting yours. “You’ve finally admitted you want to drag that fine Caspian ass in your bed?”

The running joke aimed at Billy looking like a Disney prince feels out of place; all conversation is silenced out as you narrow your eyes at Madani, your grip around Billy’s waist instantly becoming tighter. Frank clears his throat in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness, but doesn’t intervene.

And Billy is... well, happy. Over the moon, actually, and still drunk off his ass.

Apparently, you have been wanting to drag his ass into your bed for a while now!

That does mean you see him more than a friend, right? 

What if... What if all this time you were just as hung up on him as he was on you, but neither of you had the balls to say anything?

In his picture perfect drunken world, Madani makes sense and his heart sings.

You want him.

If it were a Disney cartoon, animals would be singing and dancing around praising your couple. 

Frankie would have probably made a sick unicorn.

“Oh Dina”, suddenly your voice cuts right through Billy’s happy fantasy, and there’s way too much sass in that voice for it to belong to a Disney princess. “Just because your friend Sam here and your own desperate fan-girling ass carry a boner for some fucked up teenage fantasy that involves boinking Prince Caspian, doesn’t mean all women have that same one-track mind. Some of us can actually look past a dick and see a friend. So why don’t you lay off that Cosmopolitan and fuck off, vodka-cranberry sure ain’t making you brighter”.

Billy frowns, deep lines creasing his forehead.

Frank snorts with laughter, not even bothering to conceal his reaction. 
 
 You hold Dina’s hateful stare.

“Whatever, bitch” the latter one finally utters, throwing her cigarette away. “I never fucking liked you. Maybe after this your little fanboy here will see you for what you really are - a fucking coward and a tosser”, Billy’s stares at her in disbelief, his mind still foggy. Madani’s dark eyes flash dangerously in his direction. “Of all women, Russo... Karma is a bitch, isn’t she? Your little princess here only loves herself, lover. Get out while you fucking can”.

Smashing her shoulder into yours, Madani goes back into the bar, leaving equally dreary and awkward silence behind.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Frank isn’t laughing anymore as he folds his hands on his chest, giving you a questioning eye. 

You roll your eyes dismissively. 

“Well, she’s obviously shit-faced,” you shrug, sliding your hands off of Billy. “What, you’re surprised she hates me?”

It’s a whole another world there, in Billy’s head. Have you just distanced yourself from him after what Madani said? What, you thought he’s so drunk he wouldn’t fucking notice?

“...so just because I have basic restraint and actually appreciate a man as a friend, I’m a damaged bitch with a twisted sense of humour? Look, I don’t know, Frank”, you rub your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

“I do,” Billy suddenly chimes in hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot and dark, darker than usual, as they narrow at you. “Know. I know.” Billy stutters, then takes a deep breath. “That’s all I am to you then, sweetheart? A friend?”

Billy wavers a bit as he speaks, but his words are deadly. Your eyes pop wide open at his words, like Russo has just grown a penis on his forehead. Frank’s mouth forms a silent O.

And just like that, the tension is back.

“Well, of course you are my friend,” you say slowly, stretching out your hand in an attempt to grasp Billy’s wrist. Your eyes are searching his face, but he’s locked, like a goddamn prison cell. “You’re my friend and I love you”.

Wrong answer, if Billy’s expression is anything to judge by as he recoils  from your touch. His face is a mix of disappointment and anger, his lips a thin line as he turns away.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath as he turns on his heels and makes a tentative step towards the bar. Only his body is ruled by gin and whatever shit he chased it with, so his feet get mixed up together. Billy trips over his own shoes. 

“Hey, easy there, tiger”, Frank, who’s been standing closer, grips Billy by his arm to help him keep his balance. “What’s gotten into you, man?”

Billy chuckles, throwing his head back, and that has got to be the most bitter sound you have ever heard. You shudder involuntary, watching Russo like a hawk.

“I would have given you the fucking world, you know that?” Billy stares you dead in the eye, grabbing the door handle in front of him. “You just keep fucking with my head like a fucking sadist, and I live by the shit you give me!” you blanch as Billy goes on with the program, hurt dripping from his mouth. “Must have always thought that should be some spectacular pussy you’ve been packing, totally worth all your shit”.

“Bill!” Frank calls him out sharply, his expression terrified. 

But the damage is done. 


Your eyes are brimming with tears, but you stay silent, unblinking. Your chest seems a little caved-in, but you hold your chin high as your trembling lips start to move.

“Fuck you, Russo”, you spit, “Fuck you, friend”.

The next thing he knows, Billy explodes in a fit of bitter laughter - even though all he wants to do is fucking cry.

This just goes to fucking show there’s no such thing as Disney fairytale in real life, is there?

“Oh don’t worry, friend, somebody will,” he promises you, swinging the door to the bar wide open. “Gonna go help Madani fulfil her teenage fantasy. While you can stay here, think about us fucking like rabbits and feel better about yourself”.

With those words thrown over his shoulder, he steps into the crowded bar, the sound of the door shutting behind him sounding final. 

Plot twist. Curtain falls.

Frank can’t even venture a look at you - he doesn’t even hear you breathing.

“He’s just piss off drunk, that’s it. He doesn’t mean it,” Castle attempts to do some damage control, even though he knows that that ship has most definitely sailed.

“Thanks, Frank,” he hears you say quietly, and as he raises his eyes, he catches the sight of you wiping your cheeks quickly.

You inhale slowly, closing your eyes and fisting your hands.

“Tell Karen and the guys I wasn’t feeling so hot, okay?” you ask, and there’s definitely pleading in your voice.

You never plead.

Before Frank can ever mutter anything about Karen having his head if he lets you walk away at night all alone, you wave at him dismissively. 

“I’ll see you”, you say as you collect your hair in a ponytail and walk off, your silhouette soon lost in the bustling New York night.

[navegandoaciegas]

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie​ writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar. 

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

-

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins. 

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.   

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.” 

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12. 

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen. 

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.” 

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time. 

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

-

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.” 

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter. 

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

-

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around. 

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze. 

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

-

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened. 

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.  

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace. 

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water. 

There’s only love.

-

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting. 

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.  

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

-

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection. 

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly. 

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already. 

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

-

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 9 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode six (finale). Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes:  thank you everyone for your patience with this chapter. I'm dropping this lil shortie so we can get the story moving. Let's go! (warnings: lil' fluff, lil' angst) (word count: 3K) nine: records

Bucky knocked on your door a few weeks later.

It was late, and you were snug in your pajamas, winding down after a long day. With your identity no longer a secret, the government was in the midst of transferring you to something more… hands-on, and definitely less diplomatic, you were assuming; so much for retirement, but you figured 30 years of it had been more time than you could’ve anticipated.

You almost didn’t hear the soft rapping on wood over Vera Lynn’s mellow singing.

When you finally opened it, you found him standing there, wearing tired eyes and a dark coat. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I started walking and I—"

“When I said you’re welcome anytime, Bucky Barnes, I meant any time.”

A tiny fraction of a smile was offered your way, and you grasped it tight against your heart at the same time you do his hand, pulling him inside.

His fingers lingered on yours, but before you could start thinking about it he pulled away, taking a seat at the edge of your couch. “I finished it. The book.”

Bucky answered your question before you could ask it. “I just came from there. The last one– the last name.”

“Well. Are you alright?” You sat next to him, your knee knocking against his, and his gaze went from the floor, to the spot where your legs touched, and then to you. He knitted his eyebrows, seeming a little incredulous you were even asking.

“I will be.” His hands intertwined on the space between his knees, and you placed a hand ton his shoulder, getting him to look at you again.

“Yes, you will. Do you want to talk about it?”

One corner of Bucky’s lip raised up, and he shook his head. “Is that Vera Lynn?”

You smiled, turning to look at your record player as if Vera herself was sitting next to it. “It is. Takes me back, I guess.”

“It’s all we’d listen to at the front.”

Nodding, you wondered for a second if Bucky remembered dancing to We’ll Meet Again the night before he was shipped off. Even if you weren’t the only girl he had danced with then, you still asked yourself if that memory was burned on his mind as it was on yours.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. A short-term promise, made back then by hopeful lovers, friends, family members; you had no idea that those lyrics would prove themselves so literal when you and Bucky mouthed them at each other in the middle of a dancefloor.

You let out a breathy chuckle, standing up and beckoning him to where you kept the rest of your vinyl. “Come on. Vera’s starting to feel a little too nostalgic to me.”

Your record collection was pretty extensive, ranging from things of the good ol’ days from the special editions that were still being released nowadays. Bucky joined you on the floor, and together you started to make your way through decades eternized in discs.

“Marvin Gaye.”

You look up from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, finding Bucky making a face at the album he was holding. “It’s really good. Do you want to—”

“No. No more Marvin Gaye.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t like him?”

“I like Marvin Gaye! Jesus. Marvin is good—Marvin’s jus’ fine,” Bucky rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, and you finally understood.

“Sam’s been preaching you the word of R&B to you too, huh?”

You giggled at the tired look he gave you and silently took Trouble Man out of his hands, stuffing it back with the rest of the 1970’s.

Years ago, Bucky would be delighted to dive headfirst in the new – your trips to countless science fairs and expositions were enough proof of that – but looking at him now, knowing him as you were starting to once again, you figured that just a dip of the toes was more than enough.

You pulled Frank Sinatra from the 1950’s section.

“I know Sinatra.”

“Do you now?”

You put the record on your player, and Vera Lynn’s longing gave way to Sinatra’s swagger and jazz.

“Do you?” Bucky teased, frowning at the most recent items in your collection. As soon as Frank’s voice filled the silence, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

“I do know him! Or did. Met ‘im in 1962.” You plopped next to Bucky, who was shaking his head. “What?”

“Show off.”

“No, just been around. Met people on the way. And, you asked.” Your smirk grew into a grin as Bucky mouthed your words back at you. Then his face fell for a second, and your amusement was quickly replaced by worry. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I guess – I guess I just missed a lot.” The same way one of the corners of his lips tug on his cheek again in his attempt of a smile, melancholy tugs at your heartstrings. “I missed out on everything. And I missed out on you.”

Bucky’s head was low as he spoke and you could see the tremble of his hands, even though he clutched one of your records tightly. Nina Simone, 1960’s.

“M’not going anywhere, you know.”

“You still lived an entire lifetime—”

“I did, yes, thank you for constantly reminding me that I’m over 100 years old.” You shook your head at him, sighing softly when he chuckled.

You couldn’t blame him, for clinging to every bit of past he’d missed while he was in HYDRA’s clutches – you knew that was inevitable, but you wished that such sorrow wasn’t so related to you.

“What are you doin’?” He asked as you summoned a small stool from the side of your shelf and stepped on it.

“I want to show you somethin’.” The thing you were looking for was stored at the very top: a heavy, brown leather suitcase that almost made you lose your balance when you pulled it from the spot it had been sitting in for—honestly, years, many of them.

The contents of the suitcase rattled as you climbed down and sat next to Bucky again. Sinatra still playing, telling his lover I've got you under my skin, I've got you, deep in the heart of me;

You almost laughed from the truth and irony of it.

I'd tried so, not to give in

I said to myself this affair never will go so well

You unlocked the suitcase, revealing the gathered memories inside. Pictures, movie tickets, theater playbooks, receipts, trinkets. All souvenirs of the 80 something years of your life Bucky hadn’t been there to see.

Not organized in the slightest, the keepsakes of your life were tossed together and out of order just as in your memory: photographs of you in uniform, and sometimes in party dresses; of when you bought your house; of the few times you had pets. Posing next to famous people and other important ones whose names weren’t as well known by the world.

As you and Bucky went through each of them, you added a story or an explanation, sometimes both, to fill him in on the details of your life events. He laughed at some, frowned at a lot, stared at you intently for all of them.

“Is this Berlin?”

You hummed, nodding. “1989. That party was great.”

“Party?” Bucky knitted his eyebrows in surprise.

“The city was unified, the wall was being taken down, and everyone was celebrating. I’ve never seen that many bottles of vodka in one place.” You laughed, taking a good look at yourself in the picture.

The 80’s were definitely not your best decade, looks wise. You had tried a perm the year before, and the poodle look was only then starting to dial down. The beginnings of a bruise were starting to creep on your left eye, from the mission you had completed just a few hours before.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk.”

Bucky’s surprise intensified, his eyes wide. “We can’t get drunk.”

“Yes we can.”

“No, no we can’t.”

“We can, in fact. It’s all a matter of quantity and, well, speed.” You giggled as Bucky’s mouth gaped more.

“And the hangover?”

“Horrible. Like getting shot on the forehead. Comes quickly, too.”

He grimaced, and with one last look – certainly to register your peculiar appearance on his mind – gently put the picture back inside the suitcase. A stack of papers seemed to call out to him and he picked it up, releasing them from the band that held them together carefully.

Postcards of the places you’ve been: a small note to James Barnes and Steve Rogers on the back of each one.

Bucky’s voice faltered. He let out an anguished little sound, probably something that was supposed to be an Oh, or a What, but had no strength to crawl up his throat.

You brought your knees to your chest as you waited for him.

“You—you wrote to us?”

“I did. You can keep those, they’re addressed to you.”

After all this time, you could barely remember the words you wrote in those postcards; all you knew was that some had longer messages, others a simple Wish you were here.

“After we met in Baltimore, I thought that— that you’d have moved on from us.”

From me.

As if that was possible.

“Well, I stopped writing by 2003, give or take. But really,” You sighed. “It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve always been expecting them to come back to you.”

Bucky flipped the postcard from Rome, read the writing and smiled wistfully at it. “And, I did.”

“You did. And staying away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but—”

“But you’re annoyingly stubborn.” His jaw tightened, then relaxed when he smirked. “I mean, I get it – If the roles were reversed, I’d leave you rebuild your life without me like a self-sacrificing idiot too.”

Alright. That was fair.

Shaking your head, you watched as he slipped the postcards in his pocket, an amused expression on his face.

“That was… a big mistake. Something a self-sacrificing idiot would do,” You screwed your eyes shut in shame, opening them when Bucky chuckled. “but now, I’m right here. And so are you.”

His stubble scratched the soft skin of your palm when you reached for him, and you continued. “We’re a little out of place in this century, that much is true, but if I’m being honest… I’m getting tired of yearning for the past, Buck.”

Good old times – sometimes really good, sometimes bad, every one of them old – tucked away in your heart like your records were tucked in neatly in their shelf, organized by year. As you went through the decades, your enhanced body eternizing you like marble, your heart seemingly stayed at that army camp overseas. Or maybe Sergeant Bucky Barnes had taken it with him, only for them to be frozen together, leaving you with an empty hole in your chest.

You lived your life longing for that missing piece, the one with blue eyes and the dashing smile and the skilled feet.

The one that in many other stories was the one that got away, the one who now believed he was somebody else, but had brought your heart back with him all the same.

The very heart that nearly leapt out of your chest when Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

You’ve never been this close – there isn’t an ounce of past in the gesture. His eyes being tightly closed kept him from seeing the surprise on your eyes and then how they fell to his lips for a millisecond. Then, those lips brushed against yours in a featherlike touch.

I would sacrifice anything, come what might

For the sake of having you near

He pried himself off you when you exhaled, as if your very breath had electrocuted him.

“M’sorry. I—I didn’t—” He said as you stared at the back of his neck, and the shock gives way to disappointment.

I didn’t mean to. Or maybe: I didn’t want to.

“That’s—it’s okay.” You clapped your hands on your knees, still feeling the prickle of his facial hair on them, and got up to change the music.

There was no doubt Bucky was touch starved, and that he probably craved the closeness that comes with a lover. He sought that for a fleeting second in Sam’s sister, and now in you. No point in dwelling on what it might have meant.

Right?

Looking at Bucky, his expression was overcast, furrowed eyebrows as he watched you from his spot on the floor. You offered him a gentle smile, and the crease on his forehead eased up slightly.

Right.

Don't you know little fool, you never can win

The record player made a scratching sound as you replaced Frank Sinatra with your go-to jazz compilation. Instrumental.

No lyrics.

There was one thing you’ve always been good at, regarding the infatuation with Bucky Barnes that has taken over your heart for almost a century now: locking the feelings away and stepping into the shoes of the best friend.

Besides, you’ve said it yourself: no more yearning for the past. Hopefully you and Bucky would be able to do that soon enough.

At that moment, however, you needed to feel the burn of whiskey down your throat and pretend it’ll heal the calcinating rejection spreading through your chest.

The guilt you found in Bucky’s eyes as he watched you sweep around your hardwood floors made you pour a glass for him.

He took it gratefully, frowning when you bottomed the whole thing up.

“There’s a lot in here.” He tapped the edge of the suitcase, skillfully steering the conversation in the direction of the more palatable, calm territory it was in before.

The sight of your autobiographical collection made you smile.

“An entire lifetime,” You said, fishing your dog tags from the bottom. “I suppose that’s where it started. Or at least, where thisstarted.”

Bucky took them reverentially, running his thumb over the imprint of your name and numbers.

He reached for his neck, producing from under his Henley the same type of metal chain he was holding in his hands. The fact that he still wore his like that sent a sharp blow to your lungs, almost knocking the air out of you.

His face softened, a smile so beautiful spreading across his lips, so much that your chest clenched in protest because it was simply not fair, how he still had you entirely.

He deposited both of your dog tags in your hands, and that’s when you saw it, and remembered it.

“Won’t we get in trouble for this?”

“Do you care?”

“Well…No.” You sighed, already resigned. And a little excited.

Bucky knew you well: it had been too long of being a good little soldier when all you were used to was the rush of being a hellion.

“And that is why, sugar, that I’m doing this with you, and not with Steve.”

The words made your heart soar, but you were sure to recapture it before it could fly away too high, still too attached to the sensation of the take-off to clip its wings.

You liked flying.

“And because Steve hasn’t been successful in his enlisting efforts. Yet.”

Bucky looked at you from behind his eyebrows, a reprimand hiding in his eyes, but he decided to shove his uniform hat on your head instead. You grumbled, calling him a jerk under your breath.

It was the night before Bucky was drafted to England. He looked handsome in his uniform, a shining, polished star, brighter than the sun even under the dim streetlight you two stood under.

After bringing his and Steve’s dates home (yours was lost to another boxing match along the way – not that you were crying about that) Bucky had decided he was going to stay up all night, because, in his words, he could sleep when the war was over. Or, more realistically, in the ship on the way to England.

So there you two were, illuminated by street lamps and moonlight, visiting the façades and front windows of your favorite places in Brooklyn like drifters in the night.

Bucky still concentrated on his task, his shoulder hunched slightly to block your sight.

“Let me see! Bucky!”

“ ’Sposed to be a surprise! I’m almost done.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I haven’t seen ‘em before.”

“You gotta be more patient. Here.”

He dropped your dog tags on your hand. You displayed the small steel plates on your palm, scanning your eyes over the two. One of them, of course, had your name, number, blood type, next of kin – an aunt you’ve never met – and address.

The other had Bucky’s.

James B Barnes. 32557038.

He slipped his own chain over his head, the plate with your name clinking against his.

You brought the tips of your fingers to your lips, feeling a smile begin to form onto them.

“I forgot we did this. I haven’t looked at these in so long.”

You had stopped wearing your dog tags the day the war had ended – Bucky was gone then, Steve too, and the weight of his dog tags slamming against your chest was too much to bear – your heart was already heavy with its own engraving of their memories.

“Steve had a lecture prepared when he gave mine back.” Bucky chuckled when you looked up at him, incredulous.

You shook your head, half exasperated and half amused. “Good grief, Steve.”

“Y’know how he is. Was,” He trailed, lips twitching as they formed a thin line.

You reached for him, your hand hovering in the space between you for a second before Bucky took it, lacing your fingers. Scooting closer, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder.

“He’d be glad we’re reunited.” You said, raising your head to peek at him and the newfound upwards curl of his lip. “And mortified we’re still bickering.”

Bucky smiled and squeezed your hand. “Old people. Old habits.”

Laughter bubbled out of your chest, and you realized a few things.

In that moment, it didn’t matter – the heartache, the unrequited side of your love. It was just a fact, a fact of life, of your life, that you a lot of the times loved him as more than your best friend. You loved him. And that was the core of it, the most important fact.

And you knew he loved you – you had each other – in this big, ever-changing, modern world, you had Bucky and Bucky had you.

You sat in comfortable, familiar silence until your eyelids grew heavy and you felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness.

“You dozin’ on me, sugar?”

“It’s been a long day.” You said with your eyes still closed, feeling him chuckle beside you.

“Tell me about it. I can go—”

“You know damn well you should stay.” You patted his arm and hoisted yourself up from the floor. “I’ll get the pull-up ready for you.”

As you sauntered towards the office, ignoring his pleads and protests that he’s got it, he doesn’t need sheets or anything, you put your dog tags back on.

They jingled lightly against your heart.

Maybe you didn’t have to leave all of the past behind to start building something good and new, after all.

[intothemaddyverse]

A Fallen Angel

Chapter 1 of Reunited Series 

Word Count: 1,750

Rating: Mature (slightly suggestive material but not explicit)

I hope you enjoy it! 

Preface: 

After meeting as children and falling in love as young adults, Din sees his soulmate again following years of separation. Their story begins the moment Din hears a melody in the distance that brings back the fondest memories of his past. He's reserved as all can be, but falls weak at the knees when he holds his angel in a tight embrace, swaying to their favorite song. He follows the sound to find her sitting in an empty cantina, where she waits hoping that his feelings for her have not faded. Din had been waiting for this moment, every day longing for his other half to return. Reunited, they decide to take a weekend for themselves, away from the noise of a war torn galaxy. With his family now complete, he is finally able to propose with a ring he’d kept safe since the day he lost her. Things take a dramatic turn as the Empire, or what’s left of it that is, finds Din’s beloved and attempts to kidnap her. The Razor Crest is blown to pieces but the kidnap was unsuccessful, therefore leaving Din’s love shaken but alive. We now pick up with Din, his lover, and Grogu traveling across a harsh desert landscape in search of a new beginning.

It’s cold. Really cold. You find it hard to believe that a landscape with such scorching intensity can also be as unforgiving as Hoth. Stars, what time is it? You’re woken up from a deep slumber by a small glimmer of light. You squint as a subtle change in position on Din’s part shines the light directly in your face.

“DIN!” You exclaim as a small shimmy of his shoulders intensifies the brightness. “If you’re going to be a living disco ball at least shine the light away from me.” Din lets out a muffled laugh as you move to nudge yourself into a more comfortable position. He wiggles himself out of your grasp, but before you can object he quickly adjusts himself to hold you the way he wants to. One hand brushes up against your thigh, to your hip and then slithers around to the back of your waist. The other tenderly brushes your hair behind your ear, giving you the kind of goosebumps only he can cause. You allow your eyes to flutter shut and think, “yeah…he was right. This positioning is much better.” 

As Din’s right hand begins a slow ascent up the contours of your back underneath your shirt, you quickly grab his arm to stop him. He lets out a small sigh in disappointment but then realizes why, turning to see Grogu standing directly behind him. “Hey kid, you sleep alright?” Din asks, grunting while lifting himself up off of you slowly. Once he leans back against the speeder bike, Grogu climbs up onto Din’s lap and stumbles down his legs, landing abruptly on your stomach. “MAKER” you yelp, letting out a breathless exhale while catching him before he lands on your face. “Your dad is rubbing off on you Grogu, you need to-”  

…“Daddy” Din interjects, pausing for a moment to let his interruption send a shiver down your spine. You know exactly what he’s doing, and so does he. Why does he do this?? Sometimes you’re convinced that torturing you in front of the child is his favorite past time. Your face turns beet red. You swallow and say with a shaky voice, “sorry Grogu, your Daddy is rubbing off on you.” You stand up to place Grogu in his pod, and then feel Din grabbing your arm to pull you towards him. 

“I think it’s finally time for our dance” he whispers in your ear. Ugh, he makes you swoon. He lifts up his helmet slightly to kiss you on the forehead. You lay your head on his chest while he places one hand around your waist, the other intertwining his fingers with yours. You’d think that beskar would be the last thing you want pressed against your face, but stars is it comfortable. Maybe because it’s him. Okay, most definitely because it’s him. You’ve been without armor to rest on for far too long. “How did that song go again?” Din asks as he rubs your back. You slowly begin to lift your head, perplexed as you look beyond Din at the rising sun and pastel sky. “You don’t remember?? You were the one who first asked me to dance with you to that song! How could you not…” Before you can take another breath, Din grabs your chin and places his lips on yours. You were so enveloped in his embrace that you didn’t notice he took his helmet off. “Din! Someone could see you!” Shit, that was loud. Much louder than you should have said that but there’s no turning back now. “Don’t worry angel, it’s far too early. There’s no one here.”

Something about his voice is so comforting, even through the modulator. You and Din continue to sway, the sun beginning to warm your face as it continues to rise. He holds you just a tiny bit closer…a little bit tighter too. If only we could stay in this exact spot, in this moment forever. You start to hum the melody without realizing his question was a set up. “Hm hm hmmm…” Din turns his face away from you, trying to hide his smile. “Of course I know how it went, I just wanted to hear you sing.”

You can tell that Grogu is getting antsy when he starts crying out from his pod. Din lifts him out and places him on the ground. As soon as his tiny feet reach the sand he races off at a speed that seems insanely abnormal for a baby. What has he been feeding this kid? Din lets out a frustrated sigh, prompting you to wrap your arms around his waist in an attempt to relax him. “I’ll go grab him, go ahead and clean your weapons.”

The more you spend time in this vast wasteland, the more you feel disoriented trying to remind yourself of which direction you’re heading. You swore you saw Grogu veer off to the left and scurry down one of the sand dunes, but seconds later you convince yourself you saw a small green alien shuffle past you to the right. Stars, when was the last time you had a sip of water? Your movements become slower, dragging your feet through the sand while struggling to keep your legs from buckling underneath you. Suddenly, Grogu appears behind you, latching on to one of your legs before you collapse.

***

It’s been an hour since you left to retrieve Grogu, there are no more weapons to clean and Din is becoming progressively more worried. “She should be back by now right? How long has it been? The kid couldn’t have wandered that far…” He continues to pace back and forth, desperately trying to ignore the anxiety taking over his body. Before he can begin another monologue of reasoning behind the length of your absence, he lifts his head up to see Grogu waddling towards him. “Ehh?” He coos, blinking at Din before gesturing to imply you are just beyond his current position. Din sprints to Grogu, scooping him up and then quickly scanning his surroundings. “SHIT!” He freezes. His heart sinks to his stomach, because there at the bottom of the hill, lying lifeless in the sand…is you.

Din stumbles down to you, dropping to his knees. “Fuck, what do I do??” He mutters to himself, blood rushing to his head as his panicked state heightens. The only thing he can think to do in that moment is pick you up and carry you over his shoulder back to the campsite. He places Grogu in his pod and closes the lid. Seeing you limp on the ground like this makes Din’s stomach churn. “Come on angel, wake up. What do you need? Shit, you can’t hear me why am I asking?!” After examining your trembling body and dry lips, Din grabs the last supply of water nearby. He gently places his hand under your head for support, lifting you up slightly to ensure he doesn’t accidentally make the situation worse. Carefully, he pours small amounts of water into your mouth. “Maybe I can use my cape to cool her face...yeah I’ve seen people do that.  I think we have enough water...” At this point, Din is struggling to breathe. He nearly spills the last of the water on your face while struggling to control his shaking hands.  “Please…pl-please…my love, wake up!” Din throws the empty canteen on the ground and cradles you, his beskar nearly digging into your upper body.

“Remove her shirt, use the armor to cool her skin,” Din hears from behind him. With only seconds to respond, panic shoots through his entire being. He scrambles to reach his blaster, rapidly turning to face whoever has the audacity to imply you should have your shirt off. “What did you just say to me?” Din asks hastily, in full protective mode. He’s now holding his blaster inches from the unknown figure standing in front of him. The man, taking a calculated step towards Din, repeats himself. “I said remove her shirt. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her like this.”

Din stumbles backwards, tripping over your legs as he desperately tries to comprehend the most horrid sentence he’s ever heard. Did he just say he’s seen her like this before?? Din shakes his head, desperately trying to rid the image of another man seeing you in such a fragile state from his mind. His blood is boiling. The sweltering heat simmering in the atmosphere pales in comparison to the rage burning within him. He plants himself firmly in the sand, using every bit of restraint he has to prevent any unnecessary violence. Cemented in place, he drops his blaster. Fists are clenched, heart is pounding, mind is racing wildly. Suddenly, you take a hideously deep breath, causing Din to practically melt down to the ground and grab your face, relieved that he didn’t lose you again. You slowly lift your upper body, arms shaking, and…you see it. Your head is pounding, your face dripping with sweat. There’s NO way. This is the desert right? It has to be a mirage. Just beyond Din’s helmet glistening in the sunlight, you see him.

[sagasofazeria]

Stories of the Past

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 7

Summary: The gang recovers from their battle with Dymea, and head back to Koretion to celebrate their victory. Stories are shared.

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

content warnings: slavery/child slavery, kidnapping, torture, swearing and strong language, alcohol, violence, blood, gore, death, discussion of trauma/childhood trauma, child abandonment

word count: ~6500

The clouds had finally broken, and the newly risen sun was beginning to burn off the mist and rain of the night.

As the warmth of day spilled onto the scorched camp, it found the five companions beaten, battered, exhausted, and covered in mud and blood, yet victorious all the same.

Jetra knelt silently at the top of the hill, staring at the corpse of the woman who’d killed her father. Tears were falling in rivers down her face as she gripped the hilt of her blade and pulled it free from Dymea’s skull.

Dymea’s last words would haunt her, but she’d done it. After 3 years of anguish & anger, it was done. Just like that, she was dead. Jetra had no idea how to feel, her mind was fuzzy and blank. Where did she even go from here?

Before she figured that out, though, she decided it was time to enjoy a well-earned victory, preferably with a lot of wine and a good song.

She stood, flicking the blood and brains off of her sword, and limped her way down the hill to where the rest of the group was waiting.

The others were all gathered around a large rock that jutted out of the hillside, leaning against it and breathing hard. Alejandro was grimacing in pain, holding his arm as Faulkron helped him stand, and Jetra ran to him first.

“What happened?” she asked hurriedly, seeing the wound.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckled. “Just a... agh, a spear through the shoulder. It’s not a big problem,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Heal the others.”

Jetra stared at him, incredulous. “Um, excuse me? You can barely move your arm because there’s a huge godsdamned hole in it. Shut up and let me work.”

Alejandro grunted but did as he was told, and Jetra placed her hand on his shoulder, channeling as much magic as she could. Her magic welled up inside her, waiting to flow out. and as she released it, she hummed the first song that came to mind without thinking.

She found herself humming the song her father would always sing to her mother when he returned home safe from an adventure, when they would all dance on the roof and laugh and sing and smile. She could see it painfully clearly, and her heart ached with loss and joy at once.

As the magic faded, Jetra shook herself out of her memories. She felt tears threaten to fall again, but she sniffled them away before they could, and smiled at Alejandro, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She’d save crying for later.

“Better?” she asked.

“Sí, gracias,” he said, rotating his arm a little bit. He winced slightly, but the only thing remaining was some rough scar tissue, and he assured her he’d be fine.

She moved over to the others, kneeling next to Fuego, who was still grimacing, his normal exuberant energy gone. “Fuego, are you all right?”

“I’m mostly okay, thanks to you. I’m pretty sore though, so I wouldn’t mind a bit of magic,” he smiled weakly.

Jetra looked up at Shakari, who was sprawled against the sun-warmed side of the boulder, holding in one hand a dagger that was jammed between the large scales on their chest.

“Shakari, are you okay? Do you—“

Jetra never finished her sentence, only able to watch with mouth agape as Shakari took a deep breath and pulled the dagger free with a growl.

Shakari turned to Jetra again. “I’ll be fine, spend your magic on him,” she said through gritted teeth as she tossed the blade aside.

Jetra hurriedly closed her mouth and nodded, letting the last of her magical energy flow into Fuego, and he took his first real deep breath since the battle.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, friend.”

Fuego smiled at her before pushing himself to his feet.

“Well, I gotta go find my sword and make sure all these fires are out,” he said as he stood and stretched.

Shakari nodded, standing as well. “I can help.”

They walked off, and the other three turned to each other.

“We need to free the prisoners and bring them back to Koretion as soon as we can,” Alejandro said, quickly walking towards the nearest cage.

While he and Faulkron broke locks, gathering the people near the entrance to the camp, Jetra searched the slavers’ corpses for a key. Finally finding one, she rejoined the other two in freeing the people.

As they scoured the camp, she was mortified to see how many people were imprisoned. She was glad to have gotten rid of the slavers, but she knew this would leave a wound, both with the people who would return and the people who wouldn’t.

Once they’d freed the rest of the exhausted but relieved prisoners, Jetra addressed them all where they had gathered at the bottom of the hill, taking a deep breath and composing herself.

“Good people! There’s no need to worry any longer, we’re here to help you. We’re going to bring you back to Koretion. You can rest soon,” she said, using a bit of magic to make her voice slightly louder over the confused whispers and relieved cries of the freed people.

One older dwarven woman stepped forward from the crowd, and many of the others seemed to pause, looking at her with a flash of respect in their eyes. “We owe you an enormous thanks, heroes. Who... who are you?”

Jetra looked to either side of her. Faulkron and Alejandro stood to her left, still bruised and bloodied themselves. Alejandro had a distant look in his eyes, and Faulkron was breathing deeply with arms crossed, taking in the victory even as he squinted in the sun.

Fuego and Shakari were approaching from her right, giving a signal that all the fires were out. Fuego was smiling, and jogged up to them eagerly. Shakari took their time, looking to the sky with a relieved expression of their own.

Jetra took the necklace with the blue moon symbol from around her neck, and showed it to the woman.

“Just a group of people in the right place at the right time,” she said with a smile.

The woman looked at the pendant, and there was a spark of recognition in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I was hoping,” she said, and pulled back a tattered sleeve to reveal a small blue moon tattoo on her forearm, mostly obscured by thick hair. It was a symbol Jetra knew well.

Jetra smiled back. “Let’s get you all home.”

The woman nodded, and the five companions began to lead the people back through the hills.

•••

When they returned to Koretion, they were greeted with cheers and tears of joy, as families, friends, and lovers were reunited.

They were called heroes many times that morning, and Faulkron didn’t know what to do with it.

Was he a hero? It felt good to be called that, but he wasn’t certain he had really been a hero, whatever that even meant. He’d really only come for the money. Or at least, that’s what it had been at first. Over the last few days, he’d seen so many people full of fear and despair. Now he only saw joy, and he felt a weight lifted off of his own chest as well. A satisfaction he hadn’t felt before.

The whole town was celebrating as they walked up the side of the quarry to the guard post. People were dancing in the streets, music was being played, stories of their victory were already being told and songs were being sung. The mines were empty and the town alive, as the dreary gray of Koretion became a colorful joy, banners put up and braziers lit to welcome the lost home.

Even as they entered the militia building, there were people thanking the newly crowned heroes.

Jetra led them through the curtain to the militia captain’s room. Horakes greeted them eagerly as they entered.

“So you’ve done it? They’re gone?”

Jetra nodded, smiling wide. “They are. Dymea is dead. We did it, Horakes, we fucking did it. We’re gonna need some medical attention, ‘cause magic only does so much, but until then, yes, we did it. I’ve avenged him.”

Horakes nodded and smiled, though Faulkron noticed his eyes did not hold the same joy and relief as Jetra’s. There was something else hidden within them that wasn't quite the elation of victory, though he did not know what. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. I assume these are your allies?” he asked, turning to the rest of them.

Faulkron nodded to him. “That would be us.”

“I assume you’re here for your pay?” Horakes asked, reaching onto his belt for a bag of coins.

Faulkron nodded, thanking him as he handed Faulkron the money.

“Of course, whatever it takes to save my city,” he said with a bow.

Jetra nodded back. “Thanks, Horakes,” she said, before turning to the rest of the group. “Now I do believe it’s time to go enjoy this victory, yeah?”

“Oh gods, I’m so hungry you have no idea. Let’s go,” Fuego said earnestly, already starting to head out the door.

He was cut off suddenly by a halfling woman with wild curly hair, dressed in healer’s robes with her hands on her hips.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so. Each and every one of you is injured, and I’m not lettin’ the heroes of the town celebrate all day just to drop dead because of internal bleeding. Get over here,” she commanded, clearly not taking no for an answer, beginning to prepare bandages and medical supplies.

•••

That afternoon, after they’d been well tended to, they were welcomed with cheers and smiles back to the Bedrock & Breakfast.

They were quickly surrounded by grateful townsfolk and awestruck children, the tavern full to nearly bursting.

As the day wore on, it was easy to see that Jetra was truly in her element now. The children’s mouths hung open in rapt interest as she told them a grand, if simplified, tale of their adventure, Fuego occasionally jumping in with his own inputs.

When the tale was done, the children, as well as many of the adults, eagerly requested another story.

So she told another, a popular folktale to which no one knew the ending. She brought her stories to life in front of her, dancing colors and illusions acting out every word.

For much of the evening, they told stories to the crowd. When Jetra wasn’t weaving her epic tales, Fuego told some stories of his own. Standing on the table, he regaled the bar with sagas of sorcerer-kings and distant islands, even some of which he claimed were his own adventures. While Jetra’s stories were dramatic and evocative, Fuego’s were loud and grandiose, and filled with enough enticing details you might’ve thought he was adding more even as he told the tale. In between stories, Jetra led the celebrating townsfolk in songs and dances. With enough pestering, and a little help from the wine, she even convinced the rest of the group to join her as they danced around the bar.

When asked well into the afternoon if he would tell a story too, Faulkron simply shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have many grand tales to share. My life until now has been rather boring--”

“Azbolutely not! You’re cool! Tell us! Tell us!” One of the kids demanded, standing to emphasize her point.

The other children began to murmur in agreement, and eventually most of the bar was encouraging him to share a story. Faulkron chuckled, sighing. “Alright, alright. I might have one story.”

“Yay!” cheered the first kid, plopping back down on the rug that had been laid out.

“It’s the story of where I’m from, and how I got there.”

“Oooh, that sounds good! Tell us!”

“Okay, here goes...”

•••

Nearly three and a half decades earlier, and an ocean away, in the middle of the dry plains of the Unterras...

Ardos had been up far too late, far too often these last few cycles. Jamie, his oldest cow, was sick again, and he was starting to worry. It’d only been getting worse despite his efforts, and he wasn’t certain she’d make it to a temple this time if it came down to that.

Just before he could justify closing his eyes and drifting off, he heard a crash and the noises of startled livestock. Ardos jolted out of drowsiness and reached for the nearest thing resembling a weapon. He fumbled around for a second before finally finding purchase on his pitchfork.

Holding it out in front of him like a spear, he searched all through the house, but couldn’t find the source of the sound.

Then, he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn, and battle. He rushed outside to find the door to his stable broken in. He slowly approached, hands shaking and white-knuckled as he gripped the pitchfork, the sounds of swordfighting ringing from inside. When he reached the shattered door, he peered around the corner as far as he dared.

Inside, an elven man in unfamiliar garb was dueling a cloaked figure in equally unfamiliar white robes, their curved blades flashing in the moonlight.

Before Ardos could react, he watched the elf slash the other figure down, blood spattering across the ground as the horses whinnied. Ardos watched in shock as the corpse hit the ground, eyes lifeless.

The elven man’s ears swiveled at the sound of Ardos’ gasp, and he turned to Ardos with a rushed intensity. He began to speak rapidly in an unfamiliar tongue, before clearly realizing that Ardos couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“I trust we both understand Common?” he quickly asked, grimacing in pain.

Ardos nodded, before finally noticing the wound on his chest.

“Oh my gods. Do you need help? I ca-“

“No. There is no time. You must listen to me,” he said, revealing a small bundle of colorful cloth. Ardos stared at it for a moment, puzzled, before the man turned it to show that within was a baby.

“Please. Raise my son. Keep him safe,” he said, panting and coughing. “I cannot protect him, but you can. I saw you. You care a lot about your animals, and I know you’d protect them,” he said. He gestured to the pitchfork Ardos had dropped. “Please, care for my son. I cannot, but you can.”

Ardos paused, then nodded, and the man handed him the child.

Then, the elf leaned in and whispered something to Ardos. What the father whispered that night, the baby would never hear, as Ardos nodded, staring down at the baby in his hands, and realizing his life just changed forever.

The elf stepped back. “Keep him safe.”

Then, the man ran off into the night, leaving Ardos to raise the child.

•••

The children sat around, mouths agape as Faulkron finished telling the story of his adoption.

“That’s how Ardos always said it happened, anyway. And he never did tell me what the warning was, as much as I annoyed him about it.”

“Hey mister sword man, sir? That wasn’t very boring, you were wrong,” the little girl said.

Faulkron smiled. “Well, it’s about the only story I have that isn’t, so I can’t do any more.”

Some of the other children were whispering, discussing the story in hushed awe. An older kid spoke up, scratching their head.

“Wait a minute, where did the man go?” he asked.

Faulkron waved to the mother as she cringed and attempted to shush her kid. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” Then he turned to the kid. “I don’t know where he is, to be honest. I’m not certain I want to know, though. He’s been gone long enough I don’t think it matters anymore, whatever his reasons were.”

The kid nodded, sitting back, deep in thought.

After Faulkron’s story, the tavern began to clear out, leaving the companions to themselves as the townsfolk began to return to their homes.

A few cups of wine (courtesy of the barkeep’s appreciation of the booming business), and after a while they were all reclining around a table, the day’s wounds and struggle forgotten for the moment.

Fuego grinned at them all, wine in hand. “I have to say, that plan went pretty damn well. We should do that more often.”

“Hey, you know I’m always up for a bit of righteous arson, my friend,” Jetra laughed, taking another drink.

“Agreed, we all made a pretty good team,” Alejandro said, raising his glass.

Fuego’s grin widened. “To ass well kicked, my friends.” He knocked his cup against Alejandro’s as they all joined in, laughter spilling out as if a dam had broken.

As their laughter quieted down, Shakari let out a long sigh. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

The rest of the group all nodded and muttered agreements.

Faulkron felt that strange feeling bubbling up again. Victory, success... and something else. He looked around at all these people. Not only his companions, but the barkeep, the tavern patrons. He knew he’d outlive most of them, all of them who weren’t elves. Wasn’t what he did inconsequential, then? That would make sense, but it didn’t feel that way. He had changed a part of the world today, and for the better. He had to admit, it did feel good, and he found himself smiling along with the people he had started daring to call friends.

He realized that in the swirl of confusion and new feelings, he'd forgotten about the money they’d earned.

He grabbed the coins, and they split it as they finished their drinks.

After the coin had been shared, Jetra sat back and pulled out her harp again. She had drunk the most wine out of all of them, and her eyes had begun to glass over. After a long beat of silence, she started to play a simple melody, the notes falling like water in a gentle stream, an easiness settling over all of them as Jetra wordlessly played. They sat for a while in silence, just listening to the music.

Not long after the song had finished, as the final straggling townsfolk left the tavern, Shakari stood. “I’m going to go rest. This... was a good day. Sleep in peace, friends.”

As they disappeared into their room, Jetra stood as well, stumbling slightly. “Yeah. Thanks again... means a lot. When I’m not, uh, super fuckin’ drunk, I’ll explain more.. but I’m gonna go pass out.”

They all nodded, and she walked away.

The others sat for a while, each lost in their own thoughts, before Fuego stood too.

“I should head to sleep too, doctor’s orders... we didn’t do half bad.” He clapped Faulkron on the shoulder twice, then hopped off of his chair and took his leave, walking off to his room with a smile.

After a few minutes of content silence, Faulkron suddenly realized he was more or less alone with Alejandro again.

“Thank you for saving my life,’ Alejandro said, breaking the silence.

Faulkron startled, the sudden voice shaking him out of his own slightly panicked thoughts, and preventing him from making a fool of himself in an attempt to prevent that very thing.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

“I’m serious, I probably wouldn’t have made it without you, so I am deeply grateful.”

Faulkron looked up from his empty cup, meeting Alejandro’s eyes. “You’re welcome, but it was mostly Jetra who healed you.”

Alejandro shook his head. “You give yourself too little credit. You were awesome out there.”

Faulkron felt his face flush a bit, and he hoped Alejandro couldn’t see the embarrassed hint of purple to his cheeks.

Alejandro’s smile faded slightly, and his eyebrows creased in worry. “You are alright, though? I know the healer did her thing and all, but..?”

“Oh, yeah yeah, I’m okay,” Faulkron said. “Real question is, are you okay? I mean, there was a lot happening, but you seemed... very upset? I don’t mean to pry, I’m just worried about- I mean, concerned—“

Alejandro held up a hand. “It’s okay.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It’s just... well, it’s complicated.” Alejandro then paused for a while, and Faulkron began to think he’d said something wrong despite Alejandro’s reassurance.

Then he spoke again. “Would you, um... would you like to go up to the roof with me? I’d feel better talking about it there.”

Faulkron was a little confused as to why the roof would be better, but he nodded and followed anyway.

•••

As Alejandro led Faulkron to the roof, he found himself going silent. He’d never shared what he was about to share with anyone besides the people who’d rescued him so long ago, and he’d really only known this man a week. They’d gone out for drinks once. Faulkron was had saved his life, though. He trusted him, and he wanted to keep trusting him, so he was taking a leap.

Alejandro took a long shaky breath as they stepped onto the roof of the inn. He looked up at the sky for a moment, still readying himself. The last two days’ clouds had cleared and the stars were shining. They were scattered like bright paint across a dark canvas, haphazard and chaotic, but beautiful all the same. He sighed, staring for a moment longer, and turned to Faulkron. “It’s... it’s a long story, really.”

“I’ve got time.”

“It’s... not a happy one, either.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m glad to listen, if that’s what you want.”

Alejandro nodded, letting his last sigh of anxiousness leave him. “I think it is. You might want to sit then.”

They both sat down, eyes cast up at the night sky.

Alejandro sighed again, and he gripped the handle of his second sword, feeling the old worn leather there. As he stared at the stars, images and memories began to flash in his mind.

Staring up through a small square window at the same stars, unable to sleep.

The smell of blood and the stench of death, hot sand beneath his feet.

The burning of a brand on his arm.

“It was a very long time ago. It was only my 12th summer...”

•••

15 years earlier, somewhere along the western Leinos coasts...

Alejandro was playing with his siblings, rolling around on the sandy beaches of his home, when the ships came. They came to the beach, and a man with a crown stepped out.

He said he would burn the village to the ground if he did not have what he wanted. When the village people asked, he said that he wanted their children, the youngest and strongest. When the villagers refused, and the militia drew their weapons, the man fulfilled his promise. Fiery arrows and spears descended upon the village, shrouding the beach in a thick black smoke. In the smoke and ashes, they grabbed Alejandro and a handful of others, dragging them onto their ships as they sailed away.

They chained them inside the hull, rough and cruel. The captured children fought of course, they spat and growled and screamed. Then the man cracked a whip, and they all were suddenly very very quiet.

They were told that their old lives were over. The man with the crown said to forget their names, forget their village. Those with defiance in their eyes were whipped. Alejandro’s back took 5 lashes before he couldn’t look up again. The ships sailed for a long time. None of the prisoners spoke.

When they eventually reached land again, they were shuffled onto a beach, surrounded by lush greenery that told lies of beauty. Dominating the center of the island they were on was a gargantuan marble arena, tall, imposing, and oppressively white, almost blinding after the darkness of the slavers’ ships. And that was what they were, the prisoners soon realized. Fifteen frightened children stood there on the beach, the full weight of all that had happened crushing down on them. Alejandro’s own shoulders felt weak and weary, and his manacled wrists only dragged him further down.

Around them, hundreds of small huts and seemingly innumerable cages. They saw hundreds of people around them, and more and more slavers, pushing them along and barking commands. The children were led through the houses and lines of people, who looked at them with flitting eyes, so full of fear and pain they were hollow, ghostly.

Their gazes didn’t linger on them long, but their eyes stayed in Alejandro’s nightmares for years.

Alejandro and the others were pushed further onward, the massive arena approaching ever faster. When they finally reached it, they were led to a series of rooms carved out of the earth beneath the structure.

In the next few months, they were trained relentlessly. How to fight, how to be strong, but most importantly, how to obey. Alejandro quickly learned that the man with the crown who was not king very much liked to act like one. He paraded the children around the arena, boasting them as the newest gladiators for his ring.

And there was the ring. The sand red from battle, the cheers and jeers of a bloodthirsty crowd. Those first few months, Alejandro and the others only watched the fights. Massive beasts, mythical and mundane, squared off in the pit against older gladiators who in turn faced both man and beast on the sands. It was not long before Alejandro had seen enough people die in the ring that he couldn’t keep track anymore.

He had heard of gladiatorial games in the big cities, way to the east. No one ever died there, as far as he knew. But this was different.

When he was 13, after the better part of a year being relentlessly trained & conditioned, he stepped into the ring for the first time. His adversary was an older kid, whose eyes were hollow like the people outside. Acting on instinct, the battle ensued, fear disappearing as it was replaced by careful training. Alejandro found himself falling into a performance, and when the dust cleared, only he was left standing.

To congratulate his first kill, the man with the crown took him to the lowest room beneath the arena, where the earth’s heat powered a burning forge. As much as he struggled, he couldn’t stop them, and heated chains were pressed onto his arms, searing away the flesh, leaving a mark that would weigh on him for the rest of his life.

Alejandro faced death in the arena constantly for the entertainment of the crowds of the cruel, and it left many scars. During the next five years, he would watch as one by one, the others from his village would fall in the arena, each death met by cheers. Not long, and Alejandro was the only one left. In his time there, he also saw more ships come and go, bringing new gladiators, always young adults and teenagers, always broken.

Pasaos told Alejandro that he was one of the youngest he’d ever seen show up there in his time. Pasaos was an older gladiator. He’d seen much, and his eyes held a great suffering, but he cared for Alejandro like a father, or as much as he could. He taught him many things. How to stay alive, how to keep his spirit going, even while broken.

Alejandro never asked how long Pasaos had been there, or how many people he’d killed. They both knew better. Alejandro also never thought twice about the moon tattoo on his arm beneath the brand, not until the day it all came crashing down.

Alejandro was 18 now, and he knew his eyes were losing their fight. He had gone a very long time without becoming a ghost, but now it was a near thing. Though they were treated well enough for slaves, it was only to keep them in fighting shape. The slavers were quick to punish if they stepped out of line, even if it meant they lost a fighter for a bit. But they had never done an execution before.

When he was shoved out onto the sands, he saw Pasaos tied to a pole in the center of the arena, and he could feel the flames closing in around him again, about to lose the one thing he could call a home.

He could do nothing but watch as the man with the crown cut free Pasaos, handing him a blade with the smug confidence of a man holding another’s life in his hand. They fought, but Pasaos had been beaten and tortured before the execution, and he stood no chance. The man with the crown, who Alejandro had come to know was named Atticus, simply knocked aside Pasaos’ blows, and when he finally ran him through, he turned to the gathered gladiators in triumph. Alejandro barely remembered what happened next.

He remembered grabbing the blade from the sands, slashing at Atticus. He remembered fighting him, losing, bleeding, pain, tears. He remembered sudden movements, brown and blue cloaks descending on the arena, shouts, commotion. He stood again before the rest of the gladiators, surrounded by chaos he couldn’t understand, and he called them to arms, screaming all their pain as it echoed throughout the pit. He remembered chasing Atticus down, but being beaten into the dirt, unable to stop him from sailing away.

There on the beach, bloodied and broken, he swore this:

“Atticus the Cruel, man who wears a crown but is no king, I will drive this dishonored blade into your wicked heart if it is the last thing I do. Your obsession with death will serve you well when the day comes that I return this blade to the evil from which it came.”

Then he was found by the cloaked people who had saved him. They called themselves Company of the Blue Moon. They helped him recover, brought him back to land. They told him Pasaos had died a hero, he had gotten them to the island. In a way, young Alejandro realized, Pasaos had sacrificed his life for Alejandro’s future. He promised himself would not let him down. The Company gave him much time to rest, and he took it, but before long he found himself on the road again, always on the lookout for any sign of the man he had sworn to destroy.

•••

“And now... I’m here.” Alejandro let out a long breath.

There were a few beats of silence, his heart loud in his ears. The relief of sharing the pain he hid so often with someone he trusted was quickly being replaced by fear, and he started to wonder if he’d overshared. He didn’t look up at Faulkron, not sure what he’d see.

“I... I’m sorry that happened to you.”

When Alejandro turned to Faulkron, he was staring at him with genuine concern. Alejandro cast his eyes away again, but he felt the fear retreat, and he was once again glad for Faulkron’s presence.

He chuckled a bit, hoping it didn't sound too bitter. “Thanks. It was hell, but I’m here, I guess, and that’s what counts.”

Faulkron nodded, and there was another pause.

“That’s the sword, then?”

“Yes.”

Alejandro unsheathed the sword, looking over the blade. The moonlight glinted eerily off of the edge, as if the night knew they spoke of death. Alejandro put the sword away, and the two fell quiet again.

“You know they taught us how to die?” Alejandro spoke suddenly.

“They what?” Faulkron exclaimed, head snapping back toward him.

“Yeah.” Alejandro sighed. “They taught us how to die for a crowd. I’ve seen it happen so many times, and it’s sad, because... you know that death isn’t that. It’s gray, it’s cold, it’s empty. But we were taught how to make it grand and flashy. I saw my mentor do it when Atticus killed him. Hells, even Dymea, this morning. No one goes out like that without being trained for it.”

“That’s... horrible.”

“It was, but it’s done now. Or at least, I had hoped it was. Knowing there might be still more of these remnant groups out there... It looks like my work is cut out for me. This is the first I’ve seen in a long time.”

Faulkron paused for a moment, deep in thought. “I... I will gladly go with you. You won’t fight Atticus alone this time. And I swear to you, you won’t die like that. Not while there’s still blood in these veins,” he promised, placing a hand over Alejandro’s.

Alejandro stared at him a moment, startled by the sudden sincerity and intensity.

“I... you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Faulkron looked at him for a moment longer, before seemingly coming to a decision. “I’m not big on hugs, but do you want one?” he asked, opening his arms.

Alejandro paused for a moment, but eventually he nodded and pressed himself into Faulkron. He let out a sigh as his arms wrapped around him, their strength anchoring him in the moment.

Alejandro eventually broke away, wiping away the tears that had streaked down his face.

“Thanks, Faulkron. I’m glad I could trust you. And... I don’t know where you’re going, or what you’re after, but I’d like to help you find it too.”

Faulkron nodded, looking back up to the stars. “I’m not sure yet... I think, a purpose, but I don’t know it yet. But I’d enjoy your company on the road either way.”

Alejandro nodded and smiled at him. He offered out a hand.

Faulkron grasped it, and Alejandro pulled him to his feet and bringing them face to face. Alejandro’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as he laid a brief kiss on Faulkron’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

Faulkron smiled at him, and they headed back down into the inn together.

•••

The next day, the five companions woke to a far more somber Koretion. That morning, the townsfolk grieved those they had lost. The bodies that had been retrieved from the bandit camp of the missing scouts and militia were gathered. Funeral shrouds were burned, and white-crested helmets were placed on the pyres. The deepest grief, though, was of those whose loved ones there was no trace of. A messenger on horseback rode out at midday headed for the bigger cities and eventually the capitol, bearing news of what had happened and the people missing, as well as a request for help in the search. Jetra ensured the messenger, who wore a familiar crescent tattoo, carried a message of her own as well.

While the most part of the day held a stark grief and sadness, it was not all-consuming. In the face of that loss, there was still joy in knowing it wouldn’t happen again, and the people began to gather once more that evening. They celebrated the happiness in the lives of those they had lost, honoring their memory with joy rather than anguish. And so the town returned to celebration, even bittersweet as it was. Jetra played ballads of memory in death and the joys of life, songs the citizens of Koretion already knew well. Alejandro was playing games with some of the kids, the occasional toddler hanging off of his bicep as he practically juggled children, smiling and laughing all the same. Fuego was dancing around the central pavilion, putting on a beautiful display as multicolored flame swirled around him in time with the music, the people watching in awe and wonder.

Faulkron watched it all from the sidelines, mostly Alejandro if he was being honest. As he watched Alejandro smile and pick up a leather ball, and toss it back to a child, he couldn't help but feel at least a little overwhelmed, in a good way. He certainly looked very very cute right now, for one. But the way the sunlight was shining on his grinning face almost made him look comfortable, at ease. And Faulkron hadn’t seen Alejandro at ease since they’d first discussed the slavers back in Corias.

Alejandro had shared so much with him last night, and it was showing him a new light. He knew now why he’d joined them on the journey, why he’d been so tense during that first ambush. Faulkron felt a new bond of trust between them, far closer than he would have expected in just a week. Alejandro had clearly been through hell, so Faulkron really wasn't sure why he’d trust him with something like this already. He wasn’t even sure he’d earned that trust, though he would admit he wanted to, badly. He had no idea what they even were yet. Given how much Alejandro had been through, and how stressful the last few days had to have been for him, Faulkron was more than willing to let him decide where this went, and he’d go along for the ride. His life had made a turn for the better and the interesting, that was for sure.

“You look like you’re deep in thought.”

Faulkron shook himself out of his reverie and turned towards the voice. 

Shakari had sat down next to him at some point, and she was watching the celebration as well.

“I was, yeah.”

“I understand. Much has happened in the last week, for all of us,” Shakari said, eyes still watching the pavilion.

“You’re not wrong. I don’t even really know how I ended up here, but it seems... good,” he mused.

“It is. We did something good. All of us.”

“It’s weird to hear that, you know. I’ve never been called a hero before, and I’m still not sure what to do about it,” Faulkron said with a small sigh.

Shakari raised an eyebrow, turning to him. “I understand that, it’s a first for me too. Yet there is no denying we are heroes to these people, and we made the world better for it.”

Faulkron nodded, unsure what to say.

Shakarin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I think you are someone who follows the path before them when it is presented, even if it is yet untraveled. You have a wanderer’s eyes.”

Faulkron creased his brow. “What makes you think all that?”

“I am the same.”

Faulkron turned back to her, and saw a deep sincerity in her eyes.

“I am going to follow this path wherever it may take me,” she said, turning back to the celebration.

Faulkron thought for a moment, staring into the crowd again. He smiled quietly to himself. He wasn’t sure what direction he’d found himself stumbling in, but it felt good, and he liked these people, and he liked being called a hero. So he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad to keep going down this road.

“I think I am too.”

Part 6 | Part 8

[adarlingwrites]

Dormouse

Summary:

After playing a game with two of The Beach's most dangerous members, the dormouse gets her tail caught by a tiger's paw.

He’ll make a wildcat out of her.

all my days were spent by a telephone | that never rang and all I needed was a call | that never came to the corner of First and Amistad

IX

Surrounded by armed and dangerous people, Mr. Yamane and his new wife backed away. Aguni kept his eye trained on the pair, while Niragi chortled and faced Yamaneko, who is glaring daggers at Mr. Yamane’s back.

“All of you, scram. Get ready for the games tonight,” Aguni barks, and he turns to walk away. The rest of the militants do as he says, save for Yamaneko, who finally let out a breath she was holding, and Last Boss stood a little closer to her.

Then, she runs after their leader.

“Chief Aguni, wait. I need to say something,” she said.

Stopping to listen to what she has to say, Aguni crosses his arms and lets her continue.

“No one really stood up for me when my father abused his family before I came here. I tried calling the cops once, but they saw who my father was and only left with a warning. I’m more than capable of handling him now, but you still backed me up. Thank you. You have my loyalty as my show of gratitude,” she declares, and gives him a deep bow.

Something in Aguni’s stony facade shifts for a moment; old and painful memories of his own past fleeting through his psyche, but it’s gone after a few seconds. “Get ready for tonight's game, then. Show your loyalty to me by surviving and bringing back a card.”

Without another word, Aguni leaves. Yamaneko turns and presses her face in Takatora’s chest.

“Thank you for defending me, too. I wish I had someone like you long ago,” she whispers.

Truth be told, Takatora wishes she came into his life earlier as well. He begins imagining what life could’ve been like. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to pour his heart out in online columns that no one cared about. Perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up as a recluse if he had someone who understood his existential dread, his philosophy, and him.

“No one’s allowed to hurt my wildcat.”

Hearing those words made her heart go aflutter. Her lover took her back to their shared bed, where she curled up in his arms. She will survive tonight, for her chief, for herself, and for Takatora.

Especially Takatora.

Tonight’s game was a Five of Clubs in an art gallery.

Yamaneko wasn’t sure if she was distracted because of the sudden appearance of her father, or due to the side effects of the pills Sunohara prescribed, but she nearly got roasted alive in the ordeal.

One of the Beach members she came with perished, foolishly braving the jets, only to drop from the pain midway. Now there’s only Chishiya, another woman in a blue bikini whom he referred to as Kuina, and Yamaneko herself. She had seen the other two’s tags; they’re in the top twenty, just like her. Hell, their ranks are higher than hers, and she found out Chishiya’s actually an executive member, so they must be good. There were ten players total, and they were the only three left.

The game is simple: cross a narrow hallway to the next exhibit area within the given time limit, and avoid getting roasted alive in the process by the jets of fire that blow through the wall. There are three columns of tiles, and ten rows. Kuina had considered risking it, seeing how the others had made it three-fourths of the way, but Chishiya held her back. The man in white waited for the other players to make a move, like he always does.

Observe, then formulate a plan.

Kuina cringed as the others got burnt to a crisp, while Yamaneko’s only reaction was a glassy stare. She didn’t know what the other two are thinking about, but the more she sees people dying, the more determined she is to avoid their fates.

She has someone to go home to now.

“So, any plans?” Yamaneko asks them, stumped. It doesn’t help that she’s feeling nauseous, and a killer headache is making her space out. Kuina regarded her warily, while Chishiya had the same, condescending smirk on his face the first time she  met him.

Being the smartest of the three, Chishiya figured out the trick to winning the game.

“Look closely,” he tells the other two as he watches the others fail and burn. “That man stepped on one tile, and the jet in front of him stopped for five seconds. It’s a pressure plate.”

“So, someone needs to be stepping on the correct tile one row behind,” Kuina replies. “But, if the person behind steps forward, they’re both toast.”

“Well, there’s nothing in the rules forbidding two people to step on the same tile, or that we can’t use an object to apply pressure on the plate,” Yamaneko adds.

“Ah. Always looking for loopholes, huh, Yamane? You’re starting to convince me that members of the militant sect are capable of basic thought,” Chishiya comments in a sing-song manner.

“It’s Yamaneko now. I’m not just some mindless goon just because I’m allowed to carry a weapon,” she spits, crossing her arms and temper flaring from his condescending tone.

“I always had an impression that most militants are given that role precisely because they are mindless goons.”

Yamaneko draws a dagger, irritated to no end. “The chief’s not here, so if I hurt you, I’m not doing it as a goon. I’m doing it on my own accord because you’re such an ass.”

The man in white’s only response is his signature infuriating smirk.

Before a fight can ensue, Kuina steps in between the two. “Can we just focus on the game? The clock is ticking.”

The militant sheaths her weapon. “You’re lucky Kuina doesn’t get on my nerves, or I would’ve ignored her.”

“Oh well. Now that we know how to clear the game, let’s begin.”

“Wait, could you at least spell it out for the two of us?” Kuina asks, eyebrows furrowing, and Yamaneko nods in agreement. “Yeah. I’m not exactly some smug bastard who can figure things out with a glance,” the militant adds, tilting her head.

Chuckling, Chishiya indulges them.

“First, Person A needs to step on the correct plate. Then, Person B will step on the same tile. Person A will leave Person B to figure out the correct tile for the second row. Then, Person C will join Person B. Person B will leave Person C to move to Person A’s spot, while Person A steps on the next correct tile. Then, Person C needs to drop a weight on the tile she’s standing on, and join Person B. Then, Person B will join Person A again. Person A figures out the next tile, then Person C should simultaneously move to Person B’s spot and move the weight to her previous spot, while Person B jumps to Person A’s spot. Rinse and repeat. It’s all about timing. A simple game, really.”

Yamaneko’s head starts to pound from trying to understand the plan, and she groans, massaging her temples.

“You call that simple?! Why don’t we just place weights on every correct tile then?” Yamaneko asks, exasperated.

“Look around you,” Chishiya replies. “The only item in this hallway is that pedestal over there. The room before this one had a few paintings and sculptures, but retrieving them would take too much of our precious time. We’re not even sure if they would weigh enough to keep the plate pressed.”

“Ah, shit. Let’s just go with your plan then. I’m nimble, so I’ll be Person C,” Yamaneko sighs, walking over to the pedestal and dragging it with her.

“I’ll be A,” Kuina volunteers.

“I guess I’m B, then,” Chishiya says in an offhand tone.

Despite the need for a few reminders and a few curses thrown here and there, the plan worked. Yamaneko’s reflexes definitely helped; moving the pedestal quickly and jumping to Chishiya’s position almost at the same time is no easy feat. Time it wrong, and they will both be burned to a crisp. Of course, if they die, Kuina will have no chance of survival too. Such is the nature of a Clubs game: players either have to rely on all the skills required to survive in the borderlands, or work together with other players.

In this case, it’s both.

“This game would’ve been easier if those morons didn’t just rush in,” Yamaneko grunts as she moves the pedestal and maneuvers her way to Chishiya’s side at the same time.

“Well, we wouldn’t have figured out what to do if it wasn’t for their mistakes,” Kuina replies, testing which tile would get the stream of fire in front of her to stop.

“They’re still fucking idiots, rushing into the fire like that without a strategy! Couldn’t they have tried to look for an off switch first? Idiots!”

“Look at that, I actually agree with you. They are idiots,” Chishiya says in a sing-song manner. “I hope you’re not a pot calling the kettle black, though.”

Yamaneko rolls her eyes, head throbbing. “If my survival didn’t depend on you, I would’ve left you to burn simply for being a condescending asshole.”

On the last row, the militant’s line of thought got befuddled due to the searing tension around her forehead, and she still took the pedestal with her and froze instead of just crossing to safety. The five seconds were up, and flames burst out of the walls, licking the left side of her body. Before it could completely engulf her, Kuina pulled her out of harm’s way, eyes wide with terror.

Screaming, Yamaneko panics as her hair, the left sleeve of her jacket, and her skirt caught fire. Kuina quickly tackles her to the ground and rolls her around, extinguishing the flames. As soon as the fire is out, the taller woman helps her out of her burned clothes, both breathing hard.

They looked at each other when they heard the robotic voice from their phones chime in.

“Game clear! Congratulations!”

One of her hair buns is singed, her left arm is suffering from minor burns, and she’s wearing nothing but her black bikini and her shoulder brace now, but Yamaneko is alive.

That’s all that matters.

She can go home to her new family now.

Kuina lets out a sigh of relief, leaning back and closing her eyes as she sits on the floor, while Yamaneko remains lying on her back, staring at the ceiling and still in shock from yet another near-death experience. Chishiya walks over and leans down, and she waves her good arm.

“Fine, fine. You’re a genius, and I can be an idiot,” she admits, not wanting to engage with any more arguments with the man in white.

Chishiya gives her another maddening smirk. “I never said that.”

Then, he walks away.

The militant sits up and watches as he does. “I know that’s exactly what you think though!” Yamaneko yells after him, and Kuina just scratches her head.

All three of them made it back to the car after Chishiya collected the card. He drives, Kuina sits in the passenger seat, and Yamaneko lies on the back. She looks at the burned skin of her left arm and hisses at the pain. It went through so much in just a span of weeks.

After a few minutes of silence, Kuina speaks up.

“Does it hurt?”

Yamaneko wanted to roll her eyes, because it obviously does, but the other woman is probably just trying to make small talk. If it can distract her from the pain, she’ll engage in it. “Of course it does. But I can manage.”

“Sorry about your hair,” Kuina adds, and Yamaneko shrugs.

“I’ve tried crazier hairstyles before. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“So, how did you end up hanging with those militants anyway? From what Chishiya has told me and from what I’ve seen, you’re not violent unless you need to be.”

“Two of them took me with them, and the rest is history. I’m pretty sure you can figure out why I can’t say no.”

“Fair. They say if you want to live a peaceful life on the Beach, you’d stay out of their business. But if the militants want you to get involved in their business… you better say yes if you value your life,” Kuina replies.

“Yeah. I didn’t have a choice. But even so, I’m grateful to have met them.”

The other woman gives her a questioning look through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“They stood up for me against my abusive asshole dad. Nobody did that before. They’re a fucked up bunch, but they take care of their own.”

Kuina gives her one last look, a sympathetic one, and looks out the window, wind tousling her hair. On the other hand, Chishiya’s look is cold and calculating.

“You do know that most of them are abusive themselves, right?” Chishiya asks, eyes flicking back to the road.

“Well, I’m no longer at the receiving end of the abuse, so I’ll take what I can get.”

The rest of the ride is filled with silence, a silent understanding forming between the two people in the front seat. When they arrived at the Beach, Yamaneko left the two without saying another word, looking for her lover amidst the crowd.

“So, do you think we can still win her over?” Kuina asks the man in white, placing a faux cigarette between her lips.

“I think she’s a lost cause. Look.”

Kuina looks to Yamaneko’s direction, where Last Boss of all people approaches the shorter woman. The tattooed militant sees the burns on her arm, her lack of clothes save for the bare minimum, and he quickly sheds his hoodie to cover her. Last Boss puts one arm around her shoulder and whisks her away from the crowd.

“Huh.”

“She’s involved with one of them,” Chishiya comments, then he turns to leave, leaving Kuina to gawk at the odd couple.

Takatora held Yamaneko close as they made their way to the clinic. Onlookers be damned, he’s not allowing her to walk to the clinic alone. When arrived at the doorway, Sunohara is tending to an injury of her own, dabbing antiseptic on her scraped knee.

The doctor looks up and her face falls.

“Oh, what happened to you?!” she exclaims, putting down the used cotton swab and walking over to her friend, if she can call Yamaneko that.

“Game involved fire,” she groans, holding her singed arm out. Sunohara leads her inside, and Last Boss follows suit, close as a shadow.

“I can take it from here,” she tells the tattooed militant, who only stared at her with a defiant look.

“Just let him come with me, it’s fine,” Yamaneko tells the other woman, and Sunohara nods, not wanting to deal with what might follow if he didn’t get his way.

Sunohara cringes at the condition of her patient’s arm. “You really should be taking care of that arm,” she mutters, eyes not leaving the injuries. “First you dislocated your shoulder, then you almost nicked a major vein, and now it’s covered in burns.”

“It’s not my dominant arm, so I think I’ll manage. Do you think you can switch me back to tramadol, though?”

Sunohara gives her a pained look. “You know that I’m trying not to get you addicted. I’m sorry, I can’t-”

The words came to a halt when Last Boss drew his sword, and Sunohara panics, jumping away from the two of them. Yamaneko is quick to calm him down. “Relax. If she thinks giving me the medicine might harm me, I trust her decision to withhold it from me.”

Nodding, her lover withdrew, and Sunohara cleared her throat to defuse the tension. As the doctor and Yamaneko talked, Last Boss couldn’t stop observing the two, eyes flicking back and forth between the two women. Sunohara had planned to sit and ask about Yamaneko’s day, but her lover is already whisking her away.

“Talk again tomorrow. I need some rest,” Yamaneko calls out as she leaves the clinic.

“Right! Right. Rest well,” Sunohara replies with resignation, watching her slip away.

As soon as they’re away from prying eyes, Takatora mashes his lips against Yamaneko’s, her lipstick staining his mouth. She sank right into the kiss, tongue darting out to meet his. It was a frustrated, desperate makeout session, and it left both of them breathless.

“Huh. Somebody missed me,” Yamaneko whispers breathlessly.

“You got hurt. I was scared.”

“I didn’t know there were things you’re scared of, Tora. You’re my big, brave tiger, after all.”

With those words, he claims her lips again, softer this time, cupping her face between cold hands. As soon as they broke the kiss, Yamaneko buried her face on his chest, breathing deeply.

“C’mon. Let’s go back to our room. I need to treat my wounds and salvage the rest of my hair.”

Takatora nods.

Showering together is becoming a habit of theirs. Takatora helped wash his lover’s back as she avoided getting hot water on her burned arm. When she turns to face him, she chuckles as she reaches up to clean up the stain her lipstick left on his face.

“I should probably look for a formula that doesn’t smear,” Yamaneko mumbles. His long fingers found themselves on her face, and he gently wipes the rest of her makeup away with a soft washcloth. Not a lot of people ever saw her bare-faced.

Takatora considers himself lucky to be one of them.

After they have dried off, Yamane rummages around for scissors, and heads back to the bathroom. Dragging a stool inside, she sits in front of the mirror, assessing the damage. The fire nearly reached her scalp, mere inches of healthy hair between the singed parts and her skin. She’ll need to cut it short. Using a wide-toothed comb to part her hair, she takes a pair of scissors and trims the ends off.

Then, she looks at the other side of her head and sighs.

“Tora?” she calls out to her lover. He opens the door and peeks.

“Could you do me a favor?”

He nods.

“Could you help me cut the rest of my hair off?”

After a moment of reluctance, he nods again.

Behind her, Takatora holds a pair of scissors. Her lover takes the long strands of her hair, and proceeds to cut. He continues cutting until the ends of her lover’s hair are a blunt, uneven mess.

“I’m not good at this,” he says in a low voice as she helped her shake the strands of hair off.

“It’s fine,” Yamaneko replies, turning from left to right to look at her new hair. “I kind of like it. Looks wild. I guess calling me ‘wildcat’ is appropriate after all.”

Cold fingers caress her neck and tilts her head upwards. Takatora presses a gentle kiss, lips cool as well, and she smiles against him. He gets cold easily and Yamaneko’s warmth is a nice contrast. She always warmed him up.

They sit on the bed, Yamaneko sitting with her legs crossed and her back against Takatora’s chest, whose long legs are splayed on the mattress. He watches in silence as his lover applies burn ointment all over the affected areas of her arm, while his are wrapped around her waist.

“So, how was your game?” she asks him, pressing the back of her head against him.

“Easy. It was a Spade.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” Yamaneko responds, smiling as she bandaged her arm. Soon, her eyelids are getting heavy.

“I’m sleepy. Hold me?”

Wordlessly, the tattooed militant shifts his position on the bed with her, spooning her and avoiding contact with her bandaged arm. Takatora buries his face against her hair, getting sleepy as well.

“Hey,” Yamaneko mumbles, voice thick with drowsiness.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

For a moment, her lover tenses up, which made her fear for the worst. Maybe she should’ve waited longer, or didn’t say anything at all.

But then, he draws her closer and presses a kiss on top of her head.

“I love you too.”

Yamaneko fell asleep with a smile on her face, curling into her lover’s embrace.

The morning after, they headed to the banquet for brunch. The aroma of beef curry made Yamaneko’s mouth water, and she immediately went to ladle some for herself. As she filled her plate with rice and curry, Mr. Yamane stands next to her, waiting for his turn.

It’s their favorite dish after all.

Determined not to spoil her good mood this morning, Yamaneko moves away as soon as she’s finished, not giving him an opportunity to speak to her. She stands next to Last Boss, good arm bumping with his, and she leans against him as he grabs a few sticks of yakitori.

“Could you take a few more for me, please? My plate is full,” she asks him, and with a small smile on his face, he grabs the entire tray, making her laugh.

They were about to leave for their room when people started running towards the outside of the building. Sunohara is among them, and Yamaneko shouts after her.

“Sunohara! What’s going on?”

Pausing, Sunohara has a worried look plastered on her face. “Someone jumped from the third floor of the hotel! I’m sorry, I have to go and see if they can be saved.”

Eyes trailing after the doctor, Yamaneko couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

A few hours later, she was called alongside her father by Rizuna An, the Beach’s number six, and an executive member. Last Boss came alongside her, being an executive member himself, and because he wanted to ensure her safety. However, Mr. Yamane’s new wife, who usually stuck to him like a lost pup, is nowhere to be found.

The militant has a bad feeling about this.

They were led to the lower levels of the hotel, to a room with various medical equipment and tools. Other executive members are waiting, including the Hatter and Aguni themselves. The ones loyal to the Hatter regard the members of the military sect with suspicion. Then, what Yamaneko saw behind them made her stop in her tracks.

On one of the gurneys lies Mrs. Yamane’s corpse.

Desensitized by all the death and violence in the borderland, could only stare with her mouth open. On the other hand, her father rushes to his wife’s side, shouting and crying.

“What happened?” Yamaneko asks, not moving from her spot.

“We thought it was a suicide, but there’s a laceration on the victim’s neck. She’s been murdered.”

Then it hit Yamaneko.

She is summoned because she’s a suspect.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 5: “Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me.”

canon-compliant

“JASON!” Annabeth Chase screams, and it makes the rocks in the canyon shudder. But she doesn’t notice because she is too busy sprinting towards her friend who cannot see the monster sneaking up behind him. “JASON!”

He turns around, but it is too late. The monster lets out a vile screech and swipes its tail under his feet. She watches in slow motion as he falls to the ground, bouncing from the impact. And tears stream down her cheeks while she watches the monster lunge over him, a disgusting claw hovering at his neck. She is so far away, and he is going to die, and why the fuck is she so faraway. Something passes her peripheral vision but she doesn’t bother to look, her only focus is Jason, Jason, Jason.

“ANNABETH!”

The scream is enough to shatter the world, and it almost does as she is suddenly thrown to the ground, a heavy weight on top of her. She doesn’t even register what brought her down because her head is singing with pain and her vision is blurring into blackness. She can’t go like this. She refuses to go like this. Not while she has so many unknowns still controlling her life. So she shoves the great big hulking thing off her and swallows the nausea gripping her throat. With shaky hands she pushes off the ground, and stands on even shakier legs. But there still lying on the ground, next to already disappearing dust is Jason Grace. 

With renewed adrenaline spiking her muscles she hobbles towards him, clutching the gaping wound at her thigh that she doesn’t know how she got. She finally collapses next to him, her knees hitting the ground so hard she has to bite back a scream. But a very real sob chokes her as she realises he isn’t moving.

“Jason,” She shakes his shoulders. Nothing happens. Her mind floods with overwhelming panic and it tastes like acid on her tongue. “Jason, please” She can feel the tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks.

He stays perfectly still, chest unmoving, eyes closed. She wants to burn the world. She cannot lose another friend. She cannot lose him. The fates, it would seem, have other plans. Because before she can make sure, before she even has time to process the situation she is being flung so far across the canyon he becomes a dot in her vision. With a sickening crunch she hits a boulder and pain explodes at her back. She’ll be lucky if she can walk after this. Her vision swims as she tries to get up, tries to move into a sitting position. And finally the monster comes into view. The best way to describe it is a scorpion. Although this one had decidedly more eyes, two disgustingly lethal tails, and is the size of a truck, at least. 

She squeezes her eyes as a fresh wave of pain cascades down her body, and when she opens them again the vile, smiling creature is right in her face.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Such vulgar words for such a pretty girl.” It clicks. The sound reminds her of typewriters, and nails on a chalkboard. It hurts worse than all her injuries.

“If you’re going to kill me just do it.”

“Are you trying to win the same fate as your friend?” She swears it’s laughing. She wants to rip its tail off and shove it down that hollowed throat.

“It doesn’t matter what happened to me because he is gone.”

“Ah so you loved him then.” It says it like a statement, no question in its horrid voice.

“Of course i loved him,” She glares and it glitters with vehement pain.

“As a friend or a lover?”

The question pierces through her soul like she had turned the dagger she had in her hand towards herself. Like she had plunged it deep and twisted until her insides were a mess of knots and broken fragments and golden promises and forbidden, forbidden, forbidden. The hold on her precious dagger is weak but it is better than nothing. She will end this now. No matter the outcome.

And then she spots almost imperceptible movement from behind the monster. It can’t be. But it is. There getting up, slowly, ever so slowly, is Jason Grace. Every chord in her heart soars and it feels like she’s injected herself with dopamine. Her grey eyes flash with something dangerously close to hope and her body gives her one more flood of adrenaline. The grip on her dagger tightens as she stares the scorpion in its eyes.

“You should never have touched him.” And with that she swipes her blade across one of its legs and relishes in the disgusting squelch as it servers the limb. Before the thing can react she’s moving to the next leg, and the next, and the next. Until it is barely holding itself up on the three remaining ones. 

With a scream that echoes against the rocky walls it launches itself at her, trapping her against the rock and it. One of the tails slams against the wall, inches from her abdomen. She doesn’t so much as flinch. Her dagger drives into its skeletal hide. It retaliates by rearing the tails and piercing it into her. Or what would have been her if she hadn’t been yanked by an arm, straight into a hard body.

“You’re alive?” She is breathless.

“Barely,” He grunts, but her hand is on his heart and she can feel it beating and everything is going to be okay.

“Tell me you’re fine.” She demands, uncaring of the monster who is preparing for murder behind them.

“That would be lying to you.” His eyes are so blue, and he is fighting a smile, and he is still so beautiful.

“Then lie to me.”

He rolls his eyes, but it works because a smile tilts his lips and he nods. “I’m okay.”

“Good, let’s kill this bitch.”

They don’t need any more words. He gently turns her around, making sure her back is covered and they stand there like King and Queen, ready to conquer the beast. The monster is charging towards them, twin spikes pointed at them like poisoned arrowheads. With a nod to each other they split off and run along the monster as it barrels towards them. It’s moving too fast to stop, so when they dig their blades into its side and fillet it all the monster can do is screech. It slams into the boulder Annabeth had cracked against but still it doesn’t crumble to dust.

She lets out a scream of frustration. Jason is back at her side in an instant. He doesn't touch her, but he’s close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him. His presence makes her heart rate lower. And then she’s looking at his crackling blue eyes and they reflect the same wild, raging, murderous look she’s sure her own have.

‘You okay?” He asks softly, and she doesn’t catch the way his fingers twitch.

“No,” She wants to break down right there. She wants to go home. She wants to be safe.

He brushes a hand to her cheek, and her whole body shudders. “Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me.” He says her words back, with a mischievous glint in his eyes and it is enough to undo her.

With a huffed laugh, and a shove at his shoulder she gives him a soft smile. “I’m okay. Now can we kill this thing so we can go home.”

“Anything for you.”

She looks at him, memorizes the strong jaw, and freckled nose, and the floppy blonde hair, and especially those cerulean eyes that never miss anything, even without glasses. “Let’s go home Jase.”

“Lets.” He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest so her head rests against it. She can hear his heartbeat. She is safe.

“It’s coming up behind you. When i say so i want you to dive to your right and get behind it. I’ll distract it from the front while you cut off its tails. I think that’s the only way we're gonna kill it.”

“What if this is a hydra situation?”

“I guess we’ll have to take that chance. I’m all out of options.”

“I can’t think straight, I think I’m getting delirious from blood loss.” She sighs.

He nods at her thigh, where the stab wound is still weeping into her jeans. “Yea we really should have brought ambrosia.”

“Oh no I was talking about my period, but yea this is bad too.”

He laughs, squeezing her hand and then the plan is in motion. 

“HEYO PIPSQUEAK!” Jason yells and Annabeth is already running, holding down the laughter that threatens to bowl her over.

The scorpion is well and truly agitated by his shouting so it doesn’t see her sprinting behind it. Her friend looks absolutely ridiculous waving his arms around, hair flopping everywhere, and shouting obscenities at a monster twenty times his size. She takes a second to watch before focusing on her task.

“Okay, let's do this!” And then she’s launching herself at the beast, landing directly on one of its tails and sliding down till she’s almost at its back. She feels the moment it knows she’s there because every powerful muscle in its tails go tense and she prepares herself to be flung to her death. But she hears another yell from Jason and the scorpion's back muscles tense. It is preparing to strike. She has to do this now.

So with a final glance back at the almost comical distraction scene and a prayer up to her mother that she survives this she slams her dagger into its tail, and ignores her blackening vision as the monster screeches in pain. Before it has time to react she’s cutting off its second one. For a second it goes completely still, half severed tails twitching, and she thinks it’s going to slam them both into the canyon walls. But then it does something else, and she wants to cry in relief. The horrible monster crumbles to the floor, ash coating the ground.

Annabeth falls to the  dusty floor with nothing underneath her but Jason is there, lifting her up and to him before she can bruise her already torn knees.

“You did it.” His smile is so gentle.

“Not without you.” She returns his joy, “Did you tell the scorpion you hope its mother is disappointed in it?”

His golden cheeks blush bright red but he nods all the same. “Let’s go home Chase.”

She has never heard such beautiful words in her life. “Let’s.”

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Ah yes I am completely anonymous and you totally don't know who I am. Heheheh! Anyway, here's a writing prompt: Sick fic, but Geralt, because I love making my boy suffer, but specifically Geralt basically being a very petulant and childish sick man who just wants his bard to cuddle with him because cuddles from his bf is the only thing that makes him feel better.

(Alright Completely Anonymous, this prompt was cute af so I tried my hand at it. I hope you enjoy it my dear!)

tags: Sickfic, established relationship, Sick!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort with a happy ending, Minor angst, super fluff, Jaskier loves his witcher, Touch needy witcher because it does my heart good

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The day had been utter shit if Jaskier was being perfectly honest. At first they had woken in their camp and it looked like it was going to be a lovely day to travel. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. A lovely breeze passed through but soon after they had taken off the wind blew stronger and harder until a gale fell upon them. There wasn’t even a place nearby to take shelter in until it was over so they had to trudge on. The oilskins they had did their best to keep them and their things dry but by the time they were even remotely close, at least from what Geralt had said, to the next town they were soaked through. Jaskier was sure water was even drowning in the deluge. To make matters somehow worse, there was a fresh battlefield they had to pass by and it was undoubtedly teeming with ghouls. They had hoped to creep past unnoticed but today was not their day and the ghouls descended on them. Geralt was pulling Jaskier up into the saddle in front of him in the blink of an eye before he quickly encouraged Roach into a gallop to get them out of there. Jaskier only had a glance at the hoard chasing them before suddenly Roach was rearing back and Geralt was unseated from behind him because of his haste to get them out of there. Jaskier tried to catch him but their hands missed by the barest amount and Roach was rapidly carrying him further away from his lover. Even if the bard had wanted to turn back to help, he was too busy holding on for dear life and Roach was refusing to listen to him, most likely too scared from the creatures and the storm. Eventually they reached the town Geralt had been heading for and Jaskier really wanted to go and find Geralt but he didn’t know how he would find him with how low the visibility was, so he did what he could. 

He took Roach to the stables, got her all settled in just how Geralt taught him, lugged the bags into the inn, and booked a room for the night. Before heading up, he also ordered food and a piping hot bath to be brought up for Geralt when he got there. When! It wasn’t as if because the witcher was going to die from something like this. He couldn’t. Not after they had just finally figured out what was between them. Not before they found their child surprised again. Not before they had spent as many years as they could together.  It would have broken Jaskier’s heart. So when Geralt gets to the inn, Jaskier will have everything ready!

And he did. But with every passing minute of Geralt still not arriving, Jaskier was not panicking but he may have been a teensy bit worried. He nearly had a heart attack when a young lad of the inn came in abruptly with a wooden tub and proceeded to fill it with steaming water as requested. By the time the boy was finished, Jaskier was about ready to charge out into the storm to find the witcher and drag his ass back here.That was the exact moment Geralt stumbled into the room though, wounded and bleeding, but still alive, thank Melitele! Jaskier hurried to his love’s side and helped him to a chair where he sagged heavily as the bard divested him of his armor. He needed to get a better look at the injuries. Obviously the bard had seen worse in their time traveling together, but seeing painful lacerations covering the other never got any easier. 

Jaskier made quick work of stitching wounds closed and patching the witcher up before getting him settled in the steaming water. He wanted to get all the blood and gore off so they could both just relax for a few hours in each other's company. As he scrubbed through Geralt’s hair, he rambled on, trying to make light conversation. He talked about the unexpected weather, a ballad he was working on, potential work that may be in the town, and of course he remembered to reassure the other that Jaskier had properly attended to Roach before booking their room. He knew Roache’s safety mattered a lot to the man and he didn’t want him trying to rush off to check on her. All of which, however, only received a few grunts. If Jaskier was being honest it was less than the usually sparse amount he gave and after they had finally fallen in with one another Geralt had been more open, more talkative with Jaskier. The troubadour hummed with a furrowed brow as he looked down at his lover in front of him, worried he was more injured then he had thought. 

Geralt shifted to look over his shoulder at Jaskier, his yellow eyes gleaming in the fire that lit the hearth. “Did you warm yourself properly?” The deep rumbling voice caught the bard off guard. 

“What?” He asked dumbly, still trying to process the sudden question. 

“From the rain.” The gruff voice clarified and oh, he was concerned Jaskier realized. Looking down at himself like he had forgotten what state he was in, the human realized that no. He had not in fact done anything to warm up or dry his clothes in the least other than divest himself of his doublet and footwear. He had been too worried about Geralt to think of doing anything else, so he slowly shook his head no to the witcher who had been somberly awaiting an answer. Jaskier smiled shyly, as if to convey ‘whoops my bad’, and stood, deciding he should probably change now that his love was well. Before He could get very far, his wrist was snagged by a strong calloused hand and he suddenly found himself in the Witcher’s lap in the bath. Jaskier couldn’t help sputtering and flailing for a moment before he realized what had happened and why. Geralt for some reason got the bright idea to pull the bard into the water, fully clothed! The water was still nice and warm though, which was nice. 

“Geralt you could’ve just…” He started to whine but the strong arms that had wound around his waist, pulled him tightly against that broad chest that was very distracting. “ Geralt?” The name fell from his lips in a soft breathy question before he maneuvered himself around carefully to face the other. Geralt was watching him intently but his gaze looked hazy and disoriented while his face looked paler then normal. Jaskier frowned slightly and hummed before reaching out to touch the larger man’s cheek. It felt clammy to the touch but his skin was burning under Jaskier’s gentle hold. Now, he knew witchers, well at least his witcher, was weirdly a furnace for someone with lower heart rate but this was much worse. “Geralt…” He tried again, speaking slowly and waiting for his lover to focus on him before continuing. “I think you may have gotten sick.”

Geralt scoffed, much to Jaskier’s chagrin. “Witchers don’t get sick.” He slurred slightly in a petulant tone and got as close to pouting as one who was unused to expressing themselves could. 

“Oh? Like how witchers don’t have feelings? Or how a particular someone didn’t want others to need him? Or--” He sassed back, rolling his eyes before he was cut off by Geralt grumbling irritably in acquiescence. “Well, we should get you into bed then to rest and you should eat so you can easily sleep this off. Hopefully it’s just a minor cold that will be gone by morning.” Jaskier tried to sound reassuring and confident but he couldn’t help but be worried. He had never taken care of a sick witcher before, obviously. An injured one? Yes. A grumpy one? Certainly. Never had he seen Geralt sick before. He hoped it wasn’t going to be a big problem, but luck had been striking out with them tonight so he would have to see. 

He made to stand but hands on his hips held him firmly in place. “Geralt…” He spoke sternly in warning but was met with an indigent huff. “Geralt, we can’t stay in the tub all night.” He huffed right back, frowning at the difficult individual in front of him. The displeased tone of his voice must have gotten through a little though because the grip holding him loosened. In the next couple of minutes, Jaskier managed to get them out of the water, dried off, and in their clothes usually worn for sleeping.

He settled the witcher in the bed, tucking the blankets up to his chin and snuggly around him, before turning to get the food that had been brought up earlier before Geralt’s arrival. Thankfully it was stew which was easier for a sick person to palette. Again he found himself caught by those wonderfully large hands taking hold of his wrist before he could take even one step away. What was with Geralt and manhandling him today? He turned to meet the other’s gaze but he had not expected the sad, pleading expression on his lover’s face which had his heart aching. “Dear heart, it’s ok. I’m only going to get your food, remember? You need to eat to keep your strength up.” He tried to soothe his lover as he patted the hand holding him in place. 

“Don’t need it. Just want you in my arms, Jask.” The softly rumbled words pleaded and had Jaskier’s  heart swelling in his chest. The sweet sentiment had his chest aching to breath and his eyes stinging slightly with tears. He couldn’t help but lean down and kiss his wolf’s forehead. 

“Darling, I love you dearly and want to do as you wish but I worry. I don’t want to lose you now of all times.” He spoke honestly, his voice catching in his throat a bit due to the weight of the emotions Geralt made him feel. “If you eat as much of the stew as you can stomach, I promise I will cuddle you for the rest of the night.” He promised gently, trying to find a compromise. He took Geralt releasing his wrist as a sign of consent, so he didn’t dawdle as he grabbed the food and set it on the table beside the bed. As soon as Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, Geralt slowly sat up and accepted the awaiting bowl with no objections. The bard watched his lover eat quietly, and once he was done, the troubadour put everything to the side before sliding under the covers as promised. 

Geralt curled his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him snuggly chest to chest. Tucking his nose into the wavy brunette locks, Geralt deeply breathed in Jaskier scent. Seeing the witcher so relaxed was one of the bard’s favorite sights in the world. His wolf deserved a little peace and quiet after everything he does for the world, everything he goes through, and Jaskier was delighted that he could help provide it. The bard curled into the other man and wound his arms around his neck content to lie there, combing his fingers through the snowy locks. The petting seemed to pull a pleased purr from the wolf. He was determined to provide Geralt with anything he needed throughout the night no matter what. Slowly, the witcher’s breathing evened out and he was soon fast asleep as Jaskier watched over him. He was certain Geralt would be fine by morning, but until then, the bard was there to care for the one who had so captured his heart. 

[thekisforkeats]

Killing Care and Grief of Heart (Let all the Broken Pieces Shine, Chapter One)

Info: The Magnus Archives, D&D AU. JonMartin in this chapter, more ships to be added. Rated T. Post-Canon. Jon is amab nb and uses they/them, Martin is a trans guy.

CWs: Character death, stabbing, grief, webs, manipulation, apocalypses, alternate realities 

Summary: MAG 200 from Martin’s viewpoint, setting up what is to come after. The idea of Martin being Orpheus and Jon being Eurydice comes from the poem “Eurydice’s Retort” by Aiden. The poem quoted is the last stanza of Margaret Atwood’s "Orpheus 1" from Selected Poems II: 1976-1986, published 1987. The chapter title is a line from William Shakespeare's Orpheus.

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It’s easier than Martin had thought it would be, killing Jon.

He’s thought about it before, of course, and well before he walked through his own Domain and spoke to the other version of himself. Thoughts of Jon’s death have been a constant companion for the weeks (months? years?) they’ve been walking through the Apocalypse, and for more than a year even before that.

Keeping Jon alive was the whole reason he kept working for Peter Lukas, after all.

The first time he thought about the idea that he might wind up responsible for Jon’s death was some time after they went through Oliver Banks’ Domain, the one with all the roots. Jon had been waxing philosophical that night(?), while they were resting in one of the between-places. They’d gotten to talk about the classics, about story and narrative, about how the dream-logic of everything they were dealing with could be understood through the lens of myth and metaphor.

That was when Martin had brought up Orpheus and Eurydice, pointed out that Jon had played Orpheus in diving into the Lonely to bring Martin out. He had quoted Margaret Atwood’s poem, the one from Eurydice’s point of view. Jon, of course, had never read the poem (and honestly, how is he so in love with someone who could barely stand to read anything once, let alone twice), had questioned Martin as to why he liked it so much. (Martin’s answer: melancholy. It’s about Eurydice not really wanting to come back to the world of the living, after all.)

“But you didn’t want to stay there, not really,” Jon had said, looking perplexed.

“Well… no… I mean, I sort of did while I was in there, but once you got me back out…” Martin had sighed. “It fits, that’s all I mean, and it was the first time you’d really used your powers the way you’ve been doing here. You killed Peter Lukas, you drew me out of his Domain, you’ve been doing it ever since. You’re Orpheus.”

Jon had looked at him for a long moment, with those piercing eyes that always took Martin’s breath away, and then said, “That’s ridiculous. I could never make the mountains bow themselves when I did sing.” (Of course he knew Shakespeare, and Martin did love Shakespeare but in this case he really did prefer Atwood), and then Jon was smiling at him and saying, “You’re Orpheus, love.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Martin had countered. “You’re the one who went in there to rescue me. You’re the one who led me out. Forget the Lonely, I’d have been lost in the tunnels forever without you.”

“Ah, but,” and Jon had put up a finger, “I’m the one who actually died.” He’d grinned, as if he were winning something. “I died, and you could not stand the thought, and so you dove into the underworld of whatever plot Peter and Jonah had concocted, and you sang your sweet words at them, and charmed them, and pulled me out of the hell they were trying to trap me in.”

“But… you’re the one who led me out of the Lonely,” Martin had repeated, baffled.

“Yes,” Jon had said softly, “and the problem with Orpheus and Eurydice was always that Orpheus could not trust that she would return to him. He went into the underworld to begin with because he didn’t trust that the gods would reunite them when he died. When he was leading her out he could not trust that it hadn’t been a trick, that he hadn’t lost her, and so he turned around to be sure. His doubts brought everything crashing down around them.” His gaze had been gentle, soft, maybe a little chiding. “If Eurydice had been leading the way, and Orpheus could have seen her the whole time, they would have made it out together.”

The thing neither of them had said aloud was that in the end, whatever Martin had done to pull Jon out of the “underworld” of Jonah’s plans hadn’t worked. The entire world had fallen in around them instead.

Jon had kept the thing alive since then, occasionally calling Martin ‘his Orpheus,’ usually when Martin was making up some ridiculous doggerel to amuse them both. And Martin didn’t mind, and was honestly somewhat flattered, but it started something gnawing at him. Two things, really: first, that Orpheus was the hero of the tale, and Martin did not want to be the hero, did not want to be the one upon whom all responsibility sat. Making choices for himself was all good and well; he didn’t like the feeling of maybe having to make choices for all of humanity.

The second was the nagging, aching remembrance that in every version of the myth Orpheus ultimately loses Eurydice. Death will not be overcome for long, no matter how charming one’s music. The idea that Jon would die to end this Martin had considered more than once. He hated the thought, and would rather die himself than see his lover sacrificed once more.

The idea that Martin himself would have to kill Jon to save the world? It fit perfectly. He knew it fit the moment he first thought of it, and it felt as if his heart were breaking in slow motion ever since.

Orpheus could not return to the world of light and joy with his Eurydice, after all. It just didn’t work that way, no matter how they twisted and turned to try to avoid the truth.

When they’d made a plan Jon had not wholly acquiesced to, Martin had felt that throbbing ache in his chest again. When he’d gone to talk to Jon, and hugged him, and Jon had talked about how everything was his fault… he knew. He just knew, and he did not like the decision he could feel settling in his chest. Jon was going to do something stupid, and Martin was going to have to be the one to fix it.

He could not trust Jon. That was the long and the short of it, he’d thought, as he’d stood there holding the smaller man in his arms, listening to his sniffles. And because he could not trust Jon, he’d stopped when he should have been following the other man, and turned to the others, and told them to go and blow up the gas main now. He’d turned away, and when he’d looked back, Jon was out of his sight and too far gone for Martin to catch up in time to stop him from killing Jonah Magnus and taking his place in the Panopticon.

Ironically enough, this time what doomed Orpheus was looking away from his lover, instead of looking at him.

So now Jon is in the Panopticon, because he could not be anything but self-sacrificing, and because Martin could not trust him long enough to just go after him, could not trust that he would have been able to talk Jon out of killing Jonah once they’d got up there. He’s in the tower, hooked in as the Pupil of the Eye, and Georgie’s lit the gas main already, and the whole thing is blowing up while Jon screams in pain.

For just a moment, Martin has a fleeting memory of Basira telling him that she’d convinced the police not to just burn the Institute to the ground, and oh, if she hadn’t done that…

Well, no use for that now.

For everything Martin’s said, every moment he’s refused, aloud, to admit that he could kill Jon if he had to, he’s known for some time now that he can if he must. He’s thought about it over and over, turning over everything, thinking about how to kill the Archivist. The answer is simple and obvious. Jon already gave it to him, before they’d left the Institute, and it’s narratively appropriate in that dream-logic mythic way the Fears work. So he knows what he has to do.

Martin pulls Jon out of the Panopticon, and they say they love each other, and they kiss. And then Martin pulls Jon’s head back and stabs him swiftly, once in each eye. Jon only gasps once, the first time, and maybe he’s already dead by the time Martin stabs the other, but he won’t take the chance of leaving the job half-done. It’s clear that it was the right choice--stabbing someone in the eye shouldn’t kill them so quickly, but the Eye was all that was keeping Jon alive, and so he’s dead now, gone.

And so, Martin thinks, Orpheus loses his Eurydice. Atwood’s poem echoes in his mind:

Though I knew how this failure would hurt you, I had to fold like a gray moth and let go. You could not believe I was more than your echo.

Martin sobs, then, just once, and he’d keep sobbing but there’s a rising static, the sort he’s used to hearing while listening to the tapes. And then he sees that actual tape has come into the Panopticon writhing up from between cracks and over stone to wrap itself around Jon, around his legs and arms, trying to drag him away.

Martin cannot speak, he’s too wracked with grief, but he’s damned if he’ll let the Web take Jon from him, not now. Wherever Jon is going, he’s going too. That was the deal. So as the web of magnetic recording tape grabs Jon and pulls him through the air like he’s some sort of insect to be wrapped up and devoured, Martin holds him tighter, refusing to let go.

The tapes are somehow strong enough to pull them both out of the Panopticon, through the air, across the landscape. There are other things being pulled toward wherever they’re going, a thousand or a million, too many to count. Martin can see the web of magnetic tape criss-crossing the landscape, touching all the places they’ve been, the Domains they’ve traveled through, the avatars they’ve encountered. He can see with eyes that should have belonged to the Web had Peter Lukas not gotten hold of him and claimed him for the Lonely. He can see the extent of it all, the scope of the plan, the thing the Web had wanted all along--the Fears, bound up by the Archivist’s Knowing, connected by the tapes at a thousand little points, dragged screaming out of this reality toward the hole at Hilltop Road.

For a moment it strikes Martin as a thing of beauty. Wretched, horrid beauty, but beauty nonetheless. A plan at least three decades in the making, finally come to perfect fruition. Reality re-made in order to allow the Fears to manifest strongly enough for the Web to bind them and pull them out and… ascend.

They fall toward the hole, and then into the hole, and then suddenly Jon spasms in Martin’s arms. Martin clutches him more tightly so as not to lose him, so he’s right there when Jon’s mouth opens and sound begins pouring out. Words, but more than words, and none in his own voice. It’s as though he’s become the tape recorder, playing a statement. People talking--Basira and Georgie and Melanie. The world is safe, it seems. The plan worked. And maybe it’s better than Jon’s dead, because surely whatever the people who remembered ‘the Archivist’ would have done to him would have been far more painful and horrific than Martin stabbing him in the eyes.

The Admiral’s okay. Martin wishes Jon were alive, so he could know that much at least.

The voices echo in the darkness they’re falling through. Basira’s voice: “What do you want me to do with this?” She must mean the recorder she found in the ruins.

Georgie replies, “Leave it. We’re done with tapes.”

“Want me to smash it?” That’s Melanie, because of course it is.

Basira says, “I think… we can probably just turn it off.”

Martin can almost hear the shrug in Melanie’s voice. “Okay.”

There are footsteps, two pairs, presumably Melanie and Georgie walking away.

Basira addressed the tape recorder. “If anyone’s listening… goodbye. I’m sorry, and… good luck.”

There’s a final flick, and then Jon actually speaks, despite being dead, the words resonating in the darkness:

“STATEMENTS END.”

Martin almost sobs, clutching Jon, eyes squeezed tight. He’s not sure he ever liked Basira much, and he really barely knew Georgie and Melanie--and really it’s been so hard, for so long, to be sure he liked anyone much, aside from Jon--but he takes the good wishes for what they are, clasps them into his heart. Wherever the Web is taking them, it has to be better than what they’re leaving behind.

Wherever it is, Martin is sure there won’t be any more recorders, any more statements. They, too, are done with tapes.

Next Chapter

[thesoobfiles]

a meeting orchestrated by the force – a. skywalker

Request: @originalposter-96, Can I ask for an Anakin Skywalker imagine? The reader knew him as she was in his training, but when he turned away for the dark side, she doesn’t see him for a long while. When they meet again, she’s a singer in a band. Now, as Darth Vader, he’s surprised to see how much she’s changed. She was performing at a party that he showed up to after feeling the force bond between them. She fails to see him in the crowd as her band performs ‘Slim Pickens’ by the Offspring. After the song, he couldn’t help but worry about her. He doesn’t know how to settle his feelings when he sees her. Once he finds her, they reunite at last and he tries to reassure her that he still cares for her.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: alright, so for the sake of the imagine, Vader is not a crispy boy and didn’t get severely burned on Mustafar. also, the Outlander Club on Coruscant is real; it’s the club Obi-Wan and Anakin went into in Attack of the Clones to catch the shapeshifter… and i don’t know if there’s something wrong with my inbox or something but it isn’t showing me the ask so i can’t respond to it… anyways, hope you enjoy!

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You were the lead singer in a band, ‘Toy Soldiers’. The band consisted of a Twi’lek drummer, a Rodian bassist and a Gungan guitarist.

All of you were just starting out, amateurs, but everyone could tell you guys had talent.

The gang was in high demand, eventually being booked at the Outlander Club on Coruscant; everyone was excited because this was only your third gig and everyone already wanted you guys.

Everyone was well acquainted with each other and was buzzing with excitement as they set up; you, on the other hand, were oddly quiet. Something about this place made you feel a very strong connection with a man you had lost many years ago, 10 years to be precise. You shook it off and placed your hand on the mic, ready to sing your heart out.

Little did you know, that man felt the same connection you had and was on his way there.

Darth Vader was ordinarily more machine than man; his intimidating suit paired with his prosthetic arms and legs made this so. He rarely had the opportunity to lounge around without his suit given his position.

Vader often had trouble rekindling with the Force; however, he couldn’t deny the strong pull he felt to a certain club he visited in his youth.

(Y/N).

Darth Vader hadn’t seen (Y/N) since he was Anakin Skywalker, but he abandoned that name long ago in favor of his new moniker.

Take me for a ride

I’m the one you pushed aside

But it’s coming back to you

Yeah it’s coming back to you, hey!

He left his quarters in a hurry and boarded his starship immediately.

Run to the sound

Take it back and double down

‘Cause it’s coming back to you

Yeah it’s coming back to you

Wearing his everyday suit would obviously make him stick out like a sore thumb; so, he packed the only clothes he still had: his Jedi robes. He knew it was risky; he knew there was the slight chance someone might recognize him as a Jedi, as Anakin Skywalker, but he grabbed them anyway. He sloppily landed his ship and quickly made his way over to the Outlander Club. He changed into his old rags; the clothes that had so much bad history woven into the fabric, it made him sick.

Well

Well we’re pouring gasoline

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

He walked in and the first thing he say was you; he was taken back by the sight and froze to the spot. You’ve changed so much, but at the same time, not at all.

It’ll never be the same, now

‘Cause there’s nothing left for us to be

Give it up the champions of greed

So come around and have another round of me

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sing before; when would you guys, as Jedi’s, have time to sing? He shakes the memory from his head and basks in the smoothness and the raw intensity of your voice.

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

You belted the lyrics with all of your soul and you feel oddly connected to it as well. This song makes you think of a time when the Empire wasn’t around; when Anakin was still by your side.

Snake’s in the grass while you are living in the past

Say what’re you gonna do?

Yeah what’re you gonna do, hey!

For some reason, the connection you felt earlier this evening is only getting stronger. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this connection, let alone so strongly. He must be here, but how?

Earn never learn

When you’re cheering while it burns

Yeah we’re coming after you

Yeah we’re coming after you, hey!

You are too caught up in your thoughts to notice, but the crowd is going wild. They love you guys and you’re too in your feelings to enjoy it.

Slim Pickens well he does the right thing

And he ride the bomb to hell

Yeah he rides the bomb to hell

It is truly unfortunate, the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker; doing what he thought was the right thing. He left – no, slaughtered – the Jedi Order: the remaining Padawans, Knights and Masters were all left to the same fate.

Watch the pulse, it quickens after every little sting

If you’re gonna go to hell

Drinking up you might as well

Your heartbeat picks up as the connection grows stronger; Anakin always had that effect on you. You couldn’t see him as the club was filled to the brim, but your Ani walks closer with every word that leaves your mouth.

Are you really gonna take it like that?

Riding on the missile with the cowboy hat, and

Well the world is gonna end

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

You’re brought back to Order 66, seeing the bodies of your Jedi friends thrown to the floor with reckless abandon. The brilliant life that once filled their eyes replaced by a dull shade of its former color.

Wanna tear it down again, now

‘Cause there’s nothing left for us to be

Give it up to the sons of anarchy

So come around and have another round of me

Tears form in the corners of your eyes and you blink them away; when you and your teammates were practicing this song during rehearsal, you didn’t feel such a strong connection with it. Why now?

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

But, now, here. In this cantina, singing this song, with the pull of long forgotten connection, with the possible presence of Anakin Skywalker…

Are you really gonna take it like that?

Riding on the missile with the baseball bat, and

You mentally slap yourself on the wrist and try to focus on singing the rest of this song without falling apart.

Well we’re pouring gasoline

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

It’ll never be the same

The takers and the liars that we all believed in

Well we’re going down in flames

So dance around the fire

We dance around the fire

‘Cause it’s never left for us to be

Give it up the champions of grief

So come around and have another round of me

Hey, hey!

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

Applause immediately erupts from the audience; you can sense joy in all of the attended, but there is one who feels worry more than anything else… You and the rest of the ‘Toy Soldiers’ take a bow. You begin to pack up your equipment into your ship.

By now, all of the members in your band had packed up their equipment and have decided to mingle with the locals. You just finished talking with the manager about the revenue when you felt someone coming towards you, someone familiar.

You turned around expecting one of your bandmates, but were instead met with a face you hadn’t seen in a decade. The cooper color of his eyes are unfamiliar and are in the place of the dazzling blue you loved so much.

You whisper his name, “Anakin…”

A name the Dark Lord resented until it left your lips, “(Y/N)…”

You stand there, your feet stuck to the ground of the bar, unsure of what to do.

Was this really happening or is this a fever dream? You thought; however, you weren’t sick and the strong connection you felt earlier suddenly made sense.

“You-you left the Jedi Order…” You stuttered out, “You left Padmé and the baby, you left Obi-Wan… and you left me…”

He was left speechless and didn’t know what to say. The Sith Lord was worried about you and he quickly acted on instinct… Those feelings he had for you all those years ago suddenly came gushing out like a waterfall and his feet carried him over here; however, now that he was standing in front of you, he had no words for his former lover.

Yes, he did leave the Jedi Order; he no longer held their ideals and couldn’t serve under their corruption any longer.

Yes, he did leave Padmé and the baby; however, even though he no longer loved her, he didn’t plan on killing her and their unborn baby.

Yes, he did leave Obi-Wan; his best friend and mentor had sought his death and only one of them was coming out of there alive.

And yes, he did leave you; he thought you had been slaughtered during the order and he couldn’t bear the thought. He had shut that part of himself off; he put it under lock and key and melted the key.

He hadn’t felt the tug of your shared force bond in so many years; maybe it was due to the location or maybe it was destiny. A meeting orchestrated by the Force to bring Anakin back to the light...

Vader closed the distance and engulfed the young woman in a hug, her face buried in his chest, his Jedi robes still holding the scent of Anakin Skywalker, “Now that I have you in my arms, I’ll never let you go again.”

You look up at his face and are met with the ocean blue eyes of the Jedi you fell in love with so many years ago.

You break out in a smile and wrap your arms around his frame.

Anakin Skywalker had come home.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 15 - Meditations Two! Electric Boogaloo

There's something to be said for having a home to come back to at the end of the day. Especially when Charles is coming home battered and bloody and with his blood singing in his veins, “You're still alive, motherfucker. You're still alive.”

Because against all odds, he is still alive. And it's starting to feel like he's going to stay that way for a while. Like he isn't just dancing on a knife's edge where a single misstep gets him dead. And the steps more and more complex everyday, til he's jigging for his life to the devil's tune, too caught up in the steps to ever stop cuz if he stops he's dead. And he ain't quite ready to end it all – not just yet, not without a good reason.

So he'd smoked up – from a bong, from a crack pipe – and tried to forget for just a little while that he is where he is (the boneyard) and that he's living how he's living. Just a tiny misstep from dying.

And it's fine. He's got a crew, to help catch and steady him, just as he's there to catch and steady them. Make sure there's at least a little margin of error in the dance. Make sure there's a guy rope tying them together. Keeping them all balanced on that blade – or all falling together.

But the thing about living that way is that it ain't really living. Charles had never known anything else but this, so it feels like a life. But all it is is being dead and not realizing it yet.

Or maybe he had realized, just a little. Been able to catch tiny glimpses of another way of living through the cracked and dirty glass separating him from the living. Able to see out into the real world, with its real people. People who were safe and clean and happy and free.

And Charles had hated them.

Hated them for having what he could never have. Hated them for living when he was just dying slow. Hated them for being free – for having the ability to make choices about what kind of life they lived when he can't choose, not even between living and dying, not really.

And Charles got bitter. Spiteful. Angry. He'd fought back the only way he could. Telling himself that they were weak. That he was strong.

Look at how coddled they are. How loved. He'd never needed any of that shit to survive. He'd toughened up, and they could stand to do the same, the fucking pansies.

So it had become a kind of mantra. Rules to live by, in a world where he's half dead already.

Loving things makes you weak. Loving things makes you vulnerable. And out on the streets, vulnerable means dead. Better to love nothing and be free than to chain yourself to worthless comforts. Better to love nothing than to chain yourself to vulnerabilities.

So Charles had loved nothing. Not even his crew. His crew who'd feared and respected him as he'd respected and occasionally feared them. But there's no place for love – not there on the streets and not with the kind of people he'd invited into his crew – into himself. Strong people. Fierce people. Fighters.

And then Charles had fallen in love with Eleanor Guthry. Or he'd though the had, anyway. Eleanor might not actually be capable of that emotion. And even if she is, she certainly wasn't in love with Charles, making the whole relationship just a touch one-sided. And that was before she got him sent away for that two-stretch. The bitch.

Because that's the thing about Eleanor, the thing that had originally attracted Charles to her. She's a monumental bitch. Ruthless and callous and cold. Just like him.

Equals.

And she'd played the part of fellow gang boss well. Acting tough. Acting like she could understand the life of someone like him. Like she could care about street trash like him.

But it had all been a not-particularly-well-constructed facade.

She'd only put up with Charles for what he could get her – money and thrills and respect from the street. As soon as his usefulness was gone, he'd been disposable.

And Eleanor herself. Well...

She was no gang boss. She was not strong, not in the ways that mattered on the streets and not in the ways Charles has learned are strong in the world of elitist fucks he lives in now. No. Eleanor had been coddled. She'd been safe and spoiled and pampered by everyone she'd ever come in contact with. Completely divorced from the consequences of her actions – at least until Max had taken a go at her.

Max who's another lover scorned and tossed aside when Eleanor grew bored. Which means the justice is just fucking poetic really. And Charles is so fucking glad he'd gotten to be part of Max's revenge. Gotten to see Eleanor toppled from her marble pedestal. Gotten to be the one to send her crashing down to shatter on the streets with all the other gutter trash.

But he's also glad he got to be part of Max's revenge cuz it means he's part of the con she's running now. The con that involves a fancy house and fancy clothes. And safety – real safety.

When he'd gone away for that two-stretch, Charles had chafed under the pointless rules, the petty tyranny of the guards. The lack of humanity – from the guards and from the other prisoners.

But he'd had three hots and a cot and nobody'd fucked with him, not even the most sadistic guards, not after he'd threatened – and committed – enough violence to make his point. His point that he was the toughest motherfucker around and they'd better take that into account going forward.

And, since he didn't know any better – hadn't ever experienced anything else – he'd thought that was safety. He'd thought that was freedom from fear. And it had just confirmed his belief that you couldn't have safety without giving up the freedoms that made life – even a half-life on the streets – worth living.

And then he'd gotten out, gotten back to the streets. Back to Jack running the crew and Max planning the cons. Just in time for the rug to be pulled out from under him – for him to get shoved into the kind of life he'd always derided, always sneered at. The life of soft, safe, spoiled fucks with no drive in them to ever achieve anything. So used to the gilded cage that they'd never walk out, even if the door was left open for them.

He'd chafed at the idea at first. Remnants of his mantra echoing in his head. Love nothing. Care for nothing. Cuz then it can't be taken away. Only then are you free.

Plus, he'd been pissed as hell at Jack for manipulating him into this shit. Cuz he knew – he knew – Charles'd fight it tooth and nail if he'd approached it honestly, democratically. But Jack's always been a slippery fucker. Charles can't honestly say he'd expected any different from him – though Anne's easy acquiescence to the plan had surprised him, Jack's machinations or no.

But Charles is man enough to admit when he's been beaten. So he'd gone along with the plan. Dolled himself up in designer togs. Submitted to Mary's ridiculous social media campaign. Insinuated himself into a circle of shallow, self-obsessed, backstabbing aristocrats. And all for a plan he hadn't really believed in.

But Jack's the captain of their little crew. His word is law. So now Charles is living like one of those rich fuckers. And as it turns out, the half-life he'd been living out on the streets wasn't even close to the real thing. Jail just a pale imitation of what safety could mean.

Cuz it turns out that when you're rich, you can have the food and clothes and safety. But you also have the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. The freedom to live.

That's the big fucking secret. The thing they don't want you to know, cuz you'd burn the whole fucking city down if you knew about the caviar at breakfast eaten off of an ivory spoon. About the champagne filling the Jacuzzi of a penthouse hotel suite with enough gilt to make the Church green with envy. About the blood and spend and filth on your hands – just what it takes to get you that multi-million dollar view, that corner office.

When you're that kind of rich, you can do whatever the fuck you want. No rules, no laws affect you. The little people – the normal people - don't matter at all. They're worth about as much consideration as a bug on the sidewalk – noticed, reviled, and then immediately forgotten.

Charles and Max and Anne and Jack, they're all rich enough they can live like that. No regard for anyone's rules but their own. No concern for anyone but themselves. Content to live cut off from all consequences, surrounded by splendor. Never having to face the grit and the grime of the streets again if they don't want to.

But that's the thing. It ain't about having fancy cars or fancy clothes or a fancy house.

Sure, it's fun to ride around in a limo. Fun to wear ridiculous outfits that cost more than most people make in a fortnight, hideous and tacky and camp, because you can afford to. Fun to live in a mansion with more rooms than they know what to do with.

But that's not the thing that makes him free. That's not the thing that makes this living.

It's the smaller things. The quieter things.

Things like having a place to return to at the end of a long day. A place to rest. A place where he can rest, without worrying someone'll try for him. Without having to put up a facade of power, of ruthlessness.

Charles had mocked Flint for his domesticity once. For his desire for the finer things – well, finer for them, anyway.

But there is something comforting in having a favorite mug in the cabinet of your kitchen. Of having tea to drink out of it, breakfast to eat along side it. To have people around you who you can dare to care about because you're not just clinging to survival – you're living.

People you can do things like sitting out in the garden with, having a tea party like some kind of posh fucker. And people you can trust to patch you up after a night at the underground boxing ring, instead of licking your wounds all alone in the dark.

Because Charles has never felt stronger than the morning he stood in the bathroom with Jack wiping the blood away from his face with a posh hand towel. Berating him for coming home in this state. Begrudging in his ministrations. But his hands were gentle. And worry lurked behind his eyes.

And Charles had realized that Jack cares for him. Anne cares for him. His crew care for him. Care rather than fear.

And Charles cares for them in turn. Can care for them. And that is safety. That is strength that can never be taken away.

Even if they were to lose everything tomorrow, all the money and the house and the whole con going up in fucking smoke, that can't be taken away. Charles knows now what it is to be strong. Strong in a way that even the rich fuckers who they're conning can never be. He knows what it means to be free.

Because the rich aren't free.

They might look free. They might act free. But they've chained themselves inside a new kind of prison, one they made for themselves. Because the thing holding them back, the thing keeping them weak, keeping them civilized, is shame.

The idle gossip of their neighbors. The scandal that can ruin them as easily as it had ruined Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. The fear of offending the wrong other rich fuck and ending up “penniless” and on the streets – or, shudder, a lower-middle-class neighborhood.

That fear, that shame, is what keeps the rich from being free.

But Charles has been penniless on the streets, and he survived. Charles has been low and nearly dead and he'd lived. He isn't tied to the money and the disgusting excess and the whole fucking pretend pageantry of nobility.

And the thing about Charles - about Jack and Anne and Max and Mary - is that they don't really feel shame.

[fairydust-stuff]

Banana Fish Buffy the vampire Slayer crossover Special!  Instead of Fox ,Dino hires a different predator to bring him Ash a decision him and everyone involved quickly come to regret.

Angelus walks into Lee Manor whistling still covered in blood he’s wearing a green neck scarf. the hushed voices of the two teenage boys seated on the sofa fade to silence.

“ Now you boys wouldn’t happen to be plotting would you, I wouldn't want to wake up tied to the bed with someone holding lighter fluid over me. Though it was a good effort, Yue. Even you did just exceed at pissing me off” Angelus added cheerfully.

“ You know what they say, third times the charm” Yut Lung’s tone is deceptively pleasant. “ I’m guessing by your new accessory Papa Dino is no more”

“ The old man was so annoying, Capture Ash Lynx blah blah blah I understand being obsessed with a blond superhero but if your not good at breaking people hand the whip to someone who knows how to use it,” Angelus said with annoyance. “ Don’t get me wrong some of his ideas were good but the execution D minus for effort.”

They’ve been holding each other he can smell it on them how adorable he’s glad he decided to keep Sing around after all. The two of them are much more fun as a set.

“ Shit you‘re in a good mood that’s never good” Sing looks uneasy.

Angelus plants himself between the two of them and stretches himself out one hand by each of their shoulders. “ Go to channel eight” this is directed at Sing The fourteen-year-old picks up the remote and flips the tv on.

Yut Lung has already started on the wine like a good little sixteen-year-old alcoholic. Angelus has contemplated getting rid of every bottle in the mansion just to see him go through withdrawal symptoms but has decided it’s not worth the risk of the kid possibly dying. Besides he’s got a million other ways to make him suffer. “ The Christen killer seems to have struck again the body of a blond eighteen-year-old boy crucified and turned upside down as a clear mockery of the Christen Faith”

Yut Lung scoffs “ What does this have to do with anything?”

“ Keep watching Yuey,” Angelus says in a cheerful voice.

“ the boy has been identified as Ash Lynx former gang leader”

Angelus looks over Sing’s face pales and Yut Lung’s face is clouded disbelief. The vampire shuts the tv off. “ Guess who finally bagged a Lynx” he gloats.

“ No, he’s not really dead…..he’s just playing a trick” Yut Lung mumbles standing up “ That’s just some random boy you picked up off the streets”

Angelus fixes a look of false sympathy on his face “ No I’m afraid it’s not” He grabs Yut Lung’s elbow and turns him so he’s forced to meet his eyes. “ Cinderella is never going to the ball again” then he pulls out one green eye from his pocket.

The head of the Lee family crumples to the floor a high-pitched anguished sound emerges from his throat. Angelus drinks the sight in deeply its hard to get a satisfying reaction from the kid. So when he hits that sweet spot it is euphoric.

“ Kill me” it’s not even screamed just a weak plea for mercy from a severely depressed teenage boy.

“ Nah! you don’t get to die” Angelus tilts his chin up so he’s looking up at him like some sort of God. Its fitting Angelus does control his fate. “ I don’t get why your so eager to go, you’d just burn in Hell for an eternity” truthfully Angelus isn’t sure of that considering the Chinese have a different belief system someone up there might decide reincarnation is more fitting for this wreck of a boy which would undo all his hard work. Now to deliver the finishing blow “ Like, Ash is”

Yut Lung runs out of the room chocking back sobs with anyone else Angelus would think he broke them but the boy had surprised him before. Even posing Blanca’s dead body in a reenactment of Judas’s suicide and offering his actual bloody heart to Yut Lung hadn’t been the devastating blow he thought it would be. Sure the kid was upset judging by his attempted seduce and burn him alive attempt but Angelus had aimed for curl up and whimper, not revenge.

“Just leave him alone you shit!” Sing lost his temper

“I normally don’t finish other’s art projects but his face is poetry and that body is an unfinished canvas. I’m going to craft the sloppy mess they left behind into something agonizingly beautiful” Angelus gloats “ A little side project while I wait to start working on my passion project”

“ Who’s your passion project” Sing asks

Ah, Sing hitting on what truly matters, Angelus thinks with some fondness. “Let’s have some fun, you're going to introduce me to Ash’s group,” the vampire says instead.

“ What the hell makes you think I’d do that?” Sing demands

Angelus just turns and walks up the stairs and up to the bedroom.” Oh Yuey come out and play!” he says in a sing-song voice Sing shot out dragon fang honestly what a ridiculously childish name, Angelus dodged his weapon with a laugh. He can hear Yut lung’s sharp breaths on the other side of the door before he opens it the kids hugging his knees in the middle of that big bed. Hair half out of his braid. Angelus stalks over and runs a hand over the boy’s leg feeling a slight tremble. Angelus contemplates Does he want to feel him up just to show he can or leave burns on the tender skin of those legs?

“ Haven’t you tormented me enough?” it's almost a whisper

“ Hey blame Sing, for choosing Eiji over you again”

“ You bastard! That’s not what’s happening!” Sing protested he’s caught up and he lands a punch on Angelus the vampire blocks and tosses him to the floor. Angulus slides a hand into his pocket. “ I’ll do it, I’ll do it just leave him alone!” the younger boy pleads.

“Really, Sing I had the lighter ready and everything. He’s so fickle” Angelus complained to Yut Lung “ Ah well we’ll play another day” he promises. The vampire blows the boy on the bed a kiss as he leaves with Sing he turns to Yut Lung’s bodyguards “ Watch him make sure he doesn’t die” they nod their human faces vamping out…

“I kinda miss how he was before, trying not to be clingy while wanting to grab onto me, so desperate” Angelus smirks. The two of them are standing on the New York subway.

“ You love the sound of your own voice” Sing observes.

“I was trapped by that nauseating soul, for years. It had me rescuing puppies, puppies! I used to nail those to people’s doors. Think Yut Lung would be upset if I nailed a dog to his door?” Angelus asked “ You are asking me for ways to torment my leader?” Sing demanded incredulously “ Oh right you have a crush don’t you” Angelus laughed. “ I keep forgetting that cause of the whole betrayal thing” “ He was the one working with Dino my cousin’s murderer” Sing argued

“ You think Yue wasn’t plotting against him?” Angelus chuckled “ Maybe that’s why I like you two. Years of do-gooder pep rallies and the constant we help the helpless rah rah rah. And your all hell with it! Your still both gooey in the middle but I’m going to fix that” he promises, vamping out and advancing on one of the homeless people near the back. He had after all missed breakfast.

Sing was looking rather pale by the time he got off the subway Angelus fixed his leather jacket “ I look good right, no blood on the mouth?” he asked “ Now remember only good things or I’ll be paying your pretty cousin Nadia a visit. Maybe I’ll grab of a few your guys as a midday snack” ...

“ We don’t talk to the police” they’ve been incredibly unhelpful,” says the handsome blond man before him who must be Max Lobo. He looks haggard and worn Angelus is pleased with how big an effect his actions have had on the group.

“ I’m a private detective” Angelus pulls out one of the Angel Investigations business cards he’d stolen. “ Sing told me you might need some help catching this mad artist”

“ You mean sicko with a god complex” Ibe retorts.

Sing laughs, he'll pay for that later Angelus thinks. He’s about to draw on some of his Angel speeches the soul makes him act like such a….His thoughts are frozen at the sight of a baby faced nineteen years old with an athletic build and big eyes. This must be Ash’s, Eiji the one he was sorry for not being able to protect. “ I’m sorry, I’m not usually up this late” his voice is hoarse and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“ This is detective Angel he’s a friend of Sing’s,” Ibe says. “ Oh, I’ll make you some tea,” The boy says quickly hurrying to the kitchen and starting up the pot. “ Its the least, I can do for a friend of Sings”

“ Some tea would be nice” Angelus comments. Eiji prepares tea for all three of them.

“ My condolences about your lover” the vampire lies.

“ Thank you, Ash had his flaws but...he didn’t deserve” Eiji pauses

“ I want to bring this man to justice but I need your help. Can you describe everything you saw that night every detail?” Angelus says in a smooth professional voice.

Eiji recites in a dull tone how he found Ash’s body its secretly quite fun for Angelus pretending he was unclear and asking for him to repeat himself, demanding more gory details.

“ that’s enough Ibe,” says harshly noting Eiji’s face.

“ Its necessary for the investigation” Angelus replies “ Its best to pry while every detail is fresh in his mind” he wants to laugh at how easily Eiji defends him as he continues tugging at the fraying threads of the boy’s grief. After the questioning Angelus leaves them the card and promises to keep in touch.

Eiji is sickeningly good, putting his feels on the backburner for the sake of others. He reeks of insecurity and doubt and despite his grief, there’s still a sparkle of naive hope in him. Also, something tells him the boys never been touched, considering Ash’s hang-ups about sex. Angelus normally finds these things not so appealing in boys but there’s such a girlish feel to this boy despite his athleticism that Angelus finds himself wanting to ruin and consume him. The way he would Drucilla or Buffy and the way the gangs in New York latch onto him like lost puppies. Angelus likes the idea of snuffing out the little light they’ve found in the dark world they live in. “ Wait here, Sing I’ve got to get something from the store”...

“ You shouldn’t get too attached to that” Sing comments as Yut Lung snuggles the kitten on his lap. the boy’s laughing at the little licks from the sandpaper tongue Angelus scoops up the kitten which cries out in terror and snaps its little neck. “ Why did you?” the boy yells

“ Present for your enemy Eiji” Angelus commented. “ But it didn’t have anything to do with it!” Yut Lung argues “ Neither did your brother’s children” Angelus returned. “It’s fun to kill defenseless things that can’t fight back right Yue?” he taunts stroking the dead kitten…

Angelus shoves Yut Lung down and receives a dark look “ Your not still mad about the little furball” he taunts. The boy remains silent

“ I’m sure you’ll add it to your list of things to avenge. Angelus runs his tongue along the boy’s wrist contemplatively. “ That’s the problem with you Eastern type everything has to be avenged or its dishonor” the vampire mocks brushing the boy’s neck lightly with his mouth.

“ If your smart you’ll kill me now” Yut Lung warns.

“ But your so cute and helpless” Angelus lifts the quipo slowly and runs his tongue along Yut Lung’s thigh he vamps out and bites down a cry escapes the boy under him. He licks the blood savoring the taste god its been too long. Yut Lung’s silent hatred makes it sweeter. Then the phone rings “ Yes!” he snaps “ Angel I….m... sorry….for…” the shaky voice on the other end is music to his ears. “ Eji what’s wrong?” he fakes concern “ Someone nailed a...a kitten to my door” the Japanese boy managed to get out.

“ Where are you” Angelus clamps a hand on Yut Lung’s ankle just missing as the boy rolls off the bed and makes a break for it. “ I’m staying with a friend,” Eiji says. “ Alright, I’ll be there first thing tomorrow night at eight” Angelus slams down the phone. “ So you're in the mood to play tonight are you Yuey?” the vampire walks into the hall scenting the air “ Alright, let's play hide and seek” he starts walking the halls “ 1, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9” he stops in front of the bathroom door the scent of blood and fear so strong he can almost taste it “ 10” he whisks the door open only to get shoved backward by a long-haired boy into a bathtub of holy water!...

It took Angelous a whole day to heal with the damage a whole day. He had to reschedule with his masterpiece and by that time Yut Lung was long gone. How the hell he managed to slip by his former vampiric bodyguards the former Scourge of Europe had no clue. Sing seemed to have not come back as well which meant those two had planned this. Angelus bet his little boyfriend smuggled him the holy water. When he got his hands on them both ...

“ So you think it’s the same guy who killed your boyfriend?” Angelus asked

“ What other fucker could it be!” Eiji snapped “ Sorry”

“It’s ok you’ve had a bad night. Eiji, I get the impression you're not telling me everything. Do you others to get hurt because you failed to cooperate?” Angelus asked

“ Papa Dino, he didn’t like Ash. We think he may have hired someone to get rid of all of us” Eiji interjects.

Yes me, Angelus thinks to himself not that it went well for the Godfather wannabe or his cohorts. “ Is there anyone else who may wish you harm?” Angelus asked “ Yut Lung Lee,” Eiji says.

“ Isn’t Hau Lee the current head of the Lee clan?” Angelus asked with phony surprise

“ They have a secret seventh brother” Eiji makes a face.

“ I take it your not fond of him” So the feud goes both ways.

“ Even so he’s been silent for weeks” Eiji comments “ And what happened last night. He’s cruel but even he wouldn’t do something like that” Angelus asks a few more questions “ Dam is it nine already” he commented.

“ How about I make you some dinner? It's the least I can do” Eiji offers.

“ You are not looking to break any stereotypes ” Angelus teased.

“ I can still spit in your meal” Eiji jokes. While dining on fish and vegetables the two converse.

“ So what you do besides catch scary serial killers?” Eiji asked “ I like ballet, I draw, I read, love the classics” Angelus admits. “ You” though he already knows photography and pole vaulting. He’s done his research or rather Yut Lung did and was always ready to complain about Eiji Okumura.

Eiji’s face crumples and he starts crying right there on the table. Angelus pulls him into a hug “ Thank….you…..I’m sorry...i” Eiji breaks off. “ Ash, he also loved the classics ”

“ its, fine let it all out’ The vampire soothing I can't believe I’m saying this cheesy crap, you better be worth it Angelus thought. “ I understand what you’re going through…..I lost my whole family to a killer” Yes, me I ripped their throats out.

Eiji’s horrified expression makes Angelus struggle to control himself. “ I’m so sorry, is that why you became a detective?” Eiji asked

“ I’m not a good person Eiji, I’ve done terrible things to deal with my grief” Angelus channels the soul and broods.

“ You're not a bad person,” Eiji tells him softly but with conviction. “ You should stay away from me” Angelus gets up and leaves the house smirking when he’s out of view…

The vampire sits across from the round-faced Japanese boy. The boy has circles under his eyes and the expression on his face resembles that of a lost puppy rather than that of a human. After weeks of ghosting him, dodging his calls Angelus has pulled I don’t want to but now I’m going to tell you the absolute truth ruse. He agreed to meet with Eiji to clear things up and damn he should win an Oscar.

In the meantime, he’s been trying to find his slippery teenage duo. He knows Yut Lung has safe houses all over New York due to his family’s activities well-stocked with weapons, medical and most likely staff furthermore absolutely no invitation inside. Last time he had the advantage of being invited in while attending a meeting with Golzine. Yut Lung had been low key furious when he found out about the vampire thing and how Dino had knowingly let one into his home. He can’t even use Sings guys because they appear to have disappeared as well.

“ First mafia and trafficking now demons! The worlds turning darker every time I turn around” there’s bitterness in his young voice. “ And without Ash….” he gulps and tears start to pour from his eyes. “ I’m so….r...r..y i” “ He meant a lot to you it's understandable you miss him” Angelus takes his hand “ And I’m going to help find whoever killed Ash” he vowed. “ For now I hear the gooseberry pie is to die for”

Eiji opens his mouth but the two of them are interrupted by two Asian men wheeling in a dinner cart. They were young clean-cut and wearing waiter uniforms. “ Order of flaymonyong?” one of them asked “ I’m sorry you have the wrong table, we haven’t even ordered yet,” Eiji says. One of the men reaches for the silver dish lid the vampire feels annoyed “ Look he said you had the wrong table so why…….”

The guys whisked the lid off to reveal a flamethrower. Eiji knocks the vampire out of the way the blast just misses them. The other waiters rush forward also Chinese he notices. Two of them tackle Eiji pinning him to the ground he trashes and bucks. The guy with the flamethrower fires it up again but this time the vampire is ready throwing his shoulder against the fragile human as hard as possible. The sound of something snapping makes him grin. The other Chinese men advance the vampire beckons them forward. “ So how much were you Bruce Lee wannabees paid to die?” he taunts

Two of them pull out their super soaker guns and aim holy water! Angelus snarls with rage and pain his shoulder sizzling. “ Angel, Eiji’s managed to get free and takes the other blasts for him getting utterly soaked. The vampire reaches past him for the hand which he crashes then grabbing the pained man uses him to smack into the other guy knocking them both down. Then he swipes a knife from the table and does three quick slices and two neck snaps. “ Why doesn’t that bastard leave me alone? Ash is gone! What does he want?” Eiji yells “ Go in the kitchen and call Ibe and Max to come and get you” The vampire orders. “ I’m going to make sure that’s all of them” he added. Eiji opens his mouth “ Go!” Angelus snarls. Once Eiji is gone the vampire pulls one of the dead men’s cell phones out of his pocket. He calms and puts Eijji in a taxi promising to continue this tomorrow...

The phone starts ringing, just as he arrives outside his fancy new apartment.

“ Gao?” a soft-spoken young voice comes through.

“ Hello, Angel investigations home of the no fun do-gooders” The vampire smirks.

The sharp exhale on the other end was worth it “ You survived” the boy says calmly. Angelus hears Sings outraged cry in the background.

“ Yut Lung Lee, I’m not gay but that voice of yours does things to me,” the vampire said obnoxiously. “ The rest of you isn’t too far from my fantasies either”

“ Funny, you appear in my fantasies most often as a charred corpse or a stain on the street” Yut Lung said with false sweetness. “ That bastard better keep you out of his fantasies!” Sing again. “ Yue, I’m glad you called” the vampire exclaims “ I need some of your venom spewing cynicism” he pauses “ Three hours with the Japanese boy scout. I swear, I saved Ash from picket fence purgatory!” he complained “You don’t get to say his name, Angelus!” Yut Lung spat

“ Go back to LA to Sunny whatever or even go pillage in the Caribbean Islands. Leave Ash’s Japanese boy alone and leave New York, this is your last warning” Yut Lung’s voice is cold.

Angelus laughs “ Your so obsessed with him you’d try to protect someone you can't stand because he’s the last piece of Ash you have left. God you're delightfully pathetic” “ Maybe but I will average Ash Lynx” Yut Lungs tone is ice “ Yuey you got damseled by the New York underworld's favorite hostage.” the vampire said with contempt. “ By all means take your best shot, I love a good Comedy.” “ How are your burns?” Yut Lung taunts

“ I’ll let you know as I’m slowly taking my revenge,” Angelus says smoothly.

“ You think you can do anything to me that hasn’t already been done,” Yut Lung says sardonically.

“It’s not the act, its all in the performance.” He pauses “I could trail burns down those wanton thighs of yours or maybe I’ll be nice enough to respect the ancient Chinese tradition of footbinding. I like the idea of mutilating those pretty feet of yours.”

Then he hung up and reaches for a pile of rough sketches he’d been working on. “ Your leading man is dead so your mine for the taking, the both of you” he pauses “ First which one of your friends do I kill next” he closes his eyes and selects one of his pictures. Then he hears footsteps turning around he sees a dark-haired woman. “ Hello, Dru” Angelus grinned. “ Do it, Daddy! Make the envious Moon weep until he no longer glows. He’ll taste of fresh lemons and pomegranates” Drucilla says excitedly.

“ Oh i’ll get to our succulent femmefatale eventually now I’m focused on another. Now let’s see who I can nab for dinner” his face vamps out...

“ Another dead end,” Eiji says looking exhausted The two of them combing through the crime photos. It’s not his finest work Angelus admits but he’s still proud of it. Then there’s a knock on the door Angel opens to reveal a man with red hair. “ Charlie?” Eiji says then the color drains from his face at the man’s expression “ No no not anymore I can’t take it!” he insists. “ I’m sorry Eiji,” Charlie says...

“ He always believed in me he used to say I could be a little more selfish,” Eiji says in a dry whisper. “ I was never the type to go for things but Ibe always…..how many more”

The boy doesn’t talk much after that during their outing which suits Angelus fine he’s not after the boy for his stimulating conversation skills. The excuse was he wanted to cheer Eiji up but honestly, its because Drucilla told him “the Moon was angry and stick and straw houses would fall” So Angelus is not surprised to see his house blown to rubble in a fiery explosion nor is he surprised to see three of Yut Lung’s men armed with stakes in case his vampire healing spared him said fiery death. They were here to finish the job. They took one look at healthy alive smiling Angelus and ran for it, unfortunately, he’s with Eiji so he can't rip off their limbs and mail them back to their leaders.

Eiji looks at him after a long thoughtful moment of silence“ I’m sorry you got dragged into this, I’m dropping the case” “ What?” Angelus demanded “It’s too dangerous for you to be around me, here’s some money for a hotel I’m sorry!” Eiji leaves. Dam it that brat ruined his plans Angelus is furious. He’s interrupted by humming he turns to see Drucilla “ Shhhh Miss Edith Daddy is very cross” the vampire chides her doll. “ Come on Dru let's grab a bite in Chinatown ” Angelus vamps out…

Angelus gets a call from Eiji two days later “ Angel, Yut Lung contacted me he says he’s got evidence on who killed Ash. He wants to meet in Central Park”

Angelus grins “ You think it's a trap?” Well, it is but not for Eiji. The little whore is using himself as bait, but if Angelus plays his cards right then he should be able to grab Yut Lung and use him as a hostage to get an invite from Sing. Of course, there’s still Eiji to worry about. Then Angelus comes up with a solution.

“ I need you to come with me just in case, please” Eiji pleads.

“ Of course” Angelus hangs up the phone and turns to Drucilla “ What do you say Dru ready to go to the park?”...

“ You made it,” Yut Lung says standing there.

If Eiji is soft cuddles in the morning Yut Lung is the dirty polaroid stashed secretly in a man’s drawer Angelus muses. Ash may not have been drawn to him like Eiji but the vampire bets he still a small hold on the boy. Yut Lung is all dressed up when they meet him makeup applied, hair done up its like he wants to be taken. It's like he’s living breathing art even his movements are fluid, every step a light tease.

Still, Angelus is going to bind those feet, the air of challenge in those delicate movements gets under his skin.

“ I was worried I’d have to draw you a map” a taunt on those red lips.

“ No tricks Yut Lung where’s the evidence?” Eiji asks

“ Right here” Yut Lung takes out a gun and puts bullet after bullet into Angelus. The vampire crazed with pain doesn’t realize he’s backing up into a tree until he hits it a familiar sharp object sails towards him and the vampire finds himself wrapped up in strings a familiar sharp object penetrating his stomach. Sing swings down from the branches.

“ You think you got me, oh Dru!” he calls the vampiress bursts from her four hours ago hiding spot and grabs Yut Lung pressing her nails to his throat. “ Aaand he doesn’t make it to first base” Angelus taunts. " Though he has been around the field a few times"

“Another one!” Sing exclaims

“ Sing kill him!” Yut Lung ordered.

Drucilla smiled “ Shhhh you used to be a dolly made of sugar to hide the taste of arsenic when you kissed the lizards. You burned the wicked Dragons. Even though you were too late to save the princess before they made her all red.”

Yut Lung gapes at her “ How do you know?”

Drucilla strokes his hair softly and for a moment she seems almost lucid“ My mummy is dead too, daddy name with his teeth like needles. The wolf came to the door but he dressed in the skin of a priest.” she laughs “ We’ll make you all red too. You don’t have to smile when Daddy makes you part you’re legs. We’ll be brides together, I'll carry you under the stars” She promises.

“ Like hell, you will!” Sing exclaimed

Drucilla looks at him and laughs “ Hades and Persephone will ride off with the Moon. The mountain Lion crushed beneath their feet.” she taunts.

“ Isn’t she wonderful? this is Drucilla my masterpiece” Angelus brags.

“ You mean she used to be human” Sing said in horror.

“ And sane and pure and oh so good. She was going to be a nun and declare her vows to God” Angelus said mockingly.

“ You hurt her, you broke her, you took her dam sanity” Yut Lung looks like he wants to rip the vampires’ eyes out with his bare nails.

“ I was going to do the same to you both” Angelus croons.

“ I won’t let that happen,” says Eiji pointing a gun at Drucilla.

“ Daddy who is this?” Drucilla asked in confusion

“ Just Eiji he was the other one I was focused on” Angelus wants to get on with things. “ I can’t see you ” Then Drucilla had a look of realization and lunges for Eiji. the boy fires a gun straight through her head which doesn’t kill her but causes her to scream. Sing moves and shoves a stake through her heart.

“ Not supposed to be here …..” then she turns to dust.

Angelus feels her loss not the loss of a man for his lover but an artist for his greatest work. Angelus breaks through Sing’s flimsy strings furiously. Yut Lung attacks Angelus pins his wrists “ Tonight doesn’t seem to be working out for you Yuey maybe if I give you a rousing cheer!” then he groans as a bullet pieces his chest. Yut Lung slips a needle under his skin and Angelus feels his body flop to the ground.

Then he sees the smoking gun. “ Eiji how could you, I thought we were friends” Eiji flashes him, his middle finger.

“ Congratulations you finally caught on after what a month” Angelus sneered.

“ Why couldn’t you have paralyzed his mouth too Yue?” Sing groans

“ He needed to have some awareness, for personal satisfaction,” Yut Lung says. “ I’ve contacted the Council we have a few minutes”

“ Even when taking out someone for the safety of the community you can’t stop being a sadistic bastard” Eiji complained.

“ He was going to give me locus feet” Yut Lung argued.

“ You fucking bastard!” Sing raged.

“ I’m going to do even more until those feet are completely useless” Angelus vows.

Both Sing and Yut Lung shiver. “ I’ll teach Sing all the wonderful things I learned in Tibet”

“ How could I have thought you were here to help me?” Eiji says with disgust

“Because Eiji if there was a first place for the biggest idiot you’d win the grand prize. I’d rather be back in Hell then continue to hang out with you” Angelus informs him.

“ Why did you?” Eiji asked

“ Because I wanted to taint, and corrupt you in every way,” the vampire says. “ I wanted you spread out on my sheets but you were so hung up on Ash, you friend-zoned me, me!” “ Clearly a bad choice on his part,” said Yut Lung sarcastically

“ You killed Ibe and Ash as a part of some sick game to hurt me” Eiji spat.

“ You were going to be my comeback piece,” Angelus said.

“ This pretentious fuck thinks he’s an artist,” said Sing with an eye roll.

“ So what did finally light a red dot in your empty noggin?” Angelus taunted

“ Yut Lung I realized he wasn’t trying to kill me but you. He wouldn’t do that unless. I went to Max and we did some investigating of our own. Three people saw you the night of Ibe’s murder with red hands. They were just too scared. I contacted Sing and Yut Lung and the three of us made this plan” Eiji said.

“ Enough talk” Yut Lung says with a nod

Sing goes up the tree to retrieve something.

“ You think the Watchers council can hold me?” Angelus laughs

“ They won’t have a chance to try” Yut Lung pulls out a stake and Sing comes back with a Jar. “ You want to do the honors Eiji chan, he wronged you the most” Angelus doesn’t register until seconds before Eiji holds the stake over his heart “ This is for Ash and everyone you ever raped, tortured or killed” Yut Lung holds the jar under him and Eiji drives the stake deep...

Angelus looks at the familiar fiery cubicle “ You know you guys could have redecorated since last I was here” the door opens and a familiar blond boy with green eyes walks through the door.

“ Are you a demonic projection or the real thing?” Angelus asked

Bastard!” a punch sails directly into his gut.

“ Hi, Ash got the guys upstairs really give you a reprieve to torment me.?” Angelus asked curiously “ I’m flattered”

“ This is my torment every sick thing I did for Dino I have to do for them. He’s a fan of my dam work!” Ash sounds beyond self-loathing

“ Yep definitely in Hell! I work my undead ass off sticking it God and humanity in general only to get passed over for some seventeen-year-old hack!” Angelus complained, “ So what Whips, chains, crabs ?”

“ Time to explain why you fucked up” Ash smirked. “ Drucilla never saw Eiji”

“ Come on your telling me your damsel was the difference between me winning or dying him?” Angelus exclaimed incredulously

“ Yut Lung was a mixed bag among the powers that be. Half the people upstairs wanted to put him on Hell’s legislator and be done with it especially after the Lee family slaughter. The other half debated he deserved a chance. In the end, it was love that saved him, Lang Lui his mom caught word and advocated on her little boy's behalf. She’s quite the pistole over on the other side and was smart enough to drum up enough favors for this day” Ash laughed.

“ We got it wrong Angelus, Eiji wasn’t meant to be saved he was meant to guide and protect others.”

Angelus processes this “ Those goodie two shoes used me!” he raged

“ Yut Lung and Eiji hated each other. Worse Sing was left torn between them. You were the nudge all three of them needed to become a united front. It was what the powers hoped for.” Ash grins “ There going to save so many people and its all because of you”

Angelus feels utterly horrified.

“ And it gets better you see Angelus just because you choose evil doesn’t mean good was done with you. You had more chances than any of us and you blew them!” Ash spits

“ I have no soul,” Angelus said in a well duh voice.

“ Neither did Darla or Spike heck Drucilla could've gotten redemption maybe if you hadn’t used her one last time. You robbed that girl of so much! Even with a soul, You were never serious about helping anyone; it was always about Buffy or the Shanshu prophecy or appeasing your own guilt. That’s why when you lost that guilt it was fucking party time” Ash hissed.

“ Are you torturing me or yourself?” Angelus mocks

“ I’m just getting to the good part,” the blond says sweetly “ See every act of evil you did brought out some good”

“How?” Angelus demands

“It’s funny you did so much good as a murderous psychopath because the face of your inhumanity brought out the compassion, kindness, strength of those who didn’t even know they had it” Ash finished.

“ Oh god no please no more just no more!” Angelus’s mind is reeling all that work, all that planning.

“ And guess what? we have an eternity to go over all of the ripples you created in the lives of others while souled and not. I’m talking about every sinner and saint and all of the good they did throughout their lives and how they influenced others. Welcome back to Hell you piece of shit. I’m the new management. I'm here to make sure your stay is as unpleasant as possible. So today lets start with all the nice laws that got passed because of you and Darla’s rampages!” Ash says in a cutesy voice.

Angelus lets out a wail of anguished despair that echoes throughout all of hell. The end

[deliasbabe]

Dancing Through Our House With The Ghost Of You

Billie deals with her own ghosts. Kind of a Character study, I guess. Inspired by the song “Ghost of You” by 5SOS. Part 2 coming soon! 

Words: 2,148

Warnings: Language, Major Angst

As Billie stepped out of the taxi and grabbed her luggage, she glanced up at the place she at one time called home. It still was home, in the general sense. All her things were there, all her pots and pans and picture frames. But could she really call a place she hadn’t stepped foot in in almost a year home? 

Ten months and sixteen days, to be exact. She kept count. The trip was only supposed to last six months, just a quick visit to some of the most haunted places in Europe for her new special. But the longer Billie was gone, the more she realized she didn’t want to return, not that there was much to come home to anymore. She kept extending the trip, using the extra funds from you not being there to do it. Then, once Lifetime’s funding ran out, she financed the trip herself, dragging her new assistant, Amanda, along with her.

As the medium stepped through the threshold, she could have sworn she heard the familiar humming of that one NSYNC song you always played on loop, the one Billie relentlessly teased you for. It put her at ease, sent the butterflies in her stomach swirling about, only to be crushed moments later by reality. There was no humming, no NSYNC song, and most importantly, there was no you.

“I can take your bags to your room for you.” Amanda offered, breaking Billie out of her trance. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but it must have been a while. 

She shook her head, still dazed. “No, sweetheart. That’s ok, I can do it. Why don’t you…” Billie trailed off, too lost in her own thoughts to say a proper command.

“Get dinner started?” Amanda asked, Billie nodding in return, “Stir fry ok?”

“Yes darling, that’s fine.” Billie said, Amanda quickly reaching for Billie’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, but all it did was make the woman’s veins run ice cold. It was wrong, so so wrong. In the absence of you, Billie had so carelessly fallen back into her old ways, and in turn, Amanda had fallen into her bed. She hated to think that the girl she had showered with affections only days before now repulsed her, but the woman had to face the fact that Amanda was only a placeholder, a European flame, although Billie knew her assistant thought it was more, thought she was more.

Billie carefully walked up the steps, hating the hollow sound her heels made when they came in contact with the refinished wood. Everything about this was harsh, even the silence. Her home always used to be so soft, comforting, like her own personal safety blanket. Nothing had changed, the house was still the same, and Billie had to wonder if maybe it was you who kept the house alive, kept its heart beating and warm blood pumping through its veins. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the house was just a house, maybe you were just you, but something told Billie the chill in the air wasn’t thawing anytime soon.

Billie threw her suitcase on the perfectly made, king sized bed and kicked off her heels. It didn’t feel right to call it her bed anymore, not when she could still smell your perfume on the comforter, not when the echoes of your giggles radiated around the room. Billie had always been sensitive to energies, lingering presences that had been etched into the walls and woven into the fibers of the 1000-count sheets, and yours was everywhere. She untucked her silk button down and unzipped her pants, changing into her favorite pajamas that she had for whatever reason decided to leave behind. She wasn’t the type to change right after arriving home, you had spent countless nights teasing her about wearing her heels until the moment she climbed into bed. But something about the way the silk felt on her skin made her want to scream, and truthfully with the way the night was going, she wasn’t sure she would be awake much longer. With a sigh she sat on the bed, unzipping her suitcase and pulling out the contents, ready to put each article back in its designated spot and erase all of Europe from her memory. She heard the soft padding of bare feet on the stairs, glancing up to see you, dressed only in her striped button down and leaning on the doorframe. It wasn’t real, she knew it wasn’t, but she couldn’t help but indulge herself for a moment, memorizing the kinks in your mused hair, your gleaming smile and the way you gripped tightly to her favorite coffee mug.

“Thought you might want some coffee.”

That was the morning after the first night you two had spent together, and it was a moment Billie wanted to burn into her brain for eternity. Still, she hated to torture herself like this, and she forced herself to look away from your form, shaking her head to clear the vision. She glanced back at the open door to see it empty, and breathed a sigh of relief, or despair, she wasn’t sure which. 

When the smell of dinner began to waft into the bedroom, Billie decided to head back down. Despite her being fully aware that she was leading Amanda on, she felt obligated to keep the charade up for a little longer, if nothing else than to keep Billie away from her own thoughts, which seemed to be quickly spiraling. The unfamiliar feeling of her own bare feet on the wooden steps gave her a sense of grounding, or so she thought. Things were different, she was different, and there was no use being swept up in the past. 

She heard the familiar song before she had even made it to the ground floor, her heart pounding wildly as the tune blended with the sizzling of the stove. 

“And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills…”

Billie’s steps lightened, sneaking up to the entryway of the kitchen and indulging herself for a moment. You always sang while you were cooking. Frankly, there really wasn’t ever a moment you weren’t singing or humming or making noise in general, and Billie loved it. She loved hearing you from rooms away, loved knowing you were always there, loved always having you on her mind. She watched you push the vegetables around the pan and she smiled softly, but something felt wrong, and the smile quickly dissipated. It didn’t sound like you, it sounded like…

“Billie? Billie?” Amanda asked, snapping the woman out of her trance, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine dear.” Billie said, glancing down at the floor as her heart dropped, reality settling in once again. This was wrong, all of this was wrong.

“Are you sure?” Amanda asked as Billie glanced back up, “You’re crying, love.”

The medium swiped her thumb across her cheek, catching a single tear with the long nail. She didn’t even know she was doing it, and she let out a small, frustrated grunt. Her gaze returned back to the floor, “Why don’t you head home sweetheart? I can finish this.” She didn’t dare look up, not wanting to see the disappointment stamped across the redhead’s face. She knew Amanda thought she would be staying, there was hardly a night she didn’t end up in Billie’s bed, but even the idea made the woman’s skin crawl. 

“Are you sure? Because I can…” Amanda said, Billie glancing up only long enough to see the realization sink in and her jilted lover’s face harden, “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, Billie.”

Billie knew she wouldn’t be back. It would be just like all the times before, all the times where she had so carelessly thrown her flings to the curb. All of the women before you, probably all of the women after. Her resignation would be a text, effective immediately, once it finally set in that she was just like the rest, one of the many. She wouldn’t be able to bring herself to call, not that Billie blamed her. She knew what she was, what she always had been. A womanizer who loved the chase, but couldn’t ever get serious. The longer the chase was, the longer the relationship would last, but she really didn’t have to say much to get Amanda into bed, and so really, the game was over before it had even begun.

You were different, or at least Billie thought you were different, right up until she did the same to you. But you weren’t easy to catch, and maybe that was why she held on so long. You weren’t wooed by her shameless flirting, you had no interest in her games. She actually had to work for you, fight for you, and you weren’t an easy girl to trap. When she finally got ahold of you, she swore it would be different. But if it was different, you would still be there, you would have gone with her to Europe, not Amanda, just like you two had planned. 

Then again, maybe it was different. Billie knew she wouldn’t think twice about letting Amanda go, in a week she wouldn’t even remember her name. She would be a face, one of the many, that would fade quickly. But Billie had spent the past ten months thinking of you constantly, wishing it were you and not her. That had never happened before. She certainly didn’t see ghosts of her past lovers floating around the halls, just you.

Forgetting about dinner entirely, Billie decided to tackle her demons head on. She wanted to get it over with, despite knowing it would be brutal. She didn’t want to see flickers of you every time she entered a new room over the next few days, didn’t want the constant reminder, so she grabbed a bottle of wine and moved through the rooms one by one, choking down tears. There you were, begging her to dance in the living room, studying at the dining room table, standing in her office covered in paint. Each memory was like taking a dagger to her chest, one after the other. There wasn’t a single room in the house where she didn’t see you, didn’t feel an ounce of your presence. One bottle of wine quickly turned to two, trying to numb the aching feeling that was spreading from bone to bone, nerve to nerve. It was harder than she thought, brutal in every way. You were smiling at her from the balcony, whispering to her in the bathroom, you had even left your mark in the laundry room, and it hurt, it really fucking hurt.

By the end she was stumbling, the second bottle dropped and shattered somewhere on the second floor. She didn’t care, because as she fumbled down the stairs, she was hit with the sucker punch. You were standing by the doorway, bags packed and gauze covering your forehead, hiding the numerous stitches underneath, the ones from the car accident. Your cheeks were tear stained, red rimmed eyes staring back at her filled with hurt and betrayal.

 “Bill, are you sure you want to do this?”

Billie dropped, tucking her knees to her chest as she let out a guttural sob. She didn’t want to do it; she knows she didn’t. Hell, she knew then, but she couldn’t stop herself, and she did. She let you go, all because she was scared. That accident almost killed you, and the medium realized she couldn’t bear the idea of losing you. She hated that she was so attached, and once you said those words, she snapped. She ended things and they ended badly, and she never gave a reason, but you knew, you knew her better than she knew herself. She pushed you away because at least then it was a choice, and Billie needed that choice. 

The woman looked up and you were still there, your eyes boring into hers as you shook your head.

“Bye, Billie.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Billie sobbed, dropping her head into her knees, hoping if she didn’t look, she wouldn’t see you walk out that door, never to return. But Billie couldn’t run from this, couldn’t pack her bags and head back to Europe, not anymore. But this house wasn’t home without you, and Billie wasn’t Billie without you, and you were gone. She hurt you, broke your heart in two, and now she had to pay the price.

She sobbed and sobbed until her lungs burned, never lifting her head. She heard the front door open, instinctually turning away from the noise. “Amanda,” She squeaked out, “I told you that you could go home.”

There was no response, and Billie thought she must have imagined it, that was until she heard a familiar voice.

“Billie?”

[hyperactivelittlebee]

Intertwined(Hermitcraft)

Notes! @gridoc Pirate AU belongs to this fantastic person! Okay so, for those reading not on the pirate au discord. (Keep in mind this info is only giant headcanon in the Pirate AU discord that Me and a few others developed on!) Mim is NPC Grian. In this AU he is a siren. His true name is Xelqua, but when he joined Doc’s crew he took on the name of Mim(A joke on Mimic because he’s a Siren who was a Mimic of Grian) And the rest of that story you can read IF YOU JOIN THE DISCORD BECAUSE ITS REALLY FUN!!~ Anyways, enjoy. TW: Descriptions of blood, violence against Sirens, Navy just being assholes, and some swearing As dark water sloshed all around him, Etho couldn't tell what was happening. One moment he was on board beside Doc- discussing plans as they left the dock- the next he was falling and drowning in the frigid, empty water. He could see the fiery red explosions of cannons going off. He could hear the muffled shouts of the others on board and gunshots ringing- bullets whizzing through the water around him. When he caught his bearings, Etho swam frantically for the surface; almost reaching it before feeling a chain snag his ankle. It dragged him down, heavy and painful making his angle burn like it was engulfed in fire. A splash was heard beside him, and before long the weight around his ankle was relieved; arms wrapping around him and dragging him to the surface. He broke the surface and ripped off his mask, gasping sharply as he gulped up the warm air. Etho swam to the beach frantically, grabbing pulling himself onto the grainy surface as he coughed and sputtered. "Etho!!" His head snapped to the voice, relieved to see familiar clear blue eyes piercing his own. The Siren was like an angel, the fire in the night outlining his true form like a halo. Mim held his face so gingerly, thumbs rubbing his cheeks with a worried expression, "M-mim- what- what happened?" His voice was shaky, still out of it, "Navy? I think- I'm not sure but whatever it is, its bad-" Etho shook his head, ears still ringing, "Shit, alright-" Mim nodded, "I will sing and lure the others I can away- you just get to Doc." Before he could respond, Mim pulled him close and kissed his lips softly, making Etho melt a bit before he pulled back, "I love you..." Something gripped at Etho's heart as he suddenly felt that separating was a bad idea- anxiety filling his gut- but he didn't listen. "I love you too." With that, Mim slipped into the water and disappeared. ___________ His sword piercing the belly of yet another Navy soldier, Etho's eyes searched the dark abyss of the water for that familiar shimmering tail. He ran to the rail, watching frantically until he recognized Mim in the water heading to the shore. Etho ran off the ship to meet him, deducing that the coast was clear. He could see Mim crawl out of the water. He could see the Navy sailor creeping up behind him. Yet His voice wasn't fast enough. "MI-" The siren looked to him, and in that moment the spear plunged into his back. The blade broke through the other side, blue blood spurting and staining the sand below, running down from the wound in thick streams. Etho watched his eyes widen in pain as a soft noise escaped his mouth. With the sickening sound of the blade being ripped out, and the sound of the Navy man sneering, he broke- everything turning red. Etho lost it. When he came to his senses, the navy soldier was barely recognizable- face bashed in with a rock that Etho didn't even know he had gotten. A pained groaned reached his ears and his attention was drawn back to Mim, eyes wide as he saw the siren lying on the beach, blood gushing from the wound in his torso. He ran to his side, frantic as he pulled Mim to him, "D-Darling?" Mim's voice was broken, leaning into Etho's hand as he cupped his face, "Yes- Yes I'm here, I'm here Mim..." Etho tried to keep his voice steady as put pressure on the wound, eyes watering, "I-it- it hur-t's-" Etho's heart broke into pieces as he gazed down at his lover, heart-clenching his pain as he tried to keep himself from breaking down, "No...No no no- You'll- You're going to be okay Mim, please..." he scooped up the small siren, holding him tight as he bolted for the ship. "Get Stress!! Please!!" Most of the crew turned from their celebration, and quickly the mood turned from joyful to solemn. Grian was the first rush over, False running to get Stress, "What happened?!" "He- He got snuck up on while shifting-" Ren ran below deck to clear a bed for them, Etho following close behind. The moment Mim was laid on the bed, in began to stain brightly with the turquoise blood, the mans heart weeping at the sight. He lent over the bed as the others rushed with supplies. "E-eth...o..." A hand cupped his face, soft as Etho began to feel warm tears slip down his face. Mim forced Etho to look at him, giving him a broken smile as blood trickled from his mouth. "It...s...Oka-y....." "No- no..." The words were breathy as Etho felt hot crimson blood slipping through his fingers, the light slowly leaving his lover's eyes. It was too much- not even yesterday he was had been gazing into the nightsky with Mim, and now his one true heart's desire was dying in his arms. "Please, you can't leave me- not yet- you promised, w-we had plans!" Stress ran down the stairs, rushing over with supplies as she nudged Etho to the side. He kneeled by Mim's face, crying as he tried to whisper sweet nothings to the other, "I love you...I love you so much Mim-" "Dancing at a ball- I-i wanted you to see beautiful lands, W-we- we wanted to get married in the summer- you wanted me to try swimming with- with dolphins and-" He whimpered quietly, "I don't w-want to be alone again..." Etho felt like a child, weeping and blabbering by his mothers side again as she bleed out of the cold wood floors. The scene so vivid in his mind- the angry shouting, the screaming on his mother as she was beat, and sobs of his father when he found her- he didn't want to be alone in these thoughts. He didn't want to be crammed in that cupboard again, watching someone rip his light from his life through a small crack in the door, frozen in fear as a meek child. It couldn't happen again. As Stress finished stitching and patching the wound, she got up and whispered something to Ren, who looked solemn. The man walked over, reaching and giving Etho’s shoulder a squeeze, "He's lost so much blood...Stress...doesn't think he'll make it-" "He will." Etho snapped, glaring at Ren, making the man falter and his ears flattened back. Without another word, he backed up and turned back to Stress, muttering quietly to her. "Et...ho...?" The pirate turned to Mim, leaning forward, "Yes?" The siren smiled softly, "Ca-can...I...ha...ve...a kiss...?" His voice was scratchy from coughing and Etho couldn't bring himself to deny the request as he leaned forward. He gently pressed his lips to Mim's gently, tears slipping down his face. When he pulled back, Mim shed one more tear. "I....l-lov....e....you..." Etho whimpered, "Xelqua..." The name was so broken and quiet as it left his lips, not yet ready to accept what was happening to his lover. His heart stopped as he watched a single breath leave his lips as he went limp. "Mim?" No response came, "Mim!!" Etho cried out in pain as he stood and shook the body, "No! NO!" He sobbed as Doc and Ren pulled him back from the body, kicking and struggling, "No! He's not dead yet!! Please!!" "Etho, its alright- he's gone, there's nothing we can do about it please-" Doc's voice was soft, heart aching at the sight of his broken friend and the siren on the bed. After a minute, Etho went limp and he sobbed- everything around him coming crashing down. "Please...I'm begging here- To whatever God is listening, Xisuma- Amusix-...please let him live...""Well that depends. Why do you want him to live?" Everyone in the room looked to a tall man in a long cloak who stood before Etho, his figure dark and imposing over them all. Without hesitation, Etho answered through sobs, "He's...I love him...I love him so much-" "Typical. But What would you do, to have him back hm?" There was a hint of amusement in the mans tone, prompting Ren to stand and draw his sword in anger, "I don't know how you got here, but I want you to leave now before I-" The man snapped his head to Ren, piercing red eyes meeting the lycans, making him freeze, "You do not scare me in the slightest, mortal." Startled, Ren backed up once more, thrown in a loop with the mans tone. He turned to Etho once more, "So?" "Anything. I would do anything..." "Even if it meant the cost of your own life?" Etho didn't need to think twice. "Yes..." The man snorted in amusement, "Then it is done." He reached toward the empty air in front of Etho before clenching his hand and pulling back firmly. Etho felt his heart tug in his chest, pain erupting as the man opened his hand to reveal a ball of red light. "This is your soul. I'm willing to make a deal with you- I'll revive him! But you must give him part of your soul. Taking your soul and giving it away will however kill you. So?" "Etho, no this- this isn't worth-" Stress began and Etho gulped, ignoring her and staring before he stood, looking the man in the eyes, "Deal." Eyes widening, the man smirked, "Then it has been done." He snapped his fingers and Etho prepared for the pain, heart racing. Pain never came. There was a soft groan and a loud gasp of air, everyone looking to the Siren as he coughed and sputtered. Etho ran beside him, embracing Mim tightly as he broke down again, "I-i..im alive?" Stress and Ren were in shock, confused as they waited for the other part of the deal to take effect. The man chuckled, looking to them, "Oh how I adore loopholes. I said giving up his whole soul would kill him- but I was only taking part~" Mim took one look at the man and gaped, "Amu? Wha...?" "I wouldn't let my best friend die on me Mim. You know this...I just wanted to test something." Amusix's eye glinted with mischief, and he turned to make his way out from the deck, "He's a keeper, Mim..." Mim glanced at the man who was sobbing into his shoulder and smiled softly, hugging him back tightly as he teared up, "Yea...he really is..."

[merlinsbed]

I’m listening to my wangxian playlist (and procrastinating on watching a documentary for my cultural anthropology class) and having lots of feelings about it so have some rambling about some of my favorite songs (this is gonna be long so most of it is going under a cut):

Without You by Ursine Vulpine, Annaca I think is like perfect for the 16 (13 if we’re going with book) years when wwx was dead. beginning of the song puts me in mind of the end of the bloodbath at nightless city when wwx dies and then his grief in the aftermath of it (this is like my absolute favorite song for them rn I mean the lyrics “can you hear my cry / and oh lullaby / drifting through the sky” definitely makes me think of lwj playing inquiry looking for wwx and the ending lyrics are so good omg: “I don’t wanna live a life without you / I will watch the world burn without you” the whole song is incredible though seriously)

My Medea by Vienna Teng, in addition to being one of favorite songs in general, I think is a great song for wwx, probably during the burial mounds era? “no haven for this heart / no shelter for this child in mazes lost / heaven keep us apart / a curse for every mile of ocean crossed / for I must die for what I’ve done / a twist of fate a desert sun / for I see what I destroy” just gets me every time I listen to it

Tightrope from The Greatest Showman I think is fantastic from lwj’s perspective I mean like the LYRICS “hand in my hand and we promise to never let go / we’re walking a tightrope / high in the sky we can see the whole world down below / we’re walking a tightrope / never sure never know how far we could fall / but it’s all an adventure that comes with a breathtaking view”. it kind of puts me in mind of the single log bridge line

And So My Heart Became a Void by Ursine Vulpine, Annaca is another good tragic one imo, more from wwx’s pov. “oh my love what have I done / there’s nowhere left for us to run / and I was standing in the sunlight / and I can’t bear the sight of you / oh my lover what’s on your mind / you’re caught between two ways of life” just. ugh. I love it

Labyrinthine Heart by Sleepthief (feat. Jody Quine) I think really captures their relationship pre wwx’s death when there are so many obstacles keeping them apart “It’s the loving way / that you say my name all the time / I can feel / night with you by my side / but will darkness release me / I hear you cry / locked away in your cage / and I want to try but I’m caught / in this maze of design” also “through the corridor / yours forever more and you’re mine / I can see / daylight with you by my side / and no walls to enclose me” god at this rate I’m gonna quote the whole song lmao I can’t help it it’s all just so beautiful!

Us vs Them (The City Will End Tonight) by Denmark + Winter is really good post resurrection imo. “it’s us against the world / I won’t let you down” like enough said right? I mean it’s LITERALLY lwj and wwx against the entire cultivation world at one point!

Lovers Death by Ursine Vulpine, Annaca is actually one I go back and forth on a bit because I’m not 100% sure the chorus fits but the VERSES ARE SO GOOD “I’ve seen what love looks like / I’ve seen it’s beauty when it’s alive / I was roaming in it’s paradise / it’s gold it’s blue it’s in the skies / but I am a witness to love’s death / there’s no blood there’s no body there’s nothing left / oh my darling don’t you ever forget I wasn’t prepared for the end” again I think it works really well for nightless city when wwx dies. and listen I will freely admit that I’ve like imagined that whole scene while listening to that song and it is so. fricken. tragic. it just. it just ups the tragedy factor of wwx’s death by a million

Rewrite The Stars from The Greatest Showman with lwj as zac efron and wwx as zendaya. like the thing I love about the live action that puts it at the top for me in terms of favorite adaptation is the whole star crossed lovers thing it has going on between wwx and lwj in wwx’s first life which rewrite the stars captures so well. it specifically puts me in mind of the time during the sunshot campaign up to wwx defecting after the phoenix mountain hunt with lwj trying so hard to help wwx and be there for him even though he doesn’t understand the whole situation (because wwx doesn’t TELL him) and wwx wanting lwj there but also not wanting to hurt him and like lqr doing his best to keep them apart and I could keep going

Carry You by Ruelle and Fleurie is a beautiful somewhat tragic somewhat hopeful love song from lwj to wwx post resurrection imo. “you are not alone / I’ve been here the whole time singing you a song / I will carry you” is the chorus and just UGH lwj always being there to catch wwx when he falls, refusing to leave his side even when it means turning against everything he’s ever known, like I just think it really captures the steadfast devotion he shows wwx, the sheer depths of his love

Closer by Mike Perry, Sonic Avenue, Hot Shade (Feat. Mikayla) is another song that I think captures the pining of their relationship during wwx’s first life, post war. “can we go back to that summer / when we just had each other / I still hear the song in my heart” puts me in mind of reminiscing about their days in cloud recesses, simpler happier times when they didn’t feel like they had the weight of the world on their shoulders. the whole song gives me a bittersweet, longing feeling like I picture wwx lying awake at night in the burial mounds thinking back on those days and trying not to become overwhelmed with longing

Never Look Away by Vienna Teng is another good one. “Let me uncover the silver in your dark hair / the weight of your bones / I want to witness the beauty of your repair / the shape you’ve grown / for you are made of nebulas and novas and night sky / you’re made of memories you bury or live by” I tend to think of it being from lwj to wwx but it also works the other way imo as well but like these LYRICS GUYS “so if you’re out there in the cold / I’ll cover you in moonlight / if you’re a stranger to your soul / I’ll bring you to your birthright / I want the storm inside you awoken now / I want your warm bright eyes / to come back to me / and hold on to me / you know that I won’t lie”

that’s not the whole playlist but these are my current favorites (especially the ones by ursine vulpine with annaca performing vocals I highly recommend the whole album it’s only 5 songs and they’re all amazing)