#newcomers must learn the real pain...

[necropticon]

I'm aware that 'psychopathy' is no longer an actual diagnosis that anyone receives in modern times. The closest modern diagnosis might be 'antisocial personality disorder'.

but this is actually incredibly interesting to me, because the mechanism makes a lot of sense.

In my childhood, I learned very early that displaying fear around other people would lead to them jumping like hungry vultures at the opportunity to tear someone lesser apart, and make the fear and pain worse. So... I suppressed it completely, very early. A fear response in a certain situation shows other people in what ways you are vulnerable.

So I refused to empathize with other people's fears. I'd still help my friends, because it's a rational choice. but I also learned how eager that so many people are to betray another. So I protect myself from that by refusing to form a bond with anyone. Even the people closest to me eventually betrayed me, so I just stop giving real information to people.

Recently, over the past several years... I've been working to actually get over this 'block', because I am realizing how much better life is with genuine closeness. but I still believe that I have good reason to distrust many different people - especially therapist shitheads who strive to make money off their bullshit 'cures'. Go to hell, all of you.

I'll create myself as myself.

I saw vulnerable people as liabilities, because they're liable to just run off and spread information to someone who could use it against me. Tough world.

In years past, I used to describe human society as some kind of massive, pained, grotesque orgy of people hurting eachother, and in turn hurting another so that the newcomer can 'understand their pain'. Sometimes I wanted to kill it off as the root -- cleanse all society of this pain instead of spreading it out like mercury and lead which subfuse and accumulate throughout the ecosystem - hoping that the dispersion will filter this poison out by gradual process. NO! I refuse to feel what your parents did to you. Die in your own grave. I will not go with you.

but yeah, I think it can be a rational choice in this competitive and predatory world, but it's up to choice.

A brain can develop according to what an organism does. If someone practices cello, they will gain finer motor control of their fingers, and their brain will change accordingly. The same if someone chooses to consciously imagine how another person might be feeling, and how they would feel in different possible futures... their 'emotional skills' will develop like a muscle being strengthened. One has to make this conscious choice - and choose how to continue the process as it's happening. It's not a lazy skill, and it's not always automatic. Sometimes one must really sit there and think for twenty minutes about this type of thing.

alllsooo... I think it's a good idea to learn how to differentiate between people. I spent my teenage years literally as a fucking hermit because everyone and everything just felt so dirty and ugly and stained with generational abuse, ugly lies and false pride covering up people's pathetic insecurities. Even the bureaucracy was full of these pathetically-insecure people. So the only place I had to turn to was myself, because everyone else was lying to eachother and to themselves.

That's how I felt.

I find it poignant how a young woman can be encouraged to engage in the basest sort of cruelty - as long as you say it's in the name of kindness and equality. I find it annoying how people online feel so entitled to personal information about random bloggers -- (age? race? gender? sexuality? country of origin?) -- and they say it's for 'equality reasons' -- to determine if you're "qualified" to speak about certain topics or not, even if it's just in the realm of personal opinion. and if they think a person is "stepping out of their line", then they'll flood them with harassment. It's so counterproductive. A bunch of lonely losers harassing eachother to feel like they're "fighting the righteous fight" -- instead of actually organizing politically. Exactly what the powers-that-be will benefit from, conveniently...

Some people have told me I have a huge tolerance for 'cruelty' - things that might seem hurtful to someone else barely register as anything to me because they are just so commonplace in life for me, and I partake and give back an equal hand of cruelty so I'm not a poor victim. Conversely, other people tell me that I'm way too sensitive. I do snap suddenly and go right off the handle, and I rarely accept apologies. I choose who to trust based on experience, not 'what people say'. Most people lie at one time or another, and they often believe that some forms of lying are polite. I will never claim to tell the truth. I'm not morally-better. the good old Liar's Paradox.

[etchofsqetch]

So I got this app idea and a bunch of notes. It’s social media.. (I know lame right?) but really it’s a dating app but obviously I have something unique or I wouldn’t be here posting this at one am when I should be masturbating like it’s a fucking requirement.. anyways..

I need help creating this app, not because I don’t know what I’m doing, not because I’m stupid; because I honestly value other people and I want to write a love story. I want to work with people and I want to work on a team doing something that really shows our value together.

I’ve heard it said that sports such as football sets the standard for displaying merit. The better you do, the more you are respected and revered. I don’t want to be known as a drug dealer, I want to be known as something closer to who I really am. I think that business is the real test of merit in todays economy. Success is measured in value by that dollar sign, and it takes a lot to build and show that value, while still keeping up with and paying taxes.. lmao!

So I’ve been using plenty of dating apps, and trying them out for real. I’m bi, and trans, so I’ve been able to use them all while still being honest and remaining true to myself #fuckhaters but I’ve been looking at how the apps themselves are made and keeping track of features I like and things I don’t like about the more popular ones. I’ve been banned from using HER I think four maybe five times, (and that’s the one I really like..) I could never stop using Grindr, (too much sqetchy fun if you ask me) and I hate Tinder with a passion, (who knew so many guys would be attracted to me sexually while all the girls swipe left..) needless to say, I’ve learned a lot about myself and what others think of me. It’s nice to know and not have to guess. It doesn’t mean that every woman who walks into the store and sees me thinks “omg, I swiped left on him..” it doesn’t mean I’m one thing or another, my preferences have always been the same, and there’s no “undecided” box to check; although, there should be a box to tick that says “still figuring it out” because that’s closer to the truth than anything.

You must have experienced this much pain to use this app..

So in making this new app I’m being stubborn; because I know I have a great idea and I’ve even shared some of it. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t been made yet; but the closest thing I’ve found is telegram; but it’s missing the dating aspect and isn’t geared towards making money off of it’s users. I’m not greedy; but, I am hungry and I find it hard to afford rent and food some weeks living in the city. I’m not adverse to putting pornography of myself online either; but I’m not about the hustle that never hits or the grind that never quits, I have a day job and it’s bullshit having to go to work every day and deal with constant hate. So I’m digging my heels in because I don’t want to go to work and I don’t want to deal with life anymore. I can make the app on my own; but, in doing so would completely defeat the purpose for me, and if that’s the case then I should definitely end it. Because I’d rather cut my balls off than go to prison for the rest of my life for something I didn’t do, and that’s why I moved to California. To prove that. To not only myself; but everyone else.

I need help with the graphic design. I need help with ways to create income from an app that anyone should be able to use for free. Simple stuff like that.. I know there are some very creative people on here; but, where’s the community? I mean, am I missing something? Unwritten rules for an old newcomer? Did I not steal enough time online when I was twelve? Anyways.. I wish I had my badge still, then they’d really have a reason to be scared..

The joke’s on them though, I was never trying to win, I was never even playing.. and I’ve wanted to cut my balls off since I was four years old..

[audhdacity]

I'm on the audhd (asd + adhd) spectrum myself, and gosh, I've been there. So many times I craved to fit it. Being an outcast made me feel worse, incomplete, never to be fully a "proper" human being. Took me years to find out I'm no broken, just neurodivergent. Learned eventually it's cool, nothing wrong about that. But there are still folks out there, juggling unaware with masks (yep, coping mechanism), pushing that learned smile though everything inside cry inside. Trying to fit the nt world with pain and hopelessness, like why you can't sort your papers at midnight in your local office at midnight, but you just must do that 9am, when crowds are stuffed in the never-ending lines.

My autistic brain craves structure, gets fascinated about structure and orderly stuff like delivery companies chain of logistics. I know folks who need that structure in social interactions, like it's a lifeline, sometimes against the genuine feelings that people they smile at are just a bunch of frustrating morons and there's nothing to talk with them about. Like a lifeline. The existence of those morons secures the permanence of the structure, and sometimes it's easier to bit your lips and get on with them, instead of letting newcomers to their worlds. That'd just shake the equlibiurm of permanence.

Sometimes one nd goes full-masking mode around another nd, like they'd do around nts. I mean nd and nd can't vibe together 'cause they're trying to be all nt-ish instead of just being themselves. Hardly ever on purpose, but still a bummer. LIke missing out on a rad connection that could've just been.

So I truly believe the first step is learning to be proud, not ashamed of our nd traits. That's how we can be our real selves, and if we can rock our true nature, it's gotta be easier to welcome other nds into our lives, and that can be wholesome and sooo uplifiting, and learning too. Besides, there's that something that makes many of us nds feel some guy out there is "ours". Engaging the nt-ish mode is couterproductive, we're just losing what we truly want, need and crave. Also, there's a science behind masking and why it's hardly ever works. I'm down to drop that here, unless my adhd goes all chaotic on me. Hopefully not.

Anyhow, nds are amazing. They're a whole vibe. Damn shame that some nt norms gotta keep us from embracing our awesomeness.

[hyenahunt]

Bankara Graffiti: We Who Never Learn - 1

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Hiyori, Jun, Tatsumi

Proofreading: Remy (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: hyenahunt

Hiyori: Whenever he's around you, Tatsumi-kun, our Jun-kun just turns into a fanboy... How troubling.

Time: In the first year of ES's founding, towards the end of February.

Location: In a Reimei Academy classroom.

Hiyori: Hey there! So you must be the transfer student we've heard so much about ☆

Jun: ......

...Um, actually, I'm not.

Hiyori: Aaand cut! What a terrible shame it is that our broadcast of Bankara Academy[1] must come to an end today!

I've always thought you weren't the most entertaining boy, but who'd have thought it'd be to this extent? Oh, how you disappoint me so, Jun-kun!

Jun: All I did was state a fact, so why d'ya gotta rip into me this much, huh~?

Tatsumi: Now, now, please settle down, you two. First, soothe your soul with a prayer to our Father in Heaven, and then take a moment to hear each other out.

Hiyori: It feels like this process has one step too many, but you're absolutely right, Tatsumi-kun! Jun-kun, you ought to reflect on your actions!

Jun: Yeah, yeah, I'm the only one at fault here just as always, aren't I~?

Terribly sorry and all that, alright~?

Hiyori: Jun-kun! You're acting for all the world like a dog started barking at you on your way to school, and now you're simply shooing it away!

Cease this nonsense at once! Face me with the sincerity I deserve!

Jun: Gonna be real with ya, that’d be a total pain. ...It feels like we've been doing this for ages — should we really be wasting so much time like this?

Tatsumi: No, I don't suppose we should. However, I'm new to performing on these — what do you call them — reality shows.

Truth be told, I can't quite make heads or tails out of anything that’s been going on.

Jun: Reliable as always, Tatsumi-senpai! It's your first time doing this, and yet you're so calm and collected ~ ☆

Hiyori: Tatsumi-kun! Don't let that get to your head, alright!

Tatsumi: Understood ♪ Of course, I intend to keep my place as a newcomer to ES in mind.

That's precisely why I hope to learn from the two of you, who are my seniors in the way of being an idol.

They called me in for this task despite how clueless I am, so for real, what exactly should I do?

Jun: "For real!" Tatsumi-senpai, you actually used some slang! That sure doesn't happen often! If only I caught that on video!

Hiyori: Whenever he's around you, Tatsumi-kun, our Jun-kun just turns into a fanboy... How troubling.

Tatsumi: Well, colour me embarrassed. There's nothing wrong with your affections, but we're essentially in the middle of filming, so perhaps it would be for the best if we refrained from any unconventional behavior.

Jun: Gotcha! I'll do exactly as you say, Tatsumi-senpai!

Hiyori: And there he goes, wagging his tail again... Such disloyalty. Well, putting that aside —

As you're new to all this, Tatsumi-kun, I'll give you a little explanation about our current situation.

You see, this Bankara Academy is an online livestream show meant to depict us enjoying our high school lives.

Tatsumi: An online show? It seems unusual that it won't be airing on television.

I did hear that this Bankara Academy is once again a part of COMP[2], and CosPro is overseeing it, aren't they?

/I was under the impression that CosPro prefers to air TV programs in the more traditional manner, though, rather than online shows with their limited viewerships,

Jun: Bankara Academy is pretty niche, y'see~ It's got a surprisingly long history, but I heard they cut the program since viewership got pretty low.

Even if they made use of us starring in it to promote it, they'd have to bear the risk of it failing if they showed it on TV~

So they're testing it out as a low-budget online show for starters, or something along those lines, I think?

Tatsumi: I see now. Er, is it really alright to talk about such questionable topics? We're live on air right now, aren't we?

Hiyori: Well, it's supposed to give the impression of being a live broadcast, anyway. It'd be dozens of hours long if they truly streamed the whole thing, you see, so they edit it down to some extent.

What's most important is for us to just act naturally, without putting on any airs. After all, what the viewers want to see is our true selves that they don't usually get to witness.

Tatsumi: Is that so? In that case, I'll do my best.

However, I'm in a delicate position as I'm a part of StarPro, as opposed to CosPro.

And Hiyori-san, is it really alright to treat you as a high school student for this project? You've already graduated, after all.

Wouldn't that be misrepresenting you — or rather, misrepresenting your "true self"?

Hiyori: Oh, it's fiiine. In the end it's just supposed to give the impression of high school, so there's no problem even if I'm not a real high school student.

Tatsumi:There is certainly a lot of talk of impressions.

Jun: Well, it's essentially a pretty sketchy show to begin with.

Hiyori: That may be so, but it is formal work so we must see it through to the best of our abilities. Now, everyone, let's give it our all and show them a most delightful semblance of youth ♪

Jun: Haha. A high school student enjoying a "delightful semblance of youth", huh... I'd have an easier time acting as an alien from a distant planet, honestly.

Bankara (蛮カラ: ban - barbarian + kara - collar) is a term and style that came about during the Meiji era. It was meant to be the antithesis to the haikara trend, or "high-collar", a nickname for initially those who were increasingly influenced by Western culture and ideals, and eventually anything that was foreign and fancy. Haikara was named for the high-collared Western fashion that such individuals tended to wear. In contrast, the spirit of bankara was to be individualistic, true to one's self as well as the old Japanese values, and was characterised by an air of roughness and unrefinedness that rejected this new wave of foreign fanciness. Typical bankara fashion favoured traditional Japanese garments and accessories, such as the gakuran and geta (Japanese male student jacket + sandal/boots), hence the outfit theme of the card set. Here's another good source for more info.

COMP is the project that the present day events of Obbligato were a part of, intended to promote the image and popularity of schools affiliated with CosPro. You can read more about about it in the prologue of Obbligato here.

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✦ all ✦ next →

[astaroth1357]

Leviathan's Odyssey 9 (End):

Isolation

*Lucifer is in the Student Council room collecting paperwork when he hears his phone go off… It seems like Barbatos is messaging him yet again... For the third time this week. Though he dreads whatever news it brings, Lucifer checks his messenger and lets out a long sigh when he gets his confirmation*

*Levi was sent home early… again. He hasn’t been present for a full day of classes in nearly a week and Barbatos is beginning to get on Lucifer’s case about it… Diavolo placed a lot of trust in the eldest to bring his brother under control, but it hasn’t exactly been very successful and his butler sees no problem with applying the pressure in his lord’s stead. Though he wouldn’t call this latest message a threat of expulsion, he can sense they’re getting dangerously close…* 

*normally, Lucifer would wait for the day to finish himself before returning to the House and giving Levi a lecture, but that approach hasn’t been faring well… Though he loathes to be absent, who knows what trouble his brothers could get in, he sends his response to Barbs and goes to collect his things. He has been thinking up a few solutions to the “Leviathan Problem” and it’s about time he started enacting some, but first he needs to do some shopping*

*it isn’t hard for Lucifer to find what he was looking for in the shopping district and he makes it back to the House about an hour before classes would officially end. He already knows where Levi would be, he’s been nothing is not predictable since he first came home with them... In many ways, he still has the mindset of a combat survivalist. He quickly grew territorial of the room they gave him, he tries to grab as much food as possible at meals, and every new person or situation is treated with hostile skepticism... Their brother may be home, but he certainly isn’t “back." Not yet anyway...*

*when Lucifer ascends the steps to go to Leviathan’s room, he tries knocking on the door first. Levi had taken to making ridiculous entry passwords again, an encouraging sign, but that was mostly because Lucifer forbade him from issuing trial by combat to newcomers… Unfortunately, today there wasn’t any voice on the other side… Lifting the lock on the door is child’s play with just a little magic, so after giving his brother ample time to say something, Lucifer opens the door himself*

Lucifer: Leviathan? *he pokes his head in with a bit of caution, Levi could still be quick to lash out if caught off guard*

*Lucifer’s eyes scan the dimly lit room, with only the soft blue glow of the water tank behind a glass wall offering him any light. They discovered quickly that Levi’s skin would dry out at an alarming rate without some access to water. Their first fix was to give his room a bathtub that he could soak in, but due to its narrow size Lucifer eventually had an aquarium installed for him instead. He could climb in and out from a gap near the ceiling and it had more room for him to move around freely. That seemed to resolve the issue, but Levi still remained fond enough of the bathtub to keep it around*

*he half expected to find his brother in said tub, back to the doorway and trying to ignore him, but instead he sees a black figure curled up at the bottom of the water tank. He recognizes Levi, even in his newest form - or at least the form that they taught to him once he was on dry land. While in the ocean, Levi never needed to be rid of his gills or scales, they were practical for swimming but not so much for daily life. His new form kept his tail, horns, and patch of scales here and there, but it mostly allows him to pass as an average demon. He can maintain an even milder appearance without any of the extras, but he doesn’t seem to like it as much… He always complains of feeling “too small” without his tail*

*Lucifer steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Under all of that water, Levi probably didn’t hear him knock… Or maybe he did and didn’t feel like answering. He found it hard to pinpoint just what his brother could or couldn’t do anymore… When he gets into the room, he sets a white grocery bag he had been carrying on a nearby table. He’ll have to bring up its contents at the right time… He needs to speak to Levi first.* 

*Lucifer goes to the glass wall and gently knocks his knuckles against it. The black bundle in the water stirs and Lucifer watches as Levi's tail slowly begins to unravel from his body... Soon enough, he’s looking his brother in the face but he doesn’t look very happy to see him… He rarely looks happy to see anyone frankly…*

*Lucifer points up to the edge of the tank and gestures to his ear, signaling that they need to talk. He’s almost surprised at how easily Levi obliges this time, pushing off of the aquarium floor and swimming up until he’s above the surface. After taking a gulp of air, he leans over the edge of the glass - seemingly unbothered by the droplets of water that cascade to the floor.*

Levi: What do you want, Lucifer?

*Lucifer tries his best to look stern, but not overly angry. Though Levi is far less dangerous inland than he was by the ocean’s shore, he’s no less irritable... If this conversation is going to happen, he’s going to need to keep his composure for a while longer*

Lucifer: Barbatos informed me of what happened today… 

Levi: And?

Lucifer: Annnd, we’ve already been over this, Levi… You can’t keep stabbing your fellow students with forks. 

Levi: If you gave me my trident back, then I wouldn’t need to use them.

*Lucifer groans a bit and fights the urge to rub the bridge of his nose… Of course he’s in a mood again…*

Lucifer: Don’t play games with me, Levi… You know what the real problem is here.

Levi: Yeah, it’s the stupid school! I hate going there...

Lucifer: Levi, Lord Diavolo was very gracious to offer you a place in his academy and a seat on the student council, no less. And being one of his military officers now also puts you in a position of great importance... Your actions reflect on him and his kingdom as whole-

Levi: I know all that already, I heard you the first time! *Levi leans his chin against the edge of the glass, but still doesn’t look any happier. To his credit, he has been trying to yell at his brothers less... So it’s not too surprising to hear his voice suddenly drop down to solemn whisper*

Levi: … You know what everybody calls me there? The “Fish Freak...” They say I smell like a beached whale… *Lucifer blinks at the revelation, because this is news to him*

Lucifer: Is that so…?

Levi: Everyday. And you know what else? They trip me in the hallway or throw my things in the fountain. Somebody even left a dead squid on my desk! *a familiar look comes into his eyes now, one burning of hatred - but this time not directed at brothers...*

Levi: They’re lucky I only have forks right now...

*a part of Lucifer wants to be fine with Levi sticking up for himself… The Demon World is a cruel and harsh place where intimidation is often the best answer. He and his brothers had to learn that the hard way… But Diavolo’s goals are peace and unity - the academy was even founded with that in mind… His students should be shying away from such barbaric tactics and the council has an example to set… As much as it pains him to say it, Levi’s actions are unacceptable…*

Lucifer: Tell me the students’ names and I’ll have them punished. I guarantee you that... *takes a deep breath to prepare for what he must say next…*

Lucifer: … But you can’t keep causing trouble like this, Leviathan. Lord Diavolo has a strict code of-

*Lucifer watches as Levi groans and lifts his head off the glass, though this time he looks more frustrated than enraged*

Levi: There you go again! Diavolo this and Diavolo that!! Don’t you ever think of anything else??

Lucifer: That’s Lord Diavolo to you, and of course I do. But this isn’t the Celestial Realm anymore, Levi, and we need to adapt to his rules. *Levi’s eyes narrow at him, seeing an opportunity to dig in the knife…*

Levi: There’s adapting and then there’s ass-kissing... Which are you doing, Lucifer?

*and like that, for just a moment, Lucifer wants to abandon the whole project. He wants to leave Levi to wallow in his tank and go back to more important matters... He wants to throw his gifts into the garbage and just forget he ever bought them! His anger must have been plain to see, because Levi looks almost regretful for a second as he pushes back from the glass*

Levi: … Yeah. I didn’t think so.

*with that, Lucifer watches his brother sink back underwater and return to the floor of his aquarium. He honestly has half a mind to just turn and walk away, at least until he sees Levi curl up on his side against the store bought sand. He draws legs into the fetal position and faces his back the glass wall, letting his tail once again curl around his body as he goes back to laying in the water… alone…*

*the lonely image is enough to bring Lucifer back to some sense… Had he really forgotten why he was there so easy? With a steadier mind, he gently places a gloved hand against the surface of the glass, watching Levi from behind the wall between them…*

*his brother fell from Heaven then had to survive on his own… when he came back, he not only found out that his family had been living like royalty, but they hadn’t even been out looking for him in a long time… Now he’s been ripped from the home he’d grown accustomed to and thrust into a culture he barely understood…*

*Was it any wonder he was struggling? Was it any better for him in the Devildom than it was beneath the sea? Would it have been better to just let him stay where he was comfortable…? These thoughts have plagued Lucifer for some time, but he wouldn’t dare break up his family now…* 

*Maybe... Hopefully… Levi just needs an outlet to help him cope...*

*Lucifer knocks on the glass a second time, but it’s not an angry pounding or anything. Levi must not have expected that, because he actually looks back at him in mild surprise. Lucifer signals once more for him to get out of the water before stepping aside to grab the grocery bag from before. Intrigued, but cautious, Levi swims back up to the surface and pulls himself up to the edge*

Levi: … What’s that?

Lucifer: Something I bought for you. *Lucifer picks up the bag and goes back to the tank. Levi’s eyes widen slightly with shock*

Levi: You bought something… for me?? Why?

Lucifer: It’s something that I think you’ll like… I’m told it’s very entertaining and hopefully it has all the… violence that you’ve grown accustomed to... 

*he digs into the bag and pulls out two things, a DVD box-set of something called “My Life as a Demonic Pirate Defeating the Seven Lords of Hell” and a paperback book with a cute looking mermaid on the cover under the same title*

Lucifer: Levi. Have you ever heard of something called anime?

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

[walkerismychoice]

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 38 (The End!)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The show comes to and end, and Riley contemplates her future

Author’s Note: I can’t believe I’ve finally brought this series to an end. There was quite a long time I thought I may never finish. I want to thank all the readers and friends who’ve read and encouraged me along the way. I want to especially thank @debramcg1106 as of late for helping me work through the ending and pushing me to finish it out. This is the technical end of the story, but I do have an epilogue planned as well.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2230

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

Due to everything that transpired, filming of the finale was delayed two weeks. Riley was grateful for the time and hardly left Drake’s side during his recovery. He was sent back to the palace after a couple days, and Riley had to convince him that whiskey was not a suitable replacement for the antibiotics and pain medication the doctor prescribed. Reluctantly he obliged. He worked with physical therapy, and by the end of those two weeks, you’d have hardly known he’d been injured at all.

Olivia was salty her ball had been ruined, but the production staff made up for it, giving her and Liam an overnight filmed at Olivia’s northern Lythikos retreat. She was still worried the country would favor Riley with Liam, but Kat assured Olivia between her heroic actions, personal growth, and some favorable editing, it would be hard for most people not to be on her side.

As for Madeleine, it was still unclear if she would be charged criminally or would be incompetent to stand trial due to her mental health, but either way, she wouldn’t be a danger to anyone for quite some time. It was questionable if Jo’s involvement in the whole thing broke any laws. She wasn’t Cordonian, so she couldn’t be charged with treason for skirting security and endangering the life of the crown prince, but authorities were looking to see if there was anything they could make stick. At the very least she was blacklisted and would never work in television again.

So finally, on a calm, clear, day, there was only one obstacle left. Riley met with Liam, adorned in a stunning, body-hugging, Swarovski crystal filled dress, to put on the performance of a lifetime and act as if he’d shattered her heart. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. There were a couple of takes where neither of them could keep a straight face followed few that were unbelievably dramatic, but ultimately Riley was able to tap into her vulnerability and the tragedy she had faced to bring genuine emotion and tears to light. It didn’t matter that it was unrelated to what was happening in the scene, it was real. Kat said it was perfect, and Liam was free to propose to Olivia.

-----

Now that all is said and done, who will Liam choose to be his future Queen? Will it be the fierce Duchess Olivia, or the plucky newcomer Riley? Stay tuned for the finale of Queen of My Heart.”

Maxwell draped his arm around Riley’s shoulder. “What do you think, sis? How did I do on my television debut.”

Maxwell, Bertrand, Savannah, Hannah, Lydia, Liam, Olivia, Riley, and Drake were all huddled in the palace screening room to watch the finale as it aired.

Just about anyone would have been an improvement over Chad,” Riley teased, ”but the squid suit was definitely a nice touch. Your delivery was great, but did you have to call me plucky?”

“You know I had to play it cool,” Maxwell explained. “Plucky is good, but not over the top. Don’t want anyone thinking I’m playing favorites because you’re my sister.”

Riley rolled her eyes. “The suggested ‘noble newcomer’ would have been sufficient.”

“It was a stylistic choice.” Maxwell made a gesture with his hand indicating a mock hair flip.

"Ugh, enough about Maxwell," Olivia groaned. "I'm ready to get to the good part. Can we just fast-forward through any mushy Liam and Riley stuff? Nobody needs to see that."

"I second that." Drake raised his hand in rare agreement with Olivia.

Liam just shook his head. "I know nobody watches live network television anymore, so you must have forgotten how this works. There's no fast-forwarding. Not even through commercials."

"That's fine with me." Lydia chimed in. "More time for making out."

"Lydia!" Hannah's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.

Lydia pecked her on the lips. "Sorry babe. You're just too damn cute when you blush."

Hannah remained quiet but her smile gave her away. Lydia, with her outgoing, bold, and slightly unpredictable personality, was the perfect complement to Hannah being so shy, proper, and focused. They brought out the best in each other, and the difference in Hannah between when Riley met her until now was night and day.

The friends watched the show and Riley only cringed at herself in a few places, which was much less than she thought she would. Things did get a bit awkward during the montage of kissing scenes between Riley and Liam, and Maxwell and Bertrand made a show of covering their eyes for the steamier parts. They all laughed inappropriately when Liam dumped Riley since they knew it wasn't real. And then finally when Liam proposed to Olivia, everyone cheered.

Riley thought of her friends and family at home. She pictured aunt Susan, Sarah, and Daniel all rooting for her and how disappointed they must have been that she "lost." She couldn't wait to tell them, however, she hadn't lost at all.

"Wow, Livvy." Drake quipped, bringing Riley out of her deep thoughts. "How much did you have to pay them to give you such a flattering edit?"

Olivia threw a pillow at his head which he deftly dodged. "Fuck off, Walker. You were so desperate to get on the show, you leapt in front of a bullet."

"Now, now children." Liam said in a mock scolding tone. "Let's all play nice."

"Yes, father," Drake and Olivia replied in unison, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

Riley still didn't have all the answers about what her future would hold, but she had found her people. Where she was in that moment was where she needed to be.

Savannah yawned. "It's getting late. We should probably go and relieve the sitter." Riley hasn't wanted to pry into Savannah and Bertrand's relationship, but they were working together to parent Bartie and things seemed to be falling into place for them.

"Yes, yes." Bertrand agreed. "Time is money!"

"Oh my god, Bertrand." Savannah rolled her eyes. "Life isn't all about money."

"She’s right." Maxwell propped his arm on Savannah's shoulder. "Besides, now that the show is over, we'll be getting some money, and Kat said if viewers responded well to me, they would probably offer to extend my contract in the franchise. By the looks of these tweets, I'm going to be rolling in dough. 'That Maxwell guy is so hot...ridiculously funny...just what the show needed.' Should I read more?

"Please no." Bertrand groaned. "We can talk finances later. Goodnight, all."

As the rest of the crowd dwindled, Liam asked Drake and Riley to stay behind. He kissed Olivia and promised to join her when the conversation was through.

"So what's up?" Drake got right to the point once only the three of them remained.

Liam cleared his throat. "Well as you know, I highly value your loyalty to the crown."

"Heh." Drake let out a terse laugh. "I don't really give a fuck about the crown, but I do care about you."

"In any case, you take your job very seriously and I could see you as head of the guard one day, once Bastien retires." Liam paused before continuing. "However, I do have another proposition for you."

Drake raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Go on."

"How would you like to be the head of Valtoria?" Liam asked expectantly.

Drake' eyes narrowed in contemplation. "I thought Valtoria was unoccupied. Is there a new Duke or Duchess there now that needs a security detail?"

"No, no." Liam laughed. "Well, there could be. That's what I'm trying to ask you. I would like to give Valtoria to you."

"No fucking way. You have to be kidding me. Did you sign up for some royal version of a prank show now?" Drake scanned the room as if searching for hidden cameras.

"I'm serious, Drake. I think you would make a fantastic duke."

Drake scoffed. "I'm a commoner who despises most nobles and everything the monarchy stands for."

"That's exactly why you'd be perfect for the role." Liam explained. "Cordonia needs a fresh perspective - someone who can resonate with the people the monarchy serves. Just think, you could have a real voice in creating change. I don't want to rule like my father has and his father before. I want the people to have the representation they deserve, and you are a key to that."

Drake sighed deeply. "I don't know Li. Even if I could do this - if I wanted to - what makes me worthy? What's everyone going to say when they find out you gave an average dude the title of Duke just because he's your best friend?"

"I'll tell them that Drake Walker is anything but average. He's smart, capable, and fiercely loyal. He's saved my life more times than I count and has more integrity than anyone I know. Public policy can be learned, but these qualities cannot be taught. He may not be noble by blood, but he is my family, and he belongs."

'Wow, Liam." Drake ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to say."

"You're quiet over there." Liam directed at Riley. "What do you think?"

"Me?!" Riley had been as shocked by this as Drake, and she didn't know what to think. This was about Drake, not her. Did her opinion really matter? "I, uh.... think this is really Drake's decision."

Drake took Riley's hands in his. "But it's yours too. I mean, if we are going to be together..."

"Oh, well..." How was Riley supposed to help Drake decide such a life altering thing when she didn't even have her own life sorted out?

Drake didn't leave her fumbling for too long. "Liam, I really don't know if either of use is equipped to answer this question right now. It's a very generous offer, and the fact that I'm not totally shutting you down for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as me being a Duke should tell you I'm genuinely willing to entertain the idea."

Liam chuckled. "I completely understand. This life is new to both of you in different ways, and to navigate a new relationship on top of all that is a lot to ask. I'm in no hurry to fill the vacancy. Consider it an open-ended invitation. I trust that you'll be ready to make your decision long before the public pressures me into making a new appointment."

"Thanks, Liam." Drake gave him hug and patted him on the back. "Now get back to your fiancé before she blames me for keeping you too long."

-----

Back in her palace guestroom, Riley nestled into Drake, her head resting on his chest. "It's been quite a night, huh?

"You could say that again." Drake pulled her tighter against him.

"I kind of feel like we're moving so fast, we're skipping steps - like we're being asked to decide the rest of our lives before we even know what we want to do tomorrow." Riley knew nobody was outright asking for an immediate decision, but she felt the weight of everyone's expectations. Whether she stayed in Cordonia or went back home, she'd probably be disappointing someone.

"Who says we have to?" Drake asked. "You heard Liam. He doesn't need an answer right away. I Know you haven't decided what you want, and I sure as hell don't know what I'm going to do yet. Why don't we take some time together to just...be. Do normal couple things and see where the relationship takes us."

"Normal couple things... I mean I don't know how I can go back to my normal peasant life after attending weekly balls dressed in couture gowns," Riley teased, "but I think I could make that sacrifice for you, my commoner boyfriend."

"Hey, watch who you are calling commoner." Drake pinned Riley down and tickled her sides until she begged him to stop, and he collapsed beside her again. "I just may outrank you soon if I so choose."

Riley laced her fingers through Drake's. "It's crazy to think how our lives have changed in a few short months. I don't think I could have made it through all of this without you, and not just because you kept literally saving my life."

"You may not have taken a bullet for me, but you've saved me too. For once in my life, I see multiple paths with meaning and purpose. I've seen so much of myself reflected in you, but it id the version of me I want to be, not the one I was. You've shown me trials and hardships don't have to make you bitter, and that you don't have to fit the cookie cutter mold to find your place here... Oh, God, listen to me. What have you done to me Bennett?" Drake shuddered in mock disgust.

Riley softly pressed her lips to his and pulled back with a smirk. "I don't think I can take all the credit, or the blame as you might put it. But enough talk about the future. You said we should focus on the now, and right now all I need is you."

"Well then, your wish is my command." Drake pulled Riley tight to him and then they lost themselves in each other, completely unencumbered by any decisions about their future. Those could wait for another day.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Twisted Tales: Once Upon a Dream Review 

Ah yes, this twist on Sleeping Beauty was the first Twisted Tales book in the series, and an excellent intro to any newcomer I believe. The book asks “What if Sleeping Beauty hadn’t woken up?”. In fact it pulls Prince Phillip to sleep too once he kisses the princess. For our story starts not as we know it. In fact it seems quite like the beginning of the Maleficent movie (though this came before the movie). King Stefan and Queen Leah had brought the kingdom to ruin, warring with other states for more precious green land until there were none left, and vines and demons have wandered until it has become a wasteland. Throwing balls every day, neglecting the kingdom in favor of petty little court intrigue and showing off their wealth. They also neglecting their daughter because she wasn’t the boy they had wanted. All until Maleficent, the “savior of the world” stops their tyranny, and their selling 16 year old Aurora on her birthday to evil fairies, and saves the remaining kingdom by keeping them safe in the castle away from the Outside. There Aurora grows under her Aunt Maleficent’s tutelage, learning math and trying to dream the day away until the Outside become livable again if ever. Sounds a bit like the movie yes, but things are simply not adding up as Aurora’s memories of this life bump up against reality until she sees a grisly death and begins to piece together the truth. This is not real, it’s all a dream. Maleficent tied her soul to Aurora’s after Prince Philip killed her in dragon form. If she can keep Aurora trapped until the clock strikes twelve on her sixteenth birthday, Maleficent can take over her body and continue her grand revenge. And Maleficent has been manipulating Aurora’s dreamscape patching memories and illusions to keep her there.

It’s a painful realization. Literally as the force of the colliding memories hit like a bull in a china shop, as well as the fact that Aurora has to think more than ever before. Yes, Braswell does her best in what at first seems tongue in cheek reference to how Aurora doesn’t do much. It is acknowledged within the text that she has always done what she was told, been a good girl, never really had to think beyond that. But now there’s decision-making to be done and Aurora must lead the charge to save her kingdom.

From there, Braswell delves into a very intense yet interesting aspect to Aurora that I have never seen done before. That this lack of thinking or taking action has taken a toll on her self esteem. She believes herself to be bossed around because others think her incapable. She also thinks herself incapable, she’s aware that she has no real talent or skill besides the gifts the fairies gave her, she doubts that she could run a kingdom or even make a good escape against greater powers. It all makes her want to retreat into herself, and sleep forever. . . I’m sure you can guess at the greater mental health implications there. Braswell does this well adding an unseen depth to the blonde haired, fair voiced princess transforming her into someone that is seen as an ornament to a girl discovering herself and what she’s truly capable. But don’t worry she has friends on her side. As I said before, when he kissed Aurora, Prince Philip fell into Aurora’s dreamscape and so is able to provide some help and insight to what has happened in the real world. Braswell does her best to continue Phillip’s characterization, being a brave, noble prince as well as offering a youthful boyishness and sunny optimism with endless love to the princess he fell in love with at first sight. Another trope that Braswell plays with as Aurora has no memory of their first meeting and finds such an idea hard to believe. Especially as she struggles with her insecurities over who she is, much less being the girl that Phillip fell for within minutes of meeting. She offers a sweet growing romance between them, where they get annoyed with each other yet also support each other through really dark moments in the forest. Plus Phillip has his own, not demons per say, but his own sadness in his traditional strait laced life as a prince with quite a bit of parental neglect as kids were seen more as pawns/future rulers than as children. But his father, King Hubert also has a bombastic role here that is very entertaining.

Flora, Fauna and Merryweather also make helpful appearances in the real world and in the dreamscape, with Braswell creatively assigning each fairy to represent a part of Aurora’s inner voices. As for the big bad fairy herself, Braswell keeps her deliciously regal yet evil, while hinting at a streak of humanity that makes her continued decision to choose evil more heinous. Believe me, her road to evil is full of blood and hellfire, there are no resurrections here. And yes, the spindle plays a vital part in her defeat and Aurora’s victory.

Additionally, I enjoyed how Braswell created a medieval world full of demons and hellfire in fitting with Aurora’s time period in the 14th century as well as some ye olde innuendo with swords and dairymaids not that Aurora understood, but I enjoyed nonetheless. Additionally I enjoyed how she created a dreamworld where time is long yet fast and just adds to tone disorientation the characters feel.

I don’t have many complaints, it was a solid book introducing the concept of the series as well as creating interesting characterization for the Disney princess with the least lines. The only nitpicks I have are that it dragged a bit in the end and sometimes included more modern slang like “totally” once or twice that took me out of the book.

Overall, 4 spinning spindles.

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Ghosts Still Have Souls

Pairings: Luke x Reader, mentions of Willex

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none? 

Summary: For his whole life Luke Patterson had anxiously awaited the day he’d meet his soulmate, and then he died. 25 years later he and his bandmates are mysteriously resurrected and Luke’s hopes return. Could he find his soulmate in death? After all, Willie says ghosts still have souls. 

A/N: it took me all day but here is my submission for Day 2 - AU for @jatp-week JATP appreciation celebration. I’m such a sucker for soulmate aus and I haven’t written any in the JATP universe yet so this was the perfect opportunity! Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in any future works and as always, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

___

Luke Patterson had always loved the idea of soulmates. When he was a little boy his parents would regale him with the story of how they met. They ran into each other on the quad at their university, his mom knocked to the ground and his dad dropping his books. In her flustered state Emily had combined “Hey, watch where you’re going!” with “Are you okay?” and ended up crying out “Hey, watch where you’re okay!” while his dad had cursed “Shitfuck, are you okay?” When Mitch offered his hand to help her up they noticed each others’ tattoos and the rest was history.

It was Luke’s favorite story in the whole world and he grew up daydreaming about the day he’d meet his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to see what words would appear on his skin when he or she said their first words to him. He wondered if he’d feel the tingle that some reported feeling when the mark formed on their skin, or what the handwriting of his soulmate would look like permanently inked onto this skin. No matter what he knew he’d cherish the mark, it would be from his soulmate, after all, his other half, the person he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

Dying before he could hear the words that would change his life forever kinda threw a wrench in his plans.

The thought of his soulmate out there, having grown up without him, never to meet each other because of his untimely death had plagued him for days after Julie “resurrected” them. Then Alex had met Willie. The skater ghost had died more nearly a decade before they had and yet he and Alex were soulmates, “You dinged my board.” proudly displayed on the blond’s wrist.  

The knowledge that soulmates existed even in death had brought hope back into his life and he started spending his free time daydreaming about them again.

He’d been channeling his daydreams into songwriting one afternoon when Julie had walked into the garage with Flynn and another friend. He assumed you hadn’t been informed about the ghosts as neither Flynn nor Julie made any remarks towards the guitarist despite typically doing so. He wished that wasn’t the case as you were quite cute. You were absolutely the type of girl Luke would’ve crushed on hard back when he was alive, soulmates or not.  

“Oh, and who is this?” Luke asked, employing his teasing tone as he spoke to the newcomer as you set down your backpack though he knew only Julie could hear him.

He had expected a quiet laugh or at the very least a dramatic eye roll from the girl but when he turned to look at her she was staring at her friend’s wrist. Luke turned to look as well and his stomach immediately sank.

There inked on your wrist in his chicken-scratch handwriting were the words he had just spoken to you.

“Oh my gosh,” Julie gasped aloud, drawing everyone’s attention as she opened her mouth to announce what she had just observed.

Before he even had time to think about it, he was stopping her. “No! Julie don’t!”

She stared at him puzzled for a moment but closed her mouth anyway.

“What?” Her friend asked, looking at her perplexed.

“I just… forgot to tell my dad you guys were coming over,” Julie saved. “I’ll just text him real quick.”

You and Flynn nodded, unfazed by the excuse, and plopped down onto the available seating. Luke sighed, pulling his eyes away from you and poofing out of the garage.

He reappeared at his parent’s house. He had hoped to vent to his mom but she wasn’t home so he plopped down on his old bed. His parents hadn’t done much to the room since his death and as he laid there in silence it almost felt like it was still ’95. That pit that had started to form in his stomach continued to grow as he laid there, his thoughts swirling as his hopes thrashed around him once more.

He’d finally found his soulmate but she was- what had Alex called them?- a lifer. She couldn’t even see him. How were they supposed to meet and fall in love and build a life together when she couldn’t even see him and he couldn’t even touch her? How were they supposed to pass their story on to their future kids when she hadn’t even been able to hear the words that were now permanently etched into her skin? As he thought more about it he realized that he hadn’t received a mark of his own. His heart sank as he ran his thumb over the bare skin of his wrist. He’d stopped Julie before she could tell her he was even there so she’d never had a chance to say her first words to him.

It was worth it, he decided after a while. It was worth never hearing the words, never having the tattoo and knowing for certain that his perfect match was out there. It was worth it if he could spare you from the pain of knowing that your soulmate was there but he was dead and invisible.

___

Luke was almost grateful for the distraction of the Hollywood Ghost Club. The last few weeks had been torture, him constantly trying to avoid being in the same room with you and Julie. She had told you about them being ghosts not long after the appearance of your soulmark and had even invited you to meet the band which you had readily accepted. Luke, however, had run away before you could come that day. It killed him that you had met Alex and Reggie and not him, but he figured it would kill him more to have your first words to him appear on his wrist.

They talked about you sometimes, about how funny and adorable you were. It made his blood boil but he had to restrain himself, what right did he have to be jealous when he refused to even meet you.

Still, the rush to book the Orpheum was a welcome distraction from his internal turmoil. It was even enough to distract him from the fact that no matter what happened at the end of the night, he’d never see you again.

He’d miss you. That much was obvious. He’d miss hiding in the loft when you came over to work on homework with Julie, just out of sight so Julie wouldn’t see him but he could still watch you. He’d learned a lot about you that way, how your smile could light up a room, how gorgeous your laugh was but he could tell you hated it by the way you covered your mouth when you did it, how you fidgeted with the hair ties on your wrist whenever you were thinking (he noticed you always had at least two), and that you were almost always cold. He wished he could give you his flannels, you’d look so cute wrapped up in them and they’d certainly keep you warm.

He was thinking of you as he and the guys gathered around the piano in the studio. Julie had just left to head to the Orpheum with her dad and the mood in the garage had immediately grown somber. Their heads filled with worries of what would come next, what was on the other side? Luke’s only comfort was the thought that maybe if he crossed over you’d get a second chance at a soulmate, one who was alive. You’d never even spoken to him and yet he’d do anything for you.

It was that dedication to you that had pulled him out of the Hollywood Ghost Club and onto the Orpheum stage.

It was that dedication that kept him from running straight to Caleb to save his soul when they didn’t cross over. He’d let his soul be destroyed if it meant your happiness.

He never could’ve anticipated what had happened that night nor the repercussions.

He’d spent the next day journaling, writing down all his thoughts- and there were a lot seeing as he had expected to die yesterday, again. He was alone in the studio, Alex out celebrating with Willie and Reggie was who knows where (probably showing Ray like usual), then you walked in.

He sighed, getting ready to poof up to his hiding spot in the loft before Julie showed up when he was stopped.

“Am I dead?” You asked, staring at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked warily, not understanding the premise of your question.

“Well, you’re dead, and with the exception of Julie, you’re only visible to other dead people and I can see you,” you explained carefully, eyes wide.

Luke nodded at your train of thought before it hit him.

“Wait, you can see me?” He gasped, and you nodded. “You can see me! You talked to me!”

His head snapped down to stare at his wrist, sure enough, “Am I Dead?” was scrawled across his skin in the most beautiful handwriting he’d ever seen. Sure, some might say it was a little messy but to him it was perfect.

Before he could even think about his actions, he was rushing towards you and pulling you into his chest. You stiffened, shocked by the sudden action.

“What’re you-“ started to ask but you were cut off by him violently throwing himself away from you.

“I just touched you,” he gasped, once again stating the obvious. “Why can I touch you? Are you dead?”

“No! At least… I didn’t think I was but now I’m really not sure.” You shook your hands anxiously before reaching for one of your hair ties as you started pacing.

“Sorry for taking so long Y/N, I got caught up with Reggie in the house- what on earth is going on in here?” Julie paused in the doorway as she observed your pacing and Luke’s panicked look.

“Oh thank god, you can see me,” You breathe out before turning to Luke, “Julie can see me, so I must not be dead.”

“What?”

“Y/N and I thought maybe she was dead since she can see me and I could touch her,” Luke explained and you nodded.

“What?!” Julie repeated, more shocked than the last time. “You can see him? And you, you can touch her?”

“Yeah, look!” Luke exclaimed, reaching his arm out to tap your arm but it just went right through you. “Huh, why…?”

“Maybe the first time was a fluke?” You supplied before something caught your eye.

You reached out to grab his arm as it fell back to his side. This time it worked, and you pulled his limb closer to you, turning it over to examine what you had seen.

“Woah, see?” Luke said pointedly to Julie, though you weren’t listening.

“That’s- how? You’re-“ you sputtered as you stared at the mark on his wrist. “Soulmates.” You whispered finally.

“Um, I’m gonna give you guys some time,” Julie said, eyes wide as she walked backward out of the garage.

You didn’t let go of his wrist, your eyes flitting between your words and his eyes.

“That’s why I didn’t hear them,” you muttered, bringing your own wrist next to his.

It had been puzzling you for weeks, how you couldn’t remember hearing the words the day they had appeared on your wrist. It made sense now, you couldn’t hear them because Luke had said them.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, dropping his wrist from your grasp. “I thought maybe if you didn’t know you could find happiness somewhere else. With someone who wasn’t invisible and intangible.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him, his face was tilted down, unable to look you in the eye. You sighed, taking a deep breath before reaching your hand up to cup the side of his face. It took a couple of tries but you were finally able to place your hand on his cheek, tilting his face to look up at you.

“Luke,” you said softly, “How could I want anyone else?”

He shook his head at your words, though his hand came up to rest over your own. “How could you know that? This is the first time we’ve ever spoken.”

“Because the universe put us together,” you answered surely, bringing your wrists together again in the space between you. “I have no idea how this is going to work but I know it’ll be worth it because these mean we’re meant for each other.”

“You are better than I could ever imagine,” Luke confessed softly, and you smiled shyly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” you joked lightly, before pulling him to the couch. “Now c’mon soulmate, we’ve got some catching up to do.”

[chibinekochan]

How to become a Demon Ruler 205

Part: 00 I 01 I 02 I 03 I 04

Gender Neutral Reader insert

taglist: @ayesha95 ; @nomnomcupcakesworld ; @fex-phoenix ; @depressed-bixch ; @kitsune-oji ; @witch-o-memes : @gallantys ,@tanspostsblog ; @undertaker-02 ,

---------------------------------

The walk to the school is pretty pleasant. Since No. 2 is so small I'm a bit slowed down but it's kind of nice regardless.

I can't get enough of looking everywhere. The devildom is so similar but so different compared to the human world.

Then we come by a huge mansion. It looks old but refined. I can't help but stare at it.

Then I see a familiar pair of demons.

It's Asmo and Mammon.

Asmo waves to me happily. Mammon looks rather sleepy.

"With this, my job is done. See you later, papa." No. 2 waves to Mammon.

"Hold on, I'm not your papa and besides what do you mean by your job is done?" Mammon seems honestly offended.

"Well, it would be too suspicious for me to go to school and I have better things to do." No. 2 shrugs.

"He isn't wrong, don't be such a grouch. Only because you got forced to do this task doesn't mean you have to have an attitude about it." Asmo shakes his head and shrugs. "You are more than welcome to go ahead without us Mammon."

"Ain't gonna happen. You will just use that chance to fool around. Lucifer would be so pissed off about it." Mammon sighs.

"You aren't wrong about that but I promised to be a good boy." Asmo plays innocent.

"So you are bringing me the rest of the way?" I'm slightly confused since nobody told me about this.

"Yep. Beel and Belphie will bring you back home later." Asmo seems pretty happy to be here.

"We should start going, if we are late I will get strung up by the ceiling." Mammon sighs deeply.

It sounds silly but he looks so troubled that I doubt it's a joke. "That's a pretty extreme punishment."

"I know right? Lucifer is so unreasonable." Mammon shakes his head.

"Don't listen to him, it's a pretty common punishment for Lucifer to give us." Asmo must see my frown and tries to explain it to me. Somehow it's not that helpful to me.

"So… I'm off then bye." No. 2 is getting impatient.

"See you later No.2," I say goodbye to him.

"That little guy is such a pain in my butt." Mammon sighs deeply.

"He is kinda cute in a way." I shrug.

"So that's your taste?" Asmo chuckles.

"Not like that. I mean cute in a little puppy way." I roll my eyes and laugh lightly.

"I can't agree with that." Mammon shakes his head.

And so we head towards the school. Talking about random stuff. It's pretty nice. It makes me calm down greatly.

Soon we arrive at the huge school. There are students everywhere. There are demons in all shapes and sizes, even more than on the ball. I have to try to not stare.

Soon we run into the other brothers.

"Good morning everyone. Now I feel like I'm late." I'm not at all but it seems strange to see them all so early here.

"That's because we are part of the student committee." Satan quickly explains.

"Yeah, that's something Lucifer forced on us. I want to sleep." Belphie yawns.

"It's not bad. We get lots of snacks." Beel seems pretty chipper.

"I guess we should head in before someone gets an attitude again. The new students are also supposed to come today. They all probably will get the welcome speech." Mammon doesn't sound interested at all.

"Well, I don't mind. I have to show the newcomers my amazing self after all." Asmo smiles brightly while fixing his hair in a mirror.

"It's gonna be so awkward being in front of all these people," Levi mumbles under his breath.

I feel bad for him. "It probably will be over before we know it." I try to encourage him.

"Beats being in class." Mammon shrugs.

"See you later." Beel waves to me before they all head into the room.

I wait slightly awkwardly in front of the door, knowing they will open the doors at a specific time later.

The school is even bigger than I expected. I wonder how everything will be going.

Then I notice a commotion in the garden just outside. I step outside to see what is happening.

I see a group of demons surrounding two students. One of them looks like a child. Maybe he is lost? I keep looking and notice the demons seem hostile.

"We don't need your kind here." One of the demons aggressively shouts towards the taller students.

"Right go home yo u stupid angels!" Another Demon glares at them.

So these must be the angel exchange students. I get ready to step in, if I hate anything it's bullies. I had enough of them for myself.

Before I even manage to reach them I see Diavolo emerging behind the crowd." Please, everyone. This is a place of learning and coming together. If you don't like it feel free to go home but if you stay I won't accept another bad word from anyone." Diavolo speaks with a smile but his tone is clear and allows no talking back.

All of the demons stop talking and pretty much run away. It's pretty impressive.

"Are you both okay?" Diavolo looks worried at the angels.

"We are fine, thank you for caring for us." The older angel seems calm. Maybe he is used to demons treating him like this?

"Demons like these don't scare me." The younger angel says, with a shaking voice.

"If anyone should bother either of you please tell me or the school committee right away. I want this to be a place of happiness not hate." Diavolo smiles at them.

They seem to be unsure of Diavolo's words. "Thank you." The older angel hesitates. The divide between them is undeniable.

"Oh, there is the human exchange student. Come meet the angel exchange students." Diavolo smiles, seemingly a bit unsure of how to address me.

I walk towards the angels. "Hello, nice to meet you." I wonder how they see humans.

"Hello, I'm Simeon and this is Luke." Simeon smiles at me, I can't see a hint of resentment. This is reassuring at least.

"I haven't met a human before but I hope we can get along." Luke seems more hesitant towards me. I can't fault him for that. "I hope we get the opportunity to get closer in the future. I can't believe I'm meeting two angels. A week ago I didn't even know demons were real." Honestly, it's still hard to believe.

"I certainly hope we can live up to the expectations." Simeon chuckles lightly.

He seems to be a pleasant guy. I wonder what his thoughts are on all of the realms becoming closer.

"I'm sure you will. Why did you decide to come to the devildom anyway?" I can't help but wonder.

"Well, we have our reasons." Simeon doesn't seem to want to talk.

I don't dig deeper.

We keep standing together, waiting to be called into the room.

[shans-writings]

—–-- AU-GUST PROMPTS 2021 :

↳ Day 1 : Ancient Gods.

`

↳ Main Info :

BNHA / MHA short story.

All Might and Endeavor are ancient gods and Shigaraki Tomura is the new Death in town.

Non explicit violence content, no sexual content, no mention of dead.

Safe for minors.

`

`

“Tonight I will kill a god.”

The stranger slammed the glass on the table. His friend, who had laughed at such insolence as if it were a joke, put her hand to his chest, so that he would not stand up.

“You cannot kill a god,” the stranger's expression was fixed on the traveler in front of them, in the hollowed darkness under his hood, the type that didn't let his eyes be seen. “The gods do not die. This is not how the world works.”

Beside him, the stranger's friend pretended to be amused, though over his glass he was watching them warily.

He did not believe that he and the stranger were real friends. They were completely different, one like the heaven's, one like the underworld. Yet the stranger and his friend were about the same height and width, with the same bulging muscles under tight clothing, the same hard cuts on their faces. Their swords, the size of a dragon's fang, were tied behind their back by a golden band across their chests. Neither really needed them to inflict harm, much less to exercise their authority. But the bands had their ranks written on them and they matched the crowns on their heads, the rings on their biceps, the golden markings under their eyes… Those were their honor as warriors, which marked them and distinguished them from all the rest.

The traveler, who had not revealed a name, so the stranger's friend only thought of him as the traveler, made a strange noise that seemed to come out of his throat, leaning both elbows on the table. Was he laughing? The friendliest of warriors hastened to direct the conversation to safety, recounting all the times someone tried to kill a god and failed. He talked a lot, it wasn't easy to put him in a bad mood. Usually he left it to the stranger to make enemies, for he was so brutal that it was easier for him to force himself into situations, but not with words.

After a long time, the stranger and his friend heard the doorbell.

The rest of the tavern customers turned to look at the newcomers, keeping silent. The two bulky men kept staring in front of them, at the traveler, who had once again let out that chilling sound that was his laughter. In a hummingbird flutter, the traveler stretched out his hands and the golden bands of the strangers began to explode, first those of their chests, their heads, their arms, their eyes. Both bulky men rose to their feet, but it was clear that these bands were not decorative, which could not be hidden for much longer. Of those bands that had served to seal their colossal powers and pass them off as humans, only dust remained.

In the middle of the tavern, All Might, god of wind blows, and Endeavor, god of the flames of hell, had their skin and eyes alight with the light of their divine cores, so much so that half the tavern had to stumble out into the street, or close your eyes to avoid being momentarily blind.

Endeavor drew his sword from him, but All Might was still hesitant. He studied the dark robe the stranger wore, his lanky posture. A sense of dark terror washed over his chest, which he knew immediately because no god was used to fear. The longer he watched him, the more he felt there was something ancient there. He was frightened that the creature could reveal itself and be a copy of himself, a wandering mirror, distorted and new, spotless, so bright and flawless that it'd drive people him.

“What are you?” The god of the winds finally asked.

“The only thing that can truly end itself.”

The traveler removed the robe from him in one fluid motion. No, the god thought, the robe simply ceased to exist when touched to transform into something else, a kind of function between divine matter and organic matter of the human world.

Now he was finally beginning to understand what was happening.

A sharp knock told him that the tavern door had been fully opened. Slowly, as in a dream. The torch fire turned from orange to blue, shadows and men multiplying, compressing the air. It smelled of river, of blood, and the atmosphere thickened until both gods could only perceive each other by the brightness of their eyes, as well as their unearthly gazes.

One after another, disembodied hands turned to the lord of him, holding the parchment and feathers for him so that he could read without touching. From behind, the voices of everyone present began to speak in turn.

“Toshinori Yagi, All Might, god of wind blows and of peace among the tribes. Todoroki Enji, Endeavor, god of the flames of hell and the terror of the fallen. Meet our lord of decay, Shigaraki Tomura. "

Death.

Yagi wanted to fight. He knew Enji would do it, even if it was to taste his god blood.

"May I ask how you plan to kill a god, child?"

Oh, how the roles had changed. All Might heard someone hiss, not daring to turn around. Shigaraki perm He was calm, smiling. The more he looked at him, the more Yagi felt his spine bend toward the ground.

“Have you chosen his replacement yet?”

Nothing, none of the gods spoke. Shigaraki scratched his neck, floating hands signed the scroll and closed it, gently placing it in his hands. As a final gesture, his hands extended their bony fingers to the sky again and then, in a second, his form decomposed in mid-flight and Death's entire body enveloped the gods, until he materialized on the other side. .

In the hands of Death, two pearls had remained. One golden like the high summer wind, another red like the blood and sulfur bottoms meters and meters underground.

Toshinori was the first to collapse. His skin stuck to his bones, he was shrinking until he was no more than an old man on his knees. He couldn't stand up, no matter how much he wanted to.

Enji retained his physique, but there was no light in his eyes. Everything that made him a god was gone. He felt it as the greatest pain, he knew that his cores were intact, but with all his immortality it would take years of devotion to fill that void again.

Years they would not have.

They heard Shigaraki Tomura laugh one last time, as he went with his entourage into the great darkness beyond the door.

And the old gods, that night, learned how you can kill a god. They must replaced and sentenced to exile, until no one remembers them.

And finally... Nothing, oblivion.

[i-like-plan-m]

About your LWJ can hear lies AU- I can’t help but wonder how he would react to Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao since they are both known for being expert manipulators, especially since it’s hinted at that Nie Huaisang had a lot to do with the WW and MX thing. So I wondered if Huaisang would find a way around LWJ’s lie detecting or if he even knows about it? Also, I can just imagine the PAIN LWJ would be in if he had to talk to Jin Guangyao

Oops, I forgot to link this on tumblr! My bad! This is chapter 3 of the lies au

The trip to Qinghe was familiar by now. 

Years of flight between the sects meant Lan Zhan could make the trip with his eyes closed. He kept them open, because the sight of the Qinghe mountain range always brought a sense of relief that was as sharp as the cold air.  

The sight at the gates was becoming a familiar one, too. Nie Huiyin waited for him with all the patience she was capable of, her constant restless energy directed into a small but impeccably crafted blade that she was sharpening like it had done something to offend her. 

It was just her way, Lan Zhan had learned. Nie Mingjue’s cousin was as brusque as he was, infinitely more cheerful and possibly the loudest person Lan Zhan had ever met in his life. She was also, however, the most refreshingly honest person in all five of the great sects, save for perhaps Nie Mingjue himself. 

“Ah!” She said brightly as he landed before her, stepping gracefully from his sword and sweeping it back into the sheath on his back. “It’s our little Lan Zhan, back again!” 

He refused to acknowledge the blush heating his ears and instead nodded in greeting. His composed response did not deter her from tossing a friendly arm around his shoulders and hauling him through the open gates, past the grinning guards and into the towering grasp of the Unclean Realm walls. 

“How have you been, shidi?” She asked. The Nie Sect, Lan Zhan had quickly discovered, lived up to their imposing reputation of strength and honor. They were also the friendliest people in the world, once they’d decided you were theirs. 

Once Lan Zhan's was unofficially acknowledged as a member of the sect leader’s family-- or at least someone held in high regard by Nie-zongzhu himself, the floodgates had opened. He couldn’t decide whether their open affection was embarrassing or not, but it did fill him with a warmth he was unfamiliar with, one that felt like unconditional acceptance. As though they wanted him here. As though they liked him.

He had never had friends before. 

Well. He wasn’t entirely positive that he had any now. But regardless, the Nie Sect disciples treated him with regard. They smiled when they saw him. They welcomed him in their training exercise despite the differences in their sects’ fighting styles. 

Some, like Nie Huiyin, treated him as though he was a part of their sect. Another of Nie Mingjue’s little brothers to look out for, to keep tabs on like he was incapable of taking care of himself. 

It would be insulting if it hadn’t felt so much like acceptance. 

“I have been progressing,” Lan Zhan reported dutifully. “My control has improved further since my last visit.” He didn’t react to lies like someone had stabbed him in the ear the way he once had. With age came control, and a higher pain tolerance, apparently. 

Nie Huiyin made a sound of exasperation. “You Lans, I swear. I meant how have you been? Done anything fun lately?” She jostled him to punctuate her questions. He was slightly cheered by the fact that she had to reach higher than usual to rest an arm over his shoulders; he’d finally hit his growth spurt this summer and was nearing his brother’s height. 

“I mastered Inquiry,” he offered. 

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Is that what you do for fun?” 

“I enjoy it, yes.” 

“Hm. Acceptable. Though my rock climbing offer still stands if you want real fun. There’s nothing more exhilarating than free-falling from a thousand feet, shidi!” Lan Zhan gave a doubtful noise in response that made her laugh. “We catch ourselves before the bottom and take the rest of the fall on our sabers. And then!”

And then they raced through the most dangerous mountain pass in Qinghe on their sabers, chasing adrenaline with as many death-defying stunts they could manage until the pass ended in a dead-drop of a hundred feet. Most of them followed the waterfall straight into the large lake at the bottom. Most of the Nie disciples were reckless enough to try it at least once.

“Scorpion Alley,” he said, familiar with the sect’s unofficial rite of passage. 

“You got it,” she agreed cheerfully. “We still haven’t gotten you out there, have we?” 

“You will not,” he assured her, and bit back a smile when her laugh echoed across the training grounds. It was so different here than in his sect. There was little composure in Qinghe, no reason to stifle laughter or keep words hushed. 

Composure, he’d learned, was another word for concealment. Disguising one’s truthful feelings to reflect serenity instead. A mask that hid the turmoil beneath for the sake of propriety.

It was a lie all the same. 

“I hear your sect is hosting guest disciples next year,” Nie Huiyin said, steering him towards the main hall. 

“Yes.” He made a halfhearted attempt to sound neutral. He must have failed, because she snorted a laugh as she shoved open the doors of the main hall where Nie Mingjue sat, sorting through a stack of reports with a cranky expression. A slender, unfamiliar man with a dimpled smile stood beside the desk, holding a massive accounting book and waiting patiently for Nie Mingjue to stop muttering under his breath. 

Nie Mingjue looked up as the doors swung open. He brightened almost immediately, standing to welcome Lan Zhan with such genuine delight that Lan Zhan ducked his head, pleased. 

“Welcome back,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and leading him to one of the nearby tables, gesturing for a servant to bring tea. He sat across from Lan Zhan while Nie Huiyin leaned against a column behind him. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” Lan Zhan said, and tried not to sound petulant. He was almost sixteen, perfectly capable of making the trip from Gusu to Qinghe without trouble. 

“It’s the da-ge instinct, little Lan,” Nie Huiyin said with a laugh, nudging Nie Mingjue with her knee when he scowled up at her. “He can’t help himself.” 

The unfamiliar man hovered in the background as though unsure what to do without Nie MIngjue’s attention. Lan Zhan blinked at him, still unclear on who this newcomer was or how he’d climbed to Nie Mingjue’s side so quickly. Lan Zhan visited often enough that he would have noticed a new person in Nie Mingjue’s inner circle before today, surely. 

Nie Mingjue noticed his distraction and turned to wave the man over. “Ah. Apologies, you two have not met.” The stranger obediently crossed the room and bowed low to Lan Zhan. “This is Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan. And this is Meng Yao, my new deputy.” 

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Lan-er-gongzi.” 

Lan Zhan nodded politely in response and wondered at the faint whisper of a slipped note that accompanied his words. Not quite a lie, but there was something underlying that sounded… off. 

“Da-ge,” Nie Huisang complained, sweeping into the room with a sulking expression. “I already did my saber training today as promised, and Nie Zonghui is trying to make me do more. This is cruel and unjust and-- oh, hi Lan Wangji.” 

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan murmured. 

“Lan Wangji,” Nie Huiasang said brightly, throwing himself down beside them. “Tell me, doesn’t your clan have a rule or twelve about keeping promises?” 

“A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Meng Yao hid a smile like he’d witnessed many similar discussions like this one. 

Then again, so had Lan Zhan. The Nie’s bickering was as constant as stars in the sky. It had taken some getting used to, but now Lan Zhan let it pass over him as background noise. It was all born from a place of love, and even the small lies (like Nie Huaisang’s mistruth about the duration of his promised saber practice) were easily ignored. 

Meng Yao, though. He was odd. 

Lan Zhan kept his face carefully neutral whenever Meng Yao’s smiles rang false, which was… often. He smiled like he knew it was expected of him, not because he wanted to. Like he was playing a role, either for the sect leader’s benefit or his own. 

It had been a few years since his lessons with Lan Xichen on the reasons why people lie, but most of it was… still hard to understand. So when Meng Yao responded to direction throughout the rest of Lan Zhan’s visit with a demure, “I would be honored, Sect Leader” and it rang discordant every time, Lan Zhan thought it was perhaps time to ask for help. 

Only a few years ago, Lan Zhan had accidentally exposed an advisor in Qinghe who had been bought off by merchants in the city. Every bit of his advice and own influence had been manipulated to support the merchants. 

Of course, when Lan Zhan was in the room and realized the advisor’s input sounded like a drunkard playing a dizi, he’d signaled to Nie Mingjue, who then rooted out the reason for his lies. Lan Zhan was not capable of doing so himself-- he only knew when people lied, never their reason for it. 

Shortly after Nie Mingjue had personally tossed the advisor out of the Unclean Realm’s gates, Lan Zhan had discovered a shadow wandering around on his heels. 

“How’d you know he was lying?” Nie Huaisang asked curiously. He continued when Lan Zhan stood frozen in place, unsure how to respond. “I saw your cue to da-ge. The hand signal?”

“I…” He had no idea what to do. Brush him off? Explain his mother’s gift? Deny it entirely? 

No. That was dishonest. 

He swallowed hard and admitted, “I can hear lies.” 

“Really?” Nie Huaisang’s eyes brightened. “So you knew the advisor was corrupt?” 

“No. Just that he lied.” 

“Hm. Interesting. So just the lie, not the intention?” The ever-present fan fluttered as Nie Huaisang stared thoughtfully at him. He nodded once in agreement. “You hear it?”

Lan Zhan realized he’d been absently following Nie Huaisang’s meandering pace along one of the walls. They were alone, so he reluctantly shared, “It was a gift from my mother, before she died. I hear conversations like music, and lies are…”

“Horrible, mangled sounds?” Nie Huaisang asked dryly. “My music tutors tell me that’s what I sound like when I play, anyway.” 

His face did not show the flicker of humor he felt. “Yes.”

“Is there anything other than the curse that tells you when they lie? Like, if their voice sounds nervous or their breathing is too fast?” 

Lan Zhan paused. He’d never thought of that, of looking past the sound of the curse to identify the physiological aspects of the liars. Why would he? There was irrefutable proof from the curse. 

But not looking further felt… lazy. Like willful ignorance. That he could not abide. 

“I will observe from now on,” he decided. 

“Me too!” Nie Huaisang caught his skeptical side-eye, because he sighed like he alone bore the weight of the universe and said, “I’m just saying, it seems like a useful skill. That advisor got past me, too, you know, and I spend a lot of time listening to their incredibly boring conversations.” 

“Boring conversations about running the sect.” If the disapproval wasn’t clear on his face, it was evident in his tone. 

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “But I learned my lesson, Lan-er-gongzi, all thanks to you! We should practice together, don’t you think? How about just before lunch every day?” 

“That is the time of your saber training,” Lan Zhan, who was not an idiot, said. 

“Is it?” Nie Huaisang asked, blinking innocently at him. “Ah, well, da-ge can’t complain if I’m busy making our favorite guest feel welcome!” 

“We will spar together before lunch,” Lan Zhan decided, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s horrified expression. “And then study during lunch.” 

“No,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “How can I learn to read people if I’ve been pummeled into the dirt by the Second Jade of Lan?”

“I would not,” Lan Zhan said, offended. “You are not capable of a legitimate spar--” 

“No shit!” 

“--so instead I will help with your training.” 

“Somehow this turned out very badly for me,” Nie Huaisang muttered, but he was at the training grounds mostly on time later that day all the same. 

That was two years ago. 

After two years of shared study, they had something that was not quite a friendship. Lan Zhan had never lost the sense of awkwardness around Nie Huaisang-- he was never quite sure how to interact, wasn’t sure what his role was in this relationship. 

Nie Huaisang mostly just complained to him about everything under the sun. But every time Lan Zhan visited, he showed up to the training grounds with an expression of utmost suffering. He only remembered his saber half the time, and he tripped over his own feet often enough Lan Zhan feared for his life, but he showed up. 

So Lan Zhan knew his concerns would be heard if he took them to Nie Huaisang. Maybe he would have more insight into Meng Yao’s oddities-- Nie Huaisang understood people the way Lan Zhan didn’t. He couldn’t hear lies, but he could see them. 

Most of the time, anyway. He’d learned to read faces where Lan Zhan heard the mistruths. It was a training method with guaranteed reliability, and Nie Huaisang’s success had surprised him. Apparently he was highly capable when he actually applied himself. Too bad he didn’t want to. 

Still. He would listen to Lan Zhan, and he would help. That much was certain.

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2021 Day 3: Taunting, Insults

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Characters: Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull Tags: Assault, Mage-Templar Conflict, Self-Worth Issues, Hurt Dorian, Holy Smite, Protective Iron Bull Words: 3.484

Summary: Dorian can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

- A few Templars attack Dorian in Skyhold. Bull comes to the rescue.

---

It has gotten late. Dinner is already over and while there is faint music to be heard from the Herald’s Rest, the rest of Skyhold is eerily deserted. Dorian curses himself silently as he hurries through the dark corridors. He lost track of time in the library, which should not come as a surprise, really, but he knows better than to walk alone after dark.

He is not afraid. Dangers lurk around every corner, but he trusts in his ability to defend himself. The thing is, that he is not certain whether he should defend himself. The Tevinter Mage far from home, shrouded in mystery. People do not trust him here, but the reasons are so laughably threadbare. He is neither a blood mage nor does he want to overthrow any kingdoms.

“Mage,” a voice calls out, harsh but slightly too loud for the late hour.

Dorian hastens his step. He knows the distaste in the tone intimately, even if it is only since he left Tevinter that he learned it paired just as well with mage as it does with slave or son.

He keeps his head up, makes it look like he is not running away. Running never helps. While most of the soldiers here are cowards, some do like to hunt, and Dorian knows better than to give them a reason to.

“I’m talking to you.”

And Dorian is trying his best not to hear him. One of these days, he is going to accidentally incinerate a hapless Templar trying to waylay him. The uproar that will cause. Perhaps that will still better than this cat-and-mouse game that he always, always loses.

A hand grabs Dorian all of a sudden, appearing out of nowhere in the dark. Dorian, who was concentrating on the yelling man in his back has not been paying attention to what is ahead of him.

Another Templar. Even out of uniform they are unmistakeable. That fanatic fire in their eyes that burns brightest when Dorian is near. They like to leave their hands hovering over their hips, even when they are not wearing their swords, constantly following that urge to be ready, to cut down a mage, no questions asked.

“Is there something wrong with your ears, mage?” the Templar in front of him asks, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Alcohol clouds his breath, almost as potent as hate.

“Nothing at all,” Dorian answers brightly, trying to tone down the sharpness of his voice. “Nobody was calling my name, though.”

He bites his tongue. So much for holding back. It is high time to get out of here before the stragglers reach them. But no matter how much he twists his arm, the Templar’s hold remains strong. He could put the man on his back, but mages are not allowed to defend themselves and he does not want all of Skyhold’s guards to be called down on him because these guys are screaming murder.

“You bloody ‘Vints, always thinking you’re better than us good folks.”

Dorian barely manages to keep his face from scrunching up, but some of his contempt must have slipped through anyway because the man’s scowl deepens. Definitely time to get out.

“Well, I better relieve you of my presence then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your night,” Dorian says and calls fire to his hands, not enough to burn but to warm his fingers in warning. To his dismay, the Templar’s grip only tightens and he pulls Dorian closer.

“The Inquisitor should have never let you in,” he snarls, his foul breath warm on Dorian’s cheek. “We’re trying to save the world, not break it.”

Unable to help himself, Dorian laughs. “Did you read that in one of Master Tethras’ novels? Mighty impressive, I didn’t think they wasted the energy on teaching war dogs to read.”

Dorian should shut up. The drunk guy behind him is coming closer, leaning on a friend’s shoulder. Three on one are not odds Dorian would think twice about in the field. Things are different here. Even drunk and clearly hoping for a fight, people will listen more closely to these three than Dorian.

He is just a mage, barely a friend of the Inquisitor, neither trusted nor even a real asset because who would want a necromancer in their back when they could have him dead and buried, safely sealed away. It grates at Dorian’s pride, but he has practice in being not wanted and sneered at. He does not think it will ever stop hurting but that does not mean he will let them see.

Dorian twists his hand, determined to scare them off even if he does not dare to actually attack them. But before he can do much of anything, the Templar takes an abrupt step forward and shoves Dorian against the wall behind him. The force rattles his ribcage, upsetting a bruise he got while training with Bull. He does not let the pain show but raises a hand and lets a flame dance on his palm, bigger now and definitely a threat. Hopefully, the reminder that he could fling a fireball at their heads will be enough to get them to back off.

What Dorian does not expect is the wave of sudden coldness slamming into him, making him double over. The energy crackling under his skin, ready to be called forth, vanishes, drained by the Smite, leaving only nausea in its wake.

It is a terrible feeling, beyond words. Wielding magic is like breathing, but the Smite is more than a chokehold. It feels as if boiling silver is poured down his throat, charring his insides and leaving nothing but a barren wasteland and the painful memory of greatness.

He can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

The drunk guy sounds much more sober now if no less disdainful.

Panic unfurls in the pit of Dorian’s stomach as he realizes he is cornered. He cannot run, he can not access his magic. He is helpless in the middle of the Inquisition’s stronghold.

Perhaps they will be happy with simply roughing him up a little, with teaching him his place. The drunk guy is leering at him, but Dorian has gone to his knees under equally terrible circumstances before. If they want to kill him, though, there is little he can do. This is not how his story will end. It cannot be. And yet, Dorian has his hands full with staying upright.

He barely feels the first punch. It rattles his body but the pain is a mere echo, lost in the void that has suddenly opened in Dorian’s very core.

The men are still talking, all three of them now towering over Dorian, but he just hears the hate in their voices, no actual words.

A punch the face snaps him out of his stupor, the acute sharpness of it enough to penetrate the fog that has settled over his senses. With consciousness, though, comes more fear.

“You mage scum are good for one thing, though,” one of the Templars says. Dorian is far beyond being able to recognize faces, but his wide grin reveals a missing tooth. “And once we’re done, we’ll bury you outside in the snow, do a favour for all of us.”

Dorian hates the cold and he really, really does not want to die in it. He does not want to die at all, but the how has suddenly become a far greater concern then the when. He opens his mouth, not sure whether to say something or to just scream, but he does not get to do either because another hit to the head makes his vision swim and his thoughts scatter.

“What is going on here?” a new voice interrupts, making the three Templars jump.

The sudden lack of contact between them has Dorian slumping against the wall, his legs shaking too badly to keep him upright. His mind, however, whirs into a panicked chorus of denial. Three men are more than enough, he cannot have even more join the apparent free-for-all he has become this night.

Then, though, he sees the men back away, and when he looks at the newcomer, he finds too broad shoulders and horns and - Dorian has never been so glad to see Bull. It does not matter that he is a mage or a ‘Vint, Bull will not leave him to his fate.

“We were just having a friendly discussion,” one of the Templars says.

Dorian’s brain is slowly sorting itself out again as no new pain comes forth, and he scoffs. It tugs at a fresh bruise on his face.

“The Inquisitor is making a mistake trusting these abominations.”

Dorian is pretty sure that is the one who used the Smite. He shivers, pushes himself further against the wall. The Templars are no match against Bull, but they are still standing like a wall in front of Dorian.

“I suggest that you run,” Bull says, his voice vibrating with something dark. “And if you’re smart, you’ll leave Skyhold tonight and never look back.”

“We don’t take orders from beasts,” the gap-toothed one spats, no ounce of self-preservation.

Dorian has seen Bull on the battlefield, bloodied and hungry for a fight, an unstoppable force. Right in front of their eyes, Bull transforms into something worse than that. His back straightens, making him grow even taller, and his eyes gleam with that same battle madness, focused unflinchingly on these three, puny men.

“Run,” he bellows and takes a swing. Even armour would not have saved Gap-Tooth for Bull does not hold back. His fist slams into the Templar’s jaw with a sickening crunch, throwing him through the air as if he weighs nothing.

That is enough of a demonstration that they do not question Bull again but run, stumbling over their own feet in their hurry to get away. Dorian would laugh at their turned backs, relishing in how the situation was flipped on them, but he is still too busy with just breathing.

He closes his eyes and catalogues the pain. The throbbing, familiar ache of bruises is easier to deal with than the terrifying void inside of him. He reaches for his magic and nothing answers. His skin is just skin and not a conduit. His body is just blood and bones and nerves, full of pain and longing now, nothing greater.

“Are you all right, big guy?” Bull asks, sounding way too close.

When Dorian opens his eyes, Bull is crouching next to him, the madness replaced by blatant concern.

He will live. Nothing feels broken and there are potions against the pain. This is not his first rodeo.

“Of course,” Dorian lies. He is not sure he can stand up, much less make the way back to his quarters. He does not particularly want to be alone either – he has never been this weak before. Or, well, he was once, when his father – better not go there. This evening is ruined enough.

“You were assaulted –” Bull says but trails off when Dorian pushes to his feet.

Shaking legs or not, he is done cowering and he does not need Bull’s pity. Bad enough he had to be saved.

“Merely a misunderstanding,” Dorian says and puts in the effort to regain control over his expression. “Although I appreciate you stepping in.”

He has some experience with putting himself back together. And being alone in his room does not sound so bad if he thinks about it. There, at least, will be nobody to act tough for.

Bull nods but Dorian knows him well enough by now that this battle is not won. Coming another step closer, he his hand on the crook of Dorian’s elbow, never bothering to ask whether Dorian even wants help.

“How often does this happen?” Bull asks, his tone just conversational enough to almost hide the simmering anger beneath.

Deep down, Dorian is flattered that Bull would be upset on his behalf, but if he lets this happen it will only lead to more complications down the road. So, while he does not push off Bull’s hand, he takes care not to lean on him and begins walking towards his room. It is slow going, at first, because his body feels wrong, missing something vital, but he is walking.

“Do you think there’s someone waiting around every corner trying to trip me up?” Dorian says, falling back on his old friend sarcasm. That at least is familiar. “They were drunk.”

Drunk and ready to kill him. That is definitely a step up from mere insults and the occasional try to trip him in the hallways.

“And yet you don’t seem surprised.” Bull looks at him from the side, with an intensity in his eyes that reminds Dorian that bull is not just a formidable fighter but also a spy. “This actually explains quite a bit. You love your wine, but you never get drunk. You always leave the tavern early and never alone. You -”

Dorian pulls his arm away from Bull, very aware that people keep touching him. The momentum of that almost throws him off balance, but apart from the sheer wrongness of being without magic and the exhaustion weighing him down, Dorian almost feels like himself again. Half of himself, covered in bruises, but not a victim anymore.

“Are you done analysing me?” he snaps, knowing that his glare falls flat. “Nothing happened.”

Bull does not visibly react to Dorian refusing his help but looks decidedly unimpressed. “You’re shaking.” He does not move further away but somehow manages not to crowd Dorian either.

“Well, let someone cut one of your limbs off and see how you like it.” It feels like that, only that the loss is not located in just one limb but all of him at once. Magic is always there, waiting just for his call. His entire skin prickles with it, his lungs draw it in alongside the air to breathe. Without it, he barely feels human.

“A limb?” Bull asks, confusion interrupting his casual interrogation. Did they – oh. They took your magic?”

Bull’s realization does not sit right with Dorian. There is no malice on his face, no relief. One of his Chargers is a mage and Bull never gave the impression he minded Dorian using magic, on or off a battlefield. But Dorian is only too aware of how Qunari view mages. It is probably unfair, but he still cannot quite think clearly. And part of him will always be wary of Bull’s loyalty to the Qun.

“One used the Smite,” he says, trying for nonchalance, although it is hard to fool Bull even when he is not exhausted and in pain. “I’ll be right as rain in a minute.” Or a few hours, if he can only lock his door and lie down.

“Dorian.” Bull pulls him to a stop, just the briefest of touches before he lets his hand fall again. “This is not okay. You need to talk to Cullen about this.” It is a miracle, how he can sound so serious while saying something this ridiculous.

Dorian is already walking such a fine line with the Inquisition. It does not matter that he very much wants to rid the world of Corypheus and that he would keep hunting Venatori on his own, that he wants to reform his homeland until it is something to be proud of again. The Inquisitor likes him and trusts him not to betray them. The rest of the Skyhold’s inhabitants? Not so much.

Cullen is always civil to Dorian, the same way he is to foreign diplomats and nobles. Their conversations have gotten a bit warmer since they started playing chess together. That does not mean that Cullen would go against his own people for the sake of a mage telling tales.

“I most definitely do not,” Dorian says with a glare. “I can handle myself.” He has done so a thousand times before and likely will a thousand more.

“That’s what it looked like.”

It is not like Bull to mock him. About his clothes or the way he drinks his wine, yes. But about losing a fight? A minute ago, he called it assault but now the blame has shifted to Dorian. It always does. Time to go so he can lick his wounds in private.

“If you’re done insulting me, then –”

Bull reaches out and Dorian flinches instinctively. It gives them both halt, so much more telling about Dorian’s state than his threadbare lies.

“What about the other mages?” Bull then asks, his tone gentle, reasonable. “What if they’re going for someone a little less noticeable next? Who doesn’t play chess with the Commander and has his ear?”

Dorian has thought about that before. The other mages usually do not go out alone, too used to be wary of Templars. And he doubts anybody would dare to touch Vivienne or Solas.

“They hate me because I’m from Tevinter.” It is certainly true. And he is never quiet about his disdain of Ferelden either. The weather, the dogs, the food. He will not be forbidden to speak the truth.

But Bull does not seem to buy it. “Is that all?

Dorian stays silent. He is loud and flashy and unrepentant, so that is what might have drawn their gaze. There is little about him that does not offend people here. But that is not what their main issue is with him, but the fact that he commands a power they do not understand and never will because they cower from it.

Being a mage is not a choice, though. In most parts of Thedas, magic is treated as something to be contained and caged. Control is important, certainly, but magic is in everything and cutting it out means going through life half-blind.

Dorian turns and starts walking again. He is done with this conversation. People will always come after him and making him a fool of himself in front of the Commander of the Inquisition forces will not change that. In fact, he might just get another enemy out of this.

“I can talk to Cullen, if you’d prefer,” Bull offers, keeping up easily with him.  

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Dorian bites out. He will have to talk to Fiona and perhaps Vivienne to make sure that the other mages are not harassed too. He can deal with it, has done so for as long as he remembers, even if the insults change wherever he goes. But Bull is right, he will not let other experience the same.

“Never said you weren’t capable,” Bull says, his placating tone falling on deaf ears. “Do you know who they were?”

Dorian has no ideas. If he remembered every face that looked at him with disgust, every person who spewed insults or spat at him, he would not be able to cram anything else into his brain. It was never that important.

He shakes his head. “Cullen trusts the Templars that came with him.” And, despite the progress Cullen has undoubtedly made, he does not trust mages.

Bull nods but argues anyway, “We’re getting more refugees every day. He doesn’t know all of them.”

And they will still be Templars while Dorian is just an enemy mage. But Bull is right. If they are going after a member of the Inquisition’s inner circle, the other mages are not safe.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promises grudgingly. That is not a conversation he is looking forward to. He can already imagine the questions. Are you sure you did nothing to provoke them?

“Good.” Bull smiles as if he never doubted he would win the argument. “Let me walk you back to your quarters.”

Dorian should protest. He is a grown man. But he is tired and shaken to the core, still empty inside where his magic used to reside. He still does not want to be alone, does not want to peer around every corner, waiting for the next attack. The shadows seem to retreat from Bull’s massive form and Dorian is glad for the company.

He does not say thank you, but the corner of Bull’s mouth ticks further up as if he hears it anyway.

“Next time, just find me at the tavern. If I’m not there, the boys will be just as happy to help.”

Dorian nods, even though he does not understand the offer. Bull does not owe him anything. But this is something he has been learning slowly, relying on others. Maybe he can allow himself to get used to it. He can dream, at least.

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (46)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

He couldn't believe he had come to this point. He didn't want to believe it actually. And yet... it’s very real. If one day he had been told that he would use spiritualism to deal with his problems, Danny would have laughed everything he could. Then he would have mocked the fools who believe in it. Unfortunately for him, you believe in it. And he can't really make fun of it. He wants to keep his arms. The day was still under stress and waiting for Melina to arrive, to finally free you from all this. But Danny is not enthusiastic about the idea. But he hides it, to please you.

Melina had arrived early that evening, with two boxes containing all her grandmother's mystical objects. The sooner she comes, the sooner the problem will be solved. That's what she told him on the phone, 1 hour ago. And knowing Melina, Danny suspects that the accelerator must have suffered. He took one of the boxes and went up to the apartment where you were making coffee. Melina arrived with the second box in hand, which she gently placed on the ground.

“Are you sure what you're doing? You didn't need so many objects.” said Danny, sighing.  

“Jed. We don’t joke with the spirits! especially evil spirits! I gathered all the objects that Grandma used to chase away negative entities. there is one that will correspond to what we need against those who want you harm!” responds Melina, crossing her arms.  

“Because in addition you don’t know what these objects do? it's going to take the whole night!”  

“I did as fast as I could Jed... I didn't have time to look in detail at the properties of each object. But all 3, we will go much faster.”

“Do you think it's going to work?” you ask, giving Danny and Melina a cup of coffee.  

“The only way to find out is to try. But in your interest, it’s better that it works. As I said, we don’t joke with evil spirits. And who knows what these things might do in the near future.”  

In their interests. But Danny already knows the result. He knows very well that it’s a waste of time and you no longer risk anything. But if it can reassure you, then he is ready to let spiritism do its magic at home. Hoping that it doesn’t encroach on his business. And the sooner you are reassured, the sooner he can return to kill poor "innocents" at night. Even if at the moment, the offenders are discreet in Roseville. And they’re few.

Melina began to open the boxes and search throughout this bazaar for the objects that will be most useful in your situation. Candles, amulets, crosses, salt, holy water, a Ouija... All the necessary of spiritism and ghost hunting was in these boxes. It's a real shop. Danny never had the opportunity to meet this woman, the poor one having died, but one thing is certain, she was a believer to the end. You help Melina to search and Danny, in front of this, had to resolve to do the same. If it's not unfortunate...

“Guide to spiritism for newcomers: learn to master and use one's celestial power safely. Are there really people reading this stuff? I thought it's innate and that it was mastered with experience.” said Danny, showing the book at you and Melina.  

“It is. But sometimes, it’s...hard to control, to not cross the border. Once my grandma explained to me what happened to one of her friends who, like her, have this kind of gift, crossed the borders between us and spirits world. She was not the same at all. She was... as if she had been drained of all energy, a real zombie. No doctor, not even the greatest specialists could determine where this could come from. But my grandma, she knew that her friend had crossed the point of no return and a few months later... she died in her bed. My grandma was always paying attention since that day.” responds Melina.  

“Frightening...” you said worried.  

“Isn't it? I would need this book. Thank you for finding it, Jed.”

“A protective amulet? Has it already worked?”

“More than once! It was my grandmother's lucky charm. She always used it as a last resort when other objects did nothing. We will be able to use it too, with salt.” replied Melina.  

Danny sighs before looking away. What not to hear... Melina prepared the table and put the book there, which she opened, flipping through the pages one by one carefully so as not to miss anything. She has to make sure that everything goes well, for her as for both of you. Danny glanced at you, seeing your little worried but adorable face. It reminded him of the first time you met Ghostface. The same face that in the end, convinced him not to kill you. In addition to your temper.

“Oh, come on. Are you going to walk away now?” said Jed in Danny’s mind.  

“Shut up.” Danny simply responds.

“Imagine that it works. And let this thing not come back. You'll have to believe that all this isn't just a big joke for profit.”

“And if it doesn't work, I'm going to beat myself up and all this mess to go down to the car...”

“Danny, you saw this thing just like me and (Y/N). You can't deny the existence of this thing, whatever it is. And obviously it wants to use you to feed her. The question is how. And personally, unless you're a sadomasochist, I don't think you want to know, and live it.

“Yeah yeah. We’ll see if it works.”

Jed sighed before disappearing. Danny looked at you and Melina again, both of you reading the book to ward off evil spirits. If this stupid stuff really works, he promises to go to church at least once a month. What? it's already better than nothing! don't ask too much of him either... Melina, while following the instructions, installed all the equipment around the apartment. Then she invited Danny to join you in a salt circle that she had drawn following the pattern that was written on the book. She had drawn one for her moving a little away from the two of you.

“Whatever happens, don’t move. You will be safe in it.” said Melina.  

“If you say so...” responds Danny not really convinced.

“OK... To the spirits that haunt this couple, I ask you to leave them alone. Let them live in peace and go back to where you came from. They didn't do anything to you.”  

A heavy silence was made in the room. No noise. Danny looked everywhere but saw nothing, no mist, no voice, no giant spider legs. The flat calm. He almost wanted to leave the circle to turn the light back on and stop all this circus, but when the idea crossed his mind... he heard them. Voices. And you too visibly. He turned his head in the direction of the voices, and noticed that the door of the bedroom was smoking... this thick mist... yes, it's them.

“Melina...it’s there...we see them! Our bedroom door is surrounded by a black and thick mist.” you said.  

“Okay. Don’t move. Stay in the circle! Nothing can happen to you inside.” she responds. “Who are you? Why are you attacking them? And what do you want from them?”

“You will not be able to escape us. Sooner or later, you will come with us. You will soothe our hunger. And you Danny will help us.” said the voice.  

“It... wants to take us. It says we have to feed him.” said Danny calmly.  

“Why?” asks Melina.  

“If only I know.”  

Suddenly, as in the café, the door opened on a black mist. The spider legs came out slowly and gradually advanced towards the group. Danny felt that you were sticking more strongly to him. He also felt that you were shaking. By pure instinct, he made you step back to put himself in front of you. If he could grab one of the knives in the kitchen...

“Go away! leave them alone!” replied Melina looking at the opened door.  

“Pathetic creature. your little toys won't do anything to us. Now Danny... it's time for both of you to join us.” Said the voice again.  

One of the paws rushed at the two of you in one fell swoop, grabbing Danny in the leg, causing him to fall to the ground. Then it began to bring him back to her, while Melina desperately tried to pull him out to free him. So, she could see it? Or she had to feel it and the thing had to appear to her like a shadow.

As he gradually felt the mist take hold of him, your voice brought Danny back to his senses. And when he turned his gaze to you, he saw you throw a knife at him. That's exactly what he needed. He grabbed the knife, got up and planted it in the paw of the thing which, in a shrill scream, let go of him as it returned in the mist, still wounding Danny in the leg in the process. Melina pulled him back and observed the foggy door which gradually became thicker.  

The paws tried again to catch Danny but this time it was you who took the initiative to attack. Armed with a chopper, you cut off one of the legs which will make a new scream of the thing. No one had time to do anything that you find yourself throwing against the wall of the living room. Then the other paws came out, recovered the severed paw and left in the mist that disappeared as mysteriously as it had arrived.

“Holy shit...What the f*ck was that?” asks Melina shocked, helping you to get up.  

“I... I don’t know. But one thing is sure...it’s scary.” you respond, shaking a little.  

“Yeah...I don’t see it, but I believe you. Are you okay Jed? Nothing broken?”  

“No. I’m fine.” Danny simply responds.  

2 hours later, the three of you were sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in hand. Danny had bandaged his leg and avoided moving it too much, the pain still being present. He couldn't forget that strange feeling that the mist had made him feel... As if she had tried to take possession of him. For a moment he felt himself and Jed leaving. It was a... disagreeable sensation.

“What do we do now?” you ask, breaking the silence.  

“I don't know. This thing... whatever it is, is much stronger than I thought. It’s not an ordinary spirit; it’s an entity that’s very powerful. And whatever we do, it will be useless. I don't know what she wants from you but... you're going to have to deal with it. And pray that one day she will leave you in peace.” said Melina worried.  

“It will never leave us alone.” starts Danny with dark eyes. “This thing will never leave us alone wherever we are. She will haunt us down until she gets what she wants: us. Why...that’s the question.”  

And he's right. You can run away as much as you want and can, it will always find you. Like a parasite it’s related to both of you, and sooner or later it will have you. How, why and when, that the question. You must enjoy the days to come from now on. Only God alone knows if it will ever be an ordinary day...  

Or your last day on Earth.

***

(The last chapters are just as hard to write as the first, fortunately the weekends serve me a little to set up the ideas I want to implement XD As I told you, once DSS is finished, I think I will take one or two weeks of rest before starting the fanfic on RE8 which I think will be more or less long,  depending on the direction it will take! so if during these 1 or 2 weeks you have questions or if you want to know more about the poor potato that I am, do not hesitate! I'm always available! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya! )

[levingale]

study2.

Glory be to Garlemald.

-

Karigan Nightingale found herself in a landscape that was foreign yet familiar at the same time. Yet she was not present either, as if she were viewing through the eyes of someone else. The subtle dissonance between self and other started to incite panic. There were too many questions in her head with no way of voicing it out.

“What is it like?” A voice called out from behind her. She spun her heel almost immediately, or at least, she tried to. Karigan knew who the newcomer was for some bizarre reason. Long, fiery locks that were pulled up into a ponytail and bright grey eyes that stared straight into her soul.

“Pardon?”

She heard ‘herself’ say, yet it didn’t quite sound like her own voice speaking.

“To be immortal?”

Karigan saw a flash of red and silver.

“I never said I was immortal.” ‘She’ said simply, finally turning around to face the woman. “No warrior truly lives on forever. Except in ballads and stories, of course.”

The woman flashed a smile, “You are our Enyalios, does that not mean that you are immortal in some way? To live on through generations even if you are not there to see it.”

‘She’ merely chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. Even if Karigan could not see the face of whoever she was looking through, she felt deep dread pooling at her gut.

“War always lives on forever. No matter what.”

-

Her whole body felt like it was on fire and her head felt like it was splitting in two.

Glory be to Garlemald, the thought echoed in her head. Karigan never felt so sick in her life. She barely registered her surroundings, only recognising the insidious smoke and broken metal architectures. Most importantly, however, she saw the Garlean flag raised up high.

Glory!

Karigan shut her eyes, flinching away from the imagery of a nation that destroyed her home.

GLORY!  

The headache that threatened to bludgeon her brain for good was almost enough to take her out. Karigan thought that it would’ve been a mercy than to succumb to whatever spell she was under.

Before her vision faded to black, Karigan saw a glimpse of an animal. A monstrously large wolf that stared back at her as she fell forward.

-

“You must stay, Fenrir.”

“No. Wherever you go, I follow. Do not forget that, Ares.”

-

Karigan was less lucid than she was while on the brink of collapsing. The tower proved to be every bit sickening as she imagined. The gnaths were wrapped in a flesh-like wall, unmoving and deathly still in their confines.

They’re dead.

“You don’t know that.” She spat back. The towers were an enigma that she had yet to learn more about. Seemingly appearing overnight, Karigan could not think of a reason for kidnapping beast tribes and plastering them on the walls like this.

You know. I can smell him.

And her headache was back just like that. As if on cue, there was an ear-splitting cry that reverberated through the chamber. Karigan was on her feet and moving before a blade came down on her.

She knew she was hardly in a condition to fight, much less try to fell a primal on her own. That job was for the warrior of light, and she was not getting paid enough to do any of that sort.

You need me.

Karigan gritted her teeth and threw herself to the side to avoid the next swing, landing with a painful thud on her arm.

“I don’t fucking need you.” The sky pirate drew her gunblade and prepared for a counterattack.

Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me to die to an overgrown bug?

Her movements were sloppy. Too slow and sluggish for her to do any real damage to a primal. “Then die in embarrassment.” Karigan panted in exhaustion. Ravana’s attacks were all a blur to her. Given the enclosed space of the tower and his many swords, it was only a matter of time before she got overwhelmed.

She was already on the backfoot. Pathetically tossed across the room like a ragdoll. The most she could do was to prevent the swords from slicing clean through her with her parries.

I could devour this one for you if you let me.

Any snarky remark that was on the tip of her tongue was swallowed and left to die in her throat. Her vision was getting blurry and there was only so much sheer will and determination could do for her.

Good. It’s my turn.

She heard a deafening howl before her world faded to black.

[wordfires]

zoril & ildien

this is eventually going to be a larger project but for now this is some character backstory for two of the dnd characters im currently playing! for some frame of reference zoril is a tiefling eventual warlock of the fiend (his patron is a plotpoint that hasn’t come up yet in what i’ve written bu o do know who it is) and ildien is a fallen aasimar shadow sorcerer and yes the “lore” gets a bit weird but they’re both for one shots its about fun not accuracy

anyway both of these are on the longer end and the format is a bit weird so im putting the first section of each character above the cut, but they’re separate in their (almost) entirety below the cut

-

Zoril was never a truly quiet child— he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his father’s domain was always the longest. The other rulers didn’t quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.

~

Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.

He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

Zoril was never a truly quiet child— he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.

It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.

But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.

Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his father’s domain was always the longest. The other rulers didn’t quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.

But Zoril’s father had his reasons. Zoril hoped this was the case, anyway. His father was the only one who never seemed to, at least overtly, cast him away. And so, despite bouncing between others, he was always Zoril, Prince of the Hells and Heir to Mephistopheles’ throne, should he ever leave it.

He had his tutors in the form of the souls who had made bargains with his father, though they always seemed to be removed whenever they attempted to reveal any regrets they may have had about the deals they made. He made friends with the passing imps and quasits, coercing devils into joining his games. 

But there were also the lessons of his father, beginning as Zoril grew into his horns. Lessons taught within the palace walls. Never to perform a task without proper payment, to always know when respect and treachery are due. To know that even though his mother had given Zoril fire when he lived in a realm of ice and his nature was freer than the strict hierarchies of the hells, he was a Prince of Cania, that he was owed his rights to the world. But also to know that these rights must, at times, come second to the end goals of ambition.

And as Zoril continued to grow into these lessons and his adolescence, he was allowed and encouraged to begin to venture into the material planes, however he could. To witness the mortal lifespan he was left with, and the mortal souls he may one day be able to take.

His time on the surface was yet another teacher. Of want and desire by those who were raised with mortality. Of the passion it brings. As well as how to remain in the shadows, and when to leave them. How to grow close to another and leave them behind, desperate and ready to make a bargain.

But many of these required quiet, and as he grew taller into adulthood, Zoril found that endless energy again boiling underneath his skin, tired of being taught.

And so he found what he considered the second-best thing mortals had ever dreamed up: brawling.

He was always faster than he was strong, charming more often than fighting, but he could never argue against an adrenaline rush.

His trips into the material plane began bringing him more scars than potential souls for the devils of his home, and as he marched, smiling, into the palace of Cania, Mephistopheles had laughed, a great deep thing, gesturing with one clawed hand toward serving devils. And so his weapons training finally began.

It was not too many years after this that he was one of the top fighters at a ring he had come to frequent. Despite its allowance of magic, Zoril had taken to maces and flails rather than learning spells, letting the illusion of strength and slowness keep his opponents surprised.

It was a night like any other at first. He had been on a roll, undefeated for a week. But the whispers around the room as he readied himself spoke of a newcomer, some challenger from out of town, apparently desperate to fight someone who could pose a threat.

He wanted to laugh as he checked the leather grip of his favoured weapon. Instead, he volunteered to be the one to graciously defeat whoever this mysterious newcomer was. Then he laughed, joining the others around him as another fighter clapped his back and Zoril stepped into the ring.

If he had any less composure he was sure the newcomer would’ve knocked the grin right off his face as his laughter trailed off and he swung his flail up over his shoulder, barely thinking enough to not himself. 

They were tall, towering even over the elaborate spines and curls that Zoril’s horns had grown into. Long dark hair tumbled onto pale purple-grey shoulders that sloped gently up into a set face and bright-burning purple eyes. Elaborate red acolyte’s robes draped over their frame, giving away their origins.

At least to anyone watching— Zoril himself was utterly lost in the newcomer, looking them up and down, barely catching himself as a wave of fire was hurled in his direction.

---

Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.

He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.

Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.

He had been 12 at the time. Until then he had been told that the elder, Elder Calla, was his mother. Then another acolyte had snidely commented that he didn’t have the right to mourn, after all, she wasn’t even really related to him. He had been told the real story later that night.

It was not long after that when Ildien’s magic began to change. It had always been something they could do, it came naturally. But light grew to darkness, the blossoming healing abilities seemed to wither away as he began to drift farther from human, even away from the celestial blood in his veins.

It was then, too, that Hadrariel became as distant as the light that once surrounded him.

Until that point, Hadrariel has been a constant companion, whispering kind words and gentle guidances, a second parent. In young Ildien’s eyes, another liar.

Truly it was not Hadrariel’s fault— though perhaps it was not Ildien’s either. It had been a long day, the day of Elder Calla’s funeral ceremonies. The loss was still sharp, and the leering gazes of older acolytes and unspoken words were constant needles, pressing into his skin. He had been the last to speak to the Elder, and was, therefore, the last to bid his farewell before the body was burned. 

The memory of it was still a burning sear. The peace in the lifelessness of the corpse, another deception. The pitying eyes of her replacement. The ever-pressing gazes around him, narrowed eyes and silent laughter. And then the faint weight of Hadrariel’s gaze, an invisible hand on Ildien’s shoulder.

Shadows had lashed out of him, tipping the room into the grey of twilight, before the sudden pitch black of night as pain had ripped through him, tearing him to pieces.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The shadow fled from the room, slinking back to the soles of Ildien’s feet as he gazed at the skeletal remains of his wings, on display of their own accord. The absence of the weight of their feathers echoed in the void left behind by Hadrariel’s flight and the strange stillness in his chest.

He had looked on, to Calla’s body.

It was the last time he cried.

The following years were long— Ildien was yet an acolyte of the church of [], he had his duties and still lived within the church. But the laughter that may have turned to friendship instead turned to fear and quick glances. The new Elder was not kind as Calla had been. Ildien was labelled a bad omen, banned from certain ceremonies.

Most ceremonies aside from funerals, in fact. At these he was allowed, if only so no one else had to be near the corpse.

When not being put to the undesirable tasks, Ildien remained in his room, watching the torch fire make shadows dance across the wall as he read himself to restless sleep. Time seemed to pass slowly and quickly all at once, slipping through his fingers as he gazed on, indifferent. 

He knew the church would release him once he was of age, no longer obligated to keep him as their ward. The only thing that had stopped them from throwing him out sooner was the new Elder’s idea of image.

But as he grew closer to this release from the church, it grew impossible to passively be feared. To allow the world to pass him by.

So rather than read himself to sleep watching the shadows, Ildien looked at what cast them, studying the flames licking at the air. He let his magic follow it’s new call into fire and shadow, falling in love with it. He let himself smile for the first time in years as fire danced across his shoulders as his feet moved in the rhythm of the shadows below him.

Ildien had not thought the new Elder, Varif, cared enough to pay him mind outside of when necessary, but when he was called to speak in front of him it was not long before the Elder’s intentions were revealed.

Varif had, in fact, been watching Ildien, and he had deemed worthy of the grand gesture the church needed to make to bring the community back into the fold. 

Ildien only learned when the gesture was as it was happening. He was kept in a room away from his own, with only his shadows for company in the weeks leading up to the event.

 When the door to his chamber opened as his eyes adjusted, Ildien was pulled and shoved into flowing ceremonial garb layered with dust, a uniform he hadn’t seen before. A scroll was pressed into his hands as he was pushed to an altar.

He remembered blinking the setting sunlight out of his eyes, looking to Elder Varif, grinning, and to a figure opposite him on the altar, decorated in the bones of an ox, eyes closed. The face of one of the newest acolytes in the shadow of the ox’s skull.

Ildien had looked down at the words on the scroll, the idea of this gesture clicking place in his head. He glanced once to the other acolyte, their eyes blearily opening, panic raising their eyebrows. He glanced to the Elder, grin settling into smug satisfaction.

He stepped towards the acolyte, putting them within arms reach, letting a smile of his own stretch across his face as he snatched the ox skull, planting it on his own head and swinging to face the Elder, outstretched arms coming together to hurl fire at the Varif.

It really was only meant to maim, for the most part. But as the Elder’s body hit the floor, the spark that had ignited his rebellion quieted, and there was an utter silence the same as Calla’s funeral.

He felt his heart beat once in his chest.

And he ran, the air on his face reigniting him— a grin stretched across his face as he threw layers of the constraining upper garment off and let the flowing skirts fly in the wind as his feet pounded stone and dirt.

He ran through the city, taking unfamiliar turns, whooping as he clutched the stolen skull to his head, not even quite sure why he took it. He did mean to stop before he ran into any buildings, but he was looking over his shoulder as his feet carried him into a small, dimly lit tavern, tumbling through a swinging door on the back wall into a somehow much larger space.

He was only able to pull himself to a stop just before he would have slammed into a wall of muscle glowering up at him.

A blur of questions were asked, lies flowing quicker out of his mouth than he could think about what he was saying and the next second he stood in a ring with wooden walls and a packed sand floor, the most stunning tiefling he had ever seen standing across from him. Their skin was dark red like deep flame, pitch coloured horns reaching into the shadows above their head, a flail was swung over shoulders covered only by a light tunic, black sleeves billowing ever so slightly as Ildien’s eyes were drawn down to the tiefling’s cloven hooves and then back up to gleaming eyes and sharp fangs poking out of a rakish grin.

Ildien felt his breath rush out of him, fire leaping out of his fingertips, his instincts remembering that this was meant to be a fight seconds before he remembered he hadn’t said he was here to gawk at the fighters, instead he had let himself lie that he wanted to be one of them.

[cv-nobody-and-associates]

Nobody Wants to Know

Part II - Oira

“This is it.” I said, putting on my gauntlets. The cold metallic sensation helped to ground me, but it wasn’t enough to completely cease the shaking in my limbs. I couldn’t escape the uncertainty of what were about to do. But no matter how much it terrified me, I had to do it.

Either I would die, or I would finally get answers.

“You sure about this?” Wib asked. It was nice for us to be working together again instead of trying to kill each other, which was far more common. The two of us started as close friends, maybe more if I was to be honest, but it didn’t last. They turned out to be something called a Blockhead, which meant I had to destroy them. That was how I came to Creatorverse.

But then it turned out things weren’t that simple.

Wib didn’t really die. It turned out that we were somehow connected, meaning that neither of us could truly perish whilst the other continued to exist. We met up a few times after that, at first fighting, but it wasn’t long before we started talking again. We both knew something was up, and according to Wib it was connected to some people named Mori and Anis, both exiles of Creatorverse who had been plotting their revenge ever since.

I didn’t pretend I knew much about what was going on, but I knew I needed answers. And they were our only chance. Reluctantly, Wib had agreed to join on the search. Before, they had been working undercover on the side of the enemy, but we both knew that we needed each other for this.

“I’m sure.” I nodded. “We don’t have any other choice. I think it’s fair to say we both know that, huh?” Wib clenched their fist.

“Shut it.” They spat. “You’ve always had more choice than I ever did. You weren’t stolen, you weren’t manipulated, you weren’t twisted into their damn weapon-”

“Wib.” I stopped them short. “I don’t know what they did to me. Without the answers, and without my memories, we can’t be sure who had it worse. So how about we skip the angsty yelling and get our butts in gear.”

“Of course. You don’t remember, so you don’t care.”

“Do we really have to do this now? We have more important things to do right now.”

“Fine.” Wib agreed. “You’re right. We’ll worry about all this later.” They smirked, and for a moment everything was as peaceful as it was before I had come to Creatorverse.

Then the newcomer arrived.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” A woman’s voice infiltrated our current hideout, an underground space we had hidden from the rest of the city. It was simultaneously recognisable and completely unfamiliar. “Some remarkable plot-driven revelation? No, it’s too early for that. Perhaps some inter-personal conflict?”

“Nobody, what’s going on?” Wib demanded, getting into a guarded combat-ready stance. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“N-no!” I said. “I swear, I have no idea-”

“I’m sorry, I think they were asking me.” The voice answered, and suddenly a figure appeared from the shadows.

“Y…you’re… me?” I asked, stunned. The figure looked almost identical to myself. Maybe a little taller, and definitely lacking my Siphon Gauntlets and boots, but otherwise the question-mark figure standing before us looked identical to myself.

“In a sense.” My doppelganger answered lazily, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s more accurate to say that you are me. Or rather, a version of me. Though I suspect an intricate explanation of the inner working of the multiverse and how this world is informed by my actions would be beyond you.”

“Are you saying you created this world?” Wib asked, seemingly much more capable of rational thought than I was. I had no idea how I could tell, but my doppelganger smiled at them.

“Ah, of course. You’re the other one. Wib, right?” She turned to face them. “A fantasy I made to explain my lack of answers. A manifestation of my struggles as an antagonist, but one I – or rather, the other me – would learn to accept, leading to the grand revelation where we would finally understand ourself. Makes sense that you would catch on quick. You are correct, if you haven’t guessed. This world is a creation of mine. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” I asked. I felt compelled to draw my sword. None of this was making sense, and it seemed that yet again the only way of getting any sensible answers would be forcing them out. Or so I felt.

“This world is a manifestation of my story, but still its own world.” The doppelganger explained. “In short, I told a story, and the multiverse adapted that story to its own reality. It has been following my design like a script, but I did not make the set or hire the actors.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Wib asked, and I nodded with them. My doppelganger drew her own sword, and we both braced for what seemed to be an inevitable fight.

“I need answers.” She said. “This world contains secrets from my mind, words I could not speak but I suspect leaked out into the page. That is why we are not the same being, Nobody, despite being the same person.”

“Lemme guess – we don’t know these secrets you want either, but you think you’ll find the truth in battle?” I asked, raising my blade to guard. My doppelganger sighed.

“This world is built on the idea of violent conflict. I suppose I should follow the same rules of everyone else.”

She charged forth at me, thrusting her blade towards my head.

“And force the answers out of you!”

---

The doppelganger’s speed was incredible, and I could barely manage to pull my arm up to block their blade with my own, grunting at the sheer impact of the blade. Wib jumped back and moved to position themself behind the doppelganger, waiting for an opening.

I hoped they would find one soon.

“A simple duel of blades then?” The doppelganger said through a non-existent set of gritted teeth. “That’s not going to tell me much. Show me what you can really do!” She punctuated her words with a slash that pushed past my defences and had me slammed into the wall.

“Take this!” Wib came from behind the doppelganger, holding what appeared to be a small dagger with a green blade and gold handle. The doppelganger seemed amused as they effortlessly dodged, sending Wib charging straight me.

“Barrier, CREATE!” I yelled, pulling forth my CREATE button at the last moment. The sheer force was still enough to destroy the wall behind me, but a small barrier in front of me prevented Wib’s blade from striking me. My doppelganger seemed excited to see it, something that had me shivering.

“Yes, the button.” She said, producing a CREATE button identical to my own. She held it floating above her hand. “I’ve always wondered something about it. Can you guess?”

“Don’t listen to her!” Wib protested, even though my doppelganger had raised an interesting question. “We don’t have time to entertain these questions. We gotta take her out, then Mori!”

“It’s the letter, right?” I answered my doppelganger’s question. If it were possible for her to have grinned, I could feel she would have done so. Wib meanwhile rolled their eyes at me, yet uncharacteristically restrained themselves from a remark or attack.

“Yes, yes! I knew you would catch on eventually, you’re me after all!” She walked forth, and I couldn’t help but move back and raise my sword once again, anticipating another attack. “The letter. Almost every button I – even every one we have ever seen; they all say the word CREATE in them. All but ours. We have only the first letter. It’s almost like…”

“Like it’s incomplete.” I said. If I possessed eyes, they no doubt would have widened. My face became an exclamation mark to match my surprise. “Or like it’s just a copy of the real thing! Something we weren’t meant to have, but got anyway!” I didn’t understand even half of what I was saying, but the doppelganger seemed to. I swear I could feel their own interest as though I was the one experiencing it. I supposed it must have been because we were sort of the same person.

Idly, I wondered if I’d get to ask for the details on that.

“A copy. Yes, that sounds right. But why?” My doppelganger asked herself. “It must have something to do with one of the figures from the fog. The humanoid one. Yes, I can feel it. Like some sort of awakening.” She charged forth without warning.

“I need to know more! What else can I learn from you two?!” I blocked another sword slash and tried to counter it with my own, but it failed to have any effect. I glanced over to where Wib was standing before only to find them absent.

“Wib-?”

“Right here!”

“Argh!” My doppelganger screamed as Wib pulled her away from me, grabbing her. “You think you can hold me? How amusing!”

“I’m not gonna be holding you for long.” I heard the voice of Wib come from a second body, and turned to see that they had made a duplicate of themself. I always forgot they could do that, and was glad to see it was being used on someone other than myself.

Sort of. This doppelganger thing was confusing.

The Wib copy kicked the doppelganger at full force right as the original released her, and the result was her flying through the roof. I could see sunlight from the city pouring through the hole she had left.

“We have to make sure she’s down.” I said. I held put my hand and grabbed one of the Wibs. It honestly didn’t matter which body flew me up.

“You sure? We’ll be exposed. That’s going to make what happens next difficult. Plus, you’re a Creator working with a Blockhead. It’s a huge risk.”

“It’s even more of a risk to let her loose!” I cried out. “What if she hunts down someone else for answers? I can’t let her hurt my friends up there!” Wib hesitated, before grunting.

“Fine.” They said. One of their bodies fused with the one I was holding, and together we flew out into the city. The sun was high up in the sky, and for once the city was mostly undisturbed, save for the large hole in the road left as a result of knocking my doppelganger away.

“You’re strong.” I turned, hovering in the air as I released Wib who did the same. My doppelganger still lived, and instead of sounding pained she seemed more amused than anything. “But not nearly strong enough.”

“We need to run!” Wib called out, already flying away before I could respond. I followed, hoping that the doppelganger would do the same. Destroying the city was probably something worth avoiding.

“Are you sure this’ll work?” I asked Wib.

“She’s only after us as far as I can tell.” Wib reasoned. “She might attack anyone in her way, but I think-” I didn’t let them finish, doubling back. The thought of the doppelganger hurting any of my friends was dreadful, and I refused to let it happen.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

I stopped, both because I had reached the doppelganger and because I had just heard a mysterious voice in my head. If it wasn’t for the sight before me I would have stopped to listen to it. Unfortunately, I was more occupied by what I saw.

She was slaughtering people.

The city was already in shambles, buildings falling to rubble and collapsing as flames surrounded the area. Bloody bodies littered the floors, many far too close to the fire and stuck under rubble. The doppelganger looked to me and I felt a chill run up my spine.

“I heard someone.” She said. “As soon as I started this little exercise in attention.” I clenched my fists and screamed, charging towards her at full force. Our blades met harshly and the ringing sound of metal pierced the air.

“Attention?! THESE PEOPLE ARE DEAD!” I cried, forcing her back with all my strength. She skidded on the ground.

“Oh, you think I care. That’s adorable!” She said, before appearing behind me. It was so fast I barely saw her move, but I heard the rush of wind. I went to block but couldn’t stop myself from being knocked away into a building.

“These worlds? These people? They don’t matter!” She said. Something was different in her tone though. She sounded less sure of herself.

“She can hear me. What about you?”

“Who…?” I groaned out, trying to pry myself out of the rubble I had been forced into. The voice stopped me.

“Don’t move. Not yet. She can feel me, but you can actually hear me.” I gave the smallest of nods.

“Nothing matters! Nothing in this meaningless existence matters!” She was starting to sound incoherent, and I wondered if even she knew what she was saying.

“She’s rambling. That’s good. Well, not for her but one problem at a time.”

“Are you a friend of hers?” I asked.

“I owe her my life, but she doesn’t know that anymore. The three of us lost a lot of our memories.”

“Three? Who else is with her?” I asked the voice. I could tell that she – somehow, I could feel the voice was a she – was somehow connected to the other Nobody. Based on how she was talking, it seemed she was in her head, but I knew it went deeper than that.

“Me and V. But they’d only make things worse. I need you to tell her my name.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the only way she’ll understand. She’s losing track of who she it, what she is. I can remind her.”

“Okay…” I finally pulled myself to my feet, and my doppelganger turned to take notice. “What’s your name?” I asked the voice as the other Nobody approached. She told me right as my doppelganger grabbed me by the throat and pulled me off the ground.

“O-OIRA!” I cried, and suddenly her grip loosened. Her sword clattered to the ground and she clutched her head.

“Oira. That was her name, right?” I had to keep talking, because whatever she was remembering was stopping her in her tracks. “You saved her. A long time ago.”

“T-the tests…” She muttered, falling to her knees. “Needles, hands, too much. Far too much. She hated it. Wanted it to end. Wanted everything to end.” I recalled something we had said to each other earlier, as the doppelganger seemed to hiss in apparent pain.

I felt bad for her, despite our current surroundings.

“The tests were about the button, right?” I asked, hesitantly stepping closer. Her head went down for a moment, and it was a moment longer before I realised she was trying to nod. “They wanted to do something with it. What did they do?”

“They…” The doppelganger let out a groan of pain between words. Her face appeared to be shifting somehow. One moment it was a question mark like my own, the next it flickered to what appeared to be a musical note. “They wanted to make life. Shapeshifting. Genetics work. That was the key, they thought. It hurt. She didn’t want to hurt. I…I couldn’t let her hurt.”

“Why not?”

“What does it matter?!” She hissed. “It doesn’t matter who I strike down, or why, I’m just a weapon! I wasn’t helping her, I was just saving myself…” Her form seemed to be shifting, almost like she was struggling to maintain control.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” That was all it took for the last of her resolve to crumble. She raised her head to the sky and screamed.

“SHUT UP!” She cried. “AND GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

There was a blinding flash of light, and then everything went dark.

---

When I awoke, I briefly considered that everything I had just been through was a dream. The city that was once covered in flame was now repaired. No, more than repaired, it was as though it had never been damaged in the first place. As for the people, there were no more corpses. Some were still injured, but most seemed to have been restored just as the city had.

“Hey you, you’re finally awake.” I saw Wib grinning at me, offering a hand which I gratefully took to pull myself up.

“You did not just say that.” I groaned, amused. “I swear, if you try to get me to join the Stormcloaks I’m outta here.” Wib chuckled.

“Nah, you know I was always more of an Imperial type.” They replied, before his expression turned more serious. “Jokes aside, what do you think about our new guest?” They pointed a thumb back to what appeared to be a tall woman, slightly shorter than my doppelganger. She was still all black like her – and myself, I supposed – but in place of a top hat, she had a beanie. She also appeared to be wearing a kind of dress. Or maybe it was just another layer of her body? It was the same pitch black as the rest of her, after all.

Her face and chest both had a musical note symbol instead of a question mark. Similar symbols appeared on her hands and feet as well, though slightly different. Her face and chest appeared to be double notes, whilst the ones on her hands and feet.

“Uh, I don’t know what those things are.” She said. Her voice sounded similar to mine and the doppelgangers, but different somehow. Softer, I supposed. “But I don’t think it matters.”

“Oira, I presume?” She nodded, and Wib raised an eyebrow at me. I made a dismissive gesture with my hand, and they rolled their eyes and crossed their arms. I knew I’d have to explain later. “What happened to… you know, the other one…” I was reluctant to use her name.

“Nobody? She’s been…turned off? Disabled? Knocked out?” Oira seemed to struggle to find the right words to describe what exactly had happened. “It’s hard to explain. Nothing about us really makes complete sense. But I suppose with her unavailable, I took back control of the body.”

“Took back?” Wib interjected. “Was the body originally yours?” Oira scratched at her head in response for a moment.

“Yes and no?” She answered. “The body is a new one, but it was built using mine as a genetic base. My body was already…malleable enough for it from the tests.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’d rather not get into it.”

“I understand.” Wib said, with surprising compassion in their voice. “People can do horrible things in the name of some twisted form of progress…” Oira nodded.

“When I took control, it created a burst of energy.” Oira explained. “That energy mostly reset things back to how they should be, before she appeared. I don’t know the full details. The reality warping is her thing for the most part.”

“What about the injured people still here?” I asked. “Why Didn’t they fully restore?” Oira simply shrugged in response.

“I guess the energy expelled wasn’t enough? Like I said, I don’t know how this works.” She sighed for a moment. “I know you probably have more questions, but I don’t have time. You see, she won’t stay inactive for long. And now that I’m awake, it isn’t long before V follows. And trust me, no matter how bad you think she is, V’s worse.”

“How bad we think she is? She murdered innocent people to get attention.” I said, annoyed. Oira didn’t have a typical face, but I could still feel a sort of fury in her expression regardless.

“She’s done bad things, but she’s done just as much good. You’ve just never seen it before.” She explained indignantly. “Besides, this is a Scripted world. She knew that when she left, things would reset back to normal.”

I prepared to respond to that, but she kept going before I could.

“I don’t expect you to understand her, nor do I expect you’ll forgive her just because of what I say. Best I can ask for?” She paused as something that appeared to be a portal appeared behind her, which she turned to.

“Forget this ever happened.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” I said. She laughed for a moment.

“Don’t worry. We won’t be coming back anyway.”

END

AN - Finally done! This was meant to be done months ago, but stuff happened and I'm bad at time management. At last, the first of the beings within Nobody is revealed! I plan on sharing more Oira stuff in the near future, but hopefully you understand a little bit about her now. I forgot to get to it in the chapter itself, but her CREATE button is different to Nobody's.

This whole chapter was set in the world of an old CV fanfic I wrote on my main blog, @lordterronus . It's called Creatorverse: Self Indulgent Stories, and it's quite outdated but I still enjoy thinking about it from time to time. This chapter was a chance to show a bit more of what I had originally planned for that story, but never actually did. If anyone wants to ask any more about it, I'm happy to answer anything regarding it on my main blog!