#i slammed this out in one night so it is nowhere near as polished as what i usually post

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

Hiya Middy! Long time no see!! I hope life has been kind to you 💜💜💜

lol we're thinking on the same wavelength today @coldshrugs 😂 :>

anyway. This was supposed to be a snippet. It...did not end up being a snippet omg, it really got away from me kdlfhgjkfdhgk. It's 3:40 in the morning and this is the first piece I've (more or less) finished in like 3 or 4 months. It's just under 1,300 words. Set a few weeks after the big Endwalker finale, so vague mentions of what happened there.

[prompt meme]

nascent hope & new beginnings

The uneven rhythm of O’ravi’s cane tapping on the cobblestone announces her presence before she emerges from the early morning fog that blankets Sharlayan, and Aymeric sets aside the report he was reading, its contents immediately forgotten.

She’s starting to look like herself again, a clarity in her eyes now that’s been absent since her return from Ultima Thule. The silver and teal shawl she’s wrapped around her shoulders clashes somewhat oddly with the dark red tunic dress she wears, which in turn contrasts with the royal blue ribbon that holds her hair in a loose ponytail. It’s a far cry from the well-coordinated outfits she wears for business and battle, but it suits her.

O’ravi smiles, a little lopsidedly, a little shyly, and waves. “Hey.”

“Good morning, Ravi.” He can’t help it—he runs to meet her, and offers his arm. “You’re up early.”

“The pain was too great to stay in bed. So I thought I might as well seek you out, enjoy the fresh air.” She moves to link her arm through his but pauses, a strange look on her face. Instead, she reaches up to grasp his collar and tugs.

Wordlessly, and with no small amount of confusion, he acquiesces to her wish and leans down.

And softly, sweetly, feather-lightly, she presses a kiss to his lips.

She withdraws before he realizes what happened, content. His heart lurches like a wounded animal within his chest, his breath suddenly shaky, and she winds her arm through his as if she didn’t just send him reeling.

He can’t bear to look at her, he can’t bear to look away. The kiss in Ala Mhigo, before she set out for Garlemald—when she’d kissed him like her survival depended on it only to flee for the airship. That was moons ago, and they’d not spoken of it yet. It was never the right time.

Now, this. Against all the odds she defeated Meteion and Zenos and made it home alive, and she could’ve gone to anyone—could’ve sought out anyone she wished—but she chose to be here. With him.

Halone have mercy.

They walk together down the garden path back to the pavilion. Her gait is unsteady and torpid, but between him and the cane she’s at no risk of falling. It frustrates and distresses her to be so robbed of strength, but he’s just glad to see her up and about and alive. Safe, and free.

There’s a chill on the breeze, carrying the promise of snow and the memory of home. The long walks they took through the Pillars on the eve of battles she didn’t believe she’d return from. He lays a hand over hers, letting her clammy hands soak up his warmth. Soon, they’d go home together, and never again would she need to leave fearing what fate awaited her in far-off lands. Not if he had anything to say about it.

They make their way to the bench where Aymeric left the report, and O’ravi attempts to fold her legs beneath her only to cringe and hiss when the motion aggravates some half-dozen different wounds.

“Careful,” Aymeric says, settling down beside her.

“It never gets easier.” She leans the handle of her cane into the corner of the pavilion wall, careful not to knock it over lest its clattering disrupt the morning quiet. Her tail swishes placidly as she shifts to close the distance between them, ensuring that her arm rests against his and her leg likewise touches his.

He raises his hand slightly in silent offering; without hesitation, she twines her fingers through his.

“Aymeric,” she says, so softly it’s almost a whisper, “what do you think happens now that the Final Days are over? No more Ascians, no more Garlean expansionism, no more Hydaelyn and Zodiark…”

“Years of rebuilding, to start with. No nation was spared the destruction the blasphemies and towers wrought—in every corner of the world, entire communities were wiped out, the population slaughtered or turned, to say nothing of the state of Garlemald. We must needs—”

O’ravi laughs. “No, no, no, I meant: duty and the wider world be damned, what do you want for your future?”

Ah.

He blinks stupidly, trying to cobble together an answer. “I’ve not put much thought into it, to tell you the truth.”

In truth, that is a flat-out lie. Of course he’s thought about it. But what he wants, what he longs for above all else—he cannot ask that of her. What if the request hurts her? And, perhaps it’s selfish, but what if her answer hurts him? Their friendship is too important to take the risk. No, he will hold his tongue.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” she says, and while her smile is tender there’s a knowing look in her eye that he can’t withstand. “Just think about it for a while.”

He never has been good at lying to her. His one consolation is that she’s just as bad at lying to him.

“What of you? The world is yours now, your life is your own again. What will you do with it?”

“Well.” She straightens her spine, ears twitching excitedly, and her smile takes on a mischievous edge. “After all I’ve done, I have more than earned the right to live as I see fit. I’ve earned the right to put duty and responsibility and reputation aside—and I know someone else who has earned the same.”

“We do owe much to your fellow Scions and Warriors of Light.”

“No, Aymeric, I mean you.” She takes his other hand in her own and squeezes. “The future is ours now. Ours to shape, ours to live. After all we’ve bled and suffered and sacrificed, we need to do something for ourselves. Just this much at least.” She leans towards him, and he has no choice but to meet her gaze. “You give and you give and you give of yourself until you have nothing left. The world takes and it never gives back, and before you know it you’ve lost yourself. I know this is happening to you because it happened to me, too. You have to draw a line in the sand somewhere and say, this is mine, this belongs to me, and the world can’t touch it. Aymeric, may I tell you what I want for the future?”

The light is glinting off the gold veins that mar her eyes. Her sincerity is painful to behold.

“Of course.”

“I want you to find yourself again. I want to find me again…and I want us to do it together. I want us to walk into the future together, hand in hand, side by side. Whatever paths we walk going forward, I want us to walk them together until the end of our days.”

“I…”

By the Fury, how is he supposed to answer that? How is he meant to—?

His heart is racing, and she’s watching him with such an innocence, a kindness that’s driving him mad.

Her wish answers the question he couldn’t voice. Yet it still leaves some things up in the air, namely: will they continue to keep a distance between them? Pretend Ala Mhigo never happened and remain friends and naught more?

A deeply foolish thought—he knows what the answer to that is, even if he won’t admit it—but nonetheless…

O’ravi raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “What say you, my brilliant blue knight?” His thoughts are spinning too rapidly to be trusted now, so despite the fact he’ll likely regret it later, he follows the impulse of his heart and kisses the scar that cuts across the bridge of her nose. Let that be answer enough.

[illumins]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: Well, this isn't what I expected.

Thursday dawns with a muted glow, the sun barely piercing through the thick curtains of my room. I’m jolted awake by the harsh blare of my alarm, the digital numbers glaring at me in accusation. 7:45. I was supposed to be up an hour ago. Panic surges through me, dispelling the last remnants of sleep. School starts in half an hour, and I’m nowhere near ready.

I leap out of bed, nearly tripping over the heap of clothes I discarded last night. Grabbing my favorite pair of jeans – the ones with the ripped knees and just the right amount of stretch – I yank them on, hopping on one foot as I try to balance. Next, I pull on a snug black turtleneck, the fabric warm and comforting against the morning chill. A quick glance in the mirror shows my hair in disarray, so I hastily run a brush through it, taming the wild strands into a half-decent ponytail.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my father, equally disheveled, rushing past my bedroom door. "Liya, are you up? We overslept!" he shouts, his voice tinged with the same urgency I feel. I hear the clatter of his camera equipment, the telltale sign that he’s scrambling to gather everything for his job at The Sentinel.

"Yeah, I’m up!" I call back, slipping on my sneakers and grabbing my backpack. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face, the shock of it waking me up further. I dab on some concealer over the bruise on my cheek, a fading reminder of the accident, and swipe on a quick layer of lip balm. There’s no time for anything more.

The house is a whirlwind of activity as we both race against the clock. My father is in the kitchen, shoving papers and his camera into his bag while trying to pour himself a coffee. He looks up as I enter, his eyes mirroring my own sense of frantic energy. "We’ve got to go, Liya. Grab a granola bar or something for the road."

I snatch a bar from the counter and stuff it into my pocket. "Got it. Let’s go."

We dash out the door, the cool morning air hitting us as we run to the car. My father fumbles with the keys, and we both slide into our seats, the engine roaring to life as he floors the gas pedal. The streets blur past us in a haze of buildings and trees, the city slowly waking up around us. My father glances at me, his expression serious. "Remember, safety first. I know you’re eager to get back to school, but no more running into burning buildings, okay?"

"Okay," I reply, trying to sound earnest even though I’m just anxious to get through this conversation. "I promise."

He nods, satisfied for the moment, and we drive the rest of the way in silence, the tension of the morning easing slightly. As we approach the school, he pulls over a block away, not wanting to get caught in the chaos of the drop-off zone.

I lean over and give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride. See you later."

He reaches out, gently rubbing the bruise on my cheek with his thumb, his eyes soft with concern. "Take care, Liya. Be careful."

I offer him a reassuring smile, my voice soft. "I’m fine, Dad. Really."

As I walk towards the school entrance, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves fluttering in my stomach. I'm not sure what to expect after the catastrophe that was Monday. Will things be back to normal? Will people be talking about what happened? About me?

I push open the heavy double doors and step inside, immediately struck by how... normal everything looks. The hallways are bustling with students, lockers slamming, and the din of chatter filling the air. It's as if nothing ever happened. As if the school hadn't been a war zone just a few days ago.

I make my way down the hallway, my eyes scanning the walls and floors for any sign of the destruction that had taken place. But the walls are pristine, the floors polished to a shine. It's almost eerie how thoroughly the cleanup crew has erased any trace of Monday's events.

But as I venture further into the school, the illusion of normalcy begins to crack. I notice the auditorium doors propped open, the sound of power tools and construction workers' voices spilling out into the hallway. I peer inside as I pass, catching a glimpse of the extensive repairs underway. The stage is a maze of scaffolding and tarps, the seats covered in plastic.

I continue down the hall, my unease growing with each step. And then I see it. The science classroom. Or rather, what's left of it. A massive white tarp covers the gaping hole where the wall used to be, the plastic rippling slightly in the breeze from the open windows. I can still picture the desks flying through the air, the sickening crunch as they collided with the wall.

As I draw closer, the sharp scent of fresh paint assaults my nostrils. I glance to my left and see a section of the wall that looks too bright, too clean compared to the rest. The wall where I had been thrown against during the fight, leaving a Liya-shaped dent in the drywall.

I quickly avert my gaze, my cheeks burning with shame and anger. I can feel the stares of my classmates boring into my back as I hurry past, their whispers following me like a swarm of insects. I keep my head down, my eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of my sneakers, wishing I could disappear.

I fumble with the zipper of my backpack, my fingers trembling slightly as I tug it open. I reach inside, rummaging past crumpled worksheets and stray pencils until I find what I'm looking for - the overly folded paper I'd shoved into the side pocket on Monday. I pull it out, the edges soft and worn from being handled too many times.

I smooth it out on my lap, my eyes scanning the schedule printed in neat rows. First period - AP English, Room 204, Mr. Erikson. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach as I navigate the crowded hallway.

The bell rings just as I step into the classroom, the shrill sound making me jump. I hesitate in the doorway, my eyes darting around the room as I search for an empty seat. Desks are arranged in tidy rows, students already settling into their chosen spots. Backpacks are slung over chairs, notebooks and pens scattered across desktops.

As I hover uncertainly, a flash of movement catches my eye. I turn to see Jenna waving at me from the back of the room, her curly hair bouncing with each enthusiastic gesture. She points to the empty desk beside her, a wide grin spreading across her face.

I feel a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth as I make my way towards her, weaving between the desks. Jenna's friendly demeanor is instantly comforting, her bright eyes and easy smile putting me at ease.

I slide into the seat beside her, setting my backpack on the floor. "Thanks," I whisper, giving her a grateful look.

"No problem," she whispers back, her voice warm. "I'm glad we have a class together."

I nod, feeling a flicker of warmth in my chest. It's nice to have a friendly face in the room, someone who doesn't look at me with suspicion or awe.

As I settle in, I take a moment to study the classroom. The walls are lined with posters of famous authors and literary quotes, the chalkboard already filled with Mr. Erikson's neat handwriting. Bookshelves overflow with worn paperbacks, their spines cracked and faded.

At the front of the room, Mr. Erikson leans against his desk, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He's young for a teacher, maybe in his early thirties, with tousled brown hair and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He surveys the room with a calm, patient expression, waiting for the chatter to die down.

"All right, everyone," he says, his voice carrying easily over the din. "Let's get started. I'm passing out the syllabus now. And let's hope we can have a proper school day without any more monster attacks or supernatural disasters, yeah?"

A nervous titter runs through the room, students exchanging uneasy glances. I feel my cheeks heat up, my fingers curling into fists on my lap. I know Mr. Erikson means well, but his casual joke hits a little too close to home.

As he begins to distribute the syllabus, I let my gaze drift around the room, taking in the faces of my classmates. Jenna leans over every so often, whispering comments and observations that make me smile despite myself.

And then my eyes land on a familiar figure hunched over his desk in the corner of the room. Jeno. He looks tired and bored, his chin propped up on one hand as he doodles idly in the margins of his syllabus. Every so often, his gaze flicks up, scanning the room as if searching for a distraction.

I quickly look away, my heart doing a little flip in my chest. The memory of our last interaction—the harsh words, cold and threatening—is still too raw, enough to boil some anger in me.

But then another figure catches my eye, and I feel a different kind of ache in my chest. Amy-Jane. She sits near the front of the room, her glossy dark hair cascading down her back, her posture perfect. She's listening attentively to Mr. Erikson, her pen poised over her notebook.

I watch her for a moment, taking in the delicate curve of her cheek, the graceful arc of her neck. She's so effortlessly beautiful, so poised and put-together. Everything I'm not.

I feel a hot, prickly sensation in the pit of my stomach, a feeling I recognize all too well. Jealousy. I hate that I feel this way, hate the petty, ugly emotions that churn inside me. But I can't help it.

I tear my gaze away from Amy-Jane, focusing instead on the syllabus in front of me. But even as I try to concentrate on Mr. Erikson's words, my mind keeps drifting back to Mark and Amy-Jane, to the complicated tangle of emotions they stir up inside me.

Mr. Erikson's voice drones on, discussing the reading list for the semester. I try to focus, jotting down titles in my notebook - The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye. Classic high school fare. But even as my pen moves across the page, I find my thoughts wandering.

I glance at the clock, watching the minutes tick by with agonizing slowness. The room feels stuffy, the air thick and heavy. I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but it's impossible. My skin prickles with restless energy, a desperate urge to be anywhere but here.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the bell rings. The shrill sound startles me out of my daze, and I blink, looking around in confusion. My classmates are already gathering their things, chattering excitedly as they head for the door.

I glance down at my schedule, my heart sinking as I see my next class: P.E. Just what I need, another hour of humiliation and self-consciousness. I can already picture it - the too-bright fluorescent lights of the gym, the stench of sweat and rubber, the annoyance as I stumble through whatever sadistic activity the teacher has planned.

I sigh, shoving my notebook into my backpack with a little more force than necessary. As I stand up, I feel a presence beside me and turn to see Jenna, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Hey, Liya! Looks like we have P.E. together next period," she says, grinning. "Walk with me?"

I force a smile, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. "Sure, sounds great," I lie, falling into step beside her as we head out into the bustling hallway.

As we walk, dodging elbows and backpacks, I can't help but feel a sense of dread settling in my stomach. P.E. has always been my least favorite class, a source of constant anxiety and self-doubt. I've never been particularly athletic, and the thought of putting my clumsy, uncoordinated body on display for all to see fills me with a sickening sense of fear.

But as we make our way through the crowded hallways, Jenna chatters away beside me, her voice bright and cheerful. And despite my nerves, I find myself feeling grateful for her presence, for the way she seems to radiate warmth and positivity.

My muscles ache and my lungs burn as I collapse onto the polished hardwood floor of the gymnasium, struggling to catch my breath. Around me, my classmates are in similar states of exhaustion, sprawled out in a loose circle around the blue gymnastics mat in the center of the room.

I let my gaze drift upwards, taking in the high ceilings and the metal rafters crisscrossing overhead. From the center of the mat, a thick rope dangles ominously, swaying slightly in the recycled air.

Coach Thompson stands at the edge of the mat, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. He's an intimidating figure, with close-cropped hair and a perpetual scowl etched onto his weathered face.

"Listen up," he barks, his voice echoing off the walls. "Your next evaluation will be the rope climb. You'll be timed and scored based on your speed and technique."

I feel my stomach drop at his words, a wave of dread washing over me. I've never been good at climbing, and the thought of hauling myself up that rope in front of everyone makes me want to disappear into the floor.

As Coach Thompson continues his instructions, I find my attention drifting, my gaze drawn to the far end of the gym. The double doors burst open, and a group of football players come storming in, their cleats clattering against the hardwood.

They're rowdy and boisterous, jostling each other and laughing as they make their way towards the locker rooms. Beside me, Jenna sits up straighter, her eyes widening.

"Oh my god, there's Chenle," she whispers, her voice tinged with excitement. "He's so cute, don't you think?"

I nod absently, my attention caught by a familiar figure entering through the main doors. It's Mark, looking flustered and out of breath as he hurries into the gym.

I feel my breath catch in my throat as I watch him, memories of our encounter in the alleyway flooding back to me. The way he'd pulled my hood over my head, shielding me from the rain. The warmth of his hand on my arm.

"Mr. Lee, how nice of you to join us," Coach Thompson calls out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Care to explain your tardiness?"

Mark's face flushes red as he stammers out an apology, tripping over his words in his haste to explain. "I'm so sorry, Coach. I had to finish up a project for photography class and I lost track of time."

Coach Thompson holds up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. He scribbles something on his clipboard before tearing off the sheet and thrusting it towards Mark.

"I don't want to hear excuses," he says gruffly. "You'll do double the evaluations to make up for what you missed. And you'll do them right here, where I can keep an eye on you."

Mark nods meekly, taking the paper and glancing down at it. From across the room, I see Jaemin, Jisung, and Renjun snickering to themselves, exchanging knowing looks.

I feel a flicker of irritation at the sight of them, remembering their rudeness from earlier. But I force myself to look away, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Coach Thompson resumes calling out names, each student stepping up to the mat when summoned. They eye the rope warily before gripping it tightly, waiting for the signal to begin.

"Faster, Kim!" Coach barks at a petite girl struggling to hoist herself up. "You think an attacker is going to wait for you to climb to safety?"

The girl redoubles her efforts, her face reddening with exertion. Beside her, another student scurries up the rope like a squirrel, making it look effortless.

I shift my weight from foot to foot, nerves fluttering in my stomach as I await my turn. I've never been particularly athletic, and the thought of dangling in midair, with nothing but a rope to cling to, makes my palms sweat.

From the corner of my eye, I see Mark drop to the ground and begin a set of push-ups, his friends gathered around him. Jaemin counts out the reps, his voice carrying across the room.

"...eighteen, nineteen, twenty! Come on, Mark, is that all you've got?"

Mark ignores him, his jaw clenched with determination as he lowers himself down again. Sweat beads on his forehead, dampening his hair.

Renjun chimes in, his tone mocking. "Looks like someone skipped arm day. Maybe if you spent less time in the darkroom and more time in the gym..."

"Shut up," Mark grunts, not breaking his rhythm. "I can do this all day."

I feel a pang of sympathy for him, remembering how kind he was to me earlier. Part of me wants to speak up, to tell his friends to back off. But I remain silent, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

As if sensing my gaze, Mark glances up, his eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I'm caught off guard by the intensity of his stare, the determination blazing in his eyes.

Then Coach Thompson's voice cuts through the air, jolting me back to the present.

"Liya! You're up."

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding as I step up to the mat. The rough fibers of the rope bite into my palms as I wrap my hands around it, bracing myself for the climb ahead.

From behind me, I hear Jaemin's voice, low and taunting. "This should be good. Ten bucks says she doesn't even make it halfway."

I grit my teeth, anger and determination surging through me. I'll show him. I'll show all of them.

With a deep breath, I hoist myself up, my arms straining with the effort. The rope sways beneath me, making my stomach lurch. But I force myself to keep going, hand over hand, inch by painstaking inch.

As I climb higher, the voices below fade away, replaced by the pounding of my own heart in my ears. The world narrows to the rope in my hands, the burn of my muscles, the single-minded focus of reaching the top.

At last, I reach the top, my arms shaking with exhaustion, my breath coming in ragged gasps. A surge of pride rushes through me as I cling to the rope, looking down at the distant ground below.

I did it. I actually made it to the top.

But my triumph is short-lived as I realize the daunting task that lies ahead: getting back down. My arms tremble, and my palms are slick with sweat. I try to tell myself that going down should be easier, but the thought does little to calm my racing heart.

I can't help but steal a glance at the faces below, at the mix of boredom and anticipation in their eyes. Some look as tired as I feel, while others seem to be waiting for something to happen, for me to make a mistake.

And then I see him. Mark. He's stopped what he was doing and is watching me intently, his gaze unwavering. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly look away, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Hurry up, Liya!" Coach Thompson calls out, his voice impatient.

Taking a shaky breath, I begin my descent, my movements careful and deliberate. But after just two steps, I feel my hand slip, the rope burning against my skin. Pain shoots through my palm, and before I can stop myself, I let go.

Time seems to slow as I fall, the pit of my stomach dropping out from under me. The air rushes past my ears, and I brace myself for the impact, squeezing my eyes shut.

And then I hit the mat, hard. The breath is knocked from my lungs, and for a moment, I can only lie there, stunned. Around me, I hear the gasps and yelps of the other students, the echo of my fall reverberating through the gym.

Slowly, I open my eyes, blinking against the bright fluorescent lights. The world seems to spin, and I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. I try to sit up, but my body refuses to cooperate, and I fall back against the mat with a groan.

"Liya! Are you okay?" Jenna's voice cuts through the haze, and I feel her hand on my shoulder, gentle but insistent.

I want to answer her, to tell her that I'm fine, but the words stick in my throat. All I can do is nod, even as pain throbs through my body.

Coach Thompson appears above me, his face etched with concern. "Liya, do you need to go to the nurse's office?"

I shake my head, despite the ache in my temples. The last thing I want is to draw more attention to myself, to be seen as weak or fragile.

"I need to hear you say it," Coach Thompson insists, his tone firm.

"No, I don't need to go," I manage to croak out, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

Coach Thompson hesitates for a moment, then nods. He turns to the rest of the class, clapping his hands together. "Alright, next up, Mark! Start your mile run, then join us for dodgeball."

At the mention of dodgeball, a few cheers erupt from the students, their earlier concern for me forgotten. I can't help but feel a twinge of relief at the distraction, even as my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Jenna helps me to my feet, her arm around my waist for support. I lean against her, grateful for the steadiness she provides. Together, we make our way to the bleachers, where I sink down heavily, my legs shaking beneath me.

As others come by the bleachers to get their water from the bottles that stand on the lowest step, I can't help but notice Jaemin approaching, with Renjun and Jisung following close behind. They sit on the bleacher below mine, and Jaemin looks up at me, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Impressive, Liya," he says, his tone both mocking and admiring. "Running into a building with a monster, and now taking a fall like that. You're something else."

Jisung chimes in, his eyes wide. "Yeah, you're like a ragdoll or something. Just bouncing right back up."

I take a long swig from my water bottle, rolling my eyes at their comments. The cool liquid soothes my parched throat, and I feel a renewed sense of determination coursing through me. I stand up, my legs still a bit shaky, but I refuse to let it show.

As I pass by the boys, I pause, looking down at them with a raised eyebrow. "At least I have guts, unlike some people," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

To my surprise, they don't laugh or mock me further. Instead, they nod, a hint of genuine respect in their eyes. They turn back to their own conversation, and I continue on my way, feeling a small sense of victory.

As I make my way towards the gym, I spot a familiar face among the crowd - a girl from the art club last year. She catches my eye and smiles, waving me over. I return the smile, and head over.

"Hey, Liya!" she greets me, her voice warm and enthusiastic. "Are you planning on coming to the first art club meeting after school today?"

I nod, feeling a small sense of excitement at the prospect of getting back into art projects. "Yeah, definitely. I wouldn't miss it."

Just then, the shrill sound of Coach Thompson's whistle pierces the air, cutting through the chatter and laughter of the students. "Alright, everyone!" he shouts, his voice booming across the gym. "Gather round, it's time for dodgeball!"

A mix of groans and cheers erupts from the class, and I feel a sense of dread wash over me. Dodgeball has never been my strong suit, and after the day I've had, I'm not sure I have the energy for it. But I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the game ahead, and join the throng of students making their way to the center of the gym.

Coach Thompson stands in the middle of the gym, his arms crossed and his face set in a stern expression. He surveys the class for a moment, his eyes narrowed, before he speaks again. "I'm going to pick two team captains," he says, his voice echoing off the walls. "And they'll choose their teams. Got it?"

There's a murmur of assent from the class, and Coach Thompson nods. "Alright then. Jessica, you're one captain. And..." he pauses, scanning the crowd, before his gaze settles on a tall, athletic-looking boy. "Jose, you're the other."

I watch as Jessica and Jose step forward, both of them looking confident and self-assured. They start picking their teams, calling out names one by one. I stand there, shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be chosen.

"Liya!" Jessica calls out, and I feel a small sense of relief wash over me. At least I won't be the last one picked. I make my way over to Jessica's side of the gym, taking my place among my teammates.

As I look around, I catch sight of Mark jogging over to our side of the gym, a small smile on his face. Coach Thompson must have told him to join our team. As he takes his place beside me, our eyes meet for a brief moment. He gives me a small, friendly smile, and I feel my cheeks flush. I quickly look away, giving him a shy nod in return.

Coach Thompson blows his whistle again, and the game begins. The other team surges forward, their arms cocked back, ready to throw. I brace myself, my heart pounding in my chest.

The first ball comes hurtling towards me, and I dive out of the way, feeling it whiz past my ear. Another one comes, and another, and I dodge and weave, trying to stay on my feet. The gym is a blur of motion, bodies twisting and turning, balls flying through the air.

I can hear the shouts and cheers of my teammates, urging each other on. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The world seems to slow down around me, every movement, every sound, every sensation heightened and intensified.

Suddenly, I hear a shout of warning from one of my teammates. I spin around, just in time to see a ball hurtling straight towards my face. My eyes widen in shock, and I instinctively raise my hands to protect myself, bracing for the impact.

But the impact never comes. Instead, I feel a whoosh of air, and hear the dull thud of the ball hitting something solid. I open my eyes, blinking in confusion, and see a hand holding the ball, just inches from my face.

I follow the hand up to its owner, and my eyes widen even further when I see who it is. Mark. He's standing right in front of me, his arm outstretched, the ball clutched firmly in his hand. He looks at me, a small, crooked smile on his face.

"Thanks," I manage to stammer out, my heart still racing from the close call.

"No problem," he replies, his voice warm and friendly. He tosses the ball back to the other team, then turns to say something to me.

But before he can get the words out, I catch a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone on the other team has the ball, and they're aiming it right at us. Without thinking, I lunge forward, pushing Mark out of the way.

The ball slams into my shoulder with a sickening thud, sending a jolt of pain shooting down my arm. I stumble backwards, gritting my teeth against the ache. The whistle blows, sharp and shrill, signaling that I'm out.

I trudge over to the sidelines, rubbing my shoulder gingerly. I take a seat on the bleachers, my eyes drawn back to the game. Mark is still in, darting and weaving across the court with incredible speed and agility. I try not to stare, but it's hard not to be mesmerized by his movements.

He dodges a ball thrown by an opponent, twisting his body at the last second to avoid it. Then, in one fluid motion, he snatches a ball out of the air and sends it hurtling back towards the other team. It's like watching a dance, his every step perfectly choreographed.

I'm not the only one who's noticed his skills. Around me, I hear the murmurs of the other students who have been knocked out of the game. They're all talking about Mark, their voices tinged with awe and admiration. A group of girls a few feet away from me are practically swooning, their eyes glued to his every move.

But there's something about the way he moves that seems almost too perfect, too effortless. It's like he's not even trying, like this is all just a game to him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something about it doesn't sit right with me.

As if sensing my gaze, Mark turns his head and catches me staring. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and I feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. I quickly look away, pretending to be engrossed in the game.

But then, out of nowhere, a ball comes flying towards him. He's so focused on me that he doesn't see it coming. It hits him square in the chest, and the whistle blows once more.

Mark jogs over to the sidelines, a good-natured grin on his face despite being knocked out. He plops down on the bleachers, leaving a couple of empty spaces between us. I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the game, trying to act like I haven't been watching him this whole time.

"Liya?" His voice is soft, almost hesitant. I turn my head towards him, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Yes?" I say, wincing internally at how overly enthusiastic I sound.

He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was wondering if you'd like to sit with me and my friends at lunch today."

I blink at him, wondering if I've misheard. Mark, one of the most popular guy in school, wants me to sit with him at lunch? I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. My mind is reeling, trying to process this unexpected turn of events.

I nod slowly, a small smile spreading across my face. "Sure, that sounds great."

"Cool," he replies, his own grin widening. We sit there for a moment, an awkward silence settling between us. I fidget with the hem of my shirt, unsure of what to say next.

Mark is the first to break the silence. He points to his own cheek, gesturing towards me. "Your bruise seems to be healing well."

Instinctively, I reach up and touch my cheek, feeling the slight sting beneath my fingertips. It's not as bad as it was before, but the remnants of the injury still linger. I nod in response, my eyes drifting to his face. That's when I notice something strange - the bruises that had marred his skin just a day ago are now gone, as if they had never existed.

"How..." I breathe out, the question more to myself than to him. Before he can respond, the coach's whistle blares loudly, signaling the end of the game.

"Alright, everyone! Go get cleaned up before the bell rings!" the coach shouts, his voice echoing across the field.

Mark stands up, his friends already making their way towards him. He glances back at me, a soft smile on his lips. "I'll spot you at lunch, Liya."

I watch as he jogs away, my mind still trying to wrap around the mystery of his vanished bruises. Jenna appears beside me, her voice animated as she starts talking about the game. But like before, I find it hard to concentrate on her words. My thoughts keep drifting back to Mark and the inexplicable disappearance of his injuries.

As we make our way towards the locker rooms, I barely register my surroundings. The chatter of my classmates fades into the background, and the hallways blur together. All I can focus on is the image of Mark's unblemished face and the unspoken questions that hang in the air between us.

The fragrance of my shampoo wafts around me as Jenna and I walk side-by-side towards the cafeteria. My damp hair clings to the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Jenna's voice fills the air, her words tumbling out in an excited rush.

"I can't believe we're actually going to sit with them!" she gushes, her eyes wide with anticipation. "What should I say to Chenle? Should I act cool and casual or should I be more direct?"

I nod along, trying to appear engaged, but my mind is elsewhere. This is my first time having someone actually wanting to be around my presence for this long. I've never had someone consistently around me before, not like this. It's uncharted territory, and I'm not sure how to navigate it.

As we step into the lunchroom, the buzz of conversation and the clatter of trays assault my senses. The room is alive with activity, students milling about, laughing and chatting with their friends. Jenna turns to me, an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm going to grab some food. I'll meet you at the table, okay?" she says, already backing away towards the lunch line.

I nod, trying to ignore the rising tide of anxiety in my chest. I can feel eyes on me as I stand there, awkwardly scanning the room for any sign of Mark or his friends. I shift my weight from foot to foot, my homemade lunch clutched tightly in my hands.

Suddenly, I feel an arm drape across my shoulders, and I look up to see Haechan grinning down at me. His presence is like a beacon of light in the crowded cafeteria, his charisma radiating off him in waves.

"I heard you're our special guest today," he says, his voice playful and warm.

I open my mouth to protest, to tell him that I'm not anyone special, but he's already guiding me through the throng of students. We weave our way past the empty table where I usually sit, the one that has become a familiar sanctuary over the years. But today, I'm venturing into new territory.

As we approach the table where Mark and his friends are already seated, I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. These are guys I've never spoken to before, guys whose existence I was only vaguely aware of since I arrived at Daylight Academy. But here I am, about to sit down and have lunch with them.

I find an empty seat and set my lunch down, my movements stiff and uncertain. The guys continue their conversation, seemingly unfazed by my presence. It's as if I'm just another part of their group, as if my being here isn't strange at all.

Mark takes his seat across from me, sandwiched between Renjun and Jisung. He catches my eye and offers a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of my presence. I feel a rush of gratitude for the empty seats on either side of me, giving me a buffer of space in this unfamiliar situation.

I focus on unpacking my lunch, my fingers trembling slightly as I unwrap my sandwich. The conversation flows around me, the guys joking and laughing with an easy camaraderie. I listen intently, trying to pick up on the threads of their discussion, but I can't quite seem to find my place.

As I take a bite of my sandwich, I let my gaze wander around the table, taking in the faces of these boys who have suddenly become a part of my world.

As I chew my food, Jeno's voice cuts through the chatter, his tone cool and nonchalant. "So, Liya, how did it feel being saved by Spider-Man?"

I swallow my bite and shrug, trying to match his casual demeanor. "I'm grateful, obviously. He seemed like a cool guy." The words feel inadequate, failing to capture the intensity of that moment, the rush of fear and relief that had coursed through me.

Renjun leans forward, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Did you see him fight Shadowlash inside the school?"

I shake my head. "Not really. I only caught a glimpse of him attacking before he told me to run." The memory flashes through my mind - the blur of red and blue, the urgency in Spider-Man's voice as he urged me to safety.

Throughout the conversation, I can't help but notice Mark's silence. He keeps his gaze fixed on his food, his expression unreadable. I wonder what's going through his mind, why he seems so distant compared to the others.

Suddenly, Jenna appears, sliding into the empty seat beside me. I feel a rush of relief at her presence, grateful for a friendly face. She flashes a smile at Chenle as she settles in, and I can only imagine the somersaults her heart must be doing.

"What's up, guys?" Jenna asks breezily. "What are we talking about?"

Haechan grins. "We were just discussing Liya's encounter with Spider-Man on Monday."

Jenna's eyes widen, and she turns to me, pointing excitedly. "Ooh, did you get to see who he was under the mask?"

Before I can answer, I sense a shift in the atmosphere. The boys' smiles fade, their postures stiffening. They stare at me intently, as if my response holds some great significance. The air feels charged with an unspoken tension.

I glance back at Jenna, trying to ignore the strange vibe. "No, I didn't see his face." My words hang in the air for a moment, and then, like a rubber band snapping back into place, the mood at the table shifts. The boys relax, their easy grins returning.

Jenna pouts, a look of disappointment crossing her features. "Well, that sucks."

I nod in agreement, but my mind is reeling. What was that all about? Why did the guys react so oddly to Jenna's question? I can't shake the feeling that there's something more going on here, something I'm not privy to.

The hours seemed to melt away in art class, my mind absorbed in the swirl of colors and textures on the canvas before me. I barely registered the passing of time until I glanced up and noticed Amy-Jane seated across the room, her brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on her own masterpiece.

The art room was a sanctuary, a place where the outside world ceased to exist. The walls were adorned with vibrant student artwork, each piece telling a unique story. Shelves overflowed with supplies—paints, brushes, charcoal, and clay—beckoning us to explore and create.

Ms. Hartman, our art teacher and the head of the art club, moved through the room with an infectious energy. Her passion for art was evident in every word she spoke. As the final bell rang, she called out, "Liya, don't forget about the art club meeting after school. We'll be discussing upcoming projects!"

I nodded, excitement bubbling up inside me. As the other students filtered out, I lingered, watching as familiar faces from last year's club trickled in, joined by a handful of new members. Ms. Hartman passed out sheets detailing the various events and projects the art club would be involved in throughout the year. My eyes scanned the list: a community mural, a charity auction, a gallery showcase. Each opportunity sparked a flood of ideas in my mind.

As the meeting wound down, Ms. Hartman turned her attention to the seniors. "I've been working hard to compile your art portfolios," she said with a warm smile. "They'll be ready for you to take home by the end of the year. Keep creating, keep inspiring."

Time seemed to evaporate as we delved into discussions of color theory and composition. Before I knew it, the meeting had ended, and I found myself walking alone through the quiet halls. With the front entrance locked after hours, I made my way towards the east exit, my footsteps echoing in the empty corridors.

Pushing open the heavy metal door, I stepped out into the waning light of the afternoon. The football field stretched out before me, the bleachers casting long shadows across the manicured grass. I cut through the parking lot, my mind still lost in the world of art.

Suddenly, a rustling sound caught my attention, seeming to emanate from the edge of the field. Curiosity pulled me forward, my feet moving of their own accord. As I drew closer, a figure emerged from behind the bleachers, their back towards me. In a blink, we collided, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and scattered papers.

I looked up, my heart skipping a beat as I realized who I had literally run into. Mark. His backpack had fallen open, spilling a mix of photo prints and sketches onto the asphalt. "I'm so sorry," I stammered, reaching out to gather the scattered pages. "I didn't see you there."

"No, no, it's my fault," Mark insisted, his own apologies tumbling out in a rush. "I should have been paying more attention."

We knelt there, both of us frantically trying to collect the fallen items. As I reached for his backpack, my hand brushed against something soft and textured. I pulled it out, my breath catching in my throat as I realized what I held. A red mask, unmistakably Spider-Man's.

I turned to Mark, the mask clutched in my hand, my eyes wide with shock. He froze, his gaze locked on the piece of fabric, a mixture of surprise and something akin to fear etched across his features.

Slowly, I extended my hand, offering the mask back to him. The words fell from my lips in a whisper, a truth I couldn’t believe. "You're Spider-Man."

[tossawary]

Chapter 26 “ What You Want” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Oh, this got so long, though. I was like, “An opportunity to wax poetic about Moshang dynamics and characterization? An opportunity to talk about why my interpretations of Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are Like That? SIGN ME UP.” 

-

【Beginning next mission stage.】

【Death of the Author - Part 2: The Secret Basement of Shang Qinghua.】  

【Mission objective: place the Weeper’s Eye on the pedestal.】

Shang Qinghua slowly sits up on his sofa. He stares at the pop-up window for however long it takes his brain to roll over completely.

“I don’t have a fucking basement?” he says finally.

- 

AN: I have been waiting to use “I don’t have a fucking basement?” for months. Also, it’s been years for him, so Shang Qinghua is a little oblivious, BUT I would like to point readers all the way back to some paragraphs from Chapter 2. 

Excerpt from Chapter 2: “A Horseshoe Nail”:  

Shang Qinghua considers the point loss. What are his excuses character motivations here? Why is his unmerciful System not completely skewering him for this?

He is the servant of a demon lord, Mobei-Jun, the future Northern King, so he has a greater investment than most cultivators in the future of the Demon Realm, so it’s not unreasonable for him to seek out any bastards of Tianlang-Jun without handing the demon baby over to a righteous sect. He’s also a Peak Lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, so it’s not unreasonable for him to be interested in any rumors of the whereabouts of Su Xiyan or what happened to her, for political leverage or whatever. The character of Shang Qinghua originally was and still is a spy - on top of being a shameless coward willing to cling to anyone’s thighs and then stab them in the back, in order to stay alive or advance himself.

There are plenty of magical artifacts in this world that might give a power-grubbing weakling like Shang Qinghua an insight into the future. As Peak Lord of An Ding, Shang Qinghua is, in fact, in a pretty good place to get his greedy hands on one of these magical artifacts. Isn’t that what a good spy and overall ambitious snake would do?

 Especially a spy serving a demon lord extremely likely to get fed up with him and kill him at some point? While also serving a righteous cultivation sect extremely likely to execute him for eventually betraying them? Of course Shang Qinghua would obviously want to know how to save his own ass from these ticking time-bombs! And how better to save his own ass than shamelessly clinging to the golden thighs of the protagonist, who will one day conquer every other demon lord and all righteous sects?

Following Luo Binghe means being on the endgame winning team!

Shang Qinghua looks over the pop-up window’s numbers over again, in regards to the loss of points. True, how exactly he tracked down Su Xiyan’s half-demon baby when the Huan Hua Palace Master failed is a bit of a plot-hole, but the rest can be easily explained away with a bit of creativity!

Oh, the rest of the cultivation world didn’t know Su Xiyan was pregnant? Well, Shang Qinghua is a slimy, sneaky spy, who would of course guess that a female cultivator might suddenly disappear like that for months-on-end due to a secret pregnancy! And given that Su Xiyan’s reputation had been linked to a passionately self-destructive Tianlang-Jun… Okay, he can feel the anti-fan rage at that mildly sexist line of thinking, but it stands! It stands!

Now, Shang Qinghua just has to… actually decide… whether or not he wants to take the point loss, in order to save the life of his protagonist son’s adoptive mother, Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua, my darling fool of an Author God, your System is listening to the things you say and think. 

I have been WORKING here to foreshadow where I’m going with this story. I’m pretty sure that every single endgame plot point has shown up and is now in play in PINTWILF. Shang Qinghua, due to situational awareness, is dealing with too much in-world shit to narrow things down easily, but it’s all there! It will hopefully not seem as though I’m pulling things out of nowhere in the next and final part (Part 4) of this fic. 

-

“This makes me look crazy, bro,” Shang Qinghua  complains to the System. “It really does. I already have to be careful about talking to the secret, world-controlling system that lives in my head and this? This is not making me look any more stable! Where did this come from? Where the fuck did I even get it?! ”

Oh, things are coming together in Shang Qinghua’s head and he doesn’t know if he really likes the picture. On one hand, it’s always nice to actually have someone or something to blame for things beyond the fucking System. On the other hand, he really doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to sleep at night with a full-length, polished silver mirror with an ornate golden frame under his house. 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua, have you noticed that you’ve stopped losing points for continuity errors and plot holes? Shang Qinghua, you know that the people in your life have noticed that you know too much. They’ve just decided not to question you about it because you always look like you’re going to faint when they do, then you laugh and change the subject. 

But now Shen Qingqiu is on to you and he’s not so easy to shake. 

(Plus Shen Yuan! They’re terriers, SQH!) 

- 

He turns away from the mirror, only for a second System window to pop up in front of him. Only… the design of this one is different. Familiar, though! It takes Shang Qinghua a second to place it as Peerless Cucumber- as Shen Yuan’s Transmigration System.

 【 Users cannot be injured, killed, or trapped inside the looking-glass! The user will not be able to touch or be touched by anything inside the looking-glass! The user will be returned from the looking-glass within thirty minutes, unharmed! A substantial point reward is attached to this bonus mission. 】

“Right,” Shang Qinghua says.

This second pop-up window then shifts colors and is ruthlessly closed before his eyes. Ah, wow, Shang Qinghua kind of feels like he just saw someone get murdered here.

“...How many points?” he asks finally, reluctantly curious.

- 

AN: Having the Systems fight is so much fun. My setup here in PINTWILF has it so that there’s a main Worldbuilding System that does its best to maintain the world, then each transmigrator has their own personal Transmigration System managing their case. 

This is so the Worldbuilding System can maintain the world without the presence of transmigrators, and so the personal Systems can potentially follow their transmigrators into another world. All the Systems interact with each other in order to try to manage things and there are... issues.  

Look, the thing about simulated (or managed) realities for me is... someone coded the thing (or did some equivalent of coding the thing), and whether or not this thing in question is the world or just the System, if there are multiple entities trying to manage things, there’s going to be fuck-ups. You can’t have two cooks in the kitchen without points where the two cooks get in each other’s way at least a little bit. If there are multiple Systems, then you’re going to have friction, and that friction can be funny. 

Inspired by me trying to run two heavy art programs on my computer at once and being like, “Oh, boy, please don’t burst into flames while duking it out in there. Oh, man, you two were NOT made to operate together, huh?” 

- 

He knows he’s right when he walks away from some kind of important-looking procession, stepping into the next room at the same time as someone else, who looks directly at him and doesn’t look away. Shang Qinghua freezes in the doorway and doesn’t let himself stare so much as he can’t stop himself.

 “Oh, no,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

There’s a man standing in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, with an ageless youth, but a sharp gaze and no youthful roundness to his features. His curly black hair has been cursorily held back from his face by a golden ornament, but is otherwise loose, and he wears his ornate red and black robes well and correctly, but like a man with a hundred more.

The man flicks a strong hand at the doors behind Shang Qinghua, which slam shut with a bang, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

He smiles unkindly. “Shang-Shishu,” he says, like he’s tasting the title, considering tearing it apart with his teeth. “So it's true. How curious.”

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen this face before, but he’s never seen it like this. The man looks like an emperor. He looks like a god. The red mark of the Heavenly Demons burns like a crown in the middle of his forehead.

Shang Qinghua takes an unwilling step back.

“What are you afraid of?” the original Luo Binghe says, still smiling. “We’re only talking.”

- 

AN: I tried to make this meeting mirror Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe’s first scene in Part 3 of the fic, in which we finally meet the Luo Binghe (Shang Qinghua’s nephew) who is going to interact with the PIDW plot. 

Excerpt from Chapter 18: “The Inevitable Plot”: 

The restaurant is closed when Shang Qinghua lets himself in. The tables in the dining room are still packed up, lit by dim light through shuttered windows, and the only sign of another person are the chopping sounds coming from the brightness of the kitchen. Shang Qinghua stops in the doorway and lets himself stare.

There’s a young teenage boy standing at the counter, thirteen going on fourteen, still not yet near his adult height (taller than Shang Qinghua, a fact he's still not prepared to face), still carrying a youthful roundness to his features. Shang Qinghua has seen him like this a hundred times before: curly black hair tied back, a kerchief covering his head to keep it out of his eyes, a slightly yellowed matching apron neatly tied just the way his mother taught him, and intent on the work in front of him. His hands are quick, the knife sharp and sure, and the movements of food preparation work slide right into each other like he’s done this a thousand times before.

When did the boy get so big? It didn’t happen all at once; it snuck up on them, hiding dastardly in plain sight! Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew barely came up to his waist. Fuck, Shang Qinghua remembers when his nephew couldn’t walk. What is this? Who allowed time to pass like this?

Luo Binghe scrapes the chopped vegetables off the board and into the basket beside him, before putting down the knife and turning around. He smiles.

There’s no way for Shang Qinghua to count how many times he’s seen that before.

“Uncle,” the protagonist says fondly. “You’re here.”

- 

“Let’s talk,” Luo Binghe calls out, cajoling now. “Stop running and speak to me and perhaps old hurts can be forgiven. All that condonation and betrayal is so far in the past now. This lord can be merciful, Shang Qinghua. Just speak: how many things have you been hiding...?”

- 

AN: This is PIDW Luo Binghe, by the way. 

Once I realized I was going to have a room full of fortune-telling devices, I was like... “Ooh! Bing-Ge scene! I should have a Bing-Ge scene!” Because, like, that’s the curse of SVSSS transmigrator protagonists who trip into caring about Luo Binghe, baby! 

- 

Shang Qinghua takes some deep breaths to calm his poor, weak heart, and nearly falls to the floor anyway! But he catches himself!

And then a large, cold hand wraps around his arm to steady him. It’s the cold that keeps him from lashing out and probably breaking his own hand. Instead, he looks up, heart still pounding in his ears, into the frowning face of Mobei-Jun.

“Oh, you have the worst timing,” Shang Qinghua breathes.

Mobei-Jun’s expression twitches and he lets go.

“No!” Shang Qinghua chases the hand with his own, catching it before the man can get too far. “My king, I’m so glad to see you! Thank you for finally coming! I have so much to say,” he says quickly. “I-”

Before he realizes that he’s essentially holding Mobei-Jun’s hand for no reason now - ah, now that’s something he never would have dared to do like twenty years ago - and carefully drops it. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the panic still racing through his veins. And then promptly realizes that Mobei-Jun is here. The demon lord is here in this secret basement.

- 

AN: Moshang in this fic is... hmmm... a little weird sometimes, because a lot of it has been happening in the background. A lot of it has been unspoken until Shang Qinghua’s breakdown and until now. 

Shang Qinghua isn’t actually as scared of Mobei-Jun in this fic as he is in SVSSS, and I hope that comes across. When he had his breakdown, part of it was fear, but a large part of it was also actually anger. Shang Qinghua was afraid of how the System had changed his life, but he was also angry about this loss of control. Yes, he was terrified of Mobei-Jun because he didn’t know if it was still his Mobei-Jun, which brought lots of old memories and old anger to the surface, in which Shang Qinghua was kind of like, “How dare you think you get to freely touch me after the things you did and never apologized for?” 

BUT the status quo in this world, before the World Update, is one in which Mobei-Jun touches Shang Qinghua’s hip without SQH flinching. It’s one in which SQH and MBJ drink and relax together. It’s one in which SQH isn’t afraid to reach out and grab MBJ’s hand, because he misses MBJ. 

They’re so close, they just need to actually talk it out. 

- 

Shang Qinghua glances at the ladder and the open hole in the floor. “Ah, my king, did you… climb down here looking for me?”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun answers, looking around with sharp eyes. He doesn’t seem to be very impressed with what he’s seeing. “...What is this place?”

“My, ah, my basement,” Shang Qinghua answers, leaving out the part where he didn’t even know he had one until about an hour ago. The System is determined to make him look like a bit of a madman, huh? “It’s just… just some artifacts and tools. I don’t… I don’t really come down here a lot…”

Mobei-Jun finishes studying the room, then stares at him again, his gaze more piercing than ever.

“The future concerns you this much?” he says.

Shang Qinghua is totally prepared to deny everything, but the phrasing of that cuts off every story he might try to tell. He glances around the room, full of these broken, desperate, stolen things. It’s… reflecting.

“...Yes,” he admits, hoarsely. Then coughs. “I… my king, we should… talk.”

“Yes,” Mobei-Jun agrees.

“But, ah, not here? I don’t… like it here.”

“Yes.”

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is one of the people who has noticed that Shang Qinghua knows more than he should. And now, thanks to this secret basement, Mobei-Jun has an explanation for why Shang Qinghua knows more than he should! 

If you don’t know about the System element, then this basement is actually pretty in-character for the new Shang Qinghua of PINTWILF. 

He is so scared of the future. He’s invested in the story now. 

- 

Shang Qinghua isn’t surprised at all when the special item speaks again as soon as it’s back in his hand.

Why would it shut up now, after all?

 “He has no name but the position he has been promised to, which he may not live to see,” the Weeper’s Eye says, which pulls Shang Qinghua’s gaze back to the demon lord waiting for him. “His father uses him as a tool. His mother is long departed. His uncle wants him dead. He has long known that these broken promises cannot be undone… but he knows new promises may yet be made.”

Mobei-Jun is frowning at the crystal eye in Shang Qinghua’s hand, looking between it and Shang Qinghua’s own eyes.

He’s not dressed-up the same way he was the last time Shang Qinghua saw him - no especially fancy robes or ornaments or jewelry. He looks like himself this time.  

 “If these ones are not kept, there will be nothing for the nameless man who will be king.”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t move.

- 

AN: I mentioned exploring Mobei-Jun not having a name in the commentary on the previous chapter. I guess that’s my take on PIDW Mobei-Jun... that the man doesn’t really have anything outside of his position. He’s a king, in service to a tyrant, and he’s never going to let anyone in. He’s just... cold... the whole way through. PIDW Mobei-Jun has an icy throne and nothing else. 

PINTWILF (and SVSSS) Mobei-Jun has the Airplane version of Shang Qinghua. When Airplane saved MBJ’s life, the System wasn’t making him do it, he made that choice for himself. The System was willing to let MBJ die (and, in my headcanon, be replaced by some ice demon cousin or LGJ). So, MBJ turns around and chooses Shang Qinghua for himself. 

Shang Qinghua was like, “No! This character can’t be replaced! You can’t just dress someone else up as Mobei-Jun! You can’t just let the character die! It has to be this man in that role! No one else!” 

When Mobei-Jun is coming to talk to Shang Qinghua in this fic, in this moment, he is making this choice for himself, the nameless man who has been promised a position he might not live to see. That’s what the Weeper’s Eye is getting at. If Shang Qinghua doesn’t want to hear the promises Mobei-Jun is will to make him, there might as well not be anything in Mobei-Jun’s future to make him an individual, more than a cold figure acting out a part. 

- 

“...Shang Qinghua,” Mobei-Jun says finally. “I will not hurt you.”

Shang Qinghua’s gaze snaps from the crystal eye in his hand, back to the demon lord standing by the exit to this secret basement.

“We will speak,” Mobei-Jun says solemnly, slowly, like someone repeating the lines of a script. “I wish to be understood by you. I have not known how. Yet I must try now… in my own words… and you must listen.”

Shang Qinghua swallows.

The anger - the frustration - breaking through at the end there sounds more like the man he knows. He’s pretty sure that’s meant to be a request, but it sounds like an order.

-

AN: After their last conversation, Mobei-Jun had a lot of soul-searching to do, and one of the conclusions he came to is that he can’t take anything for granted. He has to made explicitly clear, using words, which is apparently what matters with humans and with this human in particular, everything he feels. He can’t take the risk of continuing to hurt Shang Qinghua by letting the man think that he doesn’t regret hurting him or may hurt him again someday. 

-

He puts the Weeper’s Eye down.

He’s really sick of this thing. He doesn't want to carry it around all the time.

It only tells him things he knows, anyway.

- 

AN: We’ll get into the Weeper’s Eye in future chapters, but it’s... it’s not really a mind-reading device. It kind of is. It is a little bit. But part of the reason it’s so informative here is that Shang Qinghua is holding it and Shang Qinghua actually knows a lot about his characters and the people in his life. 

Even the original characters, like Fanli, he knows well. She’s his family. He’s privy to Fanli’s problems through Jiahui and Liu Qingge if nothing else. 

With Shen Yuan, he doesn’t know the kid well yet, but his fellow transmigrator isn’t that difficult to read and he’s been where Shen Yuan is. 

Shang Qinghua putting the Weeper’s Eye down here is a show of trust of sorts. It’s a way of telling himself to get out of his own head, away from character roles and exaggerated panic, and put himself in the moment with someone he knows and... well... trusts and wants to trust even more. 

- 

Shang Qinghua follows Mobei-Jun out of the basement, removing the spiritual seal from the wall, which makes the creepy basement entrance disappear, then replacing the flower that covered it. He hesitantly follows the demon lord back to the main room of his Leisure House. He has no idea how to stand, suddenly, or where to stand.

Mobei-Jun looks very determined.

“So, ah, should we… sit?”

“No,” Mobei-Jun replies, then abruptly says, “Shang Qinghua, you do not have to fear me. I do not wish to cause you any pain. Now or in the future.”

Shang Qinghua stares, wide-eyed.

That’s not… something he ever expected to hear explicitly.

Good! It's good, though! Very good.

It's great, really.

“...Thank you,” he says, stunned. “I don’t want to cause you pain either?”

“You have shown as much. Many times.”

This is probably not the time for an “Yes, I did tell you so” in any form!

Instead, trying to remember all the speeches he prepared while waiting, Shang Qinghua says, “You have too! In your own way! I just… my king, last time you visited was a… it was a very bad day for me. I apologize for my behavior! I was speaking from a place of-”

“Fear,” Mobei-Jun interrupts darkly. “Well-deserved.”

“Ah, well…”

“You believed that I would hurt you, in your state,” Mobei-Jun says.

“I was… it was very a bad and confused state, my king.”

“...You do not trust me.”

Shang Qinghua’s voice dries up on him. He wouldn’t put it that way, exactly! That sounds pretty terrible when said in such a blunt way. They’ve moved past that, haven’t they? It’s more that he trusts different people with different things! He trusts Luo Jiahui to be Luo Jiahui, and Liu Qingge to be Liu Qingge, and Mobei-Jun… to be Mobei-Jun.

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun got really far without explicitly talking about things, but at some point that stopped cutting it. 

- 

“I have hurt you before,” Mobei-Jun says, looking at him directly. “From a place of fear… of anger… of… misunderstanding. I am… sorry for this. I will not do so again. I was wrong to treat you in such a way.”

Shang Qinghua takes in a deep breath… and out again.

Fuck, it feels like his eyes are burning.

“You have my respect,” Mobei-Jun says quietly, urgently, not letting up on getting all of these words out into the open. “You have my regard. You have my trust. Yet I have not shown this in a way that you have understood, so you could not share this. I have demanded your loyalty without being deserving of it.”

“My king,” Shang Qinghua protests, taking a step forward. “I was- I should have said-”

“You did. Many times. In many ways. I did not understand.”

“I wasn’t very clear either-”

“It was my responsibility to be clear. I must be clear now.”

“You’re being very clear now,” Shang Qinghua agrees quickly. If things get any clearer here, if any more of the things they’ve left unspoken get said, his heart won’t be able to take it. “Thank you, my king. It means- thank you."

Mobei-Jun nods. He looks relieved.

-

AN: I wanted to write a version of Moshang that felt... a little more mature? Shang Qinghua has developed a lot in this fic. He has grown as a person. And Mobei-Jun has seen this growth over the years. 

Mobei-Jun has also been able to see into this Shang Qinghua in a way that wasn’t available in SVSSS canon. I think that SVSSS Shang Qinghua was locked the fuck down. I think he was almost completely inaccessible and offered very, very few openings for connection. 

But in this universe, Mobei-Jun actually knows a lot more about Shang Qinghua. He knows what motivates Shang Qinghua. He knows that Shang Qinghua is a doting uncle and a doting older brother. He knows that Shang Qinghua has come to care for his sect. He knows that Shang Qinghua is intelligent and resourceful and funny. They drink together and talk politics! Mobei-Jun knows that Shang Qinghua is loyal and tired and trustworthy. 

So... there was an opening here that didn’t exist in SVSSS canon. 

And Mobei-Jun took it. 

- 

Shang Qinghua knows that cultural differences are a hell of a thing here, but everything being understandable in hindsight didn't make it not fucking hurt. It still hurts, even finally having the apology he never thought he'd get.

"...We’ve been pretty bad at understanding each other, huh?”

“It has often seemed as though we were not meant to meet,” the demon lord says softly.

Shang Qinghua, who can't imagine getting through his transmigration experience without meeting this man, thinks over all the unknowing irony in that statement.

"...Maybe."

“The differences are… significant.”

Shang Qinghua laughs, almost disbelieving. “That’s a word for it!”

"But not impassable."

"Ah… I… hope not."

- 

AN: I’ll probably make a separate post for this, but I love Moshang transmigrator reveals. Bingqiu transmigrator reveals are mostly about the Abyss, which is great, because that needs clearing up. MOSHANG transmigrator reveals are like, “My weak human husband is a god???” 

Also love it when MBJ is like, “Yes, this makes sense.” 

- 

“I have never known what you have wanted from me,” Mobei-Jun says next, like a confession. “Your life, you have said, time and time again. Though I am only alive by your grace. You demand none of what you deserve of me.”

“...I don’t think ‘deserve’ is a good word for this,” Shang Qinghua says, which probably isn’t the right thing to say, but he’s really too stunned to come up with anything better. He really didn’t prepare for the right conversation here. “Aha, sorry, my king. It’s just… I don’t think I like to think about it in terms of ‘owing’ anymore. Between us. At least… not like some sort of strict balance? I do something nice for you, you owe me. You do something bad to me, I get to hurt you. Not… not like that.”

Mobei-Jun thinks about it.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying-”

“You are deserving of better than what I have given you,” Mobei-Jun insists, determinedly. “I do not understand you. I have never understood you.”

Shang Qinghua feels the same way.

“But I would like to,” Mobei-Jun says next. “I would if you would allow it.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is only alive because Shang Qinghua saved him and he knows it! And Shang Qinghua has never made the demands he should have made, having that kind of leverage over Mobei-Jun! 

I’ve always wondered if this is deeply romantic by demon standards. Like, not inherently romantic. But I would bet that Mobei-Jun really likes the idea of a relationship where no one is keeping score... no one is granting favors to use like a leash of obligation... no one owes the other things they don’t want to give. I would bet that Mobei-Jun really, really likes the idea of a relationship where affection is freely given because the people in it want to give it. 

He does feel as though he owes Shang Qinghua, but I think Mobei-Jun likes the idea that his favor is his to give just because he wants to give it. 

-

Mobei-Jun lifts a hand, slowly, and holds it out.

Shang Qinghua thinks about it.

He thinks about it again.

He reaches back and puts his hand in Mobei-Jun’s own, which is as cool to the touch as always, and moves over his skin carefully. His hold is so light that Shang Qinghua could break it without any issue at all.

They stay there, like that, looking at each other.

Looking at their hands, holding without hurting, after everything. It's such a small gesture.

It feels kind of like a miracle.

-

AN: I am... a huge fucking sucker for Mobei-Jun holding Shang Qinghua waaaaay too lightly because he won’t risk hurting Shang Qinghua again. Like, this man is going to take it from the top. No more assumptions. 

- 

“What do you want, Shang Qinghua?” Mobei-Jun says, voice turning up at the end, in the closest thing that the man might ever come to helplessness. “What do you want from this?”

“I…” Shang Qinghua wipes at his burning eyes with his free hand. This is kind of pitiful. “Fuck.”

Mobei-Jun lifts his free hand and uses his own sleeve to wipe at Shang Qinghua’s tears, like his robes aren’t important to him at all. “Ask,” the man says, in the tone of a promise. “You do not have to fear the future. Anything I have to give is yours.”

Shang Qinghua gives up on trying to speak and just moves forward to bury his face in Mobei-Jun’s chest. Fuck it. The demon lord who was supposed to kill his character lets him do it. Mobei-Jun holds on to him, arms heavy but still so careful, the man’s chest moving in a sigh that sounds like relief.

This really was too many unspoken things to finally say aloud all at once.

- 

AN: So, yeah! That’s what I’m been building up to with the Jiahui/Qingge marriage and the Qijiu fights and makeup, getting Shang Qinghua to think about what he wants from his relationship with Mobei-Jun. Luo Jiahui and Shen Qingqiu have basically been throwing the question at him repeatedly: “What do you want from this life, Shang Qinghua?” 

Because it can’t all be plot! You’ve taken your family for yourself, but you can have more than that! You’ve made so many choices already... you can take this last step and make this choice too. Let Mobei-Jun in. 

A lot of Moshang plots end up being “Shang Qinghua’s inability to communicate versus Mobei-Jun’s inability to communicate”. Which is great! That’s Moshang! And some external issue (a rival demon lord, Linguang-Jun, etc.) will end up being the secondary plot which acts as a scenario pusher for the primary plot of the Moshang relationship. Again, great stuff! 

But since the romance isn’t the focus of this fic, I decided it would be fun to have a more “Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun versus the problem” take. (Which also shows up in lots of Moshang fics! Definitely not exclusive to this fic at all!) I’m looking forward to having Shang Qinghua and Mobei-Jun actually try and tackle problems together, as a couple, inside the main “Family of Choice” plot. 

Which isn’t to say that Moshang have totally worked out their relationship here. They have only just gotten together. Mobei-Jun still has issues. Shang Qinghua still has many issues. They’ve got a lot to work out together. They’ve never been in a relationship like this before and there’s a lot of people out there who would object to their relationship! Their relationship is going to continue to grow as the fic continues. They’re going to have a few bumps in the road. 

But I really like the idea of Mobei-Jun being Shang Qinghua’s rock in this fic. This man has been so stressed. He needs a hug from his ice demon boyfriend who can soothe headaches with a hand. 

-

When Shang Qinghua feels like he has himself more under control, he draws back just far enough to say, “My king, will you kiss me?”

Mobei-Jun’s expression is already soft, at least by his standards. His gaze turns hooded before he leans down as Shang Qinghua leans up. Shang Qinghua takes the man’s face between his hands to kiss him. It feels nice, if uncertain, with the hunger of something a long time coming at the end of it. There's years worth of wanting in this.

It has been so fucking long since Shang Qinghua kissed anyone.

He breaks the kiss and has to stifle laughter, clinging to the front of Mobei-Jun’s robes, which the man never closes properly, so now Shang Qinghua is never going to be able to not thinking about touching it. It’s a very nice chest to touch. He knew it would be.

Mobei-Jun’s brow furrows slightly, his hands staying on Shang Qinghua’s hips.

“What?”

Ah, sorry! Sorry, my king! It’s just- this is such a ridiculous detail to get stuck on, but your lips are kind of cold? I’ve, ah, I’ve always kind of wondered,” Shang Qinghua confesses quietly, without really meaning to actually say it. Holy shit, he’s going to blame saying something like this after that on the fact that he’s had a very long and very weird day. “Sorry. I'm really tired. It's fine. It's good.”

Mobei-Jun snorts and kisses him again, as if to say, “Deal with it.”

- 

AN: Cute! Mobei-Jun likes it when Shang Qinghua laughs. I stand by this.

[ladyanput]

It’s All In The Eyes - Prologue

It’s finally here. Keep in mind, I don’t really have an editor for my stories, so... Yeah. Any problems will not be immediately  spotted.

The morning’s first rays barely peeked through the curtains of the tiny university dorm room when the phone on the nightstand began to ring. 

The young man in the bed groaned slightly as he sat up, taking a moment to allow his brain to clear before he answered it.

The woman next to him sat up, stretching her body with a soft groan. She opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of him, her perfect lover. His tall, lean body that she knew every inch of, though she did wince at the sight of the scratch marks on his back, at the sight of broken skin from when she had gotten a bit too enthusiastic. Perhaps it was time that she trimmed her nails, maybe try out the new nail polish she had bought. With a small, happy sigh, she crawled across the small bed and hugged him from behind, her warm, naked body pressing against his back.

“Of course, I will be there tonight.” The man paid the woman no heed as he spoke on the phone, writing a number down on the small pad of paper on the nightstand, keeping his voice curt, his responses short. The woman laid her cheek on his shoulder, a grin so wide on her face her cheeks hurt. She closed her eyes and listened to the rumbling in his chest as he spoke to whoever it was on the phone, to the beating of his heart that seemed so calming. She planted a kiss on his cheek, not noticing how he barely acknowledged her. “I look forward to seeing you and mother there.”

“Who was that, Gabriel?” The woman hugged him a bit tighter, snuggling into him a bit more as she began to plant her kisses down along his neck. He hung up, the phone giving a loud click that seemed to echo through the room.

“My father, confirming a dinner I am to attend tonight.” Gabriel pulled himself from her grasp and kept his back to her as he began to pick up his scattered clothes on the floor. He began getting dressed,letting out a soft hiss as the silk of his shirt settled on the scratches on his back, then smoothed back his pale hair and slid on his glasses. “I am having dinner with my parents and my fiancée.”

“Wait, Gabriel… Does this mean that you know about-” The woman slid from the bed, a smile crossing her face as she reached out for him, but his next words made her stop in her tracks. 

“She is a Graham de Vanily, a very exceptional lady from what my father has told me, the eldest daughter of twins.” Gabriel put in as he picked his wallet off of the side table, tucking it into his pocket. “I believe she will make an exceptional wife, and an even better mother to any of my heirs.”

“Wh-hat? Wait, Gabriel, what about us?” She abruptly grabbed his arm and tugged it so that he turned towards her. At the sight of his flat, cold blue eyes, she felt her blood begin to roar through her veins. Her hands trembled and she dug her nails into his arm, though unintentionally. “What about me?”

“Benigna, you were lovely to have as a good place to take care of each other’s bodily needs.” He grabbed her wrist, squeezed it so hard that the pain caused her to release her grasp on his shirt. When she opened her mouth to speak, he gave her wrist another squeeze, a warning. A whimper left her lips. “But I am an Agreste, I need a woman from a prestigious family, a woman with as fine of a pedigree as my own.  Émilie Graham de Vanily is the perfect woman for me, a woman whose family is perfect for my own. She is utterly beautiful, in perfect shape. She has the proper education, the proper skills to be a proper wife to give me my heir.” 

Beninga felt her throat tightened and she began to tremble. No, this all had to be a mistake, some sort of sick joke.

“B-But Gabriel, I-I’m..”

“A decent woman, yes, but nowhere near worthy enough of being my wife. You should have known going into this partnership of ours, that it would eventually end.” Gabriel gave her a disappointed look, then stepped away as he gestured towards her, the entirety of her body, still wrapped up in a bedsheet. “Your family is mediocre. You have no status, no influence, barely anything of worth for an Agreste.” 

Benigna fought back the tears, her hands curled into fists. No, this couldn’t be real, none of this could be real. This all couldn’t have been some sort of simple arrangement, a ‘partnership’. The word sounded so cold, almost sterile. It sounded so wrong to refer to those nights of passion, those nights she had thought were full of love as a mere ‘arrangement’. To think that it all meant nothing to him.

“So it was all nothing? Those nice dinners, that night of dancing?” She blurted out as she hugged herself, glared at his retreating back.  "That night you took me to the opera?"

“Merely something nice, due to your companionship. I will send you money, if you wish, but this relationship is ending. I do hope, Benigna, that you find yourself a suitable partner for one of your station. Farewell.” Gabriel didn’t once look back as he left the small dorm room. Benigna dropped to her knees, buried her face into her hands, and began to sob.

…

A few weeks later, Benigna found herself in front of Gabriel’s home. She pressed a shaky finger to the doorbell of the gate, heard the faint buzzing. In the past few weeks, Gabriel Agreste had announced his engagement to one miss Émilie Graham de Vanily. Benigna had seen the pictures in the paper, on the TV, on the large screens in the city squares, that thousands would watch in passing. The woman was very beautiful, with her golden blonde hair and vibrant green eyes, she reminded Benigna of a princess, a perfect woman. Gabriel’s perfect woman. 

“What do you think you are doing here?” Gabriel stepped through the gate as soon as it opened, in such a furious fashion that it made Benigna take a step back. His pale eyes slid over her body before they settled on her pale face. “If you are here to cause trouble, I will call security this second.”

“N-no, Gabriel, I just.. I have something for you.” Benigna reached into her purse, though she flinched when she heard him scoff, as if this was suddenly the biggest chore in the world. She glanced up at him as he slowly shook his head and made his way to her. 

“I do not want anything from you. I do not want to see your face again. Honestly, here I thought you were an actual adult, not some child chasing after the foolish fairytales of a prince and marriage.” He set a hand on her shoulder, gripped it fiercely and gave her a shove. The abrupt motion caused her to stumble back a few steps. “Get it in your head, before I have to take legal action against you.”

“Gabriel, please, I-I don’t want to marry you, I just want to tell you about-” She tried again, once again reaching into her purse. 

“Leave now before I have you tossed off of the property, and I’ll file for a restraining order against you. Maybe get you deported back to Italy!” Gabriel snapped, his fierce blue eyes making her shiver and tear up. “I never want to see you again. Come anywhere near me, my wife, or my parents and I will make you pay, I will destroy your future. I refuse to be seen with someone as low class as you. And if you do anything to try and ruin my wedding, I will do everything in my power to make sure you have no career.” 

Benigna watched helplessly as Gabriel headed back inside, the tall iron gates slammed loudly back into place. She nearly doubled over, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched the small envelope in her hands, the one containing the ultrasound of their little baby, that was now growing in her belly.

“Gabriel, please.. I can’t do this all alone..”

She returned to her dorm and curled up, her hands pressed to her slightly round belly. How had Gabriel not noticed it, not felt her belly, their child, when she had embraced him, or even now, he had not noticed it, such a change? He couldn’t have not noticed, he just couldn’t. He was a man that noticed everything, he had noticed her the first time they had had that political sciences class together. He had said that she carried herself with such confidence and grace, he couldn’t help but go and talk to her. It was a week after that, when he had taken her out to dinner, that she had begun falling for him. 

She wiped furiously at her tears, realizing that she was sobbing. He had been so kind, so good to her, he had to love her back, he just had to.. She clenched her eyes shut, her hands clutched her belly. She was only two months along. Her baby was so tiny, so new, they were growing inside of her, a part of her, a part of Gabriel.. And he hadn’t even listened to her long enough to learn about her. Or if he knew, he probably wanted nothing to do with the baby. Her baby.

Fine. He wanted to be an asshole about this? He could go ahead and marry that ‘perfect bride’ of his. Have his ‘perfect’ heir, like in a perfect house, and live a perfect wife. Let his father and mother tell him what they wanted from him, and he’d leap and do whatever they wished. 

She made herself relax, and spent a few hours collecting herself, rubbing her belly and taking the time to look at the wrinkled ultrasound picture. The picture of her little baby. Her eyes teared up as she thought of the tiny life growing inside of her, the small life she would have to protect. If Gabriel didn’t want to be a part of his child’s life, she wasn’t going to force him. No, she wasn’t sad anymore, after much thought, she was downright furious. 

She had wasted almost a year with Gabriel Agreste, a year of her life that she could never get back, and he had carelessly tossed her aside. She had known he had been from a wealthy family, old money, from what she’s heard, but that hadn't mattered to her. She hadn’t asked him for money, he’d never gotten her jewelry or any kind of gifts, she still lived in her small, cramped dorm room. 

She had thought about marriage once or twice, yes, but what kind of woman in love hadn’t? She had thought about getting a home with Gabriel, of both of them living their lives, him with his designing and her diplomatic work. She already had a job set up being a foreign service worker here in Paris. They’d work, yes, but they’d both dedicate their lives to raising their children. She saw now that those dreams were nothing but ash.

She’d wanted a marriage full of love, full of trust and devotion. Gabriel wouldn’t have given her that, she had been blind to that. It had just been sex, just things that he needed, his base urges. He had only cared about things being.. Perfect. He had even gone as far as to insult her parents, whose marriage was one Benigna admired and aimed for. One where they were married now going on forty years. They had married young, and they had had their spats, yes, but they still loved each other, they were a unit that stood firm and took care of the family, the life that they had built together.

Oh God, her parents.. What would she tell her parents? She had been hoping she and Gabriel would tell them together… 

That caused Benigna to burst into tears once again. By the end of it, when she had calmed down, she finally called that long distance call back to Italy. Upon hearing her mother’s warm voice when she picked up, she began to cry once again.

“Oh, mi Benigna, what is wrong? I am here sweetheart, whatever you need.” Her mother spoke, only concern for her distressed daughter on her mind. And her daughter told her everything, down to the very last detail.

When Beninga was met with silence after telling her tale, she had been fearful that her mother had hung up on her. But soon her mother spoke again.

“My sweet, if you want to come home, you can. You come home right away, and we’ll help you take care of your baby. Your father and I will pay for your ticket and you can come right home. We will help you with everything.” She soothed, and Benigna wished she had her mother right in front of her, to hug her tight. “We will get you the next plane ticket back here, right this second.” 

Benigna gave herself to calm down, to wipe away those tears and collect herself. She felt such warmth and love radiating from this one phone call, those simple words her mother spoke that meant so much to her. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Mama.. I only have a few months left before I graduate. Let me finish this up first, it would be a waste to drop out with such a small stretch left to complete. Then I will fly right home to you and Papa, and I’ll have my baby. Is.. Is Papa upset?” She whispered that last question softly, her hands trembled around the phone she gripped tighter.

“Not at you, mia bella, he is more so upset at that horrible man and what he has done with you. Claiming he has no honour, among other things.” Her mother mused, and the two women shared a soft chuckle.

“I was a fool, Mama, a fool to believe in him..” She sighed as her hand once again returned to her belly, already daydreaming of holding them in her arms. “I am so foolish, to believe the words of a man who has nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

…

The months went by in a blur for Benigna. She avoided Gabriel, avoided the friends that they shared, but if she encountered them and they commented on her rounding belly, she’d merely say that she was coping with a bad breakup with a large amount of ice cream. She wasn’t going to let Gabriel anywhere near her baby. 

She would lay in bed, late at night, near tears as she tried to swallow down the hurt and the heartbreak, but those feelings still clung to her like leeches, trying their best to drain her of any happiness, to go down the path of misery. 

But she wouldn’t let it, she wouldn’t let him. Gabriel and his need to please, his need to fit in the box his parents forced him into, the box that his perfect bride was forced into. She was determined to never do that to her own child. She would give so much love to this child, more love than two parents could ever give. She would be a dedicated mother to this life that was so small, so new. She would give this child freedom to be whoever they wanted to be, to love whoever they wanted to love, though she’d step in if she knew that that person was dangerous for them. Her life would be dedicated to herself and her child, she wouldn’t give into fancy, into foolish dreams of romance without facing reality ever again. 

On the day of her graduation, she didn’t even stay after the ceremony. She flew straight home, and to her small town. The cab pulled up in front of her parent’s small home, a place of warmth and so many memories for Benigna. Her mother was out of the front door and making her way down the walkway as her daughter was getting out of the cab, a hand on her five month pregnant belly. 

When her mother embraced her, Benigna was overwhelmed by the smell of sugar and cinnamon. Her mother must have been baking before she had arrived, the realization caused warmth to spread through her.

“I have some cinnamon rolls waiting inside for you, sweetheart, and we have your room ready. Freshly cleaned bedding and fresh flowers in your room. We even cleaned out our spare room for the baby, we’re looking for a crib now.” Her mother took to the house once they had gathered up her bags, and she stepped into home and all of her worries at that moment melted away. 

“Wait, mama, hold on! I can find a crib myself, don’t worry about such things. I will get everything I need for the baby, please.” Benigna rushed over to her mother, but her mouth snapped shut when her mother held up a hand.

“Now that is enough. I am already talking with Paulo, you know, the carpenter? Well, he and his wife have a crib they are no longer using, so they said that they would give it to us. And one of our neighbours has agreed to give us her high chair, as well as..” 

Benigna listened in stunned silence as her mother went on and one about all of the things she and her father had already gotten ready for the baby. 

“What colour would you like the baby’s room to be?” Her father stepped into the front hall with them, still as tall and imposing as ever. He was a man who had worked hard all of his life for himself and his family, and he still worked hard today to keep in firm shape, despite his age. 

“Y-you two..” Benigna whispered, but felt her throat tighten as she was practically swamped by the love they were giving so unconditionally. No anger, no blame, no resentment from either. She fell into pieces as her father embraced her as she began to cry.

After she arrived home, she felt.. Better, as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Perhaps it was due to being in a completely different country than Gabriel, of being surrounded by love once again. 

She managed to get a part time office job. She didn’t want to start her career and have to leave right away due to her pregnancy, then motherhood. Baby steps, she needed to take baby steps with all of this.

Everyone in the town was welcoming, at least, to her face. There were a few that she had heard about, disapproving about how she was a single mother having a baby out of wedlock, though she ignored it. She wouldn’t trade this baby for all of the money in the world, wouldn’t give this baby up for a future with Gabriel, at the smallest chance of him leaving his fiancée and choosing to be with her. Which would happen when pigs flew. 

Benigna continued to stroll down the sidewalk in the center of town,  her hands full of bags of baby clothes and toys. So lost in her thoughts, Benigna didn’t even notice the man running towards her, as she began to descend some stairs, heading towards a small shop her mother had recommended for her. She swore, her mother almost more excited about the baby than herself, but only almost. The man shoved past her, shouting something in a phone he was holding to his ear. He didn’t even glance back when she cried out and fell down the steps, soon finding herself sprawled on her ground. 

“Miss! Are you okay?!” A young teen ran up to her, looking rather panicked as he knelt next to the woman. He noticed her round belly and turned abruptly to his friend. “Livia, call an ambulance!”

Benigna felt panic the entire way to her hospital, continuing to scream and cry, begging them to save her baby. The fall had only been a small tumble, but she felt pain in her stomach and had feared the worst.

It all went by in a blur, being rushed into the ER, the nurses asking her questions, the doctors, as she kept begging and begging for them to check on her baby. Before eventually, she was left to sit in a room, on a hospital bed as her hand trailed over her round belly. 

“Hello, Miss Leone.” A tall man stepped into the room then, dressed in the spotless white doctor’s coat and a clipboard in his hand. Benigna had to judge that he was a few years, a mess of dark brown hair, a handsome face and strong jaw. But what caught her attention the most was his eyes, such a fierce and soul piercing kind of green. “I am Dr. Rossi. It seems you had a bit of a spill.”

“Please, Dr. Rossi, my baby, are they safe?!” She leaned forward a bit more. The doctor saw how her hands grasped her shirt over her round belly, how they trembled as if holding on for dear life. He set a gentle hand over hers.

“You baby is fine, perfectly healthy. The worst thing you will need are the stitches they gave your forehead, and some minor scrapes and bruises. You are quite healthy as well, your scans and blood tests came back just fine. You’re fine.” He gave her hand a gentle little squeeze, as their eyes met. “Would you like me to call your husband for you, get him to pick you up?”

“O-oh, well, I’m not… Not married..” She found that her cheeks heated up, practically burned when she met the handsome doctor’s gaze, before her gaze flickered away. “I am living with my parents now. I’m.. I’m, well, alone, I guess.”

“Oh. Please forgive me for assuming, I should have asked.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, focusing his gaze on the clipboard. Wait, was he blushing? “Well, I’m going to have the nurses double check the stitches and the cuts, just to be safe, and you will be free to go.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rossi. I really appreciate it.” She pressed a hand to her belly once more, watching as he left. He paused in the doorway, looking as if he were about to say something, but chose instead to merely smile and leave her be, with a nurse coming in a few minutes later to check her over.

…

Benigna found herself bumping into Dr. Rossi on occasion during her outings in town. When they did, they’d walk and talk if they had a chance, Benigna about her goals to becoming an ambassador, and Marcello, she soon found his name was, had always dreamed of being a doctor, of helping those in need.

She found he was kind and gentle, as well as an astoundingly hilarious sense of humour. No one had made her laugh so much as he did, making her laugh to the point of tears and she was gasping for breath. She felt as if she were walking on the cloud. With the two months she spent with Marcello, Gabriel hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

All of that bliss slid away as soon as one day she arrived at the hospital, carrying a small box of pastries. The receptionist at the counter gave her a sad smile. 

“I’m guessing that he never told you. Dr. Rossi had to return to Rome, his mother���s health took a sudden turn.” She shook her head in obvious pity, before reaching out the deflating woman’s hand a gentle pat. “I’m sure he’ll be back once she is all better.”

But he didn’t come back .His time at the hospital was up, and he had taken a job at a hospital in Rome, she bet. Always choose the better option than the one from a small town. Benigna scolded herself for getting her hopes up again.

… 

Four months later, her daughter was born. Benigna held the squabbling little baby in her arms, her body drenched with sweat, in absolute agony from her labour. But seeing the tiny little girl in her arms, it was well worth it. 

“She’s so tiny, just like you were..” Her mother crooned softly, her large smile hidden behind the surgical mask she had been told to wear, rubbing her hand from when her daughter had squeezed it while giving birth. “Did you think of a name for her?”

“I was thinking.. Noemi. My little Noemi.” Benigna let out a soft sob at the sight of her little daughter, before she glanced up at her mother. “My gift, and I’ll be a better parent without him. He will never know her.”

…

“Mama, can we go to the park?” Noemi tugged on her mother’s hand, the two of them walking along the sidewalk, while the little three year old pointed frantically at the entrance to the park that they were passing. “Please, please Mama!”

“Well…” Beninga glanced down at her watch with a small frown, before she chuckled. “I suppose we can, I don’t have to be at my appointment for another few hours.” 

“Yay!” Noemi hopped alongside her mother as they made their way towards the park, the warm sun beating down on them. Benigna took a seat on a bench under the shade of a large tree, while Noemi took off, running around the playground and laughing with pure delight as she joined the other children.

“I must say, she has grown quite well. She’ll no doubt grow to be a real beauty.” 

The sudden voice behind her had the young woman jolting on the bench, before she turned and stared at the person behind her.

Dr. Rossi gave her a wry smile as he leaned against the back of the bench. His thick hair was windswept, his tall, broad figure clad in a pair of faded jeans and an old t shirt. To Benigna, he looked like the most handsome man on earth.

"Marcello.."  His name left her lips in a soft whisper as she got to her feet. Her heart began to pound wildly in her chest as her gaze met his amazingly green eyes. "I thought you were going to be staying in Rome.."

"I would have, but let's just say, a few things brought me back." He smiled and held out his hand, taking hers and kissing her knuckles. "I missed you, Benigna."

It only took a few months before the two were engaged. 

Noemi adored her father. Marcello loved his new daughter. Many in the village would see the two going to get ice cream whenever Mrs. Rossi wanted an evening to herself, or the family of three going to the park or the movies together, whenever Marcello or Benigna had time off of work. 

And two years after their wedding day, a fourth member was added to the family.

"Mimi.. Come and meet your little sister." Marcello scooped seven year old Noemi into his arms, smiling to himself as he felt her small, thin arms wrap around his neck, holding on for dear life. The two of them made their way over to the hospital bed, where a weary Benigna lay, holding a bundle in her arms.

"This is Lila, Noemi. Want to say hello?" She murmured, her lashes fluttering slightly as she felt both in extreme pain, and exhausted.

Noemi stared down at the chubby, scrunched up face of her new baby sister, her little rosebud mouth pursed, as if in deep thought, before it spilt into a wide grin.

"Hello Lila! Don't you worry, I'll be the best big sister ever!"

Taglist:  @vixen-uchiha @ravennightingaleandavatempus @2sunchild2 @crazylittlemunchkin @bee-wrecker @souleateralicestein @loysydark @kceedraws @realrandomposts @alienjoyful

[esmealux]

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 2 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.5K

Rating: T

Summary: ‘I certainly did not choose to impregnate the Detective, Doctor!’ In which Lucifer doesn’t know how to cope and goes to see the one person who might be able to help him. 

Warnings: Mention of death, murder (and, quite indirectly, foeticide)

When Chloe parks the car a little outside the film set, Lucifer has finally got his thoughts and the threatening sensation in his chest under control. He had stared silently out of the window the entire ride, calculating, weighing the different possibilities; which one was more likely—him impregnating her after being sterile since the dawn of time, or her getting food poisoning from a hole in the wall filthier than medieval England? The latter. Definitely the latter. It is the only logical—nay, possible explanation. He has no doubt.

But then she asks him to get her a gum from her glove box (she still has a bad taste in her mouth), and when he looks inside the small space to find the pack she always keeps there, something catches his eye, something pink and flat, something he usually associates with mood swings and five days of limited access—something that reminds him she’s more than a week late.

He grabs the gum between his fingers and hands it to her, smacking the glove box shut as if it will erase what he just saw and the distressing epiphany it led to. He searches for alternate explanations in his panicking mind, something, anything, that will ease his returned and now stronger fear that she’s… That they’re… But he comes up with nothing. Just obscure theories that even he will admit are far-fetched.

He doesn’t say anything—not because he knows she doesn’t want to have the conversation on their way to talk to a potential suspect, but because he can’t. So he just follows after her like a lost puppy, until they’re suddenly sitting in a cramped trailer, facing former child-star, current man-child Max Steinfeld.

‘Why did you walk away when we asked you about Laura?’ Chloe asks the actor. He had fled? Lucifer hadn’t noticed. Then again, he’s not entirely sure he would have remembered if they’d been in a car chase, or a gunfire.

The sad example of a man slides a tabloid towards them in response to the Detective’s question. The front page shows a picture (undoubtedly shot by a paparazzo) of him and Riley walking down the street hand in hand, smiles plastered on their polished Hollywood faces. Next to the headline promising insight in ‘all the details about the magical wedding,’ there’s a close-up of an offensively distasteful diamond ring.

Lucifer sees a chance at escaping the cacophony of disturbing thoughts in his head and takes it. ‘What, because you’re marrying Miss Riley and didn’t want a murder case spoiling your-’ he takes the magazine and swiftly flips through the pages till he finds the right one, ‘uber-romantic seaside wedding? Is that it?’ Lucifer leans a little forward and stares intensely into the man’s eyes, his best cheshire grin playing on his lips. ‘Come now, Maximillian, what is it you truly desire?’

‘I…,’ he begins, not blinking as he’s sucked into Lucifer’s stare, ‘I want to stop pretending.’

‘Pretending that you didn’t kill an innocent woman because you put a bun in her oven?’

Steinfeld’s brows draw together in confusion before they arch up in worry and disbelief. ‘Laura’s… dead?’

Lucifer’s just about to call him out on his charades, when the Detective jumps in and confirms that she was found in her home, stabbed to death.

Max’ face turns white. His jaw goes slack. Then a cry of raw agony fills the confined space.

*

Once Steinfeld has calmed down enough to continue the conversation, Chloe decides to go easy on him and begins by asking him where he was between 9 and 10 PM last night.

‘With Moni,’ he says, looking almost ashamed. ‘I had a date with Laura—we were gonna see each other for the first time in weeks—but she didn’t turn up. I figured she was still mad.’

‘Mad?’ Chloe prompts him to elaborate.

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly handle the whole pregnancy-thing very well. I couldn’t- I just- I panicked.’

‘So you killed her,’ her partner concludes beside her. She gives him a stern look and a reprimanding ‘Lucifer.’ He ignores her.

‘No! I would never hurt her! I love her,’ Steinfeld tells them, all kinds of emotions swimming in his eyes. ‘But when she told me, I just couldn’t… deal with it, so I ignored her, for five weeks. One thing was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m-’—he gulps and takes a deep breath—‘was gonna be a dad, but I also had no idea how I was gonna tell them.’

Chloe is just about to ask who he means by ‘them’ when Lucifer opens his mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my mistake. I’ll refer to them as Mx Riley from now on.’ He sounds genuinely apologetical. Chloe side-eyes him, confused.

‘What? No,’—Steinfeld shakes his head—‘Moni goes by “she”. I meant the studio. They made us sign a contract at the beginning of production in which we agreed to pretend to be a couple in public to-’

‘Build hype around the movie, sell more tickets and boost your personal career?’ Chloe finishes. She’s familiar with the concept. 

‘Yeah, something like that,’ Steinfeld mutters and rubs his brow, his hand still visibly shaking from the shock. ‘But I was growing tired of it. I like Moni, she’s one of my best friends, but nothing more than that, and what I had with Laura was so… real. It was all pretty new, but she made me happy. I wanted her in my life—to share my life with her. Still, I was nowhere near ready to have a baby with her, to become a dad! I mean, I still have a bad reputation in the business, I’ve spent all my savings on drugs and alcohol and a mansion I can’t afford, and sometimes I get so stressed I don’t eat for days. How am I supposed to take care of a kid?’ His voice is laced with frustration and tears stream down his stubbled cheeks. She expects Lucifer to scoff at the ‘dramatics’, or at least show some kind of disapproval of the emotional display, but he doesn’t.

‘Look, I get it,’ Chloe says, laying her arms on the table. ‘When I was pregnant, me and my ex-husband were absolutely terrified too.’

She senses Lucifer looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s not sure why, or what it means, so she ignores him and continues.

‘Is that why you did it? Did you go to her place when she didn’t show up for your date and then when she brought up the baby you lost your temper? You got scared?’ She wills her voice to be calm, knowing the man is vulnerable.

Max frantically shakes his head. ‘No! No, more the opposite! I was gonna tell her that I loved her and that I was gonna try. That’s why I went to Simone’s when she didn’t show up. Moni knew about Laura, what she meant to me, so I went to her to talk about how we could escape this fucked-up PR stunt controlling our lives,’ he points angrily to the smiling picture of him and Riley on the cover of the tabloid, still on the table. When he continues, his voice is calmer, but also more emotional, ‘so we could be free, and I could do right by Laura… and our baby.’

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer—to see if he, too, believes Steinfeld is innocent—only to discover that her partner is glowering at the now frightened man across from them. Lucifer is breathing heavily, his fist clenched between them, his knuckles white. His voice is sharp and venomous when he speaks, almost hisses, ‘How exactly were you gonna do right by them? How could you just accept that you were gonna be a… a father, even when you knew, in every cell of your damned body, that you couldn’t?’

He’s standing now, his tall frame shaking, heat rolling off him. She reaches for his hand to calm him down (Steinfeld has faced enough trauma today as it is), but he quickly draws it back, as if he’s burnt by her touch. His eyes remain brown and his face smooth and tan, anthropomorphic—still, a lump settles in her throat. Before she can say anything, he speaks again, his voice lower now, only a few octaves from demonic and flaming with something she can only describe as wrath. Wrath and pain. ‘How could you ever pretend to love something you never wanted?’

He storms out of the trailer, surprisingly elegantly considering his emotional state. She excuses herself to Steinfeld and rushes out to talk to her partner, comfort him, ask him what the Hell is going on.

But he’s gone.

Vanished.

Sighing, she bends down to pick up a large, silky feather from the ground.

*

The door bursts open, the hinges shrieking in protest as it slams against the wall and knocks down a picture frame in the process. Linda takes a deep breath and slowly turns around to face her intruder. ‘Lucifer, what have I told you about barging-’

The words get stuck in her throat when she sees him. His hair is dishevelled, his clothes wrinkled and disarranged. A dash of colour is missing where a pocket square usually sits and completes his outfit—whether he lost it without noticing or he didn’t pick one out in the first place, she can’t tell, but either way, it’s concerning. Even more so when combined with his face. Oh God, his face. He looks pale, too pale—ghostlike. His pupils are mere specks, his eyes manic. His chest heaves rapidly as he takes in short, ragged breaths.

Last time she saw Lucifer in a state similarly chaotic, dark, leathery wings were sticking out of his back. Before she can ask him what’s wrong, his tremulous voice fills her office.

‘The Detective’s pregnant.’

Not what she’d expected, but his reaction seems about right.

She goes to his side to help him sit down on the couch, pours him a glass of water, and doesn’t sit down till she’s made sure he’s drunk some. Once in her chair, she takes a deep breath, partly to prepare herself for the incoming conversation and partly to make Lucifer mirror her so they can get some oxygen to his head. She’s not sure if angels can pass out, but she’s not gonna take the risk.

‘Okay,’ she says calmly, ‘and how do you feel about it?’ The question sounds kind of absurd as he’s sitting there, practically radiating distress. Nevertheless, he needs to put his feelings into words.

‘How do you think I feel about it, Doctor?’ he growls.

She doesn’t answer that. Instead, she looks at him with a slight smile and raised eyebrows, inviting him to tell her.

‘I feel betrayed, for one,’ he spits, feeding her plant with the sparkling water she’s provided him—before emptying his flask into the glass and taking a large gulp.

‘By whom?’ she asks.

He glares at her and takes another sip. ‘My father, obviously.’

Linda suppresses a sigh of frustration. She’d thought God coming to Earth and their subsequent bonding time had finally made Lucifer bury his manipulative daddy issues. Guess she was wrong. ‘What do you think your father has to do with Chloe getting pregnant?’ She doesn’t miss how he winces at the last three words before his face sets into taut lines.

‘Oh, I don’t know, Doctor.’ His voice is thick with sarcasm. ‘I mean, it’s not like he has ever sent down one of his pathetic thralls to “bless” a barren couple with a spawn.’

‘How are you so sure you’re infertile?’ she asks him with narrowed eyes, leaning back in her chair. They’d thought Amenadiel was infertile, but she has 31 pounds of pure joy at home to disprove that. 

‘Well, it’s simple maths,’ he replies. She gives him a curious and mildly sceptical look, and he leans forward, putting his now half-empty glass down on the table. ‘Right, I’ve been practicing safe sex since the first ever condom came about—you know, for the sake of my lovers’ health—but condoms are only 98% effective at preventing conception, and the ancient prototypes were much worse, which means that, had I not been sterile, I would have fathered one hundred thousand children, give or take, throughout history, and I haven’t. I would have noticed; they would have flocked around me like little rats to get a piece of my fortune every time I appeared on Earth. Ergo, infertile.” He gestures towards his crotch with a dead-serious expression.

‘Right,’ she says, forcing herself to look at his face. ‘And what makes you think that that trait, or whatever you wanna call it-’

‘I call it a blessing,’ he interrupts her, the slightest glint in his eye as he peers at her from over the brim of the drinking glass.

‘What makes you think it’s everlasting?’ she asks him, a theory suddenly forming in her mind.

He furrows his brow. ‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Well, you’re not completely immortal anymore,’ she reminds him, her eyes shifting to his thigh where his first (not self-induced) scar is covered by his creased suit pants. He sends her a hurt look. ‘What a positively shitty way of trying to cheer me up,’ he huffs before downing the remaining liquor.

‘What I mean is,’ she begins to clarify, ‘what if your infertility is like your immortality?’ She lets the words sink in before she continues, ‘What if your aversion to having children, to becoming a dad, has affected your ability to physically father a child? But just like you chose to be vulnerable around Chloe, you’re now choosing to have a baby with her, to grow your family.’

He scoffs, almost laughs, but there’s no trace of humour in it. Only torment. ‘I certainly did not choose to impregnate the Detective, Doctor!’

‘Maybe not on a conscious level,’ she argues. ‘But maybe after the personal development you’ve been through, after seeing you’re worthy of being loved, not just by Chloe but also by Trixie, you’re finally realising, somewhere deep inside, that you’re also worthy of being someone’s dad.’

‘That is…’ he whispers, gazing out into empty air with a thoughtful expression, only to ultimately conclude, ‘absolutely preposterous!’ He sends her a dirty look, as if he’s accusing her of humbug. ‘I don’t want to be someone’s dad, Doctor—I don’t want a baby! The Devil doesn’t do children. I despise them. Always have. You know that.’

‘That doesn’t mean you always will. I mean, do you despise Charlie?’ She waits a couple of beats, watching him intently. ‘Do you despise Trixie?’ She nods in the direction of his chest, knowing his phone is in his breast pocket, nestled against his heart, the screen lighting up with a picture of himself and his two favourite girls every time he gets a notification.

‘Your son appreciates my devil face,’ he defends, ‘and the Detective and her offspring are a package deal.’ Linda knows he tries to appear indifferent, but he can’t hide the fondness suddenly twinkling in his eyes. If Linda wasn’t sure before, she’s now absolutely positive that Lucifer loves Trixie nearly as much as he loves her mother. She sees it all the time; it’s in the way his eyes flash red with hellfire when Trixie is hurt or sad; it’s in the way his chest puffs out with pride whenever he talks about her; it’s in his jealous stare when she and Dan laugh at an inside joke; it’s in his jubilant eyes when he’s the one who makes her laugh; it’s in the immense effort he constantly makes to always be there for her, to never disappoint her.

‘You might call them a package deal, Lucifer,’ she says softly, making him look at her, ‘but they call you family.’

He’s snatched the empty glass from the table and is now nursing it in his hand, unintentionally mimicking his nephew with his security blanket. His eyes are downcast, but she can tell his heart swells at the mention of the F-word. He’d dropped by her place about a month ago, shock all over his face. ‘The urchin referred to me as her family,’ he’d said. Linda had smiled and replied with a simple ‘Of course she did’. As narcissistic and self-indulgent as he is, he is surprisingly oblivious to other people’s affection for him. Then again, what else could you expect from a person who was abandoned by his parents, literally pushed into the abyss, and for eons deprived of any kind of love?  

With Lucifer’s background in mind, Linda steers the conversation back to his feelings about Chloe being pregnant. ‘If you’re being completely honest with yourself, Lucifer,’—she stares at him until he lifts his head and looks her in the eyes—‘what do you think is the main reason you’re having this reaction to Chloe being pregnant? Is it because you don’t want children?’ She lets him think for a couple of seconds before adding, ‘Or is it because you’re afraid you’ll let your child down like your dad let you down?’

Sadness flashes across his still ashen face before the muscle in his jaw flexes and hot fury fills up his eyes. ‘My father didn’t let me down,’ he snarls, putting the glass down with an alarming clank, ‘He banished me from my home and sent me to Hell—after my mother wouldn’t let him kill me! No words cover that immense extent of neglect, Doctor. That cosmic measure of betrayal!’ His voice is shrill and rough as he shouts the last word, accompanied by the jarring sound of the drinking glass shattering to a million pieces as it collides with the wall behind her.

Lucifer takes a few heavy breaths and, once he’s gotten his anger somewhat under control, pointlessly adjusts his jacket and straightens his spine. ‘No one should have to endure even a fraction of that,’ he tells her, appearing strangely remorseful. ‘Especially not an innocent child.’

And there it is.

‘You are not your dad, Lucifer,’ she reminds him. ‘Or your mom. You’re not gonna abandon your child. You’re not gonna hurt them.’ She waits till he looks up at her (his brown eyes are so sad it makes her chest ache) before she says, ‘You’re gonna love them with every piece of your heart and go to the ends of the earth, or Hell, to protect them, because that is who you are. Maybe you weren’t that person when you cut your wings off on the beach eleven years ago, and maybe not even when you first started assisting the LAPD. But that’s who you are now. Just ask Chloe and Trixie.’ She would add all the other people around him who know this to be true, who know him, but there are only two people whose opinions matter to him in this case. 

He doesn’t answer. His lips part, a smidgen of hope and belief appearing in the sea of fear in his eyes.

‘You referred to it as a “blessing” before, the fact that you couldn’t have children.’ He grimaces at the past tense. ‘Based on that, I assume you think having a child would be a curse?’

He raises an eyebrow, questioning her intelligence.

‘Right. But why do you think that is? I mean, if you think about it, is it really so bad that you and Chloe are having a baby? Someone who’s a beautiful mix of the two you, created out of your love for each other?’

He stops tending an invisible spot on her couch to look up at her. Colour has returned to his face, and the anger from before is gone; only a crease of worry remains. He looks tentative, but not scared to his core like earlier, his gaze warm and soft.

‘I…’ he says, musing. After a few seconds of silence, he answers, ‘To be frank, Doctor, I don’t know.’ His lips settle into a crooked line, stuck between a smile and a frown.

Linda lifts a friendly brow, her own lips tugging up at the corners. ‘Can’t know till you try, right?’

‘Right,’ he admits. It’s still not exactly a smile she sees on his face, but it’s close enough.

‘Have you talked to Chloe about all this?’ she asks him.

‘I haven’t, no. Do you think I should?’

Linda blinks, a little dumbfounded he’s even considering it an option not to talk about his fears with the woman who’s carrying his baby.

‘I’m joking,’ he says then, the smallest of smirks playing on his lips. ‘Of course I’m gonna talk to her! I just thought it best to, you know, sort out my own thoughts on the matter first.’

‘Oh,’ she mutters, realising she might not give him enough credit. He really has come a long way since their first session. ‘That’s very mature of you, Lucifer,’ she praises him.

The minuscule smirk from before spreads out into his cheshire grin. ‘What can I say? All good people know everything below an M-rating is boring and worthless.’

He smooths his pants over his thighs and checks his cuffs before standing and walking to the door. Just before he leaves, he turns to her with newfound courage in his eyes and says, ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a detective I need to have a chat with.’

Part I |  Part III | Part IV (coming soon)

[my-hero-hcs]

Straight for the Castle

Chapter 2

WARNINGS: mentions of war, blood, and violence. Also slight mentions of abuse.

Link to chapter one:

The clanging of metal on metal drove you through the early morning hours. Quite honestly, you were exhausted. The last thing you wanted to do was lift the heavy hammer again, much less swing it. The heat was even worse, and you couldn’t get the sticky feeling off your skin, no matter how many times you wiped the sweat away.

You dropped the sword you’d been hammering away at into the quench tank, and checked for a bend in the blade. You were grateful to find none, meaning you could finally put your hammer away for the night. You glanced at the pile of blades you’d made over the past two weeks, which was already a week longer than you’d wanted to stay. You groaned as you started out of your forge, passing all of the shiny Damascus, freshly polished and sharpened, and wrapped in soft leather, waiting to be sold.

The birds started singing around you, as you headed to the small spring beside the house that you’d been fixing up ever since you and your sister found it in ruins as children, and took a moment to enjoy the cool air radiating from the surface of the water. You pulled off your stiff leathers, shirt, and pants, leaving your undergarments on and slipped into the water. Finally, the sticky sweat washed from your skin, and the grime, ash, and dirt from the forge flaked away as you washed yourself.

You needed rest, you knew that as the chill of the water cut straight to the ache in your bones, but all you wanted was to get started towards the capital. Night was easier to travel by, but the anxiousness of not getting anything done was starting to eat away at you. So, you pulled yourself out of the water and flicked the water away from you, the bit of magic easing the strain on your body. It pulled the last bit of energy you had out of your body. After all, the earlier you rested, the earlier you could leave and get started.

You pulled back on your clothes, and picked up your leathers before going inside quietly where Hana and Dabi slept soundly. Hana deserved better than this life, hiding in a forest in the middle of nowhere, so disconnected from the world they were taught to adore. Even being only two years younger, she was far more sheltered than you were. Being first born brought different responsibilities, and in general, Hana was much softer than you. Her heart was gentle, and the world would eat her alive if you let it get to her, so you protected her, and kept her far from the demons that would destroy her.

You turned away from their sleeping forms, happy they were resting and at peace. Dabi found you a couple years ago, beaten and burned, and Hana couldn’t help but take care of him. She looked at you and asked if she could keep him, as if the Todoroki was a lost puppy. Despite the age gap, which was common in your society, they fell for each other. You opened the chest, and picked up the clean garments you were after, before changing in the small side room past the kitchen. You sat down on your little cot and passed out quickly, at ease knowing your sister was safe, as long as she was here. And one day, it would be safe for her, anywhere.

~~~~~

It was the dead of night as you snuck into the city, but the streets were still alive with light and noise. It was completely unexpected and foreign to you- there was no festival, not that you knew of, until someone stood on the makeshift stage in the middle of the cobblestone road and started speaking.

“Tonight is the night we celebrate our lost Queen, may she rest in the heavens now, and guide us in the stars. The night is hers, so let us celebrate and live, and boycott the sun!” Cheers erupted from those gathered, in agreement with the man speaking. You stood there, dumbstruck at the fact a sing person even remembered your mother. “The flame king shall never bring his sword near us, the coward is too afraid of the dark!”

Well, this wasn’t what you quite expected. In fact this went against everything you thought you knew of the capital city. You decided to circle back to the street later on, you had to know if the entire city was like this or just this neighbourhood. You clutched your cloacal tighter to your body and kept your hood in front of your face as you crept through the crowd, and off to the darker side alleys, unaware of the man standing at the other side of the crowd, eyes following you as you went.

~~~~~

A fist slammed down at the dining table, making Shouto flinch as his father burst out in rage. It wasn’t the first time he’d had an outburst like this, Shouto was just thankful that this particular one wasn’t directed at him. The news of the insurrection on the south side of the city had finally reached his attention, and the paranoia started to show. Endeavour started shouting orders to guards and soldiers to quell the deviance at once, and Shouto used his fathers fit as a distraction to escape. He had to see this for himself, he had to know if what his father had done was right, he had to know the other side of the story.

He threw his cloak on, not caring to change out of his current outfit, and nearly ran to the stables. He set off, hoping to make it before the guards did. Maybe he could warn them and save some of the people from harms way. These were people his father was sworn to protect, so why wasn’t he doing that?

It didn’t take long for Shouto to reach the south side, and once he was within a half mile, he decided to continue on foot. He rounded the corner to an alley between two regular shops and almost toppled over as he slammed into a well built person coming around the corner the same time he was. A flat apology fell from their lips, as they swiftly moved past him, and checked to make sure their bag of wares and weapons hadn’t been disturbed too much. Shouto shook it off, remaining silent as he readjusted his hood around his face. He couldn’t afford to be recognised, not here. He was a scholar after all, not as much of a fighter as his father wished for him to be.

Movement caught just at the corner of his eye; there was a man walking swiftly to the person that he’d just run into. The mysterious figure started to move quicker, getting dangerously close to the - as Shouto assumed - blacksmith, and pulled out a concealed weapon, raising it above his head to swing down at the unsuspecting merchant.

Shouto had to do something, he couldn’t just stand there and let this happen. His feet moved before his mind, and his mouth opened on his own.

“Hey, look out!!” He yelled, just as the blade connected with your shoulder.

~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed this! I hope to be writing more of this soon if you guys like it! Let me know what you think, and have a wonderful night. Happy birthday, Shouto!

[thekpopcloud]

drop in the ocean

Changbin x reader, roommate AU

requests are open!! 

(gif not mine! credit to owner!)

~

“Can’t sleep either?”

His voice makes you jump. Almost knocking over your cup off tea in the process. Your eyes darting in the direction of his voice.

Changbin snickered at your expression and pushed himself off of the door frame, plopping down into the seat beside you.

He asked. “What’s keeping you up?”

“Deadlines” You muttered and gestured to the closed laptop in front of you. “You?”

“Writers block”

“Oh. That makes sense”

A comfortable quiet filled the air, Accompanied by the ticking off the clock and echoes of Changbin’s fingers tapping against the counter top.

You looked up from the tea and subtly side glanced at the boy beside you. Under the dark kitchen light you could barely see his face but the bags under his eyes were still obvious.

Does this boy ever sleep?

“Not really, no” He replied without moving his gaze.

“I-” You stuttered, awkwardly clearing your throat. “Did i say that aloud?”

Changbin snorted and finally turned his head to look at you, a teasing smirk plastered across his lips. “Yes, you did.”

With widened eyes you dropped your head and buried your face into your hands, a shy embarrassed giggle being muffled by your sleeves. As you lifted your head a long yawn fell from your lips.

The room dropped back into silence until a moment later Changbin abruptly smacked his notebook onto the table and stood up.

“Come on.” He said, a newly found energy coursing through him. “I have an idea”  

As he speed walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway you followed, almost slipping on the polished floors as you caught up.

“Where are you going?” You huffed, leaning against the wall, watching as he slipped on and laced up his boots.

“Not just me” He grabbed a jacket off the hanger and threw it at you, chucking when the article landed on top of your head. “You too”

When he motioned to your own shoes you groaned at crouched down to pull them on. “I don’t even know where your taking me!” You exclaimed, slipping the jacket over your shoulders as you followed Changbin out of the house.

Changbin rolled his eyes. “It’s a surprise, doofus”  

“For all i know you could be dragging me into the middle of nowhere at 4 in the morning to kill me!”

“You need to stop watching those crime shows, it’s putting things in your head-”

You cut him off, “Hey! You watch them with me!”

“As i was saying before i was so rudely interrupted” He playfully glared at you as you both climbed into his car, letting the doors slam and encase you in warmth. “Why would i kill my darling roommate who can actually cook? And stops me from working myself to death”

The car ride to the “mystery location” as Changbin had called it was pretty much silent, the only noises being the hum of the engine and the radio station playing on low.

~

“So...” You broke the silence, taking your head off the window to look over at Changbin. “How’s your music thing going?”

He laughed. “That ‘thing’ is a promising future career. For me and the others. It’s going pretty good...other than the fact that my brain is completely fried and i can’t think of lyrics at the moment”

“That’s a tough one” You said, reaching over to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, you and you fantastic mind will work things out eventually”

He smiled, briefly taking his eyes off of the road to look at you before looking back.

Eventually the city turned into country side and the country side turned into the sea.

Changbin watched as your expression lit up when your eyes landed on the ocean. A large, child-like, grin spreading across your face as he parked the car. The second the car stopped you pushed the door open and dashed.

The cold wind whipped at your face as your ran towards the sand, the soft golden sand sunk under your boots making you loose your balance and wobble. But before you actually fall over a pair of hands grabbed you and helped you upright.

“What would you do without me, princess?”

“Shut up binnie” you rolled your eyes.

He chuckled and unravelled the blanket under his arm, setting it down on the sand before collapsing on top if it. “This is nice” He sighed.

You sat down on the blanket beside him, leaning back on your hands, staring up at the cloudless night sky.

“You can see all the stars out here...”

Changbin looked away from the sea and followed your gaze up to the sky. You were right, there were loads of shining dots spread out across the open night sky, making the sky look like a game of connect-the-dots.

He smiled. “Perfect time for some star gazing!” The boy pushed himself up into the same position you were on and leaned closer to you. He stuck his hands out and pointed to a corner of the sky.

“If you connect those, it kinda looks like...i don’t know but it looks cool”

“Do you know anything about astrology or stars in general?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Hm?”

“Not but do i really have to? Let me enjoy the stars!”

Leaning down, you tucked your arms under your head and crossed your ankles over. Changbin turned to look at you and swiftly followed so you were both lying on your backs.

“We could fall asleep here” You mumbled, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I mean we could..” Changbin agreed. “But that isn’t why we are here”

He rolled over onto his stomach, reaching over to gently tap your face. You groaned and slapped his hand away, dropping your arm over your eyes.

“Leave me alone. I’m tired”

“Nooo~ Don’t fall asleep~” Changbin whined and gently hit your arm.

When you ignored the boy he huffed and pushed himself up onto his knees, eyeing your reclined formed. A cheeky smirk pulled at his lips and he stood, walking around until he stood directly in front of you.

In a single swift move Changbin grabbed your arms and yanked you onto your feet, a yelp erupting from your mouth as you were pulled up.

“What the hell was that for?!” You exclaimed, waking him in the chest. “You could’ve pulled my arms out of their sockets!”

“Ouch! But i didn’t aaand it got you up!”

You groaned and hit his chest again. “Ugh i hate you”

Turning on your heels, you had to bite down on your bottom lip to hide the smile as you walked away from Changbin, arms crossed over your chest. It didn’t take long for him to catch up.

He stumbled to stand in front of you, hands stretched out. “Hang on, okay, I’m sorry”

Rolling your eyes to make it seem more believable, you walked around him and continued towards his car. With your back turned you couldn't see the smirk that suddenly stretched on his lips.

You took about 5 steps when Changbin ran in front of you again but instead of trying to stop you he grabbed a hold of you by the waist and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder almost effortlessly.

“Hey! Put me down!” You screamed, hands beating against Changbin’s back as he turned around and started walking towards the ocean.

“Make me- oh wait! You can’t” He chuckled, dropping his phone and keys on the blanket before continuing.

You continued to hit his back. “Seo Changbin put me down or when we get home i’ll-”

He cut you off with a loud laugh. “I’d like to see you try anything!”

“I will rip your beloved Gyu to pieces”

He froze, stopping less than a metre from the sea. “You wouldn’t dare.” He warned in a deep voice.

“Go anywhere near the water and we’ll see”

Changbin stood there and thought for a moment before he smirked. “You don’t even know where Gyu is” And with that he started walking once more.

Your hits to his back became harder as the water came into your line of sight, the icy water splashing against Changbin’s legs the further he walked.

“Changbin i swear to g-AHH!” A scream cut through your words as your body was practically flung off his shoulder and into the water.

One one. Cold.

The freezing water made you shiver and goosebumps appear on your skin as it soaked through your clothes which, luckily, were Changbin’s and not your own. As you resurfaced, the clothes and your hair stuck to your skin, water droplets running down your skin.

“Seo Changbin you IDIOT!” You screamed, glaring at the boy. Before he had the chance to defend himself you gripped the sides of his hoodie and pushed him down into the water.

“AH!” He yelped, reappearing the same way you had. “Cold cold cold cold cold co-”

“That’s what you get you dumbass” You stuck your hands into the water and splashed him, sending the boy staggering backwards.

He came to his feet and glared at you. “Oh it’s on”

‘Oh shit.’ You thought and without a second thought began to wade through the water as quickly as possible, your clothes dragging and weighing you down.

The water was barely mid thigh when Changbin’s strong arm wound around your waist and dragged you back into water, the both of you going under once more.

He resurfaced first and started splashing you with water as you came up, you retaliated with same and it turned into a full blown water fight. By now the water was way beyond freezing cold but neither of seemed of care as you continued to throw water at each other.

“Hang on! Time out” Changbin panted, holding his hand out. The boy trudged out of the water and collapsed onto the sand, his chest falling and rising rapidly.

You followed and fell beside him, a breathless chuckle falling from your lips. “That was fun...but i am freezing cold”

Changbin nodded and pushed himself up. “Me too, we should probably head home...it’s almost 6″

The two of you quickly headed back up the sand, grabbing the blanket as Changbin’s things as you went and walked back to the car. As he unlocked the car and went to climb in, you froze.

“Ah. What about our clothes? They’re soaked” You asked, still holding onto the door.

He motioned to the back seats. “Spare clothes, you can get changed first, i promise i won’t look”

Not wanting to stay in the went fabrics any longer you rushed to open the back seat passenger doors and, just like he said, there was a black and red duffel back stuffed with clothes.

“Are these all yours?” You asked as you pulled out a few pieces.

“Yep! Why would i have your clothes in a bag in the back seat of my car?”

Once you were changed you quickly clambered into the passenger seat and picked up your phone which you had, luckily, left in the car while Changbin got changed.

The drive back wasn’t as quiet as before, the radio playing louder than before.

You leaned against the window and pulled your legs up onto the seat, curling up in the warm clothes you wore. A tired yawn fell from your lips and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Get some sleep, it’s late and we’ve got a while to go” Changbin told you, reaching over to lightly pat your leg.

Glancing over at him, you asked. “What about you? You must be tired”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry”

“Okay...” You sighed. “Goodnight, Bin”

“Sleep well, Princess”

[kitkatd7]

Cowboys Don’t Cry

Part 2: Party Crasher

Chapter Summary: When Chris shows up in the least expected place, he sure does make a scene, you return the favor by telling him exactly what you think of him. You end up in a bar. (sorry I suck at summaries)

Series Summary: Chris loved you, he really did, he just… made a lot of mistakes in the past. And now, years later, he wants you back, but he may be too late.  

Pairing: Cowboy!Chris Evans x Reader, Cowboy!Sebastian Stan x Reader! Platonic, Nathan (OC) x Reader

Prompts: I lost you once, and it nearly killed me. I couldn’t bear losing you again. (will be in bold)

Warnings: ANGST, a lot of cursing because this is really emotional, Chris getting smacked (again) mentions of past drinking, A LOT of alcohol consumption and getting drunk. (drink responsibly y’all)

Word Count: 2494

Note: It’s fan-fiction folks, please don’t @ me for it! I hope y’all like it!

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

————————————————–

This. This was the day you had been anticipating. Waiting on for years… one of the biggest days of your life, finally here- and it had just been demolished. Demolished by him, the moment that he stood up and said those 2 little words; ‘I object’. That was all it took for the past 5 years that you had spent rebuilding your life out of the rubble he created, to come crashing down around you.

You had been standing on the altar in your wedding dress, shasta daisies delicately weaved into your hair, your face glowing, your hands linked with your soon-to-be-husbands… when he appeared from seemingly nowhere.

 You hadn’t expected anyone to object to your marriage, as that never happened- at least until now, and you sure as hell hadn’t expected it to be him. The one person you thought you would never see again. But there he was. Looking at you in such a way that it sent bolts of opposing forces through you; long lost love, resurfacing… and rage; rage that he dared to come here after so many years.

All of your friends and family looked completely horrified at the event, their eyes wide, shocked that someone dared to object, and even more so as it was him. And you, well you were beyond pissed off.

Feeling as if someone punched you in the stomach, you choke out, “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.” To your fiancé, Nathan. Before anyone can say anything, you rush out the chapel doors and into the reception garden, not caring what anyone thought about the fact you had more or less just ended things with your fiancé. Hot tears stream down your face, ruining your perfectly placed makeup. Just like everything else; ruined.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you turn around, dreading who might be there, expecting to find Nathan.

“Oh, thank god, It’s just you.” You breathe a relieved sigh when you see your best friend Sebastian walking towards you.

“Yeah, just me. Here,” he says, handing you a tissue. “I had these in case I started crying but… I think you need them more than I do.”

Laughing dryly, you take them from him and wipe at your eyes, not doing any good against the onslaught of tears. “What the hell is he doing here, Sebastian?”

Sticking his hands in his blue jeans, he looks at the ground, suddenly finding his boots extremely interesting. “I uh, may have accidentally mentioned it when he called me last night. He drove all the way from Jacksonville…” He mutters guiltily.

“Oh my god, Sebastian! Tell me you didn’t! he is the last person I wanted here! I wanted my mother here more than him and she hates Nathan!” you shout. Burying your hands into your previously perfect, intricately braided hair, you throw your head back and whisper why me to no one in particular.

At that moment Chris and Nathan barrel out of the church doors, glaring at each other. Staring at you as they draw near, they forget about each other and open their mouths to speak.

“No! Don’t say one word. Don’t either of you say a damn thing right now.” You growl, taking a step back and glaring at them.

Putting a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, Sebastian speaks in a low voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t be here right now man.”

Sputtering defiantly, Nathan looks between Sebastian and you incredulously. “What? No, I’m her fiancé! I’m not going anywhere.”

Groaning, you turn away from them all to think for a moment, deciding to focus on the gorgeous pink roses and lilies that are scattered on the tables and throughout the garden while trying to compose yourself. Taking several deep breaths, you steady yourself against the nearby gazebo pole before turning back around and murmuring, “Nathan, maybe you should go…”

Nathan opens and closes his mouth several times, at a loss for words before turning and storming towards the outdoor bar, Sebastian on his heels. Damn it, Sebastian! Sure, leave the two of us here, alone, not like I want to kill him right now or anything.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I-” Chris starts.

Before he can finish you smack him, your rage rushing to the surface once more. “No.” You spit out ferally. “Don’t talk to me you bastard. You don’t get to show up at my wedding after five years of no phone calls, no voicemails, not even a damn text! Then object to my marriage, and then say you’re sorry like that fucking fixes everything!” You yell.

He puts a hand to his face, shocked that you hit him, even though he knows it was more than well deserved.

“Please, just let me explain- “

“Shut the hell up, Christopher! I swear to God that if you say one more word, I will do something that you will regret forever! Understand? I don’t want to hear it right now. I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuse for destroying my wedding day! And I hope your satisfied with yourself now that you ruined my happiness for the second time! And I hope you burn in he- “

Before you can finish, Chris grabs your waist and kisses you fervently, letting go when you push against his chest. “What the hell was that?” you implore, still immensely angry but somewhat relishing the feeling of his lips on yours. Somewhat.

“It was the only thing I could think of to shut you up… I need to tell you something.”

“What?” you ask, breathless and still raging.

 “I still love you,” He murmurs, his hands still gripping your hips as if he would never let go.

Scoffing, you stare into his ocean eyes, conflicted emotions racing through you faster than you can comprehend them. You want to hate him, but you can’t.

“I never stopped loving you… it was always you. I just didn’t realize it until you were gone. Please Y/N, I am begging you, please don’t marry him. I lost you once, and it nearly killed me. I couldn’t bear losing you again.”

Just comprehending that you had kissed your ex, you push away from him. “But why now?!” you cry out incredulously.  “I was going to be married… I was finally going to have my happily ever after! And you just ruined everything…” you whisper, looking away from him.

Grabbing your hand, he runs his thumb over the back of it absentmindedly. It makes you want to pull away, but you don’t. “Y/N, I know I messed up, it was the royal mess up of mess-ups… and I am so so so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was a selfish ass and I drove away the most important person in my life… And I have regretted it every day since. You have no idea how many nights I spent trying to numb the pain at a bar. I considered it a good day if I made it through without crying. Hell, I still can’t hear that song without breaking down and pulling over…” He trails off and stares at you for a moment, thinking even like this; hair wild, eyes slightly red, makeup a mess and tear tracks on your cheeks, you are the still most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

“What about me?” you murmur sadly, “What about all the nights I spent crying into my pillow, huh? What about MY heartbreak? Do you have any idea how long it took me to get over you?” You pause, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “And just when I thought I finally was, here you are in your damn jean jacket with your stupidly perfect jawline and hair, telling me how hard it was for you!” You yell, breaking away from him and grabbing a plate from a nearby table, smashing it against the chair, tears of anger making their way down your face once more. “Fuck… I can’t do this; I can’t be here now- not with you.” You ramble, rushing past him to the parking lot, climbing into your truck and leaving him in a cloud of dust. Again.

Leaving him with an ocean of emotions swirling around; guilt, despair, worry and no small amount of confusion, all mixed together in a heart-wrenching amount of love. Stumbling blindly towards his truck, he climbs in and slams the door, losing the battle against the tears as they stream down his face.

—————————————

A few hours later, Chris wanders into a bar, fittingly called The Rodeo Bar. Barstools well used, lighting low, a gentle-looking barkeep and a few patrons scattered here and there, either dancing with their partner to a country song playing through the speakers or drinking merrily… or trying to drown memories. He knew what the latter felt like.

���How did you know I’d be here?” You mumble into your glass when Chris slides onto the wooden stool next to you.

“You always went to Bad Habits when you were feeling down, and I figured this joint was the closest thing to it… Also, Seb said you might end up here,” He says while you scoff and order another round. “So um, where’s Nathan?” He presses.

“Oh, he um- he isn’t coming back, ever…” you mumble, staring into your new drink.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He murmurs, not sounding sorry in the least bit, despite his efforts.

Chuckling dryly, you take a gulp of your jungle juice. “You always were a terrible liar, Chris.”  Turning to face him in your slightly inebriated state, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get a drink,” He says, doing just that and ordering a scotch.

Chuckling again you turn back to the bar and polish off your drink, ordering another, not caring that this is your fourth in the past 20 minutes- Or maybe it was your fifth? You couldn’t remember.

“Okay… now what are you really doing here?”

“I just told you.”

Rolling your eyes and scoffing you turn towards him again. “Don’t give me that bullshit Christopher. I know you better than that.”

As if suddenly finding his drink very interesting, he fiddles with the glass while staring at it and whispering, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Throwing your head back you laugh humorlessly. “Oh, I’m fantastic! Let me tell you how my life’s been lately- I had my ex cheat on me a week before our anniversary, show up and crash my damn wedding after 5 years, then my fiancé left me, my parents might disown me… I should be on my honeymoon in London or at least someplace romantic! And now I’m sitting in an old bar in the middle of Montana drinking with my ex! But besides all of that, I’m wonderful, thanks for asking!” You half yell, words dripping venom and sarcasm.

“Y/N, I- “

“Oh, just shut the hell up and drink, Chris, I don’t want to hear it.” 

After several more drinks, you were definitely gone, slurring your words and feeling dizzy but not wanting to call it a night. “I think you’ve had enough now…” Chris says gently, setting your drink away from you while you whine in protest. “Mm no- give me my drink back.” You pout. “Pleaseee Chris! Just a little more s’all I want.”

“No, you’ve had more than enough now.”

“You aren’t my boss Christoph- “ You cut off when Wildfire And Whiskey comes through the speakers above you. Your face lights up and you move towards the open dance floor, dragging Chris behind you. “C’mon, dance with me!” You laugh, extremely drunk. Swaying your hips sensually to the music you ignore Chris as he folds his arms over his chest, giving you ‘the eyebrows of disappointment’ as you call them. Not that you care.

“Okay that’s it, I’m taking you home, let’s go,” He says when you start dancing with a stranger, practically dragging you out the door and putting you into his truck.

————————————-

Opening the passenger door, Chris shakes your shoulder gently and whispers, “Y/N, wake up, your home.”

“Oh, heyy baby,” you whisper, beyond intoxicated.

Groaning, Chris runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “God, you’re so drunk, C’mon, let’s go to bed.” He huffs, lifting you out of his truck, bridal style. “Oh, we’re going to bed?” you sigh sleepily, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder. “I hope you brought other clothes then,” you giggle.

Chris chuckles at your drunken state, sending deep vibrations through his chest. “Not me Y/N, just you.” He tells you, opening the front door with the key Sebastian lent him.

“Are you sureee?” You slur out, looking up at him through hooded eyes while he carries you up the stairs to your bedroom.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Laying you down on your bed, Chris moves to your dresser, rummaging through it until he finds an oversized, black t-shirt. Moving back to you, he starts to slip your dress over your head, stopping and grabbing your wrists when you grab at the hem of his shirt in an attempt to rid him of it. “No, Y/N.”

“Why not?” you pout, looking up at him in a daze.

“Not while you’re like this, okay? Get some sleep.”

“While I’m like what?” You question, attempting to sit up but falling backward again.

“Drunk,” He says, barely containing a chuckle. Successfully changing you into the t-shirt he tucks you under the royal blue sheets. Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead he turns to leave, stopping and leaning on the doorframe when he hears you murmur his name. “Mm, I love you,” you mutter, your eyes drooping closed, your hair splayed wildly about your head on the pillow.

“I love you too…” He whispers, but you’re already asleep. Chris leaves as the sweetest pain washes over him, knowing he can’t trust what you said while you’re like this, but desperately wishing he could.

————————————–

Note: I’m sorry it’s not as good as the first chapter but I hope you enjoyed it! Taglists are OPEN!! Send me an ask if you want to be added! 

Permanent tag list: 

@lovesmesomehiddles

@saiyanprincessswanie

@kind-sober-fullydressed

@remilupin22

Cowboys Don’t Cry:

@hows-my-hair

@buckylaufeys

@ce-vans

@maynay43

@what-is-your-wish

@starfirerules

Crackheads: @mr-skyline-r34 @salted-caramel-tea @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @cheeky-foxx @hermionesalvatore84 @msgreenverse @babygurlbarnes

[miraimisu]

33 with lonashipping? <3

[part 1] | [part 2] | [part 3] | [part 4] | [part 5]

—

Hau is sure something is going on with Gladion and Moon.

He can't quite say what it is, but there's an itch under his nose. He knows it's probably nothing, but they're together more often than ever, and while these two weeks of vacation had been spent mostly in togetherness, Hau has spent most of these two days with Lillie alone while Gladion and Moon 'trained' for 'something very important'.

Gladion is known for being lackluster with words, but Moon is just suspiciously dismissive. Something is off.

"What the hell do I know? Those two have always been close. Is this why you called me? I'm painting my nails right now."

Plumeria sounds irritated on the phone, but Hau doesn't let that deter him. Lillie fiddles with her sundress, seated right beside him on her bed. "You spend lots of time with Moon at the Battle Tree, right? I bet she's told you somethin'."

"I don't know a darn thing, kid. I bet she's got better things to do than fuss over some boy." Plumeria snickers. "Do you really think something's going on with those two?"

Hau trades looks with Lillie, who sighs. "They have been awfully busy with each other, and I'm certain Moon had a hickey on her neck yesterday."

"Yeeeeah, after the disco night. That was a weird night."

"Why? What happened?"

Hau wags his eyebrows, teasing. "Aw, so you are interested!"

"If Moon's gonna start losing battles because she's smitten, I might as well know why." Something slams shut at the other end of the line. "Fine. Tell me the details."

Hau puts her on loudspeaker. "Can you hear me?"

"Clear as day."

Lillie bites her lip. "So… they usually spend lots of time together, but it's unusual for them to go out on their own without us. I don't think they're avoiding spending time with us, right?"

Hau rubs her shoulder reassuringly. "Told ya' it wasn't that."

"Make it quick, you two. No lovey-dovey stuff allowed."

Hau gulps, laughing nervously. "Right. So we think they might have a thing going on. Lillie's right about the hickey– she had a pretty bad bruise, and when I asked, she just said she made out with some guy at the disco, but that's bullshit. She's not into that kind of stuff."

"So you think it's Gladion who's givin' her the hickeys?"

"Kinda weird to think about– no, kinda gross to think about, those two makin' out, but it's what makes the most sense."Hau grins. "Something's going on with them, and we gotta figure out what it is. They're not gonna tell us, so we should find out on our own."

Lillie fiddles with her thumbs. "But… why are we so sure they have feelings for each other, to begin with? I always thought they were just, um, very good friends."

"I mean, I'm surprised you didn't know, but the kid's always liked Moon. Like, even before she became the Champion."

Lillie gasps scandalously as Hau erupts into laughter. "I knew it!"

The blonde pulls the phone from Hau, shaking. "Really? How do you know such a thing!?"

"It was kinda obvious when you saw them together, and it's not like Gladion's that hard to read, considering he's a rock. The moment he gets soft and feelsy, it's very obvious." Plumeria laughs, half knowing, half happy. "It's weird that you didn't notice, Lillie. It's not like Moon makes herself hard to read either."

"I– I always had a hunch, but she always said he was just a friend, nothing else," Lillie says. "And Gladion… I can't say I didn't notice, but I also thought he was simply fond of her."

"Guess hickeys are his way of giving hugs now." Hau can hear the smirk in her voice. "All that aside, I doubt they'd be that dumb to get touchy with each other in a vacation. Or go on dates, having you two around. They're not that inconsiderate."

"What's up with them, then?" Hau asks, taking the phone back from Lillie. "I don't wanna be nosy, but they're hiding something from us. It's getting annoying."

Lillie hums in thought. "They might be genuinely busy with battles, even if we went on vacation so Moon would take her mind off that. Clair and Lance didn't help last week, and Gladion likes battling her a bit too much."

"You can always ask them right away, y'know– that way you wouldn't have to call me while I do my nails."

Hau ignores her in favor of an idea. "We can always, um, follow them around a bit? And keep an eye on' em. If they see us, we can say we're walkin' around."

At the other end of the line, Plumeria sighs. "That's an awful idea, kid."

But Lillie disagrees, "It might not be. I'm also curious, and come to think of it, we have done very little sight-seeing this week. We can make up for that."

Hau and Lillie exchange pleased sly grins, giggling to themselves. Plumeria groans. "Now that you two are scheming, can I hang up? My battery's running low."

"Sure, but…" Lillie fishes the phone from Hau's hand. "One last thing… can I see your nails, please? I want to buy some nail polish and I need ideas."

"Sure."

—

Hau and Lillie decide to bide their time and wait patiently.

He's tasked with looking out for Gladion, whereas Lillie does the same for Moon. They're not exactly meddling, but they're trying to wiggle their way into the situation as subtly as possible.

As much as they're trying, it doesn't seem like they're doing much. They talk and act as they always have– sans the few moments Hau notices Glaidon's touch lingers more on Moon than usual, that he looks at her very often and always does so with a little smile.

Plumeria already confirmed he's probably head over heels for her, but Hau is only noticing it now, so he does what he does best: tease him about it.

As they walk to their bedrooms after a day out at the beach, having left the girls at the bar, Hau grins. "So… what's up with you and Moon?"

Gladion jolts. Barely. But he does. "What do you mean?"

"You two are looking very cute lately. Like, really cute." He doesn't miss how Gladion's key nearly falls off his shaky fist, and his cheeks grow rosy. "Woah. I knew you had a thing for her, but not that badly."

The blond grunts and spins towards Hau, frowning as menacingly as Hau knows he can muster. "Absolutely nothing is going on between us. Nothing. I'm just helping her build a new team before she goes back to the League."

Hau arches an eyebrow. Moon has never asked anyone for help with training her Pokémon. Sounds like bullshit. "Uh-huh. Why, though?"

"Um, she's been out of it for more than a week and she's feeling a little antsy about it. She doesn't want to get rusty."

"Dude, Moon's been out of the League for weeks before. Remember Unova? She's never wanted any help with-"

Gladion squares his jaw and jams his key into the lock, opening it with force. "That– That's none of my business. Ask her if you're so curious, damn it!"

And the door swings shut again.

So that was something.

—

The following day, Moon explains that she'd be out with Glaidon training in a new Kanto-style gym that's opened in Heahea City. Hau and Lillie take that as their cue to follow them, so clad in pamelas and sunglasses they went, trailing after the pair.

They don't immediately head to the gym, and that rings alarms in Hau's head. As they spy on the two from a corner to the street, he gasps. "He wants to hold her hand. He's moving it a lot."

Lillie sighs. "The port is crowded. I'm losing sight of them. Where are they going, really?"

Hau grins. "Only one way to find out!"

With wide grins, they tiptoe across the street and further into the crowd. Hau can still see Gladion's baseball cap and Moon's oversized pamela, walking into an ice cream parlor that Hau loves with all his heart.

A few minutes later, they happily walk out of the parlor. Moon is laughing at something Gladion just said, and he looks as bothered as ever. Nothing is out of the ordinary here, making Hau question why they'd go out on their own if they're not on a date or battling.

They sit down on a bench near the sandline. Gladion looks upset. Genuinely so.

"Do you think they had an argument and are trying to make up?"

Hau turns to Lillie. "Did they look angry at each other this morning? Because they didn't to me."

The duo watch Moon and Gladion for a few minutes. Nothing happens, and after a while, Hau gets bored and distracted. They should have tagged along– it would surely be more fun than watching them have fun.

Lillie gasps. She points forward and leans closer to Hau. "Look, they're very close! Are they going to kiss?"

"No way," Hau squints as Moon scoots closer, and he can see a smirk, he thinks, but-

Someone crashes with Hau and makes him fall to the ground face first. The man runs past him and Lillie, shouting an apology. Lillie hurries to help Hau off the ground with a concerned frown. "Goodness, are you okay?"

Hau groans, rubbing his arm. "Just a scratch. People are always in a hurry here."

Lillie offers him a hand and helps him get up. Her touch lingers a second more than necessary, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb before letting go.

He rolls his shoulder and turns back to the bench, only to find it's absolutely empty.

He gets up from his hiding spot, gaping in indignation. "Dude, they're gone! Where did those two run off to?"

Lillie gasps and rushes past Hau to the bench, looking all around the port. They're nowhere to be seen– not at the juice bar, the shops at the other side of the road or anywhere nearby. She sighs, playing with the hems of her shirt. "Do you think they saw us and ran off somewhere?"

Hau shakes his head. "I doubt they saw us, but where did they even go? I can't see them anywhere."

The blonde turns to Hau, shaking her head. "Let's forget about this. I think we lost them, and it's been enough stalking for today."

Hau is still irritated, though. Where had those two ran off to? They looked like they were about to kiss. Had that been just his imagination?

He turns to Lillie, who is just as confused as he is, and grabs her wrist, leading her across the road. "C'mon, let's get ice cream. My treat."

—

The next day, the four of them have breakfast. They plan their day, which they'll spend together for once. Moon offers heading to Lush Jungle to watch the Pikipek and maybe play with the Comfey, an idea that Lillie finds cute– so much so they start gushing about it.

Only Hau notices how fondly Gladion is watching Moon, sitting very close to her. He clears his throat.

"Oh, forgot to tell you two!" Hau grins, one corner higher than the other. "We saw you the other day."

Moon chokes with her lemonade and Gladion tenses up. Lillie's eyes widen, just as troubled, and the Kahuna is sure he's hit a juicy spot. Gladion grabs Moon's lemonade and takes a generous chug while Moon laughs. "Oh, you did?"

"We were takin' a walk around the port zone and we saw you there. Did you like that gym you went to? You gotta take us there sometime!"

Hau expects Moon to panic, because she sucks at lying and he doesn't expect them to have gone to the gym. Moon and Gladion trade looks, and she smiles sweetly. "It was lots of fun. A few trainers there nearly beat me, and Gladion-"

He slaps a hand on her mouth with a shaky smirk. "No need to tell them about how I did to brag about your victories, Champion."

Moon removes his hand and they start bickering like they always do, and the only thing Hau finds suspicious in the situation is that everything is as normal as can be. They're arguing about the smallest of things at the loudest of voices, and he's sure a battle will ensue within the next 5 minutes.

Lillie scoots closer, whispering, "I suppose it was nothing, then? Could we have assumed wrong?"

Hau hums. He hasn't seen much suspicious activity he can prove, and the image of them almost kissing at that bench could have been a mirage. Maybe they're just on very friendly and affectionate terms now, and that hickey on Moon's neck that day might have come from some other dude.

He doesn't want to think Moon is hooking up with other dudes when Gladion is head over heels for her, though– but it's her life.

Hau takes a sip of his Tapu Cocoa. "We might have, yeah."

—

The following day is the day they go back to their usual busy lives. Moon is due at the League, Hau has Kahuna duties to look after, Gladion as a company to run and Lillie has a thousand things to do at the Aether Conservation area.

They must catch their ferry back to Melemele at ten o'clock, they've agreed to meet at the lobby in five minutes and Gladion and Moon are nowhere to be seen.

Lillie looks at her watch with a grimace. "They're usually the first ones to be here. What could be holding them up?"

Hau sighs. "Moon texted me saying her shower wasn't working properly so she's using Glaidon's while he packs his stuff."

The blonde smiles nervously. "They're taking a little too long, though. Silvally must be chewing on Glaidon's clothes again."

Hau groans. "Man, I woke up early to be here on time and I bet they're gonna be late. Let's go check on them. I got Gladion's key with me."

They leave their suitcases at the lobby and head to Gladion's bedroom. They speculate on the ways they'll have to peel Silvally off Gladion's suitcase, how Moon might have her own clothes destroyed by the beast and how irritated Gladion will be about going shopping with Moon in compensation for the damage.

Hau slides the key and the door clicks open.

And their hearts leap out their throats as Moon and Gladion gasp, stopping their activities to look at the intruders with blatant shame.

Moon is lying under Gladion, hair wet and shirt ridden up her stomach. Gladion's hands are in her hair and waist, and Moon is bunching the front of Gladion's half-undone button up dress shirt.

Lillie gasps.

Moon laughs nervously as Gladion groans in defeat and buries his face in Moon's neck. "Um, I can explain. We were, um…"

Words fail her. Gladion mumbles a curse against Moon's shoulder and Hau's mind finally catches up with what's going on.

"Dude, what in the world did we miss here?"

[alanden-damouxmg]

Lambs to the Slaughter

The luminescent rays birthed from the moon high above spilled across the landscape to paint a scene of tranquil serenity upon the eve. Most had long ago retired to their homes, the chill of the coming winter nights persuaded nearly all to spend their time beside roaring fires in contrast to moonlit walks throughout the marbled city of Stormwind. Those without the luxury of finding accommodations would flock to the park in droves. They found warmth and comfort in numbers, as they should, and as the nights grew colder and longer those of little coin would find their numbers thinning. A dangerous time for Stormwind, surely, as the thought of a bitter death to the elements sat well with no peasant. Lootings and riots were something to be expected depending on the severity of the year’s winter. Guards were vigilant and on high alert. The crown seemed to be so worried of such things that watch shifts nearly doubled around the denser pockets of the poor which formed at random throughout the city. 

Such matters mattered not to a particular duo elsewhere within the city. The trials and tribulations of the world around them seemed to be at a permanent halt as they met upon a grove deep in the North-Eastern part of the city. Their movements were fluid, methodical and rehearsed. Moonlight bathed over the couple like a spotlight and as Alanden led the wordless ballad of dance, Rosemarri followed his thusly. “Spin.” He commanded.

Raising their interlocked hands above their head, he watched as she obliged. He studied her. Raven hair, talasite eyes and soft features. It seemed little had changed in his absence. “Alanden...” She’d chorus out at the completion of the spin as they resumed their routine.

The man’s mouth opened to answer. No words came out. No sound. Nothing. “Alanden...” She said again.

What was going on? Lack of words turned to shortness of breath and he felt his throat tighten. “Alanden...” She spoke again, although this time her voice distorted to add a much deeper tone.

A searing pain shot through his chest and his ribs felt as if they were about to concave within him. “Alanden...” It was Rosemarri’s face but no longer her voice. It was a male’s voice. Frantic and familiar.

“Alanden!”

The scent of rotted flesh and death assaulted his senses as Alanden’s eyes snapped open. The world came to be once more and terrified screams of those succumbing to the sea of undead crashed against his ears like a symphony of applause. What was going on? The hissing of steel being drawn and shouts of confusion chorused throughout the tavern as battle commenced. He still couldn’t breath and vision was blurred. Ribs threatened to shatter and break under the pressure of whatever bore down on them - the bones moments away from splintering into pieces.

Blinking away the daze, his eyes locked with cold, black lifeless orbs. The thing snarled down at him with a a mixture of gnashing teeth and frothing saliva that splattered across his face each time the ghoul’s jaw opened and shut in a series of terrifying screeches. Alanden’s mouth opened to scream out but was only met with a jolt of agony through his upper half. The creature had stepped quite firmly on his chest and was crushing him. Alanden flailed ferociously - but what little life he had left offered no strength as his blows landed harmlessly against the ghoul’s leg. They did little more than strip bits of blackened flesh away from bone as the creature merely reinforced its stance upon him.

Looking to his right he saw a sword of a fallen guard upon the ground beside him. In a fleeting attempt he stretched out his arm as far as it could go - fingertips brushing just barely against the pommel. It was centimeters out of reach and the ghoul had him pinned so permanently there was no way for him to wiggle free. Vision became narrowed once more and stars spackled the scene before him. Tables had been overturned by the patrons in a desperate effort to establish some sort of hasty defense within Lion’s Pride Inn. It had failed, obviously, as all those within now found themselves fending for their lives against the monsters that sought after it. Was this how he was to die? Beneath the rotted foot of death? How fitting.

Then, in a flash, breath returned to his throat like a vacuum. The pressure removed itself entirely from his front and the ghoul collapsed onto the ground beside him. A wooden shaft protruded from its skull. As vision returned he snapped his neck to the left, only to see Dawkson halfway up the stairwell that led to the second floor - bow still up and aimed. “Alanden!” He reached back into his quiver to knock another arrow and let it loose. “Upstairs! Let’s go!”

Alanden offered no rebuttal as he scrambled to his feet. It was sheer chaos around him. Ghouls fell upon the patrons in droves as the living fought desperately to remain as they were. A thin line of defenders had formed in a last ditch attempt to push back the snarling horde but were quickly overrun. Most went down screaming as flesh was ripped and torn from limb. Little to none suffered a painless death. Alanden snatched the discarded sword from the ground just in time for one of the mindless undead to test its mettle against the man. A putrid claw swung against him and he leaned back, barely dodging the severing of jugular from throat. In counter, the blade was swiftly brought in an upwards arc and the ghoul collapsed to the ground with a guttural howl.

He turned and sprinted towards the stairwell just as another of Dawkson’s arrows whistled by him. He felt the gust of wind caused by it brush against his ear. Too Close. “What’s going on?!” He shouted as he reached the foot of the wooden stairs. 

The Huntsman had already snatched yet another arrow and let it loose before pivoting on a heel and moving up. “I don’t know! They came out of nowhere! Come on!”

Alanden followed. Renewed vigor swelled through the man as adrenaline overtook his senses. Dawkson ducked into the first open door he found and Alanden was shortly behind him, slamming the door and smashing his back against it. “Dawkson! Give me something to brace!”

Pure chaos. Even the screams of death and battle echoed into the room from outside. Clashing of weapons. Shouting of orders. Horns of battle. Anything to be done to muster a defense. Dawkson leapt over an opened trunk in the middle of the room half stuffed with clothes spilling out of it, the owner obviously abandoning their wardrobe in favor for their life. Grabbing the chair near the window he sent it skittering across the ground towards Alanden before tearing open dresser drawers and wardrobes feverishly. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Alanden took the chair and wrenched it beneath the doorknob before stepping back. The undead had yet to make it past the thin line of remaining humans and up the stairs. “We’ve got to rally a defense!” He countered, moving at a run towards the open window of the room.

Dawkson grabbed the mattress of the single bed in the room and flung it aside. “Don’t be an idiot.” He snapped, placing both hands on the edge of the bedframe and dragging it across the floor to reinforce the chair at the door. “Those things are killing everyone.” 

Alanden’s face paled as he leaned out the window. The paved streets of Goldshire were panicked. Ghouls feasted on the fallen as others sprinted after those attempting to flee towards Stormwind. Some looked to have made it, disappearing within the line of trees on the outskirts of town. He watched with a grimace as the ghouls followed them. This was bad. Very bad. Bodies of guards lay strewn about. They had not lasted long. Nobody was. “Stormwind must be warned.”

After positioning the frame in front of the door he spun towards Alanden. His lone eye flared open. “Are you an idiot?” He reached beside to procure his bow he had leaned up against the wall in his haste to further blockade the only door leading into the room. “Look where those people are running. They’re bringing whatever this is *to* Stormwind.” Slinging the bow on his back, he’d join his comrade at the window - looking elsewhere. “No. We need to head west. Lose whatever these things are in the mines of Westfall. We can lay low until the king’s men sort this out.”

Alanden turned to face him, a scowl evident upon his features. “We will not abandon these people.” 

Dawkson fixed with with a withering stare before spitting - a steady stream of tobacco juice splattering against Alanden’s boots. “Careful, Damoux,” He jerked a thumb towards the door. “Or you’ll be joining all those folks downstairs.”

Alanden’s gaze fell outside the window again. “We’ll jump on three.”

“I’m not jumping.”

“One...” Alanden began, steadying his foot upon the window frame. The fall was far but not far enough to break bone. “...Two.” The sword in his hand was tossed out onto the street. The last thing he needed was to impale himself on the landing. 

“I’m not doing it, Damoux. I’m not jumping.” Even as Dawkson protested, his foot rose to rest upon the polished wooden frame beside his partner. 

“Three!” 

The two jumped. 

[indiavolowetrust]

THE LOCKED-ROOM MURDER OF MR. DIAVOLO: Choose Your Own Adventure

Guidelines

The story will be updated in approx 1000 word segments on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with two to three choices at the bottom in [this format.]

Depending on the feedback – comments, DMs, reblogs, etc. – I will write the next portion of the story based on the choice. You will have until 6 p.m. Central Daylight Time of the following days to make your choice: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Available here on AO3.

If the MC dies, the player (you) will be allowed to rewind back to the previous choice. Perhaps there are even secret choices.

Previous part here. Or start from the beginning.

Portrait of a Young Man: Part Four

[Of course! Rudeness would be out of place, and it is free of charge.]

It is a moment before you decide, your eyes flickering between her impenetrable gaze and her rather odd appearance -- and then you are reaching your own hand towards hers, hesitant. Perhaps a little too hesitant. The crimson-clad woman snaps up your hand with her own in the blink of an eye, catching you off guard, and you very nearly startle off your seat. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. The woman flashes you a quick, toothy smile before bringing your palm towards her face, somehow inspecting the skin through the smoked glass. Given the thickness of the spectacles -- you cannot even catch the shape or color of her eyes as she bends over -- it is a wonder that she can see through them at all.

“Marvelous decision, my child!” she says in a sing-song tone. For the first time, you notice that she is wearing gloves. They match the ostentatious crimson of her gown. “Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous. I’ll make sure you won’t regret it.”

“Thank you, but is there any particular --”

A chilling sensation on the surface of your skin forces you to pause mid-sentence. It is as if an icicle has struck it. As if the skin there has suddenly felt the unpleasant sensation of frostbite. Your eyes flicker instinctively to what your body tells you is a wounded area, searching the woman’s hands for some hidden needle or whatnot -- but your search proves unfruitful. The hand that holds yours is gloved completely. The finger that traces it is not.

The woman hums. “Quite the bright little one, weren’t you?” she remarks, an icy finger trailing the inner flesh of your palm. You do your best not to shiver. “Astounding in all sorts of academic fields and everything you put -- oh! Perhaps that is not so, anymore. But that doesn’t matter much now, does it? Surely there are better ways for you to succeed in life.”

You clench your teeth at the sensation, which only seems to worsen by the moment. “Is there anything interesting in my near future, then? Anything I should be wary of?”

“Oh, come now, I’m a fortune teller, not a seer!” The woman laughs. It is brisk and shrill. “Reading palms only gives you a hint of the future, not the entirety of its tale. And wouldn’t it be so much less fun if you knew everything that was to happen?”

“No.”

“Ah, well, there’s nothing I can do about that negative attitude.” Her finger releases your flesh for a moment, granting it temporary relief, but in less than a moment it meets the surface of your palm again. It traces icy trails elsewhere, now following some line that must pass between your forefinger and thumb. “You’ve had a very great many things that have happened to you in life,” she continues. “Not all of them are good, but not all of them are bad, either. Suppose it’s just the way you look at it. Tell me, child, what was it you decided to travel for again? A family friend? Some business?”

“I’m currently on the way to --” she presses into the flesh, and you hiss, “-- the northern mountains for some business.”

“Business?” Her smoked spectacles slip down her nose. You catch the golden, slitted eyes beneath, nearly gasping at the sight. Her grip is tight on your hand. “Or is it revenge?”

You hold her gaze for a long moment. Her golden eyes -- they are wrong, wrong, wrong -- bore into yours. Her lips part once more to reveal an impressive set of needle-like teeth, each intermeshing with the other perfectly, and she smiles quite broadly at you. Her forked tongue slips out from between her teeth, tasting the air. Tasting you.

You should’ve known. You should’ve known all along. Beneath the lavender water, the smoked glass, the gloves -- this woman is a devil.

Her grip releases just slightly on your own hand, the muscles relaxing, and you take the opportunity to snatch your hand back. You cradle it in the other, attempting to massage feeling back into it. The crimson-clad devil before you only laughs in delight, apparently amused at the fear that has surely made itself apparent on your features. A moment, and the she-devil slips the glove back onto her hand. She reaches for the glass and taps the rim with her long claws, her grin only growing wider and wider.

“You look so lovely when you’re frightened, you know,” says the devil. “And that fear, that anger -- how wonderfully tempting you are. I’ve half a mind to devour you at this moment!”

You glare at her. “I’m not afraid.”

“Oh, of course you aren’t. They never are until the last moment.” The she-devil waves her hand in dismissal. “But you should know that it’s a sin to lie.”

“Those are lofty words, coming from you.”

The devil only hums in response. Another moment, and then she begins to stand, tucking away the spectacles of smoked glass into some breast pocket. Evidently there is little need to disguise herself at the moment. You watch as she makes her way towards the door of the cabin.

She turns to give you one last smile. “Consider it a lesson!” she sings. “A very important one, if you know what you’re getting into. The fire will consume you before the brimstone, my child. Remember that.”

And then she is gone. There is only the scent of sulfur in the air, the mask of lavender water and perfume quickly disappearing from the cramped space.

The same man who had served you lunch arrives not long after, prepared to take away your dishes. You look hastily in the direction of where the she-devil had left her wine glass after you hand him your own dishes, fully expecting to need to reach over the table. By the time you look, however, it is gone.

* * *

The rest of the trip passes rather uneventfully. It is a lengthy, boring journey by train that is seceded by an equally boring journey by automobile. It appears that Mr. Diavolo only hires the most tightlipped drivers.

You find yourself mulling over the she-devil during the course of the journey, your memories flickering to and fro. The smell of sulfur, just hidden by lavender water. The golden, slitted eyes, hidden skillfully by the smoked glass. The forked tongue. The needle-teeth. You were so sure that she had left her wine glass, that she had gripped your skin hard enough to bruise -- and yet there had been no trace of her. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air.

A feat that may very well be possible for a devil, for all you know. Perhaps you are not going mad. Perhaps you had not imagined her at all, and the she-devil had simply decided to play a nasty trick on you.

It is a very long journey in the automobile.

The driver rouses you after some time -- you are not exactly how long it has been, considering how night appears to have long fallen -- and you scramble out of the car as quickly as you can, nearly falling over your cane. The driver merely grunts when you ask him a question, hauling your suitcase from the back of the automobile. There is a rather harsh glance at your complexion. You fix him with a both determined and vexed stare when he finally places your bag by your feet, not bothering to take it up the stairs for you. He sighs.

“Be back in about six days,” the driver says gruffly. “Provided that the weather’s good and all, o’ course. You’re one of the first ones here, so don’t expect some grand greeting when you walk in.”

The door of the automobile slams shut with an air of finality before you can even ask anything else, and then the automobile goes tottering down the mountain road.

Before you is the private estate of Mr. Diavolo, its form looming before you like some great beast. Its tall spires are jagged teeth, its windows the eyes through which its occupants watch you from within. The eccentric, twisting shape can be attributed to no one else but a demon, for surely the architects of Hell must have odd tastes, and its stained glass shines with an almost unnaturally saturated hue. And then there is the great, crimson door before you, its knocker a polished bronze lion.

Unfortunately, there are several stairs before you. Given that the driver was nowhere near hospitable enough to carry them for you, you’ll have to manage them with both your cane and suitcase in hand. You begin to --

The great doors fly open. You nearly fall face first into the stone, but you turn just quickly enough to avoid smashing your chin completely against it. Still, your body meets the ground rather painfully.

“Look, another one’s here!” calls out a voice from the doorway. You squint to see the silhouette of a slender, rather short figure, its arm waving frantically. “Come quick, come quick!”

“It is nearly midnight, Asmodeus,” grumbles another. This one seems to originate from just out of sight, and it is only moments before I hear the sound of footsteps. “Surely this can wait until --”

“Absolutely not,” argues the first voice. “And look, this one’s a darling!”

“That darling is on the ground.”

“Oh. Oh my.”

It takes another second for your vision to clear. When it does you see two men: one a petite, nearly androgynous beauty, the other a regal and dark-haired. The petite one strides up to you with several quick bounds and sticks his hand out to you, offering you an amiable smile. You stare at him for a moment -- taking in the perfectly coiffed hair, the hint of foundation, the strange air of nobility about him -- and then you place your hand in his proffered one. He pulls you back to standing with ease.

“Are you alright?” asks the petite man. “You seem to have taken a nasty spill there.”

“I suppose I am now, Sir …” you trail off, not quite sure what to call him.

The petite man regards you with some confusion for a moment, waiting for you to finish, and then catches your meaning. “Oh, there’s no need to call me that,” says the man, breaking into that disarming smile once more. “I’m not a blueblood like that one over here. My friends call me Asmo.”

What a strange name, you think. Who in their right mind would name their child that?

“Oh,” you manage. “Well, thank you for --”

The dark-haired one finally stands within a respectable distance, stepping forward. He sighs. “Don’t you think it’s a little too early to be flirting?”

The petite man cocks a brow. “Flirting? Who said I was flirting?”

“I did.” The dark-haired man scowls at Asmo, his irritation having fully surfaced. A lack of sleep, perhaps, given the hour. He ignores you. “Now, could we please just get her through the door?”

“Oh, you’re only jealous that I was the one to --”

“No, I’m simply --”

“-- since you simply couldn’t be bothered to --”

You’ll be damned if you let these two fools bicker before you the entire night. Whatever regality or nobility that you had thought surrounded these two men has long gone, lost in the wind of their fickle argument.

“Georgine!” you say a bit too loudly, demanding the attention of the two before you. They regard you at the same time, Asmo’s hand poised in half of a gesture. “My name is Georgine,” you say with your most arresting tone, attempting to halt whatever argument may continue. “I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t you think it’s time we headed in?”

Asmo hand withers slightly. The dark-haired man simply stares. Your gaze flickers between the both of them. You realize the awkwardness of the situation.

Finally, the dark-haired man decides to clear his throat. “Right,” he says. He turns towards Asmo. “Since you’re the only gentleman around here, I don’t suppose you’d have any misgivings about helping her to her room?”

And so he does. It is only after a moment or so that Asmo realizes your lack of a limb, his eyes casting once towards where your leg should be, and fetches your cane for you. The dark-haired one looks at you -- not quite avoiding the missing appendage, yet not quite staring openly either -- and then walks back inside. Asmo takes your hand gladly in his and follows suit. You step past the threshold.

The nostalgia is almost overwhelming.

Aside from the occasional figure or statue, the appearance of the entrance hall may as well have been ripped from the fabric of your memories. It is the very image of decadence: a massive chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting its light upon the brocade walls and a pair of open staircases. The walls boast an impressive collection of baroque paintings, each made with a different technique, and a rather sizable rug -- imported from the Orient, perhaps -- lies before you. The weight of your childhood comes crashing down onto you all at once, so shocking is the image. Your father had brought you here a fair amount of times during the golden years of his business empire to discuss matters of the soul trade.

Your eyes trace the carved banister. Asmo talks at length on one topic or another, bantering with the dark-haired man, but the sound is a distant, far off clamor. The world is muddled with the buzz of your thoughts, your conscience smothered by your memories. Your father had held you by the hand at the base of the stairs there. Some official or businessman had offered you a boiled sweet in exchange for running off and playing somewhere else. You had nearly crashed into the gilded statue in that corner. There used to be a chip in that archway here. Each reminiscence nearly devours you.

Then you catch the image of a sharp, dark pair of shoes. Your heart stops.

As does Asmo. It takes him only a moment to glance at the figure at the top of the railing. He waves. The dark-haired one offers a simple greeting.

“Georgine!” Mr. Diavolo stands at the balcony, all golden eyes and hellfire locks. He grins, his sharp, white teeth gleaming even in the dim light. “How wonderful of you to come! How was the journey?”

[Answer in kind. You are a guest here, after all. Despite your circumstances, you must follow social obligations.]

[Refuse to speak to him. How dare he speak to you in such a manner! This devil is no friend of yours.]

[Say something cutting in response. This demon deserves not your politeness.]

[thesunlovesmuses]

Running Away

Prompt: Dirt and leaves tangled in my hair as he pushed me into the wall. He pressed his hand over my mouth and whispered; “Hush or they’ll hear you.”

The brisk wind chilled my bones as I walked the beaten path carved into the forest by merchants and travellers before me. The golden leaves in their autumn hues danced in the wind like lovers at a ball, and only made me think more about the decision I had made only this morning. Had I been too hasty in my decision? Was it right to leave on my own journey now, or should I go running back to the tower. Should I wait one more season to explore the world? Even it it had only been a day since I left, I missed everyone so dearly. Azra, Izax, Luka. The only companion to keep me company on the road was Oliver. Sensing my indecision, the cat rubbed his face against my neck from his perch on my shoulder. He might not be a real cat, but for a familiar, he truly felt like a friend. Giving him a comforting scratch behind his ear, I pressed on, knowing in my heart of hearts that if I didn’t leave now, I would never leave the tower. And if I didn’t leave the tower, then I would never find out the truth I so longed to find.

“It’s probably just the cold making me rethink Oliver. I’m sure once we settle down for the night with a nice hot meal, this’ll be easier.” I conversed with Oliver, trying to get my mind off of the crushing silence of a lonely road. Luckily, only being a day on the road, I knew we had some nice provisions in hand to cook us a nice camp meal. But those won’t last forever. By the time they run out though, hopefully I’ll have arrived in Lorminster and can find some work to help buy more.

“So we’re a day from Serden Village and then five away form Lorminster. And according to Azra, they’ll be a cartographer in Serden so we can buy a proper map of the area. I hope it won’t cost too much. I sighed, feeling the coin pouch attached to my belt. Not feeling as hefty as I would like it to have been, despite all of my saving. But what else can I do but pray to Hendorr for good fortune. 

But just as I was lamenting my monetary issues, a loud rustling started from my right, far off, but it sounded like it was getting closer and closer, with no sign of slowing down.

“Oliver, poof out for a second, this might be trouble.” I asked, the cat giving a meow in good luck, and disappearing in a puff of black smoke. And just as I was about to pull out the spear form it’s holder, the bushes parted and a figure bolted out, slamming into me and sending us tumbling down the hillside the path was next to. Over and over we went, and all I could see were tufts of blond hair and coats catching in the wind as fell.

Eventually we slowly came to a stop, with the figure on top of me, panted as if he had ran for miles. Dirt and leaves tangled in my hair as he pushed off of the floor. He pressed his hand over my mouth and whispered; “Hush or they’ll hear you.”

“Mmmppphh!” I screamed, but to no real effect. He looked around the forest to see if anything heard us. After a moment, he sighed and turned back to me.

“Ok. If I move my hand from your mouth, promise you won’t scream.”

I was hoping that the intense glare I was giving him would tell this guy exactly how I feel about him telling me what do after tackling me to the ground out of nowhere. But he was either very dense, or thought I wasn’t going to be much of a challenge if I did decide to fight back. Because after a moment, he lifted his hand off of my face.

“See, it’s going to be o-”

All it took was a second for his guard to be down. For in an instant, I twisted our position so he was on his back. Noting he had a knife strapped to his leg, I quickly unsheathed it and held it to his throat.

“Start talking. Who are you and why the hell are you following me?” I whispered back. As much as I wanted to shout at him for his actions, his asking me to be quiet made me think that maybe he knew something about these forests that I didn’t. 

“Well thanks for keeping your voice down at least, but if we are going to talk, maybe we could, oh I don’t know, move behind a tree so that we don’t get spotted!?!”

“Spotted by who?”

“The guards of course! They’re always prowling around here, looking for people like us!”

“What do you mean people like us?”

“Outsiders, travellers, people who might not necessarily agree with the ways that the town is run. Now can we please move befor-”

A rustle from the bushes sent both of our heads looking in the direction it came from. Dragging him quickly to his feet, we rushed to hide behind a big oak tree on the edge of the clearing. Just as we did, two people in shining silver armour came out and looked around the area. Seeing that the stranger was about to try and put his hand over my mouth again, I quickly crouched and looked around the edge of the trunk to try and eavesdrop on them.

“He has to be around here somewhere.”

“I told you Markus, you were seeing things.”

“And I told you, I saw him spying on us! Probably trying to get intel for those rebel friends of his.” 

“Tch. Can’t believe I’m wasting the evening here and not back at the barracks. At least there it was warm.” The taller guard moaned, kicking a stray rock at the tree we were hiding behind. This alone made the blonde behind me tense up in fear. Well, at least I know he’s been putting on a front all this time.

“Stop complaining and help me look. The quicker we find him, the quicker we can be done with this whole business anyway” The shorter guard, presumably Markus, replied in a tone that just begged for the taller guard to fight him on this. With a glance back at what must have been the direction of the barracks he mentioned, the other guard joined Markus and searched the bushes opposite of where we are. 

Giving the stranger back his knife and signalling that maybe now would be a good time to get out of here, we started to quietly tip toe deeper into the forest, avoiding any twigs and leaves that looked like they would make a lot of noise. As soon as it looked like we were in the clear, we started to sprint away from the clearing, still being mindful of where we were stepping in case we made unnecessary noise.

“So, were they your friends or what?” I asked, trying to get the full picture of what was going on around these parts.

“Hah! Unlikely! I’d rather be friends with the bears around here than them. And hey, I’m really am sorry about pushing you to the ground like that. I panicked since you were making a lot of noise.”

“As long as I don’t get in trouble for just being near you, I think we’re good..erm?”

“Lucien. Lucien Ingleton.”

“Katiana. Why would the guards want you though? You don’t look like a thief?” I mused, looking at the way he was dressed. Sure, the clothes were muddy from travel, but they were by no means clothes any old traveller would wear. Slacks like a nobleman would wear, boots that look like they were polished only this morning, and was that some kind of military coat?

“No… at least not yet. But honestly, the way we’re going, we might have to resort to that soon.”

“We?”

“Oh… Sorry, I forget you don’t know the area and it’s troubles.” Lucien mused, skidding to a stop, coming to the conclusion that we were far enough away that we could stop running.

“Me and my friends… we’re in a bit of a tight situation. But I’m not sure it’s best to tell you. After all, you’re just passing through. Our troubles shouldn’t be your own.”

“But what if I can help? Besides, it sounds like I’m going to have issues passing through Serden Village if it’s true what you say about not trusting outsiders. Maybe a heads up on the situation would help?”

“True, I’d hate for an innocent traveller to be tangled up in our mess. By the gods I wish they’d let us resolve this civilly, instead of having to resort to this.” He mused, losing himself in thought for a moment as I looked around the area. Nothing but oak trees and undergrowth all around. And no way of knowing where the road was. Getting anxious that I might have to find the road on my own, but it seems to have read on my face. Because Lucien smiled a sad smile that somehow suited his face, and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“While I don’t know how much information is too much information, rest assured that I will get you back onto the main road first thing in the morning. But I think we’re still much too close to the village border for comfort. If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a river to the east where a campsite should be. Well, I say campsite, it’ll be nothing more than a few logs and an empty fire pit at this point i’m sure. But if you wouldn’t mind setting up camp there, I can tell you more about… our situation.” He offered, scratching his scalp as he mentioned the humble offering of a campsite, as if it wouldn’t be enough.

“Ok, but only if you tell me the jist of it now. As much as I want to trust you, you did just tackle me out of nowhere, so I want to know what I’m about to walk into. For my own safety.”

“Oh… of course. It’s only fair…” He trailed off, walking a few paces away from me. And for a second, I was worried that he was just going to walk away and leave me here. But after taking a closer look at the way he carried himself and the way he was clenching and unclenching his hands, it almost looked like he was steeling himself up to say what he needed to say. But just as I was about to comfort him, he nodded his head, and walked back to me, with a sadness and fury in his eyes that made me think of a fire on a raining day.

“Serden Village, my home, has been taken over by a tyrant. And there’s a rebellion coming.”

[photochoco]

Out in the Field (pt. 1)

Black Cauldron’s newest recruit learns the ropes. She hopes she isn’t in over her head!

Wisteria had always loved sleeping late. In a world where the night was eternal, and the city only had colored lights to indicate the time, it was easy to lose track. She often would stay up until the deep purples of “night” would slowly gradient into the bright yellows of “daytime”. People more or less adhered to the idea that yellow was for doing things and being awake, and purple was for sleeping. Though Wisty had found that the city came alive during the purple hours in a way it didn’t when the lights were yellow. She herself worked better during purple hours. 

But now, they looked more or less the same. Maybe the purples were a little darker, but Wisty didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them until she’d looked out her window. Monochrome, just like the inside of her colorful room. Had she known this would happen, she would’ve appreciated it all a lot more. She was glad the BC had told her to come in for her orientation when she felt ready. She had curled up on her bed and sobbed her guts out for what felt like hours. It hurt, not seeing any color. Sure, she could still see all the colors in her mind’s eye, but what was the point if she couldn’t see them with her real ones? Her real ones, which were now gaping, black voids. They didn’t even reflect light very much, which was probably the weirdest part. 

For the most part Wisty had stayed cooped up in her apartment, trying to figure out what to do with her artist career. She’d made her way to the BC a couple times to meet with Harvey, but most of her time was spent fighting off a creeping emptiness.

She put on her headphones, pulled out a few locks of hair on each side and looked herself over in the mirror. Perfect, coordinated, adorable. She adjusted her hood and took a deep breath. She forced herself to keep looking when all she wanted to do was shut her eyes.

You are okay.

In front of her apartment complex she wrestled on her roller blades, selected some music, and was off. The breeze as she skated along eased her mind some, and her favorite tunes in her ears eased it more.

She wondered if Harvey had finished designing it yet.

---

The bustling of activity in the cafe area of the Black Cauldron was the same as always, Cadets walking around and chatting with each other. Everyone stopped though, at the sound of something banging into the front door. A heartbeat later, Wisty practically rolled through the threshold, a pair of roller blades in her hand. “Sorry sorry! I didn’t mean to hit the door!”

“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” Bianca giggled, giving a wave. “You ready for your first day?” “As ready as I’ll ever be!” Wisty said, raising her arms in a stretch. “I hope I don’t cause too much trouble for y’all.”

A tall mage in a bunny mask rounded the corner, a giant calligraphy pen in his hands.

“Ah, perfect. I just finished the final adjustments to your weapon. Here.” Harvey held it out with both hands. Its tip gleamed of newly polished brass. Its long body was black and smooth as Wisty took it in her hands. It was-

“It’s perfect!” she nearly squealed in her excitement. Harvey gave a satisfied nod. “Aaaand here are your ink canisters. I took the liberty of filling them up for you already. And here are the colors in powder form, just add water. Once you run out I can make more for you. And the colors are in the order you requested so you can easily pick them without seeing the hue. There should be enough ink to last you a whole fight, but don’t y’know, go painting the entire city.”

Wisty hugged her pen and ink pack tightly to her chest like a child being gifted a new toy. “I love it I love it I love it!!” she exclaimed, hopping up and down.

Harvey’s bunny mask was stuck in a perpetual grin, but Wisty could glean from his body language that he was quite pleased with his handiwork. “You’ll get a chance to try ‘em out today during your sparring.” “My what?” “Sparring!” Bianca appeared out of nowhere and slung an arm around Wisty’s neck. “You said you don’t have a whole lot of fighting experience yeah? Plus like Harvey said, you’ll totally wanna try out your weapon before heading out there, see whatcha can do!” “Okay…” Wisty said slowly. “But who am I gonna be sparring?” It was then she was lifted bodily off the ground by an enormous hand, which wrapped around her middle as easily as if she were a doll. 

“That would be me, cupcake. You should get a feel for what it’ll be like fighting powerful enemies with a lot of physical strength.” “As ya probably know, ghouls are usually witch cronies, doin’ their dirty work. Not the smartest, but really damn strong,” Bianca added. 

“...Did you just call Pinprick stupid? That’s not very nice!” “Oh no, cupcake, she is mostly right. Being turned into a ghoul scrambled my brains, hehehe,” Pinprick replied with a wide smile. Wisty paused to consider this. “...Still! Be nicer to yourself! I’m fairly sure you’re not stupid.”

“My oh my, what a sweet cupcake you are! But no time for chatter, we must be off to the sparring spot!” 

“Oh cool!” Wisty looked down to be put down. “Where is it?” “Near the outskirts of the city,” Pinprick replied as he squeezed through the small doorframe. “Oh, are we gonna walk?” 

“Nope!” Bianca said, walking up behind them and jumping onto Pinprick’s other arm, balancing herself against his shoulder. “Rooftop hopping is much faster. Observe!” Pinprick bent his legs.

“Wha aaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--”

---

“Here we are!” Pinprick chirped, letting go of Wisty. “Go stand over there, and we can get started. Oh before you do though…” He held his hand out to Bianca, who placed something in his palm. He then tossed it to Wisty, who caught it. 

“All Cadets carry these bracelets. They’re a magic disrupter, placing them on witches or ghouls disrupts their flow of magic to incapacitate them. But of course, they don’t always do the job, so you all need to know how to fight,” he explained. “That one is just a dummy bracelet of course, completely harmless.” “How does it work?” Wisty asked, looking at the bracelet curiously. “Is it like a taser in bracelet form?”

“Correct! Today, you’re gonna try to get that bracelet on me. Get that bracelet on, and we can call it a day. Unless you get it on real quick though!” Pinprick snickered.

“Oh, you won’t need to worry about that…” Wisty mumbled.

“Chin up, cupcake, back straight! Cuz here I come.”

“Ok so what--” Her words were cut off as Pinprick’s arm shot towards her at an alarming speed.  “ShiT!!” Wisty barely had time to dodge out of the way, one of Pinprick’s fingers clipping her cheek. 

Geezus, he’s fast!! She hopped backwards, trying to gain some distance between them. He lunged towards her again, arm outstretched to grab her. Gripping her pen, Wisty rammed it against his arm, knocking it off course. She barely had time to feel even an inkling of triumph before she was slammed into the ground and pinned there by his other hand. “Not a bad start, cupcake. But you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Pinprick crooned. “HhHhhhffffiiiihhhhhhhhne,” Wisty wheezed. “Le’go please my lungs hhhhh-”

Pinprick let her go and she stood up, wincing. Dude could pack a punch. “Ready? Again.” He lunged.

She dodged and slid underneath him, bashing the end of her pen into where she thought the back of his knee was. She must’ve struck true; the giant ghoul kneeled with a small grunt. Wisty yelped in surprise as his entire upper half pivoted to face her. “Surprise!” Wisty barely managed to bend out of the way of his swipe. Noticing the ridges on his arm, she grabbed one and swung herself up onto his shoulders. Pinprick bucked, trying to throw her off. She impulsively grabbed the first thing she could, his hair. “Sorry sorry sorry!” she yelped as she reached for the bracelet.

Her apology was answered by Pinprick grabbing her ankle and yanking her off. Upside-down, she could see Bianca ambling up to the scene, a burger in her hand.

“Howzit goin’?” she asked. “Pinprick is killing the shit out of me, so I’ve come to the conclusion that I will absolutely die if I go fight anything,” Wisty grumbled as she dangled from Pinprick’s hand. He snickered in response. “Hey, don’t feel too bad, this is only a baseline! Imagine how good you’ll be after me ‘n Nate ‘n Dex have taught ya!” Bianca said.

“Hopefully it’ll be a less shameful display than this,” Wisty replied as Pinprick idly swung her from side to side like a pendulum.

“Ready whenever you are, love,” he grinned widely.

“I yield.” Wisty’s legs were far past beginning to wobble. Now she could hardly keep herself upright. Pinprick was not only stupidly fast, but stupidly powerful. He absorbed all of her attacks like they were nothing and dished out brutal counters one after the other. Wisty had been reduced to blocking and dodging. At least she could safely say she was better at that now.

Pinprick raised his hands again in preparation, grinning still. “We’re only getting started, love!”

“What even determines if I’ve won anymore?!” “Simple! Immobilize me and get the bracelet on, and we can call it a day.” “Okay.” “With me at least!” “OH SCREW OOOOOOFF WITH THAT!! I’LL FRIGGIN DIE IF I FIGHT ANYONE ELSE!”

“What’s happening?” Bianca turned and gave a nod of greeting to Dex, who had strolled up to the scene and was now watching with interest.

“The newbie is getting broken in,” she said, cringing as Pinprick sent Wisty flying again. “I think she’s doing...okay…” Dex smirked. “Sure doesn’t look like it, hehe.” “Hey, go easy on her dude, she just started today! I’ve been watching the whole time, I can tell you she’s gotten a lot better already. Aw geez,” Bianca winced as Pinprick threw a punch that caught Wisty on her right cheek, resulting in her swearing loudly. “Remember your safe word!” Dex shouted to her. “My WHAT? PINPRICK YOU CHEATER, YOU NEVER TOLD ME ABOUT THAT!!” The ghoul only cackled in response. “You never asked about it, cupcake!” “OF COURSE I DIDN’T, I’M NEW HERE! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TELL ME!” Wisty screeched.

As Pinprick rushed her again, she didn’t wait. This time she lurched to meet him, jumping in the air and landing an impressive high kick on Pinprick’s chin. “Close!!” Dex shouted. “Keep trying--oof, that looked like it hurt.” 

Pinprick had slugged Wisty full force in the torso, and the girl skidded several yards away and hit some nearby boxes, sending dust everywhere. “I’ll go get the nurse bed ready,” Bianca sighed, turning to head back to the Black Cauldron.

Was Pinprick just that strong? Or did she just suck that bad? Wisty coughed on the clouds of dust filling the air. Fine. Fine.

Fine.

She reached behind herself to her ink cartridges. One, two, perfect.

“Yo Pinprick! Did you kill her, man?!” Dex called to his comrade. “Ahoho, I certainly hope not, we were having so much fun!” Before he could say anything more, though, a thin jet of orange ink fired from the dust cloud. The instant it made contact with the ground, it triggered a huge explosion. “HOLY FUCK!!!” Dex hollered as Pinprick skidded backwards, blinking in surprise.

“Oho, it seems the newbie has a few tricks up her sleeve! Good, good!” he laughed. The dust was settling, and now he could see Wisty standing with her back nearly against the brick wall. Just...standing there. “Oh come now love, you can’t be that tired already! You’re leaving yourself...wide! Open!” Pinprick sprinted forward and thrust his left arm out. Wisty swiftly jumped to the side, his right, and he attempted to grab her again, this time with his right hand. She ducked again, resulting in both Pinprick's hands smashing into the wall, sending pieces of brick flying. Wisty took aim with her pen, and fired. Black ink streamed from the tip and coated Pinprick’s hands. His first instinct was to tug--

And they didn’t budge. The ink was like tar.

“What in the--” his words were cut off as Wisty grabbed his arms, flipped herself up onto his shoulders and, using him as her own personal launching pad, leapt up into the air. She shoved another cartridge into her pen and aimed. “Gotcha.” Orange ink streamed. Pinprick was caught in a massive explosion. Dex shielded his face as the heat wave slammed into him. 

“Jeezus God, what the hell did Harvey put in those inks??” he muttered to himself.

As the smoke cleared, he could see Pinprick, still standing, his hands free from the black ink, but looking significantly more banged up. 

“Yeowzers,” Dex trotted up next to the ghoul to get a closer look at the damage. “That was pretty awesome. Might cause some property damage, though.” “But really, when don’t we cause just a little property damage?” Pinprick pointed out, dusting himself off. 

“Wait...where’d Wisteria go?” 

“Hmm...did she get blown away from the explosion…?” Pinprick mused. “She was right--”

His entire body was knocked to the ground as Wisty dropped down from above onto him. Dex barely managed to jump out of the way with a squawk. 

“You little--” Pinprick hissed, but the girl had a firm grip as she snapped the bracelet around his neck. 

“Friggin...got it...Geezus…” she huffed.

She slid off Pinprick as he straightened himself up, looking very pleased.

“Well well well, color me surprised, cupcake! You were quite clever to coax me into getting my hands stuck to the wall. So, orange ink makes explosions, hmm?”

Wisty twirled a lock of her hair looking sheepish, but very happy with herself. “Hehehe, to be honest, while designing my weapon and the ink color effects, I’d asked Harvey which effects each of you guys were resistant to or weak against. Y’know, in case I lend you a hand out in the field. I want to make sure I don’t accidentally hurt one of you.”

Dex let out a whistle. “Damn, you might even give witches a run for their money with smarts like that. But for now, howsabout we get you back to BC? You look like you’re gonna collapse. Your cheek ain’t lookin so good either.” Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, throbbing aches began to make themselves known all over Wisty’s body. Her right cheek really, really hurt, and she gingerly pressed her fingers against it, wincing as the swollen flesh protested.

“Do forgive me for goin’ so hard on you cupcake. Needed to make sure you were prepared; out there, it could be even more dangerous.” Pinprick reached out and ruffled Wisty’s hair, wiggling her whole head back and forth.

“You two got pretty banged up. How about we head back to BC to getcha patched up?” Dex jerked his thumb back to his bike, which was parked nearby. 

“See ya back at BC, cupcake. And you too, Dex,” Pinprick wiggled his fingers in farewell.

“Awwwww C’mon Pin, aren’t I a cupcake too?” Dex asked, his puppy-dog voice belied by the shit-eating grin on his face.

“Absolutely not! Go on now, I’ll see you two back there!” With a mighty leap, Pinprick was off, hopping from roof to roof with ease. Within no time at all he was out of sight. Wisty slumped. “Urgh, I barely hurt him at all. Look at him doin’ parkour shit while I can barely stand--” Right on cue, her legs buckled. She was saved by Dex, who swooped down and grabbed her under the arms.  “Tracy will get you all fixed in no time. Pinprick only went so hard on you because he felt you had potential you were holding back. His method of bringing it out is to hit as hard as he can, hehe. You seem promising, rookie. I’ll have to be extra careful when we fight.” “You use GUNS.” “In the field! Sparring I use blanks. And my lithe body.” Wisty burst out laughing as Dex helped her to the bike. “You guys are merciless! I don’t wanna do anything until I’m not hurting everywhere.” 

“Nothin’ a lil magic n’ a hot bath can’t fix. Aight, get on the back,” Dex said, turning the key in the ignition. “DeeDee likes to go fast, so you might wanna hold on.”

“Okay...uh where…” Wisty hesitantly gripped Dex’s shoulders. 

“Here we go!” The bike flared to life and Dex squeezed the handle.

The inertia as they took off was unexpected and Wisty had to momentarily throw her arms around Dex’s middle to keep from tumbling off the back. But soon enough her hands were back to his shoulders as they drove along, buildings and power lines passing by in a blur.

It was exhilarating. 

“Not too fast for ya, newbie?” “It’s awesome! I love going fast!” “Heh, hang on then!”

Wisty closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, lost in the music from her headphones and the feeling of the wind as they drove along. This was giving her an idea for… She opened her eyes. Ah. Right. What she would’ve given to see what this all looked like in color. The blurred buildings. The bright moon. Dex’s scarf as it fluttered and danced behind them. He had told her it was red, but what shade of red? What shade were her inks? What if she forgot the colors she knew? Her mouth twisted as tears again stung her eyes. Not that any would fall, the wind was drying them up. 

“Hey just so ya know, you might wanna actually hang on to my middle or else you’ll fall off!” Dex called over his shoulder.

“What?” Wisty shouted back right before they went over a bump. She yelped and clung to Dex again. He snorted.

“Soooooo, have you thought about partnering up with anyone?” he asked her. “Uh...no, not really.” “Would you like to? Newbies usually tend to, though I don’t think Alphus ever did, heh.” “I dunno. I mean, I...” The truth was, she’d loved to partner up with someone. Maybe then she could stop that cycle of loneliness before it even started. 

But… “--It’d be nice to have someone show me the ropes!” 

What kind of person just went around telling others how they struggled with loneliness and just wanted to be included? It wasn’t their problem. It was hers, and she didn’t need to be included just so as to not be rude. Even if it hurt, a lot. Still… Please let this be different. Don’t let this be a repeat of every time I’ve tried to join a group. 

Her grip tightened. If Dex noticed, he didn’t say anything as he rounded a corner hard, tires screeching. 

“Y’know, you should really wear a helmet, especially driving like this!” “Naaahhhh, I’m too cool for one!” “No one is too cool for head safety, my dude.”

“This hair is!”

He weaved easily in and through the crowd. Wisty could see people staring as they flew by. What a strange pair they must look, a boy with glowing white eyes and a girl with black voids for hers. If they could even see them. “...Hehehe.” 

Wisty stood up suddenly, her arms spread wide. “Whooooooo!!!” “WISTERIA SIT DOWN! You’re gonna fall off!”

“My balance is really good!” 

Luckily for her, and Dex’s blood pressure, the Black Cauldron was within sight now. He pulled into the corner and Wisty hopped off as he turned his bike off. “That was awesome! Can we do it again sometime?” she asked excitedly.

Dex twirled the keys around his index finger. “Sure! If you can beat me when we spar.” “Oh--that is so unfair!! I can’t do that, change your conditions you meanie!” 

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart!” Dex smirked. 

“The only thing I’m taking is a nap, cuz--” Wisty’s legs gave out from under her. “Everything is hurting right now.”

“Let’s get you to Tracy, rookie.”

--- ---

And then Wisty slept for 44 years, content that her character arc was beginning. The lil spinoff series continues! What awaits the newbie? Probably a coupla witches and sprayin’ ink everywhere.

[mapsofthelost]

BENEATH

When you spend your life wading through human waste and destroying giant monsters made of baby wipes and chicken shop fat, you would not be surprised by much. But there's a sewerage worker in west London who saw something that changed his world. One night, the worse for drink, he shared his story in a Kilburn pub and I record it for you here as a near verbatim entry to the Maps of the Lost - although the precise directions are uncertain, as I will admit to some large measure of drink being taken.

"I'd been tasked with checking some damage reported in an obscure off-branch of the Kilburn to Wick Lane mid-level that runs into the Northern Outflow Sewer. One of the main passages was getting reports of a leak coming down from above, and we were pretty sure it was a disused minor sewer running about thirty feet off the main - one of those that you had to go back to the old maps to find. I was meant to take a look along the old route with Eddie, but surprise surprise he's on the sick again, knows just how much you can take for the year before they start making noises about getting rid. He's a sharp one, he is.

They don't like us working alone but there was a backlog of jobs and too few people to do them - same old same old story. So off I went. But I think I took a wrong turning heading north in the old network, and found myself in a small branch I didn't recognise - some of the older maps aren't what they should be. It was dark, and there was just a foot or so of water, standing, no flow. I carried on along because if I had worked my bearings out right I'd reach a gate after five hundred yards or so which would let me scramble into one of the feeders in the new network and back where I ought to be.

So I'm splashing along, cursing myself for going the wrong way and wasting time when there's a backlog of jobs and too few - well, I've said that, haven't I - and then I hear voices. Or at least, I think I hear voices. You often do down there, and you write it off as acoustics, you wouldn't believe how it carries sometimes. Or you write it off as your imagination, not that the kind of bloke who works down there is prone to much in the way of imagination because you'd not last an hour if you were, but we're all human.

Anyways, I turn a bend and see light, in one of the tunnel walls. Not like daylight, or the kinda light on my helmet, but a soft yellow square. I get closer and see there's a hole in the wall. Square, like a...window.

So I did what anyone would do. I looked through it.

And there on the other side...

Well, you'll think I'm mad. Or drunk. Well, I am drunk, but I wasn't then, and I'm not mad. I know what I saw.

I saw a room, big, big as one of the main chambers but not one of the main chambers, this was...decorated. Hangings on the walls. A long polished table, dotted with candles that gave off that soft yellow light, candles and dishes and silver bowls and around the table, dressed as if at a society ball...people. Well, *like* people. There was something...but no, must have been people. Must have been. It's just...the clothes didn't look as if they fit their shapes right.

Then there was movement, swift and sudden, eyes glaring at me through the hole and then a stone slammed into it to close it. I don't mind telling you, not much bothers me but those eyes did, those eyes and the thought that there would be other entrances to the room and some of those in it might be leaving those to find me. So I ran and I ran and I fell and I ran and I hit my head - see, can still see the bruise - and I scraped my shins - and I don't know how but I found my way to a main, and out. I told them I saw no leak. Then I took a leaf out of Eddie's book and have been on the sick. My back, I said. Which is kind of right. Because I can't see myself going back. Not down there. Not ever. Nowhere those eyes might be. Now, you owe me another pint for that."

I went back the next week with a book of old sewer maps I'd bought from a particular bookshop in Bow so I could chart this entry properly, but the man was not in the pub and no one had seen him for a couple of days. An old man propping up the bar was the last to see him; he told me he'd been standing in the pub doorway when the man left for the last time. The old man had bent his head to light a cigarette against the wind, and when he looked up the man was gone.

The old man knew the sewer worker must have taken the road towards the railway bridge because while he lit his cigarette he heard what must have been the clank of him stepping on a loose manhole cover. Must have been a hell of a fast walker, the old man said. It's a long old street.

(Photo courtesy of: https://www.flickr.com/photos/londonmatt/ Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0))

[the-dragonborn-cums]

“Sorry, no rooms available.”

“What? How?” Elisa said a little too loudly. The rest of the inn glanced up at her with vague curiosity before returning to their flagons.

The innkeeper, a rather thin Nord woman, shrugged. “We got a Redguard woman who’s holed herself in here for days, a mercenary from Cyrodiil, and a man who claims he’s a traveling jester, if you can believe that.”

Elisa gave her an incredulous stare. “So what am I supposed to do, sleep on a bench? Don’t you have a cellar I can plop down in for the night?”

The innkeeper shook her head. “Afraid not. Look, if you’re that desperate, I’d speak with the Companions up in Jorrvaskr. If they take you in, your bed is free.”

“The Companions?” Elisa said. They didn’t sound like a bed and board. Plus, joining them sounded like she would be committing herself to whatever three ring circus they were running. She ran her own circus, with acts involving setting anything that tried to bite or chop her head off on fire, growing her coin purse through whatever opportunities were tossed her way, and stretching the distance between her and her family as much as possible. And it was ran independently.

“Mm-hmm,” the innkeeper replied. “They’re one of Skyrim’s longest standing mercenary bands.”

Elisa gestured to her mage’s robes. “Do I look like a mercenary to you?”

The innkeeper paused for a moment, giving her a once-over. “Admittedly no. Can you swing a sword?”

“Of course I bloody can,” Elisa replied, annoyed.  Dueling was one of the most common methods of settling disputes between houses and the first art taught to Breton children growing up in noble families. Plus, sometimes there were situations where magic was the weaker option, like the time a crazed Ashlander nearly gutted her in her sleep back in Morrowind. She’d been welcomed by an Ashlander tribe after days of traveling to Ghostgate, not knowing that a few of them were superstitious xenophobes who distrusted strangers. Fortunately, her ebony dagger was less than a hand’s reach away, which she slid neatly between the Dunmer’s ribcage before he could lay a finger on her.

“Then you shouldn’t have any issues joining. Their hall is just up the steps to the right once you leave.”

With that the woman began busying herself with washing the counter of her bar with an old rag as if the conversation never happened.  “Anything else you needed?” she said without glancing up. Clearly at this point the woman had enough of their exchange and Elisa wasn’t going to get another word about a room to stay in out of her.

Elisa rubbed her face, thoroughly annoyed and exhausted at this point.

“Some Breton wine, if you have it,” she said, tossing a few gold coins from her purse onto the counter. “I need something strong after this headache of a day.”

———————————————————————————————————–

Elisa stepped up to the doors of Jorrvaskr, a longhouse with a roof that looked like an overturned boat. Two dragons curled upward from either side, facing off with perpetual snarls. Elisa sighed, wondering what Daedric Prince was toying with her. Never had she expected to enter a Nord mead hall of her own volition. But, unless she wanted to spend a night in the Skyrim cold, she didn’t have many options.

This may, perhaps, be the worst day of my life, she thought as she swung the doors open. What awaited her inside was a full-on brawl.

“Are those two at it again?”

“Quit swinging so wide, you’ll make yourself more vulnerable!”

“My bet’s on Njada. After the way she felled that bear the other day, I wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

A small gathering was formed in a half-circle around a Dunmer man and a Nord woman who Elisa guessed was Njada beating the piss out of each other. It seemed the fight had been going for a small while, judging from the cuts and bruises on both of them.The Dunmer made to land an uppercut at Njada’s jaw, but whoever shouted about the Dunmer swinging too wide was right. Njada easily sidestepped to avoid his fist, causing him to stumble. She took the opportunity to grab and pull him close to her, slamming her knee into his groin. The Dunmer howled, collapsing to the ground and curling into his abdomen. Njada stood over him, flashing a triumphant sneer.

“Best two out of three,” she said, wiping a small amount of blood from a cut on her lip. “Looks like you’re polishing the armory this week.”

The Dunmer coughed. “Fetcher,” he wheezed.

“Quit being a baby,” she said as two of the others began helping the Dunmer to his feet. Other than some minor cuts and bruising on his face, the man looked alright. As he steadied himself, he glanced up to see Elisa standing a few feet away.

Seeing her made him snarl and spin to face Njada.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, his face inches from her’s. “Pick up a sword and we’ll see who ends up on their ass.”

He shot Elisa one final glare of daggers before storming down a flight of stairs, out of sight.

How charming, Elisa thought, as the group disbanded. And so very typical…

It took a moment before a burly Nord from the group noticed her and approached. When he came close enough for her to study his appearance, Elisa almost scowled. His face was a mask of dirt that sunk into the creases gathered around his eyes and mouth, his hair an oily, dark mop. She thought he’d been punched in the face twice, but upon closer inspection, she saw that dark warpaint framed his eyes like bruises. If he hadn’t been wearing a very regal set of armor, she might have mistaken him for a beggar.

“Vilkas,” he said, introducing himself. Despite his disheveled visage, his voice surprisingly soft. “If you want to hire, you’ll have to speak to Skjor. He handles that.”

“Actually,” Elisa said, smiling to hide her disgust at his appearance, “I was told you provided room and board?”

Vilkas shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Only Companions are allowed to stay in Jorrvaskr.”

“Ah,” Elisa replied. “So it’s like that, then. Not to worry though, I have a solution for both of us.

She fiddled with a loop on her belt and presented her coin purse, waggling it as if she were enticing a dog with a bone. Vilkas crossed his arms, scowling.

“What if I were to give you, say, a hundred,” Elisa said. “You let me stay, and I fatten your wallet.”

She was lying, of course. Given that most of her savings had been taken from her before being put on the cart hurtling towards her execution, plus the exorbitant amount she spent on that rotten trade deal that landed her there, she had maybe twenty gold after the few coins she shoved at the barkeep for a bottle of wine. But, if the Jarl was good on his word, she’d have five hundred coins to add to her deflated wallet. And if he wasn’t, well, after shoving a fireball down his throat, she would be, as the Dunmer said, “as fortunate as a netch born without limbs”.

“I wouldn’t let you stay here even if you were the Queen of Solitude with gold spilling out your backside,” Vilkas replied, eyes narrowing. “Do you see any barmaids around? We’re not an inn. Is there something you actually came her for, or are you here to waste my time?”

Elisa reattached her coin purse to her belt, sighing. Bribery seemed to get you nowhere here compared to Morrowind. Her last resort was clear, and she was certain it was going to bite her in the ass later.

“Fine,” she said. Her voice was calm, but inside she was imagining all the ways she could set this hall on fire. “How do I join?”

Vilkas gave her a surprised look. “You serious? After that stupid ploy you just pulled? You’re either mad or an idiot. Or both.

“Plus,” he added,eyeing her mage’s robes, “you don’t seem the type.”

Elisa gritted her teeth. “I was told this was a good place for work,” she said, her smile growing with her impatience. “I’m a long ways from home and could use the extra gold.” This time it was the truth, but it might as well have been a shovel that was digging her deeper into this pit she tossing herself into.

To Oblivion with this godforsaken town, this fetcher of a Nord, that innkeeper bitch…

Her internal list of profanities continued while Vilkas was silent for a moment, watching her with suspicion. “Aye, it is,” he said, nodding. “But you won’t last long here without some knowledge of handling a blade.”

“I wouldn’t have survived the duels among Breton nobility if I didn’t know how to wield one.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, giving her another look-over, retaining his dubious gaze. “I have a lot of questions, but we’ll get to that later.”

He looked back over his shoulder and shouted, “Athis!”

Athis, the Dunmer in the brawl earlier, came rushing up the steps near them, flashing Vilkas an annoyed look. “If you’re expecting me to polish every damn weapon and  piece of armor again for the third time this month, you can-”

“Shut it,” Vilkas snapped. “Grab your sword. You’ll be testing her arm.” He nodded at Elisa.

Athis looked like he’d just been insulted. He glared at Elisa, then back at Vilkas. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “I’ve seen mudcrabs that looked tougher than her.”

“You’re one to speak after getting your ass beat by a whelp who joined a month ago.”

Athis replied with a look that could kill a bear, but said nothing.

“You get one chance,” Vilkas said to Elisa, handing her a sword from one of the racks on a wall nearby. He pointed to the doors on the opposite side. “We’ll meet out that way. And don’t dawdle. I don’t have all day to wait on newcomers.”

Athis flashed her a look of disdain before stomping behind Vilkas out the doors to whatever shoddy training grounds they had. As they left, Elisa glanced down at the sword in her hands.

“Shit”, she said aloud to the empty hall of the Companions, which, if this Nord approved of her sword play, she would potentially be sharing with a band of dirty, sweaty mercenaries.

If I ever run into that Khajiit, she thought, gripping the sword’s handle tighter as anger bubbled in her gut, he’s going to Oblivion with his tail shoved in his mouth and a knife up his ass.

[golden-deer-dear]

History on Repeat, Chapter 2: Lost, Claude x Byleth Modern Fic

Summary: Byleth slept after she lost him, awakening ages later to Garreg Mach University. She is drawn into the friendly competition between dorm floors, an argument as to which D&D group is better, trips to coffee shops, and the questions into her own lost memories.

Claude could not help but be suspicious of Seteth’s niece who appeared out of nowhere, but there was something so familiar about her, something that made his heart ache. How had she appeared in his dreams years before either of them even came to the University?

Read on AO3.

Prologue Chapter 1

The stone was warm against his back as he laid down, folding his arms behind his head to serve as a cushion. Starlight winked down at him, making him feel more relaxed than he had felt in years. He picked out familiar constellations, the myths behind them floating through his mind.

“I knew you’d be up here.”

He couldn’t help but smile. He would recognize that melodious voice anywhere. “And I knew you’d find me eventually.”

She let out a soft hum, amusement lining her voice. “What would Seteth say if he caught us sneaking out on our own engagement party?”

She sat down next to him, and without even thinking about it his arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his body. “He’ll get over it.” He kissed her, brushing back mint green strands of hair to tuck behind her ear. “Tomorrow I get to marry the most amazing woman in the world. No one could ruin this for me.”

Her laughter rang clear through the night air. She said something, and he responded with something equally amusing. But the dream was fading, and he could no longer make out the words. 

He could feel her straddle him, kissed her back when she leaned down to kiss him, hot and desperate. He felt his body respond to her, eager for her touch. But her smile and laughter, the beauty of her above him, slipped through his fingers.

Claude woke with a deep groan and slammed a pillow over his face. For a week now he had dreamed of the green haired woman. Sometimes he fought at her side. Sometimes they were matching wits in political battles. The last two nights, however, Claude found himself whispering words of love to her, kissing and touching her in only the way two people deeply in love would. 

“Great,” he said into his pillow, voice muffled by the fabric and stuffing. “I’m having fucking wet dreams about some fantasy woman my mind cooked up. Just wonderful.”

/

Byleth was bored. 

There were only so many times she could walk the estate before the repetitiveness of the action was no longer interesting or distracting. Flayn had shown her how to work the device known as a TV, but she was so far removed from knowing any cultural context that it all flew over her head. (She had found a few romance movies she enjoyed, but the majority made her sigh with disappointment. The overuse of small moments of miscommunication as a plot line was baffling to her.) Even the phone Seteth had given her had stopped working.

She needed to get out of the house. Her boredom was going to turn her to insanity at this rate. Which was why she was finding her way to the garage. Indech was there, as he always was, polishing a black car that was already spotless. He glanced up at her when she entered, but did not stop his task.

Indech was a broad shouldered man. When he stood still he looked more like a bulwark than a human. Byleth was certain she had never heard him speak, but like Flayn and Seteth, there was something about him that felt familiar. It was nowhere near as strong, more like a nagging at the very back of her mind than the comfort she felt with the other two.

She watched him for a few minutes, comfortable with the silence. Indech did not try to draw her into conversation, nor did he really expect anything from her. Byleth figured that was why she came to the garage so often the past few days and watched him work on Seteth’s collection of classic cars.

When Indech straightened and turned to her, Byleth finally asked, “Can you take me to where Flayn and Seteth are?”

Indech gave her a shrewd look, but eventually nodded. He led her over to another car, this one more convintinal than the previous one he had worked on. He held the passenger door open for her, and helped her with the seatbelt. Byleth had seen him take Flayn and Seteth into town, but never actually been in a car herself.

Indech got in on the driver’s side and they were off. The change in scenery did wonders for Byleth’s mood immediately. She leaned back in the plush seat, watching as the green acreage of the estate gave way to the roads and buildings of a small town. Buildings grew taller and closer together, more people were about to wander the streets. 

Indech eventually pulled the car up alongside a group of buildings, many people coming and going from each of them. Some of them did not seem to care about the multiple cars they were having to dodge as they ran to their next destination. 

Cars honked at Indech as he parked the car, seemingly somewhere he was not supposed to, but that soon stopped as soon as the large man stepped out of the car. He came around to the other side and opened the door for Byleth, offering her his hand to help her out. Once she was on her feet, he pointed to a building at the center of campus. “There,” he said in a deep and rumbling voice, somehow reminding Byleth of the sea. “Can you find your way?”

Byleth nodded. Sure the paths were packed, but it should not be too hard to find her way to the large central building.

Indech made a soft noise of acknowledgement, the rumble of waves against the shore. He then pointed again, this time across the street from the campus building. There was a shopping center, but Indech seemed to specifically be indicating a...well, Byleth was not sure what a Bergliez Smoothie was. “I will be there if you need me.”

When she nodded again, Indech ducked back into the car. Byleth watched him pull back into the traffic flow of the parking lot before turning back to the central building. Right. This would not be hard at all. She just had to get there, and then ask someone where Flayn was.

Of course, as disinterested as she had been in TV programming, once she was actually out and about in society, everything was fascinating. Byleth found herself wandering, letting the conversations about topics she could not even begin to understand wash over her. There was something about it all that made her feel at ease. Being here felt right.

It was only much later that she realized she had lost sight of the building Indech had pointed out. She couldn’t even retrace her steps, as she had not been paying attention to where she’d come from in the first place.

/

“But it’s ridiculous! How hard is it really to find chantilly lace!”

“But isn’t that stuff really expensive?” Annette interjected when Hilda paused to breathe. “It’s made by hand, right?”

But Hilda had stopped midstep. Marianne nearly ran into her back, scrambling at the last minute to rebalance her book on the integration of Fódlan and Almyran culture before it could hit the ground. “Hilda?”

Hilda jerked her head toward whatever had caught her attention. Marianne followed her gaze, and felt a similar jolt of shock. “Oh my!”

“Poor thing, she looks lost.” Marianne was glad Mercedes had interpreted their shock as something else entirely. “We should help her.”

Mercedes’ words seemed to spark something inside Hilda, and she quickly outpaced the other three women. “Hey!” Hilda shouted, gaining the woman’s attention. “You lost?”

Marianne hurried up to met Hilda, coming up alongside the woman. Her mint green hair was long and braided. Her eyes did not hold the fierce determination that came with battle. No, now they were confused, and slightly grateful as the group came to her aid. 

But there was no denying it. Before them stood Claude’s goddess.

The goddess nodded. “I was trying to find my uncle and cousin, but I got distracted and lost my way,” she admitted.

“What are their names? Perhaps we know them,” Mercedes said, her pleasant voice causing the woman to relax somewhat.

“Seteth and Flayn.”

Marianne saw her own shock mirrored on the faces of her friends. “Well, Seteth’s office is in the Cathedral Tower, but he usually doesn’t spend much time there,” Marianne said after a second.

“Flayn is usually running around all over campus as well,” Annette added. “But she does eventually always seem to end up at Gateway.”

“I mean, the easiest thing to do would be to text one of them and see where they are,” Hilda said. “You didn’t lose your phone too, did you?”

The goddess shook her head, pulling the device from her pocket. “No, but it’s not working anymore.”

She did not protest when Hilda took the phone from her hand, giving it a quick study. “I just think it’s dead. Don’t you have a charger?”

Marianne could tell Hilda was trying her best to maintain a pleasant demeanour, but the woman’s appearance had thrown her, and their conversation was only raising her suspicions. 

“I-um...no,” the woman admitted. “They didn’t explain that part to me.” She looked between all of them, worry in her eyes at their own shock. “I...I’ve been in a hospital for a very long time,” she said slowly. If Marianne had a less trusting nature, she would say the woman was repeating a line someone had told her. “I was in an accident as a child.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Mercedes clasped her hands in front of herself, pity replacing her earlier shock. “Well, we’ll be certain to show you around. Annie is right, Flayn usually does show up at Gateway, so if we take you there we’ll be sure to find her eventually!”

“Yeah!” Annette agreed, offering the woman a warm smile. “I’m Annette, by the way.”

“Mercedes.” Mercedes offered her hand, and after a moment of hesitation the woman mimicked her gesture. “But you can call me Mercie if you want.”

“I’m Hilda. And that’s Marianne.” Marianne was grateful when Hilda introduced her. She always found introductions a bit difficult and awkward. “And,” Hilda continued, “while I don’t have a charger that’ll fit this phone, I know Claude is at Gateway right now and he always carries his. I’m pretty sure it’s the one we need for yours.”

“Thank you.” The woman nodded, a soft smile on her face. “Oh, and I’m Byleth.”

Marianne felt a sudden sense of deja vu. She could not remember where she had heard the name before, but it sounded so familiar. Which was odd, as it was such a strange name to begin with. Perhaps in one of her history books. There were so many legends in Fódlan’s past it would not surprise her if Byleth was named after one of them.

“All right, Byleth!” Hilda hooked one arm around Byleth’s and began to drag her toward the campus cafe. “Let’s go find Claude!” 

/

“Monica, are you listening?”

“Hmm? Oh no. Sorry, I must have spaced out there for a moment.” Kronya only took her eyes away from the group of young women to look at her phone, swiping through the pictures she had just taken to make sure she had at least one good one of that dreadful woman’s face. “Actually, I just remembered an appointment I’m supposed to be at soon. I’ll see you all later.”

She ignored the protests as she stood to leave, pushing past students without giving a second thought to the curses they threw at her back. No, none of that mattered, not anymore.

The goddess’ little vessel, that terrible Fell Star, was awake once more. After so many years they could finally get their revenge on her. 

“Thales is going to be so pleased with me!” she practically sang to herself. 

One touch to the screen and the message was sent.