#i can see the darkness as his robes block my vision

[riddlemethis-or-riddlemethat]

I need Tom Riddle to give me a hug, preferably from behind, so I can feel his solid, flat chest press against me and cry both in relief of finally being held, as well as pure, uncontrollable gender dysphoria.

That sweet dichotomy of joy and suffering. I crave it like lifeblood.

[animasola86]

👻 A KNIFE TO REMEMBER

ghostface x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 3.8k

As you try to find your way through the mysterious house, someone finds you first...

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Masks/costumes! Knife kink/knife play! Fingering! Anonymous sex! Creampies! (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: This is part 2 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 This is OPTION 1/PART 2 - but can be read individually, let me just set the scene:

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and on your search for the bathroom, you come to a long hallway full of doors, and you decide to reach for the door closest to you.

Just when you reach for the door knob, you feel someone coming up from behind, and before you know it, a pair of hands blocks your vision. You gasp in shock, but a low voice vibrates in your ear as you're being pulled against a firm body.

“Shh, no need to panic,” the male voice drones, making you stiffen in his hold. It sounds a little muffled. “I won't hurt you. Unless you're into it...”

You reach up and grab onto his wrists, squirming against him. “Let me go,” you plead, but he only shushes you.

“Ah, come on, little Red. You're here for an adventure, aren't you?”

His hand moves to your mouth now, and you blink into the dimly lit hallway. He holds your face tightly, making it impossible to turn your head and look at whoever has you in his grasp, but you can still see that he's wearing a black costume, something like a robe. No gloves, though, just big veiny hands. Strong, and very adventurous.

With one still on your mouth, muffling the noises of protest, his other hand roams along your body, rubs up and down your side, gropes at your breast, grips your throat and gives it a light squeeze, before moving back down, teasing under the hem of your skirt. You must be in shock, because you can't find the courage or willpower to fight whatever is happening. This guy is clearly taking advantage of your confusion, and without another word, he pushes you forward, opens another door and guides you into the dark room beyond it.

You stumble, and when he finally lets you go, you fall onto something soft. A bed. Scrambling on your hands and knees, you're not quick enough as he grabs you again, pushing you flat on your stomach. A garbled scream escapes you, coaxing a low chuckle out of him. He has his hand on your nape, a tight grip, and you whine and struggle, but he's strong, and when you suddenly feel something cold press against your neck, you freeze on the spot.

“Tsk, tsk,” he makes. “Be a good little victim now, okay? I really don't want to make my shiny new toy dirty too soon. Can you feel it? The cold blade?”

You don't even dare to breathe at this point, because, yes, you can feel it, see the large knife in your mind's eye as it teases against your delicate skin. He eases the pressure slightly when he curls one arm around your middle, pulling you back and flush against him. You'd expect his breath on your ear with how close his voice is, but you can't feel anything – except something hard like plastic pressing against your cheek. He's wearing a mask.

“So, let's have a bit of fun first, yeah?” he whispers and leans around you, and even in the dark room, with only the moonlight falling through the window, you can see the long white face with its wide open mouth and droopy eye holes glaring at you. Ghostface. “Hi,” he says, tilting his head menacingly, a low chuckle in his muffled voice. “Or would you have preferred a different sicko with a knife? We do have quite the selection tonight.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. The sight of that face, frozen in plastic, gives you the chills, but you can't deny the little flutter in your stomach. May it be your sensitive guts or something else entirely, but whatever the case, you are rendered immobile by this strange encounter.

“So, how would you like this? Shall I chase you through the house first?” he continues in a mocking tone.

You blink, trying to calm your thundering heart. “Just... let me go?” you gasp out when he raises his knife again, poking the sharp tip against the side of your neck. “Please!” you cry out with a whimper, tilting your body away.

“Aw, baby, don't worry, I won't kill you,” he says quietly, pressing his other hand against your stomach. “I just want to have some fun! And I'm sure you do too. I saw you come in, all alone, lost and lonely. Won't you like some company? Isn't that why you came here on your own? To meet people? Let loose?”

His words have the desired effect as you find yourself agreeing with him. Maybe not like this, but then again, this is a Halloween party, spookier things have happened than having some fun with a masked stranger (who teases you with a very real knife...). You can't deny that your body is already accepting whatever may happen next. The man behind you seems to sense its willingness too as his hand suddenly slips down your stomach and under your skirt and curls right between your legs, eager fingers pressing against your underwear.

“Ah, yes, see? You're so ready for this,” he hisses into your ear, and you look away in shame. “So wet. Maybe you have a knife kink?” he asks, simultaneously pressing the blade against your throat and his fingers between your wet folds, making you gasp and stiffen. As you fight the urge to squirm, he keeps rubbing along the drenched fabric of your panties, pressing hard and deep, teasing your entrance. “Would you like to have something bigger in that cute little cunt, hm, baby? I promise I brought more than just this pretty knife...”

To underline his words, he presses his groin against your back, and you can feel just how happy he is to see you. Your heart beats faster. It's a strange sensation. This feels wrong, being cornered by a stranger (with a knife no less), forced to have some fun, but then again, maybe you needed the push into the right direction. You only live once, as cheesy as it sounds, and you have to admit you've (more or less shamefully) masturbated to the occasional rape fantasy story before.

Sure it's something else to actually experience this, but your body seems to disagree. It's a thrill, an actual adventure, and the fact that you could have fought more and tried to run away but never actually did speaks volumes. Maybe you want this? And he does seem to ask you for your consent in his own twisted way, even if he has a knife pressed to your neck and his fingers between your thighs – he could have just taken you with how much bigger and stronger he is, but in the good old villain fashion he had to hear his own voice for a bit instead.

“Well?” he whispers, rubbing his plastic mask against your cheek. You can hear his labored breaths through it now, he seems just as excited as the wetness dripping against his fingertips makes you appear.

“Mhm,” you croak out, unable to find your voice or any words to make this whole situation make sense in your protesting mind. You can't believe you just agreed to this, whatever this is, but before you can ponder it any longer, he suddenly pushes you forward and you land on the bed again. Too shocked to move, you let him manhandle you onto your back, and before you know it, he's crawled over you, pushing your skirt up and your legs wide apart, holding them open with his knees.

His hands roam up your body, and you realize he's dropped the knife somewhere, as his long fingers knead your breasts through the fabric of your blouse. You lie beneath him like a stranded beetle on its back, hands palm-up next to your head, unable to even twitch, and all you can do is watch the large shadow above you, with only the white mask glowing in the dark. It's eerily intimidating, but at the same time you feel the telltale tension in your stomach, alerting you just how aroused you are.

“What a good girl you are,” he says, fingers fidgeting with the buttons of your blouse. “So submissive. Are you just as breedable, hm?”

His words make you shiver. You inhale sharply when his rough hands make contact with your soft breasts as they slip right beneath your bra, pushing it up, and you can't help pressing your chest against his touch, wanting more. He's strangely gentle in how he touches you, despite his costume, despite the power he clearly has over you. And it only adds to your arousal, making you squirm beneath him.

“Little Red's excited, huh?” he mocks as he gropes your tender tits until you feel your hard nipples pressing into his palms. “Don't worry, I'll fill you up in no time. But maybe... hmm...” he makes, slowly leaning back on his knees. His fingers grip the sides of your blouse, pulling it open and exposing you completely, before trailing over your stomach until he reaches to the side and grabs the knife again. “Maybe I want you to beg for it...”

You let out a surprised whimper when you feel the cold edge of the knife press between your breasts, teasing at the soft mounds. He's looming over you, his head (and the mask) tilted ominously to the side, the grotesque face staring down at you. You swallow hard, barely daring to move with the blade so close to your skin.

“Come on, baby, beg me to fuck you... or beg me not to kill you?”

Suddenly his hand is on your throat, and you gasp voicelessly as he closes his fingers around it, while pressing the knife firmer against your chest, the blade scratching along your skin with every rapid breath you take, no matter how hard you try not to move.

“Please,” you whimper, a series of shivers crashing down your spine. “Don't... hurt me...”

“Hmm, can't promise that, lovely,” he replies with a sigh. “I'm sure you'll like a bit of rough sex as well, won't you? And what's pleasure without a little pain, hm? Try again!”

The knife pokes a little deeper, and you're sure it broke your skin now, but he keeps holding your neck, that unnerving mask staring down at you. “Please, don't kill me,” you whisper, playing along, somehow not as frightened as you should be. “I'm too young to die!”

His laugh is low and menacing. “And too pretty as well, right? Yeah, you are,” he says with another chuckle, leaning closer until your entire vision is filled with that white face and its black eye holes. “Well, then, whatever else could we do? You know I like to kill people, slash them up real good... if only there was something I could do to you instead...”

“F-fuck me,” you croak out, surprised by your own words.

He leans back abruptly, a triumphant “Ah!” falling from behind the mask. “Good girl, Red. I can do that!”

Your head is spinning as you have a moment to contemplate what you just said, but only until you feel his hands lifting your hips before his fingers pull your panties down. He's shifted to kneel beside you, and you realize he's placed his knife right on your fluttering stomach. Your hands claw at the edges of the pillow as you ground yourself, still not even thinking about fighting back or even escaping. Why would you? You've never felt this exhilarated. Sex with a stranger. Your mother would be so disappointed, but it's all the more incentive to go through with it.

You watch his dark figure, noticing that he's rid himself of the long black robe, and you can see muscled arms and a tight black shirt, and you wished you could see it all in more detail, but it's too dark, so you just have to imagine the rest of his build. Not that it matters much, you're already aroused enough as it is (though the mental image of a big strong guy with bulging muscles pinning you to the bed certainly helps with it).

When his fingers are back between your legs, you gasp in surprise, blinking your eyes into focus as he rips you from your thoughts. His fingertips move expertly, slipping between your labia, teasing at your hooded clit, poking at your hole. All you can do is squirm slightly, moaning softly the more he touches you. He watches you, or so you think, his head tilted comically to the side, that white face leering at you ominously.

Suddenly he moves, hands on your thighs as he pushes your legs wide open, before he grabs the knife and teases the pointy tip down your stomach, over the fabric of your bunched up skirt, until you feel the cold metal against your inner thigh. You let out a croaked whimper, forcing yourself not to move too much. While he teases you with the blade, he puts his hand over your mound, pumping his palm against your wet folds until a lewd squelching sound rings in your ears that makes you blush deeply.

“Nice and wet for me, aren't you?” he mocks quietly, repeating the motions a few times before he pulls his hand back and probes two fingers against your core instead. You brace yourself for the intrusion, but you still cry out softly when he pushes inside you. Big hands with thick fingers, and two of his feel like four of yours, as he stretches your entrance and presses hard against your protesting muscles. You groan in response, thrashing your head back.

He keeps fingering you, his digits slipping in and out in a lazy rhythm that he mirrors with his knife as it scratches up and down your inner thigh, and every time he presses the blade harder against your skin, you feel your walls clenching around his fingers.

“You like that, huh?” he whispers menacingly. “Knife kink confirmed.”

You bite your lip hard to suppress more telltale noises of pleasure, but he only keeps going, teasing you, playing with you, pushing hard and fast into you, and when he curls his fingers just right, you inhale sharply, that tension in your stomach building relentlessly, almost painfully, but it's only when you suddenly feel the cold metal of the blade right against your throbbing clit that you come with a loud howl, hips bucking up, no longer caring about getting cut, as you ride the waves of bliss as if nothing else matters.

“Beautiful,” you hear his distant voice as you slowly come down from your high, bright lights dancing behind your eyelids, and you feel him still massaging your squishy walls as they contract around him. “Can't wait to feel that around my cock...”

You hear a soft clinking sound when he seems to fumble with his belt, the knife back on your belly, heavy and cold even through the fabric. His hands are on your waist then, pulling you down a little until he drapes your legs over his thighs, guiding your crotches together. You barely register any of it, your mind reeling from your orgasm, but also anticipating the feel of his dick inside you. You can't see it in the dark, but with how he is built, you can only imagine it must be equally impressive.

You don't have to think about it for long as you feel its tip pressing between your wet folds when he rubs it against you to gather your slick. Breathing harder, you open your eyes, trying to watch him. The moonlight is enough to show you a big strong body kneeling between your legs, and only the glowing mask makes it all a little eerie, but when he finally enters you, you don't care about appearances anymore. He feels glorious.

Big, oh so big, filling you out more than you would have expected as he presses deeper, nudge by nudge, little rolls of his hips until he bottoms out inside you. His hands dig into your waist, holding you against him, and you feel bruises forming, but you don't mind, you need this. His first thrust makes the knife on your stomach bounce, and you gasp loudly. The second is equally harsh as he withdraws slowly to slam back in with force.

When he finally settles into a slow but steady rhythm, you're mewling softly, overwhelmed by how he feels inside you, how your walls cling to his shaft, sucking him in and dragging along it with every push and pull, rubbing so deliciously you feel a scorching tension building up inside you, burning brighter with every snap, every deep plunge, filling you up more and more.

His hands leave your waist to grab your throat, turning your soft moans into voiceless gasps, as he slowly picks up the pace and really rams into you, using his hold on your neck as leverage to angle his pelvis against you, allowing him to hit all the good spots with ease and fervor. You cry out soundlessly, your eyes rolling back, the last thing you see that ominous white mask above you, before you come hard around him, clamping down on his pistoning cock, your wetness gushing past him as you convulse beneath him.

You feel lightheaded, blinded by bliss, barely able to breathe, but you couldn't care less. He fucks you through your literally mind-blowing orgasm, pushing you higher and higher, until you feel it building up all over again. He lets go of your throat, allowing you to cry out hoarsely as you come a second time (or so you think, not that you could think at all, much less count the highs he's forcing upon you).

He pushes you down into the bed, one hand on your shoulder, holding you steady, while his other hand grabs the knife off your stomach, and you only realize that when you feel the cold blade against your cheek, gathering your sweat on its tip. Or maybe your tears, you can't be sure, your body feels like it belongs to somebody else at the moment, and you're just here to enjoy the ride.

“Open wide,” he tells you, his voice muffled and strained, and you comply, parting your lips before you feel the blunt edge of the blade pressing against them. “Tongue out.” You follow through, still too dizzy to question anything.

He presses the knife flat against your tongue, holding it there while he keeps pounding his cock into your fluttering cunt. You can hear his labored breaths from behind the mask, his movements becoming jerkier as you just lie there, staring up at him, goosebumps rippling over your skin as your legs twitch against his sides.

The white face is looming over you, unmoving, unnerving, while the man behind it gives his all to chase his own orgasm as he thrusts into you feverishly. Your own sounds are muffled with how he holds your mouth open, and you have to really force yourself not to move your tongue against the blade. He leans down more, putting more of his weight on you, pinning you down, his hips snapping against yours in a wild rhythm, until he finally stills, a loud groan echoing in your ears as he falls forward, mask pressed to the pillow beside your head, the hand holding the knife to your tongue shaking slightly.

That last thrust made you whine as he pushed as deep as he could possibly go, bullying your cervix, and before you can even wonder if he's used a condom or not, which you doubt, but again, your mind is swimming in bliss, unable to worry about anything at all, you feel him throbbing inside you, his balls drawing up against your folds as he empties himself in your depths, filling you with spurt after spurt of hot cum. You clench around him, trying to milk him, and the motion only makes you moan into the blade pressed against your tongue as another wave of pleasure crashes over you at the sensation.

He eventually leans back up, propped on his elbow, that mask so close to your face it's all you can see. Slowly he lifts the knife, the cold pressure gone, and all that remains is a numb feeling and a whole lot of spit. You close your mouth and swallow hard, but freeze when he suddenly reaches out and wipes his fingers over your wet lips, a gentle gesture you haven't expected. He traces your mouth with his thumb, and for a moment you're tempted to pull that stupid mask off and kiss him, deeply, properly, but that's not part of your play, unfortunately.

He stares at you a moment longer before he sits up again, his chest rising and falling almost as heavily as yours. His hands trail down your body, giving your breasts a few more squeezes before he grips your hips and pushes you off him, his mask tilting down as he watches his cock slipping free from your cunt, followed by a large warm dollop of his cum spilling from between your puffy lips. He exhales loudly as he slowly gets off the bed and puts his spent cock away.

“Well, wasn't that fun,” he then says, his low voice a little strained. “Thanks for the ride, Little Red. I'll make sure to recommend you to the others...”

His words should have irritated you, but you're still too fucked-out to care. All you reply with is a soft sigh as you sink back into the bed, finally relaxing into the cushions. You watch him out of hooded eyes as he puts his robe back on, hiding those strong arms, then leans closer once more to pick up his large knife.

And then he's at the door, opening it, letting the light from the hallway spill into the room and over your soiled body. He raises his knife, waving at you almost menacingly, then slips out of the room, closing the door behind him, vanishing like a shadow in the night, leaving you alone in the dark.

You groan and thrash your head back. What a ride indeed. Not how you have planned this party to start, but what's done is done. When you eventually scramble off the bed, bra pushed back over your breasts, your shaking fingers trying to button your blouse, you realize you can't find your panties anywhere. He must have taken them. Fuck. If he wouldn't have pumped you full of his cum, you wouldn't even mind, but as you stand, you can feel it dripping down your leg, warm and sticky.

Sighing deeply, you squeeze your thighs together. Just another reason to finally find that bathroom, you think as you slip out of the room and back onto the hallway full of doors.

1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6

YOUR NEXT OPTIONS ARE:

check the door opposite you

go to the end of the hallway

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[madamadragon]

My insomnia has struck again, here's what came to mind in the middle of the night. Sorry for the mistakes but it was two in the morning, enjoy my lil fic!

------

Drama in the drama

"I told you not to touch it!"

"I wasn't touching it, I was examining it"

"It's the same thing, you idiot"

As Li Xiangyi regained consciousness he heard voices arguing. He slowly sat up and then shook his head trying to free himself from the numbness. The last thing he remembered was sneaking out of the sect again to meet Di Feisheng. The two were having a pleasant battle with their swords when a strong white light blinded them.

He blinked, focusing on the room around him. It appears to be a huge pavilion with dark walls and chairs positioned in front of a white cloth affixed to wall. Then he noticed the people next to him. A-Mian had just woken up and Yun Biqiu was helping her get back on her feet, not far from them the other members of the Sigu Sect were looking around lost. However, there was no trace of his shixiong.

At the other end of the room was the one he recognized as He Xiaohui, master of Tianji Hall and wife of Finance Minister Fang, together with her son. The child couldn't have been more than eight years old but he didn't seem scared, he stood silently next to his mother holding the hem of her dress tightly in his fist.

As he scanned the small crowd a hand entered his field of vision. He looked up and met the eyes of the boy he had started seeing secretly over the last year. Di Feisheng was leaning over him with his hand stretched to help him. The infamous director of the Jinyuan Alliance who offers help to the Leader of the Sigu Sect, a rather strange vision given that all of Jianghu considered them enemies.However, Li Xiangyi knew who Di Feisheng really was and without thinking twice, placed his hand on his. The Leader of the Jinyuan Alliance effortlessly picked him up, asking with his eyes if he was okay. The young Sigu Sect leader nodded.

"Li Xiangyi!” Qiao Wanmian's graceful voice called him back.

Di Feisheng instantly retreated and hid in a dark corner of the room.

The most beautiful girl in Jianghu, together with the others, joined him.

"Are you all ok?" The young leader asked, looking at those present.

Everyone nodded. Master He then approached them.

"Leader Li, considering the situation, I hope we can stick together to avoid danger," the woman said, putting her hands together and bowing respectfully.

They were in an unknown place and she had her son with her, it was better to join forces. Li Xiangyi understood well what she asked.

"Certainly"

Suddenly a commotion caught their attention. They turned to find themselves face to face with five individuals older than them. Instinctively Li Xiangyi stood in front of the members of the sect ready to defend them in case of danger, his hand stretched out towards the hilt of his sword.

"Gentlemen, it seems we are not alone" noted the only woman in the group. His companions turned and stared.

"Look A-Fei! Xiaobao was so cute!" The man dressed in green with a wooden hairpin shaped like a lotus flower exclaimed fondly. The child caught by surprise hid behind the mother. “I forgot how adorable he was at that age.”

"You've only seen me once" snorted the younger man with blue robes and hair pulled back in a ponytail, crossing his arms over his chest.

The crowd was visibly confused at that statement. Li Xiangyi looked from the boy to the child and noticed a certain resemblance. That he was...But this was impossible!

"He had that stupid face even as a child," the man dressed in red and with broad shoulders sneered.

The boy tried to kick him but was blocked by the man dressed in green who patted his chest to calm him.

"Sect Leader Li, it seems we have confused our guests" declared the last man of the group dressed in black and with a lock of white hair, scanning their reactions.

"You're right, it would be better to introduce us" the woman agreed and then smiled towards A-Mian.

"Okay! I'll start" the boy offered "My name is Fang Duobing, son of He Xiaohui, master of Tianji Hall, and finance minister Fang, Li Xiangyi's only disciple" he said, clasping his hands and bowing.

Master He widened her eyes turning towards her son. He couldn't believe that this young man was her Xiaobao. He was so healthy and strong and apparently Sect Leader Li's disciple but how could this happen? She had done so much to keep him away from Jianghu.

Li Xiangyi, on the other hand, didn't imagine that he would have a disciple one day, after all, he had only founded the sect a year ago. Apparently his fame would grow enough over time to have a disciple but why only one?

"My name is Yun Biqiu, director of the Baichuan Court and member of the Sigu Sect" then introduced himself the charming man with the white locks.

The young Biqiu wasn't that surprised, he knew that he would stay by Li Xiangyi's side but he wondered what the Baichuan Court was.

“Hey, I must say that Yun Biqiu was handsome when he was young,” Fang Duobing said in surprise, looking at him. “Not that you aren't now, Director Yun,” he chuckled.

“Yun Biqiu has always been charming, both in body and spirit” the green-robed man agreed, nodding.

Yun Biqiu blushed at those words.

"I don't think it's appropriate..." He murmured in embarrassment.

"It would be better to continue" the woman interrupted them smiling "I am Qiao Wanmian, Sect Leader of the current Sigu Sect" she announced with a slight bow.

Young A-Mian was stunned, how could she have become the Sect Leader? She slowly turned to look at Li Xiangyi. Had something happened to him? In fact, among his future selves she did not recognize her beloved. Her eyes filled with tears.

“If you are me…” she whispered with a lump in her throat “Then where is Li Xiangyi?” A dead silence fell. "He's..." The girl sobbed, staggering in understanding. Then something had happened.

Li Xiangyi wrapped an arm around her shoulders supporting her. He glared at the group.

"Hey, don't look at them like that, it's not their fault" the man with the lotus hairpin admonished him then took a deep breath "My name is Li Lianhua, miracle doctor who can bring the dead back to life" the broad shouldered man snorted "before my name was Li Xiangyi, former leader of the Sigu Sect"

At that revelation everyone opened their mouths in amazement. There was a long silent pause. How could that man be Li Xiangyi? His facial features were different.

“Hey, Li Lianhua, I think you broke them,” Fang Duobing laughed, “And you still haven't told them that you are Di Feisheng's husband.”

A loud gasp was heard at the side of the room. Li Lianhua looked in that direction and sneered.

"Still in the shadows huh? Hey, little Di Feisheng, why don't you join us?"

The young leader of the Jinyuan Alliance emerged from the shadows with an angry expression on his face.

"What you say are lies" he accused, grabbing his machete.

Li Lianhua shook his head and then patted the red-robed man on the shoulder. The latter rolled his eyes and said:

"I am Di Feisheng, Director and co-founder of the Jinyuan Alliance" the young A-Fei was taken aback by what he had said, the doctor urged the man to continue "Li Xiangyi's husband" A-Fei concluded through gritted teeth .

Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng exchanged glances. Was theirs more than a friendship? The feeling that had blossomed recently was something unknown to both of them but now they had confirmation that one day they would get married. Strangely enough, Li Xiangyi felt that it was right.

Li Lianhua chuckled.

"It wasn't that hard was it?"

Di Feisheng turned to him, his facial features softening.

"It was classified information"

Fang Duobing snorted in amusement.

"But if all of Jianghu knows about it"

Di Feisheng took a threatening step towards him, making the boy step back in fear.

"Ah! Li Lianhua, A-Fei is mad at me again!"

The doctor sighed in exasperation as he stepped between them.

"Be good, you two"

Those present could not believe their eyes.

"This is ridiculous!" A Sigu Sect member exclaimed indignantly.

"How can we believe you?!" said another.

“That can't be Sect Leader Li, he looks like a crazy doctor,” someone else shouted again.

"We can't trust it! The director of the Jinyuan Alliance is here, they might be accomplices!" The room filled with voices full of doubt. Panic was slowly spreading through the crowd.

“SILENCE,” Li Lianhua thundered. At that moment he seemed like a different person. With his shoulders straight and his voice confident, he exuded a solemnity that only the leader of Jianghu possessed. Then a sly smile appeared on his face. "Well, now that I have your attention, how about we split up and try to figure this out?"

------

After restoring order inside the room and both parties having explained that a talisman had brought them there, one found inside the Lotus Tower and the other in the Sigu Sect, they decided to divide into small groups and search the pavilion. Fang Duobing, accompanied by Xiaobao who was thrilled by his adult and strong version, approached the strange white cloth. It didn't seem to have anything special but underneath it were two buttons, one with a triangle pointing to the right and one with a drawing of a man.

Suddenly the light that had blinded them and brought them there came back.

“Fang Duobing!”

"Fang Xiaobao"

"It was him!" The boy and the child exclaimed in unison, pointing fingers at each other.

"What is going on?" A familiar voice asked, a voice that made the blood boil in Li Lianhua's veins. He slowly turned towards the newcomer while a huge smile spread across Li Xiangyi's face.

“Shixiong!” The young leader rejoiced, running towards him followed by the members of the Sigu Sect.

"Shidi" Shan Gudao called him affectionately, placing his hands on his shoulders but he didn't seem the same Shixiong as when he left that morning before finding himself there.

“Leave the boy immediately,” A-Fei warned threateningly, unsheathing his sword.

"Ah, I see you're all here," Shan Gudao sneered, sinking his fingers into Li Xiangyi's flesh. The young leader of the Sigu Sect could barely suppress a grimace of pain, His shixiong had never been so brutal. Qiao Wanmian hurriedly pulled the others away from that man.

"What are you doing?!" Fang Duobing asked worriedly, he didn't like the way he was holding the smaller, disoriented version of Li Lianhua.

Suddenly Li Xiangyi found himself with a blade at his throat. That was definitely not his shixiong.

“I should have ended your life when you were still a kid,” Shan Gudao growled.

Di Feisheng moved towords them but A-Fei stopped him. The young man looked at him angrily but the other shook his head letting him know to wait and so Di Feisheng withdrew.

"Look at you, so young..." Shan Gudao whispered, grabbing Li Xiangyi's face with one hand "Your skin has always been so soft" he caressed the boy's cheek with his thumb, causing him to shiver with disgust, that man was not the shixiong he knew , he was an empty shell of his former self.

"Don't touch him!" A-Mian shouted disgusted by that gesture. Shan Gudao looked at Li Xiangyi with a mixture of jealousy and lust.

"Your anger led to your death" Li Lianhua began to say as he advanced towards them, Shan Gudao stepped back holding Li Xiangyi tightly "Do you want to repeat the experience?" And in an instant, the young Sigu Sect leader felt himself being pushed forward.

Fang Duobing grabbed Li Xiangyi while Li Lianhua together with A-Fei pinned Shan Gudao to the ground. With quick movements they had managed to free the young leader while landing the shixiong. An extraordinary display of skill from their future selves.

"Are you OK?" Fang Duobing asked examining Li Xiangyi's neck from which a small amount of blood was dripping. The young leader nodded as he watched his older self tie his shixiong to a chair. He didn't know what would happen in the future but it certainly wasn't anything good.

"Let me see,” Di Feisheng's voice woke him from his thoughts.

The young leader of the Jinyuan Alliance had moved Fang Duobing by taking his place and examining the wound on Li Xiangyi's neck. That gesture seemed to confirm that there was something between the two of them.

"You've known each other for a long time, haven't you?" A-Mian asked shyly, handing Di Feisheng a handkerchief to dab the wound with. The young leader of the Jinyuan Alliance took it without glancing at her and remaining silent.

“A-Mian, I…” Li Xiangyi wanted to explain the situation to her but couldn’t find the words to do so.

"Don't worry, I understand everything, he's the young master thet you meet in secret" the girl smiled at him. Of course, she didn't expect Li Xiangyi to like boys but she knew that their relationship wasn't destined to last. He needed someone around who might be able to follow his greatness, she wasn't that person. A-Mian patted his hand in understanding and then left them alone.

"Damn it A-Fei, were you born with those muscles? It hurt when you pushed me away," Fang Duobing muttered as he rubbed the arm that Di Feisheng had hit to move him.

“I train hard unlike someone” A-Fei replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You...!"

"Enough now," Li Lianhua admonished him.

They had just finished tying Shan Gudao and he began to feel a pain at the base of his head. They had to find a way to get out of there, one of the buttons Fang Duobing pressed could bring people into the room, the other one they still didn't know what it did. Furthermore, he had the feeling that Shan Gudao's appearance was only the tip of the iceberg and that more dangers would come.

“Fang Xiaobao, I told you not to touch anything!” Master He was heard shouting.

Everyone turned in their direction and saw that little Xiaobao had pressed the other unknown button. Suddenly a writing appeared on the white cloth.

Mysterious Lotus Casebook

[industria-adastra]

[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: It's sad to be at the bottom of life, right? (4/5)

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Summary: It's amazing, really, how quickly love can turn to hate. Or maybe, it hadn't been love after all.

Note: Recently, I've gotten into Hazbin Hotel again. I ended up adding more stuff to the latter half of the original chapter 3 that I cut. I hope you like it, intended audience of maybe two people.

-------

There is a man who is always present in these events. A man who always hangs about on the fringes of the ever-increasingly elaborate parties in Jennette’s name, observing within the shadows. Athanasia finds him to look disturbingly similar to her father, even if she brushes off their similarities time and time again. And like her father, as she discovers in an accidental bump, he reeks of the magic that the Obelian royal family seems inexplicably chained to. 

She goes searching within the records, and already, his face appears only a generation away. Yet, Anastacius de Alger Obelia had been long dead, hadn’t he? But Athanasia has long learned to not believe in coincidence. Something strange is afoot. Will he become a test of what she’d do for her family?

At another ball, another celebration for Jennette, his dark gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash jewel blue, and, oh,  Athanasia understands now.

(She’s never tried spilling blood with her own hands)

Stiffening as he leisurely walks over, Athanasia’s mind rushes through potential actions she could take. On one hand, she could alert everyone within the vicinity, especially Lord Robaine, about her uncle truly living up to his name. On the other hand, remembering the bitter twist of his lips, staring at Father and her sister, Athanasia stalls.

(Perhaps it is a good idea, with the pressure of twisted magic she hadn’t truly noticed the strength of before. Something's wrong.)

Her vision blurs, watching him steadily walk over, the light clicks of his shoes like a war drum against her ears. His clothes don't seem to fit, a strange, ever-changing amalgamation of fluttering robes and crisp formal wear. His hair is neat and carefully tousled, and his hair is shaggy and unkempt.

(There is something deeply wrong about this man)

“It’s annoying, isn’t it, not being the golden child everyone loves?” It’s as if two people are asking this of her, with a strange mix of amusement, cold pity and understanding within his (their?) eyes. 

(Something about him is wrong, wrong, wrong)

Athanasia opts not to reply, shifting her gaze elsewhere. It’s a question loaded with enough weight to topple an empire. She’s quite sure that what that man means by ‘annoying’ is not as light as it sounds.

“I see,” his eyes move to catch her gaze. 

Before he moves to turn away, they give some last few parting words that render Athanasia stock stiff in her heels.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when you break alongside your ghoul of a mother, my dearest niece.” 

"Dearest descendant of mine."

The phrases overlap together, and before she can even blink, before she can let go of a tense breath, a body moves into her field of vision, blocking her view. Athanasia stumbles forward, hand outstretched to politely shift it away. But when it moves, they are already gone.

(It's as if they've vanished into thin air)

After that fateful encounter, Athanasia never sees him appear at another ball ever again. 

She wonders if she should have ever told her father about this meeting.

Then again, with his constant state of apathy and ennui during their regularly scheduled tea times with Jennette concerning anything relating to her, Athanasia wonders if it’ll simply pass through his ears like white noise.

-

Ever since the first one, the tea parties Jennette tries to host for the three of them are always painfully awkward. This one is no exception. Athanasia is eighteen now, and all that’s changed is Jennette’s choice of tea and snacks—this year is chamomile and imported sweets from Siodonna.

The overpowering taste of sugar accompanies the taste of rose. Paired with the chamomile, it verges on being too sweet. 

Without a need to contribute to the current conversation (consisting of Jennette rambling and her father barely even looking like he’s paying attention—he looks perpetually drowsy these days), Athanasia finds her attention turning to Bluey’s recovery. He keeps shedding feathers all over the place, and sometimes his muscles lock together involuntarily. Sustaining a life is harder than keeping it in stasis. She can’t push too much magic in, and neither can she give too little. Yet, there is no predefined value to sustain—there’s an unknown sequence yet to be found. She needs to find it soon.

“Just yesterday, I went to see Ijekiel—”

Clank. Athanasia’s teacup strikes its saucer perhaps a bit too harshly, rudely cutting off Jennette’s words. Because of that, she offers an awkward, sheepish smile to her audience of two. 

“My apologies for that, but I’ve suddenly realised that I have some rather urgent matters to resolve back in the Ruby Palace.” As she speaks, Athanasia moves out of her seat, ready to leave. “Please, have a wonderful rest of the day.”

(It isn’t as if they’d notice her anyway)

 “O-oh! Of course, we will! Right, Father?” At that, Claude only stares at her silently, yet all Athanasia can see from his eyes is apathy—a passive gaze with nothing attached. “I hope it’s nothing too serious…”

By then, Athanasia had already started to walk away.

(She wonders why she thought they’d call after her)

-

It all happens in a flash. Jennette, chatting with her amiably about the latest fashions and Ijekiel’s latest romantic gesture. And to clear her throat, she takes a sip of tea. But as she opens her mouth to speak again, her blue eyes widen, her mouth forms an “o” in surprise, and Jennette coughs up crimson blood before she collapses to the ground. The sound of breaking porcelain resounds as it crashes onto the ground.

Not even a second passes by and Athanasia has already rushed towards her, heart pounding in her ears. How will she explain this to her father? How had she been so lax in her vigilance? How had she been so blind as not to notice poison? Why Jennette? Why her? Her mana rushes out in an attempt to heal Jennette but she can’t properly do so if she has no idea what has been affected. What had Jennette ingested within the tea? Athanasia’s hands shake in terror as she scoops Jennette into her arms. 

“HELP!” She screams, heavy breaths coming out as tears start to flow. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYBODY! THE FIRST PRINCESS HAS BEEN POISONED!” Fearfully, Athanasia's eyes dart around, catching the eyes of a nearby maid, whose mouth is wide open in shock.

"What are you doing?! Go! Go get help now!" Athanasia so rarely ever raised her voice, but right now, she’d scream herself hoarse, scream herself mute if it’d save Jennette. 

Luckily for the maid, she quickly runs off toward the royal doctors. But now, there is nothing to do but wait, nothing to do but watch as the blood trickles down from Jennette’s mouth. Sweat is already building on her skin, and all Athanasia can do is hold her close and make sure Jennette doesn’t unconsciously choke on her blood. Jennettee’s eyes are still open, but Athanasia thinks that she cannot bear to close them, even for Jennette’s later comfort. As her heart continues to race, Athanasia finds that the only thing she can do is silently lament to her mother, and pray in her heart that all will be alright.

There is blood on her clothes. 

-

When Jennette is taken away to be treated, Athanasia finally collapses from the stress of it all. Yet when she wakes up, she sees neither the old, yet comforting walls of her room. What she sees are the grey stone walls; what she smells is the rotten stink of excretion and urine; what she hears is the rhythmic clanking of metal armour and the scurrying of rats. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that she’s in the dungeons—as unfamiliar as it should be.

There is still blood on her clothes. There is still blood on her hands. It’s brown and crusted and stinks of iron and Athanasia thinks she hears a woman weeping. Her gaze darts around, trying to see if her mother is here. If she was, Athanasia could get an explanation. If she was, Athanasia could have some comfort in this sudden new insanity.

But her mother is not here, and Athanasia is alone. There’s not much else to do but sit and wait.

And just a few moments later, her answers come in the form of three individuals. Duke Alpheus, Countess Rosalia, and last of all shadowed by the badly lit rooms but still standing out so strongly—the Emperor, her father. The three of them stare down upon her dirtied form with closed expressions (and what she can always recognise as barely hidden disdain). 

Athanasia decides to focus on her father. Not that it was hard to. 

“Your Majesty?” 

No reply. 

Athanasia tries again. “Is Jennette alright? Is she safe now?”

Instead of her father’s even monotone, it’s Countess Rosalia’s sharp, nearly squawking, shrieking vocals which answer her. “Jennette is safe from you, Your Highness.” She spits those words out venomously, almost triumphantly. 

It doesn’t take a one-in-a-million genius to understand what has happened.

Still, Athanasia tries to keep her calm, “What do you mean, Countess? You, of all people, should know that false accusations towards royalty are tantamount to treason.” Better to be blunt and be done with it.

This time, it is the Duke who speaks, looking down upon her between narrowed eyes, “Your Highness, there is no need for any more pretence. It has been found that you were the one who poisoned Jennette.” Prim and proper in his shiny white clothes and his always meticulously coiffed hair; in the depths of her heart, Athanasia couldn’t understand how a man like Ijekiel could be his son.

“And what evidence do you have to prove your claims?” Athanasia has learnt to smile like how Raven bares his teeth; sharp and quick, a warning to go no further. If there is anything else she’s learnt from Ijekiel’s friendship, it is that a smile grants both mystery and versatility. “Proper procedure states that I have the right to be subject to a fair trial, and a right to know upon what grounds you base such accusations on.”

She watches the countess artfully swing her fan up into a waiting hand, only to snap it open with a violent elegance. “Your Highness, there is no need for such tedious procedures when your guilt is crystal clear for everyone to see.”

Like a part of a two-headed snake, the Duke adds his venomous spit to the mix, “Out of jealousy, you dared to poison your own sister for your own shortcomings.”

“This is more fact than fiction—countless witnesses can prove to you that I had no idea what would happen to Jennette.”

“And countless witnesses can also prove that you’ve always harboured such envious hatred for your own sister. How wicked you are, to take away her fiancé—to take away my son—and now to take away her life.”

Still, Athanasia continues to stay calm. Her father would surely intervene at some point, wouldn’t he? “You must be mistaken, Ijekiel and I are merely friends. He is my future brother-in-law, and it would make no sense to alienate myself from him. And I care dearly for Jennette. I would do no such thing when it would only bring her pain.”

“But your actions speak louder than your words, Your Highness. Such pretty lies may come easily to you, given your blood, but we both know that you purposefully seduced him. Just like that crass, low-class whore you were born from.” The woman sneers, edging threateningly closer.

Athanasia snaps. She rushes to the bars, slamming into them with a strength and speed all too abnormal for a girl her size and age. Taking advantage of their foolish arrogance, she takes the opportunity to grab at their disgustingly extravagant clothes, bringing them eye to eye, and knocking their heads painfully on the steel bars. 

(They tell her to not let go, to keep moving, to keep shaking. Until they are but bloodied flesh and broken bones and as filthy as their tongues are. Better off as fodder, better off to be used for something grander than they could ever be.)

“Keep my mother out of your mouth! How can you be so sure that such a miscarriage of justice will—!”

“Be silent.” Finally, he speaks. His mana collapses onto her like that of a dying star, forcing her to let go, forcing her back onto the ground. But while it is painful, it is more bearable than the knowledge that her father simply did not care.

Ignoring the bodies quickly scrambling behind his protection, the Emperor simply comments, “Have you finished your petty tantrum?”

For the first time in her life, she gawks at him, at his apathy and unchanged expression. From the look on his face, Athanasia knows that he will never change his mind. He will never change his mind for her because he does not care. 

She’s known this for so long, and yet, and yet it still hurts.

And just like that, her verdict—her guilt—is decided just like that. She has blood on her hands because it is the word of the Emperor—Sun of the Empire, a ruler before he is her father (as it should; as it shouldn’t be so). Athanasia bites down harshly on her lips, casting her gaze on the stone floors, and nary a sound is allowed to escape. She wants to rage, wants to scream, wants to reach beyond the steel bars and tear at the cloth near her father’s feet—to beg for an explanation, to defend herself, to harshly refute her claims.

Who had she loved dearly all this time? Who had she worked for to the bone to gain just the slightest bit of approval and notice? Who had she idolised as perfection even as it was so clear that he was nothing but a statue carved out of ice? Her father—

(The child will die. He will kill her, like he slaughtered them, watching them breathe their last. She is her child my child our only child. She must live.)

Her mother’s cold hands tether her to reality, and Athanasia does none of that. 

“Breathe,” Diana says, right on time, pressing atop her, enclosing Athanasia within her arms. “Not in front of the Duke and the Countess, Dear. Later, when it’s safer, Mama will be here. You know Mama will always be here for you.”

Right.

She has always had her mother. Always had Lily and Raven. And now she has Jennette and Ijekiel.

It is enough. (It must be; She wants a father.)

Athanasia forces herself to hold it in, to stare straight into her father’s eyes and say, “Your Majesty is as efficient as always. Will there be a further investigation into this incident? After all, Your Majesty, efficiency without accuracy is just another way to describe sloppy work.” She smiles, ignoring the subtle shock and outrage—the lovely confusion—on the Duke and Countess.

“...You are the primary suspect. It will be enough to make an example of you.” Always putting in the most minimal of effort when it came to her. 

“I see. Then may I know if you have settled on a date for the execution?” Even now, she couldn’t let herself look any less insanely perfect in front of him. Even now, she still loves him—but perhaps no longer like that of a follower and their god. After all, gods cannot be flawed.

Unreadable as always, her father so graciously lets her know when she’ll die by his hand. “The dawn of the 8th day.” Cold, clipped—he doesn’t even seem to register that it’ll be her birthday. By the sun, moon, and stars—what a joke. This is the most attention he’s ever truly given to her.

After that, he’s already turning his back on her, moving towards the exit. The Duke and the Countess cast her cold, calculating looks before they scurry after him (like the rats they were).

When they finally leave, out of sight, out of mind, Athanasia finally allows herself to collapse into her mother’s ready arms. She shakes, she sobs, and she cries—but Athanasia still does not let a single sound escape. How unfair it is, to mourn something she never had from the start.

There is blood on her hands, but it is because of someone else.

(Athanasia doesn’t want to die.

“You won’t,” her mother promises with a whisper. “We’ll make sure of it.”)

-

“How far will you go for Diana’s—my child?”

“Anything for Athanasia,” the nanny’s sea blue eyes look straight ahead, resolute. 

“Even your life?”

“If it must be so.”

-

On the second day of her imprisonment, Raven brings him a thick, tattered book. It is hard to hide large secrets, but having grown up as an Alpheus, hiding them is but second nature to him. 

Drunk off his victory, his father grows sloppy—perhaps even mad, judging from the strange one-man dialogue he occasionally hears coming from his office. (Before…everything, they had conversed about noise-cancelling magic before.) His father’s lack of care is a boon when Ijekiel knows his actions will tear into the tapestry of success his father had so carefully woven.

He remembers being told that to love is to wish for someone’s success and happiness—to do all you could to ensure their dreams would come true.

Ijekiel thinks that to love is also to do all you can to stop someone from going past that line in the sand, the precarious precipice of no return.

Then again, he muses on the seventh night, sorting through all the information about guard rotations, patrol routes, floor plans and the like—it’s not even the most damning action of his right now. Ijekiel raises a hand to press lightly against his sternum, feeling the heavy weight of the key, the rough texture of the iron, even though it’s buried underneath all the layers of his clothing.

A haunting birdsong trickles in the open window, and Ijekiel stops to turn and gaze at the moonlight.

He thinks that, perhaps, also, to love is to be willfully ignorant.

-

Ever since her verdict had been so kindly handed down to her by her father, Athanasia’s days are now spent in the dungeon, rather than in the comfort of the library or her room. There are no books to read, so she spends time talking to her mother, practising the spells stitched into her memories. However, without Raven, they’re weaker, barely sparks yet still clearly noticeable. Strangely, no guard ever seems to be able to perceive any such practice; eyes glazed over every time. Nor are there shackles on her limbs, binding her down like an animal. She won’t question it, instead preparing for a hypothetical scenario in which she’s free.

(Mother had promised her.)

She’s sure that the guards all think she’s mad from shock. They look at her with disgusted pity and gossip about her as if she can’t hear at all. But their loose tongues help her hold onto the outside world.

Jennette is in a coma. For all their talk of family, she surmises that the most precious child of both the Countess and the Duke is power. Her father spends most of his time working. Athanasia supposes that there’s much to do when you’re executing a direct member of the royal family. Morbidly, she wonders if the Black Tower magicians would want her body for their research. Lily is that “crazy palace maid” who begs to be heard every day (no news on how her father reacted to it—but such a case is one where Athanasia sincerely prays that her father’s apathy will outweigh any annoyance, that Lily’s noble family will take her out of harm’s way before the worst can come to pass). 

Raven and Bluey are both missing (something’s coming). And Ijekiel… Last she heard, he’d been the picture-perfect fiancé, periodically visiting Jennette like clockwork every day.

At the same time, Athanasia gets a single stem of flowers each day. She wonders if Duke Alpheus knows about them.

Goldenrod, purple heliotrope, blue verbena, pink gladiolus, blue periwinkle, an iris suspiciously dusted with fur and downy feathers.

When will it be the hour of their flight?

“Wait and see, it’ll be like a fairytale,” her mother says, dancing all the while. “In the meantime, show me how you weave your magic again, Athy.”

-

It is cold within the dungeons. Athanasia will surely die tomorrow if nothing short of a miracle occurs. And yet, there is no worry in either her heart or her soul. Her mother had promised her, and to love, for Athanasia, was to devote and believe—to have utmost faith.

(She wonders what her father’s idea of love is—indulgence? A passive acceptance not too far from apathy? At least she knows that her mother’s love is undying, from beyond the grave. Lily’s love is steadfast and loyal, always trying to make the best of things. Ijekiel’s is inherent in every action, every move. Jennette’s is puppy-like, endearing.)

Athanasia hums as she finishes the final touches on her flowery bracelet, sliding it over her wrist with a sense of pride. The flowers are ill-suited to be bound this way, but such perversions of reality and logic are what magic is for. From behind, her mother gently combs out the knots in her hair with deft fingers, plaiting and pinning until all of Athanasia’s golden hair is safely pinned up.

“The midnight hour comes soon, Dear—Eumiellia’s always said that it’s the perfect hour for some…mischief.” Her mother says in a sing-song tone, drawing her up on her feet and guiding her to watch the way the light on the dungeon corridors starts to change and grow. In the depths of the Empire’s bowels, the echo of the nearing footsteps rings louder and louder in her mind.

Someone is coming.

“Is it time to go now?” Athanasia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already said it’s the perfect hour, Athy.” So they wait. It doesn’t take long for Athanasia to realise that alongside the light footsteps, another pair of feet pad forth as well. Excitement bubbles in her chest—she’s heard those footsteps before.

Athanasia sees Bluey first, the stitched bluebird squeezing between the bars to nuzzle into her awaiting hands, before leaping into flight once more.

Raven is next, her book grasped firmly in her mouth. Already, Athanasia can feel the electric rush of mana, from a steady trickle to rushing rapids. Were it not for the anti-teleportation wards, she probably could be free already. 

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of white horses, Your Highness.”

All of a sudden, she feels lightheaded, warm. “Ijekiel?” She breathes out, staring disbelievingly at his hooded figure, the glint of his golden eyes. He smiles back at her, taking out a key from underneath his collar. 

“The one and only, Athanasia.” Her door unlocks, and he reaches out to tug her forward into a tight hug, holding her so tightly and so closely that Athanasia can feel the skin of his neck, and smell the scent of his skin. “Did you like my message? I learnt it from the book about Obelia’s flower language we read together every February.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be doing this in person? I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. After all, you’re my…friend.”

Athanasia finally hugs back, squeezing her arms around Ijekiel tightly. Her eyes squeeze shut with unshed tears. “I’m glad you’re my friend too. But what I meant was that I didn’t expect you to mean you were going to conduct a jailbreak.”

“Well, a nobleman should always have many skills.”

“Jennette is lucky to have you.” She feels Ijekiel tense momentarily in her arms, The break in conversation appears to drag on, long and uncomfortable, before she hears him let out a sigh.

“She’s lucky to have you as well,” he says in return, before seemingly tacking on as an afterthought, “as a sister.” At those words, he releases her from his grasp, pulling away, only to come close once more to wrap a dark cloak around her shoulders. His hands rest on her shoulders, and Athanasia isn’t sure if he realises how tightly he’s gripping her.

“We should get going now. The guards won’t stay out for long.”

“Are you coming with me?” They both know it’s a stupid question; both know what the answer will be; both know that she will never truly mean it. 

Ijekiel doesn’t reply, but his wistful gaze is enough. 

Athanasia smiles, and it is small, almost sad, as she makes a request of him, “Take care of her for me, and for her own sake, alright?” Gripping the front of the cloak, she looks off into the dark distance, the unknown of her impending freedom. “Politics was never her strong suit.”

“Of course, as Her Highness asks.” Ijekiel chokes out the words, and he lets go of her shoulders, turning away and towards the dungeon’s exit. “I’ll escort you to that place—as long as you can get out of here, you’ll be able to leave the palace, right?”

“Yes.”

And so out they go, past the numerous cells and past the unconscious guards, from the darkness, to the moonlight. The night air tastes of freedom; walking on the stone paths, past the patrolling guards, feels like a kind of liberation. Her magic wraps around them like a shield as they make their way to the place where they’d both realised they’d fallen in love with the sun. 

As they stand below the tree, Athanasia finds herself reluctant to truly say goodbye to him. 

So she doesn’t.

“Tell Lily I said goodbye, please?” The magic swirls around her feet, building, building to a crescendo, changing the colour of her hair, the colour of her eyes—held high in the air by a single thread of hesitation. 

Ijekiel cannot tear his eyes away from her. It’s only through sheer strength of will that he holds back from reaching out once more. “If it’s you, there’s no need to ask.” 

Athanasia smiles, bright and true, and she turns away. “I’m glad I met you, Ijekiel.” Her magic swallows her up, leaving not a trace, not even a spark.

It’s as if she were never there in the first place.

He speaks to the empty air, hand outstretched. “I’m glad I met you too, Athy.”

-

Athanasia jumps from inn to inn, hiding in plain sight, making sure to cycle through a number of features wherever she goes, obfuscating the Imperial guards’ search for her. Above all, she likes it best when her eyes are either pink or blue; when her hair is blonde or brown. Through it all, her heart crashes about in her chest, thrashing about in her ribcage even as she refuses to think about how she’s being hunted down like a criminal by her own father. Money (golden and shining and reliable in a way her father never truly was) is never tight due to her magic. Still, Athanasia is starved of genuine interaction with anyone but her mother. Yet it’s all too risky even to fathom making an acquaintance when she knows they’ll all bind her in chains if they ever know who she is.

Her mother helps as best as she can, whispering in her ear about the innkeeper was starting to become suspicious, or what rumours were being circulated here and there—helping her avoid areas where people are most keen to turn in the abominable villainess who’d harmed their beloved Princess (never her, never Athanasia, it was always, always Jennette who’d be so loved and accepted by all). Athanasia is oh-so careful, living as if she were dead, waiting, waiting, waiting as she always did.

Until she sees the body strung from a rope in the town square.

Horrifically injured, it is covered in a damaged maid’s dress, and matted brown hair covers its eyes. But Athanasia recognises the bend of those limp hands, the careful embroidery lining the apron and the skirt, the unseen tie so horribly torn and broken like her heart. Her breath feels uneven, all too loud for her ears in an environment that seems to press down on her. Mother’s ghostly arms pull at her as gently firm as can be, but Athanasia cannot bring herself to move. There is a scream stuck in her throat, and it claws with an animalistic ferocity to be let out. 

Faintly, she thinks that Ijekiel would’ve labelled this as the protagonist’s tipping point.

-

Lily is dead.

Mama confirms it too, with all the coldness and stiffness of flash-frozen water, the absence of spirit, her soul.

Not even days after she’s started running away, does she see the still corpse swaying in the air in front of her eyes. It’s already started the process of decay, the white pallor that marks her as gone having already overtaken her skin. Not to mention the unmistakable hole in her chest, the browning stains of blood on her always impeccably clean uniform, the doll-like stiffness of her body, and Lily cannot be dead because her Father hates her so but he is not a madman bereft of morals (as long as it does not involve her) he is a cold but stiff, still just ruler (as long as it does not involve her) because because because—

It had been fine as long as it was only her who bore the weight of such cruel apathy. 

Claude de Alger Obelia, emperor of Obelia, tyrant of Obelia has, had, killed Lily.

Her mama lays her hands upon her shoulders, ice-cold and sub-zero degrees burning Athanasia’s skin like a hot iron brand. Memories gleaned rush into her mind 

And he would pay.

He would pay for it. He had to pay for it. There were consequences to every action, everything you took from the world. Whether it was forcing the creation of your imagination into life, speeding up natural processes of growth, or ripping away a life unfinished. There was always, always, a price to pay. Equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.

And Athanasia would become his debt dealer. His Thanatos, pounding, clawing at his door. 

She could fix this. Athanasia was a fool and a horribly, terribly blind idiot with a brain rotted with desire but she could fix this because if her Mama could come back to her so could Lily, and then she could apologise for being such a stupid stupid child. Everything would be back to normal. Back to the imperfect (no, they were perfect and unblemished) days of simply lazing around as a true family.

Lily wasn’t gone yet.

And Athanasia would make sure that she stayed, for good. Forever.

All she needs to do is prepare the stage, erase a few eyesores and tidy up this mess.

(The light of the torches cast long shadows as she took one step and another forward)

For that, her first order of business is to take back Lily’s body.

-

Early morning comes with the herald of the confusion of the masses.

(Poor, ignorant souls who have yet to realise what will be wrought upon their world)

The body of the example, the unremarkable maid of an unloved princess no longer hung from the noose. Only a snapped rope, roughly cut off from the rest of it, lay hanging from the wood.

Someone had taken the body, but who? Who would dare defy the order of the Sun of Obelia, Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia?

And within the shadows, a girl began crafting. Smoothing over blemishes, re-building foundations, and making once wrongs become rights. She fixes and repairs and improves because it is all for Lily’s sake. Lily must not come back in pain. She must come back to a body that knows no pain and will never know pain ever again.

But because it must be perfect (it must be, it had to be because she had to make up for it somehow and she knows it’s not enough but—), because she will accept no flaw, Athanasia needs practice. More practice than little animals and plants in various states of decay. Better practice than that. She needs people. 

(People who will surely, surely join her, who will always live up to her expectations. Because they will be reborn and reshaped to fit them.)

Athanasia always works hard for those she loves. Will always work hard for them and those she has yet to love. Because she is a starving child, and she will devour everything even if she’s full. So in return, she’ll do anything.

She gently thumbs the closed eyelids of a most remarkable maid, knowing that beyond them are dull blue eyes. It isn’t right for them to be such a colour. Her hand goes to her face to trace soft lines just below her jewel-blue eyes. That colour is a physical connection of “family”, an invisible thread tying them together. 

He didn’t deserve to have such a colour. Its beauty—wasted on him.

It’s a colour that Lily deserves so much more than him.

And Athanasia knows she can fix it. 

She has to.

[vermil1ion-sky]

gn reader with kazuha?

maybe a reverse comfort where the reader comforts him when he has a nightmare about his friend or comforting him after the raiden shogun fight.

thank you😇

This is a very interesting idea as I'm a huge sucker of any variant of the hurt/comfort trope so, thank you so much!

CW: mentions of canon-typical violence (+ minor descriptions of wounds, nothing graphic), death, minor spoilers for Inazuma's archon questline

--

Just a couple steps more.

He's just right there...!

Kazuha's breathless. The stairs to Tenshukaku kept going, unending and unyielding, a reflection of the Shogun's burning desire for unmoving eternity.

He finally arrives at the top, just in time to see the sharp blade of the Raiden Shogun's top general aimed at his friend, too close to his throat. The Shogun takes painfully slow paces towards him and all Kazuha wants to do is run, step in front of his friend and face the punishment himself.

Anyone but him.

His body takes a different direction than his mind tells it to, turning to run from the scene, dying vision clutched to his chest tightly. His heart screamed, cried for his friend but there's nothing he can do.

That's what he thinks, until he's met with his friend appearing in front of him, blocking his path.

Kazuha calls out his friend's name in shock, the sight of him like this... it's disturbing. His usually-clean robes are tattered, full of dirt, covered in blood. His blood.

He looks up at Kazuha, his friend's face bruised and tears falling down his face. He wears a look of disappointment, of regret and it tugs at Kazuha's heart like a horrifying harp.

'...why...' His friend speaks, brows furrowed clutching his arm where a large cut teared his skin and sullied his robes. '... why didn't you save me...?'

'W...what...?" Kazuha's speechless, it doesnt sound like his kind friend, the one he shared countless travels with. It wasn't him, it was... Kazuha's not even sure.

All he knows is that the man in front of him isn't someone he ever knew.

'You... ran away... left me... why...?' His 'friend' takes a step forward and Kazuha instinctively takes one back. He almost loses his balance, looking back to see he's again at the top of the stairs of the Tenshukaku.

'I didn't-'

'You...left me...' He looks up, making eye contact with Kazuha and even though he knows it's not his friend talking, the sight of the eyes he knew so well filled with tears, despair, fear... It was nothing short of distressing. It tugs at his heart, he wants to reach forward, to beg for forgiveness for abandoning him.

But he can't seem to speak. He feels tears of frustration fall down his face, trying to reach forward to hold his beloved friend once more, but Kazuha's surroundings turn dark, his friend swallowed by the darkness as he yells his name, in a desperate attempt to not let him go.

It's futile.

Divine punishment cannot be avoided

-

"...Kazuha!"

With a jolt, his eyes snap wide open, his heart beating a thousand miles per hour. It takes him a second to get his bearings, but he recognizes the familiar roof of his room in the Alcor, the gentle sway of the waves rocking the boat and the feel of his bedsheets.

He feels a soft hand brush his fringe away, now realizing it's covered in sweat. Kazuha turns to look to his side, seeing you sitting on the bed, your brows furrowed with concern; he calls out your name in a soft whisper and you smile softly.

"Hey... are you okay?" Your voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, your hand moving from his forehead to cup his cheek. "... bad dream?"

"...yes..." He sighs, leaning into your touch. "I apologize for waking you, my love..."

Your smile grows slightly, such a heavenly sight for him after the rough turn his mind took in his sleep. "Do you want to talk about it... Was it... about your friend...?"

His silence was the answer you needed.

"... nothing was your fault..." You lay down to be at his same eye level, moving closer to him. "You know that, right...?"

Kazuha simply nods, taking your hand in his, intertwining your fingers. "I know love... It was just a nightmare... Just that..."

He sounds... almost doubtful in those last words. You squeeze his hand, leaning closer to his face.

"He'd be proud of how far you've come... Don't forget that..."

He feels tears start to prickle his eyes and he wants to fight them back... But when you realize and just pull him to your chest, hugging his head close, he can't hold back anymore, his emotions pouring out like a waterfall.

It's just a couple of tears but you continue to hold him, running your fingers through his hair in a comforting manner. You feel his hands hold you close to him, his hands balling into fists grabbing the back of your shirt.

After some minutes, he pulls back and you wipe his cheeks with your thumbs. Kazuha smiles softly as you lean forward to kiss the corner of his eyes. When you see he's calmed down, you press another gentle kiss to his forehead; he, in turn, grabs your face and presses a loving peck to your lips, diving back for another one as soon as you pull back.

"...Are you feeling a little better?"

He chuckles, rubbing his nose against yours, gently and lovingly.

"Quite... Thank you, my beautiful dove."

The soft petnames Kazuha comes up always make your cheeks burn and today's no exception, feeling the heat start creeping up your face. He nuzzles your chest, taking in your scent to finish calming down and he smiles when you wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

"Sleep well, my love." Kazuha can feel you press a kiss to the top of his head and smile softly.

"... Goodnight, Kazuha."

[peakdeer]

Witchcraft request- Scott sarcastically teasing Joey who takes everything seriously and thinks Scott is complimenting him

Scott had been on yet another trip to Bertha, as many berries as he could carry at one time. He’d like to begin working towards the runes, but perhaps a staff would be better…

Not that he had enough gems for either. He was close to a staff, but not quite there yet. He’d spent most of his berries so far expanding the farm, and it was so annoying to pick the berries by hand. He might set up an automatic farm if he could find a fox…

Back to the task at hand. He handed over the berries to Bertha, pocketing the gems when he received them. He’d head back soon; he could try to clear up his area and perhaps go mining. As spiffy as his hat was, the robe was ugly, and it didn’t protect him as much as he’d like.

“Hey!”

He had just turned to the waystone when he heard an unfamiliar voice call out to him. He briefly considered teleporting home without turning around, but he’d already been spotted. If nothing else, he could at least learn more about this witch, maybe—the weakness and strengths; just enough to help him take the witch down.

Which meant social interaction. Ugh.

“Yes?” Scott asked politely, turning towards the witch. He had a nice cloak, evidentially not wearing the one provided for them; it had a white fur trim and was half blue and half red. The pattern continued to his corset, the white collar neatly matching with the cut of ocher below his collarbone. The ocher was accented by gold-lined strips of red and blue on either side of the corset.

So, in other words, he looked over-the-top, gaudy, and rich.

“Hello, mister witch! You’re so… dark and mysterious. I like your outfit; the ominous shadow vibes really suit you. You could stand to get a bit more sun though, you look a bit pale. Or can you go in the sun? Do you burn?”

“No, but I presume you burn, from your choice of outfit. Not just that it looks very flammable, or that it’s an eyesore, but I’m guessing it means you’re the Fire Witch?”

“Joey the Fire Frost Witch, actually. I have Frost magic as well.” Joey declared proudly, puffing up his chest. Scott wasn’t sure what there was to be proud of—it just meant he’d be good at two magics than great at one.

Scott wasn’t jealous. No, not at all.

“Sure, snowflake. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. He reached up to adjust his hat slightly, pulling the brim down until it blocked the annoying sunray that was blinding his vision.

“I—I can prove it! When I get my next spell, that is.” Joey protested, losing his composure in the span of a second.

“Sure you will, sweetie. I bet you’ll have another reason to brag in no time.” Scott mocked Joey, offering an insincere pat on the shoulder.

“Really? You think so?” Joey looked up at Scott with shining eyes, his face a bit too close for Scott’s personal boundaries. Scott took a step back before answering, wiping his hand off on his robe as if the Fire Witch had germs. If he did, though, they might be sterilized by the amount of warmth radiating off of Joey, and he was probably somewhat resistant to minor diseases such as colds—no, no, he couldn’t be thinking about curious magic side affects right now. He needed to focus all his energy on not turning around and leaving.

“Of course,” Scott laid the sarcasm on extra thick, even adding a roll of the eyes. Yeah right. As if this upstart witch would ever be a challenge for the title of the supreme witch.

Joey brightened at that. “Thanks, uh… what’s your name? It’s really nice to hear someone believes in me.” Joey appeared genuinely delighted at this, as if he actually believed Scott had been expressing faith in him.

“Sure. Yeah. That’s what I said.” Scott’s voice was blank for a second—he wasn’t sure how Joey had gotten that from his overly sarcastic reply, but he supposed the witch was too dumb to pick up on sarcasm. “My name’s Scott,” He added after a beat of silence.

“Oh, wow, really? Scott? It’s a nice name, don’t get me wrong, it just doesn’t fit the vibe. Then again, no one’s really does,” Joey rambled, making Scott wish he could tune the man out. “My name’s Joey, by the way,” the witch added, as if he hadn’t already said that.

“Thank you, Joey,” Scott spit out through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to seem impolite—it wasn’t good to make enemies—but the cockiness of this man was driving him mad.

“I’m really glad the people here are so friendly,” Joey began, waving his arms about, “The people back home—” He paused for a minute, eyes beginning to water. The sight alarmed Scott—he hadn’t been aware this stuck-up witch could cry, and he was worried he’d be expected to comfort Joey, something he both had no idea how to do and had no will to do. “They banished me. Exiled me. Just because I didn’t have frost powers! After—I spent my whole life there, Scott.”

“Ah. Well.” Scott could think of no more words to say, embarrassed to have caught the witch at an evident low point. The seconds stretched on, feeling like minutes. The awkward silence cast a sort of spell on the area, no sounds but the soft rustling of fabric and Joey’s muted sniffles.

The spell was immediately broken by Joey opening his mouth, though. Honestly, Scott liked him better when it was closed. Maybe he could find a way to curse it that way.

“Oh! I must be going; it’s late and I should get my beauty sleep in order to make more progress on becoming the best witch here! I’ll be seeing you around, Scott,” Joey burst out in alarm, dashing to the waystone to teleport home. Scott had to step aside to avoid getting his cloak stepped on as he rushed past. Joey mumbled something under his breath as he activated the waystone, offering a quick wave as he vanished.

Well. That was… enlightening. And annoying. And honestly really sad.

None of which particularly mattered. He just had to beat him. That was all.

[sadnesslaughs]

You have failed and your foes have achieved their long sought goal of reviving their God-king. Everyone expected him to lead the final assault and solidify his rule once and for all. Turns out, he’s actually a pretty chill guy and immediately calls the whole thing off.

(A response to a writing prompt)

“The God-king.” The weight of my sword grew heavy, the blade falling into the dirt as the ground opened before me. I had never felt so much fear in my life. Unable to do anything more than cower as the hellfire spat up from the hole, erupting into a fiery rage of blood red embers. Soon he was standing over me, a man with a pronounced stomach, a sharp grey bushy beard and two deep blue eyes.

“And you are?” The God-king asked, his bald head gleaming, reflecting the red flames that still drifted from the hole. Their roar fading now as the hole slowly closed in on itself, returning to its previous state.

“The-“

“THE NON-BELIEVER. THE ONE WHO TRIED TO STOP US.” Axia screamed, the woman clinging to her dark robes as she fell to the ground, rocking with psychotic worship for her lord. That twisted expression on her face displaying the fulfilled pleasure she got from seeing her vision come to life. She had won, and she was indulging in the sweetness of victory.

“So he is.” The god kneeled. Even on one knee, he towered over me, blocking out the sunlight. He placed a hand on my chestplate, crushing a small hole into the front of it, giving himself something to grip. With a grip made, he pulled me to my feet, and I made no attempt to fight back. I had lost, the world would fall all because of me. I should be the first to perish. He stared me down, and I refused to meet his gaze, too scared to even dare look back. “Good job.”

The hand released me, and I fell to my knees again, panting. As soon as my knees hit the floor, I bounced to my feet, fleeing from the man. My attempt at escape was pitiful, legs too heavy to carry me, causing me to stumble until I made it to a safe distance. There was now a decent distant between us, at least a few meters. I went for my sword, only to see it still resting in the dirt, having been carelessly left at his side.

“Finish him, my lord. Once he falls, the rest will bow to us.” Axia grinned. She hated me ever since I brought down her husband. Sure, she had hated me before that, but the added grief I caused only intensified those feelings.

“No, he fought valiantly for his beliefs. I respect that. Both sides deserve a rest. The war is over, we won. There will be no punishments or a demand for surrender. You can go on living as you previously did.” The God-king turned, about to leave, only to be blocked by Axia.

“This isn’t a victory. We haven’t crushed them. They must suffer, HE must suffer.”

“They’ve suffered enough. You’ve also suffered enough.” The God-king embraced Axia, holding her to his chest. “This was never your war. Nor was it the war of the hero who went against you. It was a war started by people you both cared about.”

“He killed my Herak.”

“And Herak killed his Trila, a beloved mentor and mother figure, for the hero. You’re both people who are hurting. Neither of you wanted this life. Isn’t that right, hero?” The God-king looked my way, smoothing out the creases in Axia’s robes as he did.

“I just wanted to do what Trila would have done. I wanted her to be proud of me. What sort of student can’t bring back their mentor’s body? She would have been ashamed.”

“Shame was the last thing she felt when it came to you. I will have her body returned to you at a later date, until then.” The man moved his hand away from Axia, clenching it into a fist. When the hand reopened, a silver ring sat in it. “Trila planned to give this to you on your wedding day. She really was looking forward to that day. She even planned to wear a dress to it.”

“A dress?” I laughed, covering my mouth, trying to push down any emotion that was threatening to break through. “Never saw her wear one before. She said it wasn’t fitting of a warrior.”

“Trila wanted to give a good first impression to whoever you married. She didn’t believe it was fitting for your wife to see a battle hardened warrior at such a joyous event. She cared deeply for you.” When he noticed my attempts to keep my composure, he smiled. “Let it out.”

Soon I was in his embrace, the ring firmly held in my hand as I grieved, sobbing into the man. As he consoled me, he returned his gaze to Axia, patting her back.

“Illness took your son. Not the hero, nor the world he strives to protect. Herak thought reviving me would get your son back, instead he only robbed others of the thing he so desperately wanted. Many sons fell to his ambition, and many people grieved, including yourself. He is at peace now and regrets the veil of grief that blinded him. I am not wrath, I am not sin, I am a fair king who cares for the world. I love humanity, even at its worst. You can rest. You don’t have to carry his hate, for he has none left for you to hold.”

I didn’t know how long we both spent hugging the man, only that I felt drained when I finally released him. Axia didn’t say a word to me after we let go. She only gave my shoulder a small squeeze, a hint of an apology. No, not an apology, a gesture of understanding that we both were suffering a similar affliction. She didn’t apologize, she only silently told me she understood the feeling. Where Axia went after the revival of the God-king was a mystery to me. I never wanted to ask the God-king about it. She deserved her rest and if I knew, I may have been tempted to visit her.

The God-king still walks the mortal realm, not as a god or king. Instead, he walks our world as a man. Sometimes I see him enjoying dinner or a festival and can’t believe this was the man I feared. The man I thought would doom us all. Peace has been clumsy with both sides of the war still having their aggressors. Not everyone was as willing to drop their weapons after both our sides’ leaders called for a truce. Still, the skirmishes were better than the hell we lived through before. I can’t say I entirely understand what the God-king is, only that I’m grateful he came back

[thrashkink-coven]

Ritual Report: Sunday April 30th, 2023

“Tried Summoning this morning

I meditated on this sigil as well as the sigil for the individual (Jophiel ) I was trying to summon. I came up with my own invocation. My objective was to speak with him and ask him how he came to know me, and to see if he had any wisdom or visions to share with me.

After lighting the candles and burning incense, I got into the bath and did some meditative exercises to get my mind in the right headspace. The hardest part of summoning ritual is elevating your mental state to a place where an angel can easily connect with you. I was having trouble with this today, as I suffer from migraines and developed a meaty headache in the bath. I kept failing and was pretty sure that the ritual would be unsuccessful, but I kept at it and eventually he did come, in three different forms at three different times.

I don’t know why, but Jophiel usually likes to make his presence known by being kind of rude. He threw one of my crystals across the room, which hit the wall and then the floor, which startled me and almost broke the trance. This was a large, hefty chunk of pink salt. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was literally trying to summon an entity, these types of things would make me shit my pants. I’m lucky it didn’t shatter this time.

I haven’t the slightest clue why, but he has on multiple occasions, thrown and broken items of mine before appearing. Last time a small cheap crystal I was using was shattered by being thrown at the wall *at a speed.* The time before that a pendulum necklace I was using was broken, again by being thrown at the floor, and then he appeared. I’m trying to find a way to get him to stop doing that because it’s cost me some things that I really liked, and now I’m on edge that he’s gonna break something of mine every time that I summon him. I suspect that maybe he just doesn’t like these things, because the crystal that he shattered was super cheap and probably fake, and the pendulum was a similarly cheap buy. Maybe it throws him off, or he feels insulted by them. Still annoying though.

1. I saw him in my minds eye, he was a gargantuan creature, to which I could not see the top of. We were again in the desert at night, and he appeared almost like a mountain, looking down at me (assumably). His wings made up of the night sky, and the stars were a part of him. I honestly don’t like when he appears this way. it’s usually just too much for me. This was causing me problems and was hurting my head, so it ended pretty quickly.

2. The second time he met me in the temple, again in the desert. I have had many dreams about this place, and it is a common place that I reside to when I do meditative rituals like this. There he appeared in *almost* human form, in robes, and his face was shadowed. It is very common for him to be shrouded in mist or darkness when he appears in this form. I assume that it is his attempt at powering down, or masking his true appearance? I say almost human form, because I couldn’t look directly at him because he’s a little bit weird. I don’t really know how to explain this, but it is difficult to observe. He’s made of complex patterns and shapes.

He led me to an open room in the temple, where a large pentacle was drawn on the floor surrounded by lit candles. He had me disrobe and lay on the pentacle with my arms and legs outstretched. He then pushed his hands down on my chest, and I felt in intense heat travel through my breast. I assume he was offering me healing, as I was experiencing some bothering chest pains the last couple days, which was kind of creating an energy block in my body. This pain was one of the reasons why I was having such a hard time getting into a good meditative state. He also made a comment that I am weak.

3. The final place we met was in an open field where a single large black tree stood in the center. It was again night time, and the sky was lilac and riddled with stars. I sat against the tree and looked out into the field. I then turned my head to look at the other side of the tree, and saw that he was hiding there, in robes, in a similar human form, but he was making a conscious effort to not be seen by me. He was also resting against the tree and spoke to me. He said that he didn’t want to hurt me, and that I was too weak to behold him at this time. He said that he wanted to visit me, but that my health was more important right now. I was told to rest for three days and try again. This was kind of disappointing, but I understand. When Jophiel gives me visions, or has lengthy conversations with me, it is a lot for my brain to process. If I overdo it too hard, it’s almost like my mind is singed. I appreciated his attempts anyways.

I then asked him my question, which was “When did you first come to know me?” (He has been following me through multiple lives and reincarnations, I wanted to know when he first met my soul)

His response was simply, “When I was still young”, which I assume is his way of saying, a very very very long time ago considering that he is an extremely old entity. I’m still not sure I understand. One day I will ask him to show me the story of when we first met, but that is a story for another day.

We sat together at that tree though, for quite a while. We didn’t really say much else, but it was comfortable and enjoyable. I just felt surrounded by his good energy, so it wasn’t a loss.

When I came out of the trance, I learned that my candles were burning very very hot and very tall. I actually got a little bit worried that my fire alarms were gonna start going off. Half the flame was blue. I’m not sure what this means or if it means anything at all, but I thought it was worth mentioning.

I gave my thanks, and exited the bath. My chest feels a lot better than it did when I started, so that’s a bonus.

I apologize for the novel, you can completely disregard this post if you want. This is a really easy and good way for me to keep track of my rituals and the things that I see in them. It is also a way for me to reference with other individuals who may be working with similar spirits, and to get advice on how to better invoke. I think I will continue to make posts like this when I do rituals so I can better document them. I do have journals, but writing all this out is sometimes overwhelming so I don’t. Which is not a good thing, because I should be documenting and remembering these encounters.

Thanks for reading, blessings to you. 🖤🖤

[artzee-bee]

Not going anywhere | Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Fandom: Lucifer

Request:” Hi i have request for you ,Lucifer and the reader have a big fight they are married, and this fight it's lucifer fault The reader leaves home and Lucifer decides to give her space After a few days, he goes to the reader and realizes that she has been missing for a few days,When the person behind all this claims that the reader is dead and gives them a her body . Everyone thinks that the reader is dead and Lucifer He gets depressed and thinks it's all his fault , and after a few days, the thieves release the singer and the reader goes to Lucifer.Lucifer first thinks it is an imagination and then apologizes to the reader Thank you so much”

Genre: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: kidnapping, death

~~~

Your intention had never been to start a fight. All you wanted an explanation (preferably one that also made sense) and an apology, but apparently that was too much to ask, because as soon as you voiced your opinion, Lucifer went up in flames

“Don’t start this again!”

“I dislike it just as much as you do but what I hate more is being cancelled on, AGAIN, through a text message no less!”

“It was an emergency!”

“It’s always an emergency Lucifer! It’s starting to sound a lot like work means more to you than I do!” “The detective needs me, damn it!” your husband yelled

“And she has you! Every day of every week! All I ask for is one date night and for the past month you’ve done nothing but avoid committing to one or backing out at the last second! I’m tired of being your second choice Lucifer! I’m your wife and you are my husband, I love you to the ends of the world, I just wish you'd say no to Decker from time to time...”

“I’m saving people’s lives Y/N. So if you’re not on your deathbed, other people are and they need me now!” as he said this, Lucifer walked right past you and into your bedroom, seemingly ignorant to the painful words he’d just said. You looked around the living room, vision blurry with tears, your chest heavy with anger and disgust. You rushed towards the elevator.

“When you find time in your busy schedule and feel like being my spouse again, let me know!” the elevator door closed before Lucifer could say anything

~~~

When Lucifer woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed, he didn’t think much of it.Truthfully, he was still kind of pissed at the attitude you had given him a day before, so he got dressed as usual and went to the precinct, assuming you’ll be home by nightfall.

Except when he got home that night, he stopped by Lux first, which ended up like it always does: with him sucked into an endless cycle of booze and dancing, that lasted until well into the night. When he did enter the penthouse eventually, he found it empty. Exactly the way he had left it in the morning. Even the tie he had left on the floor, after deciding last minute that it didn’t go with his suit, was untouched. Now this was curious, but still, Lucifer felt like you must be playing hard to get. He sent you one text message, before going to bed

“Call me when you can!”

The day after that, he figured his part was done! By reaching out first, he had already made a big compromise, so now it was your turn! To reach out, come home! But that didn’t happen that day, or the day after that.

Three days after the text message,Lucifer was getting worried. He was looking at his phone every other minute. Always making sure he hadn’t accidently put it on silent or missed any texts. He sent more messages, telling you he was sorry and that he wanted you to come home. That he would listen and spend more time with you, promising luxurious dates and weekend trips, if only you forgave him. You didn’t even open the messages.

“Lucifer are you listening?” Decker was insanely annoyed at her partner’s lack of concentration

“Sorry detective. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my mind”

“Well, better get it out of the way now, so that we can move on to our case!” she said, cleaning out her desk quickly, before resting back into her chair “Talk to me!”

“It’s Y/N. I’m worried about her!”

“Why?” “We...had a fight a couple days ago and she left. She hasn’t come back since”

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“No…” Lucifer said, embarrassed at his own lack of care for you. He should have called you earlier, reached out more! He should have tried harder!

“How long had she been missing for?”

“4...maybe 5 days…”

“Lucifer, are you sane? And you’re only telling me now?!” Chloe jumped from her seat, turning on her computer

“I thought she needed space! I thought she was avoiding me intentionally cause she was angry! I didn’t know…” Lucifer choked back a sob, not wanting to break down in tears in the middle of the precinct

“Lucifer!” Chloe caught hold of his hand “I’m gonna find her! I promise you!” A few days later, she did. Well, more like Y/n came to her, in the shape of a pretty little gift box left on Decker's doorstep.

“A lil too late on your case detective” read the note attached to it. 

Inside were Y/N’s clothes, all of them stained with dark, dried blood. Y/N was declared dead that day and the case was closed. At her funeral, only her closests friends were present. Lucifer wanted it to be as intimate as possible.

That day was also the first time anyone had seen Lucifer, since the news. His eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes almost matched the black suit he was wearing. Throughout the ceremony he kept twisting his wedding band, a habit he’d picked up on since you went missing. He chose not to do a speech, but once the crowd disappeared, and he was left face to face with your grave, he pulled out a little piece of paper from his pocket and sat down on the grass.

“In hell, everyone feared me. There, I was nothing but another server of the universe, ruling over an empire I never really wanted, because I never had a choice. So eventually I left, thinking anywhere will be better than what I had, and I came to earth.

I ran into you about 2 weeks later, before I really even knew how to behave myself. Before I knew anything about who I really was besides ‘the devil’. I longed to know, grow and discovers different sides of me, where I could be something new, and you gave it to me. You made me who I never thought I could possibly be. You made me a lover. I never thought of myself as capable to love anyone, in any degree, but your light shone everywhere you went and your kindness touched me and everyone around you. It became impossible to not get infatuated with your person. I allowed you to see and feel around every dark corner of my soul and being and every time I thought it was the end. Everytime I would take in your touch as if it was the last, I would prepare myself for abandonment, but it never came. Through everything you stood by my side and when I felt my darkest, you gave me a fistful of your light and that was enough to keep me going. You married a broken man and called him perfect, despite everyone telling you how much of a foul you were. Even then, you shooed them away. Even then you chose me. I wasn’t worthy of your love or your trust and our last night together proved it.

You’re not here anymore to hear my apologies and I’ll never forgive myself for it. You’ve gone now somewhere I can not follow, but I know you are well taken care of there. I hope, someway, somehow, you’ll hear these words: I am sorry. I loved you with my entire soul. Not listening to you was the biggest mistake of my life and I’ll never forgive myself. I choose however, to remember you as you were, because I know that’s what you’d want. I’ll remember you and your laugh.I’ll remember our date nights and shopping sprees. Nights in Lux or on the penthouse balcony. I’ll remember all the meals you prepared for me and the flirtatious remarks you used to make, because you thought they were so silly. I’ll remember the little frown on your face whenever you worked on an important project for work and I’ll remember every evening walk around the block you’d make me accompany you on. I know I always complained about them, but they were always fun. Everything I ever did with you was always fun.

I loved you. I still do. You are my everything Y/N. Thank you for devoting yourself to me in all the ways that you did. I’ll forever live on in my heart.“

~~~

It had been months since your disappearance. After all this time, you finally managed to escape your kidnappers and report them to the New York police station, since that’s where you had been held hostage for so long. As soon as the paperwork was done and you were sure that the people who ruined you were getting the punishment they deserved, you jumped on a train and headed straight back home. Straight to Lucifer.

Lux looked exactly the same as you had left it. You were washed over by a wave of comfort that almost brought you to tears. Home. You never thought you’d get to step in here again. Overwhelmed, you took a seat on one of the couches, allowing your head to rest back on it, as you took in every detail of your surroundings: the feel of the leather on your fingertips, the cool breeze of the air conditioning, the warm lights. Everything was still here.

“Y/N?” you jumped at the sound

“Hi love…” your voice broke as you said those words. Words you never thought you would be able to mutter again. The sight of your husband, messy as he was, made you weak in the knees. He was standing at the top of the staircase, dressed in nothing but his robe, tied carelessly around his waist. He had probably just woken up. You wanted to say something again, but before you could, he laughed

“Nope” he said simply, before making his way down the stairs and to the bar “I’m not doing this. Not today, not ever!” Lucifer filled his glass to the top with bourbon, before turning around and trying to leave back to where he came from

“Lucifer, it's me!”

“Sure you are, except you’re not real! Nice of dad, taking my ability to stay endlessly sober, getting me drunk, forcing visions of my dead wife onto me to teach me another lesson about managing my emotions. Real clever, except this is too much! So I’m going to enter that elevator and I expect to never have to see you again, hum? Right, well, au revoir now!” he continued on his way, but before he could get far, you were clutching on the silk tie of his robe. Lucifer felt the tug around his waist and turned around slowly to look at you, this time a little more unsure. As if he was trying to figure you out

“Lucifer, I’m Y/N. I escaped”

“Escaped? But that’s impossible, she died! I saw it-”

“What you saw was a bloody shirt!” he looked up to meet your gaze, tears already forming “They lied to you Lucifer”

Finally, it seemed like he had connected all of the pieces of the puzzle. The glass of alcohol fell to the ground and your husband wrapped you in a big hug for the first time in months. He nuzzled his head in your hair and took in your scent, your figure, your warmth. Hell, you were even more perfect that he remembered! Silent tears fell down both of your cheeks as you collapsed to the ground, still holding onto each other for dear life

“I’m so sorry” Lucifer sobbed in your hair “I’m so so sorry”

“It wasn’t your fault Luci”

“If I hadn’t been a jerk you wouldn’t have left! If I would have simply listened to you, they wouldn’t have gotten to you! You would’ve stayed here, where you belong! You would have stayed with me but instead I was too busy with my stupid job and the stupid cases and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he continued crying on your shoulder as you rubbed small circles on his back

“I’m here now my love” you whispered, kissing his cheek “And I’m not going anywhere”

[celestemona]

Imagine Scaramouche trying to comfort the reader because she’s insecure of her body after having Kimi, he obviously doesn’t understand why she’s so Upset which leads to him getting mad because he doesn’t know how to comfort her 😩

very well, dear anony!

warning: angst, hurt with no comfort, post childbirth, mentions of breastfeeding, mentions of female-bodied, swearing, body insecurity, nudity, maybe misspeling and grammar.

[...]

it’s been a month since you gave birth to kimi and you couldn’t be happier. not only did your baby came healthy into the world but your husband took some days off from job to be with you and he seemed to be warming to your daughter too.

one thing though that always seemed to be occupying your mind — when it wasn’t the concern of a first-time mother with breastfeeding, diaper change, sleep and etc — it was your body. you just couldn't get used to the vision of the new version of yourself and it frustrated you.

it frustrated you mainly because it was this body that brought your beloved daughter into the world; this body that you were born in, this body that your husband left oaths and marks of his love for you. but you wondered every time you looked in the mirror why it was so difficult to accept this new yourself.

then, one night, your insecurities seemed to get worsened.

you had just breastfed kimi and not only your swollen breasts hurt but your whole body seemed overloaded with exhaustion. scaramouche realizing this, volunteered to put the baby to sleep so you could get some rest.

just when you thought it would be an opportunity to relax in the bath, you once again found yourself looking at your naked body in the mirror.

what the reflection showed was a tired and worn-out mother. you had dark circles under your eyes denouncing sleepless nights; your skin was paler than would be considered healthy, and the stretch marks that covered your breasts and belly looked more and more remarkable. you didn't feel like and happy about yourself and that was clear to your husband who was watching you from the bathroom door with a frown.

"what's the matter, (y/n)?" scaramouche asked, showing behind, scaring you. you quickly covered yourself with the robe to block him from the view of your body.

"is nothing."

"cut that shit", he sharpened his eyes in your direction, "i know something's been bothering you for a while."

"it's nothing you need to worry about, scara", you sigh, "that said, can you leave now? i want to bathe alone."

"not until we figure out what the hell is wrong with you."

"fucking hell scaramouche! can't you see i want to take a fucking bath and be alone?"

"no, because you don't tell me what's bothering you when something is clearly bothering you!"

and that was the last straw for the thick tears to start running down your face.

"it's all wrong, that's the fucking problem! i can't sleep, i can't eat, i can't sit on my fucking couch for five minutes to rest without having to check if kimi is in her crib breathing. my boobs are constantly hurting, my head feels like it's about to explode and worst of all i'm not feeling like myself!"

"what the hell are you talking about? you look normal to me"

you took a deep breath and untied the cord of your robe letting your naked view of yourself be in view of your husband.

"but that doesn't look normal to me," you said as you point to the stretch marks on your body.

once you were intimidated by the purple irises that once stared at you with such boredom but gradually came to admire you with love. however, as you finally showed your body and soul to your husband, finally showing that part of yourself that felt strange, broken, defective… you couldn't help but feel disappointed at the lack of empathy coming from him.

"i don't see anything wrong, you look normal to me and you're making a fucking fuss for nothing."

and once again that night, the tears took over and the sob broke like a silent scream from your throat. scaramouche tried again to understand what was wrong and tried to reach you, but with a push, he was locked out of the bathroom, only being able to hear your agonizing cries as he scolded himself for his poisonous tongue.

"shit."

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards (Pt. VII)

(Technoblade X Reader) Pt. I, Pt. II, Pt. III, Pt. IIII, Pt. V, Pt. VI, Pt. VII

     Your eyes cracked open as soon as the sunlight spilled into the room, your eyebrows furrowed together and a hiss of pain spilled from your lips. You brought your arm in front of your face to block out the sun, Technoblade should've closed the curtains the asshole. As you pulled your hand away from your face you couldn't help but pause, a delicate golden band with a blue diamond sat on your ring finger. You sat up in surprise, immediately buckling in on yourself pain radiating through your abdomen. You licked your cracked lips before uttering a simple,

     "Ah fuck."

Something stirred next to the bedside, you turned your head in the direction of the sound, Technoblade was draped over the side of the bed. His hair was a rat's nest, sticking up at odd angles and ends, frizzing out in all directions. Drool was stuck to the bottom of his chin, his hands gripped the sheets tightly, his eyes screwed shut. He looked upset like he was having a bad dream. Looking around the room briefly, you noticed his robe and crown were hung up in the closet, food was left half-eaten on the vanity. How long had you been out? Trying to make as little noise as possible you slowly peered out the window, outside you saw a little shack built into the mountain. You must've been out a while if Technoblade is letting someone ruin his real estate value like that. Blinking in surprise you saw Ranboo emerge from underneath a hole, a smile spread across your lips as he paused and looked up at the window. You gave a small wave, his mouth appeared and his jaw dropped, he began to wave back enthusiastically before charging through the snow towards your home in a sprint. You knew you only had a few moments before the lanky boy burst up into the room, you carded your fingers softly through Technoblade's hair, you've never seen him in such a dead sleep. Normally, your stirring and movements would've woken him up minutes ago. Maybe Phil give him something to knock him out? That's a very likely answer.

     "Bubba's..." You cooed tenderly kissing his forehead, "Time to wake up." You felt him shift, his face scrunching up uncomfortably as his eyes blinked open. Dark bags were prominent as he grumbled in displeasure until his eyes focused completely on you, he sat up swiftly and grabbed your face. "Ow, gentler please."

    "You're awake." His voice quivered as he began stroking your face and cheeks, "You're actually okay." You tilted your head to the side in concern, his usual stern eyes filling with tears, "I thought you were dead." Technoblade held you close burying his face into your chest, his nails digging into your back. All you did was rub his shoulders and let him hold you like you were porcelain glass. "You were out for a week, Phil helped me tend to your wounds." He said after a few moments of silence, "NEVER do that to me again."

    "I can't make any promises but I don't plan on it." You smiled as he pulled away from you, his eyes still red from reluctant tears. Techno leaned forward to press a passionate kiss to your lips, his hands cupped your cheeks as he kissed you like it was his last moments with you. You saw fireworks erupt in your vision and you visibly melted into it, pressure you didn't know you had was suddenly lifted off your shoulders.

     "Oh my god. I'm-I'm sorry." Ranboo sputtered, throwing open the door and tossing his hands over his eyes frantically. Techno practically threw you across the room, the only thing keeping you from falling over was his tail that had wrapped around your waist during your kissing session. His entire face was bright red,

    "Kid what the heck." He groaned, "Knock please."

     "Sorry I was just excited, I saw she was awake from the window." Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck, as he looked at the two of you.

     "Aw, were you worried about me?" A smile came across your face as the boy blushed furiously under your gaze, one cheek was bright red and the other was a bright green just like his eyes. He hesitantly bobbed his head in a nod and a soft, motherly look spread across your face. Technoblade saw the look you gave the teenager of the corner of his eye and his heart turned to mush in a matter of seconds, these kids were gonna be the death of you. "I'm sorry to have worried you, but look I'm a-ok now!" A smile spread across Ranboo's lips as he walked further into the room,

     "Well, that's a relief." He sat cross-legged on the floor smiling up at both of you, Technoblade sighed and ruffled his hair. His eyes widened looking up at the blade, little stars seemed to dance in his heterochromatic orbs.

    "Thanks for looking out for her. I'm sure Phil told you but you saved her life, I owe you one. I don't take that lightly." Technoblade nodded at him with a serious look on his features as he took his hand off of Ranboo's head. Ranboo looked shell shocked at the genuine honesty of your boyfriend, "Now never mention this to anybody or I'll kill you." The look of awe on his face fell immediately and it turned into a sheepish smile, his shoulders slumping forward.

    "There it is," Ranboo sighed. You couldn't help but let out a joyous laugh at the interaction, both men turned to look at you and grinned at one another, they were both happy to see you laughing.

    "So when did you move in with us?" You asked Ranboo with a hum gently stroking the top of Technoblades head once again. He had to bite his lip to keep from letting out a happy sigh, he hadn't felt your hand in his hair in so long could you really blame him? Ranboo looked thoughtful for a moment his eyebrows furrowing, he rubbed his claws together like he was searching for the answer.

    "Sorry I- oh! The day after you all blew up L'manberg again Phil came to me and asked if I had a place to stay. I obviously didn't have a place to stay anymore." He gave an awkward laugh, "So here I am."

     "Well, we are certainly happy to have you with us. Right Techno?"

    "Ehhh," You glared at him sharply and he held up his hands. "He's gotta prove himself first Princess you can't blame me for being on edge."

    "Eh, that's fair. Still, I'm just happy to be here." Ranboo beamed brightly unfazed by Technoblade's hesitance, something told him that Technoblade really didn't mind him living on his property. "Oh, I'll contact Phil and let him know you're alright! He'll probably want to know about your condition, yeah that's what I'll do."

Reaching out you took Ranboo's hand as he went to stand, he looked a little surprised as he stared at you. "You ever need anything, please don't hesitate to talk to me, I know that what happened was traumatizing. So please, I'm here for you if you need me." His ears seemed to press back against his head, his eyes widened considerably.

     "Thank you." He practically yelled pulling away from you to scurry out the door, he was completely and utterly flustered by your kind words. It reminded you so much of Technoblade when you first met him you couldn't help but smirk at him. He raised an eyebrow at you a frown gracing his features,

    "What?"

     "He acts exactly like you. He's going to fit in great here." Technoblalde looked at you like you had three heads,

     "Ya know, I can't believe I ever missed hearing your voice."

    "Oh fuck you." You gently cupped his chin and kissed the corner of his mouth, "I loved and missed you too you big lug." Technoblade closed his eyes and smiled adoringly at your gentle caresses, "So..." You whispered softly in his ear, "what's with the ring?" He tensed in your hold and you felt his forehead hit your shoulder.

    "An...an engagement ring." He admitted quietly, your eyes lit up and a smile spread across your lips. You hummed in response and began to pet his hair soothingly,

    "I thought a certain pig said that we'd only get married if I didn't get hurt."

     "Yeah well whoever that was sounds super cringe. Imagine basing a marriage on something like that. Men am I right?" It got a giggle out of you and he pulled away to flash you a smile, his large hand cupped your cheek and you snuggled into it.

You nodded your head, "Can't live with them clearly. Since all they do is lie." Technoblade nodded with a straight face, "but in all seriousness this for real? Cause like I'm totally gonna make out with you if it is."

     "Oh, it's super for real then."

    "Stop I'm being serious!" You whacked him lightly in the chest,

     "It's for real," His face lost its teasing smirk as you both locked eyes. "I'm head over heels for you (Y/N). You make me so happy, you're the only one in my life who makes me feel...feel normal," You watched his eyebrows furrow, "I knew I loved you and I knew that you were it for me." Technoblade sighed and leaned back picking up your hand and interlocking it with his own. You couldn't help but notice the golden band on his left hand, it mirrored your feminine ring perfectly. "When you were dying, or when I thought you were dying all I could think about was that we never got married. That we couldn't blow more governments up together or go on adventures. So yes, it's for real, I want to marry you officially if you want a small wedding we can do that if you don't want a wedding at all I don't care. I just wanna be yours forever."

Your heart fluttered in your chest and butterflies flew around in your stomach. As brutally honest as he always was he was more than a little emotionally stunted, you knew this was hard for him. You leaned forward and kissed him, it was long and passionate, you felt his fingers curl around your hair. As you pulled away you felt him try to chase your lips with a frustrated whine,

    "I wanna be yours forever Techno. You're everything I ever wanted in life, I've never been happier than when I'm by your side. All my life I've been a wanderer, going from place to place, never really having a home. You gave me the one thing no one has and it's exactly that, a home. Plus, you're so feral which is so hot." You added just to watch his face scrunch up and you felt him push you down against the pillows.

    "You ruined the moment. I changed my mind, the wedding is off." He huffed with no real feeling behind the words, "you should rest."

    "I've been resting. Help me get up I wanna go outside." You scoffed with an eye roll swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You noticed your ankle was wrapped in a tight bandage, you frowned wincing as you tried to put pressure on it. "Fuck, how long am I going to have to wear this?"

     "At least a month is what Phil said, we need to make sure there is no lingering damage. Can't have my anarchist wife not be able to cause trouble with me."

     "Oh? I'm still allowed to cause trouble with you?"

     "Obviously. Especially since I'm getting you a totem of undying just to cover all my bases." Technoblade stood up helping you to your feet, "you're doing great Princess, let's see if we can make it out front." You gave him a tentative smile as the both of you slowly made your way down the ladders and outside. You never thought you'd miss the cold winter weather stinging your cheeks but here you were. "Cold?"

    "Only a little." You smiled up at him and felt his cloak drape around your shoulders, he must've grabbed it before you left the room. You buried your face into the pure white fluff at the top and closed your eyes, it smelled like Technoblade and that brought you comfort. He usually smelled like gunpowder, shampoo, and cedarwood, it was by far your favorite smell. Technoblade's hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him. The both of you just stood there enjoying the flurries of snow as they fell down around you, his thumb gently brushing against your hip bone.

After a while of peaceful silence, Technoblade seemed to grow restless his gentle brushing turned into inconsistent taping, eventually, he pulled you in front of him only to begin to sway with you in your arms. "You getting bored?" You looked up at him and reached to cup his cheek in your hand, he hummed pleasantly at the contact.

     "A little."

     "Aw, my poor baby," You cooed and he grumbled under his breath at the sarcastic tone your voice took. "Kidding, don't get pouty I'm messing with you, if you want I can read to you? Or do your hair cause it's...a mess."

     "You mean you aren't head over heels in love with this unwashed rat's nest?"

     "Unwashed." Your nose scrunched you and he smirked wickedly, "I know that look. Don't you fucking dare-" You let out a shriek as Technoblade began to rub his head against your cheek, making his hair fall over your shoulders. "TECHNO! TECHNOBLADE YOU ASSHOLE STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

     "What? I'm being loveable and soft. Is this not what you want?" He purred holding you tighter against him as you wiggled in his arms trying to break free of his vice-like grip.

You growled at him, "NO! You dick!" Technoblade could only snicker at your dismay but pulled away from you per your request.

    "I'll go shower," He pulled away to scratch at his head "want me to set you up by the fireplace? I'll meet you there when you're done?"

    "As long as you shower I'll do whatever," You huffed and he snickered picking you up to carry you inside the house. "Stinky pigman," His face shifted into the said creature and he poked you with his nose. You rolled your eyes as he sat you down on a chair, reaching up you scratched his snout, he made a dulcet sound before pecking the side of your head. The fire popped and crackled as the heat warmed your frozen cheeks. Snowflakes melted in your hair making you shiver from the brief chill they let off, closing your eyes you took in a deep breath of air.

Married, you couldn't believe you were actually getting married...to the man of your dreams no less. You held up your hand in front of you and traced the delicate details on the band, you felt at peace, this wedding needed to happen as soon as possible. You barely wanted to waste any more time, god knows what could happen in the next coming months, who was going to come and try to kill the both of you again. You'd have to mention it to Technoblade when he came back to see if he was okay with basically eloping. You stretched like a cat snuggling into the cushions, you'd have to get a dress though because you're not showing up to your own wedding in Netherite armor. Floorboards creaked above your head signaling Technoblade was out of the shower and getting ready to come to greet you downstairs.

You turned away from the sound, your lips pressing into a thin line as you let out a shaky breath. Tommy had been discovered under the floorboards of this very house after the rough start you had bonded with the rambunctious teen and wanted to keep him safe. Obviously, everyone knew how that ended, a part of you hoped you weren't projecting that lost care onto Ranboo. It wouldn't be fair to Ranboo if you treated him like another Tommy, the child you wish you could've helped.

Twirling your fingers around your (h/c) hair you only delve deeper into those thoughts. You wanted to help Ranboo, you wanted to help all the kids, the trauma they all have gone through had to be tremendous. Ranboo living on the property was a start, away from the crater of a failed country and anyone who would want to hurt him. You were going to protect him, this wasn't going to end up like Tommy's betrayal, you'd make sure of it.

TINK

Technoblade would probably call you insane if you mentioned this plan to him, but then again he was never one to feel pity or sympathy for those he didn't consider family. Even so, you hoped this boy would open up to you and consider you a parental figure in his life. Hopefully, Technobalde would warm up to him as well, you both all could be a little family.

TINK

Okay...maybe that was jumping the gun. You barely know him, for all you know he could secretly be helping Dream as a double agent or something. Okay, (Y/N) now you ARE being insane that's absurd.

TINK, TINK

What the FUCK was that sound. You turned to the window and could only make out a little smiley face in the corner of the glass, for some reason unease settled in your stomach. Where did that come from?

    "Princess?" His sonorous voice filled the room crashing over you like a wave of clarity amongst the ever-growing fog of your mind.

You jolted in your seat before turning towards your fiance, "Hi bubbas."

    "Hallo," Technoblade was shirtless his scars on full display as well as his muscles. One was way more important than the other to you, you can guess which one. His pajama pants sat loosely on his hips as he wandered over to sit in front of you, his head resting between your thighs. You had to hold back a giggle at the pleased look on his features, his hands came up, giving them a soft squeeze.

     "You having fun?"

Yes. OBVIOUSLY. You could crush our head with those thighs, so yes. So soft. We need to stay here forever.

     "They're okay," He replied casually as your fingers carded through his pink hair. "I definitely don't want you to try crushing a watermelon."

     "Oh my god." Your shoulders began to shake and you placed your forehead on top of his own, he only smiled softly. Your laughter was sweet and made him think of a small little bell chiming in the air.

     "You're gonna braid my hair now right?"

     "Obviously."

    "Thank you, Princess."

You were a little taken aback by his genuine tone, there was no hint of sarcasm or his usual teasing voice.

You love him more than all the stars in the sky.

He looked up at you with his big red eyes, as you began massaging his scalp. He let out a throaty moan, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your blunt nails on his scalp. "Jesus Princess, you're a goddess."

     "As long as you never say I rival Aphrodite you can call me a goddess all you want." He laughed and nodded his head,

     "You have yourself a deal."

     "I can't wait to marry you as soon as possible."

     "You're really obsessed with me huh? You a fangirl? That's a little creepy not gonna lie."

     "Oh, I'm your BIGGEST fan. I live in your house and sleep in your bed."

    "Cringe," You rolled your eyes dramatically but pecked his lips stroking his cheek with your thumb.

    "Seriously though, can it happen as soon as we can."

    "How do three days from now sound? Just so we can plan properly and gather some things we need- if you want a like actually wedding." You nodded eagerly,

     "Yes, please. That's all I need."

    "Then it's settled."

The smile on your face was all he needed to know he made the right decision not only in marrying you but rushing the wedding,...three days. Oh shit, he was gonna be a husband in three days. The voices in his head collective said one phrase,

We're fucked.

~~~

Hi guys! Thanks for all the love for my story! Have fun with this chapter, a Karlnapity x reader might be in the works next. Not that this story is over, after all there’s still a wedding to attend. 

ALSO please go read my friend quackity-love-bot’s new fic! Here’s the link: https://quackity-love-bot.tumblr.com/post/642241693382557696/skyfall

Enjoy ;)

[azuregiggles]

Home Again

3.7k words.

Summary: Karl is attempting to outrun the monsters that chase him and the voices that echo in his head. On his escape route he meets an unusual being who helps him realize that maybe things aren’t all what they seem.

WARNINGS: Angst, Tickling, Light bondge?, Derealization? But its fluffy in the end :)

Karl’s breathing was heavy as he crashed through the woods. Over bushes and under branches he didn’t dare look back. He knew his pursuers were close behind. Monsters who’s hoarse cries echoed through the trees behind him. That screaming, that heavy screaming. He couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. He had one thing on his mind. Escape.

Every shadow and shifting twig made his heart jump into his throat. DANGER. They were chasing him. They wanted to capture him and drag him back to the den he’d woken up in. Back to that prison of lies. They wanted to laugh and watch as he slowly lost his mind.

His mind raced as. Fast as his legs and heart. HIDE. He needed to lose them. RUN. RUN. RUN. He couldn’t bear the voices that screamed in his head. They weren’t his yet they told him what to do. They were the only thing that seemed to be constant in his life these days and so he listened. He followed the instructions to not stray from the path.

One voice told him where to go STAY ON THE PATH, it rang again. “This is the FOREST there is NO PATH” Karl screamed in reply. The second voice called his name the same way the monsters did. They knew his name and never stopped calling it, hunting him and haunting him simultaneously.

Their faces were unknown, their intentions unclear, their voices all torturous and painful. He continued to run as fast and as far as he could, slowly growing tired. The sun was setting. The voice in his head whispered, slowly growing in volume. Dark. Cold. Danger. Danger. DANGER! The voice yelled and Karl skidded to a stop, only inches from careening into a deep ravine. Lava boiled down below, soon to be one of the only sources of light. Waterfalls along the edges roared in Karl’s ear and amplified the echoes in his mind. LAND IN THE WATER. JUMP. SAFE. RUN. HIDE. He stepped forward.

“Don’t” a new voice, a more physical voice rang in his ear.

Karl spun in a circle but he couldn’t see anyone. ALONE. HIDE. JUMP. THE WATER. DANGER. He turned again to see the faint glow of torch light approaching slowly as his hunters ran towards him NO TIME. RUN. Karl looked into the gorge and his stomach turned.

“Come to me Time Traveler, Shapeshifter, Karl Jacobs.” The new voice spoke again. This time Karl noted that it was soft and comforting. When it spoke it was like two people with the same voice speaking in unison.

“Where?” Karl shivered in place. His inability to identify the voice’s location made him all the more cautious. ENEMY. DON’T TRUST. RUN. STAY ON THE PATH. “WHAT PATH!?” Karl screamed at his own mind.

“This way Karl. Follow the lights.”

Karl turned to the torchlight that grew closer “NO! I won’t go back to them! They’ll kill me!” LIGHT. TORCH. DEATH. HUNTERS. MONSTERS. DANGER. The voice in his mind reassured him.

“Not the torch Karl. The lights. Look to the east.” The soft voice almost whispered, the comforting tone slowly drawing Karl from his panic.

Karl turned east and watched with awe as dozens of little lights rose from the grass. Fireflies. They gathered in two lines creating a path out of their glow. A few swirled around Karl in a warm breeze. The trail led across the ravine and continued into the woods on the other side. “How do i cross-“

A stone bridge built itself, spanning from where Karl stood “Come now” the voice called like an old friend.

Karl found comfort in realizing that the voice had direction now, he could tell it came from the woods beyond where the fireflies lead. He stepped onto the bridge DANGER. RUN. ESCAPE. The voice in Karl’s head screamed louder than ever, it was almost deafening THE PATH. THE PATH. STAY ON THE-

“SILENCE” the comforting voice commanded and the presence within Karl head retreated. The echoing ceased.

Karl was suddenly aware of the sounds that had previously been drowned out. The crickets chirping, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the evening birds’ song. He could hear the cries of his hunters, their voices clearer, they almost sounded human.

“Come along then Karl. This way”

Karl took a sheepish step onto the bridge as if it’d collapse. With each step forward the stones behind him would vanish. He couldn’t go back. The gentle glow of the fireflies brought him peace of mind, the warmth of the breeze eased the tension in his every muscle. “Who are you?”

“A friend. A protector. Come see me. Let’s talk about the people chasing you.” The lights made a way through the wood.

“Can you stop them? Are you here to save me?” The soft glow left no trail behind Karl as he walked into the growing darkness. He sped up as the screams and shrieking of his hunters echoed through the air beyond.

“So full of questions. I can promise you safety. Come now. Quickly, we have little time before they come for you.”

Karl began to sprint after the firefly trail. He soon tripped into a clearing with an enormous tree. It stood at least 50 blocks high, its branches were widespread as if it was trying to reach across the forest. The strangest part, however, is that it was green. Not just the leaves which had an almost neon glow about them but the trunk and branches as well. It’s roots above the dirt we’re almost as tall as Karl. He wandered towards it slowly. Thousands of fireflies danced around it in the grass.

“Come to the tree Karl. It is where you’ll find me. I’m here to help you.” The soothing voice called to him.

“Where are you?” Karl asked again as he reached the center of the clearing. He put his hand gently on the bark. The tree shuddered and from its branches descended a tall creature with four arms. It was dressed in a long green cloak with the hood drawn up over its head and a porcelain mask with a wide open smile hid any sign of its face.

“Welcome to the center of the forest. This is a place not often seen by mortals. I have brought you here for a reason.” The creature drifted down much like a leaf before landing directly in front of Karl. It was when their feet hit the ground that Karl realized how tall the thing before him truly was twice his own height at least.

“What do you want from me?” Karl was too afraid to run.

“I want nothing from you that you are aware of. I am going to assist with that which has been troubling you. I am XD guardian of this world. You have been brought to my home.”

“You’re a guardian? Can you save me from the monsters that chased me here?”

“What monsters? Nothing hostile can reach this far into my woods.”

“They’re not like skeletons or creepers! They’re more like humans, b-but one has horns and a tail like a demon, th-the other has golden wings. They’re hybrids or something.”

The god chuckled and held out two of their hands, a light blue mist swirled between them. Slowly it became an image of Sapnap and Quackity. Both had tears streaming down their faces as they held up torches and screamed in search of their missing fiancé.

Karl nodded and backed away from the image “They know my name! They had me trapped in their house , I-I thought they were going to kill me so I ran. Th-They’ve been chasing me and they want to kill me. My inner voice told me so!” Karl was frantic and clung to the god’s robe.

XD’s interest peaked “Oh? An inner voice? Tell me about this voice.” The was an almost mischievous undertone to his previously monotone voice.

Karl nodded “Yes, it helps me understand what’s going on around me. It keeps me safe.” DONT “It makes sure I don’t stray from the path.” NO! DANGER! RUN! PLEASE! RUN!

“I thought so” the god sounded like a disappointed parent as they sighed “Karl allow me to clear the fog from your mind.” They held up the vision of Sap and Big Q “These two are searching for you not hunting you.”

“But the voice-“

“Was wrong” XD interrupted softly “They want to take you home. To make sure you’re safe. Look closely, don’t they seem familiar?”

LOOK AWAY. Karl looked closer and a warmth rose in his chest as he realized their expressions showed concern and fear rather than malice and hostility. “They’re… worried?”

“Yes”

“About me?”

“Correct. That voice you’re hearing is wrong. These two care for you greatly. They love you.”

LIES! the voice screamed with more force, taking his mind. “You’re lying” Karl backed away. RUN. Karl tried but was effortlessly lifted by the god.

XD held the struggling semi-human with no effort “Please don’t make this difficult Karl. I can assure you I only wish to help.”

“No! Let me go! HELP!” Karl shrieked and kicked the air. “Put me down you monster!”

XD gave an indignant huff “Monster? That’s rather rude.” They carefully began to knead Karl’s side. “All three of you need to calm down. Now will you listen Karl?”

“Yes! Okahahay! Plehehease juhuhst stahahap.”

The fingers stilled “Do you want your memories back Karl? I can get them for you.”

The time traveler froze. “You can do that?” He felt elated when the god nodded “How?”

“It’ll take some convincing that voice of yours but no worries, I’m very persuasive.” XD chuckled and laid Karl against the root of the tree, making sure the position was comfortable. One of their large hands pinned both of Karl’s hands above his head. “I need you to trust that I won’t hurt you okay?”

“O-Okay” Karl was giggling as his nerves ignited with how vulnerable he was. A vine slowly curled around his wrists allowing the god to have use of all four hands.

“Now let’s see if we can’t convince that voice of yours to come out, shall we?” XD wiggled a single dull claw into each of Karl’s sides.

“Aaah! Wahahait nohohoho” Karl whined and kicked helplessly. He could hear two sets of giggles apart from his own. The voices in his mind was, laughing?

“I knew you were in there. Now come on out and leave the mortal alone. Both of you!” XD’s second set of hands dug into Karl’s ribs.

All three shrieked and began to beg “STAHAHAP NAHAHA PLEHEHESE” GOHO AWAHAHAY. A white circle of light appeared over Karl’s belly button.

“So that’s where you’re hiding.” The smirk could be heard in XD’s voice. Two hands now clawed into the hollows of Karl’s armpits, the third massaged his hip and the last hand wiggled a single claw into Karl’s bellybutton.

To say the man screamed would be an understatement. Karl squealed so loud he was sure he’d wake the entire forest “NAHAT THERE PLEHEHEASE NAHAHAT MY BUHUTTON”

XD chuckled “Weak spot?” They chuckled again as the mortal frantically nodded and kicked.

OUT! LET ME OUT!

XD withdrew his hands. From the ring of light on Karl’s belly appeared two blobs, one black and one white. “There, no more misleading little voices.” They picked up the two blobs from the grass.

Karl, who had been thankful for the ability to breathe, was quickly driven back to hysterics as XD used one hand to claw his belly to keep him distracted.

“You both have some explaining to do” Quackity and Sap’s voices were drawing closer causing the god to sigh “We’ll talk later, give me his memories XC I know you have them.”

The white blob had an X where it’s eyes would be and a deep frown that resembled the letter C. It shook its head no.

The black blob looked a bit more angry with a V where xyr eyes would be and a downward bracket for a mouth. >[ head butted XC and made a series of angry chirps and squeaks.

XC gave in and burped out an orb of blue light. It squeaked in frustration.

“Very good. Now both of you stay quiet.” XD hid them in the sleeves of their cloak. They ceased tickling Karl and couldn’t help but grin beneath their mask at the sight before them. Karl’s cheeks bright red and his eyes teary. His hair was a fluffy mess and he giggled from the phantom tickles.

“Is ihihit ohohover?” Karl snorted. He found relief when XD nodded.

“Look what I managed to get.” XD held up the blue orb.

“Is that?”

“Your memories” the god confirmed.

“How do I get them back?” Karl looked at it in confusion as XD cradled him, removing the vines from his wrists.

“It’s like a pill. But wait until they find you. It’ll help with the rush.”

Karl would have asked for an explanation but as the god put him down, the moment his feet hit the floor the world spun and the clearing was gone. Karl was left with a glowing blue orb and a lot of questions. He slowly became aware of the voices that screamed not too far away and walked toward them.

“KARL! Where are you!?” Quackity sobbed as he screamed into the night.

Sapnap sat on a rock and tried to calm himself “Fuck! We lost him, he’s actually gone.”

“Don’t talk like that! I don’t care! We’re finding him and bringing him home!”

“He doesn’t even know what home is Quackity! He doesn’t know us!”

“I don’t care! We’ll find a way to make him remember , he HAS to! I said I was going to marry both of you assholes and I meant it!”

Sapnap’s tail and horns ignited and he punched the closest tree “He can't remember that we’re engaged! You can’t force him to marry us! Face it, even if we find him he’s GONE” he saw the betrayed look in Quackity’s eyes and punched the tree again, knocking it over “FUUCCCKKK” he fell to his knees “What do we do?”

Big Q hesitated “We keep searching. We���ll tell everyone what’s going on and have them keep an eye out for him. We’ll get him back. We just-” he paused hearing a branch snap. He spun with his torch to see Karl standing there shyly. “Karl! Oh my god!”

Karl held up the glowing blue orb.

“Karl what is that-“ Sapnap was cut off as his forgetful fiancé looked him in the eye and popped what appeared to be a glowing marble into his mouth. “I- Karl! Spit that out!”

Karl swallowed it. The blue glow spread to the rest of his body and Karl fell to his knees as his memories started flooding back. His childhood, his time travels, his fiancés. His mind became stuck on the two men who rushed to his side and were currently cradling him.

****Flashbacks****

Karl had finally worked up the nerve to ask Sapnap, his longtime crush, to hang out one on one. Sapnap, of course, caught on immediately and teased Karl into a flustered mess throughout the entire day. By the end of the date Sap had to ask Karl out because the time traveler had been too shy.

**

Karl and Sapnap had finally agreed today was the day, they were going to ask Quackity to be their boyfriend. It had been a long process to work out and ensure they were all comfortable and emotionally able to handle the situation. The day was sunny and warm, when Quackity agreed it felt all that much warmer.

***

The three men sat together on a picnic blanket basking in the warmth and the breeze of the day. They all laughed and smiled about the dumbest jokes. Karl and Sap joked about how Quackity finally seemed to be at ease whenever it was all three of them instead of just one on one.

"Sh-shut up assholes! This whole poly thing is new to me." Quackity giggled and argued.

Karl wrapped his arms around Q's waist and kissed his cheek, Sap repeated the motion from the other side causing the duck's face to go red.

"I hate you both" Quackity chuckled.

"We love you too," Karl and Sap said in unison.

****

It had been a lovely trip to Las Nevadas. A place built up by Quackity to show his boyfriends. They'd gambled, spent time in the pool, eaten amazing food, and even taken naps together. After a week of being spoiled came the cherry on top. Quackity dropped to one knee and pulled out a black box with two rings. He'd hardly had time to finish the question before he was smothered by hugs, kisses and a million yeses.

***** End Flashbacks *****

Karl teared up and came out of his daze. He was leaned against Sap who had his back against a tree fast asleep. Quackity was pacing back and forth in the torch light. “Ducky?”

Quackity froze and turned to Karl, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

Karl began to sob and held out his arms “D-Ducky, Quackity! I love you!”

Quackity beamed as tears began to swell. “You remember me?” He laughed his frustration away as Karl nodded, standing. He yanked Karl into his arms and tangled his fingers in the brunette’s hair. “Holy shit I’ve missed you.”

“Is Karl awake?” Sap’s voice was heavy with sleep. He grunted as he was tackled back to the ground by Karl. “What the hell. K-“ he was cut off by lips smashing into his own. A light blush dusted his cheeks.

Karl sobbed and cradled Sap’s face, looking him in the eyes “Hi Kitty. Sapnap. I’m so sorry I forgot about you.” Karl was promptly pulled into more kisses by both of his loves.

The three laid in the grass slowly calming down. Karl was blaming himself and the other two weren't having any of it.

"Karl, it's alright. It's not like you were in control of what happened." Sap reassured him. "We're just glad to have you back."

"You're not allowed to beat yourself up." Quackity added.

"What do you mean!?" Karl's chest heaved and his voice broke "I FORGOT both of you! I-I ran away thinking you were MONSTERS I don't deserve- AAAAHHH"

Sapnap smirked from where he was laid across Karl’s legs, chin on his waist and hands poised on his hips. "Did you forget about this~" he gave a low chuckle that made Karl shiver.

Karl turned bright red "N-No…"

Quackity purred in the oldest's ear "Karl~ are you still ticklish?" His fiancé squealed and craned his neck away.

"Stahahap guhuys, nohoho!"

Sap chuckled once more, pushing the hem of Karl’s hoodie up "Well, well, well~ what a delicious looking belly you have my darling Bunny~ Mind if I have a nibble?"

"Sahahahappy, Kihihitty dohoHOHONT AAHH!" Karl was cut off by his blaze fiance nibbling his lower belly, using his fangs to his advantage. "SAHAHAP NOHOHO" Karl twisted in Quackity’s hold and kicked what little he could with Sap on him.

Quackity giggled and, not wanting to be left out, vibrated his fingers into Karl's ribs. He indulged in the shrill shrieks that followed. The contrast between Q’s rough tickles and Sap’s slow paced nibbles was maddening.

Karl twisted back and forth trying to dislodge the attacking fingers. "DUHUHUCKY STAHAHAP" he relaxed between his lovers, too emotionally and physically exhausted to really fight back. Not that he wanted to. He vividly recalled how tickling was an important and constant part of their bonding. They used it to cheer each other up and pester one another. It was practically their love language.

Sap looked up at the others “You guys ready to go home? I don’t want mobs to sneak up on us.”

Karl was still under attack by Quackity who now nibbled on his ears. “Okahahay lehehet’s gohoho.” Q moved to nibble on Karl’s neck, his golden fangs grazing over the hypersensitive area. The time traveler tried to scrunch up his shoulders in defense but the duck hybrid had already locked himself in place. “QUAHAHAHACKITY NAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE!”

“Say my name again.” Q demanded before resuming nibbling.

“QUAHAHAHACKITY! DUHUHUCKYY”

“Once more”

“JEHEHERK!” Karl earned himself a raspberry “AH! QUAHAHAHACKITY!”

“Good” Q ceased his attack “Never forget it again. Promise?”

“I prohohomise. I’ll never forget my Ducky or my Kitty again” Karl grinned, hugging each of them as the trio stood. All three knew it was out of the time traveler’s control but for now that promise was something to ground them after months of feeling they were fading away.

Hand in hand the three wandered home with Karl falling asleep about halfway. Sapnap easily carried his love on his back. Quackity pushed open the front door and started to pick up the few things Karl had knocked over during his rush to escape. Sap carried the slumbering man to their bedroom and softly laid him down in the center spot.

“Do you think we’ll still have him in the morning?” Q asked, walking in.

“After everything that’s happened today we better.'' Sap chuckled.

“Any idea how his memory came back?”

“Not really. But that marble he ate…”

“But where’d he get the marble?” Q’s tone had dropped. “Did he always have it or did someone give it to him?”

“I don’t know. Can we not talk about this tonight?” Sap’s tail wrapped around his fiancé’s waist pulling him close. “It’s already been a lot to process. But I understand your concern. Just, please not tonight.” He yawned and kissed Quackity.

“Fine, we’ll figure it out later” Q sighed softly.

“Kitty” Karl muttered in his sleep “cuddle me Ducky.”

Both men smiled down at their sleeping love and climbed into bed on either side of him. Sap rested his head on Karl’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Quackity nuzzled into Karl’s neck. The three slept soundly through the night and when Karl still had his memories the next day they were elated. Home felt like home again.

[red-talisman]

Some random, unbetaed snippets set during the Siji Manor arc in which I'm trying to process my Feelings about these two and about Wen Kexing's backstory. Spoilers for eps...mid-20s onward, I think, show canon only. CW for loudly implied, past, severe child abuse.

.

Even though Zhou Zishu has never slept so deeply beside another person since his master was still alive, he's too well-trained to forget just how dangerous the person at his side, ironically, actually is.

Every so often (when Chengling says something especially innocent, when sunlight glances a particular way off a kitchen knife, when Zhou Zishu smiles unprompted) he'll see Wen Kexing's eyes widen and his face go strangely blank, like a performer caught in the middle of switching out masks behind the curtain. It's the blankness that Zhou Zishu recognizes from the moments when Wen Kexing casually sets aside his gentlemanly front and leaves corpses in his wake.

The second most horrifying thing about it is the fact that Zhou Zishu can't sense any change in his qi - no focused heaviness of killing intent, no ozone tang of impending violence like a lightning strike. It's not because of the Nails slowly destroying his senses, either, but rather that this means Wen Kexing is either constantly on the edge of violence or the violence has simply settled so deeply that it's indistinguishable from his resting qi state.

The most horrifying thing about it, though, is what that implies about the years in which his shidi had been taken from him.

.

"In a faraway land," Wen Kexing whispers to him one night across the landscape of blankets between them, "there was a little dog who was taken by a demon king. One day, the demon king put him a cage with the other dogs, some little and some less so, with no food. When all the dogs cried for something to fill their bellies, the demon king laughed and told them that they had all the food they needed right there in the cage with them. The next morning, only the little dog was still alive, and he wasn't hungry any more. When the little dog begged to be let out, the demon king laughed again and said there was no need for that when there was still plenty of food left."

Earlier that day, Chengling had asked Wen Kexing where he learned to cook so well when not even the aunties in his sect knew how to use spices to cover the taste of meat that was still edible but on the edge of turning sour.

Wen Kexing stares at Zhou Zishu in the dim light of a lantern left by the window, eyes wide but his face not blank at all. Zhou Zishu smiles like a cracked window and reaches over to push the hair out of his face, letting his palm rest kindly on a sharp cheekbone.

.

The first time that the casual intimacy between them turns heated and hands slide inside of clothing, Zhou Zishu has to take a moment to chase down and silence the ghosts in his own head. When he finally lets out a breath and meets Wen Kexing's gaze, he realizes that the distance between them has suddenly widened into an abyss that he can't see the bottom of.

Without knowing where the traps are hidden, Zhou Zishu casually lets his body tilt against Wen Kexing's in a way that puts Wen Kexing at a higher eye level and doesn't block the range of either of his hands. There's a tension in Wen Kexing's body that makes Zhou Zishu's instincts want to reach for a weapon rather than a belt.

"Don't think this will get you out of making breakfast in the morning," Zhou Zishu scolds into Wen Kexing's shoulder, his teeth a relatively safe handspan away from Wen Kexing's throat, as though nothing fundamental between them has changed. Nothing has, really.

It takes a few breaths, but eventually Wen Kexing's body relaxes with the same careful mindfulness. "Wah, A-Xu," he whines, sounding almost normal, "my A-Xu, so cruel!"

Zhou Zishu scoffs. "Only when you want me to be, you spoiled brat."

Instead of the dramatic wailing that he expects, there's a pause, and then Zhou Zishu feels Wen Kexing silently shove his face into the thick hair piled loosely on top on Zhou Zishu's head and his arms under the shamelessly disheveled top layer of his robe.

It should feel weird or even invasive; Zhou Zishu has never been in the habit of so much touch unless it was for a mission or getting an excess of yang energy taken care of as efficiently as business allowed. But it doesn't, and to his own surprise and mixed emotions, he finds himself relaxing - naturally, this time- into the curl of Wen Kexing's body.

("It was never about pleasure, before," Wen Kexing whispers to him when there's no moon or lantern to soften the darkness.

(Zhou Zishu...could respond in a lot of different ways to everything that isn't being said. But it's late, and the Nails are aching, and neither of them can change the past.

("I don't know much about that either, but we have time to figure it out," he sighs drowsily.)

.

A small bird startles Zhou Zishu after lunch in the west courtyard. His senses of smell and taste are the worst by far, but sometimes his hearing will dip unexpectedly and the only way he can hide it is through lip-reading and suppressing any outward reaction. But when he doesn't hear the rustle of tiny wings, the sudden dart of the bird across his slowly narrowing peripheral vision makes him twitch and drop his wine cup.

Without missing a beat, Wen Kexing picks up a shelled piece of walnut from his stash and flicks it at the bird. The bird drops to the ground, dead.

"Well," says Zhou Zishu, reaching for the wine pot, "I suppose we have part of our dinner decided, then."

Wen Kexing blinks at him, then at the bird. Zhou Zishu wonders if he had even intended to act.

"A-Xu," he says, something evaluative in his tone, "how could you be so reckless? What if it'd been an assassin's bird? Or a messenger between two of our many enemies?"

"Then living here on a remote mountain surrounded by trees and wildlife is suddenly going to get a lot more interesting," he replies dryly.

"Perhaps I'll make you a feather bed, sewn with the finest silks and stuffed with only the softest feathers of our enemies' spies." Wen Kexing leans forward on an elbow over the table. "Perhaps I'll make lanterns from our enemies' skullcaps and the fat of their flesh to light your way at night so that you'll never stumble again. I'll set their heads on spears around the walls to scare away the evil spirits from your dreams."

"Aiya, what kind of man do you think I am that you would offer such ridiculous things?" This isn't about 'things' at all, Zhou Zishu knows, and doesn't look away from the bloody claws being held out in challenge. "I have my first shidi and my first disciple in the home of our master. What need do I have for anything else? If you want such things, you can take them somewhere else and come back when you're ready to be sensible about what I need."

Wen Kexing watches Zhou Zishu reach out to pick up one of his hands, turning it over to bare the wrist. They both know that, like this, even with half his martial arts gone, Zhou Zishu could slice through tendon and bone, open up a primary vein, block several key acupoints that would damage his internal energy before Wen Kexing could stop him.

Instead, Wen Kexing smiles and presses his bare wrist more firmly against Zhou Zishu's fingers. "I suppose A-Xu is right," he says softly.

[blossom-hwa]

Kingdom |Prologue: Catching Fire|

And so we begin :) please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed!

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 1.8k

A spark of betrayal lights the flame of a war. 

Tag list [ dm or send an ask to be added! ]: @itsapapisongo​ @dearseungie​ @chrisbahng​ @reverienostalgia​ @wingkkun​ @juyeo-on​

TBZ Masterlist | Kingdom

Changmin can’t breathe. He can’t see, can’t hear, can’t even think over the pounding of his own heart as he strains helplessly against the chains that bind his arms. They dig into the stinging cuts on his skin, iron burning the magic that seeps from his blood.

How could everything have come to this, just days before Juyeon’s coronation, the coronation that was supposed to bring his kingdom to peace?

He struggles in his bonds, chains that bind the remaining magic in his veins, erasing the humming thrum that usually bubbles below his skin. It leaves him cold, empty, helpless as he strains against harsh metal imbued with spells he knows but can’t break.

His magic is gone.

Gone.

And the simmer in his blood isn’t the only thing that’s gone silent.

Bom steps around his kneeling body, her footsteps the only sound in the still air. Changmin raises his head to meet her solemn eyes, gazing down at him with a stony pity flashing in the darkness.

Changmin never liked Bom, never got over the crawling of his skin whenever she brushed by a little too close. She always seemed too cold, too uptight, and several times, he wondered how she was even ordained as a mage. Even now as he stares, refusing to back down even when he knows he can’t escape, his mouth twists into an expression of the faintest disgust, disgust for her single-mindedness that has plagued him, the Board’s gray mage, for the past five years.

“Why?” he finally asks, voice hoarse with remnants of shouts, cries of surprise and betrayal as he tried to fend away the mage standing before him. “Why would you do this?”

She’s opening her mouth, probably about to give some pithy reply to make his blood boil, but the shrine door opens with a crash and a bang before she can start. Another mage walks out, ivory robes stained with red.

High Mage Jung Sungkyu of the Ivory Kingdom. Changmin’s former mentor and a father figure.

Covered in blood.

Changmin blinks once. Twice. 

The red doesn’t disappear.

So none of this is a hallucination, a nightmare he’ll soon wake up from.

Yes, this is the mage from whom he learned, the mage who bound him and his queen together in their promise, the mage whom he looked up to for so long. That kind, powerful mage is the same, the very same as the one walking toward him with bloodstained robes and an expression of pain on his face.

Blood stains.

Changmin doesn’t even want to think about what that means for those who didn’t manage to escape the shrine, for the guards who defended him, for the queen who told him to flee, the queen he left behind.

Oh, my queen…

A mask falls over Changmin’s features, and he stops struggling against the chains now cutting into his skin. His eyes bore into those of the mage walking forward, piercing holes into his skin until the man can’t even hold his gaze anymore and drops his head instead.

“You thought you could escape and warn your friends, didn’t you?” Bom asks, eyes impassive. Her lips curve slightly, coldly, blade-like under the crescent moon. Iron. “Don’t worry, young gray mage. We’ll pass on the message soon enough. We’re just not ready, not quite yet.”

We’re not ready.

We…

“We” doesn’t only include Bom and the high mage. This is something bigger.

We.

Changmin swallows, trying not to go dizzy from the realization. With every word that falls from his lips, he only becomes more certain that he’s right.

“You’re working with the princess.”

Pawns and kings, how can he warn Juyeon and his sister when he’s miles away, stuck in magic-binding chains, and, judging from the knife at Bom’s waist, about to die?

Stall. Stall, keep stalling. “How could you betray the orders like this?” he asks, desperation dripping from his lips. “You swore loyalty to the Board above all, not to your kingdom – why would you do this?”

“I believe the Board’s balance lies in supporting the ivory queen,” Bom says, a faint but manic glint of excitement entering her eyes. It makes Changmin’s skin crawl. “I am sworn to protect the balance, no? This is what I believe is best.”

“The princess is not the queen,” Changmin snaps, brain still running. How can he do anything without his magic? “She has no title other than that of a royal pawn.”

“Oh, she’ll be queen, soon enough.” Bom smiles, a curve of the lips that feels more like a knife blade than a grin.

What does that –

Oh.

Oh, no.

No.

His queen…

His queen must be dead.

Changmin’s head snaps upward, the gold insignia around his neck thumping painfully against his chest. Desperately, he looks at his old mentor.

He wouldn’t have killed his queen, would he? Might have subdued, might have knocked them out, but – he couldn’t have killed –

The mage refuses to meet his eyes.

Red clouds Changmin’s vision, mixes with the black of night and the cold light of the moon overhead. A scream builds in his chest that fights to leaves his lips as his head drops once more.

Lost in pain, barely able to breathe, he almost doesn’t feel the gold at his chest, the carved queen and king that always rest at the base of his throat. As he breathes, though, clearing his mind, the insignia dragging his neck to the ground catches his attention.

It’s charmed as it always has been, never to leave his side until death. The gold symbol, a queen and king standing next to each other on a miniature chessboard, is a gift passed down from one gray mage to another, one of only three keys that exist to unlock a kingdom’s crown jewels. It hasn’t left his neck since the day it was given to him by his predecessor when he was ordained at fifteen, one of the youngest to take on the mantle of gray mage.

They will take it when he dies. Undoubtedly they will – it holds magic, magic they will need for whatever it is they’re planning. At the very least, they wouldn’t leave such a powerful relic to be burned with his body.

So what are they planning?

“What do you plan to do, when your princess is a queen?” Changmin tries to make his voice sound as disbelieving as possible, hopes they can’t hear the shaking in his words. He’s rewarded with a twitch of Bom’s eye. “Surely you don’t think the ivory citizens will accept her, not when their current rulers are so loved?”

“That won’t matter.” Bom’s grin makes her look ghoulish under the moonlight. “Not when the entire Board is under our control.”

Changmin’s heart almost stops. Never, not once in the history of the Board, not even when the high orders had to intervene and send down the current laws of the land, has one kingdom attempted to completely take over the other. There have been revenge plots and assassination plans, even one notable attempt by the former ruby bloodline to murder the onyx royals, but nothing… nothing of this scale.

He needs to warn Juyeon.

“An ambitious plot,” he chokes out, all of his former nonchalance gone. The insignia quivers at his throat, a reminder of what will be lost if the ivory princess succeeds. “I suppose you’ll be going to the Onyx Kingdom next.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bom dismisses him with a flick of her hand, ready to unsheathe her knife. “You’ll be dead then, anyway.”

But Changmin doesn’t hear her. He focuses on the knowledge that they’ll be going to the Onyx Kingdom, that they’ll probably take his insignia with them.

A plan springs into his mind, fully-formed and wholly impossible. Impossible because he needs magic, magic that’s been stolen from him by the chains that bind his wrists.

Wait.

He closes his eyes, blocks out the sound of Bom’s droning voice and the cold twinkling of stars overhead.

And focuses on the faintest thrumming of magic beneath his skin.

His magic isn’t gone. It’s subdued, yes, but it isn’t gone. There’s some left, simmering in his blood, and if he concentrates it, it will be just enough for…

A smirk threatens to form on Changmin’s lips as he strains, invisibly, against the chains. Magic coalesces under his control, forming a small but warm stream as it travels through his blood, coming to a stop at his chest, just beneath the insignia resting against his skin.

Find Juyeon.

“I see,” Changmin says blandly, not having heard a single word of what Bom just said. “Interesting.”

Find Juyeon.

An eyebrow raises. “Interesting, that I’m about to kill you?”

Changmin blinks. “Hasn’t it been obvious from the start?”

Find Juyeon.

The magic in his chest grows warmer, brighter, as Bom’s face twists into an embarrassed scowl. “Any last words, then?” she snaps.

The bland look stays on Changmin’s face, even though the bejeweled knife in Bom’s hands sends shivers up his spine. “No, not to you.”

Find Juyeon.

The insignia sears against his chest with heat. His skin must be burning – he can’t smell cooking flesh just yet, though it’s probably only a matter of time – but he grits his teeth and bears it. It means it’s working. 

It means it’s working.

Silver flashes down, the knife arcing towards his neck. Changmin shuts his eyes, prays, thinks those two words over and over again, find Juyeon –

“Wait.”

The blade stops at his word. He blinks his eyes open, looking up not at Bom, but at the High Mage who’s frozen to the spot. It’s one question, a question whose answer has only been implied, an answer that he needs to know. “Is my queen alive?”

Silence follows his question, which only confirms what he knew but dreaded. And even though it feels like his heart is tearing apart, even though tears are beginning to in his eyes for the second time tonight, Changmin musters the strength to use that brief silence to speak those two words once more.

Find Juyeon.

“I see,” he finally says, staring fully at the old mage. High Mage Jung, his former mentor, one of the most powerful high mages, looks smaller than Changmin has ever believed him to be – small, weak, helpless as he gazes helplessly at the ground, robes stained with blood. “Well, you may proceed.”

“It’s not a question of whether you’ll permit it,” Bom snarls, bringing his attention back to her. “You’re at our mercy now.”

Find Juyeon.

This time, as the insignia sears its mark into his flesh, Changmin allows a smirk to spread across his face. “I suppose that’s what you might like to think.”

Bom’s snarl only grows harsher in the moonlight, but unlike before, Changmin doesn’t feel fear at the ghoulish twist of her lips. Instead, he takes a last comfort in the harsh burn of the insignia resting against his skin as the knife comes slicing down.

My queen, I’ll see you again, soon.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for changmin and me please don’t kill me)

[lifblogs]

Whumptober 2021

No. 1 ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

"You have to let go" | barbed wire | bound

Title: A New Weapon Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 2173 Summary: Anakin is lured aboard a Separatist ship from rumors of a new weapon. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Anakin collapsed to the reinforced durasteel deck aboard the Separatist ship he’d chosen to board. Someone was screaming; maybe it was him. His body writhed and tensed even as some part of him was telling it to stay still, that if he relaxed and just breathed it would hurt less. Was he hurting? All he unequivocally knew was that his body was in overdrive. What had happened to him? Shouldn’t he be dead?

Panels had slid back from the deck, strange-looking guns rising up, aimed directly at him. He’d been surrounded, and before he could do anything there had been a clack from all of them and then they’d fired. He should be dead, right? Or… Perhaps not. He had expected the whine of a laser, a blaster, but there had just been a scratching and screeching that hurt his ears.

Then… pain. Yes, that’s what he was feeling.

There was a dark tremor in the Force, the very feeling that he’d followed to this particular ship, and he struggled. The pain dug deeper, his arms trapped at his sides, his legs together. There was no mistaking the blood coming out of him, darkening his robes.

Through vision beginning to darken, and ears preoccupied with the sound of his dry sobs, he just managed to hear even steps and see an older man in dark clothes and a refined cloak walk in.

Dooku, he wanted to hiss out, but all he could do was try to quiet himself with a loud gulp that he nearly choked on.

“Young Anakin Skywalker,” he said, “I thought I might find you here. Or perhaps you were meant to be here. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of testing my new weapon on you.”

Eyes swimming with tears, Anakin finally managed to appraise himself as he choked out, “Not… at all.” Metallic wire was haphazardly wrapped and tangled around him, trailing off and away across the deck. Part of the metal itself was adorned with sharp barbs, and what could’ve been tens of them were embedded deep, his blood turning the metal’s shine dull.

Sickened, struggling to breathe, he rested his head back down.

Think, Anakin. Think!

The pain was immeasurable. Sore and sharp at once, and seemingly all-encompassing. The very act of breathing put pressure against his barbed restraints, and the pain shot everywhere, like long needles had been stabbed through the length of his body. Pain in his thigh went up to shoulder. Pain from his hip went down to his toes.

The Force was clouded around him, frustrating him just as much as his sudden helplessness.

Grimacing, and then letting out an accidental high-pitched noise, he asked, “Are you sure… these can hold a Jedi?”

Dooku held out his hand, and Anakin’s lightsaber—which had fallen from his grasp—flew into his waiting palm, fingers surely grasping the hilt, clearly planning to keep it from him as long as possible. Anakin growled, but he couldn’t do much more than that.

“If you’re thinking of getting cocky, now is not the time.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s the—mm! Ahh! Agh!—perfect… time.”

His body started shaking, and he was sure he’d lost consciousness for a few seconds. That was difficult to tell though what with those moments of darkness feeling exactly the same as his waking state.

Count Dooku seemed to have been saying something (something stupid, more than likely) and he was cut off as the ship shook and he was tossed to the side.

Screams, followed by more of those dry sobs, came from Anakin as he was thrown a few feet and rolled, crashing into one of the gun turrets, cracking the back of his head against it. His vision sparked, but then cleared at least somewhat.

Those’ll be the shields.

Anakin tried to grin through his agony, even as a now-righted Dooku lifted him into the air and further wrapped the wires around him. He screamed through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.

“You think you’ll win this,” he observed.

Shuddering, he ground out, “I know I will.”

“Because Kenobi’s coming?”

Anakin’s eyes widened. A cry left him as he was unceremoniously dropped to the deck.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Dooku said with a wave of his hand, the guns lowering back into their hatches, and the panels sliding back into place. “I knew he would come. That’s why I trapped you here. These new weapons of mine served their purpose. I had the intel carefully leaked through appropriate sources back to the Republic. I knew it would draw you in—you, who is always so desperate to prove himself the hero. And in turn that would call to your insufferable master.”

“Former master.”

“Your strong connection would say otherwise, and the strength of that is just what I required.”

“Required for what?”

“Now, now, boy. A Sith Lord must not divulge all his secrets. Patience. You will see, but I fear you will not like it very much.”

“Just seeing you… is the worst part of this,” Anakin snapped.

“Quiet. Don’t act like a child.”

Another growl left Anakin.

The ship shook and shuddered, BOOM!s emanating through to their level. And then the ship listed, Dooku and Anakin both going flying.

Anakin’s lightsaber slipped from the Count’s grasp. Touching the Force, Anakin reached for it, but the wires around him got caught on a beam. He hung, and then smacked into the bulkhead. His vision swirled, and too much saliva came up in his mouth as an uncomfortable warmth and sense of chaos filled his stomach. The ship tilted again, and he was away from the bulkhead. All the weight he had from the artificial gravity pulled him down, making the barbs dig and rip as their positions changed, effectively twirling him in the air. Sweat that had been going down his neck and face now went to the ends of his hair. Blood dripped onto his jaw, his cheeks. It was splattered on the bulkhead, as well as the deck. It reached his left ear in moments, and dribbled in, making Anakin grimace at the odd sensation, and at his ear being blocked.

Panicking now, barely aware of his physical surroundings, Anakin did his best to trust the Force. His lightsaber ignited in a brilliant blue beam as it flew towards him, and it sliced through his mechno-arm. Just as planned, without his mechno-arm—which was now sparking from the few centimeters that were still attached to him—some of the wires hung loose. Not many, but possibly enough, he hoped.

Yet he was still trapped, hanging, bound in barbed wire on a ship that was getting bombarded with laserfire.

Obi-Wan, where are you?

Thankfully it was easy to tug at the wires now, groaning as the barbs came out of his skin. His left hand and arm came free just as he dropped from the beam. He caught himself with the Force just before he slammed into the deck.

Beyond that, Anakin wasn’t sure what to do. Pain had him collapsing, and part of his torso and his legs were still bound, wrapped and entwined with deepening agony. Dooku was approaching, even as the ship shook.

“You might… want to take care of that,” Anakin got out.

And then he couldn’t speak, feeling as if a hand was around his throat, blocking his airways. Knowing it was the Force, he fought his instincts, and refused to uselessly claw at his throat with his one hand. Instead he reached out, trying to do the same to Dooku. But he was lifted into the air, the grip tightening, hurting. His eyes bulged, his tongue wanting to come out of his mouth. With a pounding head, and screaming, begging lungs, all went black. There wasn’t even time to feel afraid.

~~~

“No! No, please! I just got promoted!”

The voice Anakin heard was tinny and high-pitched: a B1 battle droid.

The hum of a lightsaber effortlessly moving and slashing through metal followed, along with pieces clattering to the deck.

The Force roused Anakin as lightsabers whirled and all but screamed as they clashed.

Anakin blinked open his eyes and saw that he was on the bridge and Dooku and Obi-Wan were dueling. Obi-Wan had a slash down his left arm, and one across his lower back, but his Soresu was still effortless. One with the Force.

With the help of the Force, it only took a mere second for Anakin to take in everything: he was still bound in barbed wire from the hips down, and his left hand was restrained to a support rod with metal binders; nothing made specially for a Jedi (Dooku had probably been counting on him staying unconscious for awhile). His left ear was still blocked, and it was as if his eyes had trouble focusing, the scenes before him moving around and blurring, listing—like he was drunk. The burned and ruined parts of battle droids were around him. His former guards, perhaps? As to the whereabouts of his lightsaber, that was easy; it was on Dooku’s hip.

With Dooku distracted, Anakin breathed in deep, and with the aid of the Force snapped his binders. He reached out for his lightsaber.

Carefully, he managed to slash the rest of the barbs off of him once it was in his hand and the brilliant blue blade was ignited. He stood, swaying, his vision going fuzzy and sparking for a bit.

He was jolted forward as laserfire continued to bombard the ship, but no longer the bow, all of it aimed at the stern. His guess was that the engines had been hit.

Letting go, Anakin jumped into the fight, the Force putting him where he needed to be. Even while hurt and bleeding he blocked a lightsaber blow that had been about to slash down into a fallen Obi-Wan’s head.

“Anakin, stay back! You’re injured!” Obi-Wan cried.

Anakin ignored him, anger from his pain flooding through him, and all he saw was Dooku’s smug grin. He stumbled, but managed to fall into Shien, his lightsaber high. Though, he wasn’t used to doing it with his left hand, so after being pushed back relentlessly, he tried to adopt a form of one-handed Jar’kai. Yet his mind wasn’t working right, everything was fuzzy and confusing, and his blows began to miss and raising his arm was difficult.

Obi-Wan came to his aid.

Everything spinning, Anakin collapsed.

All he could do was lie on his back, free, yet helpless as Obi-Wan fought off the Count. He drove him into a retreat. Anakin rolled onto his stomach, trying to pull himself up to go after him. He barely even managed to drag himself a foot across the deck.

Obi-Wan retracted his lightsaber, clipped it on his belt, and was then by him.

“No, Anakin. Don’t move. We don’t have to go after him.” Then, Obi-Wan spoke into his comm, “Admiral, a pick-up would be really nice right about now! And Anakin needs immediate medical attention.”

“A gunship is on its way to your position. Can you get to the hangar on the lower deck?”

“We’ll certainly try.” Then, to Anakin, as he began to pick him up and put him over his shoulders: “Alright, it’s okay. We’re getting out of here.”

Anakin cried out from the pressure of being carried by Obi-Wan.

An explosion rocked the ship while they were in a passageway, waiting for a lift.

“Wha…?” Anakin moaned, even as his head tried to come up with what it could’ve been.

Blood.

He was getting blood on Obi-Wan’s robes.

Oops.

The shuddering grew worse, and Obi-Wan nearly fell.

Right. That.

“Dooku set off an explosion. My guess is in the hangar. He doesn’t want us getting off this ship.” Obi-Wan raised his comm. “Admiral, change of plans. We’re getting to an escape pod. Use a tractor beam to pull us in. Have a medical team ready.”

“Right away, General.”

The rest of the trip was a blur (quite literally) as Obi-Wan fought and destroyed droids, and the ship heated up, and metal screeched. The fires were coming.

Time was a slow slurry filled with excruciation, yet before Anakin truly realized it they were in an escape pod being pulled in by one of the Venator-class ships nearby, probably the Resolute.

Obi-Wan brushed Anakin’s sweaty and bloody hair back from his forehead.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you,” Obi-Wan said. “Oh, this is all my fault.”

Anakin wanted to reach out for him, but his body decided that that took too much energy, and he simply gave a rough swallow. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sure we can get you all patched up.”

“You too.”

Obi-Wan looked at his arm in surprise, as if he’d entirely forgotten that Dooku had gotten a hit or two on him. “Right. We’ll both be okay.”

The escape pod was brought into the hangar aboard the Resolute. Help came.

[honklore]

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.