#this is supposed to be a tense moment but alas I am a child

[moodyvoid]

I don’t like this sequence of words

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 12

the Darkling x Reader

The hour was late as the stars basked in the darkness and cold winter air. The fire roared in its hearth while your still steaming cup of sleep-aiding tea sat untouched on the small table. Your talk with Alina earlier was the cause of your unrest. You didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or be frustrated with her. She is a lovely girl, most pure and kind and quite literally the definition of sunshine, but something about her irked you and you hated it.

Maybe it was her somewhat unhealthy obsession with her friend, the tracker- Malyen Oretsev, or the sheer denial and lack of understanding of her position. Sure, Mal was the only thing that tied her to her old life, a sense of home, but he didn't belong anywhere near the Little Palace and posed a threat to Alina's true potential. She should understand that, no doubt it's been explained to her many times. She was no longer a random girl from the First Army or a Child of Keramzin, she was the Sun-Summoner and had to act the part.

But there was also a nagging feeling in you since your last words with Aleksander, the ones about the stag. From what you could gather, Alina definitely wasn't power-hungry, not yet anyway, and placing an antler anywhere on her would be against her wishes. You knew deep down that whatever he had planned would go far beyond just giving her an amplifier for her sake.

You sighed and moved around on the armchair again, trying to convince yourself those were the reasons you couldn't sleep, that Alina's position in this mess was why your mind wouldn't shut off, but who were you kidding, it was her and him. For starters, she called Aleksander by his name. The second the word left her mouth, your blood ran cold.

__

'Is he not here?' Alina looked to you from over her mug, eyes scanning the room.

'Who?'

'Aleksander, is he away at Kribirsk again?' Your smile faltered and your grip on your own mug loosened. But Alina waited for an answer.

'Oh umm, I don't know.' You did but the shock caused your mind to blank completely.

__

You had known Aleksander for years before he even told you his true name, you had to earn it. She spoke of her General with a fondness, at one point even speaking of him as if he were more than just her commanding officer.

__

'Do you miss the First Army Alina? I know you left friends behind, not just Mr.Oretsev.'

'I suppose I don't feel at home just yet, it's a lot to take in, this whole division of orders thing doesn't help either... But he assures me I am not alone, that I have an equal in the Palace.'

An equal?

__

The heat of the fire was doing nothing to calm down your rising rage. Apparently Aleksander was doing more talking with Alina than you'd thought, even sacrificing his own true name, one only spoken by you and his mother, for her to utter as if it was just another name. So what if you were in his chambers, making use of his office and sleeping in his bed, he clearly had his eyes on two prizes or maybe just one.

You felt sick now, be it from the heat or the anger, you got up and opened a window. The cold and dark night was a stark contrast to the licks of the flame. It made you feel at peace, but only momentarily. You heard voices outside, slowly growing louder. You rested your head against the wall, begging for one last moment of stillness, but alas the door was yanked open and his boots echoed throughout the room. You cursed yourself for deciding to spend another night in his quarters. You thought he'd be gone longer than just 4 days.

'I do hope you made yourself comfortable' His voice was as smooth as the kvas you had downed after Alina left. You wanted to turn around, but the anger was still there and all hell would break loose if you let your emotions run wild again.

'I did thank you. At least you have a desk'

'I'll get you one first thing in the morning'

'No need, I already requested one' Your voice was void of any emotion. Don't start a fight.

'Are you alright?'

'Just tired, being diplomatic is hard work' It sure was right now.

'Might I suggest actually getting into bed then?' His hand slowly came around your wrist and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom but ironically at the simple touch, your anger grew, when it usually has the opposite effect. You saw out of the corner of your eye that he had a genuine smile on his face, one that tended to make you melt but not now. You shrugged him off and walked in the direction of the door, leaving him utterly confused.

'Y/N what's going on.

'I'm tired, I'm going to bed' You tried so hard to act normal, not in any way pissed.

'Y/N look at me'

'Goodnight Aleksander' You couldn't help it, the mockery of his name just came out. There goes the diplomacy.

You heard him quickly walk towards you and tried to get to the door first to escape the tense atmosphere you created but he got there first, blocking your way.

'What?' You threw your hands up in exasperation not yet looking at him.

'Did something happen whilst I was away?'

'No'

'Then what is it'

'Nothing'

'Don't lie to me Y/N'

'Oh but it's okay for you to lie to me' Your eyes finally bore into his.

'Excuse me?' His expression read baffled; annoyed; pissed.

'Move away from the door Aleksander'

'No! You're going to be mature and have an actual conversation with me for once' He asked for it.

'Alright fine, Let's start with Alina''

'Y/N'

'I had a lovely little tea party with her today. Sweet thing. She loves to talk once you get her going. She told me a lot of fascinating stuff, including your name! How interesting don't you think.' Your voice was so cold it even made you shiver.

'I can explain'

'I'm not finished.' You felt that pull in you, that pull that comes before you put your fire or shadows to use but crammed it down with all your might. 'Her best friend hasn't been replying to any of her letters and I can recount there are many of them. Guess what I found in one of your drawers? They are all very poetic don't you think? I'm all for helping her adjust, but that's not help, that's manipulation Aleksander.'

'She won't let him go, It's dragging her down.' He said through gritted teeth.

'Dragging her down or away?' The double meaning in your words didn't go unnoticed by him.

'Y/N all I want to do is go to bed right now, I've had a long day, please.' His hand reached out for yours but you scoffed and moved away.

'You wanted to have this conversation, General, don't shy away when your actions are questioned.'

'Fine' He unblocked the door and crossed the room, throwing his cloak and kefta on the floor with a heavy thud. 'Is there anything else you wish to accuse me of Y/N dearest?'

'Look at you, so bitter but I haven't heard you deny any of it'

'You may go now if you like.' He picked up a decanter of whiskey and poured himself a generous glass

'Since when are you this childish Aleksander. Have I missed something in my 100-year absence?' You mocked.

'You left me with all of this' He gestured to the palace. '-That's what happened.'

'Don't turn this around on me, and I told you that wasn't a choice.'

'The Y/N I knew would have come back and not hid like a coward'

You stilled and waited for any sign of apology, but it never came. He meant it even though he knew how much such a simple statement would hurt you. You turned slowly and walked to the door.

'While I'm gone, at least have the common decency to change the sheets before you bring Alina in here' you shut it loudly behind you and heard the breaking of the glass, no doubt thrown at the door as you were leaving.

What a day.

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess

Ok so idk if people can see this but I posted this like a week ago and apparently nobody seen it so here it is!!!!

Part 13

Here's my masterlist!!

[syndianites]

A Queen Serves and Protects

Chapter Three

First Chapter --> Last Chapter --> Current --> Next Chapter Summary:

Post-Style Queen, Pre-Queen Wasp.

Chloe finds the Bee Miraculous, but instead of finding an obliging, subservient Kwami, she finds the Kwami of Order and Subjugation, and Pollen is not about to let herself be used like Nooroo was.

Granted, the only danger in a teenage girl is the damage she poses to herself. Can Pollen shape Chloe into a hero? Or will she stubbornly refuse to change and remain the bitter, harsh person the city has long since known?

[My take on how Chloe’s character could have developed] ——————————————————————————————

Getting akumatized was a special sort of uncomfortable. But it was exhilarating in all the same ways. Everything that one felt became louder, bigger, something beyond what it used to be. It grew into power. The power to act and take what was yours.

For Chloe, it just made her more upset. The anger had almost fizzled out, but the akuma brought it back with a vengeance. But unlike the last time she had been akumatized, her sorrow manifested much stronger than her rage.

Her skin darkened to a deep blue, almost purple, like the edge of the night sky after the sun had set. Where her hair had been in a high ponytail, it was undone and draped down and around her face. It looked stuck together and damp as though she had just been rained on. Chloe’s makeup looked washed out and runny both from her own tears and the transformation.

Most notably, her clothes became a simple long t-shirt and sweatpants that looked worn down and overused. The pants were a bright, light blue, while the shirt was a dark, deep crimson. To top it off, her sunglasses molded into a hat not unlike what her mother wore, but with goggles inlaid into them.

Without a word, Chloe put her hands before her and a large pair of scissors, easily the size of her chest, formed in her hand. Transformation complete, she turned on a dime and walked out the locker room.

A moment of silence followed before Pollen poked her head out the locker she had hidden away in. “Well, this isn’t good.”

//////

Marinette had never been so uncomfortable in her life. That included that time when she was seven and her twice removed cousins from her dad’s side came over and asked her why she didn’t wear dresses if she liked making them so much. And that one time she stepped foot first into a mud puddle, lost her shoe, and had to walk home with a sock soaked in mud.

It was bad.

Audrey, once Chloe had stormed out, continued on her tirade. “Ugh, how dramatic. Little Charlie needs to learn her place. She simply can’t compare to talent like yours, dear.”

Starting at being addressed, Marinette gave her a pinched smile.

“Now,” Audrey continued. “You simply must come to New York with me. The opportunities are endless, and skill such as yours would flourish under my attention!”

Her heart skipped a beat. New York was a big deal for fashion. Next to Paris, it was the place to be, and opening up her contacts to overseas big names would be a huge step for her career.

But could she work with someone this awful?

Sure, Marinette didn’t like Chloe, but even she thought that how her own mother treated her was cruel. It made her feel bad for the girl. It explained a lot about her, and for a moment Marinette considered being nicer to Chloe.

Not that that would make Chloe suddenly decide to be a good person. It would take the inevitable explosion of the sun for that to happen.

“I-i, um, I need to think about it, Mrs. Bourgeois.” Marinette glanced over at her parents. “I have a lot to consider about leaving or staying, and my parents still need my help at the bakery.”

Her parents, and oh how she loved them, spoke up immediately, “Oh, we can manage the bakery dear! Don’t worry about little old us, what’s important is your future.”

Please, take the hint guys.

Before Marinette can struggle to find more excuses to deny her request, Adrien pipes up, “Mrs. Bourgeois,” he flashes her an award winning smile, “Don’t you think that the way Chloe was handled was a bit… out of hand?” Gabriel laid a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, squeezing it gently before sharing a look with Natalie and wandering off.

Audrey rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Oh, darling, for such a sweet thing you can be so daft. Girls like that need a quick strike down before they let their misguidedness get to their head.”

Adrien, for his part, kept smiling. For those who knew him well enough, they could see the twitch in his eye as he struggled not to snap at the woman. “Ah, my apologies. In my experience, the best growth comes from a guiding hand that focuses on building a person up rather than tearing them down. But I suppose, for a critic, that is not the case at all. Though, the modelling experience is often different from the experience of those who make judgement calls on others’ hard work.”

Bringing a hand to her chest, Audrey sniffs derisively. “Sure, dear. Of course, most models are meant to make anything they wear look pretty, so it can be hard to see where their accessories are lacking when all they see is themselves.”

Marinette wanted to desperately be anywhere but where she was standing. She almost wished that someone had bust in with the Bee miraculous and caused a scene just so she could excuse herself.

She’d rather deal with her own mistakes a million fold over than this.

Mayor Andre, for his part, smiled a shaky press smile as he tried to talk his wife down. 

Adrien, fed up with Audrey, grabbed Marinette ’s hand and pulled her away quickly. Natalie spared him a glance before going to converse with his bodyguard.

“Can you believe her!” Adrien simmered. “How cruel can you be to your own child!”

Marinette laughed awkwardly. “I mean, at least we know where Chloe gets it from?”

Adrien rounded on her. “Chloe is not as bad as her!”

Taking a step back, she watched Adrien wide-eyed. He sighed, taking a breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That display was just awful.”

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up carefully styled locks.

Hesitating, Marinette asked, “Is she… always like that?”

Adrien gave a tense nod. “Since we were young. Chloe always wanted her mother’s support, but well,” he waved his hand back in her direction, “You try reasoning with that.”

Before either could pick the conversation back up the front doors to the building burst open. Carrying comically large scissors and dressed as what could only be called a fashion disaster was an akuma that looked one bad day away from a mental breakdown.

Or, well, in the middle of a breakdown.

“Audrey Bourgeois! You claim to recognize talent when you see it, but failed to see how your own daughter can be exceptional. Well, I am the Queen Killer and if I cannot be exceptional then no one can! I’ll cut your reign to shreds.” The akuma accented her speech with a threatening snip of her scissors before launching forward at the Style Queen.

Before anyone could react, Queen Killer had Audrey between her blades and closed. A thing, white line appeared where the blades connected and, as Queen drew her weapon away, there was a horrifying moment where Marinette was sure Audrey was split into two pieces.

Instead, a dark shadow started spilling out of Audrey, enveloping her body as she screamed. When the shadow dissipates, a twisted, snarling version of Audrey that looked like she was fused together with five other versions of herself appeared. It lashed out at those around her, screeching and clawing at them.

Queen Killer laughed. “Now everyone will see how hideous and cruel you are!”

Marinette jolted out her shock as Adrien roughly pulled her away. This, unfortunately, brought Queen’s attention to them as the rest of the room also began to run. 

“Dupain-Cheng!” If she had any doubt that that was Chloe, she had none now. ”You stole my mother’s love from me!”

As Queen launched forward with her scissors open, Marinette screamed, “That was not my intention! I didn’t know she would ask me to go to New York with her all over a hat!”

Alas, her pleas were not enough. Stuck in her civilian form, Marinette could not outrun the enraged Queen. Twin blades circled around her waist and cut, forcing Marinette to stumble and fall.

Adrien, worried for his friend, stopped and tried to go back for her. But, between a snarling Queen and Marinette urging him to keep running as a dark shadow overtook her, he kept running. The best thing for Marinette would be Chat Noir and Ladybug. He would have time to check on her later.

Marinette , meanwhile, felt the shadows come off her and… she looked the same. For a moment, she was confused. What was the akuma’s power supposed to be?

But then it bubbled up. Nothing physical. No, that would be too easy. As she looked up towards Queen and thought ‘I need to transform into Ladybug’ a wave of crushing doubt and insecurity gripped her throat.

She would just mess up again. Like she had when she started out, when she lost the Bee miraculous, and every time she let someone get harmed by an akuma. There was no way she could do this. Chat Noir would be better off without her.

As the building cleared and Queen ran out to terrorize the fleeing patrons, Marinette stayed on the ground, shaking. What could she do? Make things worse? Disappoint all of Paris? Put Fu and Chat Noir in danger?

Distantly, she heard someone talking to her, urging her to get up and move. The voice disappeared as he heard footsteps and she was lifted into someone’s arms. A hop, skip, and a jump later had her safely placed down on a chair in a private room, looking into the eyes of Chat Noir. His eyebrows were brought together in concern.

“Stay here, okay? I promise Ladybug and I will fix things for you.” He offered a reassuring smile before dashing out of the room.

When she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, Tikki flew out of her pocket. “ Marinette !” The little ladybug placed her paws on her face, getting her to look at Tikki. “Are you okay? What happened after she cut you?”

Shaking her head, Marinette focused on her breathing. ‘C’mon Mari,’ she thought to herself, ‘You can’t let Chat do this alone.’

“I, uh,” she looked back at Tikki, “It’s so bad Tikki. I’m going to mess up and make things worse. Like yesterday with the Bee miraculous! I lost it! Instead of getting help, I lost a potential ally and a powerful magical artifact. If I can’t even keep track of things placed under my care, how can I protect Paris?”

Tikki was at a loss for words. This reminded her so much of the Marinette she first met- unconfident, afraid, and so uncertain in her actions. It was like the cut brought out all the most hurtful parts of herself…

“ Marinette ,” Tikki began, “We all make mistakes. What’s important is working to fix them. Sure, if you do nothing you can’t mess up or disappoint people, but you also can’t grow and succeed. Paris needs its Ladybug, regardless of what the people think of you. I know you can do this. Chat will be there to help you too, I’m sure of it.”

Doubt in her eyes, Marinette nodded. While her doubts and insecurity swirled in her mind, the urge to help others reigned supreme. She had to at least stop the akuma and set things back to normal.

“Alright Tikki,” Marinette swallowed thickly. “Spots On!”

///////////

Chat was not having a good time.

His first thought upon finding Queen snipping people in half with her scissors was that he could easily beat her in combat. What could she do with a pair of large scissors when he had a versatile staff?

A lot, apparently.

As he dodged backwards from another attempt to cut him in half from Queen, he tossed a jab her way. “So is clashing colors the new look, or did I miss the memo?”

Queen huffed at him, “Says the boy in full leather! I would know a fashion disaster when I see one!”

She ran at him again, holding the scissors completely open so she could swipe at him with a blade. Chat blocked it with his staff, before pushing her away as she tried to close the blades on him.

“Excuse you, Queenie!” He retorted. “I’ll have you know that my outfit is purr-fect.”

Clearly, she disagreed, if the groan and slash at him was anything to go by.

What a party pooper.

But what was worse was that he couldn’t get close enough to her to properly disarm her. Nor could he figure out where the akuma was while trying his best to not get cut in half. Chat needed to regroup with Ladybug, but she was nowhere in sight.

Biting his lip, Chat jumped back and up onto a rooftop. Giving Queen Killer a salute, he started away from her.

“Get back here you mangy cat!” Queen simmered on the ground below where he ran off. “You better bring back Ladybug so I can take you both off your high horse!”

///////////

Pollen was not the best at sneaking around. Not for lack of trying, of course, but people were ingrained to see a blur of yellow and the sound of buzzing and think ‘Bee!’ It didn’t help that she was larger than the average bee.

What did help, however, was people being too busy staring at an akuma running full tilt down the street to pay attention to the yellow being that was trying to stay unnoticed behind them. So Pollen got a front row seat to Queen’s akuma speech and display of her powers. When Chat Noir showed up she waited for her chance to talk to him or Ladybug whenever she came around.

And, well, there went Chat running for his life.

Pollen sighed. At least flying along rooftops was less obvious than following an akuma.

After shooting past building after building, she manages to get closer to the black blur that was Chat Noir. He was vaulting along, keeping an eye out as he worked on not plummeting to the ground. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, Pollen nearly sped past him.

As Chat retracts his staff and starts to dial Ladybug, Pollen drops down in front of him. “Oh!” He stumbles back, “Hello? Who are you?”

Pollen smooths out her fluff and offers a paw. “I am Pollen, Kwami and Order and Subjugation, and the one who dwells inside the Bee Miraculous. You must be Chat Noir. A pleasure.”

Chat, mystified, offers a finger. “Nice to meet you. I thought you would be with Master Fu and your miraculous?”

“Ah, well,” Pollen tilted her head. “Did Ladybug not tell you?”

He pinched his lips. “No?”

“Ladybug lost my miraculous in the fight with Style Queen. You weren’t there, though, were you?” Pollen considered him for a moment. “I don’t blame you for that, nor do I blame Ladybug for losing my miraculous. But that isn’t important right now.”

Accepting the hand Chat placed out for her, she settles into his palm. “I need to talk to you and Ladybug, but the akuma is our first priority. What do you know about them?”

“Well,” Chat began, “I believe it is Chloe Bourgeois. But as for the akuma,” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand, “I’m not too sure. My current two guesses are her scissors or her hat, since she normally doesn’t have either on her.”

Pollen nodded thoughtfully, despite having seen the akuma land in Chloe’s sunglasses. There was no way she could tell Chat Noir without him having at least some suspicions as to who she was with at the moment. At the very least, he could narrow it down to who had been around Chloe when she transformed.

Chat pushed on. “Even if we managed to subdue Queen Killer and get the akuma out, we wouldn’t be able to do anything until Ladybug gets here to purify it. The best we can do is wait and try to stop as much damage as possible.”

“Actually,” Pollen butt in, with a slow smile spreading across her face, “I may have a solution to that.” Chat tipped his head to the side. “I can immobilize people with my power. As long as I can hold onto the power they will remain frozen, or until I touch them to let them free.”

He perked up, stars in his eyes. “Like how Plagg can use Cataclysm when he’s himself! That’s perfect, Pollen.”

She nodded eagerly, before stopping. “Wait, did you not know kwamis can use their own power?”

Chat looked confused, but nodded slowly. “I didnt figure that out until he used it to free from an akuma a while ago.”

Pollen buzzed, frustrated, before saying, “The Guardian should have told you that! It’s important for a holder to know about their miraculous and kwami, especially a trouble maker like Plagg.”

“Well,” Chat scuffed his foot on the roof, “I don’t speak to the Guardian that much. Last time we talked was when he came to my house and talked about the Miracle Box and such.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Pollen moved out of Chat’s hand and floated in an irritated circle. “You should be just as informed as Ladybug. It’s not fair to you or her to pile information on one of you and expect the other to just go along with it!”

Chat shrugged. “That’s how it’s been for most of it. Besides, I trust Ladybug with my life.”

“But, when keeping so many secrets, can she trust hers with you?” Pollen replied with a meaningful look in her eyes.

She received no response. Instead of dwelling on the matter, she urged Chat to get back to Queen Killer. They still had a job to do, after all.

/////////

Ladybug arrived on the scene to find Chat nowhere in site and Queen Killer happily snipping at random citizens. Great. Before she can engage with the akuma, she hesitates. Could she really do this without Chat? What if she lost her miraculous because she let her civilian self get hit with the akuma’s power?

Shaking her head, she prepared to head in when a flash of black caught her eye. The familiar form of Chat pole vaulting across the rooftops to her left filled her with a sense of relief. She really, seriously needed to keep it together.

Taking a second, she throws her yo-yo to wrap around a chimney in Chat’s path. Her heart races as she tests the line and jumps. Shit, shit, shit, she’s gonna hit the wall, then Queen will notice her, then-

She made it on the roof with two scraped knees. Not flawless, but still unseen. Chat landed beside her, more than happy to see his Lady. A frown creased his brow as he took in her demeanor.

“Are you alright?” He checks her over for wounds, but comes back with nothing beyond a few scratches. “Did something happen?”

Ladybug goes to dismiss the idea before Tikki’s words ring in her head again ‘Chat will be there to help you too.’ Shaking her head, she gave Chat a grimace. “Queen managed to cut me while I was in my civilian form. Even after I transformed the effects are bothering me. It’s… brought back a lot of my insecurity and confidence issues. But we can do this, I know we can.”

Chat nodded, resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, I have a plan. And some back up.”

“Backup?”

A yellow figure lands on Chat’s shoulder. “Hello, Ladybug. It’s nice to see you again.”

Blinking in shock, Ladybug exclaims, “You’re the kwami from the Bee miraculous! Oh god, another thing I messed up, I’m so, so sorry.”

Pollen holds up a paw, stopping her. “It’s not your fault. You were in a tight situation and did the best you could. Besides, I’m with someone who may be a good ally in the future. They just need time.”

Chat and Pollen brought Ladybug up to speed on their ideas, to which she poked and prodded at. They exchanged glances before nodding and Chat and Pollen split. Still standing on the roof, Ladybug calls her Lucky Charm. It dropped from the sky as a red and black spotted crowbar.

Keeping the crowbar in hand, Ladybug drew Queen’s attention with a hit to her scissors. “Hey!” Ladybug called out, “Don’t you know scissors are dangerous?”

Queen Killer growled back, “Of course you would start preaching at me, little miss perfect. I bet everyone in the whole city loves you. Well I’m here to cut your heroic tales short!” She launched forward, bouncing off a car and digging her scissors into the side of the building to propel her up to the rooftop to get on Ladybug’s level.

Ladybug, in a quick move, flipped over her and flung her yo-yo around the scissors to send Queen flying back to the ground. Before she could hit a lamppost, Queen dug the blades into the street to slow herself down, only to run back to Ladybug.

‘Good,’ Ladybug thought to herself, ‘Keep coming.’

In the moments before Queen got back in range, Ladybug took a moment to eye the area around her for clues on how to use the Lucky Charm. Nothing stood out, so she sprung from the rooftop to land before Queen and send her yo-yo swinging at her feet.

Queen, quick to the punch, lowered her scissors to cut the yo-yo string. Ah, what a lovely and easy mistake to make when fighting a person who used scissors with a string based weapon. Panicking, Ladybug brought up the crowbar to stop the scissors from striking her.

Pulling back, Queen raced in again with the blades open, looking to trap Ladybug the same way she had Chat in their fight before. Ladybug readied her crowbar, bringing it up to block again. Queen smirked, shutting the blades in a smooth motion. By luck or skill, Ladybug managed to sidestep the action, getting the crowbar’s hook caught in between the blades. Seeing her chance, Ladybug used the hook to pull the scissors from Queen’s hands.

Spitting a curse, Queen abandoned her scissors to tackle Ladybug.

Chat, meanwhile, called forth his Cataclysm and rushed the scissors, destroying them with a touch. When no akuma appeared, he looked back confused. Queen kept fighting Ladybug, managing to get the upper hand as Ladybug hesitated in kicking her off. As Queen pinned Ladybug’s hand with one of her own and reached for her miraculous Chat sprung towards her.

He wouldn’t make it in time.

But Queen stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide beneath the wide-brimmed hat. Pollen popped up from behind her, giving Ladybug a little giggle. “Sorry, I meant to do that a little earlier.”

This time with no reservations, Ladybug pushed Queen off of her. Chat bounded over to her to help her up, to which she shook her head and pointed at Queen. “Find the akuma.”

Receiving a nod, she picked herself up to retrieve the cut off part of her yo-yo. Chat, in this time, took Queen’s hat and ripped it. For good measure, he broke the goggles on them as well. Lo and behold, the akuma haphazardly fluttered out. Before it could escape, Ladybug snapped it up in her yo-yo.

“Bye, bye little butterfly,” Ladybug murmured, letting it fly off into the sky. With a nod to her partner, she threw her crowbar into the air and let forth the rush of ladybugs to fix the damage done.

Pollen, seeing Chloe safely de-akumatized, gave Chat a little nod before rushing off. He made a move to go after her when a bawl reached his ears. Chloe, freshly purified, was trying her best to keep it together. But as Chat knelt to help her to her feet, she jumped him for a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry that I was too pathetic to not get akumatized again. My mother was right about me, I’m so, so sorry.”

Chat rubbed her back slowly. “What your mother said was cruel and unfounded. You’re not pathetic at all, Chloe.”

“And it’s definitely not your fault. Even the strongest, most exceptional people can get akumatized,” Ladybug added, “Besides, even heroes have bad days.” Not that she considered Chloe even close to a hero.

Andre chose this moment to come bustling through the doors of the building behind them. “Princess, my darling!”

Seeing that she was in good hands, Chat and Ladybug pound their fists together and part ways.

Ladybug, however, is stopped by Pollen two blocks over. “There you are! Thank goodness. Can you show me where your miraculous is so I can return it to Master Fu?”

“No,” Pollen told her quietly, “But I want to ask you to trust me. I’ve found someone who needs my help. Maybe one day she could be a great hero, maybe not. But this person has gone through a lot of heartbreak and I don’t want to be another person that leaves her behind. I want you to tell Fu that I have decided to stay with them.”

“Wait, but what about secrecy? How will we know they won't spread the word about the miraculous or accidentally lead Hawkmoth to you?” Ladybug fretted, cupping her hands for Pollen to land in.

“I haven’t told her the transformation words, yet.” Pollen stroked her hand reassuringly. “That way if things go south I can still manage to keep my power from being abused. Please, Ladybug, trust me.”

Biting her lip, Ladybug hesitantly nodded. “Please stay safe, Pollen. If you ever need my help don’t hesitate to ask.”

Giving her a bright smile, Pollen floated up to nuzzle Ladybug’s forehead. After giving parting words, they went off in different directions.

Hopefully, Pollen hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

[estoniacobaltpayne]

Judgement Day

Chapter 1: Devising Deceit

Summary: Desperate, a force user bargains for her freedom; if she acquires the ‘asset’ deemed top priority, she would be free from the life that has enslaved her. Years of training has prepared her, but she’s stubborn and unlucky and more often than not she’s biting off more than she can chew. Maybe pulling the long con is the only path to freedom, but if it is, there’s a Mandalorian blocking it.

Warnings: language, implications of creepy old men

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Prologue: Here!

Arvala-7 was hot. Despicably so. It was as if its creation was solely intended to irritate her on her quest. She would have thought she would have been more accustomed to the heat, but even the stuffy cargo holds on the dingy and dank ships she stowed away upon weren’t as unbearable as the waves of oppressing heat radiating from the red sand.

Hell, even Jakku hadn’t been this unbearably hot.

Luckily, Darth Ragna didn’t have long to linger in her suffering for too long. An isolated base appeared before her, and along with it brought the beginning of her journey towards freedom. Taking out the guards would be quick work, especially with her abilities. Really, what could they offer themselves for protection? Blasters? A canon at most? Surely, nothing to suppress her unnatural abilities. A forgotten base such as this one would in no way be equipped with such advanced, expensive, and rare technology.

And so she began her fight. The blasters were easy to manipulate into disintegration, and their users were easy enough to mindlessly toss aside without a single touch. The first canon was just the same. The second canon was a surprise, but took just as little effort. Then the crew of the base rolled out another 3 canons simultaneously. She was falling behind in her attacks. She now played the role of the defence, and damn, was their offence growing stronger? Or was the heat of the sun really that bad? How comical. The sun bringing down someone as powerful as her.

But it wasn’t the sun. It was the syringe sticking out of her arm. Did these unintelligent life forms really just... gain the upper hand? Did they really just have the audacity to shoot her with… what was it?

What was-

The last thing she saw was the same damned red sand kicked in her face by the boots of the soldiers running towards her. She couldn’t even feel it stinging her eyes, coating her skin, dirtying her hair. And after another moment in slow motion, she lost her ability to keep her eyes open.

The last thing she registered was the sharp voice that eternally plagued her head; “you should be better than this, pathetic child.”

And then, she was nothing.

——

Rumbling.

Outside.

Outside where?

Where is inside?

Darth Ragna pushed herself off the ground. She spit out some of the red sand that still lingered in her mouth. How long had she been out? Why couldn’t she feel the force? How did those buffoons even get the upper hand?

She lifted up her arms to shake some of pesky sand that was in her hair. It was impossibly tangled in every direction, and the sweat and sand coating her head was making the itching on her scalp nearly unbearable. But something was impeding her attempt to soother herself; handcuffs. A very familiar model of handcuffs.

“If you can’t control yourself, then I get to control you. Understand, girl?”

A tall man with skin as pale as his soul and a grip to match pulls along a young girl, not even old enough to have 2 digits in her age.

“Please! I can! I can be good! I promise! I-“

He turns around and cuts her off sharply, “no! This is the last time you disobey me! If you didn’t want the cuffs, you would have contemplated your actions before you enacted them! Pray I don’t devise a worse punishment!”

A pair of handcuffs encircled her wrists. They were a clean chrome colour, that, when paired with the glowing blue technology underneath their surface, suppressed every ounce of ability to connect with the force. She was alone now.

It was the same type of handcuffs that were forced upon Ragna now.

But now, they were such a small problem compared to the IG-11 droid imposing over her body that was limp on the floor. She backed herself up the wall, trying to put as much space between herself and the killer droid as possible. After all, her powers in the force were useless, thanks to the cuffs, and she was useless against the droid.

But its focus was not on her, anyways.

Its target was stubbornly aimed on the pram to her right. She couldn’t see into it, but she new from the intel she was given back home that, if it was the asset she was sent to acquire, it was a child. The droid had its blaster aimed into its center; but it dropped to the ground with a hole in its head as suddenly and as unceremoniously as it had been brought into this world. Its effortless destruction was brought upon it before it got the chance to terminate the child.

But whatever managed to take out an IG-11 droid so very easily was more concerning to Darth Ragna; and that’s when she noticed the Mandalorian.

The visor of his silver helmet was trained upon her. The chest plates the colour of the sand beneath his feet rose and fell in gentle breaths; too gentle considering the energy he must have exerted to take out the guards outside. Speaking of which: if he could take them out, why couldn’t she? If she couldn’t out-fight a few hired guns, how the hell was she supposed to take out this beast of a Mandalorian? Even if her abilities in the force had been unsuppressed?

She thought quickly; the only way to get out of this alive was to out-wit the Mandalorian. If she was able to successfully convince him that she was sent here to care for the asset, then she might be able to gain his trust. And once she did, she would, quite literally, stab him in the back, and take the asset as her own bounty. And so, in a rushed, nearly unbelievable string of jumbled words, she put on, truly, her best act. But her rushed stammering, she could tell, did little to sway the bounty hunter. After her speech, he simply stared at her, unmoving.

Finally, after Ragna began to think that he would just end her then and there, he let out a gruff, “how do you explain the cuffs, then?”

His voice was like nothing she had ever heard; rough, raw, authentic. It stunned her into silence. It wasn’t until he let out a tensed, “well?” that she responded.

“They didn’t believe me! Even after showing them that I, too, am a wielder of the force, they still locked me up here!”

The Mandalorian was really going against his better judgement when he helped her up off the floor. But for Ragna, things were starting to go her way. She just had to sell her feigned kindness and hope that he warmed up to her quickly.

“Thank you! You have no idea how refreshing it is to have someone sane at a time like this! Imagine if those gunman had just left me here. How rude! I can’t even think of it! Truly, you live up to the reputation of your people! Now, if you would oblige me once more and take off these cuffs?”

The Mandalorian was already halfway out the door with the child, when he bluntly replied, “no.”

Well, damn.

——

And damn once more. Ragna had really expected her situation to be much easier than it was turning out to be. A caravan of Jawas had raided the Mandalorian’s ship for parts (not that there was much worth scavenging, as she bluntly said to the ship’s owner). Her new travel companion enlisted the help of a former ally to try and remedy the situation. An Ugnaut named Kuill, who mentioned in passing his indentured servitude in the Empire. Ragna stiffened. Did he… did he know of her? If he did, he didn’t seem to let on, a relief to Ragna. If she were to be found out, she would be facing instant death via Mandalorian.

Honestly, it was the damned cuffs. This whole ordeal could have been over and done with had that stubborn Mandalorian just taken those handcuffs off her. But until he did, she could do nothing to help in any way. Not when the Mandalorian went to fight the mudhorn did he take them off, and not even when he was fixing his ship. She could have helped and this all would have gone much faster, and she was sure to make that fact known to the Mandalorian in a feeble attempt to win his faith, but he did nothing but ignore her.

More importantly, she couldn’t carry out her plan to kill the Mandalorian and take the child to the Imperials herself if she was still held hostage in the force suppressing cuffs. She attempted to reach out to him; to establish a faux acquaintanceship with him in order to sway him into trusting her, but as soon as she initiated a conversation, he took the child and hid himself away in the cockpit. He locked the doors and didn’t dare retreat for the majority of the ride to Nevarro, as she believed he mentioned they were going, which was her last chance to enact any semblance of her plan. But alas, he still did not remove the force suppressing cuffs, and she was still disabled to the force. The Mandalorian’s contact, however, proved to not be useless to her and her situation. He was one of the Imperial councilmen that approved her bargain; the child’s obtainment for her freedom. The amount of time the client spent talking to the bounty hunter was excruciating, however, as soon as he left, she made herself and her bargain loud and clear to the Imperial client.

“I bargained that should the child be brought into Imperial hands, that I would be freed.”

The Imperial was a plump man with a disapproving face. He was smart, and not one to easily let go of what he felt belonged in Imperial clutches.

“And yet, you were not the one to bring in the asset, so I do believe that your contract has been voided.”

Her jaw squared. She would be damned if some bounty hunter got in the way of her freedom.

“I helped him. I led him to it. There were too many guards. Neither could have taken them alone. My contract never said I couldn’t employ the assistance of another,” Ragna was seething. All she could do was plead. There was no way she would let go of her freedom now; not when she was so close, and she wasn’t below laying herself down at the feet of this asshat to obtain what she wanted.

“And yet, you’re sitting here in the force suppressing handcuffs I know your father so dearly loves to see you in.”

A shiver ran down Ragna’s spine. But she ignored the implications. She would weasel her way out of this.

“He wanted assurance that I wouldn’t kill him and take the reward for myself. After seeing the reward was beskar, I can’t blame him. Now, I believe my obligations are fulfilled. Please remove the cuffs.”

The Imperial client regarded her for a moment. Honestly, with how much Ragna made the Empire put up with - all her fits and acts of rebellion against her training - she’d have thought they’d be glad to be rid of her. A fact she made clear to him in his glaring silence.

After a moment he acquiesced, and ordered one of the troopers to remove them.

She was free.

——

And how beautiful freedom was.

For all of about an hour.

Ragna was enjoying some street food native to Nevarro when she heard a commotion on the next street over. She shouldn’t have investigated. Really, she should have stowed away on the nearest ship and bailed, but something pulled her towards the trouble.

And she really, should have known what was the source.

There he was, that damned Mandalorian (only now in a shiny new set of armour), carrying the child to his ship. He was conversing with someone, who, Ragna didn’t know, but before she could try and decipher their conversation, her comm beeped from her satchel.

“Come in! Ragna come in!”

She really, really, shouldn’t have answered the damned call.

“Ragna! The bounty hunter I was informed you worked with in obtaining the asset just made off with it! Tore threw nearly a half dozen troopers! Apprehend he and the child immediately!”

Rage coursed through her. She was no longer an Imperial toy!

“How dare you? My contract has been fulfilled! It is no concern of mine what happens in Imperial matters now!”

A dark cackle comes through the comm. The poor quality of the speaker mixed it with static to give it a truly horrifying and maniacal texture.

“I thought you wanted freedom in order to better carry out the will of the Empire? I see now that you have betrayed me and this entire organisation. Foolish girl. Apprehend the bounty hunter and bring us the asset, or there will be not a single crevice of this galaxy that you can hide from me.”

The comm went silent. Sigh. Should she disregard her commands and hide herself away, she would never truly be free. If she brought in the bounty hunter and child, she would never have to worry about hiding from her Imperial keepers ever again. Ragna regarded her options. She had no ship, so chasing the Mandalorian around the galaxy in an attempt to kill him was off the table. She still had her original plan though. And now, as other bounty hunters swarmed him from every angle, she had the perfect opportunity to help fight them off.

Hopefully, that would be enough for the Mandalorian to seal some trust in her.

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 7

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairings: Alastor x Fem!Reader, Alastor x Lucifer x Reader

Summary: Somehow thrown into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Manipulation 

Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Holy shit. Oh, fuck. There he was. The creature you had heard about your entire life. The epitome of all things evil and corrupt… the embodiment of sin… and he was standing directly in front of you, meeting your horrified expression with an amused one of his own.

Finding words was impossible as your mouth hung open in shock, unsure of what to say or how to address your current situation. Granted, this Lucifer was an animation, and an extremely whimsical one at that, but considering what you had heard, you were certain that he was capable of terrible and downright unspeakable things.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lucifer teased, quirking an eyebrow.

At that moment, it just so happened that a grumpy cat-demon was passing by. From the hallway, you could hear Husk grumble, “Fuck off,” clearly offended by the remark and probably on his way to the bar. He seemed to be surprisingly unfazed by Lucifer’s presence. Either that, or he was completely oblivious to the fact that he was even there.

Luckily, Charlie broke the tense silence that filled the room. “W-where’s Mom?

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Lucifer turned to address his very clearly emotionally overwhelmed daughter. “She’s on another one of her holidays. She took the gardener and fled to the Lust Ring for some time away. I think that it will do her some good.”

Upon noticing Charlie’s look of discomfort and your perplexed expression, Lucifer chuckled darkly. “Lilith and I have what you would call an open relationship. I adore the woman, but alas, she and I tend to grow tired of each other’s company after several millennia. You could not have come at a better time, little human!”

Changing the subject, Charlie interjected, “So… that’s why you’re here? I haven’t heard from you or Mom in weeks, but somehow you can find the time to cross the Seven Rings to see someone you don’t even know?”

“Oh, Charlotte. Desperation is not a good look on you,” Lucifer sneered, brushing off Charlie’s jab. “You’re a Magne for Satan’s sake. Wipe that dejected look off of your face and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Fighting back tears, Charlie’s bottom lip quivered, but she managed to keep herself in check. “Yes, Dad…”

Anger was bubbling up inside of you and threatening to spill over. You had exchanged a look with Alastor, who very subtly shook his head, indicating that now was not the time to lose your cool.

“Now,” Lucifer declared, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Let’s get moving, shall we? Oh, this is absolutely thrilling! I have so many things to inquire about.” 

Finally finding your words, you spoke barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to leave.”

Wagging his finger disapprovingly at you, Lucifer chastised, “I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter. You’re deliciously powerless and at the mercy of Hell’s ruler… who just happens to be me!” He cackled at his own joke, which wasn’t even funny.

“But, Dad,” Charlie couldn’t stop herself from butting in. “She’s doing well here. We’re keeping her safe and she’s just getting settled. We’re making progress, and I really don’t think that it’s a good idea--”

“Enough!” Lucifer snarled, shaking the whole room with the intensity of his anger. He bared his teeth at Charlie, his eyes now a fiery red and yellow as he glared at her. “Do not defy me, child. Your sympathy for other creatures is pathetic and will be the end of you. I will not tolerate it!”

To Charlie’s credit, she refused to cower before him and instead puffed out her chest, challenging him as her own eyes flashed red and yellow back at him.

“If I may,” Alastor’s calm and collected voice cut through the tension in the room. “The princess makes a valid argument.”

As everyone turned to look at the Radio Demon, Lucifer returned to his former self, brushing his hair back to smooth out the blonde strands that had fallen out of place during his fit of rage.

“Ah, Alastor. I see the rumors are true. You’ve decided to embark in the hospitality industry. It’s a far cry from Overlord status, but to each their own, I suppose.”

Alastor remained eerily still, his smile prominently projecting while his eyes narrowed ever so subtly, which Lucifer seemed to pick up on. “Come now, old friend. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your endeavors. Perhaps you can teach my daughter a thing or two about Hell and the roles each must play.”

“I have no intention of soliciting false pretenses, Luci, my dear. I am merely here to watch the scum of the earth struggle for betterment before they trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure.” A shiver crept down your spine as he finished and he had a sinister gleam in his eyes.

“Ha!” Lucifer exclaimed. “I should have known. You’re far too clever to abed Charlotte in a failed quest of humanity.”

“Come now, Luci,” Alastor began, tutting the King of Hell. “Must you be so cynical? If nothing else, she’s providing entertainment. I would think that you, of all sinners, would enjoy that.”

“Apparently, you know nothing of the things that I enjoy, Stag,” Lucifer quipped using a peculiar nickname.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing.”

An awkward silence filled the room as Lucifer cleared his throat before swallowing thickly. Alastor’s cold and calculated stare was unwavering and wicked.

Quickly averting the topic, Lucifer stated, “The fact remains, it’s not safe for a vulnerable human here in the hotel.”

“I beg to differ,” Alastor countered, nonchalantly twirling his cane in his hands. “She’s no safer with you, my king. You have a significant target on your back and were she to stay with you, she would be in constant danger.”

“I could say the same for you,” Lucifer argued, narrowing his eyes while his smile widened. The similarities between Lucifer and Alastor were unsettling. “You’ve certainly made your fair share of enemies.”

“That may be, but I have nothing but free time,” Alastor deflected with a hint of malice. “You have enough on your plate, what with the recent extermination and those dreadful turf wars that are always on the picture show. The last thing you need is to be burdened with something like this.”

Lucifer sneered, pausing to look over the Radio Demon as if he were looking for something to give him ammunition for the conversation. “If I didn’t know any better, my old friend, I would think that you were trying to manipulate me into allowing her to stay.”

Alastor’s smile crept higher into his cheeks, the slits of his eyes thinning ever so slightly. “I think we’re far past the point of manipulation. I won’t beat around the bush. It would be a mistake for you to take her into your custody.”

Lucifer growled, his impatience fracturing the surface of his indifferent disposition. “The mistake would be to underestimate me.”

“Dad, enough!” Charlie interjected, no longer able to stifle her disdain. “Why is it always a fight with you? Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Charlotte,” he warned, not bothering to look at her.

“For the last time, it’s Charlie ,” she opposed, fuming. “I just… we were managing just fine. Why does this even matter to you?”

“Charlie,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “Just when I think there might be hope for your future, you set yourself up for failure. You are a disappointment and an embarrassment to me, and I grow tired of your insolence.”

Each word spoken was like a dagger in Charlie’s heart. She was trying so hard to be strong, but she was close to breaking down. Unable to hold back any longer, you snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The words had left your mouth before you could stop them. The whole room fell silent as everyone turned to Lucifer to gauge his reaction.

“Beg your pardon?” he inquired, his expression stoic.

Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Why are you being so unnecessarily cruel? She’s your daughter , and she’s been nothing but kind and helpful since I arrived. Why do you have to openly mock and demean her like that?”

His eyes searched yours as you stood frozen, waiting for him to slaughter you on the spot for talking back to him. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed, clearly entertained by your ignorance. However, just as you thought he was going to let it go, you were thrown up against the wall, his hand at your throat as he lifted you from the ground. Your nails raked at his hands while your feet scuffled, trying to find anything to lift you and alleviate the pressure on your neck.

“Silly pet,” he hissed, his eyes becoming snake-like as he glared at you. “You’re here as my guest, and I am a courteous host, but make no mistake… should you cross me, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Finally, he let go, allowing your body to slump to the ground as you choked and gasped for air.

Brushing off his sleeves and straightening out his jacket, Lucifer sighed before speaking. “She will remain here temporarily until I can make proper arrangements.”

No one spoke as he looked down at you on the ground, grinning wickedly. “Take care, human. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, he saw himself out, not bothering to utter another word, leaving behind a haunting silence in his wake.

You hardly noticed the hand that was being extended to you as you sat on the ground, dazed by the interaction. When you glanced up, you saw that the hand belonged to Alastor, who was offering you a casual smile. “How are you so happy all the time?” you grumbled as you took his hand, allowing him to haul you to your feet.

“A smile does not necessarily convey happiness,” he explained as he looked you over. “Hell is prominently filled with barbaric individuals who favor crass behavior above all else. It’s quite dull. I myself am in favor of a more amiable approach.”

Before you could respond, Charlie approached you, wrapping her arms around you as she pulled you into a tight embrace. “Are you okay?” she asked, still tightly coiled around you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

Retracting herself, she nodded glumly. “I’m used to it. In case you couldn’t tell, my dad and I don’t exactly have the best relationship. And as much as I appreciate what you did, you really need to be careful. He holds grudges, and you don’t want to get on his bad side.”

Nodding your head, you asked, “What happened to Vaggie?”

Sighing, Charlie answered, “She always makes herself scarce when he’s around. It goes without saying that Vaggie is a bit… outspoken, and she doesn’t want to slip up and say something that she’ll regret. She knows that it will only make things worse for us.”

“Ah, got it.”

Alastor thumped his cane against the wooden floor to gain your attention. “Well, my dear. It seems that we are on the clock. I think it would be best to get you back into the mortal world before Lucifer can carry out his plans. Make no mistake, he’s a cheeky fellow, but you do not want to be caught in his web.”

“Hey! What you got against webs?” Angel Dust popped his head in the doorway, scowling at the Radio Demon.

“Nothing at all, Mr. Dust!” Alastor replied cheerily. “It’s a simple comparison.”

“I’m going to go check on Vaggie,” Charlie stated. “After that, we can come up with a plan. There’s got to be something more that we can do than just go through books to try and get you home,” she thought out loud, a determined gleam in her eye.

As she left, Alastor approached you, placing a bony hand on your shoulder, which he meant as a comfort, but instead had the opposite effect, sending a chill down your spine. “Fear not, my dear. I will not let anything happen to you.”

With a wink, he withdrew his hand and glided out of the room, humming a show tune on his way out, leaving you alone with Angel Dust.

“Guess I missed all the fun,” he quipped before he flung back onto the bed, placing his top set of arms around his head. “Heard the Big Guy was in. He’s a charmer, ain’t he?”

“You know him?” you asked, your interest piqued.

He shrugged his shoulders casually. “Not personally. But I hear the gossip. Val can’t stand him.”

“Am I supposed to know who Val is?”

Rolling his eyes, he replied, “He’s the top dog around these parts, sweetheart. Big Vee controls the black market of Hell, and that’s sayin’ somethin’. You wanna know somethin’ outside the norm? He’s your guy.”

Humming thoughtfully for a moment, you asked, “Do you think he’d know anything about returning me to my world?”

“Probably,” he teased, brushing his hair back. “Val knows lots a weird stuff. He might be your guy.”

“Where do I find him?” you pressed, eager for more information.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the spider demon cautioned. “You don’t just show up unannounced. You need an appointment, toots.”

“Okay,” you sighed, losing your patience. “Can you set up an appointment?”

“I could… but what would you do for me in return?”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “Seriously?”

He flashed a smile at you, showing off his golden tooth as he wriggled his eyebrows.

“What is it that you want, Angel?”

“How’s about an I.O.U.? I do this for you, and you owe me a favor. Capiche?”

“How do I even know that I can trust you,” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

In mock offense, Angel Dust put a hand over his heart, dropping his jaw. “Well, that’s just rude. I’m trustworthy! I haven’t told a soul about your relationship with Smiles!”

Huffing, you snapped, “There is no relationship! You just keep walking in at the wrong time!”

“Uh huh,” he teased, snickering. “Either way, I’ve kept my mouth shut, even when there was nothing in it for me. If you wanna talk to Val, I can make that happen, but no more of this free shit. You owe me. Got it?”

“Ugh, okay, fine. Just… make it fast, please.”

Jumping up from the bed, the spider blew you a kiss before heading out on his mission, leaving you with an uneasy feeling in your gut. If only you knew what you had just done.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys  @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1

[dhwty-writes]

Nightmares

This is part 4 of my fic for @heyabooboo for the @thewitchersecretsanta.

Welcome to the the longest (and angstiest) chapter of this fic! Compared to the others that are found in this fandom, this is fairly mild, but please heed the tags. And have fun reading!

Summary: Having braved the nightmare of figuring out the meaning of a near incomprehensible poem, one should think that the nightmares of the netherworld come to an end. Alas, Destiny is not as kind. Retracing their steps, Jaskier is taken to the darkest chapters of his and Geralt's lives.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: canon typical violence, we see Geralt and Jaskier’s shitty childhood in here, and the trial of the grasses, but nothing too explicit. Rated T

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

It was, admittedly, a bit strange, to say the least, to keep walking backwards with his eyes affixed on the horizon. He extended his arms to get a better balance, still he tripped and stumbled over rocks and tree stumps and thin air. It probably would've been easier with just a glance over his shoulder. But-

'No,' he decided. 'I mustn't lose my goal from sight.' If he was entirely honest, that was probably the most difficult part.

Many people assume that in a netherworld without a physical body they cannot be troubled by such trivial things such as the paltry ache of keeping your eyes open without blinking. That is untrue. 

There are some aspects of humanity that are so ingrained into the core of their very being that they cannot imagine a world without it. Boogers, for example, and armpit hair, or sweat. Or the pressing urge to blink.

And no matter how much Jaskier tried to fight it, there was just no hope of escaping the burn. 

He blinked.

The scenery in front of him had changed. "What the fuck?" he murmured quietly as he took in the familiar countryside.

It was late in autumn it seemed; most of the trees had already shrugged off their colourful cloaks of withered leaves, though the first snow was yet to come. In front of him, a beautiful keep rose up at the horizon. The walls of limestone were pristine as ever, the red shingles glistening after a recent rain shower, bright banners flapping in the wind. The whole image looked as if plucked from a nightmarish fairy tale. "Huh," he muttered to himself. "Didn't expect I'd end up here of all places." Self-consciously he tugged at the cuffs of his blue silk doublet. Hadn't he been naked?

He decided not to think about that too much and instead be grateful for the armour that would protect him from piecing stares and cutting comments. He had no time for it either, for within the blink of an eye his vision shifted again and he stood within the empty courtyard.

'Strange.' There should be guards. Servants. The Count or Countess perhaps. Instead, there was nothing but eerie quiet and wisps of fog curling around his feet. It was almost enough for him to feel concern rising within hi-

"Julian Alfred Pankratz!" Jaskier froze on instinct, the booming voice bearing down on him like whip lashes.

‘Fuck.’ Twenty years. Twenty years since he had last returned home, and still— His heart was beating frantically in his chest, as if it wanted to jump right out of it. Given his previous experiences in this place, he didn't consider this impossible. 'Shit,' he cursed silently. 'It just had to be Lettenhove, hadn't it?'

He screwed his eyes shut, to drown out the litany of his father, the words nearly indistinguishable through the thick haze clouding his mind, though still drawing closer.

When he finally opened them again and had managed to blink away the bright lights distorting his vision, he realised he wasn't outside anymore. Instead, he was standing in front of a nondescript double door he knew like the back of his hand and had hoped to never see again.

It stood the slightest bit ajar, just so that he could peer inside. There was his father behind his desk, Lord Lettenhove intimidating as always. And- Jaskier frowned.

A little boy standing in front of him, with a mop of brown hair and a silken doublet that looked much like the one Jaskier was wearing. His mouth formed a silent 'O.' He couldn't see the boy's face, nor betrayed his body a single thing, yet he knew that he was crying.

'This isn't real,' he understood. 'This is a memory.'

"Father, please-" the boy begged, but his voice broke and shoulders gave the slightest tremble, the only hint of the terror that stole his and Jaskier's voices alike. 'For the fearless no success,' he reminded himself. 'Well, I'm fucking terrified. I'm getting out of here.'

He wanted to close his eyes so that this strange world would bring him to another place. But they didn't. No matter how adamantly he ordered them to shut, his eyelids didn't budge. 'Poor boy,' a voice in the back of his mind said. 'Poor me. I can't leave like this.'

"Well, Sir?" his father asked coldly. "Don't you have anything to say in your defence?"

Jaskier screwed his eyes shut, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. He cursed quietly: "Get it together, Jaskier!" He hadn't dealt with stage fright for nearly thirty years to succumb to fear now. So, he squared his shoulders and passed through the oaken wood of the door.

"Actually, your lordship," he spoke up, "I do."

Lord Lettenhove whirled around and gasped. "You!" he spit out and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Where have you been? Your mother is worried sick."

"She isn't," he said casually and strolled over to his child self. "She never is. Besides, she's been dead for a decade." He went down on one knee to get on eye level with him. "Hello there," he greeted him with a smile he hoped to be reassuring. "It certainly has been a while."

Julian raised his gaze, his eyes puffy and red with tears, the fear lingering even now. For a moment he couldn't help but stare in bewilderment. 'Was it really that bad?' He hadn't even remembered.

"Who are you?" Julian asked.

"A scoundrel," their father huffed indignantly, "and a coward."

Jaskier's smile grew even wider. "He's right," he confessed. "I am you, little one. Just without- this." He waved his hand around vaguely.

Julian's eyes widened even further, his gaze flicking around nervously. Finally, it settled on the lute case. "Are you a bard?" he whispered secretively.

"A failure," their father commented, "a disgrace upon our name."

He ignored him. "Oh no, little one. I am no mere bard. I am an adventurer, a poet, a minstrel. I am all that you dream to be and more. I am Jaskier, the most renowned troubadour of the Continent. But most importantly, I am alive. I am real. And you, my lord," slowly he rose to his feet and turned to their father, "are nothing."

"Excuse you?" he gasped. "You will take that back, young man."

"No," he answered calmly. "I don't think I will. I was taught to always tell the truth, so tell the truth I shall. And that truth is that you, father, are not deserving of any obedience or respect a son owes his parents. And least of all love."

Lord Lettenhove sneered. "You are no son of mine," he spat out and for a moment those words were enough to make Jaskier tense up. He could well remember when he had heard them—and seen his family—the last time. He could still taste the despair on his tongue, the tears running down his cheeks, the overwhelming urge to beg-

"No," he interrupted the spiral of hopelessness that threatened to drag him away. 'I have reimagined my memories hundreds of times. I can do it again.' He straightened his back and raised his chin. "No, Alfred, I am not. You wish you had a son like me."

"I do not-"

Jaskier scoffed and turned his back to him. He had spent far too much time listening to his father in his life already, he did not plan on doing it any longer. "Hey, Julian," he said instead, "do you want to hear a poem? How about a limerick?"

The Count de Lettenhove gasped indignantly: "Julian, how- Such verses are beneath us."

"And they are above your intellect," he retorted with a wink at Julian. "Let's see, I think I've got a good one:

There once was a Countlet named Alfred,

Whose aim was to cause fright and dread.

He thought himself smart

For he despised the arts,

Alas, he was dumber than bread."

Julian's eyes gleamed and he snickered. Well. He considered that a good start. "Another?" he challenged and the boy nodded eagerly. "How about this?

There once was a Redanian Countess

Who was famed for her martial prowess.

She boasted she taught

Her son to wield a sword,

But was beaten by a pigeon at chess.”

Giggling, Julian almost didn't look scared anymore. "A last one, yeah?" Jaskier proposed and he nodded eagerly. "This one I know from a friend. Ready?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Alright." He cleared his throat and said with as much dignity and gravitas as possible: "Lambert, Lambert, what a prick."

By now Julian was laughing openly, nearly doubling over with the force of it. 'There,' Jaskier thought with a satisfied smile, 'that's better.'

He blinked.

The road that led through the early-summer forest was empty except for a cart disappearing in the distance. Jaskier frowned and turned around. What on earth had led him here? As far as he could remember it, he had never seen that place before. Plus, there was no-one around.

Maybe he was just supposed to follow the road. With a shrug Jaskier decided that was as good a guess as any and began walking. He hadn't gotten far when he heard the prattling of tiny feet behind him. "Ma?" a young boy shouted. "Ma!"

Jaskier wanted to keep on walking. He didn’t know this boy, so this hardly concerned him. He rally tried to keep on walking. Really. But something made him turn around. Maybe the fear in the boy's cry: "Ma!" Probably the sob when he yelled: "Visenna!"

The boy couldn't be any older than seven years at most, probably he was younger still, and there were tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. "Ma?" he asked again.

"Sorry, buddy," Jaskier said. "No-one around but me."

"But- She said- She told me to get water," he stammered. "She was thirsty."

"Oh." His heart sank. What was he even supposed to tell him? That she was surely coming back? That was a lie, no mother left her child in the woods with the intention of coming back. He had seen it often enough in the past. Mostly it was because of hunger, or sickness, sometimes just good old poverty as well. Some of the children were believed to be cursed, or changelings, or whatever other thing humans came up with to keep hurting each other. 

This child, however, did not seem to fit any of the categories. He looked almost disturbingly boring. He was well-fed and properly clothed as well, a healthy blush on his cheeks. Jaskier had no idea what had led the mother to abandon him out here. "I'm sorry," was the best he managed. The boy's lower lip wobbled dangerously. 'Please don't start crying,' Jaskier begged whichever higher power was listening. He was shit with children; he couldn't handle a crying one. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to prevent the inevitable.

"Geralt," the boy answered with a frail voice.

"Oh," Jaskier said again. 'Oh, fuck,' he thought. No wonder he didn't recognise the memory—it was taking place over half a century before he was even born. "Geralt," he repeated stupidly. Geralt as a child. Geralt before the trials. Geralt who had, presumably, just been abandoned before heading to Kaer Morhen. Geralt who was just about to cry.

'Shit.' He had to do something. And fast. "Well, Geralt, I'm glad that I stumbled upon you here. I couldn't imagine braving the way through this wilderness on my own."

The boy frowned—an expression that looked much cuter on this Geralt than on the one Jaskier was acquainted with. "I know you," he decided after a few moments.

"Yes," he agreed. "You will. Come, I tell you a story while we walk."

He started walking into the direction the cart had left. Boy-Geralt hurried to catch up with him and slipped his hand in his. "You look funny," he remarked.

Jaskier snorted. "It's called fashion, thank you very much." He regarded him with a fond, wry smile. "I'm glad not everything about you changes once you grow up."

"Are you a prince?" Geralt asked as if Jaskier hadn't said anything at all. 'The selective deafness isn't new either, I see.' 

"Not quite," he answered honestly. "I am a Viscount, but that's unimportant. You will know me as a bard and the most annoying creature in existence."

"A bard?" he asked excitedly, skipping along next to him. "I will know a bard? Will you sing songs of me? Will we be friends?"

"All of that and more," he chuckled. "Although you won't always be grateful for it."

"I can't imagine that." They walked barely two paces in silence before Geralt asked: "Will I be a knight? Will I slay a dragon? Is that why I will know you?"

"No," Jaskier answered as kindly as he could. "You will save a dragon. As a witcher."

"A witcher?" Geralt's eyes went wide in horror. "No, that can't be! Witchers are scary!"

"Well, you can be very scary," he agreed. "But most of the time you aren't. You see, there was this one time when we were travelling and you found a dog. It was old, and had a broken leg and had been left to die in the woods. But instead of killing it, you set its bone, heaved it onto your horse's back and found a place for it to stay. You weren't with me then, but a few years later I visited the same town and it was still there, hale and hearty."

He glanced down at the boy to check if he had the boy’s attention. Of course, he had; Geralt was practically hanging on his lips. "Oh, or that other time when you were hired to slay a troll and we chose to remigrate him instead. Sounds easy enough, right?"

Geralt nodded.

"Well, it wasn't. You see, while trolls are certainly smarter than... drowners, let's say, they are not terribly intelligent. We tried talking to him, wasted half a night while doing so—because we couldn't remigrate him during the day, since you were supposed to kill him—until we managed to explain to him that he should get up and follow us. It worked until we reached another bridge where he had lived previously, as it seemed. He decided he might just as well live there again, and then we had to remigrate him again." Jaskier laughed at the memory. "I think we repeated that four times at least. And didn't even get paid in the end, can you believe that?"

"Another," Geralt begged eagerly. "Please, tell another one.

"Alright," Jaskier agreed. And so, he did what he did best: singing Geralt of Rivia's praises. He talked until his throat was raw, and kept on talking after that. Only when the sun set and Geralt fell almost asleep on his feet, did they seek out a place to rest.

They found a nice dry spot next to a stream, just like Geralt would teach him almost a century from now. Jaskier dug a pit to start a campfire, as Geralt collected firewood, and dug out some dried rations from his pack, that had miraculously appeared along the way. Once they were both sated, he laid his bedroll out for the boy and took the first watch. Well, the only watch, more like it. 

He leaned against a log they had dragged onto the clearing together, plucking idly at his lute strings to accompany an old lullaby he half-remembered his nursemaid singing. Satisfied, he watched as the boy fell asleep and only then, finally, did exhaustion wash over him. He felt so drained, from walking for what felt like weeks without a break. He'd just set his lute down and rest his eyes for a little bit and—

He blinked.

"Get out!" the innkeeper barked and Jaskier sprung to his feet. "Get out, you useless bastard! And don't bother coming back in."

"Fuck," he cursed quietly as he lunged to catch the man—boy, really—that was about to land face-first in the mud. Too late. The Oxenfurt graduate was already eating dirt. And not moving. Well, that was concerning. "Are you alright?" Jaskier asked.

"Ow," the boy groaned, still without so much as lifting his head.

He flopped down next to his younger self with a sigh. "Yeah, I know. Bruised ego hurts like shit. But no broken bones at least, eh?"

"This time."

He winced. He'd forgotten how shitty it had been before he had become famous. "You need to get up," he told him without too much empathy. Whining would get them nowhere. "You'll ruin your doublet else, and we both know that you don't have the coin for a new one. No-one likes a dirty bard." Besides, they had to greet a witcher in the very same get-up not quite two months from now.

"I hate you," Julian-Jaskier grumbled as he got himself into a sitting position.

"You hate the world and think that's the same as hating yourself and everyone around you," he corrected him. "There's a difference." He had also forgotten his dramatics of his teenage years, it seemed. Not that he was keen to remember them.

The bardlet rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. "What do you want? I really had a shitty day and don't need a visit from... what even is this? Future me?"

"Something like that," Jaskier grumbled. "Believe me, I'm not thrilled to be here either."

"Then go away."

"Can't," he explained. "Not until I help you... or something."

"Help me?" He snorted. "How are you supposed to help me?"

The thing was, Jaskier wasn't quite sure either. There really was no helping him; he had no money to give and besides, that wouldn't make much of a difference either. It never had, not until he stole the lute from the drunk disgrace of a bard in a month, at least. Wait a minute-

"A lute!" he exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"I have a lute, I can give it to you," Jaskier babbled excitedly and scrambled to his feet.

"And how's that going to help me?" Julian-Jaskier asked sceptically.

"Performances, you idiot! No-one wants to listen to just a bard; everyone loves bards with lutes. It's right— shit." He grabbed his lutestrap to find— nothing.

"What?" he scoffed. "Lost it or something?"

"What? Lost it?" He laughed nervously. "No, that's ridiculous. I just, um—" He started patting down his breeches, as if he might have hidden it there. "—misplaced it, that's it." He turned on the spot, searching the ground. He had just put it down when Geralt had gotten tired and— "Fuck!"

"You lost it?"

"I lost it."

Julian-Jaskier laughed. Actually laughed. "What?" he asked when he saw Jaskier's resentful glare. "Don't tell me you've stopped looking on the bright side of life."

"How is this the bright side?!"

"Oh, I don't know," he flashed him a wide grin. "I actually consider you losing the lute you wanted to gift—"

"Lend!"

"—yourself rather funny."

"Ughh!" Jaskier exclaimed and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "You are a brat." He had no time for that. He needed to go back to Geralt and get the lute. He blinked. Nothing happened. He blinked again. And again, and again, and again, and again. Nothing. "Fuck!"

Julian-Jaskier grinned even wider. "You do realise the comedic potential in this scene, right?"

"I don't care about the comedic potential! I just want my fucking lute!" He turned away from the annoyance—really, how Geralt had allowed him to travel with him was beyond him. Oh right. He hadn't—and stared at the sky. "Hey!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "You there, looking at all of this! Coram Agh Tera? Wade? Well, whatever your name is, you wanker, take me back to the previous one! I need my lute!"

Nothing. Well, not exactly nothing, there was the barely stifled snorting laughter of Julian-Jaskier in the background, but he decided to ignore that, so it was basically nothing. "Come on, mate! I just forgot my lute! How am I supposed to help this one without a lute?"

Still no answer.

"You know, I don't really think this is going to work," Julian-Jaskier quipped.

"Shut the fuck up, you midget. I know that!"

He sighed and finally got to his feet, grimacing as he took in the ruined fabric of his breeches. "I'm sure there's another way to help me besides conjuring up your lute from thin air."

"Well, probably," Jaskier hissed, "but in any case, I'd really like my lute back. It's my lute, alright, I'm attached to it. I get it three months from now and I want it back! Right now! Right here in my hands!"

The weight was sudden and entirely unexpected, so Jaskier actually stumbled a bit. Flabbergasted, he stared down at Filavandrel's lute in his hands. "Oh," he said simply. "I suppose that works."

Julian-Jaskier looked very stupid when surprised. 'Gods, I hope I don't look like that,' Jaskier prayed. Given that his looks had barely changed since that day, however, he didn't have all too high hopes. "How did you do that?" the bardlet asked.

"I don't know," he admitted truthfully. "I just wished really hard to have a lute."

"Brilliant." His eyes gleamed. "Do you think I can do that, too?"

"No," he answered simply and thrust the lute into his hands. "Just go and do your fucking performance. I have places to be."

"Alright, alright!" Julian-Jaskier agreed and took off running towards the tavern.

'I should really do something about the dirt,' Jaskier thought as he took in the mud-caked seam of his pants. 

He blinked. 

The dirt was gone.

Julian-Jaskier looked down at himself and grinned. "Thank you!" he shouted back over the pristine shoulder of his doublet and vanished inside. 

He blinked.

His surroundings melted away once more and rebuilt themselves in a town square. Jaskier frowned, trying to remember if it looked familiar. He didn't think so, though it was hard to tell. After the first hundred or so, they all started to blur together.

What was strange, though, were the people. There were quite a lot of them and he didn't recognise any of them. 'Weird,' he thought. Come to think of it, he wasn't quite sure he had even seen their clothes before. It reminded him of the garb his parents and grandparents used to wear when he'd been a child. It had to be one of Geralt's memories, then.

The faint ringing of swords filled the air as terror gripped him. "Oh no," Jaskier whispered hoarsely as his surroundings shifted again in a nauseating whirl. 

He blinked. 

Even before he saw the woman's corpse he knew exactly where—or rather when—he was. Geralt had never told him of this story, not really, at least. But he had heard rumours, and then, after meeting the witcher, had gathered as many stories as he could to find, to get to the truth at the core of it. 

"Incredible," an old, bearded man said as he knelt at her side. "Marilka," he said and stumbled to his feet. "Marilka? Marilka! Get me a cart. We'll take her to the tower for an autopsy."

Jaskier felt the overwhelming urge to punch Stregobor in the face. He probably could have. He probably should have. But before he had a chance, there was a bloodied blade at the mage's throat. "If you touch a single hair on her head," Geralt growled, "yours will be on the ground next." It was Geralt, quite obviously so. Still, he looked different. Younger, in a way. Much less guarded than the man he knew, with a wild look in his eyes Jaskier had never seen before.

"Have you gone mad?" Stregobor asked. "Her mutation, it influences people. That's how she got these men to follow her." His eyes narrowed just a bit. "She got to you, too, didn't she?"

"Do not," Geralt snarled, "touch her."

"Witcher," the mage answered in the most condescending voice imaginable and, oh, Jaskier definitely would punch him now, "you butchered bodies in the streets of Blaviken."

"You're a beast," a man called from the crowd.

"You endangered the girl," a woman added and Jaskier decided that all of them could bugger off, thank you very much.

"I think this is quite enough," he said calmly as he stepped forward, shifting in front of Geralt as time came to a halt. "Lower your sword, dear. Please."

The witcher stared down at him in confusion. "What-" He blinked a few times and his gaze cleared. "Jaskier," he whispered.

"The very same," he said and bowed with a flourish. "The sword, love." He squeezed his hand lightly and watched with relief as Geralt did as he was told. "Let me take care of this mess for you."

The witcher nodded and the world started spinning again. "Good people of Blaviken," he began and opened his arms. The familiar weight of his lute appeared much faster than the first time. "You can count yourselves lucky, for on this day you are in the presence of not only the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, but also the master bard Jaskier. Truly, you are in for the performance of a lifeti-"

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed quietly.

"Yes, dear?"

"This is not really the place for a performance." He pointed at the corpses and the townspeople who stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. Ughh. Right. And then there was also-

"Who do you even think you are?" puffed Stregobor.

"Jaskier, the bard, and I don't like repeating myself," he quipped. "So, I suggest you shut the fuck up, old man." Immediately, his mouth snapped shut. Still, Jaskier wasn't finished: "You are a bumbling idiot who keeps babbling about some mutation nonsense. It's not her fault that you have the charisma of a wooden spoon and lack any kind of imagination. Really, it is not that hard to believe that a woman could inspire people. You are a pitiful creature."

The people around him still stared in open-mouthed bewilderment. "Close your mouth, dear, I'm not done, yet," he told Geralt and tipped his jaw up. He really should do something about all the bodies.

Jaskier frowned, concentrating hard. Shrouds appeared from thin air and covered the corpses and the blood vanished from Geralt's face. "Jaskier," the witcher growled, annoyed. Alright, maybe he had overdone it with the flower crown, but this was a dream world; when would he ever get such a chance again? "Focus."

Right. Not his strong suit, but he had a performance to deliver. And that was very much his strong suit. Gently, he plucked at the lute strings, the notes almost manifesting before he did so. "When a humble bard," he began; the song came as easy to him as breathing. 

The audience didn't seem too enthusiastic. It took him until the end of the first refrain to realise why. "Oh," he said, his lute making a dissonant twang. "I suppose I'm just about two decades early with this, aren't I?" Of course. How could he have been so stupid? 'Well, only one way to change that.'

"Toss a coin to your Witcher," he sang loudly, "Oh, valley of plenty

Oh, valley of plenty, oh

Toss a coin to your Witcher

Oh, valley of plenty!"

He blinked.

The wind tugged at him to the tune of a camp being set up. Jaskier knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. "Ah," he breathed, taking in the silhouette of Geralt sitting on the rock. And his own self approaching him. "Shit." He winced in sympathy for his heartbroken, aching self. Well, not heartbroken yet, but soon to be.

He wasn't surprised, to be honest. Not really. But fuck was he afraid of it. With all the other scenes he'd had at least a semblance of an idea of how to fix them. But this? He couldn't really change himself, could he now?

In the end, it had all worked out just fine, of course. Geralt and he had found each other again and after a bit of awkwardness and a muttered apology by Geralt they had continued travelling with each other again. While his witcher definitely wasn't a man of words, Jaskier could see his remorse just fine. He was fluent in all of Geralt's silences, and the plethora of gifts and smiles he got was better than any spoken apology in the world.

Still. It hurt.

Geralt shifted a bit, hearing his footsteps. Jaskier had to do something, and fast. "That's not really going to cut it," he muttered. His blubbering, yearning self wasn't going to be of any more assistance now than the last time. "Sorry, mate, but you have to go." With an ever so quiet pop the other Jaskier vanished.

It earned him a gruff Geralt grunt. "Jaskier," the witcher said without even turning around. "What do you want?"

'Alright, so we're doing this,' he thought and did his best to steel himself. "Nothing but a chat, old friend," he tried to say as casually as possible and sat down next to him. "Just like the good old days, hm?"

"Hmm."

"Funny. I thought you'd say that," he replied in a feeble attempt at comedy.

Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn't manage to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth quite fast enough. "Jaskier."

"Not helping?"

"Hmm."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, didn't think so."

He waited with bated breath for his witcher to say something, but apparently, he considered their conversation done. 'Looks like I have to talk myself out of this mess,' he thought. 'Like always.'

Time to put his money where his mouth was: "Look," he said and wet his lip with his tongue. "I know how it feels when people die. It's always hard. And it doesn't get any easier the more it happens."

"Your point, bard?"

He closed his eyes. He still didn't have any fucking clue on how to solve this. Only one way to go, then: "I have a proposition for you I already know the answer to. But—" He took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his violently beating heart. "It's all been a bit much, lately, yeah? All these... djinns and children of surprise and dragons. So, why don't we get away for a while? We could head to the coast."

Geralt snorted. "Never took you for the maritime type."

"Well, I'm not," Jaskier answered, glad for the tension to lift, if only a little. "I get horribly seasick, you see? But that's not the point."

"Then what is?" They were going for the fond annoyance, apparently. It certainly was an improvement to last time.

It also loosened Jaskier's tongue; he could barely keep himself from babbling and that really wouldn't make it better. "Life's too short to spend it being unhappy. You should do what pleases you while you can."

"Composing your next song?" And there it was. The moment he'd inevitably fuck up.

"No, I just, uh-" He let his head drop. "I'd say I'm just trying to figure out what pleases me, but that's a lie. I figured that out a long time ago."

"Sleeping with other people's spouses is not really a life goal, Jaskier."

"Oh, ha ha," he retorted. "Very funny. But that's not— That's not what I'm talking about."

"What, we still haven't reached the fucking point?" he asked with the slightest hint of a smirk.

"No, I— Gosh, this is harder than I thought. It's you, Geralt. You're what pleases me."

The witcher turned to him with incredibly wide eyes despite the frown. As if he was surprised. As if he couldn't fathom why Jaskier would say that.

He shrugged. "It's true. I'm never as happy as I am at your side. Just spending time with you. You're the most important person in this world to me. In any world, really. I couldn't— I cannot bear losing you. Maybe it's selfish, but I just— I just want to have you for myself for a bit. Not share you with those who are hellbent on killing you. Not share you with anyone."

"Hmm." Geralt tilted his head to the side, a curious look Jaskier couldn't quite decipher in his eyes. In all the years of their acquaintance he had never, ever looked at him like that.

"Just— let me show you?" he begged. "Please? I know it's not what-"

But Geralt didn't let him finish. "Alright," he interrupted him. "Tomorrow."

He blinked. 

Geralt stood a few feet away with Borch and Yennefer. "The sorceress will never regain her womb," he caught the last remnants of their conversation. "And though you didn't want to lose her, you will."

"He already has," Yennefer answered with a frail voice and stormed away. Jaskier scrambled to his feet when she passed him, catching Geralt's longing gaze.

'Shit,' he thought. This would be heartbreak all over again. 'It always was going to be.'

Geralt looked down at Borch. "Hmm," he said and trudged over to Jaskier. "The coast, you said?"

"Y-yeah," he stammered.

"Hm." He shouldered past him and grumbled: "They better have some good fucking ale there." After a few steps he realised that Jaskier wasn't following him and turned around. "You coming?" he asked with an outstretched hand.

"I am," he replied and scrambled to catch up with him. "In my experience, they also have excellent vodka," Jaskier joked and grasped Geralt's hand tightly. 

He blinked.

It was a clear day on the cliffside. The ocean stretched out to the horizon in all its deep, dark blue glory, its waves crashing gently on the rocky shore. "Oh," Jaskier simply said.

"Hmm," Geralt replied and draped an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

'This is so much better than being here alone,' he thought. "It's beautiful," he said.

"It's nice," Geralt said. From the witcher that was probably as poetic as it got. And, oh, that curious look in Geralt's eyes looked even better with a smile accompanying it.

A warm feeling filled his chest. 'I really could get used to this,' he thought. "There's another thing, Geralt," he blurted suddenly. "I lo-"

He blinked.

The world turned upside down. He cursed himself for being so fucking stupid. Because, of course, he had not only ruined the probably single-most romantic scene to confess his feelings for Geralt, the worst also, apparently, was still ahead of him. 

Jaskier had never been to Kaer Morhen before. Geralt hadn't even trusted him enough to betray so much as the smallest detail of its location. Still, there could be no doubt as to where he had ended up this time. Not with the vials and jars and jugs full of dubiously coloured liquids. Not with the witcher and mage looming over the scene, whose presence Jaskier barely registered.

All he saw were the wide, terrified, hazel eyes of the boy straining against the shackles tying him to the table. "No," Geralt begged, "please, Vesemir, I can't."

"Yes, you can," the old witcher answered. "It'll be over before you know it."

"No," Jaskier whispered, his eyes widening in horror. "No, I won't let that—"

He blinked.

Vesemir was gone, though Jaskier thought he might hear the distant sound of retching. The mage was still there, mumbling quietly in Elder.

"No!" he shouted again and leapt forward to push him back, to get him to stop, to- His hands passed right through him. As if he wasn't even there. As if he was a ghost. "No, stop, I won't-!"

He blinked.

The pain hit him completely unprepared, punching the air from his lungs. Wheezing, Jaskier staggered on his feet. He felt himself reminded of his first meeting with Geralt. Only that this time it didn't stop.

He could feel the burn of the toxins in his veins as his blood rushed, his body twisting, fighting, transforming. The boy on the table strained against his shackles, his mouth open with a silent plea he could not utter.

Jaskier could, though. Blinding pain ripped through his body as his knees gave out beneath him. A horrible scream erupted from his mouth, agony consuming any semblance of humanity.

After what seemed an eternity the pain ebbed off again; the burning fire in his body still pulsing, threatening to come back.

"No," Jaskier whispered, his vision still clouded from agony, but Geralt was still there. Had to still be there. "I won't let you suffer."

White hot pain surged again. "No!" he commanded, cried, sobbed. "No... Please—!" He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed, until his throat was sore, raw, burning. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he could no more and Geralt and he were coughing up blood.

The pain flared and Jaskier's voice gave out. 'I can't do this any longer.' He didn't- He couldn't- He couldn't talk. 'But I don't need words to imagine.'

With a trembling hand he reached out, strained until his fingertips grazed over Geralt's arm— And collapsed. Jaskier sobbed, and thrashed, and curled himself up into a little ball, suddenly wishing for the same chains Geralt wore. That way he had at least something to hold onto. Jaskier had nothing.

Nothing but pain.

An agonised whine sounded from above him. Jaskier whimpered. He wanted to reach out, wanted to soothe him, wanted to— But he couldn't. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he barely could think as the world flickered around him. He wasn’t strong enough. 

He sobbed. ‘No,’ he thought. 'No, it can’t end here, I can’t wake up yet, I need to stay— I need it to make it stop for him. I need to, I have to, I must.'

He braced himself. The world flickered again. A soft sound of music floated down to him, a chant in Elder. For the next onslaught he was ready. As ready as one could be. He breathed in, let the pain fill him until it almost became too much. 'No,' he decided. Then again, more forceful: 'No! This is not who you are.' The pain twisted and churned in his gut, like liquid fire, but he would take it. He would take it all, if need be.

'You are human.' A second voice joined the first in its chant. He ignored them both. His eyes shut as tightly as he could, Jaskier imagined, flickering reality be damned. An incredible feeling rushed through him. Like flying. Suddenly, it was almost easy. He didn't imagine the pain away, that was far beyond his capabilities. But he could imagine it differently instead. He could imagine rightful anger, or heartfelt grief; and even a tiny sliver of hope.

'You are kind.' He could imagine laughter and tears, embraces and kisses and smiles. He could imagine songs and poems and jokes. Friendship and love and family. He could imagine dragons, knights and mages, queens, kings, and children of surprise. He could imagine bards and horses, elves, selkiemores, djinns.

'You are worthy of all good things in life and more.' He couldn't imagine the pain away. That was far beyond his capabilities. But he could imagine so much else that the pain became insignificant.

He didn't know when it stopped, or why. Jaskier opened his eyes and looked at his hands. He tilted his head to the side. Something had changed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was different. He hadn’t even noticed how transparent he had been before. But he wasn’t anymore. He looked just as real as his surroundings. 

Jaskier looked up to meet Geralt's eyes, glaring gold in the dark. "Thank you," he whispered.

He nodded shakily and rose up on his knees.

He blinked.

A voice behind them spoke up: "Again."

Jaskier stood on his trembling legs. "No," he commanded. "Enough."

The mage attempted to step forward. Jaskier glared at him and the man stopped, frozen with one foot in the air. "No," he repeated, "you have no power here. You are a memory, a dream, a fantasy. And I do not want to continue this dream!" With every word the air around them began vibrating, as the feeling filled him again. It felt like floating. 

"Get lost!" he yelled. The door flung open, frozen air coasting in. "You are not welcome here."

He took a step forward and the mage stepped back, his form flickering. "You never were, and never will be. Get lost"

"Who do you think you are?" the mage scoffed. "With what magic do you think you can best me?"

Jaskier laughed hoarsely. "I am Geralt's friend," he declared. The ground shook with every step he took. "I am no mage, no witcher, no Child of Elder Blood. Just a bard with a lute. Just a man with an imagination.” The calm feeling within him dissipated, a storm brewing within his stomach. Not like liquid fire, but like frozen lightning. The air around him thrummed, wind swirling through the laboratory. “And I told you to get. LOST!"

"No," the mage wheezed, "you can't-" His body flickered again. And flickered. And blinked out of existence. 

"How dare you?" the Count de Lettenhove boomed, looming up dangerously before him. "My own-"

"GET LOST!" Jaskier yelled. He vanished and his mother appeared in his stead. "Get lost, get lost, get lost, get lost, get lost!" With every word he said another ghost appeared in the chamber. Stregobor, Yennefer, Renfri, his brother, his sister, Queen Calanthe, Visenna. Faces he knew like the back of his hand and others he had never seen before blurred together before his eyes in a nauseating whirlwind of impressions.

He sobbed and thrashed and laughed as he banished each and every one of them to whatever circle of hell they had crawled forth from. Floating, flying, his mind clawing at the edges of the reality he rewrote. The castle around him trembled and shook like his knees, stones and memories collapsing, falling, vanishing before crushing them. He was at the eye of the storm, clouds of wind and darkness swirling around him, interspersed with lighting. It hurt, it burned, it stung, but he did not stop. Could not stop. Would not stop. 

Until it was over. 

Jaskier hadn’t even noticed it. He probably never would have noticed if not for the boy tugging at his hand. "It's pretty."

"What is?" Jaskier mumbled weakly. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. It took him a while to process the beautiful winter landscape that stretched out before him. It looked like it had been plucked straight from a storybook. It had everything it needed: a lake, covered with a thick layer of ice, an orchard adorned with icicles, a hill to go sledding. Picture-perfect.

Well. A storybook where the snow was green, the trees purple and the sky orange, eternally stuck in sunset with no sun to be seen.

Still. It looked beautiful. Serene, even. Even more magnificent than he had imagined. "Thank you," he answered, his voice much quieter than the enthusiastic child's on his other side. "I'm Jaskier," the boy said.

The boy on his right smiled widely and extended his hand: "Geralt."

"That's a nice name." Child-Jaskier shook it excitedly. "I can already tell that we're going to be the best of friends."

"That would be nice," Geralt answered.

"What do I do now?" Jaskier and Jaskier asked.

"Hmm." Geralt frowned, apparently thinking hard. "Do you know how to build a snowman?"

"I do," they replied.

"I never built a snowman."

"Come," child-Jaskier said and tugged on his hand. "I'll show you."

Jaskier watched the two boys slip down the hill on their butts. He watched them run to the lake, watched them build a green snowman. He was relieved, he realised. Relieved, to see them happy. Still, the question remained: 'What do I do now?'

"Man," a bored voice next to him made him whip around. The dandelion yawned. Made a yawning sound. Whatever. "I already told you what to do."

"You!" he raised an accusatory finger. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know, man," it sighed heavily. "This is your dreamworld." 

"Fuck," he muttered. "Can't you at least help me figure out the rest of the poem?"

"I already did. Just follow the instructions. Follow—"

“—your heartbeat to the horizon, then take the second turn right after the battle field, I know,” he grumbled. “Have I reached the horizon yet?”

“I don’t know,” it responded. “Have you?”

“Probably not,” he sighed. “Will you come with me while I continue?”

“Can you imagine that?”

He smiled and began walking again. “I guess I can.” They journeyed in silence for a while. But try as he might, the horizon didn’t seem to come any closer.  Jaskier groaned loudly; he really should have guessed that there was another mystery to that.  "Hey, you!" he shouted at the sky. "Coram Agh Tera, can you hear me? Wasn't I done with the nightmares?"

No response.

Well, almost none. "He really is an idiot," Valdo-larkspur mocked. "The sky talks as little as the trees."

Jaskier chuckled and raised his finger. "For the record, I knew you'd say that."

"Alright, braggart, don't flatter yourself," Jaskier-larkspur joined in.

"That, too," Jaskier said but the two of them didn't hear him, already too engrossed in a discussion about some trivial nonsense. 

'Alright, focus, Jaskier,' he told himself again. He had been forcing the brain fog from his mind entirely too often in the near past; it was getting harder and harder every time. And the noise of two bickering idiots behind him didn't make it any easier. On the contrary, with all the distractions he could already feel the fidgety-ness approaching. 

'Ughh.' He'd never figure it out at this rate. 

What Jaskier didn't see, of course, was that he already had done so a rather long time ago. But like I said, mortals are, first and foremost, fundamentally blind. Their imagination reaches only as far as the horizon, even that of a poet as accomplished as Jaskier.

In hindsight, his blindness was truly a blessing. If he had discovered that there was absolutely no need for him to brave the latter stages of his nightmares, his rage might have been sufficient to shake him from his slumber. And then where would we have been?

So, he had no choice but to figure out the mystery that was no mystery at all all over again.

"Could you two shut up?" he snarled at the larkspurs. "If you're not going to help me, you can at least be quiet!"

"Well, someone got off on the wrong foot," Valdo-larkspur quipped.

"Yeah," Jaskier-larkspur agreed. "And for the record, we did help you. We gave you instructions. It's not our fault if you're too much of a fool to follow them."

Jaskier frowned. "Fool?" he breathed. 'And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain.'

"Hey!" the buttercup complained. "You shouldn't be so mean to him. He's doing his best."

"Oh, yeah?" the larkspurs taunted. "His best isn't very good then, huh?"

"Man, just leave him alone," the dandelion joined in and before he knew it, the four of them were arguing viciously. 

Jaskier paid them no mind. He glanced around warily, trying to parse out whatever 'no sustain' meant. It couldn't be anywhere around the lake, then, nor the lilac forest. The blue mountains were an option, but he didn't think it likely. 

'Come descend into the sky.' 

He tipped his head up to the sky above. 'It's empty,' he realised. No sun. No clouds. No nothing. But descend into the sky? He couldn't imagine that. Could he?

A faint smile spread on his face. 

'How to find my mighty throne?

The answer’s plain: you don’t.'

"So, it was that simple, huh?" he said to no-one in particular as he stretched out a hand to touch the invisible barrier of the horizon, still impossibly far away. “The second turn to the right, is it?” he murmured and turned into the direction of the blue mountains, keeping one hand still on the skyline. 

"Well, would you look at that," a gruff voice said as the lark landed on his shoulder, "the weirdo actually knows how to follow instructions."

"You again," he deadpanned. "How did you get here?"

"I flew. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jaskier echoed stupidly.

"So," the lark said and picked at the feathers under its wing, "have you figured it out yet?"

He huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. "It's really quite easy, isn't it?"

"You tell me."

"Why," Jaskier said and closed his eyes, "you flip the world upside down. Obviously."

"Obviously," the lark replied stupidly.

Jaskier opened his eyes and as the sky stretched out beneath him. It was an easy thing for him to take a step. And another one. And then, let himself drift into that bright realm of uncertainty.

And so, he did.

He had already gotten quite far down into the sky when suddenly his descent was cut short. "The fuck?" he muttered. He took a few experimental steps to the left and right, eyeing the fog curling around his ankles warily. But try as he might, he couldn't descend any further. "Are we there yet?" he called up to the flowers that were still waiting on the surface.

"Almost," the lark replied, gliding down to him. "Just open the door."

"What door?" He could see nothing but orange sky. He turned into the direction he had come from and marched forward. He hit the door face-first. "Fuck!" he cursed, holding his nose that should be bleeding by all rights.

"You found it!" The flowers cheered from the ground. It was weird, seeing them hang from the ceiling like this. Or the ground. Whatever. This was already weird enough without wondering about semantics. 

Besides, he had more important stuff to do. Like opening an invisible door.

"Shit," he cursed, blindly scrabbling at the solid surface that had materialised out of thin air. "Is there a handle or something? A knob? Or— ah, fuck!" He turned the knob and immediately stumbled through, falling a solid foot before landing in soft powder snow. 

Jaskier groaned and turned onto his back, staring at the solid wooden door hovering in the air above a wintery garden. "Sure," he muttered and got to his feet with a resigned shrug. "Why not?" He started dusting off his clothes. "I'm already talking to birds and flowers, why not a door in a fucking—"

"Jaskier?"

[staticscreenwriting]

Casual moths - chapter eleven

Find the other parts on my masterlist here.

If you liked this part and wanna help me out, please consider a reblog. Thank you.

Chapter eleven - old wounds and guilt

There’s a before and an after and the two are as different as day and night.

Before Daisy was taken and after. Everything that happened before is still fresh on her mind, distinctive and clear. Everything after is a blur. A mess of people coming and going and asking questions. The police, the club, all her neighbours and friends and family.

And all Callie can do is stare and blame herself because all of this? Her baby being taken and possibly in danger and definitely scared? That is all her fucking fault.

They’d been out searching all day, until the sun had set and it got too dark to continue searching. And now she’s here, sitting on her mother’s couch with a mug of hot steaming coffee in hand. Coffee she won’t drink. She can’t drink. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Life is altered so drastically and nothing matters anymore. Only Daisy. Finding Daisy. Saving Daisy.

From Callie’s own faults and shortcomings. 

Angel’s been an absolute Angel in all of this, a rock to lean on and a lifesaver to keep her head above water. If it wasn’t for him she surely would’ve drowned. It’s just so scary now to look at him, look into his eyes and see the adoration he holds for her and all the pain they share right now. He shouldn’t be adoring her, not like this. Daisy is gone because of her. Because Callie made bad decisions, selfish ones and dangerous ones. Angel deserved someone less foolish.

He’s gone now, back at the clubhouse. They’d all come around, member’s whose names she didn’t even remember came by to offer their help. The ladies had brought food, more than she could eat, more than she would eat. Everyone came together. A big loyal family who had each other’s backs. It was — very comforting and yet it didn’t stop Callie’s heart from breaking.

“ We’re going to find her. I know it, “ he mother’s soothing voice speaks up from beside Callie, a soft hand being placed on her shoulder. The warmth in her mother’s eyes is something Callie will never grow tired off. It’s so familiar and comforting and — it’s home.

But there’s only so much comfort a mother’s touch can give. And it’s reached its limit right here.

“ Travis is unpredictable, mom. I don’t — I don’t know what he’s gonna — “ 

“ No! Stop that. Don’t say that and don’t even think like that. The police are out looking for him and they will find him. I know it in my heart and have I ever been wrong? “ 

Callie can recall plenty of times her mother’s been wrong but this doesn’t seem like a question asking for a truthful answer. So Callie doesn’t say anything, just scoots closer to her mother and hopes that this time she is right.

Angel sits at the big table in Templo and though he knows he should be listening, though he tries to do so, he can’t. His mind is far away, all over the place. He should be out there looking for Daisy, turning over every stone, knocking on every door. Yeah, the police are on it but what good have they ever done in Santo Padre? 

He feels so helpless sitting here. He should be doing so much but the rational part of his brain knows there’s nothing he can do right now. And yet he feels absolutely useless. What good has he ever done?

“ Angel? “ Bishop’s voice is strong and unwavering and yet it holds an unfamiliar gentleness right then. “ Look, I promise you, we’re gonna find her. We’re gonna do everything we can to find that little girl and bring her back home. Okay? They’re your girls, I know how much they mean to you.” 

They are nice words, lovely sentiments, and Angel knows they are truthful and honest but he’s also aware that there’s no way Bush knows just how much these girls mean to Angel. They are his life and his entire heart and thought it’s insanely scary to admit those things, if not know then at what point will he ever be brave enough to face those feelings?

“ Yeah, I know. I just — can you guys manage without me for tonight I — “ 

“ We’re done here anyway. Go home to your woman, she needs you. “ 

Angel doesn’t have to be told twice. He’s up from his chair and out into the starless Santo Padre night in a matter of seconds. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, he thinks as he swings himself onto his bike. Callie was supposed to be happy. Daisy was supposed to be safe. 

Maybe, he thinks, he’s a bad luck charm after all. Nothing good ever happens to the people he loves.

When he arrives back at Callie’s mother’s house, the light is off and the house is silent and though he knows she needs to sleep, he wishes she would still be up so he could talk to her and make sure how she was holding up.

She’s on the couch, a cup of coffee forgotten on the table in front of her. Her eyes are closed though she doesn’t look as peaceful as she usually does. The exhaustion and the fear of everything that has happened today is displayed so distinctively on her face.

“ She fall asleep long ago? “ Angel asks as her mother steps back into the room. He wishes they could’ve met under different circumstances. That this wasn’t the situation they were bonding over. Alas, he gets no say in how life behaves and all he can do is try his best to prove to her and to himself that he is worth Callie’s time.

“ Wouldn’t really call it falling asleep, “ the older woman replies, “ exhaustion properly knocked her out. “

“ Glad she’s getting some rest at least.” 

“ Yeah me too.” 

They fall into a silence that’s neither comfortable nor awkward. It just is. A stillness to fill the void where there’s nothing left to say.

“ I should’ve kept a better eye on her. “ 

The words are spoken so gently and quietly he almost misses them though when he looks at Callie’s mom, the devastation on her face breaks his heart all over again.

“Ain’t your fault, the guy’s a nutcase. We’ll find her though. I will do — I will do anything. “

“ I know. I am glad she has you. Glad they both do.” 

“ Yeah, I ain’t so sure about that. Feel like a bad luck charm sometimes.” 

“ Oh Angel, you’re not. I promise you, you’re everything but bad luck. “ 

She hugs him then and it’s strange. This feels so familiar even though he hardly knows this woman. Maybe, Angel thinks, there’s a universal comfort in a mother’s hug. Maybe women are granted a bit of special magic when they become mothers. 

She pulls away and they are thrown back into silence.

Angel’s mind won’t stop wandering though. He feels restless. There’s got to be something he can do, a way for him to help. Police are out looking for that silver car but what if he’s not in that car anymore. What if he switched cars, what if he’s gone too far to find him?

Then the spark of an idea lights up his thoughts. If anyone gets in or out of Santo Padre, there are people who notice, people who keep track of it. People who aren’t the most powerful nor the most influential but they come with strength in numbers and they have eyes and ears everywhere. If anyone will know, it’s them.

The thought of going back and asking for help, of seeing them, of seeing her, sends shiver’s down Angel’s spine. It’s really not something he wants to do, everything in him screams at him to stop even thinking about it. Then his eyes fall back on Callie and the way she looks pained and sad even in sleep. And he makes a decision. A sacrifice.

Because that’s what you do when you love someone, you make sacrifices. You do everything you can to help them, even if it means breaking your own heart in the process.

The unforgiving heat of the California sun weighs down on them as Angel maneuver’s Callie’s car through the dunes and the canyons. It’s insufferably hot and dry here and Callie feels like her lungs are filled not with air but with fire.

“ Police said to stay home.” 

“ Yeah well police don’t know shit.” 

He doesn’t want to be here but he knows that if he doesn’t at least try, he’s going to go insane. If anyone has a lead it’s them. It’s her.

His heart drops down to his feet just thinking about the last time he’s seen her. That exact moment when she broke his heart, ripped it out of his chest and then had the audacity to blame him for being upset. For a tiny moment he lets his mind wander back and conjure up images of what could have been, of what isn’t. Then he scolds himself for it. Why break your own heart all over again?

“ Who are we meeting with? “ Callie’s voice is monotonous and strained, like a robot working on autopilot. 

“ They’re a — a collective. “

Callie raises her eyebrow in question.

“ Look, it’s hard to explain and It doesn’t really matter either. “

“ Are they powerful? “ an icy sheen lays over her words, something primal awakens. The need to protect her child. 

“ Not in a sense that they have money or political influence but they’re well connected. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, all the way to Mexico. They’re good at finding people and — and hiding them. Even if they haven’t seen her, it’s good to let them know. Have them keep their eyes and ears open.”

Callie just nods then lets her eyes trail back towards the desert flying by the window, dry and orange and wide. So wide and empty. Kind of like her heart felt at the moment.

After a few more minutes of driving, they round a corner only to be greeted by a bunch of tents and a crowd of people, mostly children, bustling around them. Callie doesn’t know what to think, none of this makes sense to her but then again, Angel never gave her a reason not to trust him or not trust his choices. And her brain feels like mush anyway right now so really, what does she know. If there’s a chance they can help her get Daisy back, she’s going to take it. Whatever it takes she’ll do it. Police said to stay home but how do they expect her to sit on her ass and do nothing? She can’t. Not when all of this is her fault in the first place.

Angel gets out of the car first, then motions for her to follow. There’s an energy exuding from him that she’s not familiar with. He’s tense and on guard, like a nervous dog, a wolf prowling through the woods knowing there are other predators lurking around every corner.

Callie is acutely aware of all the eyes on them. Those kids, she wonders if they live here too. Wonders where their parents are. Living in a tent city can’t be good for them, right? Then again, it’s her kid that’s been kidnapped. The kid that had been taken from her own comfortable bed with the Minnie mouse nightlight. 

“ Angel? “ 

A lady steps out of the crowd, and she’s gorgeous. Her long hair are tied in a ponytail and show off her intricate tattoos like beautiful artwork up and down her neck and shoulders. At first, her eyes are fixed on Angel as a sense of confusion washes over her face. Then she looks at Callie and her eyes gloss over with coldness and disdain.

“ What are you doing here, Angel? “ 

“ I need your help.” 

“ My help? “ she asks and lets out a mix between a scoff and a laugh though Callie can tell there’s absolutely no humour in it.

“ Yes. I — We need your help. This is Callie, “ he hesitates, “ my girlfriend. Her daughter, Daisy, got taken. Dude who took her is probably driving around in a silver car. I need you all to keep your eyes open. I need to know if you see something, anything. Got pictures of the both of them too so you’ll recognize them if you see them. Please. “ 

Angel hopes that Adelita can tell how important this is to him. That this means — everything. As he hands her the pictures, she just looks at him, evaluates the situation. She doesn’t say anything just stares and it makes him nervous. She doesn’t owe him any more than he does her. Really she doesn’t need to help him, there’s nothing in it for her. But Angel knows that despite what he did to her, there’s a soft spot in her heart for children and he prays to got he can appeal to that spot right now.

“ Please Adelita. She’s my girl. They’re my girls.” 

Adelita looks at him then Callie then the picture of Daisy and back at Angel. Her expression unreadable. Then her eyes wander towards a tent next to them. It’s a bigger tent than the other ones, there’s a bed in there and crates filled with fruits and tins and there’s toys on the floor and a girl, not older than 14, holding a toddler in her arms. Angel’s heart shatters once again as he looks at the child and then meets Adelita’s eyes.

“ Let me ask you something, Angel. Why now ?”

“ What do you mean? “ he knows exactly what she means.

“ Why can this child have your heart when it’s not yours but mine couldn’t. “ 

It’s astounding, really, her inability to understand what it was that broke his heart in the first place. Not the kid but the lies.

“ I could’ve loved the kid, Adelita. But you lied to me. You made me believe I was gonna be a dad when you knew it wasn’t mine. Had you told me from the start, things could’ve been different, but you lied. You played me for a fool. Just like anyone and everyone else did. “

“ So it was because I hurt your pride? “

“ Nah. Was because you lied to me and pretended to give me something I always wanted only for me to find out months later that it was all bullshit. It was the lies, Adelita, not the baby.” 

Angel can hear Callie take a sudden breath beside him. He knew this was a can of worm and now that it’s open he can’t do anything but hope things will work out in the end. He just hadn’t expected his old wounds to still hurt this much.

“ So will you help us or not? “ 

She contemplates for a moment, looked between Angel and Callie then nods. “Not for you, for the girl.”

“ God knows she deserves it more than me.” 

“ No doubt about it. “ 

“ No doubt about it.” 

“ Why are you mad? “

“ I’m not mad. “ 

The sun has warmed up the car so drastically, it now resembles a sauna but the mood feels as icy as a Siberian winter. 

“ You haven’t said more than 2 words to me since we got back in the car. “

Callie combs her fingers through her hair in exhaustion before letting out n exaggerated sigh.

“ I am tired, Angel. Tired and exhausted and sad and scared. I feel useless and helpless and my mind and my emotions are all over the place and then you take me to see your ex-girlfriend with whom you almost had a child. Something you never spoke of before and like, I get it, it’s a touchy subject but you could’ve at least mentioned it earlier today. “

“ Do you really wanna fight about this right now? “ 

“ I’m not fighting. You asked me what was wrong. I just want to find Daisy. “ 

“ And we will! I promise you, baby. We will. “ 

“ I don’t — god, Angel I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. It’s like my brain is completely empty. I don’t wanna fight and I don’t wanna bottle up the things that hurt me either. Can you — can you just drop me off at home so I can pack some of my stuff. I’ll stay with my mom, you can come around later if you want. “ 

He doesn’t wanna come around later. He wants to stay with her, every waking minute. One of his girls is already missing her can’t bear the idea of something happening to the other one. But this is her way of saying she needs a bit of space to breathe and denying her that will only push her further away.

“ Okay, but can you please text me every like 30 minutes? Just so I know you’re okay? Would tell EZ to come shadow you but he’s out with the guys looking for Daisy.” 

“I’ll be fine but yes, I’ll text you.”

“ Promise? “

“ I promise. “ 

She gives him a kiss and it’s soft and sweet and for a second life feels normal again but then she pulls away and he’s faced with the overwhelming sadness in her eyes and reality comes crashing back down on them.

“ Once she’s back and things are good again, you and I need to have a talk. We’re gonna be okay though, you and I. I promise.” 

He kisses her again, once twice, three times, then lets her go. Angel watches her unlock the door and drag her tired body inside her house. If only he knew what was  behind those doors. 

[august-anon]

Dancing Around the Issue

Hey hey! I’m wishing a very happy birthday to the wonderful @inconveniently-placed-cactus with this fic! Happy Birthday, Spikey!! I hope you’ve had an awesome day so far (since you’re in the future and all lol) and continue to have an awesome day after this!

Also, I know nothing about dancing or anything so this is totally me winging it lol

(Also also, I’m testing out the style where it’s not “no!” he laughed out, but it’s “nohohoho!” he cried. I think I like it, I have like 3 more fics coming like this soon, but let me know if you want me to keep going with that or switch back to just clean words!)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship(s): Pretty ambiguous, could be platonic or romantic Logince

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Roman, Ler!Logan

Word Count: 1664 words

Summary: They were supposed to be rehearsing. It wasn’t Roman’s fault he was so ticklish.

[ao3 link]

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Roman was beyond excited. Logan had finally agreed to dance with him, and he was the only other person in the mind palace who could match Roman in skill. 

Patton, while a wonderful dance partner, liked to dance more for fun than for show, so he had a lot of trouble with the more complicated moves. Virgil was too anxious to ever dance in the presence of anyone besides him and his stuffed animals, so he was out, too.

But Logan had skill, Logan could match him step for step. In some (very rare, in his humble opinion) instances, Logan’s skill even surpassed his own, which made for interesting rehearsals, since they were planning on performing the dance for Patton and Virgil.

Roman was trying not to let his pride get in the way, but it was difficult. He was the prince, after all! He should be the best at dancing! But alas, Logan was more skilled in this specific area of dance.

Which meant Roman had to stoop to asking for some brief lessons from Logan, just to keep up. Roman didn’t know if it was better or worse that Logan didn’t seem smug about it at all.

And that led them to the situation they were in, currently. Logan was trying to help Roman with his form. It was near perfect, but of course, both of them were perfectionists and near wasn’t nearly close enough.

Logan laid a hand on his back and his stomach, adjusting his position just enough to reach what they wanted, before stepping back, letting his hands gently slip away. Roman barely suppressed a flinch as the fingers dragged gently over his abdomen. Again.

Logan sighed. “Every time I adjust you, you slip back into place like that. What is going on?”

Roman cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing. “Maybe my body just needs a break from the position. Let’s try something else and come back to it?”

Logan looked like he wanted to protest, but was too frustrated with the lack of progress to actually do so. “Alright, let’s move on to some of the more fast-paced choreography. We’ll start slower and work our way up to the speed we would do it with the music.”

Roman nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Sounds good.”

Roman and Logan found their places and began to dance, taking it slow. The only problem was, there was a lot of touching and brushing of hands across torsos. Roman was barely holding it together, at this point. Logan stopped in the middle of the dance, causing Roman to slam into his chest. Logan reached down to his sides to steady him and scowled. 

“Why do you keep flinching away? You cannot do that when we perform!” Suddenly, his face softened. “Am I hurting you? Was I being too rough?”

Roman stuttered through a few aborted responses before managing to choke out, “No, no pain, I’m just—a little sensitive is all.”

Logan hummed. His facial expression didn’t change, but Roman thought he saw something shift in his eyes. “I will endeavor to be more careful. Now, let’s try again.”

Roman gulped and got back into position, watching Logan do the same. They ran through the steps and hand motions again, but this time, Roman almost swore it tickled more. So much so that a particularly gentle slide of the fingers on his ribs had him sucking in a gasp and flinching away so hard he almost toppled to the ground. Roman pouted, turning a glare on Logan. Logan just shook his head and motioned for them to go again. After all, practice makes perfect.

They ran through the choreography time after time, but each attempt was cut short by Roman jerking away with a gasp or barely-contained squeal. The tickling was so teasing, so light. At that point, Roman wasn’t sure if he was craving more of it or desperate for rehearsal to end and save him from the torture.

Eventually, Roman snapped. “I thought you said you were going to be more careful!” He said haughtily, crossing his arms.

A barely-there smirk tugged at Logan’s lips. “I did. However, I never said I would be more careful to not tickle. I think I have been very careful to tickle.”

Roman’s face flushed and he started sputtering.

“In fact,” Logan said, drawing near to Roman once more, “why don’t we work on your form in that position again? Surely your body’s had enough of a break.”

Roman pressed his lips tightly together. He was certain his face was bright red, and there were already tingly flutters all over his body from the anticipation Logan had been building up. As much as it embarrassed him, only one thing was running through Roman’s mind.

He better follow through.

Logan’s face softened momentarily. “Of course, we have been going for hours already. If you wanted to stop, I fully understand. We could pick up fresh tomorrow.”

Roman saw through it in an instant. Logan was giving him an out. Asking for his consent in a way, without making it obvious. If Roman ended rehearsal now, they would come back tomorrow and Logan would make an effort to not tickle him as they practiced. If he agreed to continue rehearsal, he would probably (hopefully) get wrecked.

“Prince Roman is no quitter!” Roman said, taking his usual dramatic pose.

The smirk returned to Logan’s face, the gleam reappearing in his eyes. “Very well. Please take the position.”

Roman did as he was asked, holding it as perfectly as he could. Logan came up and adjusted him, without tickling, and pulled away. Roman didn’t know if he was disappointed or frustrated. Most likely a mix of both.

“Now,” Logan said, circling him predatorily, “I want you to hold this exact position for as long as you possibly can.”

Roman nodded, suddenly all too aware of what game Logan was playing. He tensed slightly as Logan stepped up behind him.

“No matter what… distractions may come up,” Logan murmured teasingly in his ear..

Roman shivered.

“No matter how much your body may be screaming at you to drop it, I want you to stay.” He rested a hand ever-so-lightly against Roman’s rib cage. “Understand?”

Roman nodded again, too afraid he’d start giggling already from the teasing and anticipation alone if he opened his mouth.

The hand skimmed down his side and Roman squeaked. He suddenly realized just how exposed he was in that position: back arched, arms high in the air, ribs and stomach sticking out for easy access. Not to mention that his armpits were exposed. He had really gone and dug his own grave, hadn’t he? The hand skimmed up his side, then back down again. Even though it was slightly ticklish, the motion was soothing as well. Roman couldn’t help but want to relax into it. 

Though he realized why Logan was trying to lure him into a false sense of security when his other hand suddenly started lightly spidering at one of Roman’s hips. Roman gasped before clamping his mouth shut once more to keep the giggles in. It took all of his willpower to stay in the position Logan had stretched him into and not jerk away.

Logan hummed in his ear. “Doing well so far, but this is really nothing, isn’t it? I mean, truly, it’s child’s play.”

Roman didn’t respond. He switched to biting his lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I truly do wonder how long your stamina and willpower will last, but I think that’s an experiment for later, after rehearsal is over.”

The hand skimming his side and the hand tickling his hips moved in, up and under his exercise shirt, converging on Roman’s stomach and tracing the sensitive skin with fingernails. Roman couldn’t hold back anymore. The constant light tickling was torture and he had no way to escape. The giggles flowed free from his mouth, making the position he was in that much harder to hold.

“Seems as though you’ve come one step closer to cracking,” Logan said softly into his ear, pressing in closer against his back. “Though I really do think this is good practice for you, it will truly help during the performance.”

“Mmhmhmhhmmhmhm,” Roman hummed through his giggles.

“Glad you agree,” Logan said cheekily, starting to skitter his fingers up Roman’s ribs.

Roman gasped and fell into light laughter. His body jerked once, twice, before settling back into place in the position he was supposed to keep.

“Be careful,” Logan reprimanded, though his voice was too teasey to carry any weight. “Remember, don’t move. Hold this position for as long as you can.”

Roman didn’t know how much longer he could hold it, frankly. Especially with Logan growing ever closer to his underarms, taking his shirt with him and making the cool air flow against his overly-sensitive stomach.

But Roman was nothing if not proud. “Nohoho prohohoblehehehem.” He managed to get out through his laughter.

“Oh, really?” Logan asked. “What if I went here?”

Logan’s hands found their way into his armpits. Roman shrieked and immediately started cackling. He barely held the position for a moment more before his arms came crashing down and he doubled over in self defense. Logan followed, bending over his back and continued his torturous scratching in Roman’s armpits.

“LO-LOHOGAHAHAHAHAHAHAN!”

“Yes, what can I help you with?” Logan asked cheekily.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“Oh, this?” Logan punctuated the word with a particularly vicious scribble to the middle of Roman’s armpits, causing Roman to squeal and lurch back into Logan’s chest. “See, I’m rather comfortable here. And, you did break position, I’m not sure if I can let that go unpunished.”

That was not part of their deal! Not that Roman could say as much, laughing as hard as he was. Or that he was necessarily complaining. He was getting what Logan himself had made him crave, after all…

And he wouldn’t be done for a long, long time.

[therainroguefanfiction]

☁ Drifting Away (Giotto) #03

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous

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☁ Relax ✗ Dream ✗ Reason ☁

You woke up around midnight and couldn’t get back to sleep. You laid in the unfamiliar bed, staring blankly at the white ceiling above you, trying to figure out the current situation. Your mind had relaxed a little since you had gotten some sleep, but the pressure was still there. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to fit the pieces together – you didn’t have enough of them to work with.

When the sun began to rise, you pushed yourself out of bed and left the darkened room. Your feet took over as you began to think about your options, not paying attention to your surroundings as you walked. Your mind was going over every little detail you had managed to pick up so far, even the unimportant ones. You had to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

In the end, it all seemed so hopeless.

You groaned in frustration, kneeling down in the middle of the hallway with your hands clutching tightly onto your hair, eyes closed. You had gone over everything so many times in your head. You felt worn out but the only thing you could do was search for more pieces to this damned puzzle. You had to keep searching for clues, it was the only way that you were going to get the whole picture. You knew that, but you didn’t even know where to begin.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you looked up, meeting the concerned eyes of Giotto. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand, “You don’t look like you’ve slept.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, looking away from the male. You didn’t know what it was about this man, but he always made it seem like everything would be okay, no matter how bad the situation was. “I couldn’t sleep, but I’m fine.”

“You need to relax, let your mind rest.” He stood up straight after taking your hand to pull you to your feet, “Once you begin to relax, I’m sure something will come to you. Over stressing your mind will only cause you harm.” He spoke as if he already knew all of the details of your situation. Had you explained everything to him? You couldn’t remember. It felt as if you were hungover.

Giotto grasped your hand, lightly pulling you along down the hall. He brought you back to your room, gently pushing you toward the bed. “Get some sleep,” Offering you a gentle smile, he left the room.

You stared at the closed door, blinking curiously. If you hadn’t been so curious as to why he was being so nice to you, you would have scowled at his treatment. You could have been a spy or an assassin, an enemy, yet he still allowed you into his home without any guard watching you. He was treating you as if you were an old friend or something. Was he this trusting with everybody?

A sigh passed your lips as you fell back onto the silky sheets, eyes sliding closed. You were out like a light.

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‘Where am I?’, your thoughts echoed throughout the darkness. Memories flashed by at a rapid pace, blurring so much that you couldn’t even make out what they were memories of. It was like a vision of your life, all squished into one. Why were you seeing this?

“Oi,” The voice echoed. It was male and… sounded strangely like Gokudera. “Oi!“

You tried to call out to him but your voice wouldn’t work.

“Figure it out,” he called. “There isn’t much time left.“

Figure what out? Not much time? Time for what?

“Don’t let him out of your sight. You have to save him.“

‘Who? Save who?’, you screamed in your head, desperately trying to make your voice work.

“Good luck,” the voice whispered before slowly fading away.

You jolted up in the bed, one hand clutching your chest where your rapidly beating heart lay. The other clutched your head in a futile attempt to stop the sharp pains. Your body was covered in sweat and your breathing was heavy like you had just run a marathon a hundred times over.

What the hell was happening to you?

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It had been about three hours since your odd dream and you hadn’t been able to focus on anything since, not even the clues you were supposed to be looking for. You couldn’t stop thinking about the voice that had invaded your dream. Did it mean anything? Or was it just the result of your overworked mind? Maybe if you figured out the meaning of that damned dream, you’d be able to figure out what was going on. Something in the back of your mind told you that the two were related.

“Are you alright?”

You snapped out of your thoughts to see the Primo standing in front of me, looking down with worry laced eyes. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’ve been out of it since you woke up,” he paused, “Has something happen?”

“It’s nothing really,” you forced a smile that you knew he didn’t believe.

Giotto took a seat next to you on the leather sofa that sat in his office, resting his warm hand on your shoulder. “If something is on your mind, you can talk to me. I’m here to listen,” his voice was soft and calming. He was acting as if he were afraid you’d break if he rose his voice.

You scowled, using all of your strength not to say something rude. He had been kind to you all this time and it’d be wrong to snap at him for something as small as that.

Though you really hated being treated like a child.

“My guardians are returning today. I’d like you to meet them,” he murmured softly after a few minutes of silence.

You tensed. Meeting the guardians… didn’t that include that damned Daemon Spade?

He sensed this, tightening his grip on your shoulder, “You don’t have to worry. They are all good people.”

Daemon Spade was far from good. The bastard was worse than Mukuro as far as you knew. Well, all you had to do was avoid him at all costs without looking suspicious, right? ‘Piece of cake…’

Giotto led you into the living room. There were several couches and tables scattered throughout the room, as well as rows of bookcases filled to the brim with various types of books, each looking brand new and quite elegant. He instructed you to have a seat while he met up with the others and informed them that you’d be waiting. Of course, you weren’t too happy as you took a seat on one of the couches, foot propped up on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You could deal with all of the guardians, even Alaude, but Spade was out of the question.

Mukuro you could get along with, but Spade was ten times worse.

You ignored the sound of various sets of feet and hushed whispers as the group entered the room. Maybe if you pretended you didn’t hear them, they’d go away and leave you alone. Of course, that was a pretty slim chance.

“Y/N,” Giotto called softly. You could ignore the others, but not him. You slowly moved your head in his direction, glancing at the guardians standing behind him. He motioned towards each individual guardian as he voiced their names. And, alas, who would be the last person he introduced? That damned Spade who smirked at you as if you were his new toy. You could feel the chills go down your spine but you refused to show that to him.

After some coaxing, you stood up from the sofa and shook each guardian’s hand. even Alaude’s, but you hesitated when you reached Spade. You stood in front of each other, eyes locked in an undeclared staring match. You could feel your hands clenching at your sides, eyes narrowed in annoyance. That damned smile and the look in his eyes, his aura, hell, even the way he stood was enough to cause goosebumps across your skin.

“Kufufu~” How could that laugh be even creepier coming from him than Mukuro? He held his hand out, smirk widening only slightly as his eyes bore into your own, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Your body tensed up. He knew. You could tell just by looking into his eyes… Daemon Spade knew who you were. He knew about you belonging to Tsuna’s family. He knew you didn’t belong here. Did that also mean he knew how you got here? Or rather, how to get back?

He chuckled again, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Your eye twitched as you slipped your hand into his, gripping it as tight as you could. Was this bastard a mind reader or something? His grip tightened to the same degree, accepting your unspoken challenge. Both of you stood there for several moments, glaring at one another while trying to break the other’s hand. It wasn’t until one of the guardians spoke that you remembered the others’ presence.

You clicked your tongue, pulling away from the illusionist bastard and averting your gaze to the side. How could you show that you knew, and greatly disliked, him in front of the primo? Now he’d really be suspicious of you.

“Do you know them?” Asari, the rain guardian, stepped forward with his gaze on Spade.

The bastard stared at you for a minute before cocking his head to the side and glancing at the male. “No.”

Your gaze snapped to him, staring in disbelief. He hadn’t told on you. Why? His eyes returned to your own and he smirked. His look said it all – ‘this isn’t over.’

You scowled, glaring at his back as he left the room. ‘That bastard… he’s going to hold it over my head, I just know it. That’s a Hibari move, damn it!’ As you were attempting to burn holes into the door with your glare, you failed to notice the curious and cautious looks you were being sent by the guardians.

You scoffed, crossing your arms and muttering under your breath before turning around. You blinked, suddenly remembering that you weren’t alone. Rubbing the back of your head nervously, your lips twitched up into a forced smile.

Lampo and Alaude looked as if they couldn’t care less, not even paying attention to you. G was glaring at you, his eyes full of mistrust. Asari was watching you curiously, along with Knuckle. Giotto was watching you, but his expression was blank. This had you worried more than anything. Had you blown it? What would happen if the Primo threw you out? Or worse, what if he deemed you as an enemy?

Sensing your worry, a small smile made its way onto Giotto’s lips. It was.. reassuring.

“Y/N?” Asari questioned softly, stepping towards you with a small smile. “Do you know Daemon Spade? The two of you seemed pretty… friendly.”

“Friendly?” you muttered, scowling at the thought of being friends with him. You quickly shook your head and forced a smile, though it probably came off as more of a grimace. “Nope, I don’t know him. He just… resembled an old friend of mine.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He did resemble Mukuro. Or rather, Mukuro resembled him. Either way, the two looked a lot alike and both shared the power of the mist, along with those damned illusions. What was so enjoyable about mind fucking someone? You’ll never understand it.

“Oh, I see,” he said thoughtfully. A softer smile grazed his lips as he closed his eyes, “I’m happy to meet you. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

You smiled back, “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Asari-san.”

He blinked in surprise before chuckling softly, his hand curled against his mouth, “No need to be so formal, Y/N!”

Just a few words and a wave of calm spread through the room. The rain guardian truly was amazing and, even though Takeshi was a very good rain guardian, the first generation took the cake. It sounded kind of mean, now that you thought about it, but it is true.

Alaude scoffed and turned around, heading towards the door. Lampo followed close behind. A grin made its way onto your lips as you turned towards them, calling out their names. Both stopped and looked at you.

“I’m looking forward to getting to know both of you better, as well.” You grinned, the corners of your lips twitching. Oh, you couldn’t wait to bug the shit out of the first generation lightning and cloud guardians. It’d be even more fun than messing with Hibari.

Alaude narrowed his eyes at you before turning back around and leaving the room.

Lampo ignored you completely and followed Alaude out the door, turning down a different corridor. You sniggered to yourself, letting your mind begin to concoct some beautiful ways to annoy the pair. It shouldn’t be too difficult, all things considered.

“I’m sorry about them.” Asari apologized, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face. “They aren’t very social.”

“Ahh, no worries,” you waved him off, “I’m used to it, actually. A friend of mine isn’t very social, but it’s fun to annoy him.”

Asari laughed lightly at the comment. You two were going to be good friends, you could see it already~

“Che,” G moved forward, getting into your face and grabbing the front of your shirt. He stared down at you, standing about a foot or so taller. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re after, but you better watch yourself.”

“G,” Giotto called softly, the undertone of command holding tightly onto the name.

G scoffed again, glaring at you as he backed up a little, “I’ll be watching you. The first mistake you make, you’ll be done for.”

You scowled as he left the room. He was just as protective of his boss as Gokudera, but he wasn’t as loud or reckless. Was this the age difference? It was the same with Asari. He was just as easy going as Takeshi, and as calming as well, but he was much more mature and not at all oblivious. The similarities were definitely something and they stuck out so much that the differences were over-shadowed.

Noticing your silence, Asari stepped forward, his eyes worried as his hands gently gripped your shoulders, “Please don’t take what G said to heart. He’s only worried about the safety of Giotto and the rest of the family. You must understand, it’s hard to trust someone who appeared out of nowhere, someone who knows about our family, and appears so out of place. And a foreigner, as well.”

The words should have been hurtful or insulting, but coming from Asari, with the soft way that he spoke them, you just couldn’t get angry nor feel hurt. You could see the surprise on his face when you smiled, “It’s fine. I completely understand. I know the protection of your boss comes first. And you may not believe me, but I would never hurt the Primo or his guardians… except maybe Spade…” you muttered the last part under your breath, looking away towards the ground with your hand on your chin in thought. He was an infuriating man, after all.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he attracted your attention again, “I trust you. I can see no lie in your eyes nor can I sense any hostile intent. I fully trust you, but it may take a bit more coaxing to get the others to believe in you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he looked taken back at that. “What I mean is, as long as I have the Primo’s trust, it doesn’t matter if the others don’t believe me. The only person I want to trust in me is the Primo, and I’ll do what I must to gain his trust. However, it does make me happy to know that you trust me, Asari.”

“You have a good heart, that much I can be sure of,” he commented softly, pulling you into a hug before pulling away and leaving the room, “I’ll talk to you later, Y/N!”

Knuckle smiled at you, giving you a thumbs up, before following Asari.

You smiled at the closed door, feeling a wave of happiness rush over you. You had been accepted by the first-generation guardian of rain… you never would have guessed that it would make you feel so happy.

Giotto was watching you intently, a soft smile on his lips.

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[kosmosian-quills]

Week 5 - Point of View

My next piece for @yourocsbackstory​‘s antagonist event! I hope you enjoy!

This was easy.

Almost pathetically easy.

I had expected some kind of resistance, something to make my goal a lot harder to accomplish than this.

And all it took was a minute of polite conversation, and a knife.

She's looking up at me - wide, brown eyes full of fear - lips slightly parted in her shock. I have one hand holding her upper arm, keeping her firmly rooted to the spot, and the other has the knife at her throat, rested on the tender skin above the collar of her expensive, snow white blouse.

She's leaning back, trying to keep the blade off her skin, but she isn't getting away from me that easily.

I can feel the blood pumping in my ears, adrenaline flowing through me. I was so sure that this would be harder to accomplish, and yet for all my planning, I seem to have gotten myself worked up for no reason.

There's a stunned silence in the room around us. Aside from a short scream from one of the Maidens of Honour over there as I shoved her away, and the Princess' instinctual "what are you -?!" as I pressed the knife into her throat. Not enough to injure or scar her, but enough to scare her, certainly.

"Look at you," I murmur, just loud enough for her to hear, "pathetic, not even wanting to fight back. What was that you were just saying?"

She doesn't make a single sound in response, not even any attempt. No one does.

No one but me.

"About how you are just as capable as everyone else in your family? All those anscestors who fought their own battles, and you have been subdued by merely a knife," I tilted the blade ever so slightly further into her neck, and she hissed sharply through gritted teeth, "I knew you'd be just as weak and pathetic as your father."

I cast a glance to my left, at the Princess' friends over there. The youngest one - Wiśniewska - was on the floor, immobile, exactly where I left her. The other one - Lewandowska - in the grip of the Lieutenant who had accompanied me on this mission of mine. I highly doubt they'd try anything whilst I have the Princess like this, but all the same...

Still keeping my grip on her arm, I move her to face her friends whilst I step behind her. I return the knife to her throat, and I can feel how she doesn't want her throat slitting, yet also is trying to keep off me. The fear is palpable, but she doesn't try to fight or shove me away.

"I wish I could say I'm sorry that this had to happen, but that would be a lie," I continue, making eye contact with Lewandowska. I highly doubt the other one needs any persuasion to stay still, "now, don't do anything stupid, or things will hurt even more for you all."

I can feel the Princess tense further in my grip, and she shortly tugs her arm down, the first real resistence I have had from her so far.

"First time I've seen you so quiet, Princess," I whisper into her ear, and she leans away from me. Or tries to, rather, she can't exactly go far in my grip, and with the knife at her throat, "that's a good thing, though. I'm certain that both your father and myself would much prefer you to be seen and not heard."

"Un-" she starts to speak, quietly through her gritted teeth. I think it's endearing, how she tries so hard not to sound totally terrified, "unhand me, General."

I can't help but chuckle, noticing how she has her fists clenched at her side.

"So cute of you to think that you can give the orders here, Princess, there will be a change in responsibility from now on. And you won't be giving any of these orders from now on -"

The sudden cry out and jerking movement in my peripheral vision, from the Lieutenant just in front of us, is enough to silence me.

The Lieutenant is holding his jaw, and Lewandowska is opening the door to the room. Stupid, why did he not lock that?! How did she even get the better of him?! What even happened there?! There's no way she could overpower him, she's -!

"Get after her, you idiot!" I command, but the Lieutenant was already sprinting to the door after the girl before I even had to issue my shouted order.

Shit. Shit! This is bad, this is very bad.

I should have known, and at least prepared more for this possibility. Lewandowska - of course. She's the athlete, the one whom actually wakes up at 5am and runs laps around the gardens. I had thought that she wouldn't be stupid enough to try and run off whilst I had the Princess with a knife at her throat.

I - and the Princess - can hear the loud footsteps pound further and further away as the Lieutenant gives chase. I actually take the knife away, my mind racing, trying to decide my next move. The girl will doubtlessly be running for help. My only chance is that the Lieutenant catches her and deals with her quickly, or that whomever she runs in to does not believe her story.

I mean - who would be crazy enough to believe a histerical young woman spouting such tall tales about me kidnapping the Princess?

I don't even hesitate, I drag the helpless Princess back towards the door behind us, pulling her with me through the threshold. She's nowhere near strong enough to fight me off, but it doesn't stop her trying.

It doesn't stop me from pulling her closer anyway, making sure she doesn't slip out of my grip like a little rat who spied the chance at escaping me.

My only chance to get this situation back on track is that I don’t lose the Princess now. I cannot - and will not - let this moment be my downfall. I refuse to let a slippery snake of a girl be the reason I lose everything I've spent the last several years working for.

---

"Juliusz... why?"

Talk about a fall from grace.

No longer in that position of tremendous power I once had in the palm of my hand, the trust of my superiors enough for me to know even their darkest secrets.

The very trust that almost let me completely destroy them.

And yet, here I am, locked up in the dungeons - face to face with the King, who is shaking his head at me. He looks very stricken, sick, almost lost that he's seeing me here, like a child who needs something explaining to him. He clearly wishes he didn't have to face me like this. Probably wishes it had never happened so he can live in his blissful ignorance.

But alas, my supposed treason cannot be overlooked.

"Maciej," I begin, looking him in the eyes, "you cannot begin to understand how much I had hoped it would not come to this."

"And yet, you thought that kidnapping my daughter would somehow make things better?" he retorts, the horror in his voice very clear indeed. No. The anger. "I trusted you, Juliusz. We all did. Why did you decide to betray us like that?"

Wouldn't he like to know. Wanting some kind of answer, of closure, to the reason why. It's not like I would have hurt the girl, she's more important to me than that.

"I stand by what I did," I say simply, looking him dead in the eyes, "I was doing what was best for my country."

"For your country!" he shouts, the first time in literal years that I have seen him so overwhelmed by his own thoughts and emotions that he has raised his voice. "I really hope you're proud of what you have done, because you'll have no chance of ever leaving that prison, Juliusz. How dare you try and say that this was for the greater good. How dare you. After all we've been through together, you throw it all away, just like that."

"It was for the best, I promise you that. I wish you good health and a long life, Maciej, because you will certainly need it," I turn away from him, unwilling to continue this discussion further, leaving him stunned and speechless behind me. He says some few words about how he's sure I'm never leaving, but I really do not care for his words anymore.

There's nothing he can say to make this better.

This is merely a minor setback. I know I was not alone in my beliefs. In fact, there are plenty who share it with me. I shall be out of here,  no matter what he says, and he'll wish he simply listened to me instead.

Because without me, this country will crash and burn with him at the helm.

[farplane]

keeping counsel

septembre-octobre 2020: (warrior of light sairsel au) some eight years after the liberation of doma and ala mhigo, two friends discuss literature and adventurous plans. featuring @thelegendofivalice‘s a’zaela linh. ffxiv:shadowbringers (5.3) spoilers for mentions of a certain npc. 18+ nsfw for mature subject matter. 2,115 words.

“Sairsel,” said Sihtric, scrunching up his nose at the edge on his knife. “Can I borrow your whetstone?”

Sairsel glanced away from the fire and over his shoulder. “It’s in my pack somewhere. Do you plan on stabbing someone soon?”

“Nooo.” Sihtric rolled his eyes and waved the stick in his hands, already rising to his feet. “Ashelia said she was going to come back with marshmallows for the fire. I just want to be prepared.”

A’zaela deftly avoided the stick as it waved dangerously near her eye.

“I think you’re dangerous enough as it is, lad,” Sairsel said, exchanging a small smile—apologetic around the edges—with her from across the campfire as Sihtric rummaged around his pack. By the sound of it, the bag was bottomless and filled with haphazardly thrown in knickknacks; Sairsel was by no means particularly organized, but he knew his spare few belongings couldn’t be that messy—

“What’s that?” Sihtric asked.

Sairsel turned to look and found Sihtric with a book in hand, turning it around and flipping through the pages—a book which, in spite of the boy’s insatiable interest in the written word, Sairsel had been very careful to keep out of his sight. He scrambled to snatch it out of Sihtric’s hands.

“That’s not—” he said hastily, panicked, and tossed it at A’zaela. “It’s A’zaela’s. I’ve been forgetting to return it to her.”

A’zaela gave him a bewildered look, which Sairsel answered with a look of his own that was equal parts insistent and mortified. She glanced down at the book in her hands, studying its nondescript binding and would-be innocent title—Freedom’s Cries—before opening at a random page. By the flustered expression that flitted across her face, Sairsel surmised bleakly that she’d stumbled upon one of the book’s more damning passages.

He considered hiding his face in his hands. Or perhaps leaving the Riskbreakers altogether. He’d had a good run of it; surely Ashelia wouldn’t mind if he disappeared into the aether for the rest of his days.

Sihtric frowned at Sairsel. “Can I see it, Miss A’zaela?”

“No!” they both answered in frantic unison.

“Why? What’s it about?”

“War,” Sairsel said quickly. “Now finish making a mess of my pack.”

“As if the Saintsmaker didn’t make me read half a thousand histories on war when they were all ‘you have the power to alter the course of Man’s fate on this star,’” Sihtric said, taking on a moaning voice that mocked the Saintsmaker’s, waving his hands menacingly all the while.

“And I’m supposed to abide by the logic of some mad bastard who kept a child locked away underground, am I?” Sairsel retorted as A’zaela slowly slipped the book under her knee and out of Sihtric’s sight. “It isn’t suitable reading for a boy your age. Leave it be.”

Sihtric heaved a great, world-weary sigh and resumed his search for the whetstone. Sairsel, overcoming his embarrassment, met A’zaela’s gaze long enough to communicate gratitude, apology, and no small dose of unabated mortification.

‘Burn it,’ Sairsel mouthed before Sihtric plopped back down next to him with stone in hand.

A’zaela did not burn it.

For nigh on a week, Sairsel comforted himself in pretending that she had, at the very least, gotten rid of the book if not by fire. It was a pleasant lie, and one that allowed him to avoid thinking A’zaela’s opinion of him changed by the embarrassing tripe in his possession.

Because she was discreet, A’zaela waited until they were alone. She waited, in fact, until one night after the Sandsea had become empty of patrons, and Sairsel had returned inside from avoiding the crowd to have a drink while Sihtric slept in his room. It was a perfectly peaceful evening; even Ashelia had gone to bed, and Hickory napped by the warmth of the hearth.

A’zaela slid quietly onto the stool beside his. “Um,” she said, taking up very little space, “Sel?”

Sairsel swiveled to better face her, blissfully unaware of the cause of her shyness. It wasn’t exactly outside of the norm for either of them.

“What is it?”

“I read your book, and…”

Sairsel tensed. “Look—” he said quickly, “I know it’s horrible, and it looks like it’s about me—which is absurd—but I was curious and it isn’t like having Sihtric around leaves much time for… you know—”

“It’s not that,” A’zaela said, avoiding his gaze. 

Sairsel struggled to believe that she had nothing to say of the fact that he owned a debauched novel—a thinly veiled fictionalization of uncomfortably recent history—about a dashing Doman lord and an Ala Mhigan hero partaking in all sorts of buggery in the midst of a revolution, ostensibly inspired by his own time in Othard during the liberation campaign.

Not that buggery had ever been a part of it, in reality.

“I… What?”

A’zaela blushed fiercely. “G’raha,” she said to the bartop, slipping her thumbnail in a crack in the wood, “used to have a boyfriend.”

“I see,” Sairsel said—though it was rather more like making out a vague shape in a very thick fog that might be a tree or a mountain.

“Do you think he—” A’zaela tried, making a vague gesture with both hands that Sairsel hoped he interpreted correctly as he jumped, for some reason, to reassuring her.

“Not necessarily. Doesn’t matter who the people in the bed or their parts are, yeah? There’s not just one way to—”

“I mean, do you think he would like it if I did it?”

Sairsel’s mouth fell open. A beat passed. A’zaela looked as though she would rather slip through the floorboards and stay there.

“That’s,” Sairsel said in a miserable attempt at stringing words together, “that’s something you should ask him, isn’t it?”

“I know he would.” A’zaela paused, her brief moment of certainty in the man she loved overtaken by clumsy embarrassment. “But I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing. I bought a… the lady called it an ‘aid,’ and she tried to give me advice, but I think she thought I had a girlfriend and I didn’t have the courage to correct her.”

Sairsel did his best to move past his astonishment—mostly at the idea of A’zaela alone in some curio shop for this very specific purpose—and laid a hand on A’zaela’s shoulder, looking gravely at her. “Zaela,” he said, and her ears twitched back under his attention. “Are you asking me for advice on how to fuck your man?”

“I can ask Ashe if—”

Sairsel shook his head and grimaced. “And tell her where you got this stroke of inspiration? I’d rather rot in a bog,” he said, and began to pat the pockets of his coat until he found the pencil he kept in case Sihtric lost his—which happened about once a fortnight—and set it down on the bar between them. “Have you got something to write down on? I’m going to tell you everything I know.”

Any discomfort he might have felt ebbed away completely at the way A’zaela’s ears perked up. Her face was still flushed, but she had a focus to her that spoke of both determination and trust—and Sairsel used up the time she took looking for paper dwelling upon how touched he felt to know it. As she rounded the bar to sit beside him again, A’zaela spoke, her words growing easier, if yet nervous.

“I just— I don’t know how this goes, you know? I mean, there’s the book, but…”

“It’s filth, not a guide.”

A’zaela laughed a little. “Exactly. And he knows, Sel—he’s rusty, but he knows.”

“Look,” Sairsel said seriously, and tapped the papers as she set them down. “I’ll tell you this—and you might as well write it down, because, first lesson: the best way to go about this if one person doesn’t know what they’re doing is for that person to be— well, doing the buggering. Trust me.”

A’zaela did not write it down, but she nodded intently, somewhat comforted.

“I was you once, A’zaela. We were all you. He won’t notice if you swive him silly.”

Sairsel then proceeded to tell her, in consummate detail, exactly how best to achieve such lofty ends. 

Before long, he had spoken more words in one evening than he had for the last week, A’zaela’s page was full of helpful advice, and the adorable blush on her cheeks had faded to be replaced with an expression of determined focus.

And gratitude. Perhaps even a bit of wonder—and genuine excitement. Sairsel felt oddly proud.

“Thank you,” A’zaela said earnestly, looking down at her notes.

Sairsel put a hand on her shoulder again. “You’re very welcome, Zaela. And so is he,” he said, more smugly than he usually found he could be. Perhaps the charismatic Ala Mhigan hero from the book had rubbed off on him. “And if he doesn’t make you come at least three times the next time he sticks it in you, he’s not worth the bother.”

A’zaela flushed once more. “Sairsel!”

“I’m only saying you ought to know your worth! And so should he.”

“He does,” A’zaela said, her gaze falling to the bartop to shift into something dreamy and sweet that might have been nauseating had Sairsel not felt so bloody happy to see it on her. A silly smile pulled at her lips, but when she looked back up at Sairsel, it shifted into something purposeful and attentioned. “Do you know yours?”

He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him—but that was A’zaela. A’zaela, who understood things about him without either of them speaking; A’zaela, who saw because she gave a damn. It was Sairsel’s turn to grow flustered.

“Ah, well,” he said quietly, with a small smile meant to be dismissive of himself.

A’zaela watched him carefully, then bent to stuff her notes into her own pack where it sat beside the stool. She paused, ears flicking at attention at the sound of someone stirring somewhere down the hall from the bar, then straightened up with the accursed book in her hand when nothing came of the noise. Her way of setting it down on the bar was careful, as though she worried about ruffling his feathers somehow.

“He really did remind me of you,” A’zaela said, tipping her chin towards the book to designate the man living between the pages. It isn’t you, obviously, but he’s… solid. The way you are.”

Sairsel thoughtfully set his hand down atop the cover. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, I thought I should give it back,” she said, and blushed again as she added, “I think I’ve more than enough to go on for now.” 

Sairsel laughed. “I’d tell you to keep it, but I do spend most of my nights sleeping on the ground with a dog and an eleven-year-old.”

A’zaela gave him a smile and patted his shoulder with great sympathy and solidarity. She then shifted on the stool, uncomfortable with her own curiosity. “I know it’s clearly not a history, but did you and Lord Hien ever…?”

“Oschon’s balls, no,” Sairsel said, and his rueful chuckle covered up the sound of the hall door opening. A’zaela had bared enough to him in one evening to warrant him making an admission to her, if only in the spirit of fairness—and so he did: “I can’t say I wouldn’t have said yes, but… it was better this way.”

They both jumped at the sound of Ashelia’s voice. “You two are up late.”

She dragged her feet over to the bar and bent behind it to fetch a bottle and a glass. Her troubles with sleep were no secret to the two of them, but they still managed to look like two children caught at mischief, and they both reflexively made to cover the book with one hand.

“Can’t sleep?” Sairsel asked idly. He felt A’zaela try to slip the book away from under his hand.

Ashelia narrowed her eyes at them. “No,” she said slowly.

The weight of her stare whittled away what little determination Sairsel had for keeping face. He sighed and took the book from A’zaela’s hand, setting it down in front of Ashelia like an offering.

“Someone wrote a book about stolen moments of, er, passion during the liberation campaign. It appears to have been inspired by my time in Othard,” Sairsel declared, throwing himself upon the proverbial sword. Ashelia’s eyebrows lifted in clear interest. “Sihtric found it in my things and almost read it.”

She looked at Sairsel in silence, covered her mouth with her hand, and began laughing until her shoulders shook. Sairsel glanced at A’zaela—smiling at her crestfallen expression—and gave her a wink.

At least her precious notes were safe in her pack.

[theangriestpea]

In the Shadows : Seven

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: Depictions of violence, (very) minor character death

Word Count: 5k+

A/N:  This chapter felt a bit forced on my end and I apologize for that. Some much needed plot things had to happen and they were, quite frankly, a bore to write except the last scene. That I did have fun with. This chapter has a few warnings, please be mindful of them. Check out my release schedule for upcoming works!

Part Seven: Protection 

Lavender awoke to a new series of hot pain. Her eyes snapped open abruptly and she let out a startled cry only to find Sweet Pea hanging over her. He had been putting the burn salve onto her hand print shaped wound. He said nothing as she struggled to sit up in the bed, tired of laying down. “A little warning would have been nice.” She hissed at him angrily.

Sweet Pea resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead his gaze bared down on her. “Do you want her?”

Confusion washed over the demon’s face, “what are you talking about? Do I want who?”

“Our daughter.” He said, voice devoid of any emotion. She really had no idea what brought this on because he himself showed no interest in the unborn child within her womb.

Lav’s hand went to her stomach, her palm placed flat against it. She was looking down and visualizing the aura of the spell that continued to protect her. Somehow she had forgotten all about the pain in her shoulder with this new oncoming conversation. Did she want her?

“I do.” The succubus finally said in a small and defeated voice. “You have no idea what it’s doing to me knowing that she will be ripped from my arms as soon as she is born.” A single clear tear slipped down her cheeks that were stained from the blacks ones she had produced earlier. It looked as if she had cried off an entire tube of mascara. “I’m not all demon, you know. I’ve got half of a human heart still in me.”

Sweet Pea sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her as he ran a hand through his hair. He let out a tired sigh, having not gotten much sleep that night….or any night since his soul departed his corporal form. Being reminded that she was a hybrid was a bit sobering to him. He supposed she did have human feelings after all.

“Why does she want the child?” Sweet Pea asked, having a feeling that he wasn’t going to get a direct answer. He was right.

Lav tensed at his question. “I am not at liberty to stay.” She stammered, not wanting to anger him when she was really too weak to fend for herself. This wasn’t like back in the storeroom of the Wyrm when she had the necessary power to flip the dynamics if she needed to. She was at a clear disadvantage.

He scoffed at her reply, figuring she would say something of the sort. “Would you fight to keep her? Or do you want to be a slut slave forever?”

She frowned at the back of his head, feeling the urge to push him off the bed with her last remaining willpower. Instead she gripped the sheets tightly in her hands. “I was tricked into slavery, you asshole of a human. I didn’t choose this. Of course I would fight to keep her but Myra...Myra could bind me to hell and make me the sex slave of any demon that wanted to purchase me at the snap of her fingers. Where I’d be starved until I was driven mad. Used in whatever way they wished. Despite what you think, my consent does matter in what I let you do to me. It doesn’t to other demons. I’m strong compared to anyone on Earth but not in hell.”

Lav struggled to get out of bed, having to hold onto the wall. She was so hungry that it hurt. “You think what happened at that shitty bar between us was some kind of revenge fuck against me? It was me having a bit of fun, Sweet Pea. I can make you do all kinds of things because at the end of the day you’re still nothing but a human.”

Sweet Pea stood, an angry breath huffing out through his flared nostrils. “You’re incredibly naive if you think that other demon will take any kind of care of our child. Demons don’t raise children. Your mother didn’t raise you. She abandoned you. Myra, whoever the fuck that is, will do the same. She’ll use her and then toss her into the trash. And where will you be? Still grovelling at her feet? You’re fucking pathetic. You say you have power but you have no power at all. You’re just a puppet.”

Her knees shook under her weight as her own rage surged at his words. She was just a puppet for Myra’s bidding, but that wasn’t at all what she wanted to be. Before she had wanted her freedom more than anything in the entire world. Now...now all she wanted was to raise her baby in peace. “What do you suggest I do then?” She asked, her voice no longer harsh and rigid. It was frail under the complexity of the situation, threatening to crumble with her mind at any moment.

“After I get my soul back, we will find a way to free you from your demon.” Sweet Pea said, moving closer to her, “and we’ll co parent like Lily and I do with Daisy. I’m not going to just throw my child away, even if someone like you is the mother.”

Someone like me, Lav pondered the ache in her heart at the sentiment. Was she really that bad? She figured to someone like Sweet Pea, she was. He grabbed her by the upper arms, pulling her up straight and baring her weight within his grip so she could finally stand properly. “If you’re right, if that dumb ass wolf is her soulmate, then Lily is going to be the most powerful witch in this shitty town. No one will be able to stop her, not even a demon. She can free you from whatever contract you’re bound under. She can protect us all.”

The succubus stared at him, exhaustion evident in her hazel eyes. “Would she do that? For me?”

“No.” Sweet Pea corrected, “She’ll do it for me.”

+++

It was mere hours before the full moon would rise and Jughead was anxiously pacing outside of the small cottage in Fox Forest. His pack was already within the woods, seeking shelter as they knew the threat would come closer and closer with the falling sun.

Lily, Sweet Pea, and Lavender were inside, sitting around a sigil painted onto the floor with various crystals and herbs placed strategically inside their circle of bodies. They were holding hands, their magical energies meshing together.

“Your wolf is ruining my concentration.” Sweet Pea grumbled angrily as they could all three hear him ranting his worries to himself just outside the door. He didn’t want them to see him change. It was not a pleasant sight and it was something he wished to keep to himself. But, the boxer clad werewolf was making way too much noise.

The white witch let out a small sigh as she broke their circle to go to him. She opened the door, closing it behind her as she approached him, “Juggie. Come here.”

“Lils, you should be getting ready for the spell, what are you-” She pulled him down for a kiss before he could continue. Jughead immediately stopped and kissed her back with great care.

Lily pulled away, “Calm down. We can’t concentrate with you out here cursing at all the Archie Andrews’ in the world. It will be fine. We have enough power between the three of us to protect everyone easily.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I’ll just...take a seat and wait. I didn’t realize I was being that loud.”

She smiled at him softly, fingers brushing the hair from in front of his eyes. “I know. It’s okay, just relax. We’ll take care of this. Everyone will be okay come sunrise, I promise. I should warn you though, it’s going to rain. Hard.”

“That’s fine as long as you don’t mind wet dog smell.” Jughead said. Although it came off sounding like a joke he was being totally serious. Lily chuckled at him before releasing him and going back inside.

Sweet Pea had a disgusted look on his face while Lavender was smiling brightly. Lily pretended not to notice either of them as she sat back down and held out her hands for them to grab.

Once their energies were well in sync again, Lily began to chant. They would have to hold this spell for several hours for it to be strong enough to last all night. It would also take an enormous amount of energy from all of them but Lavender had brought some kind of powder with her to take once they were done. She wouldn’t say what it was, but Lily had an inkling of what it could be.

Time passed and an unseen aura filled the forest through the veins of the trees. Only those with magical abilities could see the faint green glow on the thriving plants. The dense foliage was alight with a protective magic so strong that it was unprecedented in the history of Riverdale. Light and dark create such a bond that it cannot be broken.

While they were performing the spell, Jughead and the rest of the Southside wolves had turned into their truest form and were doing their monthly run of the woods. All but one ran in large groups for added protection. All but Jughead Jones, heir to the Jones pack, and the dark to Lily’s light. She had sent him on a special quest of his own. One that was important for him to complete if it was at all possible.

The rain came down so hard that the canopy of the trees provided minimal cover. The downpour came in waves, gentle thunder rolling in the background. On the edge of the forest, in the torrential rains were a band of humans led by one with fiery red hair. The Red Circle had arrived and the group were more on edge than ever as howl after howl joined the melodious sounds of the storm.

They attempted to pour the accelerant, but the rain washed it all away. The wind put out their flames as soon as they ignited. They tried for hours, waiting for the storm to subside but alas it only grew stronger with each passing minute. It was no use. The wolves would not perish on this night and the growling amongst the brush had them afraid for their lives. Sure they had their silver bullets but were any of them that great of a shot? Silver bullets were weighted differently, they shot differently, and there wasn’t enough ammo to practice with for anyone to become accurate in firing it. And no one wanted to put themselves at point blank with a werewolf. Not even the fearless Archie Andrews himself.

When the moon reached its zenith, the two and a half witches finally broke the circle. Lily’s energy was low but she was perhaps in the best shape of the three of them. Sweet Pea nearly passed out where he sat on the floor, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Lily, may I trouble you for some hot water?” Lav asked as she picked up the vile of white powder from the floor. “I can’t even begin to describe how fucking hungry I am after that. If I could go out there then I’d take every last soul from that idiotic Circle of humans and still need more.”

Lily smiled as she stood. “Sure. I think we could all use some tea.” She gave Sweet Pea a sideways glance that he couldn’t quite decipher other than smugness at her remaining strength.

Lavender yawned. She was finally starting to feel the telltale signs of human pregnancy. Mornings were the worst in terms of sickness. All she wanted to do was sleep but she had to eat. She had to feed or Myra would force her to feed. The concoction she had created that was currently in Lav’s hand would do in a pinch, however it was incredibly difficult to make. It required...sacrifice. One that did not sit well with the demon.

She managed to stand and make her way to the couch, sitting down with a loud plop as she waited. Lily brought her the steaming mug and Lav carefully added about half the vile of powder. Tendrils of purple steam rose up from the water, curling with the air before disappearing forever. Lav drank and she drank hungrily.

Both witches watched her, wondering what kind of potion she had just consumed. Sweet Pea was a tad more interested as he was the acclaimed potions expert of the two. He always loved to learn more about new brews, especially unearthly ones. “What is it?” He asked, his curiosity beating his general distaste for her. Well, what he thought was distaste. It was actually just resistance to the fact that they were tied by fate.

“Souls.” Lav said, decided to be honest. “Concentrated souls. Tastes terrible and is most certainly not ethically sourced. I prefer not to resort to it but when I get too hungry Myra likes to pop in and see what exactly it is I’m doing. Obviously we do not want her here, especially after she forbade me from being in the presences of either of you.”

Sweet Pea looked at Lily who was attempting to hide her frown behind her cup of tea. He saw it but the succubus did not. “What do you mean, not ethically sourced. What soul is?”

“I don’t feed on innocent souls.” Lavender said, waving her hand in the air as if she was batting away the accusation that she did. “Full blooded succubae enjoy that, sure. But they were never human. I was a human for nineteen years. That’s why I don’t feed on children, or virgins, or people who have simply lived their lives without doing anything wrong. The list is far smaller than you’d think.”

“So the souls used to make that were from innocent people?” Lily asked, her displeasure showing.

Lav sighed, “which is exactly why I don’t like taking it but it can’t be helped. Myra can’t kill Lily but she can kill every other mortal in this house. Obviously that is worse than me consuming innocence this one time….”

Sweet Pea immediately went on the defensive, “It’s fine, Lily. She’s just keeping Daisy safe.” He didn’t care about himself dying. His soul was already in hell. All he cared about now was his daughter and her safety. Even without a soul he could not forsake her. Which is why a part of him could not forsake the demon in front of him either, as much as he wanted to.

The shorter witch relaxed, if only but a fraction. “Why use an innocent soul? Why not a soul from hell already?” She asked, her voice soft now.

“Because they’re not as strong. One innocent soul is more filling than a handful of damned ones. Myra wants me to feed on the innocent but I refuse. So far she has not forced me to drop my normal feeding habits, but I fear she will the farther along I get.” Lav paused, about to continue when Sweet Pea interrupted her.

“That is why we are freeing you after I get my soul back.” He said sharply. “So you can stop being some demon’s personal incubator.”

Lily nodded her head in agreement, “I should have enough power to break whatever bond you two have. It won’t be easy but it’s not impossible.”

Lav stared at her, wondering if she was truly powerful enough. “If you fail. She will kill everyone you’ve ever loved. Including Jughead. For some reason she can’t kill you but she’ll do something much worse.”

“That is the risk I’m willing to take.” Lily replied stubbornly. She was not about to lose in a battle of wills to some demon princess.

Deep in the forest, Jughead was trying to follow a quickly fading scent trail. The rain was making it incredibly difficult as it would wash away within moments. Luckily he was close enough that time was on his side. He crept through a cluster of bushes, listening to the sounds of teeth gnawing on flesh and bone.

He broke through the thicket and saw the large white wolf with matted fur feasting on a dead deer. The buck’s black eyes seemed to be staring right at the Jones wolf, daring him to make his presence known.

The vargulf was getting sicker. He smelled much worse than he had before, like a wolf knocking on death’s door. While he wasn’t necessarily weaker, his wits wouldn’t be about him as they once had been. Fighting him could easily be a fight to the death and currently Jughead was unsure if that was one he could win.

Despite the clear disadvantage, he knew what he had to do. The vargulf had attacked Lily twice now and it was prowling the trailer park more and more, probably due to Lily spending more time at his trailer. The wolf didn’t seem to recognize her when she was in her feline form. This had been her saving grace thus far.

Jug crept further from the safety of the brush. Once he was completely in the clearing, he put his weight back on his haunches before leaping forward with his mouth open to hopefully clamp down on a vital spot.

Before he could land the blow, the white wolf turned. His muzzle and chest were dyed red from the blood of the deer. He swiftly avoided the attack, quickly turning to launch his own.

Teeth and fangs clashed, claws ripped at weak folds of skin that gave way to blood. They were both strong but in the end only one was stronger...Jughead stood, the throat of the vargulf in his jaws. His grip was vice but it was not deadly. He did not want to kill despite how this wolf’s death would solve so many of their problems. No, in the end Jughead Jones just wasn’t going to be reborn a killer on this night. Instead he chose mercy.

There was a way they could save him, and that thought alone is what kept Jughead from snapping his jowls shut and thrashing his head to tear out the innards of the white wolf’s throat. The deepest, darkest part of him wanted this creature to perish. That part of him did not win on this full moon. Despite being so incredibly far from humanity at this moment, he did something that was perhaps more human than anything. He dropped the flesh from his mouth and watched as the vargulf scrambled to his feet before running away.

Lightning crackled above and the rain washed away most of the blood. He bent down and observed a long gash on his right foreleg. The taste of blood was thick on his tongue, however none of it was his own. He needed it for Lily so she could track the vargulf with magic.

As the moon began to set, Jughead limped back to the cottage. Once he was a few paces away, Lily threw open the door and ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug, uncaring if she got drenched in the process. “I was so worried,” She murmured to him as her residual magic began to heal his wounds through touch alone. “I could feel every bite, every scratch. I knew you’d win but it still hurt.”

Let’s go inside. Jughead coaxed using their touch to push his thoughts into her. It’s still not safe to be out here.

Lily smiled, unafraid of the impending dangers of inside the forest. She stood and took him inside. “Come to my room so I can collect the blood. And when you change back in a few hours, I’m going to need a recharge.”

Sweet Pea elected to drive Lavender home as he did not want to listen to Lily “recharge”. He himself could use a boost but he found that the demon that usually had no qualms in tempting him into her embrace had been giving him the iciest cold shoulder he had ever received. He knew he had done plenty wrong but he still wasn’t sure why she changed seemingly overnight. After all, she did enjoy sex with him before so why wouldn’t she now?

Lavender was clicking her stiletto nails on the armrest. She could sense his desire and while she did crave the kind of pleasure that only he could give her, she knew she had to resist. Myra would know and the punishment would be greater than just the burning of hellfire on her skin.

“When are we going to tell Lily the truth?” She asked, breaking the silence between them. “Or does she already know?”

Sweet Pea’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Later. It can wait.”

Lav turned her head to look at him, “why not just confess? Are you worried she won’t help if she knows that you knocked up another woman during a one night stand?”

He grit his teeth. In fact, that had been the exact reason why he had chosen to omit the detail that he was actually the father of the hybrid growing within the demon. He honestly was not sure how Lily would take the news. If she would finally throw him out for good or not.

“Because she doesn’t need to know right now.” He said, “She needs to concentrate on getting my soul back.”

She rolled her eyes as he stopped outside of her house. After exiting she poked her head back in, “even when you get your soul back, will you be able to handle the weight of the guilt of what you’ve done? Think about it, troll brain, you won’t be able to escape those emotions you feel when you sleep at night. She will not be able to heal the damage done to your soul.”

Lav slammed the car door before going inside, hoping she could change before a very early morning meal.

On the edge of Fox Forest, a heap of mangled fur lay only moving with the flow of labored breaths. The demon princess Myra appeared, falling to her knees and cradling the head of the white vargulf of her own creation in her arms. “My love,” She whispered sadly, “I did this to you. I am so sorry.”

The wolf whined and tried to stand, however his weakness did not allow him to. He simply laid limp in her lap, bleeding out from the wounds Jughead had given him mere hours before. She could heal his flesh wounds but that was about it. His mind and the disease that plagued him...that she could not fix. Not with all the black magic in the world. What she needed was white. Pure white magic. Her tainted love was simply not enough.

After muttering an incantation, Myra was able to reduce his size enough for her to pick him up comfortably, cradling him in her arms as she took him to the closest place she knew. Sunnyside trailer park. The sun was rising but he would not change until she allowed him to. This form she could carry much easier than his human one.

She transported the both of them to the master bathroom as it had a garden tub that would be better suited for soaking him. Lavender had been in her room, adjusting her appearance so that she was blonde. Using makeup and magic to make fake wounds on her as if she’d been attacked. She planned on going after one of those idiot men in The Red Circle. Killing them off one by one would save them a lot of trouble in the future.

She smelled them before she saw them. Kurtz had begun to smell like rotting flesh long before now, but the rain had made it much much worse. Now his scent was worse than roadkill and she had no idea how Myra was going to fix him. She could sense her master’s distress, and was unsure if it was wise for her to check in on them.

“Myra?” Lav called out, appearing in the doorway. Kurtz was in the tub, human and naked now. He was covered in deep wounds that were slowly closing thanks to Myra’s magic. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out as his head lulled to the side.

“Go eat,” Myra hissed at her, hiding her despair with anger, “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

The succubus held in a sigh as she put on a pair of Jimmy Choo heels and walked out to find her next victim. Whatever soul she chose, she knew it would never compare to the one she took from her warlock on that night. She was beginning to feel the startings of her morning sickness but ignored it as she set out for breakfast. She realized how much she missed Charlie’s company, but had to tell the wolf to keep her distance for the time being. She didn’t want Myra to kill the one person in all the world who might actually be her friend.

“Kurtz,” Myra whispered as she gently cleaned his face with a washcloth. “Kurtz, please wake up. I need you to wake up now. It’s over. The sun is rising.” Black tears streamed down her pale face.

The man who was once nothing more than a human, opened his light brown eyes to gaze at her. Black rings of exhaustion circled them, making him look more like a raccoon than anything. The holes around his neck caused by teeth were healing, the bruised tissues returning to a more natural color. “What is happening to me?” He said in a struggling exhale. Speaking took more energy than he had at the moment.

She tried to smile, did her damnedest to, but it faltered and fell. “You are sick, my love.” She murmured to him. He had no idea what he was. All he knew was that time would pass and he’d have no memory of it. He’d wake covered in blood, unaware of the death and destruction he had brought. As the weeks went by he lost more and more time. Soon, he feared, there would be nothing but darkness.

“I will get you help, Kurtz.” She murmured, kissing his forehead, “I promise you will be whole once again and no more harm will ever come to you.

+++

“Help!” Lav cried out as she stumbled towards the group, holding one bloodied arm in her hand. “Please, someone help me!”

A tall, buff human man ran to her first as others gasped in shock. “You’re safe now, come on, we’ll protect you.” He would have taken his letterman jacket off and given it to her but it was soaking wet. The blonde wept in his arms, large crocodile tears rolling down her face as he had to carry her to get her to keep up.

“What happened?” Archie asked as his right hand man, Reggie Mantle, came closer with the crying girl in his arms. “Miss, did a wolf attack you?”

“It was a crazy white one, I thought it was going to kill me!” She wailed dramatically as she clung to Reggie, “please, I don’t want to be alone.” With her touch she traced the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt started, forcing her will into him. He wouldn’t be able to resist taking her home.

“You want to stay with me for a bit? You look like you could use some sleep.” He said, body tensing with desire. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Lav cried, hugging him close and hiding the wicked grin that was spreading across her pink lips.

Once at his apartment, one thing very quickly turned into another. They were kissing passionately on his couch after he made her a cup of coffee that was quickly forgotten. His moves were sloppy and she felt like he was slobbering all of her instead of making out with her. Normally she found fun in the hunt but tonight the guilt of knowing she was hiding a dark secret from Lily was plaguing her.

Clothes were ripped off one another, their naked forms bumping and grinding until he hit his release fairly quickly after entering her. Since having sex with Sweet Pea, all of her little rendezvous with others seemed to fall so very...short. She took very little pleasure in any of this.

As he came she drank in his soul and shifted into her demonic form. Before Reggie could even scream, she was digging into his chest with her claws and ripping his heart out. She remained straddling his corpse as she took a large bite from the organ, savoring the taste of all the misdeeds he had done. At least it was one less idiotic brute to have to worry about.

Lav got off of him, standing and stretching as she found her phone tucked away inside the dress that had been so carelessly taken off her form. She dialed a number, sure that he and Lily would be done for the time being.

“Lavie?” He looked at the time and she heard him groan, “what is it?”

“Do you remember our deal, Jughead?” She asked, putting on a voice full of false innocence.

“You need me to do that now?” He asked, and she could tell how tired he was. It almost made her feel bad. Almost.

Lav was smiling as she made her way into the bathroom of the apartment. “Send some dogs over, it’ll be fine. Just make sure no one sees them. This one was….how do you say it...a VIP?”

The line went silent for a moment. “Who did you kill, Lavender?” Jughead asked, his voice suddenly serious.

She cut on the water, putting it on the hottest setting. “Some meathead named Reggie Mantle. You know, The Red Circle was so willing to help a girl in need. I just simply couldn’t help myself.”

“Lavender…” Jughead said, breathing out an angry sigh, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The demon hung up the phone, placed it on the sink basin and stepped into the shower having never been more pleased with herself in her entire life as she was in this exact moment.

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[hvlfwygod]

the ferryman | gabriele & abel & lucien (& chiron) (& etc)

summary: some spirits are moved more easily than others

Gabriele wasn't sure why he'd come anymore. His company was frustrating at best and— he didn't want to be uncharitable and finish the thought. He'd come not because he was doing anything particularly useful, but because he was worried. He thought Lucien had been perfectly secure in the hospital, but apparently the bed was needed. So, he was going to the Big House instead. Despite getting Jordan to seal all the windows and Chiron's repeated assurances, he could not shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. His goddess was whispering something, but he couldn't quite catch it. Really, he just wanted to see Lucien get inside this room and the door get locked. And he wanted a friend by his side while he waited with Jordan for this transfer to occur. But Abel was sulking, honestly sulking, and Gabriele prayed to be out of the bad energy soon. "You didn't lose, Abel," he said, not for the first time.

Jordan said that he’d meet everyone there, trying to spend as little time as possible with every single component of this. He’d told them before he left that he’d done the research, and turns out, Hecate, though excellent with communicating with and guiding spirits, had no actual control over them. Turns out, there was no way that the spell was supposed to work with putting a second spirit in the body. Because Major came back, it complicated things. He was an anomaly, and there was... basically nothing Jordan could do about it, besides put a locking spell on his holding cell, apparently. He shivered under four layers, his body protesting the cold and yet refusing to warm up.

Abel was on the other side of Gabriele, just as quiet, though the gloom did seem to seep from their pores. As Gab spoke, they turned up their nose. “Ah, I didn’t say that I did.” This time. “You can stop speaking to me as though I am a petulant child.” They were almost grumbling instead of speaking. “Had I decided to go for lethal blows he would not be standing there anyway.”

Gabriele rubbed his hands together, unconsciously affected by Jordan's shivering. He sighed deeply. "I'm not speaking to—" He had half a mind to ask Jordan if he also thought that he was speaking to Abel like they were a petulant child, then he realized that doing that might vindicate them. "Alas, my attempts at encouragement fall on unwilling ears. I am sure you're correct, and let's be thankful that you went easy on the poor man." He sighed again. "I still think this is a bad idea. Jordan, the room will hold, yes?"

Abel only sighed more at Gabriele’s reply, feeling more patronized, and Jordan could feel the aura of death creeping in on him, though he didn’t know quite what it was. He hunched his shoulders up as if that might keep him warmer, and suddenly a cat appeared on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck like a scarf and blending into his hair. At the question, both man and cat tensed, and his eyes found another person as if for the first time. “I don’t fucking know,” he snapped. “I’m literally fucking here because I’m a failed magician. I think it’ll hold. I don’t know.”

Abel glared at Jordan over Gab. “Shut up. Stop sulking because you accidentally possessed a person. Poor you.”

Gabriele bristled slightly at Jordan’s reply and even more at Abel’s. Though he was inclined to agree with them: as much as he believed in second chances, and even pitied Jordan’s situation, he didn’t appreciate being snapped at. “Abel, shush. Jordan, you are not a failed magician. I would argue you’re actually quite competent, which for this instance is quite unfortunate. You’ll have to forgive my paranoia, as since you cannot do much else to assist us, we’ll have to wait until Abel is healed to help our friend.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The vibrations off these two were unbearable. “I do not like playing with fire by giving Lucien more time to scheme, but it cannot be helped. The least I can do is make sure he cannot run off.”

Jordan clenched his jaw and Crinitus growled at Abel, looking as though he might leap off Jordan’s neck before he got a pat from his owner. “It was a stupid question. I gave an equal response.” Fuck this year, thank god it’s almost over, Jordan thought to himself as he walked away from the other two, not giving them time to reply to him. He approached each of the windows, drawing sigils so they would stay locked tightly. Crinitus followed down Jordan’s arm, as if inspecting and reinforcing the windows.

“Don’t listen to him,” Abel muttered, as though they needed to be the one to reassure Gab. “It was a good question. He’s just upset.” They hung their head. “I wish I was well enough to extract more from him. I might be. I’ve been using shadow magic each night to heal myself and I think Ime might be messing with me to keep me on the crutches as a joke.”

Gabrielle watched Jordan walk away with a weary expression, then turned his attention to Abel. He tilted his head, studying them for a moment. “I would prefer you be safe, Abel. I would hate to see you hurt yourself more. I’m sure Major would, too.” He didn’t know this, but he wanted to reassure Abel. Gabriele rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. “How bad was it when you took those smaller ghosts out?”

“It’s not hurting me. I’m perfectly able to do it,” Abel was muttering once more. “Not like I need my leg to extract a ghost.” They rubbed their eyes with two fingers and pinched the bridge of their nose at the question. “That’s the real reason I’m afraid to do more. He started bleeding internally, I think. Coughing up blood and the like. I’ve never taken a ghost out of someone before, but it seemed strenuous.”

Gabriele decided he wasn't going to argue with Abel about why they should wait for a stab wound to heal before doing anything strenuous like exorcise a ghost. Something told him that it would only end in further frustration. Instead he focused on their answer to his question. "I see," he said with a frown. He took a few steps away from Abel, hoping the bit of space might help to clear his head. "I think I can—" Gabriele paused when he saw a car approaching. His eyes flickered over to Jordan, then Abel, then he walked over to the passenger door as Chiron unfolded himself from it. "How is he?"

"Difficult to move," Chiron said. He, too, seemed incredibly annoyed. At least they all had each other for company.

Gabriele moved to peek into the car. Lucien was handcuffed in the backseat and trying very hard to not be. Gabriele was given a hard, hateful stare, and an unkind comment that he only heard partly, muffled as the man was by the closed window. He rolled his eyes and walked back over to Abel. "I was saying, I can try to ease that burden.

Jordan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Crinitus, true to his name, floofed out as he pressed closer to his owner. He had no desire to see Lucien ever again, and he walked back to Gabriele and Chiron. “Done. I’m leaving.” Despite his words, he didn’t disappear right away, awaiting any sort of further instruction.

Abel did seem like they were starting to disappear. At the sight of the car, Abel’s form began to fade from vision, as though hiding themself from Lucien.

Lucien knew it was probably a hopeless endeavor, but he tried to break out of Chiron's hold anyway. As he was hauled out of the car, he tried to push his way to freedom. Of course, it was to no avail, but it didn't stop him from kicking and thrashing. He couldn't believe there was an audience for this, and he was newly enraged when he saw that Jordan was among it. For a single moment, he thought the man was here to help him, but then it became clear and Lucien bared his teeth. "You fucking traitor," he sneered.

Was Abel even listening to him? Gabriele looked up to the sky. "That would be nice, Gabriele," he mumbled under his breath, so quiet he doubted anyone heard him with Lucien throwing such a fit. "Thank you."

With no further instructions and even less of a desire to stay now that Lucien was directly speaking to him, Jordan ignored the hissing cat on his shoulder and disappeared with a small pop.

Abel glanced over at Gabriele when he spoke once more. “Hm?” The shadows under their eyes were more pronounced, though it could be to do with their near transparency. “Ah, ya, thank you. Sorry, I just don’t know if a peaceful passing is an option at this point.”

Gabriele just watched as Chiron hauled Lucien inside. Normally he would offer to help with a task that looked as difficult as this, but Gabriele had no interest in getting kicked in the face over someone else's bad idea. Besides, Chiron was strong, and for Lucien's struggles he was inside the house in a matter of seconds. Gabriele followed after from a safe distance. "I agree. It's doubtful, with that one," he said. "But I want to try something, okay? Come with me."

Abel resisted the urge to groan loudly in displeasure, instead they just kept a small frown below their face mask. When asked them to come, they followed after Gabriele.

Gabriele managed a smile, then sped up his walk. "Chiron?" he called out as he walked into the Big House.

The centaur looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" His arm was fully wrapped around Major's body, and Lucien seemed to be exhausting himself; his struggles were getting more vague and had longer pauses in between. Now it looked to be nothing to just hold the man relatively still.

Gabriele cleared his throat and pointed to Lucien. "May I quickly speak to—”

"I'm not talking to you," Lucien snarled.

Gabriele smiled. "You don't have to say anything, actually."

Chiron sighed. "Quickly." He tightened his grip and turned so that Lucien, glaring at anything other than him, was facing Gabriele.

Wasting no time, Gabriele moved a little closer and stared at Lucien. Eye contact would be easier, but since it was so... busy in this body, he could manage. "Hello?" he asked gently. Was he imagining things, or did Major's body slump somewhat? Regardless, he felt that he had someone's attention. "How are you feeling?"

Abel ran their tongue over their teeth as they watched Gabriele and whoever it was inside of Major’s body he was speaking to. They noted the change in posture and pitch of the ringing in their ears as they shifted their weight from their heel rather than their toes.

No answer came out loud, but Gabriele felt it: restless, uncertain, grasping at empty air. "Forgive me for disturbing you," he said; it was only because it was definitely not Lucien that he was being so polite. "What are you doing in there?" Another quiet moment, but this time Major's hands twitched slightly. Gabriele took it gently and felt the ghost become more grounded in Major's body. Or rather... many, cobbled together. There was halfway a conscious person here. Gabriele swallowed his disgust and pressed on. It felt as though a thousand pairs of eyes were on his back, so he knew he had many spirits listening in, not just the ones who responded to his greeting. "I am not here to hurt you. I simply think you are lost. This is not where you belong, and if you feel stuck, I am able to guide you out. You need only follow my voice." Immediately, he felt something brush against his hand. Just a few ghosts, but it was better than nothing.

Abel had never seen Gabriele work before, and they went from quietly sulking to entirely rapt. They could understand now why a goddess would have chosen Gab for his job. How comforting would it be to have a soothing voice to follow at a time of such confusion and stress. His voice was hope. It was a vocal guiding hand, and they suddenly forgot that they were upset and sulking.

Gabriele allowed another moment to pass to see if anyone else would join his small group, but all the rest of the ghosts seemed unwilling or too uncertain. He didn't push it for now, and let go of Major's hand. "Sono venuto per avvolgerti e proteggerti da tutte le cose malvagie," he mumbled. "I'll take you soon, stay with me."

Lucien was already starting to stir, so Gabriele stepped back, his new spiritual posse moving with him like little orbiting moons. "I will come back and talk to more. I shouldn't try to guide too many at once."

"Ugh," Lucien moaned before Chiron could get a word in. He lifted his head groggily, like he'd just woken from a long sleep, and spat at Gabriele's feet. "Fuck you." Gabriele ignored this.

Chiron did, too. "That... Well, let me know when you plan to visit, so we can have him ready."

"Fuck you."

Gabriele smiled again. "Of course." He turned to Abel. "If I can help enough of these spirits, it should hopefully make your job less... painful, no?"

Abel didn't quite know how to express how much they needed Gabriele to help them at their job. After seeing him in action, the wanted to let him know that they thought his technique was both brilliant and moving, but they weren't sure if it was quite time for such sentiments, especially in front of Lucien. They nodded once, eyes bright and focused on Gab. "I... yes, I think that it would."

He noticed that Abel was no longer pouting. It was like the whole room got a little brighter, and Gabriele's smile grew. "Good. I am glad."

Once the demonstration seemed to end, Chiron lifted Lucien off the floor completely and walked him further into the house. He kicked his legs in protest, but there wasn't much he could do.

Gabriele watched Chiron disappear into the house as he headed for the door himself. "I am going to go somewhere more secluded to finish this," he said to Abel, gesturing the ghosts surrounding him. "But I will speak to you later, si?"

Abel almost smiled back at Gab, and then remembered that the slightest uptick of their lips would be imperceptible to their friend anyway. “Ya,” they agreed with a nod, starting out of the room after Gabriele. “If you can still find pleasure in my company after today.”

[mythiica]

Shingen Takeda x Nobunaga Oda - A Game of Go

Title: A Game of Go

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Shingen Takeda, Nobunaga Oda

Genre: SMUT

Warnings: yo if you aint into the gay shit i heavily suggest you move on, but if you are into the gay shit, come sit around my campfire (part 2)

Kinks: dirty talk, name calling, anal, face fucking, hair pulling, internal cumming, etc 

Word Count: 2367 words

Other comments: wow is this a request ? no , is this a long smut? Yes , enjoy

When Shingen walked up the stairs to the tenshu, he could see Nobunaga standing in the doorway, waiting for him. He brushed past the Devil King and took a seat at the small table. Shingen reached for one of the playing pieces and moved it over. 

            ���Hello to you to, Tiger of Kai?” 

           Shingen smirked and bowed his head. “Apologies, my lord. I thought it best to skip the formalities and get right to the game.” 

           Nobunaga padded around the room, lit a lantern, and sat opposite of Shingen. “Any reason as to why?” 

           “Not at all.” 

           Nobunaga won easily, of course. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn’t win, but the warlord suspected that Shingen had thrown his knowledge of go away to allow the game to finish faster. Despite losing, and pretty badly as well, Shingen propped himself up on a strong arm and smiled widely at Nobunaga. “So, my lord, what will you take as your prize?” 

           The Devil King pushed the board to the side, his eyes raking over Shingen. He noticed that Shingen’s haori was looser than usual, inviting his gaze to follow the hem of the fabric as it brushed past Shingen’s muscles. Nobunaga drew closer to Shingen and hastily began untying the obi around Shingen’s waist. He looked up for a split second, and, upon meeting’s Shingen’s gaze, he lost himself in those dark eyes. 

           “You,” Nobunaga whispered as Shingen reached out. His hand clamped on the back of Nobunaga’s neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss. They had focused on the game and denied themselves the pleasure they sought for – now, with no rules to hold them back, they surrendered to each other. 

           Still locked in the kiss, Nobunaga yanked the fabric away from Shingen’s shoulders and pushed him down to the matted ground. Shingen could not help but laugh as his head hit the floor. “Eager, are we?” 

           “Says you, you’ve been staring at me all day in the war council. I nearly threw something at you.” 

           Shingen’s hands rode up Nobunaga’s thighs, pushing his kosode upwards as much as possible. “You were doing so well, giving orders. I was admiring, not staring,” Shingen explained. “And really, who could blame me?” Shingen lifted an arm to place a hand against Nobunaga’s cheek. His skin was warm from embarrassment, and Nobunaga refused to meet Shingen’s gaze. 

           “Flattering me won’t change the fact that tonight,” Nobunaga narrowed his eyes, “tonight I take you.” Without saying more, Nobunaga rips open the remaining layers of Shingen’s outfit, but his breath hitches when he is met with the fact that Shingen was not wearing a fundoshi – or anything for that matter – under the outermost layers of his attire. 

           He smirked and squirmed around, his hair fanning out around his head. “I came prepared – I had a feeling that the evening would end like this,” Shingen purred. 

           Nobunaga pulled his clothes over his head as quickly as possible. “End? Oh, we’re just getting started, Tiger.” He stalled for a moment to reach over Shingen and grab a small jar off the table next to them. Setting it next to him, he flicked off the cap and scooped a handful of the contents. Oil dripped from his fingers, and Nobunaga turned his attention back to Shingen. Upon doing so, Nobunaga makes the mistake of grazing his arm over Shingen’s already hard member. 

           Shingen releases a low hiss, and his cock twitches in anticipation. He shifts to cover his face like a shy child would do. Nobunaga laughed heartily at this. With Shingen sprawled underneath him, Nobunaga suddenly felt overwhelmed with a dominant aura. He could do whatever to Shingen in the moment. 

           “Hard already? But I haven’t even done anything,” Nobunaga growled, his lubricated fingers wrapping around the base of Shingen’s cock. 

           “Just standing there, watching you, was enou- ahh.” But Shingen’s words fell short of a complete sentence when Nobunaga flexed his palm against Shingen. His calloused hand worked Shingen’s length, coaxing more moans from him. 

           Nobunaga marveled at how responsive Shingen was. In the reverse situation, Shingen seemed to be a different person – immune to backtalk or any type of touch – but like this? He writhed at Nobunaga’s touch, fueling him to continue the actions. It made his own member go hard and butterflies dance in his stomach. 

           The oil helped Nobunaga’s hand fly across Shingen, pumping his cock until he feels Shingen tense. His thighs go taut, so Nobunaga removes his hand immediately. “Think I’d let you cum so fast?” His expression darkened and he reached for another handful of oil. “Not in the slightest.” 

           Shingen ran a hand through his hair. He regained his calm air and tipped his head up, exposing his neck and inviting Nobunaga to explore. “And I thought that if I put on a show, you’d be nice to me. Alas, you’re more of a sadist than I thought,” he dawled.

           Nobunaga froze for a moment, and then it dawned on him that Shingen had been exaggerating because he knew that Nobunaga liked it. He bit his lip and growled, displeased with the fact that he hadn’t actually managed to make Shingen moan like that. 

           “Fuck you, I’m going to make you whine and beg like the slut you are,” he grunte as he rubbed himself, spreading the oil over his cock. He was about to dive for more, but then stopped as a better idea dawned him. 

           He pulled Shingen sharply and scooted forwards, his knees on either side of Shingen’s head. Before the warlord has a chance to inquire what was happening, Nobunaga pressed the tip of his cock past Shingen’s lips. 

           Nobunaga groaned as Shingen welcomed his length in his mouth. Shingen was quick to begin sucking his lord off as well as he could. His lips wrapped around Nobunaga’s length, and he smirked when he tasted the bitterness of precum. 

           Nobunaga did not realize that Shingen was so skilled at giving blowjobs. He groaned and closed his eyes tightly and Shingen inhaled particularly sharply. When he moaned, Shingen cupped his hands over Nobunaga’s ass and pushed him in deeper. Nobunaga did not know who was in control – he thought that Shingen would wince as he was face fucked, but instead, it were almost as if he had no gag reflex. 

           He gripped Shingen’s hair tightly as he grew closer and closer to his release. Shingen moaned, and the added vibrations sent Nobunaga over his edge, his cum filling Shingen’s mouth quickly. 

When he pulled out, Shingen propped himself up and let the cum bubble from his lips. Nobunaga, still panting heavily, swallowed hard as he watched Shingen. The scene was highly erotic, and Nobunaga felt himself get hard again. This wasn’t fair. He was supposed to be in control of the situation, not Shingen. And yet, despite being a bottom, Shingen still had Nobunaga wrapped around his finger. 

           Nobunaga gritted his teeth together before leaning down and gripping Shingen’s jaw tightly. “You took that better than I would have expected.” He raised an eyebrow when Shingen showed no sign of wavering. “Have you done this before?” The warlord only realized after he spoke that he sounded out of breath – likely from cumming in such a short period of time. 

           Shingen smirked as his tongue flicked out to catch a bit of semen hanging from the corner of his lips. “Why do you want to know? Would you be jealous if I said yes?” 

           He hadn’t thought about it that far. Nobunaga just wanted to know. Perhaps if he let it get to him, he would, in fact, become jealous, so he brushed the topic away and gave himself a few pumps. “I think your mouth gave me enough that I shouldn’t have any problems.” Nobunaga glanced at Shingen for a split second. “You, however, will be sore tomorrow.” 

           Shingen smiled and opened his legs, accepting Nobunaga’s words as a challenge more than a threat. 

           Growling, Nobunaga yanked Shingen’s ankle backwards. “You’re a brat–” 

           “Only for you, my lord~” 

           Nobunaga no longer granted Shingen the chance to be coy, for he swiftly entered Shingen and opted to fuck him right away rather than giving him a chance to adjust to the sensation. “You’re going to regret running that mouth of yours. You’re not a fragile whore from the corner, so I can do whatever I want to you–” 

           “For all you know, I am fragile. Don’t break me, my lord.” 

           “Shut up! You are about as fragile as my ego is.” 

           After saying this, he dug his nails into the back of Shingen’s thighs to leave marks in the skin. His pelvis flushed against Shingen with every smooth motion, and he tossed his head back as a string of moans dripped from his lips. He held the back of his thigh to keep it lifted, and Nobunaga pushed his leg against his chest. 

           Shingen flicked his tongue out to lick his lips. “I don’t know, my lord.” He cracked a smile. “Your cock is girthier than I remember. When our positions were reversed–” 

           “You–” Nobunaga bit back. He growled with annoyance and thrust hard into Shingen. 

           Shingen clenched around Nobunaga, taking all of his length, but when the Devil King shifted, the tip of his cock rammed against Shingen’s prostate. When Shingen moaned, it was louder than any of the fake sounds from before, so Nobunaga knew he did something right. 

           Satisfied with his findings, Nobunaga continued to batter against the spot until Shingen began to drool. It glinted in the lantern light, and Nobunaga found it insanely erotic, so he leaned over the Tiger of Kai to drag his tongue over Shingen’s muscles. “Do you like this? Being dominated?” 

           “Y-Yes– You’re hitting my prostate–” Shingen mewled meagerly. He tensed before reaching up to run his fingers through Nobunaga’s hair. “My lord, you know how to make someone feel good…” 

           He grunted in response to the compliment, and shoved two fingers into Shingen’s mouth. “I know I fuck well, I don’t need you to tell me that.” 

           Nobunaga did not want to tell him that he enjoyed hearing it though. In fact, having Shingen Takeda under him did wonders for his ego – Shingen was much larger than him, and yet, Nobunaga had reduced him to a blushing, whining mess. 

           Shingen batted his eyelashes at Nobunaga as he simultaneously sucked on Nobunaga’s fingers and rolled his hips to match the pace of his thrusts. Every time he hummed, Nobunaga could feel his chest rumbling. 

           “Hah… what a slut,” Nobunaga mumbled to himself. He caught Shingen’s tongue between his digits. “I bet you want me to cum inside of you too. Or do you prefer for me to mark you externally?” 

           “M-My Lord–” Shingen started, but Nobunaga cut him off by rubbing his palm against Shingen’s throbbing cock. His tongue fell from his mouth, and Shingen gave Nobunaga a perfect cum face as he bucked hopelessly against his hand. Shingen desperately sought his release, but Nobunaga removed his hand and stepped back slightly. His cock popped out, slick with white. 

           Nobunaga teased Shingen’s gaping hole with a finger before bending down to bite Shingen’s inner thigh. “Say it again.” 

           “Say what?” 

           “Call me your lord again.” Nobunaga dragged his tongue across the purpling skin. “Remember that I’m dominating you tonight–” 

           Shingen’s lips curled into a smile, and he let his hand fall to his cock as to pump his tip. “My lord, indeed, you have found what makes me melt–” 

           “My cock?” Nobunaga brushed his thumb over Shingen’s lips. “Say it–” 

           “Your cock–” 

           He continued to stroke himself and inhaled short breaths as he approached his climax. Nobunaga bucked harder into Shingen, not bothering to stop when he saw white dribbling down onto Shingen’s chest. Nobunaga slaps Shingen’s hands away to rub his fingers against Shingen’s tip and coax more cum from his cock. 

           Shingen tried to say something, but his moans took over and filled the tenshu. The sounds egged Nobunaga on, and he quickly fell over his own edge only to fill Shingen with his seed. It suddenly felt warmer and tighter than before, like Shingen was purposefully clenching down on him. 

           “Fuck.. Takeda–” 

           He smiled in response to being called. “Yes, my lord?” 

           Nobunaga pulled out slowly, and cum spilled out of Shingen, dribbling down his legs and onto the matted ground. His watched the white pool out, but his cheeks flushed, so Nobunaga’s eyes darted around the room. He noticed that, in the chaos of it all, he managed to knock over the jar of oil. It spilled over the mats and stained them, so Nobunaga clicked his tongue. 

           “You made a mess of yourself and the floor.” Nobunaga reached for Shingen’s clothes and tossed them back to him as he sat up. 

           “I don’t get to stay the night?” 

           At this, Nobunaga scoffed. “The invitation was for a game of go, not to have a sleepover.” He pouted like a child and turned his head away. 

           Shingen held the wad of clothes before leaning forward to kiss Nobunaga’s exposed collarbone. “Nor did it include… fornica–”

           Nobunaga whipped around and covered Shingen’s mouth quickly. “Shut up!” he hissed. “Get dressed and go before I throw you off the balcony!” 

           “So cold~” Shingen teased as he pulled his wrinkled haori over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, my lord, this will remain our secret. Just like the time before–” 

           “Out!” 

           Shingen stood up and pressed a quick kiss to the crown of Nobunaga’s head. “Sleep well.” 

           And he was gone. 

           Nobunaga lingered in the silence, half hoping that Shingen would come back with a bottle of sake and a bright grin spread across his stupid face, but he did not. Swallowing hard, Nobunaga brought his legs up to his chest. He sat there for a moment before covering himself with a loose fitting kimono. 

           He padded over to the balcony and watched Shingen cross the gardens to make it to his room. At the last second, just before he dipped into his room, Shingen turned around and looked directly at Nobunaga. 

           And winked. 

[brin-guivera]

(via Ten Favourite Characters from The Untamed)

ten favourite characters from the untamed

It’s been a while since I did one of these type of posts (outside of Top Ten Tuesday anyway) and as a small celebration for hitting my 1000th post on the blog (this very one, as a matter of fact!) I have decided to do a post based on my most recent obsession The Untamed!

I have already talked at length about this series in various posts (and did a review of the series here) but I thought it might be fun to share with you my favourite characters. This is based on the live action televised drama – not the web-novel / donghua series or other platforms where it has appeared.

I do like a lot of characters in this series (even some I’m not supposed to like – hey, they are great characters even if they are not good people!) but there are some that are my extra-special favourites.

10. lan jingyi

I love all of the juniors really, but Lan Jingyi made it into the 10th spot because he is the “most un-Lan Lan to ever Lan in the history of Lan”  – thus spake the fanbase! Most of the Gusu Lan Sect and calm and peaceful, serene and tranquil. Lan Jingyi is snarky and impatient, with a short fuse and temper. However, he also has a kind heart and is extremely loyal.

I like him a lot because although he does share the Lan clan’s beliefs he goes about it in a completely different way! He is definitely an individual and we need more of those!

9. lan xichen

Lan Wangji’s elder brother and one of the Twin Jades of Lan. Lan Xichen is a gentle and kind-hearted soul who is very trusting, almost to a fault. He is also extremely protective of his younger brother and does his best to help the aloof and distant Lan Wangji make friends. Lan Xichen has a keen ear for music and is known for being able to diffuse tense situations.

Lan Xichen is the perfect older brother – caring and supportive. Although he can be a little bit naive, he is kind at heart and a genuinely good person.

8. wen qing

The best doctor the Wen Clan has, she is a strong and capable woman, slow to trust but quick to help where she can. Wen Qing is forced to serve the power-hungry Wen Ruohan who has a hold over her through her younger brother Wen Ning. She is aloof, cold, and above all extremely intelligent. Initially, she distrusts Wei Wuxian but gradually warms up to him because of his kind and helpful nature.

Wen Qing is a great character – she is capable and powerful and not necessarily warm but cares about others in her own way. Once you have her loyalty you never lose it.

7. wen ning

The shy, gentle, and timid younger brother of Wen Qing, who suffers from a strange illness due to being exposed to the Ying Iron as a young child. He is fiercely loyal especially to Wei Wuxian who was one of the few people to show him any kindness outside of his sister. When the Wen clan falls from power, he is turned into The Ghost General, and becomes Wei Wuxian’s right hand man (as his powers of demonic cultivation are able to control Wen Ning’s powers when they emerge).

Wen Ning is a total sweetheart – he has this horrible reputation yet is the purest soul to ever live. I just love him to bits!

6. lan sizhui

A disciple of Lan sect who is raised by Lan Wangji when his family is taken from him. He is a calm and gentle person who is very mature for his young age and is able to wield his abilities carefully and with great skill. Lan Sizhui’s past is a mystery to him but he feels an undeniable connection to Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning when the former is returned to life.

Lan Sizhui is a total dear – he really is the bestest boy! Genuinely warm-hearted and giving, he also is very capable and has everything it takes to be a powerful cultivator.

5. jiang cheng

Opinionated and hot-headed, Jiang Cheng has been raised with his siblings Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian (who was adopted into the Jiang clan after the death of his parents). Jiang Cheng cares very deeply for his loved ones but he is not great at showing it. He has a bad temper and often lashes out at those he cares about (who ultimately recognise that this is just how he shows affection). He dotes upon his nephew Jin Ling even though he often appears strict and sharp-tongued with him.

Jiang Cheng is probably the most misunderstood character. The breakdown of his relationship with Wei Wuxian, and his inability to see how his own actions (or inactions) also led to the tragic events that he hates his brother for, sours his character for a lot of people. Personally, I like him, warts and all, though I do get why many of his critics dislike him. He isn’t an easy character to like but I do like him all the same. 😉

4. nie huaisang

Nie Huisang is initially a contemporary of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng in their school days at the Gusu Lan clan’s annual seminar. Seen as weak and unskilled, he is well-known for his supposed incompetence. Nicknamed the ‘head shaker’ and referred to as ‘know nothing’, he doesn’t have the best reputation. After the death of his brother Nie Mingjue, he becomes the leader of the Nie Sect.

Nie Huisang is a very intriguing character. Although depicted as being incapable (he carries a fan instead of a sword) there is more to him than meets the eye. Showing rare moments of cleverness and keen intuition, he nonetheless crumbles (and usually faints!) when things get tough. But is it all an act? It is hinted that there is more to him than there first appears – this is then further confirmed in the spin-off Fatal Journey. I really like him as a character, even just the hints you get in the main series. He is definitely one of my very favourites.

3. jiang yanli

Jiang Cheng’s elder sister (by blood) and Wei Wuxian’s adoptive elder sister, Jiang Yanli is a kind and caring person who does everything she can to protect her two brothers. She is the emotional heart of the trio and cares for them deeply, often providing support and cooking for them their favourite meals when they need cheering up. She has strong feelings for her arranged match Jin Zixuan and is devastated when he repeatedly snubs her. Eventually, he comes to care for her and they marry and have a child Jin Ling. Losing Yanli is what tears apart Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, she really appears to be the glue holding the triad together.

Yanli is such an amazing character and did not deserve her fate whatsoever. Her story is tragic and could have been preventable. Alas, it was not meant to be…

2. wei wuxian

Wei Wuxian is the main protagonist of the story. He is a disciple of the Jiang sect and has been raised as a sibling to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He is irrepressibly cheerful and mischievous as a youth, yet also very clever and deeply loyal. He cares deeply for his siblings and comes to view Lan Wangji as his soulmate and life-long confidante.

Due to the Wen clan’s machinations, he ends up pursuing demonic cultivation – a fact that puts him at odds with all of the other clans. He is also the only one to show the remnants of the Wen clan any kindness after their fall from grace and this too puts him in opposition of the other clans, including his own family. When he is defeated, he is mourned by no one; except Lan Wangji who feels remorse for not standing by his soulmate.

Wei Wuxian (or Wei Ying but it feels to personal to call him by his given name – only Lan Zhan can call him that!) is a character that is easy to root for. The television show smooths out some of his more problematic actions so he really is a victim and did not deserve to be vilified the way he was. His return after sixteen years reunites him with his Lan Zhan, who is no longer afraid to stick by him, no matter the consequence. Wei Wuxian is such a relatable main character – you cannot help but feel for him and want him to get his due, finally.

1. lan wangji

Lan Wangji (birth name Lan Zhan) is the second young master of the Lan sect. He is viewed as cold, strict, and distant. Considered difficult to get along with, a real ‘fuddy-duddy’ according to young Wei Wuxian. However, his aloof front hides a good heart and an ever-prevailing sense of justice. Due to his actions in taking down the Wen clan, he is granted the title of Hanguang Jun (roughly translated to Light Bearing Lord). His abilities cannot be faulted and he is considered a cultivator without equal.

Although they could not be more different, he becomes close with Wei Wuxian and recognises him as his soulmate. However, he is torn by his regard for the demonic cultivator and the rules of his peers. Unable to help him, he is devastated when Wei Wuxian is killed and carries that guilt for sixteen years. When they are reunited, it is clear that Lan Wangji will stand by Wei Wuxian, not matter the cost.

Lan Wangji, oh Lan Wangji, how I love you so… I did not foresee him becoming my favourite character when I started watching the series (the live action was actually my first introduction to this world). I was prepared to be a Wei Wuxian fangirl through and through (I kind of am though Lan Wangji is still my number one). There is just something about Lan Wangji though. He isn’t an easy character to get to know. He is very aloof and closed-off. However, when you peel that back you see the layers of sadness and how solitude has really cut him off from everyone else. This is like catnip to me as I love the tortured characters. Wei Wuxian, for all the external crap he goes through, is still underneath a positive and upbeat person (no matter how many times it gets beaten out of him). Lan Wangji… there is just something so lonely about him. I cannot help but love him.

***************

And that there is my top ten characters from The Untamed! I didn’t include Jin Guangyao on this list (even though he is a great character – I more love to hate him than love him!) Hope you have enjoyed me rambling on about them. I love this series so much and I am probably boring everyone to pieces but I just can’t help but talk about it!

**I haven’t mentioned a few of my other favourites such as Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen but I didn’t want to spoil their story, I may do a separate post about the Yi City arc at some point…**

[mylifeasevelyn]

Orphan

Hello dear stranger, it’s me, Evelyn. Yeah, it’s been a long time... I’ve written a lot of drafts throughout the past couple of months, but I could never finish them or wrap my thoughts properly... until today.

The past 15 months have all been about rediscovering myself after breaking free from my abuser. I truly thought it was going to be an easy transition, but fuck no, it wasn’t. The first six months were shit ‘cause she kept trying to contact me and trying fuck me up psychologically, and the following months were confusing, to say the least. Too much shit went down and thanks to the few years of free therapy I got from my shitty university, I’ve been processing everything without resorting to self destruction in the process. Ever since I broke contact with my abusive mother/the demon who cannot be named/former wife to my dad, my father and I have been sort of trying to bond as father-daughter. We have never been truly close and I truly can’t remember why ‘cause I cannot remember my childhood or teenage years. My memory is hazy from back then due to all the abuse and trauma I endured at such a young age. Anyways, overall, my life was going from ugh to meh (depression much? Lol)

Shit started to hit the fan on October 30th, 2019. I remember that day clearly because of what happened the following day... anyways, I remember asking my shrink to give a call asap. Within 30 minutes she gave me a call. I was studying at the library at the time. I exited the place and made my way to the closest place where I could speak privately. Long story short, I told her my depression was making a huge return. I was slowly but surely losing interest in the things I was doing, regardless of my feeble attempts to keep myself sane in the process. After she hang up, I kept thinking about how I no longer had anything to fight for. No real sense of family, no real sense of friends, nada. Not even a fucking a pet to come back home and take care of or something (although having a pet while being in this mental state is not my kinda thing to do tbh.) It was in that moment that I remembered that over ten years ago, I used to work as a waitress to grab some cash to eventually travel to Buenos Aires and see My Chemical Romance live, which I did (hell yeah.) Fuck, but that shitty dream of seeing them live again had ended there when the band broke up. October 31st came and well, y’all know what happened already. Having them back shook my world and gave me another reason to keep fighting this mental illness and all the other bullshit I’m still going through. The following weeks became more bearable, but still, something wasn’t right. Another month went by. It was a Wednesday midnight, I was about to get to bed when I got a text from my father, back at it again with the suicidal thoughts. He’s done this for the last couple of years, the first time affecting me so bad that I had a panic attack (fyi, we live in different cities, I can’t just go and see him right away.) Again, thanks to therapy, I’ve learnt how to take a step back and see things with a better perspective. After reading his text, I once again took the role of parentified child and tried my best to comfort him, and insisting on him getting therapy. And as stubborn as he is, he said no and started making excuses and me, as patient and comforting as I know I can be, I kept telling him that I couldn’t always be there for him and it would make me feel more at ease if he would just freaking go and see a professional. I gave him links to read and find the right therapist for him and all that jazz. I also told him that if he wasn’t gonna do it for him, then he should at least do it for his daughter. The following day he sent me pictures of him having a great fucking time with his friends while I was here, back home, fucking worried. So yeah, damn right I got angry at him. I didn’t reach back to him until the following Monday ‘cause he kept texting me and I was getting annoyed by the endless I’m okay pictures he was sending me. I gently told him to back off and give me space. More months went by and we kept being in touch and seeing each other, pretending like it was all freaking peachy, as always. Believe the lie. Remember?

January 2020 came by and a friend told me she was going to see a Queen tribute band with his dad and I thought it would be a great opportunity for my dad and I to properly bond, since we’re both passionate about music. I invited him to the show and he said yes. Another month went by and we met again. I could tell something was off about him the moment he walked through my door, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was doing my make up while he waited for me to be done. Mind you, we don’t talk much because he is a really quiet man when he is around me, my brother and his ex-wife. The moment he started talking I could tell he was venting, and I was carefully listening and responding when necessary. And that’s when he admitted to me that he was back to doing shady businesses with criminals. Since he knows I’m not a judgy person, he told me everything in detail. The more he told me, the more my body was becoming tense, to the point where I pulled a neck muscle. But my stomach truly turned when he told me, casually, that he had given my security number to a thug as “insurance”. The moment he said that, I remembered when he, a few weeks back, had asked for my security number and I asked why he needed it, and he said it was because he’d forgotten it. I was stupid and naîve enough to trust him and he straight up lied to me, yet again. Whenever fucked up shit like this happened, child me would become paralysed or mute. Hell, I used to stutter and mumble till age 13. My teachers were always nice to me about it ‘cause I was a good, responsible student. That’s all I can remember. So, it’s safe to say that I was in shock. He kept on talking and I could see my reflection in the mirror starting to change. Shit. Not a panic attack. Not now. I don’t know how, but I managed to keep my shit together. We left my apartment. I wasn’t feeling well. Something was wrong. I couldn’t process what had just happened. I was back to being a child. I couldn’t talk. I texted my shrink. It was an SOS moment. She couldn’t call me. Fuck. My mind kept telling me what happened is wrong, this is wrong... but what exactly_ is_ wrong? Why am I feeling this way? A couple of hours went by and I was able to block those thoughts from disrupting me. I slowly started chatting again. My father was unaware of what was happening. I’m pretty sure he thought I was grumpy or something. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me this way before, lol.Either way, he never asks about me, my life. It’s always been about him since we’ve officially “reconnected.” Well, the more I think about it, since forever.

Night time had finally come and it was time for the show. Things were still awkward between my father and me, but I was somehow more relaxed ‘cause I knew I was meeting my friend and her dad. They were late and my father and I were barely talking to one another, so I said fuck it, grabbed my phone and started checking my social media to make time go by faster. And alas, my friend and her dad finally made it. What a relief. I started feeling my usual self coming back. I was back to talking and being my usual goofy self. Unfortunately, my father was being an asshole, I cracked jokes and tried my best to include him in the conversation but he wouldn’t even laugh. He would just look away, so I retreated a bit and I went back to just being awkward with him. Right before the show started, there were two empty seats with a better view right next to were my friend was sitting, so my father suggested we should go and sit there instead. I gladly agreed. I changed seats right away. I looked back, he didn’t move an inch. Instead, he was signalling me what I think meant something like “yeah, yeah, go ahead” and at this point I was looking at him, confused. I was thinking: “dude, really? We’re supposed to be here and bond. Not sit three seats away from each other. Pff” My friend’s father was cool enough to change seats with my friend so that we could sit next to each other. So, there we were, from left to right: me, my friend, her father, and my father. At the moment, I remember telling my friend: “oh good, I hope they bond and have fun since they are almost the same age and wearing the same coloured t-shirts! Bahaha” The show went on smoothly. 10/10. But part of me was still keeping an eye on my father, making sure he was having a good time. My friend would check on him and tell me if he was having fun. As I predicted, he cried while singing his lungs out to Bohemian Rhapsody. Both him and I miss her deeply. His mother, my grandmother. Anyways, the show was over and I had to get back to my dad. The moment the lights were back on and I looked at him, I could tell he had been crying, so my stupid heart and empathic soul gave him a break and tried their best to get back on more friendly terms. Unfortunately, he was back to being unfriendly with the rest of us. So much so, that he grabbed my shoulder and moved me away from my friend and her dad. Again, it didn’t feel right when he did that. That feeling felt so familiar, but I couldn’t remember why... I eventually lost sight of my friend and we got lost in the crowd that was exiting the stadium. For a moment I stopped somewhere where there wouldn’t be a shit ton of people walking all over me and I turned around to see if I see if I could find them to at least say goodbye. My father was vocal again and told me to just keep going and I insisted on trying to find them. As you can guess, I had no luck finding them. Now it was time for me and him to go to each other’s home. At this point it was almost midnight and I had to get on a bus to go back. He insisted on taking me back home (40km away.) Had I found my friend, we would’ve gone back home together, as intended. The ride back home was filled by John Williams’ score of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I chose the music ‘cause at this point I had a headache and since I suffer from motion sickness and I was out of dramamine, I had to listen to my music. I tried making conversation and all I got back from him was “really”, “oh”, “yeah”, “oh, really?” and “oh, yes.” I was trying my best not to cry. The moment the score started playing A window to the past’s part in Mischief Managed! A memory came back. I used to lock myself up in my bedroom and play that song on loop while crying to drown out the sound of me sobbing. I also remember that whenever I cried too hard at night, the following day I’d had to wear make up on my eyes to cover my puffy eyes. I was fourteen years old back then. That was the year my father cheated on my mother and moved to my grandmother’s house, who had just passed away months prior to all that toxic drama that they always had. I didn’t cry because I wanted my mommy and daddy back together, fuck them. I cried because I had to go back to my dead friend’s house and have my happy memories turn to shit after seeing her house lifeless too. Remembering that fucked up memory puts me back on the brink of tears as I’m typing it now. Man, that’s the reason why I don’t enjoy listening to_ A window to the past _anymore. Anyways, I was back home safe and sound, him too. I was feeling mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.  

I abruptly woke up, found myself lost in my own bed, my own bedroom, my own apartment. I shook my head as an attempt to get my shit together and that was when I heard a voice in my head say: “he was abusive yesterday. He’s abusive too, just like her.” And_ fuck_. Yes. That was it. That’s why I felt weird. That’s why I almost had a panic attack. That’s why I almost cried twice throughout the day. He’s always been this way with me. He doesn’t know shit about me. Whenever I tell him something about me, he doesn’t even remember having that conversation at all. Hell, he can’t even remember my friends names! He never asks about how I’m doing, not that I care since we’re not close whatsoever, but you know, he should at least know that since, well, he’s my fucking father. Whenever he bought me a present growing up, it was always something he liked, something he wanted me to wear. Hell, I can’t even tell how many pink pieces of clothing I’ve gotten rid of because I fucking_ hate that colour, or maybe the reason why I fucking hate that colour so much is because of how much he forced me into wearing it. He’s always been a distant father, but at least he never beat the shit out of me or told me I was fat or ugly, or that he preferred my brother over me (like my abusive mother used to do.) Then again, that doesn’t make him any less abusive. Abuse is abuse. His motto’s always been “here, have this money, do whatever.” I used to appreciate that because I thought “cool, thank you for not being nosy.” Truth is, the reason why we can’t connect, bond or whatever is because he doesn’t give a shit about me. He’s been rejoicing on the fact that I’m “on his side” now because I no longer talk to abuser n° 1. On one of my sessions, my therapist told me that the reason why abuser 1 always did her best to crush my self-steem was because she considered me competition. And I dumbfoundedly asked “competition?”. And she replied: “yes, she feels like she was to compete with you for your father’s attention.” My head exploded after that statement. Right now I can’t help but think of what she told me that way. My father has kinda well more like really, been doing kinda the same shit to me, trying to keep me as close as possible to him, to the point where he texts every other day, which he never did until now. The suicide drama, the criminal activity, and a lot more shit that I’m sick of having to deal with. Like I said before, I’ve always been on the role of a parentified child. I always had to deal with this shit _and on my own. I’ve always been the punching bag. I always had to deal with all their drama when all I wanted was to have a normal childhood. All I got instead is a suicide attempt, a decade of self-harm and a long ass history of drug and alcohol abuse, which they know nothing about because I always kept it to myself. I always felt like a burden. I always felt guilty. I was always a “crybaby” because abuser 1 used to tell me that as a kid and whenever she used to see me cry about something as an adult.

So yeah, I’m fucking done with my family. Oh, and my brother? In case you haven’t read any of my previous posts, he’s just as an asshole as the other two are. He’s violent like abuser 1, so fuck you very much, I’m okay this way. He won’t talk to me and he won’t even tell me why. The rest of my family don’t know shit about me because I was always the “quiet one” so I know for a fact that I’m most likely the black sheep for not returning to my hometown in the past year or so. Abuser 1 is very into deceiving appearances and wearing a public mask, so I know for a fact that she’s playing the victim because she can’t reach me anymore, bahaha. fml.

With this post, I can officially say that I’m done grieving the family I always wanted to have but never did. I’ve been meaning to legally change my name because my middle name is abuser’s name 1 and now that abuser 2 has used my personal information against my will to do criminal activity, I have more than enough reasons to reinvent myself in every fucking way I want and need. With that being said, if you’ve got some last name suggestions, feel free to send me suggestions. This is only the beginning of the new chapter of my life. Hopefully your new chapter is starting now or soon too, dear stranger.

                                                                                                                Never give up, always fight

                                                                                                                        Love, Evelyn