#unfortunately they weren’t the only people who wanted to ‘settle’ this continent

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Having a country that got kicked off by puritans was a mistake

[cursecuelebre]

Roman Spirituality

I always wanted to make a blog about this topic because ever since I’ve heard about the Romans and their history that they copy and pasted Greek religion and their gods and such, I never understood it. This is a peninsula filled with people from different tribes and kingdoms before they synchronized their traditions with the Greeks. They had their own indigenous culture, gods, goddesses, and traditions. There is evidence of this and yes there is a few missing pieces but overall it proves that the Romans and the people living on the peninsula had their own culture. I will break it down in segments or try to at least explain this is mainly focusing on Rome than other kingdoms in Ancient Italy but feel free to jump around it's going to be a long blog, but I hope I did do my diligence of discussing this.

Romans weren’t the only people living on the Italian peninsula.

When we think of Ancient Italy and its history we usually think of Roman Empire and how could we not. The Romans accomplished many things, became the largest empire, influence many rulers, help flourishing Christianity. But before the Republic and the imperialism Rome wasn’t Rome, in fact Rome was a small little kingdom called Latium that resided in central western Italy. Latium - meant “Wide” or “Flatlands” and rested on the left bank of the Tiberius river And much like how Greece was it was a city state filled with many other kingdoms and such next to them.

Tuscans (more advanced politically and culturally). Commonly known as the Etruscans this considered to be the first Italic tribe and the oldest one with their written language inspiring Latin and their written language was similar to that of runes. Many of their political, traditions, religion was adopted or influenced by the Romans more so than Greeks. For instance Tinia their supreme God came to be known as Jupiter. Latins the tribe that will soon become the seat of the Roman Empire uniting itself with Samnites, Umbri from Umbria, Ligures, Oscans or the Osci, Sabines, Apuli, Brutti, Volscians, Lucanians or Lucani and the celts also settled on the Italian peninsula as well as Greek colonists. These tribes had their own languages and cultural traditions, but out of them the Romans took most inspiration from the Sabines and the Etruscans culturally and politically other than the Greeks.

Indigenous Roman Polytheism

Now when I say indigenous, I mean what the original people of Italy believed in during the Iron Age and trying to prove that the Roman gods are originated from Latium is difficult and not logical because remember people share and merge together and Italy is a peninsula and not much room of spacing out of tribes, they were living literally next to each other. However, even if they adopted similar beliefs and traditions, tribes were not the same at times didn’t speak the same language or believed the same way. The best way to compare it to is how in indigenous Americans, yes, they are on the same continent they may share similarities, but they still believed different religions, spoke in different languages, had different cultures. However, regarding with Rome specifically, in rise of the Roman Empire and Italy or Roma became united these beliefs tend to merge into one and adapting them.

So unfortunately, there is not many stories or information on Latium’s religious practices that hasn’t been influenced by outside forces. However, before it has been found that Latium was more animistic than believing in actual human representation of the divine. Animistic and Animism derives from Latin ‘anima’ meaning soul.

Numa

There is a concept called Numen or divine life within each object and such this was carried on in the History of pre-Christian Rome. For instance, they believe springs, rocks, mildew, the air, doors, hinges, etc. had divine life to them. Numa comes from the King Numen who was a great king that created the foundations of religion in Rome also politically. Even created Rome’s first calendar and establishing the Vestal Virgins. It is said he was an agent of the gods and had direct communication with them. Numen became deified and worshipped for his Wisdom and piety.

Before they had human depictions and originally may didn’t see their gods as human alike in appearance rather used metals to represent Mars, rocks or wood from sacred trees for a specific god, their deities were nature itself. It was until they were inspired by Greeks and their Sicilian neighbors as well Etruscans when they adopted a more human appearance for visually depicting the gods.

Latium was also a port with many different outside influences go into their culture very early on and this is most likely why they were inspired by the Greeks. The Mycenaean Greeks colonized parts of Italy and trading with them. When the Romans were adopting similar beliefs and ideas of the Greeks there were resistance of the Latin people wanting to stick to their indigenous beliefs and not wanting to merge with the Hellenism. But they (The Romans) when growing their empire, they did adopt religious beliefs and traditions from Sabines who were on the other side of the Tiber River, it’s said some goddesses were adopted such as Sabine moon goddess called Lala that the Romans called Luna.

Animism in Roman society

Now it be forever taking a god one by one from the Romans to see if they came from an indigenous source is hard and will take hours plus I have a couple of blog posts about specific Roman deities. But rather look at the unique nature of examples of Animism within Roman society certain concepts are link to gods.

Ancestors

Ancestral worship was very prevalent within Roman society and religion. From family members, kings, emperors, friends, even to pets the romans revered their dead. Even had festivals for them and there are three special kinds of spirits relating to ancestral worship or it takes part in these ceremonies.

Lares: Specifically, Lares Familiares The spirits of the ancestors technically speaking a guardian of deceased family members and living and the household, the singular is Lar Familiares. A very important spirit in Roman polytheistic religion, they would have altar called Lararia or Lariarium usually where the family members would gather like a living room or back then a hearth. Domestic Lares would have a special place at the dinner table sharing a space with the family. These Lares would also be prayed and be given offerings daily and annually such as wine, pastries like honeycakes, first fruits (from the haverst), incense, grapes, wheat foods. Lares were gods of boundaries, the public, and fields. Domestic Lares are called Lares Domestici and specifically for family is Lares Familiares but they were used interchangeably if they were displeased or offerings, we’d not met they would have unfavourable reception evolving in angry spirit and makes sure no-good fortune or rewards befallen the family until they are pleased. Their festival is Compitalia which is the annual festival of Lares and other respected household deities of the crossroads, held on December 22 there were shrines of Lares placed in sights of crossroads representing their role in liminal spaces.

Often depicted as a young male, not always winged youth holding a cornucopia or libation dish, at times depicted as dancing. Lares of the household is often portrayed as a deified ancestor or hero ancestor, this ancestor is usually patriarchal and the spirits witnessed special events like marriages, boys coming of age, anniversaries, adoptions, etc. their purpose were very protective and providers of good fortune. They were often associated with the panes or penates.

Manes: Were referred as di manes or the divine dead those who departed became a mane, these were either Lares or Parentes of their respective families. Mane was considered the “divine spark” of a living person their consciousness that resides in their minds. Busts of one’s family member is said to have their mane within the art to be honored and welcome in the home even after they departed. That’s why you many you see many busts of Roman people including emperors, it can be made from wax which would put on the departed face then be made as a death mask where people would wear it during the person’s funeral as a way to honor their legacy. Their busts also be present during gatherings and civil and political gatherings as well so they can be included. They were celebrated during Parentalia, Feralia, and Lemuria.

Parentes: These are spirits of the family much like Lares however the Parentes is immediate family like father, mother, siblings, spouses, children, and grandparents. It the individual’s family members that passed that they knew in life. If one were to travel outside of their home to go somewhere very far. The person would keep embers from their hearth along with small statues of their deceased loved ones. In modern days this is equivalent to carrying a picture of a loved one with us. In the movie Gladiator depicts this tradition when Maximus prays to his deceased wife and son. The starting prayer would be “blessed father” and “blessed mother”. Referring to their own mother and father rather than praying to Jupiter for an archetypal father. The sacred holiday is Parentalia beginning on February 13 ending for nine days ending on the beginning of Feralia which focused on honoring deceased ancestors and recently departed then Carista starts which traditionally a time to focus on honoring living family members.

Household deities

Janus: God of doorways and entrances. Depicted as a two-faced man.

Vesta: Goddess of the hearth and home.

Cardea: Goddess of hinges

Forculus: God of actual doors

Limentinus: God of the threshold

Terminus: God of Boundaries.

General household spirits

Penates: Spirits of the kitchen and pantry and often worshipped alongside the Lares, their shrines would be in cupboards and be offered the first fruits and grain from harvest. They protect the food from any rot, illness that may grow in the kitchen or the food itself. Like the Lares they would also be shared a spot at the dinner table the offerings be burn in the hearth afterwards.

Lemures: Restless spirits that tend to be more malicious if they are displeased. Often show their anger through what we call today a poltergeist. It was believed it was the angry revenants of the departed who were restless because their wills were not fulfilled, offerings weren't given, or hadn't received a proper burial. According to Ovid, Lemures caused chaos in Rome as they were not properly worshipping them so they created a sacred holiday for them called Lemuria held on May 9, 11,and 13th.

Genius Loci: Genius is the spirit form of manhood symbolize by a snake. That is the head of the household it is related to the patriarchal structure of the home. Genius Loci is the spirit of the ground on which the house is built upon. Modern witchcraft and paganism may describe them as a 'land spirit'. But it's not really how the Romans saw it, they believed that the Genius Loci is directly link to the Genius of the household so the father of the house, if the Genius Loci is pleased and worshipped properly then the patriarchal of the house would be prosperous and have good fortune.

Umbrae (Shades): So these are just commonly knowledge as ghosts and apparitions of spirits, depending how and what the context when they make their appearance known then they could understand what type of omen was being crossed to them. For instance seeing a deceased loved one in a dream is consider to be a good omen, but if a stranger it is a bad omen or if they saw the ghost during the day in waking hours was consider to very bad. They were also honored a Feralia and Lemuria and during these festivals people would wear protective charms from the spirits in case of misfortune.

[atiny-ahgase]

The Promise And A Stray Pup

Title: The Promise And A Stray Pup

Chapter 2: Promise You’ll Be Good

Author’s Note: Okay so I usually write the author’s notes before I even write the story idk why… I just do. Anyway, I had no idea how this is gonna turn out soo..yeah.

Summary: Y/n returns home in search of a hybrid friend that she had left oh so long ago. Will she be able to help him? Did their friendship withstand the hands of time or did it crumble from the pressure? 

This is chapter 2 of the Series “A Pinky Promise And A Stray Pup, you can read chapter 1 here.

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Pairing: Hybrid Yunho x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Genre: Hybrid au, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: Smut, Dom Reader, Sub Yunho, Edging, Controlled Orgasm, Masturbation

Contains: Hybrid Yunho, Gender Neutral Reader, Fluff, Smut

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You paced through the narrow hallway of your one-bedroom apartment for what seemed like the millionth time. Releasing a loud groan you dove unto the soft cushions of your couch, burying your face in one of your many throw pillows. It had been exactly 2 days,14 hours, and 27 minutes since you had last seen Yunho...not that you were counting or anything. He seemed kinda off during your last interaction, his breathing seemed strained and his cheeks were a bright shade of pink, granted his face seemed to be tinted that light shade of pink quite often. His voice wasn’t the smooth sweet melody that you had already become so used to, it seemed deeper, almost huskier. Sure, he had just woken up but still, something felt off to you. Maybe you were overthinking it, over-analyzing the situation as you usually did but how could you not? He hadn’t contacted you for two whole days. Sure, he could be busy with work but when you visited his workplace they said that he hadn’t been in on that day. Then where was he? What could he possibly be doing?

What if he was sick? What if he had realized that you weren’t the same kindergartener that he had met so many years ago? What if he didn’t want to be friends with you anymore? What would you do then? Everything that you had done since the moment you and Yunho had parted ways was all done to meet him again. You studied extra hard to get a scholarship, you worked extra shifts to pay off apartment expenses, you settled on choosing this apartment because it was closer to your old school. Everything that you had done was all for him but...what if he didn’t want that? What if he was having second thoughts? Where would that leave you? What would you do when your entire reason for bettering yourself decided that you weren’t enough?

He said that he’d come to visit you again but it's been two days and still nothing, you were starting to worry. Sure you hadn’t seen him for twelve years prior but now even a day without him feels unbearable. You’d wondered how you had survived so long without having him by your side. Even your tiny apartment felt as though it had tripled in size since his absence, the walls seemed to have expanded overnight, feeling far too large for just you. Yunho seemed to fit so perfectly in your life so the fact that he wasn’t there next to you felt like such a foreign feeling even though he had only recently reentered it.

Your worrying carried on for the remainder of the week and before you knew it classes had begun. The first couple of days were pretty basic; mostly consisting of introductions and lesson plans. You had even somehow managed to befriend the bespeckled hybrid boy who sat next to you in your Math class. His hair was dyed a soft orange which highlighted the warmth of his smile, he wore an oversized hoodie and round-rimmed glasses. Even seated he towered over you, and to be quite honest you were originally incredibly intimidated by his large stature but that lasted a solid two minutes. His dog-like playfulness immediately shining through, casting away all of your prior fears. You had both managed to get pretty close before your class had started, him laughing at all of your jokes, his tail happily wagging behind you as he clutched his stomach, tears springing from his eyes.

He introduced himself as Mingi, a dog hybrid who only moved in a few months ago, apparently he wanted a fresh place to make a new start and opted for somewhere quiet. Surprisingly you both shared a lot of the same courses which was great for you because now you had a seat buddy. The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly and it was finally time for lunch, you and Mingi sat on the wooden benches across from the school library, taking in the way the yellow leaves danced in the wind as the breeze sang a gentle song. Your shoulders brushed each others’ as you listened to his stories about his hometown, your attention hanging on to every single word that he spoke. His way of telling stories captivated you, it was as though you were watching a movie, every scene that he set was so vivid, it was as though you were living through each moment. Before long your school day had ended and it was finally time to go home. Walking out from your final lecture for the day you looked up at the sky “, Looks like it’s about to rain,” you hypothesized.

“Please don’t jinx it, the UNI’s Shuttle doesn’t drop me off at the front of my house and I really don’t wanna walk through the rain,” he explained with an exasperated sigh. Soon after his words were uttered a thunderous roar was heard from the sky and raindrops began falling unto the earth below. You could hear the displeased groans from your friend beside you which caused you to let out a small laugh. “Alright Mingi tell me where you live and I’ll think about giving you a ride”, you jokingly said while pulling him in the direction of your car. “You’re the best Y/n,” he said before engulfing you into a hug from behind. “Mingi you’re gonna crush me then I’lldie before I drive you home,” you exclaimed while trying to control your laughter. Were all dog hybrids this affectionate?

Mingi lived fairly close to the supermarket where Yunho worked which was great for you since you found yet another excuse to ‘drop in’ after you had dropped Mingi off. Unfortunately, Yunho wasn’t there yet again and quite honestly it was starting to get on your nerves. You released a loud sigh before heading to your car and driving home. It was only upon arriving home did you notice Mingi’s jacket seated comfortably on your back seat. You playfully rolled your eyes before retrieving it and bringing it into your apartment. Pulling out your phone you sent him a quick text informing him that you were holding his jacket for ransom and if he doesn’t buy you breakfast tomorrow then he’ll never see it again. You know just a basic text. After that was done you decided that your couch was as good a place as any for Mingi’s jacket to rest for the night.

Not long after getting comfortable, you heard someone knocking at your door. “Who could that be?” you thought. You didn’t know that many people from around here and even if you did they didn’t know where you lived. Getting up from your couch you walked over to the door pulling it open to reveal who was on the other side.

“And here I thought that you forgot where I lived,” you remarked as you looked up at the dog hybrid towering above you. Of course, it was Yunho, the only other person in town that knew where you lived was your landlady, and something was telling you that she had little to no reason to come knocking on your door at this hour. “I’m really sorry Y/n,” you heard him say softly, if it had been any quieter you would not have heard him at all. Looking at his face it seemed a lot paler than you remembered and he wore a tired expression as though he hadn’t slept for days.

“I wanted to come to see you sooner but I was really sick and I wanted to call but I didn’t have your number,” he began to explain in a voice that was even gentler than what you were used to. Even the yellow of his eyes seemed to dull significantly, how could you stay mad at someone in that state. To be honest, he could have shown up at your doorstep in peak condition and no excuse, and you’d probably still forgive him. For the longest time whether you were together or apart you had the softest spot for Yunho, even with the greatest determination once you looked into those golden eyes your heart would surely falter.

“You should probably come in, it’s getting pretty chilly these days,” you smiled up at him before further opening the door allowing him inside. Closing the door you sat on the couch and patted the spot beside you expectantly. Yunho taking that as his cue quickly filled in the empty space next to you engulfing your body in his warmth. You had quickly become used to having him next to you so much that his absence for those few days had you feeling incredibly cold. “I really am sorry Y/n, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he explained as he placed his head on your shoulder nuzzling into your neck.

Placing your hand at the nape of his neck you were about to comfort him about the situation; since he seemed to be beating himself up quite a bit. However, before you could otter a word you could feel his grip on you tightening slightly.

“Y/n” you heard him say no louder than a whisper, his voice deeper than you were used to, “Whose jacket is this?” Referring to the green jacket which was placed on the couch.

“Oh, that’s Mingi’s he forgot it in my car-,” you began but before you could finish you felt a sharp pain at your collar bone followed by the soothing sensation of his warm tongue gliding over your bruised skin. You could feel it caressing your skin so tenderly that goosebumps began to form all over your body. “Yunho,” you whimpered in his arms while struggling to escape his grasp.

“I don’t like it. Why are you spending time with other hybrids when you already have me?” he calmly stated, punctuating each word with gentle kisses running along your throat. “I’ve only just found you, I’m not letting another hybrid take you away from me. You’re mine and I’m yours” he continued on while tightening his grip on you even more. His body pressed firmly to yours as he continued to nip on the tender skin of your neck. 

The area began to burn with the most pleasant of pains, your body aching in the best way imaginable. But you knew that you couldn’t stay like that otherwise he would just continue to misunderstand you. “Yunho could you just listen-,” you tried to reason with him as best as you could even though you could hear your voice falter as his lips reached your collarbone. This was the second time he had done this and as pleasurable as it is also beginning to get tiring.

You kept on telling yourself that this was bad no matter how good he made you feel. You couldn’t deny that you could easily become addicted to the sensation of his body on yours; completely trapping you in its warmth. But you couldn’t just let him do as he pleased. It’s true that hybrids have a more difficult time controlling their emotions but this is not an excuse. He couldn’t just continue to act on impulse every time his emotions get too strong. It gets easier with time and a hybrid of Yunho’s age should already be adequately good at it.

But I guess that’s the difference between Yunho and other hybrids his age, they were probably trained better than Yunho. He lived his younger years on the street so there is a possibility that he still hasn’t perfected self-control. He was like a puppy in an adult dog’s body; succumbing to every urge that comes his way. Gathering your thoughts you took a deep breath before speaking. “Yunho sit,” you said in a stern voice, much more than you ever thought you could muster up. You felt his body become rigid against yours but he made no actions to remove himself from you. “Yunho sit!” you said with a little more force; your eyes piercing into his. You heard him whimper before he peeled himself away from you to have a seat. You had expected him to return to his previous spot beside you but he didn’t. Yunho opted to sit on his heels at the base of the couch; right where your feet had lain. His head hung low as his palms gently rested on his knees.

Seeing the sight before you left you struggling to remain seated, he looked so ductile, so obedient and something about it made you feel so hot. He wouldn’t even meet your eyes and you loved it, although you had been the one to stop his previous advances it was almost as though you were at the mercies of your instinct, you wanted nothing more than to completely devour him. You took a deep breath in the futile attempt to gather your thoughts before speaking to him, he’d probably let you.

“Yunho I let your behavior slide twice before, but at this point, I’m beginning to think that you want to be scolded by me,” you stated while coking your eyebrow up. “No I don’t I’m sorry,” you heard him mumble towards the floor. Placing your hand on his cheek you felt the way his body shivered at your touch. “Puppy shouldn’t you look at me when I’m talking to you,” you whispered your face only a few inches from his. You could clearly see his lips quivering as you took in the strained features of his face.

“You’re right I’m sorry,” he whimpered, his fists clenched against his jeans. “And exactly what is my puppy sorry for?” you inquired, your lip twisted up in a slight smirk. It amused you; someone so much smaller than him, could have so much power over him, just the thought had you shivering in your seat.

“I’m sorry for attacking you and for not coming to see you,” he stated, his pleading eyes drowning in your own. “And what was the reason that my dear puppy couldn’t come see his owner?” you continued on loving the pure look of ecstasy on his face when you referred to yourself as his owner. His knuckles tightened as his body began to tremble, clearly holding itself back from the pleasure that was clearly bubbling inside of him. “I was sick,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Oh were you now?” you edged on, your pointer finger gliding across his adam’s apple. “Please,” he whimpered before he began to hunch forward in an attempt to ease the pressure building up at his crotch. “You say that you’re sorry but apparently that doesn’t apply to all of you,” you confessed before gently placing your foot on his crutch. The sound that he released was probably the most beautiful you’ve ever heard; it almost made you want to end your teasing, almost.

Removing your foot from his crutch you stare in awe at the thin thread of clear liquid which connected your toes to the ever-growing bulge in his pants. “For someone who is soo sorry you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit,” you stated as you wiggled your toes, almost playing in the precum coating them. From your seat above him, you could see him frantically shaking his head as he rocked in place on the floor beneath you. “Oh, so you’re not,” you inquired as you brought your face on the same level before you continued, “then maybe you should start answering me honestly? There is no need to be this stubborn with me”.

“I was in heat,” he replied; his head hung low as his ears began to redden. “So my puppy left me worried and alone cause you couldn’t keep it in his pants? Seeing the state that you’re in I can’t say that I’m surprised,” you replied, your eyes never once leaving his quivering body. Leaning back into your seat you took one final glance at him before speaking, “Take it off.” You could hear him release a sigh before reaching for his shirt. “No,” you interrupted him mid-action, “just your bottoms.” With crosswinds coming in so quickly Yunho was dressed in a caramel-colored knitted turtleneck and a pair of black jeans. You didn’t think that turtle necks could turn you on to this extent, just the thought of Yunho wearing turtle necks to hide the marks that you’ve left on his neck got a fire burning deep into your core.

You were so lost in your thoughts that the only thing pulling you away was the load, animalistic groan which escaped the hybrid’s lips as he slowly touched himself. His nimble fingers teasing the tip of his erect cock, urging it to release even more precum than it already was. The clear liquid flowed from the tip of his reddened cock down his hand, coating it in the perverse liquid. “I don’t remember telling you that you could touch yourself now did I puppy,” you stated watching as he briskly removed his hand from his aching cock; wincing as the cold breeze caressed it. “Do you want me to touch you?” you inquired. 

“I do,” he began; his breathing short and strained, “but I’ve been bad.” 

“That’s true but that doesn’t mean that my puppy doesn’t deserve to be cared for now does it?” you rhetorically asked.

Finally leaving your place on the couch you crept beside him, grasping his dick in your much smaller hand, your mouth watering at the sight.  Almost immediately you could feel Yunho bucking his hips upward, chasing his much-desired release with great intensity. Taking your free hand you gripped his hip harshly, your nails grazing along his side. Yunho moaned at the pain, his body shivering as his head dropped to rest on your shoulder. “Stay still for me okay baby,” you whispered, your breath tickling his ear. Continuing at a rather snow pace you ran your hand along Yunho’s engorged dick, tracing its veins with your fingers and watching as his entire body twitched in response. You could feel him leaving tentative kisses along your shoulder but you didn’t stop him this time, he was finally being good so he deserved a little treat. Right?

You tightened your grip as you continued to pleasure him, enjoying the sweet sounds of his moans in your ear; you could listen to it all day but that might actually break him and you couldn’t do that to your puppy. “Close, I’m close. Please can I come,” he begged into your shoulder as his hands caressed your sides ever so slightly; the searing heat radiating from his entire body paled in comparison the that of his pulsating dick. He looked as though he was ready to burst but resisting until you gave him the go-ahead trying with the utmost desperation to be good for you. Should you allow him to release or should you let that pressure build up inside of him just a little longer to see how long he could fight against his instinct? 

Your thought process was interrupted by your phone ringing on the couch cushion behind you, you weren’t all that interested to answer but you had an idea of who it might be so you decided to play with your puppy just a little longer. “Yunho could you grab my phone for me please,” you asked, your free hand caressing his back to get his attention. Looking at his face caused shivers to run through your spine; it was nothing like you’ve ever felt before, your body was screaming with pure ecstasy. His face was flushed pink and glistening with perspiration, his teary, yellow eyes were almost engulfed by his dilated pupils and only heavy breathing could be heard from his swollen lips. Yunho was always irresistible in your eyes but seeing him in this state; he looked absolutely delectable.

You had expected him to put up some sort of resistance but he didn’t, he simply stretched forward; groaning at the new angle in which you were holding his dick, and grabbed your phone. “Who’s calling?” you inquired, already having a decent idea of who it is. From the growl that escaped Yunho’s lips, you already knew that you were right but you still wanted to hear him say it. You didn’t say a word to him you simply stopped the movement of your hand and looked at him, your eyes boring into his in an attempt to deduce his next move. Was he really that against you talking to Mingi? Or was it just because of the timing of the call? “Mingi,” he whispered before handing me the phone. Taking it from his hand you could see Yunho attempt to fix his clothes. “Stay,” you simply said to him before answering the still ringing phone.

To be quite honest you weren’t really paying any mind to what Mingi was saying; your senses focused on the whimpering hybrid beside you. You had already begun caressing his dick once more while still being on the phone with Mingi, you didn’t mind too much if Mingi found out what you were doing but Yunho on the other hand tried his absolute best to keep his noises at bay. This continued on for a few more minutes as you tried your best to keep Mingi on the phone, testing how long Yunho could hold out. Quickening your pace on his ever-flowing dick you could see Yunho convolve as he clung unto you, his teeth threatening to tear through his lush lips. He was almost at his breaking point.

“Mingi could you just hold on please my friend is calling the apartment phone,” you lied, “oh no you don’t need to hang up it will only take a minute.” Placing your phone against your shoulder; but not really attempting to muffle any sound, you turned to Yunho, “Are you coming today or not?” you enquired in the best nonchalant voice you could muster up. To Mingi it would just seem as though you had a friend over but Yunho knew better, his needy pants and muffled whimpers understood all too well. Looking up at you he nodded his head frantically before burying his face into your shoulder once more in a desperate attempt to muffle his sounds. He couldn’t hold it in any longer, if he was asked to his entire body would have surely combusted right there and then.

“Okay then hurry up,” you replied before returning to your phone call. “Yeah I’m gonna watch a movie with a friend in a bit, you should come next-,” you continued your conversation until you felt a sharp pain on your neck causing you to yelp, followed by a splash of liquid landing on your hand. “Are you okay?” you heard Mingi ask. “Yeah I’m fine I just bumped my toe,” you explained with a slight laugh trying your best to calm your breathing. “Well that’s good then,” he continued, “but please be careful else you’ll make me worry.”

“You don’t need to though, I already have someone like that and he’ll be here soon so I should go,” you stated before saying your goodbyes. You could sense a slight opposition from Mingi on the phone but that didn’t bother you much cause you had someone else to worry about. You look one last look at the quivering hybrid who had collapsed on your living room floor before you stood up.

Rushing to the restroom you began filling the bathtub before retrieving a damp cloth and heading back to the exhausted hybrid in your living room. After cleaning up most of the mess you told Yunho that he needed to take a bath which resulted in him releasing a groan before attempting to get up. Standing beside him you watched as his legs shook releasing a small giggle at the sight. “Shut up,” he said with a slight pout on his lips. “I really did a number on you didn’t I,” you continued.

“Please stop talking,” he groaned as he slowly made his way to your restroom. “Are you going to make me?” you pushed on loving the personality gap that he was displaying. You loved how he went from a whimpering mess to the playful yet slightly defiant Yunho that he currently is. You felt his grip on your arm, pulling you closer to him until your bodies were connected. “Do you want me to?” he inquired, his golden eyes searching yours. “Huh?” was the only thing that could leave your mouth, unbelievable, even after all that you’ve just done to him he can still reduce you to a deer in the headlights that simplicity? “I’m yours,” he whispered just softly enough for you both to hear; like it was a precious secret only to be shared between you too, “I’d do anything you want me to. Whatever you want from me I’ll give it to you.”

[jaskiersvalley]

I just reached the bottom of your writings and felt the need to say that i appreciate you. You’re really cool and im happy I stumbled upon you.

You are far far too sweet. This has been sat in my inbox for so long because I don't think anyone has called me cool before and I wanted to bask in that. I really appreciate you too and I'm really happy you stumbled upon my blog. So I hope you're still in the fandom and enjoy this little bit of odd zombie AU.

CW: Zombies, apocalypse, Resdent Evil/Last of Us inspired AU.

Last Hope

Nobody expected the Continent to turn to shit. War had been on the horizon, Nilfgaard was advancing but not once did anyone expect them to have been experimenting with creating superior soldiers to fight for them. Allegedly the idea had been to harvest some of the Continent's monsters' attributes and imbue them into soldiers, creating a new class of warriors. It hadn't worked. But what Nilfgaard did manage to create was a virus like no other before. It turned humans and animals into mindless, violent creatures whose sole purpose was to feed, preferably on human flesh. The virus spread like no other, bringing the whole Continent to its knees.

Pockets of survivors remained, walled up in thick stone keeps. Kaer Morhen was one such sanctuary. Witchers, it turned out, weren't immune to the virus. Letho had watched Serrit and Auckes succumb to it, had put them down before setting light to where they'd been trying to stay safe and he set off to find somewhere, anywhere, that would accept him. The cold didn't impact much on the undead, they still moved just as deadly fast, unencumbered by things like fatigue, hunger or frostbite. Still, he made it up to the keep and was welcomed in. It was probably the most full Kaer Morhen had been in a long time. There were witchers, sorceresses, humans, dwarves, vampires and who knew what else, all coexisting and trying to make the best of their lives.

"I heard rumours," Letho said over dinner. "There's someone immune to this whole wretched thing down South."

"And I heard a rumour that taking a shit over the parapets cures piles," Lambert shot back with a snort. Being cooped up with so many people didn't exactly suit him, even when Aiden was there along with Eskel too.

Yennefer sat up straighter. "I've heard that rumour too. Sent word out that if it's true, we're probably best placed to try and find what makes the person so special. Maybe derive a cure from them."

Not long after, Gaetan arrived with Guxart. And with some news.

"There's a man and a girl travelling North. Allegedly with the hope of a cure."

The others exchanged looks, not wanting to believe rumours. Hope was a dangerous thing, but they could all use a dose of it. Things had been bleak to say the least.

Guxart picked up the story. "There's a lot of people gunning for them. So far they've evaded being captured, left quite a bloody trail too. We saw what remained of a tavern. Allegedly the group living there had been luring in weary travellers with the promise of safety, only to throw them into a fighting ring." Unfortunately such stories weren't unusual, humans had the most disdainful ideas of entertainment at times. Guxart pressed on, "If it was those two then I hope they're not headed here. They left no survivors, cleared out the place of humans and undead alike. It was a massacre."

There was nothing to do but wait. A week passed, then another. The hope they'd felt at the mention of a possible path to a cure dwindled and turned into bitter disappointment at the backs of their minds. It was almost three weeks later that there was a commotion on the path to the old keep. The undead who lurked in the trees were snarling and howling as two figures broke into a sprint on the last stretch of the path, pursued by quite a hoard of hungry zombies.

"Get the gate!" Vesemir bellowed and it was a mad dash to open the gates while armed. They weren't quick enough and a scuffle broke out as the two travellers were up against the gates, the undead descending upon them. A sharp scream went up from what sounded like a young girl. The gate opened and Eskel reached out, pulling her in first before Lambert gruffly yanked her protector in too. The others pushed to slam the gates shut, bolting it once more.

"Cahir! Are you okay?" The girl ignored them all in favour of checking over her guardian, wisps of blonde hair sticking to her sweaty face.

"I'm fine." A gruff answer and the so called Cahir looked up at them with an exhausted, hollow gaze. "This is Kaer Morhen, right? We were told this is where we had to come. She's Ciri, I'm Cahir."

Vesemir stepped forward with a brisk nod. "Welcome. Let's get you settled. From what I hear, you had quite the journey."

Yennefer ushered Ciri away and the others trailed after her, curious to see what someone immune to the virus looked like, acted like. The left Eskel to lead Cahir to a room of his own.

"Nilfgaard's quite a way," he said by way of conversation, ignoring the way Cahir rubbed his wrist under his cloak.

"Vicovaro is even further." The answer was a little prim and offended. "I'm not Nilfgaardian."

"My apologies. If you want to clean up, we have a communal bath in the lower levels. You're welcome to join us."

The offer seemed to go ignored as Cahir simply flopped on the bed and closed his eyes without even kicking off his worn boots. Eskel couldn't begrudge him, such a journey was long and tiring even before the world went to shit. To then have to cross the Continent while chased by who knew how many people wanting his precious charge and the unending masses of undead no doubt made the whole thing exhausting.

Dinner was bubbling away in a large cauldron over a fire and the chores for the day were done. It was quite common for most of the residents of Kaer Morhen to settle in the baths, one of the few remaining luxuries left for them. To everyone's surprise Cahir bumbled in a little while later, still sleep rumpled but without his cloak. It left his ragged and torn shirt in full view, including where one sleeve had been ripped off at the elbow. On his lower arm was a freshly applied bandage with blood that had seeped through in an all too telling pattern. Cries of alarm went up as they spotted the bite.

"You've been bitten!"

"How could you endanger us like this?"

"You idiot!"

It was a cacophony as various witchers jumped out of the baths, reaching for their swords and heedless of their nudity. There was a very real danger in their midst that needed to be taken care of. Cahir held up his hands in a placating manner, surrendering without a fight.

"If I may?" He pulled his shirt over his head and the others tried to make sense of what they were seeing. His body was littered with scars from bites. Some were healed, others still scabbed over. When the trousers slid down, Cahir's legs were no different.

"What the-?" Lambert scowled.

It was the exact moment Yennefer arrived, Ciri in tow. She gave Cahir a once over. "It would seem we made some assumptions. Cahir, when you're rested and fed, I'd like to take a sample of your blood and hair please."

Next to her, Ciri giggled and tucked a strand of hair out of her face. She walked up to Cahir and took his bandaged arm in hand, inspecting his handiwork.

"You're getting better at this," she announced. "Hopefully it's the last one you've taken for me or anyone else though."

Her words were followed by an eerie silence in the baths as the others mulled over everything.

"So-" Eskel rubbed the back of his neck with a small frown, "-is Ciri your daughter?"

A bright laugh bubbled out of Ciri at that. "If only I was so lucky. I was his escort and bodyguard. Our pursuers often assumed that me being so young looking meant I was the immune one and Cahir was protecting me. That deception worked well for us."

Guxart cleared his throat. "We saw a tavern that was a fighting ring."

Both Ciri's and Cahir's faces darkened at that. It was Cahir who answered.

"We survived. But barely." His hand rubbed over his shoulder where a large chunk had been torn out, leaving a visible dent. "Had to lay low and recover for a while after that. Ciri injured her throat."

"And you got a bitch of a fever. You're the worst patient ever, always fidgeting and poking. It's a miracle only that bite got infected so bad."

Cahir stuck his tongue out at Ciri and she poked him in the stomach. In turn Cahir ruffled her hair and danced away. Taking it as a challenge, she dashed after him and gave him a shove that sent him flying, landing with a big splash in one of the baths. Spluttering and laughing, he surfaced.

"Oh you little bitch!" He playfully splashed water in her direction but Ciri let out a scream and the water froze mid arc before dropping into a sad little puddle on the ground.

The others stared at her in awe and horror. She grinned at them with a shrug. "You didn't really think they'd send some random, helpless girl as a bodyguard, did you?"

A hand landed on Ciri's shoulder as Yennefer smiled down at her. "You and I have a lot to discuss. How would you feel about learning how to control your powers even better?"

For the first time since the news that there might be a solution to the virus, hope trickled back into the lives of the residents of Kaer Morhen. It wasn't going to be an overnight solution, they knew it wasn't going to be easy. But they were one small step closer to a safer, happier life and that was more than enough for them after years of despair.

[mrsgiovanna]

Bruno Bucciarati x Fem! Reader

A bit of a drawn out scenario with Bucciarati and the reader in an AU where everyone lives 💭❤️💙

No warnings, just fluff 😅💭

Word Count: 2117

“So Bucciarati, what do you think? I believe she’s the best person for a job like this. She has the ability to judge when to use force and her stand ability is well honed… you have reservations… what’s wrong?”

Bruno wasn’t known to wear his disdain so evidently on his face, but when it came to you, managing his emotions was slightly more difficult than usual. It also didn’t help that Giorno knew him so well. He was Giorno’s closest ally, his most trusted confidant, so he was able to be frank with him and voice concerns that would have otherwise gone unspoken.

“Well, she is strong, but I know she can be reckless when it comes to her own safety, much like someone else, might I add- but that’s a discussion for another day… perhaps, someone should accompany her just as back up in case the situation deteriorates,” suggested Bruno as he walked over to the balcony overlooking the sea. He always felt a sense of calm when looking at the ocean.

“You could always go with her…”

“Is that an order, Giorno?”

“Of course not. Look, I could send a small convoy of bodyguards with her and you’d still worry, Narancia could be tracking every living creature within meters of her and you’d still be uneasy, so rather just go yourself,” explained Giorno, watching him for even a hint of a reaction, which he did detect, but the young Don decided not to comment on that. “That’s settled then, I’ve already texted her asking for her to come over, she should be here soon,”

With Giorno’s words hanging in the air, Bruno turned his gaze back to the ocean, trying to calm the stormy feeling in his chest. Bruno always looked out for you, just as he looked out for everyone in his team. You shared a lot of history with the handsome raven-haired man, both having to join Passione as a necessity at a young age. You joined his team after working with a few other groups under Polpo’s control, finding a place that you truly felt you belonged. You both complemented each other well, compensating for what the other lacked. His maturity manifested in his quick thinking and his naturally kind nature and yours in your ability to put anyone at ease and talk to people at their own level. None of those traits could be mistaken for weakness however, as you were both capable of doing the unthinkable when your group or ideals were threatened.

You hurried along the spotless marble flooring that lead up to Giorno’s study, delicately knocking on the door before entering after hearing a soft invitation to do so.

“Buongiorno, Giogio, Bruno… ” you greet with a sunny smile. Bruno turned around to greet you with a smile while Giorno spoke.

“Buongiorno (y/n), thanks for coming over so quickly, this early in the morning, there’s just something very important that we need to discuss and we could really use your help later on,”

“Of course, sounds serious, I’ll assist in any way possible, you know that, Gio,” you reply, a hint of concern in your voice. The rest of the morning was spent discussing how to go about the mission without attracting any unnecessary attention. Once the strategy was ironed out, you and Bruno left Giorno’s villa and spent the rest of the day making sure you both had everything you would need, giving yourself a couple of hours to get ready before Bruno would come by to pick you up. You would have thought having 2 hours to get ready would be enough but you were mistaken. You just weren’t used to fancy evening gowns and stilettos, even less so to that much makeup, but you needed to channel your inner femme fatal and blend in with the rest of the guests at the flashy event.

Staring at your reflection with a critical eye, you had been tinkering with various accessories and rearranging your hair, this way and that before deciding that it was enough, the longer you took to do all of this, the more your nerves frayed. This would be the first time in years that you and Bruno would be on a mission by yourselves, and it’s definitely the first time ever that he’d be seeing you that dressed up. A wave of self consciousness washed over you, diluting the confidence that you’d been trying to build. Before you had time to further chip away at your confidence, your housekeeper came in to inform you that Bruno had arrived and was waiting for you downstairs.

On the drive over, Bruno thought about you and how much you had grown. When you had met each other, you were both just a pair of kids, who were forced to grow up too quickly. You’d taken everything in your stride though, and had seamlessly integrated into his team. Everyone loved your gentle yet protective nature. You were the one person he could be himself with, the one person who he could express his fears to, that he could fall apart on without any fear of judgment. He was the one who took care of everyone, but you were the only one he’d allow to take care of him.

He was let into your home and waited for you for a short time, barely having a chance to sit when he saw you gracefully descending the spiral staircase. You looked so beautiful, he was rendered speechless for a moment, quickly catching himself before you could notice how he was staring at you.

“(y/n)... you look beautiful, are you ready to leave?”

“Bruno, wow, you clean up well, and thank you… umm, I think I have everything I need, we can go. Thanks for coming with me, Gio told me it was your idea, I’m sure you have a million other things to do,”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said through a strained smile, making a mental note to talk to Giorno about that. On the drive to the event, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Bruno… he looked so handsome, swopping out his white spotted suit for a black one, making the gold accents stand out even more. Everything about him was just perfect, from his perfectly cut, jet black hair, to his sparkling blue eyes and his well defined physique, it felt intimidating to have to be next to him for the night.

When you arrived at your destination, it was not difficult to zero in on your target. He was a spoiled, entitled looking brat. Both him and his father were not impressed with Giorno’s new rules for Passione, but stayed regardless, however, when his father died, his bad behavior was left unchecked. He always gave off the impression that he was waiting for an opportunity to betray Giorno. So you wanted to see what he would do when presented with an opportunity to do so.

Everything was going well, you and Bruno were satisfied that he wouldn’t betray the organization after he had passed every test you had set for him. Feeling relieved, Bruno excused himself for a moment to get you both a drink. Unfortunately for you though, you had caught the attention of the very man you were investigating. As he slowly walked toward you with a weird glint in his eyes, you became very aware of how much you needed Bruno there.

“You know, I’ve been waiting all night for that boyfriend of yours to leave so I could talk to you… the name's Elio… ” he says, twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers.

“Approaching a woman you believe is involved? And you should know who Bucciarati is… should you really be referring to him so casually? You’re not making a good case for yourself here, Elio. Now if you’d excuse me,” you made a move to put some distance between yourself and Elio, but in his persistence, he softly grasps your forearm and steps in front of you preventing you from going.

“Awww, don’t be in such a rush to leave signorina, we’re just talking… I was hoping to get to know you a little better, we run in the same circles but haven’t been formally introduced, it’s a crime, really”

You were getting annoyed, both with his persistence and the fact that Bruno was taking forever to come back. You decided to ignore him in the hopes that he’d go away without you having to use your stand or cause a scene.

“Is there a problem here? I’m sorry for taking this long tesoro, I was held up by an associate… in any case, come on, bella, we have to get going now,” You were thankful for Bruno’s intervention, but you were unnerved by how angry his eyes looked and the strong grip he held your hand with. You were confused. Was he angry at you? If not you, then who or what put him in this mood? Those questions swirled around in your mind as Bruno drove you home.

As much as your mind was clouded with unanswered questions, so was Bruno’s mind overtaken by anger. He hated the fact that some creep touched you, and he was even more upset that he couldn’t say or do anything about it… yet. He looked over at you, but your head was turned towards the window so he couldn’t see your face. Were you upset by how he dragged you off? You looked uncomfortable though, what if he read the situation incorrectly…

“Bruno, are you angry at me?”

“What? Of course not,”

“Really? You should let your face know,”

“Well, I guess this is just my face,” explained Bruno. You just nodded in acknowledgment, not really believing it, you knew his resting face well enough, and it wasn’t this. Feeling defeated, you continued to look out of the window until he drove up to your door. You remained quiet, rather choosing to look at your hands to avoid that sharp gaze. A few painfully awkward moments passed like that, before you summoned up your courage to speak. Evidently, Bruno had the same idea as you both turned towards each other and spoke at the same time.

“It’s clear that we both have things we want to say, so let’s talk inside rather?” you suggest, to which Bruno agrees with a small nod.

“I’m the one who interrupted you, so please, go first Bruno,” you say in an encouraging tone, while you both sat down, facing each other.

“Alright, thank you… here goes… I’m not angry at you, not even a little bit… I just lost it when I saw that cretin touching you so casually. You’re the most precious person in the world to me…I… ”

You stayed silent, encouraging Bruno to continue, trying to fight off the fluttery feelings coursing through you from what he just said.

“(y/n)… I love you, I’ve loved you for years now. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you… I guess that’s now… look, you don’t have to say anything, I’m sure it’s a lot for you to take in, and all I really want is for you to be happy,” the tenderness in his eyes and voice as he spoke was almost too much to bear, as you gently took his hands in yours.

“I… I love you too… for the longest time. I’ve only ever wanted the best for you, to help you realize your dreams in whatever small way I can. So you must know how happy I am to hear you say those words,”

Being deeply moved, Bruno leaned forward and hooked his finger under your chin to bring your gaze up to meet his own and captured your lips in a sweet but passionate kiss. You smiled into the kiss, tangling your fingers into the blunt ends of his hair, resting your forehead against his when you both had broken away from the kiss.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for,” he says in between a barrage of smaller kisses, suddenly breaking away to look at you.

“Tesoro, are you sure about this? You know first hand how this life can get, there’s always dangers to avoid, storms to weather…”

“Bruno, I don’t think anyone has endured more than us, and I’m certain that whatever else life throws at us, we can tackle together. I would choose to weather your storms with you, than bask in someone else’s sunshine any day.”

That was all the invitation Bruno needed to pull you into another passionate kiss, giving himself permission to indulge his own desires for once.

[tiredcath]

Zukka Fic Recs

after atla came back into pop culture i found myself falling back in love with zukka which resulted in me reading (almost) every zukka fic on ao3 and here are my favorites

Transference by The_Quatermasters (146k)

In a modern AU, Zuko has to deal with settling in a new school after expulsion, dealing with an angry ex and an abusive father. Maybe his new found friendships and growing closeness with Sokka will help him make it through. 

Borderlines by The_Quatermasters (73k)

Three years after the war, the work still isn't quite done and the Gaang is scattered across the continents in their efforts to help the world recover. When Aang and Katara pay visit to the Fire Nation where Zuko is Fire Lord and Sokka acts as Ambassador for the Water Tribe, sparks fly between the siblings over Sokka's life choices.

Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by Muncaster (47k)

Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes?

(AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

sirens & sleepless nights by Satirrian (54k)

Life can be pretty hard living in a city under a totalitarian regime. Between adhering to the ridiculous curfew, keeping himself from being gunned down by a passing patrolman, and paying his unnecessary tolls to the state for, say, breathing, Sokka has his hands full just getting to work. Add aiding a resistance group on top of that, and Sokka should really be getting paid for this.

Then, one night, Sokka finds an injured patrolman collapsed in the street, who tells him with blood on his lips, “If the patrol finds me, I’m dead.”

 Real Slow by surveycorpsjean (21k)

“I see.” Zuko closes the scroll. “Is the Water Tribe sending a replacement?”

“Uh yeah,” Sokka gestures to himself dramatically. “You’re looking at him.”

 First by HoneyBadgerMole (20k)

Zuko has been nurturing a crush on the jock in his AP Psych class but he has been too scared to talk to him until they get paired up for a project.

the benefits of getting a flat tire by LesbeanLatte (64k)

Zuko makes an impromptu decision to run away from home after a disturbing conversation with Azula. Unfortunately, some plans are better when they're actually, well, planned. Zuko isn't counting on getting a flat tire almost as soon as he's far enough away from the city to really be in the middle of nowhere.

Sokka is immediately taken with the stranger he and his friends find stranded on the side of the road during an afternoon joy ride. However, he has no idea what he's getting involved with and a kind attempt to help a fellow teen in need turns into a massive coverup for a missing person who just so happens to be the son of the mayor of Ba Sing Se.

Azula was just trying to help her big brother - in her own way - by telling him things she thought he deserved to know. Now the situation has gotten wildly out of control. Did she enjoy seeing Zuko upset and afraid? Of course. Had she intended to endanger his life? Not necessarily, but of course, her idiot brother overreacted to everything and that's what happened and now she doesn't know how to stop the chain of events she's indirectly put in place like dominoes.

Operation Leverage by snowandfire (50k)

Sokka's instincts are onto something great. Zuko just wants to serve tea and brood in peace. Ironically, Toph is the only one who can see what's really going on.

 The Stingray by Smediterranea (24k)

“You’re not carrying me.”

“I don’t mind,” the lifeguard says easily.

“I can just hop over.”

“On sand?”

Zuko will never admit it, but being carried feels pretty nice. The lifeguard sets him down and eyes him warily.

“Are you really all by yourself?” he asks in a worried tone. “No friends in town you can call to check on you?”

“No,” Zuko confirms. Tears are forming again with alarming speed; his foot throbs painfully with every passing second.

“What kind of burrito do you want?”

“You don’t have to —“ Zuko repeats.

“I’m getting al pastor. You like al pastor?”

 AU: Zuko falls for Sokka, the super hot lifeguard who helps him after an unfortunate encounter with a stingray.

 it's the illusion of separation by argentoswan (110k)

Sokka takes a job washing dishes at the new tea shop in town. It's a great gig, until he finds out his only coworker is his old high school bully. Sokka really should quit, but he also really needs to afford rent.

Also, Zuko is kind of hot now.

 People like to think war means something by trying_to_spell_both_our_names_at_once (21k)

Sokka was the first to leave.

Somehow that hurt the most. . . . Not long after Zuko becomes Firelord, forces gather in the South and next thing he knows he's thrown into a civil war with almost no one by his side. Maybe healing is longer and more complicated than it needs to be, but with the right people by your side it is always possible.

 a way that will destroy you by anothermistakemade (14k)

In the wake of Ozai's death, Zuko begins to fall apart. Sokka will do everything in his power to make sure that doesn't happen.

-

or, zuko might be losing his mind, but he also might just be really sad & traumatized

 Those Who Favor Fire by CSHfic, VSfic (30k)

After a failed attempt on his life, Sokka fakes his death, dons a disguise, and infiltrates the would-be assassin's ranks in an attempt to bring them down from the inside.

Zuko learns of his husband's tragic death, mourns, and vows revenge.

 Words Mean More at Night by DaisytheDoodleDog (28k)

Even ten years after the end of the war, rebellions rise and risk the balance of the nations. Sokka was willing to do anything to protect his people, which is perhaps why he's leading an army against the rebellion, attacking only as a last result. But Sokka's unwinding, it's taking a toll on him, and the only thing keeping him grounded are the letter Zuko and him exchange late in the night when no one can see the messenger hawks. But as they say, nothing's fair in love and war.

another word for wanting by eurydicees (23k)

Sokka begins to dream of his soulmate when he's eleven years old, and it just gets harder from there. Or, 125 moments soulmates share, and none of them come easy.

(In which your dreams are your soulmate's memories, and Sokka dreams of an all-consuming fire, growing and eating at his soulmate until it burns up the connection between their souls. In which they find love anyways.)

 It Has Only Just Begun by Kirazalea (39k)

There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring

Zuko had now chosen the path his uncle had been trying so hard to show him; he had someone who believed in him, who maybe loved him; he was travelling with the Avatar and they apparently had a plan to end the war. By all accounts, Zuko should be smiling.

But Uncle was gone (captured by Azula, and Zuko didn't think she would kill him, but he didn’t, couldn’t, know for sure). The Avatar was barely breathing (he could still die at any second and there was nothing any of them could do about it). Azula had conquered the last Earth Kingdom stronghold (all those innocent people who were now at her mercy). It seemed like, for every step Zuko took forward, the world sent him back three more.

But he was determined to push forward anyways. He needed to make his uncle proud, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

aka: zuko joins the gaang at the end of season 2

 Nightmares and Reveries by HisMomoness (20k)

Zuko doesn't sleep because when he does, he's haunted by nightmares. Sokka worms his way into a job and makes it his mission to get Zuko to relax. Lots of head pets and one vacation to the South Pole later, Zuko might just be getting the hang of it.

Cue pining, some fluff, and eventual romance.

 The One Who Stopped Time by ohhihoney (66k)

All hope was lost to Zuko until one day, his uncle asked a random person at the Jasmine Dragon to tutor his nephew. Gritting his teeth and embarrassed beyond the point of no return, Zuko gave the blue eyed boy his number.

Little did Zuko know how much Sokka would change his world.

 Rubbed Off Stars by ohhihoney (2k)

Sokka wasn't going to just sit and watch the boy at the back of the bus cry while trying to rub off pride flags off his cheeks.

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

WIP

Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought (168k)

After that fateful Agni Kai, Ozai makes a different call. Branded as a traitor and banished to a prison camp, Zuko learns how cruel the Fire Nation can be to its citizens. Three years, a water tribe raid, and an unexpected meeting with a gang of over-enthusiastic idealistic children puts Zuko back in the spotlight. The revolution is coming and it wants another poster boy, but Zuko is not willing to lend his face to the cause.

 Another Brother by AvocadoLove (312k)

It was a mission of revenge. There weren't supposed to be any survivors, but Chief Hakoda couldn't bring himself to kill the Fire Nation boy. Against his better judgment, he brought him home. A Zuko joins the Water Tribe story.

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

BONUS : zuko x jet

Something to Hold Onto by Wildgoosery (122k)

Since the day the walls of Ba Sing Se fell, the Freedom Fighters have struggled to protect what remains of the city and its people. Jet and his second command, a mysterious boy named Li, have spent the summer piecing together an army, hoping for a chance to take the city back for good. But Li is also Zuko, and the time for that secret is quickly running out. Soon, he'll have to decide exactly who he is, what cause he's going to fight for, and where his heart lies.

[erazonpo3]

(This is a written collaboration between myself and Hemlock/pathygen in the ‘Cassandra’s Tangled Adventure’ AU verse, featuring our characters Alphecca and Violante. This was just a fun little back-and-forth with our two villains set in the period in which Violante has possession of Alphecca’s phylactery.  

The formatting is based on our replies, it was really fun to get to write together and watch Violante flex on Alphecca. I’d recommend reading it on my blog’s desktop page for the formatting) 

The Eagle and The Mole

Ever since her rebirth in flame and ash, Alphecca hasn’t known the icy grip of cold; yet Countess Violante’s chateau inspires it in her bones. It’s a monument of stone, glass, and drapery, and at this time of night the torchlight in the hallways are extinguished; malingerers are unwelcome. Even the ever-present ache in her chest takes its leave here, something she would have been thankful for if it weren’t Violante’s doing. Her soul burned like a dying star, but since her phylactery fell into Violante’s hands all she has known is its absence— numb apathy— the closest thing she knows to cold. 

She’s sure to school her features before entering Violante’s parlour, smoothing out the notch between her eyebrows and the curl of her lips that may as well have been sculpted into her flesh these days. Trinket shrieks at her as she walks past, aggrieved that her delicious bones are today wrapped in the illusion of skin and, on top of that, a stupid uniform. It’s stiff and it pinches in ways she can’t feel but is nonetheless frustrated by, and whenever she catches her reflection in the silverware she can’t help but grimace at the militant emblems and pageantry she advertises. All that’s missing from her marionette costume is the strings. 

The Countess is waiting for her as expected, perched perfectly poised on the gaudy piece of furniture she likes to pretend is a throne. She resists the urge to sneer at the pretentious display, if only because Violante would find it so amusing. 

“I’m back,” she announces flatly, absently picking at the cuff of her jacket. 

“Yes, I noticed.” Violante replies, crystal and calm as a winter morning. 

The countess has a quill pinched between her fingers; sharp motions carry the crimson plume across the page laid out in front of her, scratching. The chamber swallows sound and bounces it back. Dim moonlight ekes through tall, arched windows of blue stained glass, and casts a watery pattern against the polished floor. 

Violante does not look up at the dead woman. 

A minute and a half passes before she finally caps the tiny, neat scrawl on the parchment with a looping signature, rolls it into a neat cylinder, and sets it aside. The feathered end of the quill finds its way between her lips, ponderously. She tilts her head up and her smile is delicate. There’s something of a spider in it. 

“That certainly took you long enough. One little village could hardly have been all the effort.” The Countess of Solanales stands with a fluid motion, and folds her arms loosely across her chest. A cigarette smolders in it’s holder on the edge of the desk, filling the room with an oily, herbal smell. She inspects Alpchecca like one might a mannequin stuck in a display, lips pursed.

“Well, at least you kept everything in order this time. See? You can look nice. I knew the collar would be a nice touch. The color accents your eyes, now that you have them in.” 

Trinket croaks from her perch. The monochrome vulture returns to preening, bored now that the arguably edible bits of the lich aren’t on display. Violante leans back against the edge of her gilded seat. “So how did it go? Did you make any friends?”

This time Alphecca doesn’t withhold the grimace that curls back her lip to expose a yellowed canine. She’s aware of the way the moonlight makes her pale skin seem especially waxy and sallow, which typically serves to unnerve humans- all save the Countess. Violante’s  eyes glitter like a cut diamond as she appraises her, and Alphecca forces her gaze away in a show of deliberate disregard. She stares through the blue washed windowpane to speak to the waxing moon, but keeps an eye on Violante’s figure in her periphery. 

“I was just being thorough, I’m sure you can appreciate that. No stone left unturned, no building left standing, everything razed just right, just for you,” she says, flashing Violante a quick, sardonic smirk before returning her gaze to the window. “I don’t imagine you’ll have much of a problem marching your people down there and claiming a new pile of dirt, or whatever it is you do with the ashes. There’s nothing left.” 

The moon’s bright glow begins to burn a spot into her vision, but facing the window makes it easier for her to keep her face blank. Her excursion today would be considered a success by Violante’s standards, but she had been sure to cause enough of a racket as she tore through the streets that most villagers had ample time to flee before she tore into the place. If they couldn’t escape even after all the time she gave them, well, Cassandra can’t say she didn’t try. 

Under the scrutiny she can’t help but scratch at the briarthorn collar, and she chances another glance back at Violante. 

“Thoughtful. I can’t say I have much use for more dirt than I already seem to own, but,” Violante gestures and Trinket stretches her neck. The vulture flaps off the stand and onto the desk with a crooked hop, and remains still while the countess fastens the scroll to her leg. “I’m sure whoever is left will be happy to accept all the aid Solanales is willing to provide, in the wake of their unfortunate devastation.” 

Eyes glittering, she crooks a gloved finger under the large bird’s beak and hums. “The world is lousy with monsters, after all.”

And in the end, it was only a barrier town. But every little bit counts, every scrap of seizure. Scraps still. But these were things that couldn’t be rushed. Or shouldn’t have been, if she had been able to stick to her original schedule. Plans were important, but the ability to adapt to a situation was worth even more. Put attention in the right places, stress on the right joints, poison in the right tea. 

Or get creative, and toss a skeleton into a henhouse. Ho hum. 

“Go on.” Violante says to the bird. Trinket makes a clicking noise low in her throat, and takes off without a backwards glance at Alphecca, winging towards some high and hidden exit. Violante watches her go in silence. She doesn’t expect it will take long for a response, in some capacity, but she doesn’t really plan to wait for one either. Aldara is out in the field somewhere, hopefully stalking her other quarry, but there’s a decent chance both situations will muddle together eventually. 

“Now, what to do with you?” Violante turns back to face the dead woman, who looks hilariously unsure. It’s already late, and she needs to keep some space between the raids, as she creeps them closer to the borders of the Iron Kingdom. 

Alphecca scowls at the vulture’s retreating form, however glad she’d normally be to see it leave. With Trinket gone, only the two of them remain. It didn’t exactly make for a good buffer, yet in the leering bird’s absence the room tightens with intimacy. Violante and intimacy are her two least favourite things, and combined they manifest as the bane of her existence. The only thing that can make it worse is Violante’s voyeuristic shadow who is thankfully out on her master’s orders tonight, likely committing her own fill of atrocities. 

The Countess’ icy veneer betrays nothing of her intentions. In a game where information is everything, Alphecca knows she’s at a woeful disadvantage. If she tries fishing, Violante will know what she’s doing the minute she speaks, no matter how vague or disinterested she comes across— but she might be indulged. It begs the question of whether it’s better to stumble around blindly or sniff out a trail she can’t trust. Either way, she needs to say something- the longer she concedes to silence, the further the scales tip in Violante’s favour. 

“How about giving these old bones a rest? You’ll find a siesta does wonderful things for the constitution,” she quips. “I’m assuming you don’t want to cause too much of a stir, anyhow,” she adds, unable to deny the temptation of the gamble. Now she forces herself to keep her eyes trained on the Countess, and settles into a smirk. 

“You’re dead, you don’t have a constitution,” Violante drawls.

She glances away towards the window, the picture of disinterest, thinking. Ghostly evening light blankets the room, and flows over the silent collection of statues and armor bordering the walls, the curtained archways. Rooting out the location of the lich’s phylactery had been more of an effort of time and money than anything else. She had a number of contacts stretched over the continent, from tomb takers to Morcant to disgruntled former servants who had once swept the halls of the Spire. The crumbling little ruin of a shrine had seemed like a forgotten afterthought, nestled on the edge of an icy valley north of Ingvarr. The pendant had been wrapped in hay and rue. The plain little goat skull carved into the stone that boxed it had worn smooth with time. It was imagery that had become much more frequent among the information she lately received. So many old stories seemed to be pulling themselves up out of the grave these days. Even keeping the new ones in the ground was proving to be a challenge.

 No one died like they used to. The lich had certainly been involved in that most recent of frustrations.

Although, maybe, her decision to poison Cassandra had been a little hasty. She had maybe been a little angry. A little perturbed. Corpses and memories were generally less useful than breathing attendants, even if they were less trouble. People were so stubborn. Still, even there the lich might prove..useful. If that was the way things shook out in the end.

“Besides, we both know rest isn’t really in your cards.” The countess says, stepping down away from the desk, towards Alphecca. Reaching up, she adjusts the collar the lich keeps fiddling with, smooths down the epaulettes on her shoulders. The illusion of flesh truly was impressive. Almost as much as the facade of confidence. “You know, I once heard that a long life eventually deprives you of optimism. They also say that time heals all wounds. People never seem to be able to make up their minds about just how sad they think they’re supposed to be.”

Alphecca wraps her grimace up into a wry grin, though the fury in her eyes burns a palpable heat in the gelid room. Violante ignores said look as she smooths out the creases in her uniform, abusing all sentiment of personal space. The woman isn’t physically intimidating in the slightest; even wearing stilettos Alphecca has to look down her nose at her. But the proximity is unnerving. If her physical body is merely an extension of her soul, then Violante owns both, and she isn’t shy about making it known— so Alphecca does her best to ignore it, training her eyes on the wall in front of her instead of the head of perfectly coiffed curls only a breath away and the nails that cross her clavicle to smooth over her shoulders. 

“In my experience, more time is just an avenue for more procrastination,” she admits. It’s the truth, or at least it’s her truth, and there’s no harm in admitting it- the information has no value to Violante. If the Countess got her claws on immortality, the last thing anyone should be concerned with is if she were happy or sad. 

“People also say that destroying people’s lives and livelihoods won’t make you happy, but we both know that’s not true,” she adds. She hasn’t actually heard anyone say that, but it’s one of those unspoken things- and it’s wrong. Schadenfreude and victory are one hell of a cocktail. 

“A common adage, is that?” Violante hums, stepping back. “Stagnation is hideous. And regret is a waste of energy. If you’ve really wasted all this time waiting for a death that’s never going to come, then it’s fortunate I came along to make better use of your… afterlife.” She tilts her head. “Especially considering that I found you rooting around in a cave, talking to bones. I can’t imagine skeletons make for very good conversation.”

For once, Alphecca isn’t bothered by the barb. She wastes her time however she pleases, spending her years harassing new villages until she gets bored and moves on, or searching for new fossils to reanimate, playing in the dirt. She knows she’s a disappointment but that’s how she’s come to like it— fuelled by the spite of those more ambitious than her who have to watch her gnaw on the unending life they can’t have. That is, until Violante took it from her. 

With more distance between them now, Alphecca releases a breath; it’s unnecessary, but calming all the same. 

“They make better company than your pets, at least,” she says. They don’t talk back, for one thing, but she’ll keep that part to herself. All the bones she finds have very interesting stories to tell, but unfortunately Violante’s dreadful companions only find them useful for teething. 

“Tsk. Oh, kettle.” Violante says, sotto voce. She has very little interest in making any argument about the quality of company Aldara or anyone else brings to her circle. She doesn’t keep them around for their people skills. Mostly. The countess reaches out to tap the bottom of her jaw. “You’re so uncertain for a corpse. You chatter so much for a tool. But if that’s the way you feel…” A thoughtful pause, wintry silence. Violante steps past her, the dark pool of her gown trailing on the floor. “Come.” 

“What, you’re not a fan of our stimulating discussions?” Alphecca jeers, cocking her head. Blunt as they are, words are the last weapons she has in this fight, but she turns to follow her nonetheless. She kicks her feet up off the ground to hang a foot in the air to let the click of Violante’s heels echo down the hollow hallways alone, creeping behind her like a spectre. 

She’s hesitates, trailing behind at a healthy distance, but she can’t deny her curiosity is piqued. 

“I think your talents lie elsewhere.” Violante answers without turning around, wry. The castle is large and cold and strikingly empty of people. There are servants, courtiers, of course, but this late at night the work has gone to ground. Most of them, having been around this long, have learned to work out of sight, or in silence. Violante lifts a low burning candelabra from a table in the tapestried hall, wax dripping into the filagree crevices that tomorrow will be picked clean again before she wakes. The halls stretch on, half covered portraits lining the walls, tall arched windows that continue to leak in cool evening light. Violante takes them down, towards the ground floor, and eventually comes to rest in front of a heavy, ornate door set back far from the main vestibule. 

“Wait here.” she commands, and without stopping, the countess takes off down another hall and vanishes around the corner. She returns about ten minutes later, unchanged and smiling. In her hand is a small pouch, dangling with a loop of cord that she drapes around her neck. She nods at the door. “Shall we?”

Alphecca lingers back as she follows Violante through the chateau. She’s no stranger to silence, and she can even appreciate the servants’ scarce presence; humans can be such annoying creatures. However, there’s a hostility that comes with the quiet— an unspoken threat that has butlers and maids scurrying away like rats in the corner of her eye, only daring to move when the Countess strides past.  

She halts when instructed, taking the time to inspect the portraits of Violante’s ancestors while she waits. The dim light is no obstacle as she takes in the details, sneering at the pompous Lords and Ladies that line the walls. The different fashion styles over the centuries blend together in her mind, but she recognises the distinct ruffles that predate the Shampanier Era crossing over to the more modern style of headdress, evolving across the row of portraits. They have matching brutal, patrician features and cold eyes, and their arrogance is palpable even through the oils. She wonders if Violante sees them as an inspiration or an embarrassment. 

Alphecca drops to her feet when Violante arrives, eyeing the new fashion accessory. 

“Ladies first,” she gestures in a parody of an usher, trying to avoid the sense of dread that accompanies the sight of the heavy wooden door. 

“True.” Violante says agreeably, placing her gloved hand on the door. In the other she still clutches the flickering candelabra, and the light plays shadows against its surface. The front of it is carved with vines and flowers, mountains and snowflakes. It opens with a heavy grinding sound when she tries the handles, with some effort. Cobwebs stick and pull between the gap, and Violante sneers a little at the dust that collects on her fingertips. A staircase leads down into darkness. It reeks of earth, dry and undisturbed. 

Violante’s face remains impassive as she starts down the steps, the click of her heels ringing against the stone. The walls are featureless rock, and roots start to press through the gaps the farther down they travel. Eventually the stairs level out onto a narrow, dark, landing. Violante moves with a caution in the dark that relaxes when she finds the torches set into thick pillars that frame the entrance, and she lights them with the candle flame. Orange light fills the cavern.

“Homey, I imagine.” she says. “But still better than what you were used to.”

It is a tomb, of course. More a mausoleum, seemingly built into the naturally limestone cavern underneath the castle. The roof of the crypt rises up high above the chamber, arched ribs and all angles like the inside of a cathedral. Violante doesn’t pause in her intrusion, gliding down the center aisle with a curious fervor, idly stroking the covered parcel around her neck. She finally stops as they near the back of the chamber, in front of a stone dais that elevates two, long, solid coffins. Side by side, in their lofty place of honor. Violante sets the candles down. She looks back at the lich. 

She says, “You’re going to wake them up.”

Violante isn’t wrong to assume that the cavernous underbelly of the castle is more comforting to Alphecca than the bleak architecture and furnishing upstairs, but it’s still far from homely. The crypt is stale and azoic, lacking the warm smell of rot and soil that accompanies her usual hovels. Nonetheless she does feel more at ease here, and it takes the tension out of her shoulders.

“Is this mum and dad? I didn’t really take you for the mournful orphan type,” Alphecca says, her smirk eking into her voice. She approaches the left coffin and slides a hand over the lacquered wood, which is stained with black and ornately carved. The golden filigree is finely engraved and the craftsmanship of the coffin itself is masterful. A thrill runs through her bones; as disinterested as she is in the coffin’s inhabitants, she’s eager to see what bijous and tchotchkes she’ll find inside. 

It takes her mind off of Violante’s request. Resurrecting one body, one soul, takes more effort than she is usually willing to expend. Two isn’t out of the question, but it’s going to take time. There are shortcuts she could take- 

No. She’ll take all the time she needs. 

“I can do it for you, but it’s not going to be quick or easy. I’m assuming you want more than just a couple of braindead puppets, after all,” Alphecca states, glancing carefully at Violante. 

Violante watches the dead mingle, the old and the ancient. There’s a stone bench opposite the dais, maybe long ago a place meant for prayer or meeting. The back of it curves up into a chiseled swan’s head, with the beak broken off. She sits, and crosses her legs, eyes lidded, observing Alphecca as she circles the caskets. The lich’s interest is evident, undisguised. She’s being so nice.

“Mmm.” she confirms, very calm. “Lady Fiore and Count Viator. I poisoned them when I was seventeen.”

She draws a finger across the jagged beak of the swan and rubs the grit between her thumb and forefinger. The black fabric of her gloves are already powdered with dust. Idly, she pinches one finger and slips it the long glove off, stretching her hand in the cool, dry air of the crypt. The tips of her fingers are stained purplish-black, even deep under her nails. 

“They need to be able to speak, and answer questions truthfully. I’m not especially worried about mobility, but memory is important.” She tilts her head, dark eyes focused on the bone witch. “How long? Describe the process for me.”

Alphecca’s lips twist as Violante confesses to her parents’ murder, but continues to investigate the coffins. 

“Well, the process involves bartering with Death, binding the soul to an anchor and then binding said anchor to your will- it’s something that can take months, depending on how long it takes to get the reagents, and that’s just for one soul. Doubling up will save time, but even you don’t have infinite resources,” she explains.

Without asking Alphecca lifts the nearest coffin lid, and lets out an involuntary whoop at the burst of pungent aroma. There’s not much left of the carcass itself, despite what she’s sure was a vigorous embalming. Corpses are meant to return to the earth, and the ones buried above ground have a messier time of trying to find it. Lady Fiore’s robes are completely soiled with corpse juice, but she’s surrounded by a few glinting baubles that could still be disinfected- although she’s sure Violante won’t let her play with them. 

“A fresh corpse is always easier to work with, but it’s just as well you kept the remains at all- souls will anchor to their own bodies with less of a fuss,” she says, disregarding all the loopholes that come to mind. With a snap of her fingers Fiore’s bones glow a pale blue, battling the orange torchlight for a moment before it subsides. It’s a basic preservation spell that she uses on all her creatures to protect their bones from the elements, which she hopes Violante will take as a sign of her veracity. 

“You’ll find my resources will more than suffice.” Violanate says. “Considering the state of your previous arrangement, and what you’re used to.” Scrounging around in the shadows and the muck couldn’t have been all that profitable for the lich. Procuring things, especially things of an elusive nature, is not usually a problem for her.

The stench that emanates from her mother’s coffin is certainly vile enough. Violante’s nose wrinkles, and she nearly rolls her eyes at the bone witch’s obvious enthusiasm for it. For a moment she has to tilt her head to the side, and she brings the pouch around her neck closer to her face. There’s baby’s breath and rosemary inside: a good dampener, or so she’s been told. The Countess is not unfamiliar with corpses, but they’re usually less decayed, and less in her face. She could have used a stronger perfume. 

“Useful little spell.” She says, turning back to face the dais. 

And then, “..bartering with death.” Violante drawls, stretching the words out slowly. That has her curiosity piqued. Something about it, a string to tug. “Like it’s a person.”

Alphecca hums absently, neither in agreement or disagreement. 

“I suppose we’ll see,” she says. She swipes a thumb over Lady Fiore’s cheekbone, imagining how the muscle would have wrapped across it and how the skin might have sat on top. Her sharp jawline mirrors Violante’s, and she’s willing to bet they shared the same nose. She was no doubt a very attractive woman in her prime, and Alphecca finds herself almost frustrated that she’ll be deliberately prolonging the reconstruction process.��

She crosses over to the coffin on the left but her fingers tapdance across the lid, and her head perks up at the mention of Death. 

“Well, yeah- okay, she’s not really a person, but she’s the shepherd between this realm and the realm where lost souls are... supposed to go, and you’re not going to get a soul back from the realm of the dead without her noticing,” she explains, smiling at the memory of the spectre. Absently she traces shapes in the dust of the coffin lid as she continues. 

“It’s far simpler to make a trade with her than to try and steal one, but that’s still easier said than done.” 

Having to watch the lich inspect and handle her parents' remains doesn’t seem to phase the Countess very much. Legs crossed, she sits back on the mourning bench, and rests her chin on the back of her fingers. 

“‘She’. You make a trade with death.” Violante repeats, not a question. “What could..death-the-entity possibly want in exchange for a soul?”

There’s a visible sneer on her face at the word soul. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in spectres or spirits: she’s essentially speaking to one, even if it’s trapped in a bone. The concept of anything trying to tell her what to do, even after death, dissatisfies. Even at a young age, playing with her first herbs and poisons and staining her skin, Violante knew that she wasn’t going to go until she was good and ready. 

She can guess what the lich might think of her. The many things, every terrible notion. Most she’s probably right about. But Violante has no interest in living forever. Cavorting around for centuries as a moldering corpse isn’t an appealing notion, and it obviously hasn’t done the witch any favours. No. She is going to build something great. Something right, something hers.

In the end, if it is really worthy, it will outlast her. 

And if it’s not...well. 

Violante hums, “Longing for death is a bit of a cliche, even for you.”

“Depends,” Alphecca shrugs. “Sometimes she asks for help wrangling the ghosts that refuse to let go, or she has a specific soul in mind, or sometimes she just wants a favour to keep in her pocket. There’s always some kind of catch though, because she’s hardly going to ask for something she can get herself.” 

Even if she weren’t already planning on delaying the process, she anticipates bargaining for two souls will be the most difficult part. Bartering with Death isn’t exactly something she makes a habit of; she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s made the deal, and every time had brought its own headache. Just the memory of it is enough to make her head hurt, so she turns her attention back to Violante.

“Yeah, well. Even you’d be begging her to come take you after long enough. You and I both know Death can be a mercy,” she says with a smirk, and cracks open dear father’s casket.  

Help, promises, wayward souls. “That’s a lot out of death’s reach.” More than one would think, for such a definite force. Violante listens to the dead woman without looking up, thinking, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the velvet pouch dangling from her neck. There is another wave of foul scent, all earth and rot. The sound of heavy stone dragging on stone. Her father had been a count of some notable prowess. He had been good at getting people to listen, and always spoke with confidence. Curt at times, but he shared a warmth with her mother that would have seemed anathema to the traditional Solanales chill, to anyone outside of their family. They were a private people. Violante had loved her parents. She had loved them even when she was putting them in the ground. 

 “Who said anything about mercy?” The countess murmurs, tilting her head, a silver-dark curl of hair sliding over one side of her face. Wintry, she says, “How long is this going to take you? Approximately, for one body?”

Alphecca rakes a finger down Count Viator’s sternum, making a mental note of his measurements. She’s sure there’s a portrait somewhere in the castle she can look to as a reference for their bodies, which are clearly tall but perhaps wider than their frames let on. Violante’s voice echoes in the cavernous room, yet the words themselves float around in the air. There’s a few trinkets scattered in the coffin, rings and jewels and heirlooms; they’re gaudy and expensive, but far from valuable to the dead. The sudden change in the intonation of Violante’s voice catches her attention, and she only catches the tail end of her question. 

“Hm? Oh- well, for one? It’d normally take around a month or so to source all the reagents- meat, ivory, rare herbs and spices and whathaveyou- then somewhere between one to two weeks to build the body itself. After that it really depends on what I need to do to recover the soul,” Alphecca explains, finally dragging her eyes away from the remains. 

“And of course, I wouldn’t want to rush perfection.” 

“How thoughtful,” Violante drawls. “But they don’t need to be perfect, just functional. Enough to answer what I want to ask of them. You fare well enough without lungs. Or gray matter.” The countess tilts her head again. “They’re going right back in the ground after I’m finished with them.”

Pushing away from the bench, Violante stands with fluid, gossamer grace. Holding one arm loosely tucked around her waist, she climbs the steps and despite the reek, peers slowly into each of the caskets, expression unreadable. Swipes one stained fingers against the dust collected on the stone lip, rubbing. 

Almost conversationally, she looks back and says, “Tell me what you need, and you’ll have it within a week. If not sooner. We have the merits of civilization here.” With a surprising amount of ease, Violante leans back against her mother’s grave and lifts herself into a sitting position on the skewed cover, ankles crossed. She smiles, her mouth a sharp, dark slash. “Three weeks, I think, is more than enough time for you to finish the work.” 

Very slowly, she lifts the velvet pouch and threads it open. The amulet is heavy, and Violante curls it’s chain delicately around her fingers, thumb hooked under one of the horns. Scarlet light suffuses her from below. 

Coy, Violante hums, “If you put your mind to it.”

Alphecca scowls at Count Viator, cursing him for ever procreating. 

“If you want a botched job, then fine,” she sneers, bristling at the intrusion on her oasis. The presence of the phylactery is like a sneeze sitting at the back of her nose, painless and yet impossible to ignore. However, the Countess has extended her a favour in the same token, providing her the irritation necessary to redirect her attention elsewhere. 

“The souls of the dead don’t tend to like being torn from their peace and shoved back inside their corpses, and the further the vessel is from their actual flesh and blood, the harder it is to attach them. And if a soul doesn’t attach properly, then you’re going to have a very uncooperative, likely half-braindead, pale imitation of your dearly departed loved one. So it’s your call,” Alphecca explains, drumming her fingers on the coffin lid. 

It’s a gambit for more time, but the phenomenon of corrupted souls isn’t unheard of. And it’s not exactly something she’s keen on dealing with. 

And then there was silence. It was followed by the shrill whistle of a lofty wind, swiftly swallowed by the cavern, sucked down. Above, a jagged crack in the apex of the cave opened up to mountain air and evening sky. Snow-melt had formed thin icicles which dripped with languid precision onto the old stone. There were some places within the cavern where if you listened close enough you could hear the sounds of running water; more runoff that was kept flowing by the warm channels that ran all underneath Solanales. The recessed thermal rivers: mineral rich, were responsible for the health and diversity of the medicinal herbs the county was able to cultivate. Her father had shown her maps, long ago.

Violante regards the lich cooly. The sneer; the constant flow of excuses, the obstinance. There is a moment before she speaks, where the slick consideration in her dark eyes slides towards bored. Just as quickly, the flat stare is replaced with a knifelike flash of malice, penetrative and acute—then a return to hawkish study.

“You’re right,” The countess says smoothly, examining the blemished fingers of her free hand, “it is my call.” She tilts her head, and wrly continues, “..and if I cared about what they liked, I wouldn’t have killed them in the first place.”

The glow from the amulet gives her skin a rosy tincture it doesn’t usually possess. Violante places her empty hand back on the coffin lid behind her, relaxing back into a lounge.

“Alphecca…” her voice is deadly soft. She rarely uses the corpse’s name. She’s never seen much point. The countess peers down at the phylactery, slim fingers curled under the horns and through the chains.

“You know, this really was remarkably easy to find. Time; a few simple exchanges of gold, a barter with a like-minded contact—who will no doubt realise, eventually, the true cost of that information, and likewise, the great loss she would accrue attempting to take it back.”

Calm, easy, her posture is that of a woman relaxing in a parlor; not an arm's reach away from her mother’s seeping skeleton. Violante runs her thumb up the side of the crystal. It’s warm, with a steady, pulse-like thrum. 

“That is a part of what it means to have dominion—to have dominance. Laying the foundation. Control over people and their emotions, so that they don’t go spinning them out into actions they haven’t thought over properly. Something always there, in the back of their minds.” 

With a sly smile, Violante tilts the amulet. “Like this.” Her fingers tighten, squeeze around the pulse. 

“Come here.” she commands.

The Countess’ silence brings the familiar weight of dread, the coils of her contemplation winding and tensing before their inevitable release. The use of her name, soft as it is, is like the snap of a twig; the arrow is coming next, but she has nowhere to run. When Violante speaks, her words are dripping with nightshade, and Alphecca pays less attention to the words as she does those eyes and the way they peel back the illusion of her flesh. How long ago was it that Zhan Tiri had stood in her place, holding the phylactery that they’d created together, swinging it before her like an aberrant hypnotist? The image lingers in her mind, branded into her being, and it burns again now. Violante holds her ransom with equal avarice and even more capriciousness. 

She doesn’t fight the command.

One foot drags after the other, pulling her away from Viator’s putrid remains towards his fetid offspring. The ends of her hair dance in the waves of heat that surge from her body, casting her pallid skin in the same glow mirrored in her bottled soul, and her sclera seeps with augural ink. She looks down her nose at the Countess, but stays mute; her glare speaks for itself. 

“Oh, that face again,” Violante smiles slyly as the lich draws near. “You looked at me like that the last time you tried to get me to break this. For all that trite dribble about souls, they pack rather nicely into tight spots, hm?” She lifts the phylactery and lets it dangle from her fingers again. The carved crystal twists, shedding ruby light. 

Tilting her head, the countess adds, “..though honestly the sheep-theme is a little provincial for my taste.” 

From her perch on the coffin lid, she and the lich are almost at eye level. Idly, she taps the curled horns of the amulet against her lips, and  takes a moment to inspect the flickering hair, warmed by the unnatural heat in the cold center of the crypt. She’s seen the witch dressed in bone before, skeletal, human then very much not. She hasn’t yet been able to divine whether the flesh is an illusion, or a simulacrum. 

“...you know, it’s almost funny,” she says after another moment, musing. Gently, Violante reaches up to take Alphecca’s chin between her fingers, feeling for bone or for the presence of a seam. Without much force, she tilts her face left, then right. “The creature that made you this way got to die before you, didn’t it? Whether it wanted to or not. And even though it’s gone, you’re still here. That’s an impressive act of malice I’m not even sure I could aspire to.”

She brushes a strand of winding hair behind the dead woman’s ear, the fingers of her other hand wrapped around the amulet. They rest there, lingering.

 “Mercy,” she hums, “Death. Do you really think that force regards you as anything more than a vague afterthought? Do you know why?”

Close, her eyes are dark and flat. When she smirks, her lips part, and there’s something of a serpent in it. The fingers set behind the corpse's ear hook suddenly, sharply. “It’s because you’re a commodity.” Softly, “A body. It was a waste having you be as you were before: running loose, childish and deranged. Whatever worth you had was decided on ages ago by something greater, and then discarded in one instant, only to be defined again, now, by me. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

Drawing her hand back, Violante twines another piece of fiery hair around her stained, lacy fingers. The amulet beats a rhythm against her palm. “Like that little village you destroyed. Garbage, right? But now, it’ll be built up again into something useful—desirable. Not only as a consequence of my birthright, but because I have the power to make that happen, and the will to speak through it. Because that’s the zeal the world recognizes. In the end, it doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re trying to be. Whether you’re a shambling monster… or a wayward sword, I’ll use the power I have; my proof of conquest, to assert my will—” a rough tug on the strand of hair, closer “—and change the meaning of value.”

Silence, and the drip of distant water. Violante lets the strand slide free from her hair, and inspects her hand with distant disinterest.

“Three weeks,” she says cooly. The phylactery thrums in her grip. “Don’t ever try to argue with me again.”

Alphecca’s phantom heart thumps in her hollow chest. Words intended to cut to the quick come close to their mark, but nothing Violante says can slice deeper than the futility of her situation. She can’t remember needing to gasp for air like this, not for a long time. And yet for all her vast networks of contacts and flies on the walls, Violante doesn’t know everything. She clutches that thought like a final matchstick in the dark, for all its limited warmth. The Countess doesn’t know Death; not like she does. And she’ll get those souls that she wants, and she’ll do her finest job— but Violante’s not the only one that has strings worth pulling. 

For as tainted as Violante’s hands are, they’re still warm. Blood pulses right to the tips of her fingers and beats against her false skin, and she feels its absence when her hand draws away. Alphecca responds with a cock of the head, and a sneer.

“I’d better get going, then.”

[samatheia229]

PJO Mortal AU (Solangelo-centric)

 The Olympia Family

(AKA the family with so much chaos and drama, they would have made an even more popular reality TV show than Keeping Up with the Kardashians)

Thalia Grace - 24

An ambassador of the Artemis Foundation

Badass

Won't hesitate to throw hands at anyone who messes with her family.

Very protective of her little brother and cousins.

Not afraid to speak her mind and fight for what she thinks is right.

Has a kind of love-hate relationship with her stepmother Hera. While Thalia respects and acknowledges Hera as her stepmother, she is a free spirit, and hates being chained down by the old-fashioned rules Hera imposes.

Briefly dated Luke Castellan for 2 years, but broke up due to reasons. The break up was mutual and Luke still remains as one of Thalia's closest friends.

Deadly with a bow and arrow (she'd be hunting down hunters like they hunt animals for living if it weren't for the fact that murder is unfortunately illegal).

Jason Grace - 19

Sophomore at Uni (double majors in Management and Aerodynamic Engineering)

Flight school graduate

Heir to Jupiter Airlines (given that his father doesn't plan to retire anytime soon, Jason is considering becoming a pilot in the meantime)

Hera's favourite child since he actually follows her rules (He bends them slightly every now and then, but she doesn't need to know that).

Regular at the Manhattan Chess Club

Has an intense rivalry with his older cousin Percy that's been going on for like 10 years now... (his life goal is to beat Percy. They're currently at a stalemate of 3795 wins each.)

Very protective of Nico. He almost had an aneurysm when he heard that grumpy, little stay-away-or-I’ll-death-glare-you Nico had a boyfriend. A boyfriend.

Has a best friend Leo Valdez who is an engineer student with an eccentric personality and is a mischievous menace. His childhood friend, Reyna Avila Ramirez-Arellano, is an athlete in javelin-throwing and currently resides in her hometown in San Juan, Puerto Rico, but they still keep in touch. 

Dating Piper McLean, the 19-year-old founder of the Beautifully Imperfect Foundation

Zeus Olympia

CEO of Jupiter Airlines

Drama Queen TM

Favours Thalia more despite Jason being his heir and enables most of her rebellious antics, much to Hera's chagrin.

Can be rather childish and petty ("It's been 43 years, and I've long since given up on expecting him to change," Hades deadpanned.)

As the youngest child of the Olympia family and with his father on Death's doorstep, Zeus was given a lot of free reign, hence his playboy tendencies. He eventually did settle down with Hera Junos, the single daughter of one of the oldest families in Greece. Hera was fond of children but was unable to sire her own due to medical issues, which led to Zeus getting a mistress (with Hera's begrudged consent), Beryl Grace, the daughter of Hera's family chef. Beryl has always had a rather strange personality and an unhealthy obsession with alcohol. A few years after giving birth to Thalia and Jason Grace respectively, her liver gave way and she died before they could find a solution.

Hera Olympia (formerly Junos)

Zeus' wife

The kids call her ‘Aunt Ra’

Jason is her favourite child because he actually listens to her

Coming from both a high-class and old family, Hera was raised to be a perfect lady (a lady should not wear pants or speak out of turn etc. etc.) and has a rather old-fashioned way of thinking, enforcing strict rules in her household.

She still loves Thalia, but because the way Thalia acts goes against everything Hera was taught, her relationship with her stepdaughter is a bit strained. Hera now mostly lets Thalia do her own thing, but every now and then might still be a bit controlling. She's trying, okay?

Bianca di Angelo - 19

Sophomore at Uni (majors in Journalism and English Literature)

Works part-time at the Artemis Foundation

Generally quiet and shy, but has a tendency to fuss over small details.

Very responsible and possibly the only one with a brain cell among the cousins. (Proteus and Triton don’t even live in the same continent half of the time; Kym doesn't give a damn; Thesi is too nice to reprimand them; Ro‘s too busy fawning over her fiancé; Hero is more likely to fan the flames than quell them; Thalia, Jason, Percy and Nico are always either competing against each other or breaking the Internet with their antics again; Hazel is pretty innocent but has a slight vindictive streak so caution must be exercised; and Tyson and Estelle are innocent beans of sunshine that must be protected).

She can be bold when she wants to be, as well as reckless. 

Has her father's habit of gesturing with her hands while talking and when she is on edge.

Ace

Nico di Angelo - 17

High school Senior

Heir to Pluto Corp.

Resident Emo in the family (“I'm not emo!” “Your only-dark-clothing phase says otherwise.” “It's not a phase, Persephone!” “Like father, like son.”)

Stubborn AF

Can't deal with all his overprotective sisters and cousins

Currently pining over William Solace ("Shut up!")

Avid gamer, plays digital games, card games (his childhood and to-this-day favourite is Myth-o-magic, which is one of the reasons he approves of Hazel's boyfriend, Frank) and all games in general (he visits the arcade monthly to make sure he's still 1st place in every game there)

Has a tendency to hold grudges and gestures with his hands while talking or when on edge, a habit he shares with his father and older sister.

Plays the violin (Persephone had introduced him to it, and he'd taken a liking to it)

Hazel Olympia (formerly Levesque) - 14

High school Freshman

Aspiring artist (she’s won thirty different art competitions locally in the span of three years and placed silver last year in the Chelsea International Fine Art Competition under an anonymous name because she wanted to win by her own merit rather than rely on the Olympia name. Hades plans to surprise her by giving her own exhibition hall for her next birthday.)

Regular at the Manhattan Riding Club

Has a bit of a vindictive streak in her that was probably born out of spite due to her upbringing

Exudes a powerful aura of passive aggressiveness, but is also incredibly kind and magnanimous

Has the ability is summon, manipulate and detect precious minerals, as well as the ability to place curses on them. (This knowledge is confidential and hidden from the public)

Loves her family with all her heart, and literally no one is more protective of Nico than she is

She was the first but also last person to know about Nico's boyfriend (First because she goes to the same school and is not dense, thank you very much, but technically last because she was the last person that Nico officially told since Will is terrified of her for some reason, something about her being 'the FINAL BOSS'; this amuses Hazel to no end).

Has a very cute crush on Frank Zhang, a HS Junior who’s an archer and animal lover (it’s mutual, by the way).

Hades Olympia 

CEO of Pluto Corp., one of the largest companies in the mining industry.

#DONE with life and all the people in it, particularly his crazy family

Functions solely on his children, Persephone and caffeine, usually caffeine because the other two are often the cause of his high blood pressure

Broods a lot (”I don’t brood.” “Yes, you do.”)

Deadpan 200% of the time and takes no shit

Loves all his children equally and definitely does not have a favourite (it’s Hazel, in case you’re wondering) 

As the eldest son of the three brothers, Hades was betrothed and wed to his childhood best friend Persephone Terrafield by their fathers in an attempt at a business partnership (Spoiler Alert: It didn’t work out in end). Admittedly, Hades and Persephone did have a small infatuation with each other when they were younger, but it never grew into anything serious, and as they grew older he saw her as more of a sibling than a lover and vice versa. After the inevitable death of his father, Hades and Persephone divorced but literally nothing in their relationship changed since they’d never loved each other romantically in the first place. When Hades decided to court their mutual friend, Italian diplomat Maria di Angelo, Persephone supported both of them wholeheartedly. In the span of the seventeen years they were together, Maria gave Hades two beautiful children, Bianca and Nico. Unfortunately, Maria passed away after being on life support for two years in result of a plane crash when Nico was 6. 

In the two years when Maria was hospitalized, Hades was so desperate to find his beloved a cure that he sought out a witch doctor that was rumoured to be in New Orleans. Marie Levesque, the aforementioned witch, was a greedy, manipulative person with a deluded and unstable mind, who drugged Hades and essentially raped him because she thought his spawn would have the perfect blood for experimenting magic on. She used magic to wipe his memory of the previous night’s events and handed him an ‘antidote’ that was actually just water dyed a milky white. After ten years, Marie finally revealed to Hades a 12-year-old Hazel, who looked miserable, was suffering from malnutrition, wounds, burns etc. and had a supernatural ability which Marie proudly said she had bestowed to her via dark magic. Hades was absolutely mortified, revolted and a bunch of other things. He filed a lawsuit against Marie, charging her for rape, child neglect, child abuse and human experimentation, as well as taking permanent custody over Hazel Levesque (now Hazel Olympia). 

Persephone Terrafield

CEO of jewelry enterprise The Red Pomegranate which was a sub-branch of Pluto Corps. The enterprise has the highest production rate in the US. 

Self-designated matchmaker for Hades (Hades always tells her she should focus on her own love life first, but he’s just an ungrateful brat)

Current life goal is to fulfill Maria di Angelo’s dying wish: help Hades find love again. (Mission status: still at Square 1 because Hades has some trust issues after the Levesque Incident)

The kids all call her ‘Aunt Seph’, but she loves the children as though they were her own

She and Hades often joke that they would totally still be married if they didn’t see each other as siblings and platonic soulmates and she hadn’t had her sexual awakening of being lesbian.

She lives with Hades and the children as she finds it too much of a hassle to move into her own place, not to mention lonely (with the kids at school and doing club activities, someone needs to make sure Hades gets exposure to the sun anyway).

Persephone is the daughter of an unnamed businessman and Demeter Terrafield, an agricultural revolutionist and healthy-cereal-obssessed woman.

Her mother and Hades have this sort of weird rivalry going on whenever Demeter visits; Demeter hates Hades because he hates healthy cereal, and apparently anyone who hates healthy cereal isn’t good enough to be hanging around her daughter, so she always replaces all his coffee with decaf and puts the healthiest cereal she can find on his bedside table every morning; in retaliation, Hades will deliberately eat the most sugary sweets he can find in front of her and locks her out of their personal greenhouse. (The glass walls are made of the strongest glass he could find and the door is locked by multiple manual and digital locks.)

Hestia Olympia

CEO of WarmHearth Interior Design Agency (WHIDA)

Everyone's favourite person, indefinitely

Has the infinite patience of a goddess

Gentle, kind, very wise, gives great advice

The kids call her ‘Aunt Tia’ 

Often fondly exasperated by her younger brothers' antics (because no, just because they’re grown men now does not mean they are going to stop their childhood feuds since despite their protests, they are all petty AF), but once she snaps, they all line up like toy soldiers and behave nicely.

Knits a lot. Most of her carpets, quilts, bags, scarves etc. are handmade.

She looks relatively innocent, but don't be fooled. There's a hidden arsonist in her that is always ready to come out when she's angry.

Hestia has a 'I'm not mad, just extremely disappointed and upset' Mom Look that has sent people bawling their eyes out and begging for her forgiveness with just one glance

She is the oldest of the Olympia siblings, but as a child had a frail and weak body. Kronos wanted to get rid of her since she was 'useless and couldn't be wed off', but Rhea, their mother, begged and pleaded Kronos to let her live. For some unknown reason, Kronos complied.

Her brothers are all very protective of her

YOU DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, MAKE HER ANGRY

[regrettablewritings]

Can i get a pre-relationship headcanon for Jaskier please? Thank you!!

You abso-fruit-ly may!

How did they first meet?: How else? He tagged along with Geralt to a village and set up shop in a tavern. A tavern in which you happened to be renting a room and were peacefully sitting in a corner, trying to enjoy your meal -- until that fanciful fool began his caterwauling about fellatio or whatever innuendo nonsense he was playing a ditty about. You were more than happy to keep on trying to ignore him, passing him off as just another bawdy bard, when he started up a rousing round of a completely different song. A song that had been haunting you for the past year, no matter which village you hopped to, no matter how high the mountain or how low the valley: “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of plenty, o valley of plenty Ooohh --” No . . . That bastard! You nearly caused a commotion when you practically jumped out of your seat, silverware and bowl of stew clattering against the warn wood. You weren’t even sure what you would actually do, but the primal part of you wanting nothing more than to shove a roll down this man’s throat to assure he would never sing that damned song again. But unfortunately, three things stopped you: Common sense, your embarrassment from having the eyes of the patrons on you, and the eyes of the bard. A brilliant and bright blue, paler than the sky, yet bluer than any flower you had ever seen. You might’ve been mystified by them, had he not cracked an annoyingly boyish grin at you and chuckled, “Well, it seems like the spook in the corner is even taken by the song. All together now! Toss a coin to your Witcher -- ” As the rest of the room chorused in, you sank back into your seat, embarrassed, irritated, completely flabbergasted, and now knowing who your enemy was.

What was their first impression of each other?: You thought of him as a peacock: Nice to look at, obnoxious to hear. Well, when he was talking, at least. And a little bit of his singing. It wasn’t that his voice (speaking or singing) was anything bad, rather, the man simply didn’t know when to shut up. Or what to sing about. And you also hated him for getting that damned Witcher song stuck in your head for the past year. You were actually much more interested in his Witcher companion, the muse of the song, if only because the white-haired man’s familiarity with nature and the supernatural better aligned with your personal interests of penning a proper field guide of the continent. In his arrogance, Jaskier admittedly saw you as a fan. He was, after all, in his groove of being an entertainer. In what he considers his defense, you certainly weren’t bad to look at -- definitely the prettiest little thing in there. He had every intention of strolling up to you after the song and perhaps convincing you into participating in what was sure to be the best, most spiritually orgasmic night of your life.

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?: Neither of you have any family to speak of (at least, not anyone you’re in contact enough for their thoughts to matter). And Geralt, being the closest and most consistent thing to a friend that Jaskier has in his nomadic lifestyle, didn’t have any especial feelings regarding the idea of you two being together. As far as the Witcher was concerned, you were just some guide-writer who decided to come along for the ride -- he never would’ve thought about you and Jaskier getting together romantically, especially considering your near constant bemusement towards the man’s antics.

Who felt romantic feelings first?: Jaskier, surprisingly. Maybe it has something to do with his draw towards people who are hard to achieve? Well, whatever the case, he’s pretty aware of his emotions. He doesn’t always voice them or act the most directly about them, depending, but once he’s aware of them, he knows they’re not going to go anywhere any time soon. So the moment he realized he actually liked you as more than just a travel companion and even more than just a potential bedmate, he just . . . let that feeling stay. Though, not without some drawbacks: The unfortunate thing about Jaskier is that when he’s really attracted to someone, all proper confidence in his actions and diction take a dramatic fall, leaving him a clumsy mess. You weren’t really sure what to make of it when you found the bard struggling to poeticize words around you. You wanted to recognize it as a sign of peace at last but truth be told, you’d grown used to his prose-y way of speaking. Dare you say . . . even fond of it? You eventually settled on being concerned about it. But then again, perhaps he was just tired? Well, whatever the case may be, you tried not to dwell on it. Though whenever the group broke camp the following month, or whenever you saw Jaskier attempting to pen his next song, you tried your best to offer him your services as a kind gesture. It was both a blessing, for it inspired him, and a curse, for the blush that flooded his cheeks mortified him.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?: You definitely tried to when you came to realize you not only liked him, but wanted to be with him. You didn’t want to be another notch in the bedpost for the infamous philanderer for one. And for another, you just simply couldn’t want to kiss the very man you’d been bumpy with the very moment he saw you . . . Right? Well, the gods tended to not be known for their fairness when it came to the affairs of the heart. Or sanity, for that matter. Even with rocky starts aside, you worried over what acting upon these feelings could mean: Would the dynamic of the group change if you and Jaskier were to become romantically involved? Was Jaskier even capable of remaining loyal to you? What if things ende dup not working out? Would it be best if you left? Would Jaskier leave? . . . Would Jaskier even want to be with you at all!? The thought made your stomach cringe, forcing you to think back and regret the annoyance you displayed towards him when you’d first met. As far as you saw it, you had fucked up: You fucked up for acting as you had, and now you fucked up for falling for the silly man. All the while, Geralt is watching you two morons and just grunting with exasperation.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?: Honestly, it would probably still play out about the same: With Jaskier being a lackadaisical moron at the beginning of it, and you annoyed by his presence but also reluctant about your own. “If we’re soulmates, then we’ll inevitably get together,” is Jaskier’s logic. So he’ll sing to you and bat those pretty blue eyes of his, but ultimately he’s not going to go out of his way to be especially directed at you. At first. The moment you begin to indicate that you might seek affection tailored to you in another man, Jaskier gets nervous: You’re supposed to be soulmates, right? You shouldn’t be able to live without him . . . right? It eventually becomes evident that this is not the case: Soulmates or not, if he wants to keep you, he has to actually make an effort. And an effort, he does try to make: Of course, he still goes to tried-and-trues by devoting songs to you. But what he also may do is spend some of his coin on art supplies or new notebooks for you to write and sketch in whenever you come to wealthier areas that might offer leather-bound books. He actually sits and talks with you and listens to you tell him about your findings, what made you want to create a field guide in the first place, etc. And then it turns to talks about the future: Do you ever want to settle down? Do you want to have kids? Do you ever plan on going back to the city from which you originated from, or will you just go back to the place you loved the most on your voyages? And he commits these things to memory. Sometimes, when you’re at a pub and he premiers his newest work, you hear traces and references to your conversations woven into the lyrics: They create tapestries of beasts you’ve encountered, rivers you’ve ridden along, and the mountaintop views you sometimes still dream about. And it’s in those words that you know that in spite of how he acted earlier, this soulmate business really is important to Jaskier: For all intents and purposes, he truly wants to entwine your souls by marrying his love of music and your love of the world together. And as stubborn as you are at first about it, once you see how hard he’s willing to work, you don’t think you would mind that. In due time, of course.

Thanks for asking!

[ofheroesandvillains]

Home (Hearth) - Geralt

Words: 4k Warnings: none really. Summary: Geralt returns to Skellige. Kind of a prequel to Hearth, but I guess it can also be read as a stand-alone.

Hi folks! I gotta be honest, I feel like my writing just isn’t cooperating at the moment so I’m sorry for the delay in Dorian...again (there’s loads of Jaskier shenanigans in the next part though!). Hope you’re all staying safe!

(gif not mine)

It was an unfortunate fact that Geralt didn’t often visit the Isles of Skellige. His work took him to all corners of the world, but there was a particular feeling that crept into his heart when he thought of Skellige—an eagerness he hid even from himself.

When the ship pulled into dock that afternoon he felt it swell in his chest, and it showed in the way his eyes searched the crowded streets. Geralt shook his head at his own foolishness; no one was aware of his arrival. And if they were aware, they had other matters to attended to.

A great celebration was underway, the King’s daughter was to be wed and his services had been requested in exchange for a hefty amount of coin. Even without the coin, Geralt knew he would have obliged. As the flowery poets and bards of the world liked to preach, there were more important things in life than gold—and his treasure was hidden away in Skellige.

“This way, Master Witcher!” Lord Balden called out from ahead.

He was a stout old man with a soft heart and an overactive mind. Geralt had stumbled upon him by chance in a haunted old church on the Continent. Lord Balden had fancied himself indebted ever since Geralt had saved his life, and had naturally requested his services across the seas as well.

Geralt didn’t bother telling him that he knew exactly where he was going—that these were streets he’d longed to see for years. He just followed.

———

Lord Balden had shown him to his room and then promptly disappeared, rambling on about guests and decorations as he went.

Geralt would give credit where it was due—it had been a beautiful wedding, as was expected whenever royals flaunted their riches about, but most seemed to be more excited for the feast that followed. Stuck-up lords and their prim and proper ladies had come undone under the influence of alcohol, stray hairs sticking to sweat-slicked skin and dresses fluttering about as they danced amid drunken laughter.

The noise grated on Geralt’s nerves, but he’d long ago grown used to the assault on his ears. Still, he tucked himself away in hidden corners, on the periphery where no one could bother him as he nursed an ale. He watched the crowd with sharp eyes, anticipating danger and searching, though he’d never admit it. He hadn’t seen her yet—near impossible considering her friendship with the royal family—but he was certain that she had somehow managed to avoid his line of sight.

It was a game she played in their younger years, trying her hardest to evade his sense. Her power alone would give her away, but she didn’t know then that he was hyperaware of her presence. He didn’t needs his eyes to see her. He could smell her on the wind, taste her happiness in the air. He could feel her without touch, hear her without sound.

And for a brief moment Geralt felt a weight settle in his chest. If he couldn’t sense her then perhaps she wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d left Skellige and hadn’t told him. It had been years after all and ambitions changed, people changed, and he feared that even if he did see her, he wouldn’t recognise the person she’d become.  

His grip tightened around his tankard, and his shoulders tensed with the new presence he felt at his back.

“I’m told there is a great Witcher among us.”

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut for no more than a few second—long enough to suppress the shiver that threatened to snake down his spine and send goosebumps skittering along his skin.

“Oh yes,” she continued, draping a gentle hand over his shoulder, “a hero of the highest calibre. The stuff of legend, found only in song and story.”

Geralt hummed, eyes unblinking as she took the seat opposite him. Beautiful. It was just a fact he could slot away with the sky being blue, and the grass green. But there was a saying old mothers would tell their daughters when husbands went off to war. Distance, Geralt knew, really did make the heart grow fonder.

Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find this brave and noble warrior, would you? I would like to enlist his help.”

“Is that right?” Geralt lips curled at the edges and he raised a brow. “He doesn’t work for free, you know.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she gave him an indulgent smile. “A favour then.”

“Two,” he bargained.

“Two?” Her eyes narrowed. “I think he’s overestimated the difficulty of this particular task.”

Geralt shrugged nonchalantly.

“The difficulty doesn’t concern him.”

She arched a brow, curiosity in her eyes. “Then what does?”

Geralt rested his elbows atop the table, and her eyelashes fluttered as his thumb gently swiped a stray off her cheek.

“The fact that it’s you,” he said, before softly adding, “and I’ll take what I can get.”

She tried to fight back a bashful smile, but knew by the warmth in his gaze that he’d already seen it.

“Charmer,” she teased, trying to ignore the ghost of his touch.

Geralt’s lips twitched.

“It’s good to see you, little mage.”

“I thought you’d gone and forgotten us,” she said, and though he could hear the humour in her tone, it wasn’t without an equal amount of sorrow. Perhaps a normal man would have also missed the way her smile faltered, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eye with the admission, but not Geralt.

He could tell her of those long journeys across the continent, the way the scenery would blur into nothingness until all he could see were the streets of Skellige. He could tell her of the strangers he met, the women he’d try to find her in and the men she’d enrapture the moment she stepped into the room. He could tell her that not a single day went by that he didn’t think of her, that he didn’t wish to return to her…

“You’re a difficult woman to forget.”

She smiled, a full and beautiful smile that would have sent a normal man’s heart racing. Geralt golden eyes greedily took in the sight he’d been deprived of for too many years.

“Ah! I’ve found you at long last, my lady!”

Her smile faltered at the interruption, if only for a moment.

“Lord Dalvis,” she greeted with a polite bow of her head, “I was unaware you were searching for me.”

“All my life,” Lord Dalvis shot back with what he must have thought was incredible wit.  

Geralt’s jaw ticked at the sound of her laugh and he eyed the man who was looking at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Traditionally handsome, if a little scrawny—certainly no warrior—but a sight better than the other lordlings scattered about the hall.

“Yes, well, how can I help you?” She asked.

Lord Dalvis’s eyes softened and he cleared his throat.

“I was hoping for that dance you promised me, my lady,” his dark eyes darted to Geralt nervously, and he shifted when she didn’t answer for a few long seconds.

Whatever comfort Geralt felt at her clear moment of indecision was quickly forgotten when she rose from her seat.

“A promise is a promise,” she conceded, eyes apologetically flicking over to Geralt. “I’ll be back soon,” she reassured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze for good measure.

Geralt sighed as he watched the young lord lead her away.

——— It turned out that Lord Dalvis was only one of many, and if Geralt thought his night couldn’t get worse than watching her ridiculous suitors flock to her without pause, he was wrong.

He’d lost count of the amount of men and women who’d approached him with lust in their eyes, or a pouch of gold in exchange for the head of a political rival. Then, of course, were the ones who whispered insults behind his back.

What strange eyes, very exotic, they charge double for that kind of thing down at the brothel. I can make it worth your while, Witcher.

He’s a nasty man, really, no different from the monsters you hunt, I swear!

Who invited the mutant? Filthy little things, can’t believe he was allowed past the front gate.

He stood out like a sore thumb in a place like this, and in any other situation he would have left by now, but if he left he’d miss her. And he’d been missing her long enough. When she finally did return, breathless and exasperated, Geralt was holding his tankard so tightly his fingers had dented the metal.

“Forgive me. They’re worse than nekkers, they are,” she huffed with a small laugh.

Geralt’s answering smile was tight and she took notice immediately.

“I really am sorry,” she continued her brow furrowed in concern. “Lord Dalvis has become a dear friend to me, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. You do understand, don’t you?”

It was foolish of him to think that she’d be locked away in a tower somewhere barred from seeing a man other than himself, but the minuscule, irrational part of him flared bitterly. He scolded himself inwardly. How many nameless, faceless women had he been with, women that weren’t her? Even that wasn’t a thought he was glad to have.

“Of course,” said Geralt, gruffer than he would have liked, and moodier than she deserved.

He felt guilt settle in his chest when her shoulders slumped. Geralt sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “Seems I’m bad company tonight.”

He stood then, though he wanted nothing more than to stay close to her. He cleared his throat and stared off at the crowd to avoid the question in her eyes.

“You should find your lord,” the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they were genuine. “You’re dear to him too.”

He left without another word, slipping through the crowd with more ease than a man of his size should have displayed.

“Geralt…” she called after him.

He ignored the confusion that laced her tone, and kept his gaze ahead and his feet following the same path. If he gave in, he’d have to speak, if he spoke he’d say too much, and if he said too much, he’d be handing her a hammer and his heart to shatter beneath it.

Skellige may have been her home, but it wasn’t his. He had no home, no place to call his own, nothing he could offer her that would make him a better choice than a lord whose heart raced like a hummingbird’s at the sight of her. He would give her anything she asked for, and he’d give it to her here, in Skellige. Not in some foreign land she’d neither seen nor heard of.

She deserved better than a Witcher and Geralt feared she knew it. Why would she choose him and his life of uncertainty over the comfort of home?

———

His feet led him outside to the balcony. It was only slightly quieter than the main hall, and if Geralt turned away from the view of sparkling waters and the kingdom laid out before him, he could see the merrymakers clearly through the ornate windows that were entirely too tall to be practical.

But he didn’t turn away, instead leaning against the balustrade with a deep frown unconsciously settling on his features.

“You look like a man with regrets.”

Geralt sighed, no matter how nice it was to see his old friend. It had been so very long, and if there was one thing that kept him sane at the thought of leaving her in Skellige, it was the knowledge that her half-brother was there to watch over her.

“Not now, Mousesack.”

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled, “I’m certain of it now.”

“I said, not now.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.”

Geralt’s jaw ticked, and he shot his old friend an irritated look.  

“Oh, cheer up, Geralt.” Mousesack clapped a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not here often enough to greet us with this terrible mood. The night is young, enjoy yourself! You’ve been missed far too much to be sulking over here on your own.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder to the dancing couples.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Mousesack’s brows furrowed as he followed Geralt’s gaze, and realisation dawned on him. He laughed.

“If you truly think so, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Geralt looked back to the druid with an arched a brow. “You thought I was a fool?”

Mousesack scoffed. “Still do. And I’ll continue to do so with each day you spend pining in the shadows.”

“I don’t pine.”

“You do. Incessantly, and unnecessarily.” Mousesack’s expression softened. “She’d give you the world if you asked it of her.”

That was debatable at best, thought Geralt.

“She has a life here, a duty.” Geralt looked at Mousesack pointedly. “Family.”

“Not much of a life when it’s spent counting down the days until she sees you again. Her duty is little more than a distraction from those thoughts, and her family will remain her family no matter where she goes.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment as he contemplated Mousesack’s words. “You sound like you’re trying to get rid of her.”

Mousesack scoffed with a frustration he’d been bottling for too long.

“You don’t know what it’s like, watching her wither away. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, and it’s no coincidence that it happens to be the day you returned.”

It was rare for Geralt to experience remorse, but it was etched into the crease of his brow when he looked back to the dancing couples and realised that, though she twirled around with practiced ease, her smile was empty and her eyes were too busy drifting around the room to focus on her partner. She was looking for him, just as he had been looking for her.

“I know you don’t come back here for me, old friend,” Mousesack continued gently. “If you love her, tell her. I can’t keep watching the hope leave her eyes each time you set sail, and she’s too far gone to accept the stableboy’s proposal at this point.”

Geralt frowned, blinked out of his guilt-ridden stupor and sent Mousesack an offended look.

“The stableboy proposed?”

Mousesack shook his head in exasperation. Good to see his priorities are in check.

“The stableboy, the innkeeper…Lord Dalvis will soon, no doubt.”

Geralt’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed at the horizon.

“I’ll tell her.”

Mousesack snorted.

“Good.”

———

When he entered the hall once more, he knew for certain that she was no longer there. Lord Dalvis was glumly sitting by himself and her presence hadn’t lingered. Uncertainty was something he tried to ignore in life—it often was the difference between life and death for someone like himself. But as he walked to her chambers, his thoughts were a jumble.

He would tell her tonight—the secret they both knew but never spoke of. He would tell her his greatest desire and his greatest weakness, and then…then he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t know what she would do.  

Geralt didn’t have all that much time to think on the matter. His long strides had seen him to her room entirely too quickly, and the door eased open of its own accord as soon as he approached it—a silent invitation.

The room was dim, and bathed in the golden glow of candlelight. It looked as it did the last time he’d seen it, but he was certain that she’d grown more beautiful, and the evidence was right there in front of him, wrapped up in a pretty little pearl-coloured nightgown that left little to the imagination and glimmered in the candlelight.

The task had been difficult from its inception, and she’d introduced an entirely new obstacle it seemed. Geralt watched as she wordlessly fluffed a pillow, her face unnaturally solemn. She hit the pillow with more force than necessary, panting between strikes until he caught her wrists.

She glared down at the pillow as if it had wronged her in his place, and Geralt gently urged her to face him. She stared at his chest for a moment before she sighed.

“You’re upset with me,” she finally said, brow furrowing. “I just can’t figure out what I’ve done.”

Geralt tilted her chin up with this thumb and forefinger and gave her a sad smile.

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Then what is it?” She asked with a desperation that made his stomach churn with guilt once more. “I…I don’t understand. It’s been years and I thought…” she trailed off with a frown. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He opened his mouth, ready to reassure her that yes, he was happy. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her the truth.

“Do you know why I stayed away from Skellige as long as I did?”

She stared down at her feet, the question itself seemingly bringing tears to her eyes. As if the idea of him intentionally avoiding the islands was one she hadn’t even considered. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. His own voice was quiet when he spoke; his words a confession he once thought he’d take to his grave.

“I used to torture myself with thoughts of you. Knowing that if returned I could see you, touch you,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “and still not have you. But I ached for more than just the memory of you. I still do. That’s why I’m here.”

She held his calloused and scarred hand to her cheek, goosebumps prickling at her skin as her eyes slipped shut and a tear rolled down to meet the thumb that would swipe it away.

“You know my heart, Geralt,” she said, voice thick. “You’ve always known.”

“I never wanted to be selfish with you. You of all people…you deserve more than I can give you.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks moist. But there, behind the reflection of candlelight in the dark of her pupil was a flicker of another kind—hope.

“Can you give me yourself?”

It was a question that held the weight of the world. To say yes would condemn her, and to say no would be a lie. His head fell forward and their lips brushed as he answered.

“I can.”

He felt, more than saw, her smile, and despite his reservations he knew it felt right.

“Then you’ve given me all I need.”

He dreamt of having her in his arms like this a thousand times over, imagined the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin. He never imagined how intoxicating it would be. Her arms thrown over his broad shoulders, her soft body pressed against him, surrounding him as he surrounded her. He could have lost his senses in that moment, he almost did until he realised his feet were moving in the direction of her bed and she was leading them there.

“You’re sure?” He managed to ask between kisses.

“Yes.”

Geralt paused, his hands caught her waist and he pulled back for a moment. She blinked owlishly at the loss of his lips.

“Really sure,” he took a steadying breath, his control a moment away from slipping, and when she met his gaze he had no doubt that she was aware of how it had darkened.

“Because once I have you…” his jaw clenched as he watched her fingers ease the straps of her nightgown off of her shoulders. “Once I have you you’ll never be free of me.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” she whispered.

“No,” Geralt agreed. “No, I’m not.”

Her nightgown fell to the floor.

———

It was a quiet morning in Skellige, the day Geralt would depart. The wedding celebrations had lasted all week and he suspected that most were still nursing hangovers and sleeping their days away to catch up on the nights they’d lost.

He couldn’t judge them too harshly, he’d lost several nights too, albeit for other reasons. His lips quirked when he heard the squabbling siblings following behind him.

“…yes, I already told you, I’ve checked it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with double checking.”

“No, there isn’t. But this would be the fourth time and that’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’ll also be a little unnecessary when you’re on a ship back here because you’ve forgotten something.”

“Unlike some, I don’t need a ship to travel half way across the world.”

Geralt snorted, regretting doing so when the small chest perched upon the other two he was carrying swayed to the side.

It turned out that the favour she needed her brave and noble Witcher to see to was helping her cart her luggage to the port. She had no intention of staying behind. It was decided the moment she heard of his arrival, and she’d be going with or without his approval.

“Careful with that, my love!”

Despite his exasperation, Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips. When the last of her belongings were loaded onto the wide-eyed and pot-bellied captain’s ship, Mousesack caught Geralt in a hug.

“Protect her for me?”

Geralt nodded, though they both knew the request was merely a formality. “With my life.”

They both turned when a loud scoff sounded behind them.

“Don’t be so dramatic. If anyone is protecting anyone, it’ll be me.”

Mousesack and Geralt shared a look and shrugged.

She did have a point.

Mousesack clapped Geralt on the shoulder and grinned at his little sister. “Well then, she’s your problem now. I expect to see you both here soon, understood?”

She wrapped him up in a tight hug as the captain called out that it was time to leave.

“Of course. It’ll be like I never left.”

They shared a watery smile, and Geralt cleared his throat, an apologetic look on his face.

“It’s time to go.”

With a shaky smile, she nodded at her brother and accepted the steadying hand Geralt held out to her as she boarded the ship. She stood waving to her brother until the dock was out of sight and Skellige was behind them. Never before had she considered the vastness of the seas, how isolated and alone they could make one feel—nothing but flat horizon on all sides.

But she wasn’t alone. There was a hand holding her upright until she could manage a few shaky steps herself, and a broad chest that pillowed her head as they looked out across the horizon together—one filled with wonder and opportunity. Something new and exciting.  

“Where will we go?��� She asked and he gave her hip a reassuring squeeze.

“Wherever you want.”

“Hm…somewhere quiet. I think I’ve had enough of Kings and courts, I want a dog,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. “That, and I think I’d quite like to keep you to myself for a while.”

Geralt hummed, his chest rumbling against her back. “I think I’d like that too. You still owe me two favours after all.”

------

Tags: @dinchenrockt​  @notyouraveragemochii​  @alwayshave-faith​  @no-shxt-sherl​  @szhead31​  @comicbeginning​

I am very bad at keeping track of my lag list, but I didn’t tag anyone who only asked for a Dorian tag. I’ll figure a better system out soon!

[one-leaf-grimoire]

Black Clover Week 2020, Day 4: Role Reversal

So I thought long and hard about what I wanted this to be and I finally decided what the obvious answer is. Behold: "Sexy Evil Julius Novachrono"

Warning: oops kind of angsty lol, ended up kind of long, also slight spoilers for the Spade Arc

"I didn't want it to be like this..."

Julius knew he was backed into a corner. He did his best for six months to hide his condition from the King, but the truth eventually slipped out. Was it one of the Captains? Or more likely Damnatio... but it didn't matter. Julius was dragged out into the light, where Augustus and the entire Kira family laughed at him.

"Look at you! Once, you claimed that your power rivaled mine, but now you're nothing but a weak child!" Augustus taunted as his infuriatingly slow light magic pushed Julius around. "Obviously, you can't be Wizard King any more, can you? And for lying to me for so long..."

Julius was stripped of everything he had worked so hard to achieve. He had hoped that everything would settle down after the defeat of the Spade Dark Triad, but now here he was, banished from the noble realm, with nothing but the body of a child, a single page of his grimoire, his former advisor, Marx.

And last he heard, Augustus was planning to appoint a new Wizard King, to add to Julius's humiliation. He didn't know who it would be, but he knew one thing:

It should still be me. I'm not ready to give it up yet. I'm not done.

There were parts of his dream yet to fall into place, and Julius wouldn't let anyone take hold of the future he fought for.

So, this desperation lead him all over the continent, Marx at his side, searching for ways to bring him back to his full power. It lead them into some pretty dangerous places, but eventually they ended up near a being who might just be able to help him. You see, after the last fight with the Dark Triad, the fabric between this world and the underworld of Devils had been thinned drastically, which was the only reason why Julius found himself face to a Devil with the same powers as him. A rare and interesting opportunity... Julius couldn’t help but think about Asta. How did Asta even manage to get a Devil in his Grimoire? I guess it doesn’t matter now... I’m about to walk down that same path. The Devil was eager for a chance to enter the living world, and willing to let Julius use his powers to do whatever he wanted. Maybe the Devil could sense the malice to come.

But, this was potent, forbidden magic, the kind that required the sacrifice of someone’s life to complete. Luckily, there was a volunteer there, ready to do what it took to help his King.

“I wish I could see this to the end,” Marx told Julius, a smile on his face despite the fear that trembled through his hands. “Promise me you’ll make it back, and fulfill your dream... and try not to get so distracted so much! Seriously, without me there, it’s going to be much worse, isn’t it?”

Julius couldn’t help but laugh at those long-passed memories. “I promise, Marx... I’ll never take my eyes off my goal again.”

And so, Marx’s life ended, and Julius’s began once again.

“J-JULIUS?! What is the meaning of this?!”

To say that Augustus was surprised was an understatement. He stared in shock as the man he banished walked right towards him, in all his former glory. His Swallowtail mark was back, but it was red instead of blue. The bright look that always used to be in Julius’s eyes was gone, replaced with a dark purpose that scared Augustus. The King frantically waved his staff as Julius continued to approach without a word. “Guards! Stop him!”

Four guards ran at Julius, who didn’t even slow down. He just raised his hands, letting off two beams of blinding red light. Screams filled the room as the smoke cleared and there was absolutely no sign of the attackers.

Panic started to fill Augustus as Julius climbed up the stairs to his throne. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he could see a little smile on the man’s face. “Julius!!! I’ll kill you myself!” A giant, golden monarch of light rose up behind Augustus, brandishing it’s staff. Julius recognized it as the same spell that held him down when Augustus humiliated and banished him. He felt more angry now than even when Yami and William were kidnapped, but none of it showed on his face.

Augustus... this is the only time I’ve ever been happy to see you. The day I kill you.

He wanted to see the same fear that once plagued him on Augustus’s face, so Julius let his Devil out. From his Swallowtail mark, pitch-black magic pervaded his body, staining his hair and his skin down to his hands. Just as he intended, a look of pure fear covered Augustus’s face as Julius’s own Weg appeared, a sharp, dangerous onyx antler.

Goodbye, your majesty.

More screams filled the room, and Augustus’s Golden Monarch melted away. Julius let himself smile genuinely before turning back to the others. “You’re all from the Kira family, yes?” he asked, remembering how they all laughed at him. Maybe I can get a little more revenge today... but first... “Tell me... who’s the new Wizard King?”

“I am.”

Julius and everyone else turned to the side entrance to see none other than Fuegoleon Vermillion walk in. Hmm, I should have expected that. This might be tricky. “It’s good to see you again, Fuegoleon,” Julius told him with a little wave, not moving from his place up by the throne. “As you can see, I’m back, so would you be okay with waiting your turn a little while longer?”

Fuegoleon’s eyes darted down to the ground, where several scorch marks already stained the marble. “I can’t do that, sir... you just killed our King.”

“I know it must be shocking to see, but don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same thing. Or,” Julius narrowed his eyes. “Maybe you wouldn’t... maybe you still think of him as family.”

“Family or not, as the Wizard King, I have the Kingdom’s best interest in mind. And right now...” Fuegoleon opened his Grimoire, flames already roaring to life around him. “I don’t think you’re included in those interests.”

“Ah, that’s a shame.” Julius’s smile faded. It was starting to look like he’ll have to kill another friend today. “Well, if you’re so quick to defend a man who deserved to die... I guess we have no choice. Thank you, Fuegoleon. I admire your virtue.”

...

...

“Julius! Julius-”

Yami and William ran to the Castle as soon as they heard the rumors. It can’t be true... Master William would never do such a thing, William thought to himself in a panic. 

That old man... so the moment he comes back, he takes everything out on the Kira family? But if the rumors are true, then also... 

Yami skidded to a stop, William running into him. They peered into the great hall to see the horrible sight. Smoke drifted through the air, the last remaining dregs of flame mana. Mixed in was a horrible, unnatural magic, but unfortunately magic that they recognized all too well. Members of the Kira family were scattered everywhere, but among all of them.

“No... Fuegoleon...” 

William ran to the body and fell to his knees. Yami felt numb as he followed. William felt for a pulse, but couldn’t find it. “So... it’s true. Master Julius is here, somewhere...” His eyes darkened. “We have to stop him.”

They caught up to Julius just as he was about to step out of the castle and reclaim his title. “Ah, you two... I’m glad you’re here-” Julius cut himself off when he saw that Yami and William were ready to attack, grimoires and sword at the ready. “I see... well, before you blindly attack me, why don’t you listen to my speech?”

“What are you going to tell them?” Yami growled, hiding his fear and confusion. “Make promises you can’t keep?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always kept my promises.” Julius’s smile faded a little. “And I made one recently... I promised to never take my eyes off my goal again.” He clenched his fist. “I won’t step down... not until I’ve brought peace and equality back into this kingdom. While there’s still discrimination, I can’t stop.”

“Listen to you...” Yami let his sword lower. “A regular people’s man... you, who’s never faced discrimination in your life. Don’t you think it’s time to hand your job to someone else? We weren’t going to let you get killed, we were trying to find you when you came back here. You did so much for this kingdom already. You should have just gone and found a peaceful life somewhere, instead of crawling back up here, committing murder, and whatever the other shit is you have planned.”

Julius’s smile was completely gone now, just a look of disappointment on his face. “Well... why don’t we see what they think?”

Julius knew that he was beloved by the kingdom. And he knew that love was very much still alive as he walked out to greet the crowd, cheers and cries of his name filling the air. Yami and William could do nothing but watch as he proclaimed himself King and, once again, Wizard King. The crowd ate it all up, this was what they wanted for so long, for Julius to just take the power for himself. They didn’t understand the cost at the time. “Together... we’ll dismantle the system that’s oppressed you for so long. The nobility must go... and that future is in your hands.”

Julius turned back to look at Yami and William as the crowd cheered once again. One read of his Ki, and Yami could tell. Julius had no intention of fighting them, or even defending himself. The message was clear: Yami... are you really going to strike down a beloved monarch in front of the people who love him? 

No... I can’t. Yami grit his teeth. Dammit, Julius...

Julius was filled with nothing but confidence. The confidence of a man with nothing to lose and the entire world to gain.

William stared at the ground, clenching his fists, as Julius came back to join them. “Well, I’m glad you two came around. Now-” Both of the younger men looked up as their friend, mentor, and now King took their hands with his usual smile on his face. But today, that gentleness was a lie. Maybe Julius truly believed in what he was doing, but Yami had a bad feeling that a storm was just around the corner. “Will you help me rebuild this kingdom in our image?”

OUR image? You mean... your image.

“...yes, sir.”

Yami followed him, unable to look into the eyes of anyone as one thought plagued his mind.

I didn’t want it to be like this...

[amayawolfe]

Prologue Pt.1 - A Circus On The Move

My Stories Masterlist  

Word Count: 1943

Summary: Morintonio’s Traveling Circus has reached their docking destination and they are more than ready to be back on land. Among them, a familiar red haired teenager as well as one of his friends.

Warnings: mild angst

   It was a beautiful day in the large port town of Dolle. Hardly a cloud in the sky as the sun shone down bright and strong atop the crowds of people that congested the streets below. The sounds of so many going about their daily business were accompanied by that of natural sounds of the surrounding area. Gulls would cry out while fish salesmen discussed prices of the day's catch and draft animals would low as the wheels of the carts they pulled crunched along the ground.

   Several ships would come and go throughout the day bringing in and shipping out an unimaginable variety of both goods and people. Ships would even bring in entertainment. Entertainment such as "Moritonio's Traveling Circus''.

   The troupe consisted of amazing acrobats, wise fortune tellers, brave beast tamers, and mystifying magicians; just to name a few. They were all led by a mysterious man, Moritonio, whose skills in the performing arts left countless avid yet baffled fans. They had traveled throughout most of the lands of the Esanian Continent, gaining the reputation and funds they needed to travel to the Yorubian Continent. There, dreams of making it big in the pleasure capital known as Glam Gas Land appeared to be just within reach.

   The crew of the Ebon Pearl scurried about their routine to make sure their ship was ready for docking. The captain's first mate barked orders and issued threats at some of the more lazy crew members. High up in the crow's nest a young man in his mid-teens was watching the activities below with alert and curious eyes of amber.

   Having only been taken in a little over two months ago, the teen is one of a few young trainees in the traveling circus. Morintonio and a few of the members found the poor boy half-dead on the side of the road. Feeling sorry for the unfortunate lad, the ring leader ordered for the boy to be brought back to their temporary site. There he was cleaned up, bandaged, and fed.

   Thanks to the aid of another trainee, the boy had recovered quickly enough to be back on his feet in nearly a week's time. It was a good thing, too, since by that point the troupe was ready to be on the road again. A few days travel and the young man found himself sailing south on a ship with the others.

   Movement from the shrouds just below the crow's nest drew the young man's attention. Looking down he saw a girl just a couple years younger than himself climbing up the shroud ropes with impressive ease and grace. Not all too surprising seeing she was an acrobat trainee.

   As if she felt his eyes gazing down at her, the girl suddenly looked up. Her violet eyes sparkled in the bright sunlight and she flashed him a warm smile.

   "Hey, Hisoka!" she greeted him kindly.

   Within moments the girl was up the last bit of ropes and jumped over the edge of the crow's nest. Placing her hands on her hips she turned head this way and that to have a look about.

   "Quiet the view, I can see why you're up here so much. Guess I should have come up here sooner as well."

   "Well, you can't say I didn't invite you up, Abaki. ♣" Hisoka replied nonchalantly. The girl smirked and tilted her head to the side.

   "Yeah, I know, but being alone up here with you might get people talking. And last thing I need is Jasper to get jealous and have more reasons to try and hit on me." Abaki shuttered at the thought of the fire-breather trainee that was always trying to get her to go out with him.

   "You know,~" Hisoka replied coolly; a sly and knowing grin forming on his face, "you could have brought that friend of yours. What was her name again? Camilla? ♢"

   Even though Abaki's warm caramel skin had darkened under the sun's rays while out at sea, Hisoka could still make out the blush forming on his friend's cheeks as she looked away from his taunting amber eyes. Causing Abaki to blush over her crush had become an amusing little game to Hisoka.

   "I.. hadn't thought of that," the girl mumbled admittedly.

   Hisoka chuckled and looked back down to the deck below. His soft raspberry hair fluttered in the sea breeze as he leaned against the edge of the crow's nest.

   "I take it the reason you came up here is to tell me that Morintonio wants us to be ready to leave the ship soon? ♢"

   "Oh!" Abaki jumps and whips her head back around towards her friend, "Yeah, I nearly forgot the reason I came up here in the first place! I was told to get you to come down and help make sure everything is ready to go. The boss wants us all of the ship within an hour of docking."

   The plan had been to have plenty of time to get stocked up and ready to head out the next morning. All the while allowing enough time for most everyone to work the streets in the evening with little side performances to make some extra travel money. Performances such as small fire shows, juggling, and tumbling acts, as well as a little magic talent. Minute street sideshows that wouldn't need a license to put on nor a full set up to get things ready and going.

   "Oh, is that all? And here I was thinking you were wanting to hang out with me for a bit, ♣" the red hair boy playfully pouted. Abaki wrinkled her nose and gave him a playful shove before she started to climb over the edge of the crow's nest again.

   "We could hang out more if you weren't always secluding yourself away from the others you know."

   "I still get the feeling the others aren't comfortable around me,~♠" Hisoka said softly, a seriousness settling in his voice and expression. "Besides, you know I'm shy.~♠"

   "I know, Hiso. But, you're just going to have to try a little harder, that's all. I like being your friend and all, but you really should try and make more." Abaki offered him a warm, lopsided grin before she started her descent back down the shrouds. "I wouldn't take to much longer up here if I was you, you don't want Borizoi to get mad at you again."

   Borizoi was an absolute beast of a man who seemingly had it out for Hisoka from the start. He did not like the circumstances in which the young man had been found and actually vouched for the poor boy to be left for dead. Ever since then, Borizoi always had a cold, unforgiving eye on Hisoka.

   "Don't worry," Hisoka gave his fellow trainee a smile in return, "I will be down shortly,~♣"

   "Alright, see you then!"

   Abaki quickly worked her way down the ropes without a single slip up. Even some of the crewmen paused in their tasks to watch her. Some with envy, others with impressed awe. There were definitely benefits in learning how to become a tight rope walking acrobat.

   Hisoka's smile faded as Abaki climbed back down to the top deck. His friend's words echoed through his head. An all too familiar feeling began to gnaw at the back of his mind. Loneliness, and the sense that he was oddly different than most of the other troupe members.

   Often the young lad would chock the latter feeling to the fact that he was what Morintonio called a "nen user." The ring leader, Abaki, and Hisoka were the only ones in the whole circus troupe that could use their auras to do extraordinary things. And yet, while Abaki made multiple friends and got along with just about everyone in the troupe, Hisoka only really ever associated with Abaki, Morintonio, and his magician trainer, Magikana.

   For reasons unbeknown to him, people often found themselves uncomfortable around Hisoka. Both Morintonio and Abaki just tried to lightly pass it off as the others just feeling uneasy due to his raw potential and ability to learn things quickly. They both insisted the others would get used to him eventually as long as he kept trying to socialize.

   Magikana, or simply Kana, to Hisoka, once told him something on an utterly different level.

                                             ~    *    ~    *    ~    *

   One night, a few weeks back, he had come over and sat next to his teacher only to have the three other members that had been conversing with her stop in mid-sentence. After a few minutes, those same three members rose to their feet and left with hardly a single word more. Despite Hisoka not showing any emotion towards the happening, he had felt dejected. Kana looked down at her pupil and placed a long, boney, yet warm hand on his shoulder. She then spoke to him in her thick, accent rich voice.

   "Sheep vill always be nervous round volves, no matter how convincing vool may be."

   "So, what does that make you then?♣" Hisoka had asked somewhat bitterly. Kana simply flashed him a sly and toothy grin and winked.

   "Is simple, I is fox!" Kana chuckled wholeheartedly. "Small enough to be little vorry for sheep. But! Still dangerous enough to cause problem if see fit."

   Hisoka had smiled at Kana, she seemed to always know what to say when Morintonio didn't.

   "Alright then, sensei, what am ?~♢"

   "Hmmm," Kana hummed in thought. She carefully looked Hisoka over before finally giving him an answer. "I vould say, you are much like volf. But, you is still pup. Could be fox, like me. So," Kana shrugged her slim shoulders, "sheep is scared of vaht you could be."

   "Oh, I see... ♠" Hisoka had sounded intrigued; and yet, sad. "And, what about Abaki and Morintonio? ♣"

   Kana let out a boisterous laugh at Hisoka's inquiries then ruffled his hair.

   "I tink you vorry too much, little one. To answer question, Abaki is like dog. Many people like dog, and dog like many people. Sheep often look to dog for guidance, protection, and friendship. Dog can also get along vith volf. Volf and dog have much in common. Now, Ving Leader..."

   The magician paused in thought for a moment. A far off look appeared in her eyes as she carefully mulled over her analysis of the curious man everyone knew as Morintonio.

   "He is own beast," Kana had finally replied in a distant voice. "Ving Leader is loved by many, yet, he can be very dangerous man. Should alvays keep some guards up vith that man." A puzzled looked flittered across Hisoka's face.

   "What makes you say that? ♣"

   "Call it 'animal instinct,'" Kana chuckled lightly. "Should always listen to gut, gut vant to live as much as you do. Sometimes more so. Vaht you need, little one, is to find more volves. Or even dog, cat, or fox. Find more like you. Vill not be easy, but, vill be vorth it."

                                                   ~    *    ~    *    ~    *

   Hisoka found himself smiling a little whenever the memory of that conversation found its way through his train of thought. Somehow, it helped ease some of the lonely feelings.

   He gave a little shake of his head to bring himself back to the present. In one smooth movement, he leaped over the edge of the crow's nest and landed onto the shroud. With agile grace and speed that would even make Abaki jealous, Hisoka made his way down to the top deck where he found some of the other troupe members who were quick to put him to work.

~   ~   ~

Next Chapter:  Bubblegum Blood Prologue Pt. 2 - A Glimpse of Darkness

~   ~   ~

Thanks for reading! If you liked what you read, please be sure to click that heart icon! 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

...& Steel for Humans (Geralt x fem!Witchress, Part 2.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part summary: After a talk with your old friend, there is one thing - a contract which is supposed to keep you rich for at least other ten years. But there are things you are not going to like about is. 

A/N: Honestly, Dijsktra is one of my favourite in-game characters and I sincerely hope that he will make an appearence in the Netflix series. That mf is so fun honestly.

Tagging: (tell me and I will add you :)) @osgon-azure​ @davnwillcome

Word count: 2.1 K

Master list: H E R E

To your good luck, Dijkstra was very clear with the place of his staying - that fat rat was hiding at the Novigradian Bathhouse. You never held anything against Dijkstra - he was being a dick? You told him. That man knew famous non-humans like Geralt and even legends upon men, like Vernon Roche or the Redenian King Radovid. And he didn't hesitate to shove those connections into other people's faces. And you were one of them at that point.

So naturally, it didn't mean anything good when Dijkstra not only contacted you but knew where you were staying at the time. Novigrad was just three days of a slow ride on your horse and you didn't have anywhere to rush. Dijkstra only informed you, very kindly you must've said, that he would like to speak to you once you reach the city walls. It was for an important matter of saving lives or what.

Yeah, you weren't over your heels because of his demand. But you stopped in front of the famous bathhouse two days after the whole werewolf situation with a cape in your face. It wouldn't be exactly clever to walk around one of the biggest cities of the Northern Kingdoms just showing your face to everyone around you. Novigrad was looking just as you remembered it - it was dirty, it stank, beggars were on every corner and elf prostitutes only. That was the thing you didn't like on Novigrad. You had to be either a demon of a shapeshifter to cover that you're a non-human or you had to be a prostitute to be a non-human living in this city.

The cult of Eternal Flame was going nuts there. One of the priests even noticed that cats were hissing at you and that dogs ran away when your warhorse was driving through the streets and tried to verbally insult you and on top of that, he was calling you a heretic and a sinner. Instead of pinning him to a wall with your sword as a warning, you scoffed at his words and continued to Passiflora where you turned left. Not too long after that, you were standing in front of the bathhouse.

A bald man took your house, saying his name is Happen, and lead it to the nearby stable so the people there would take care of the poor animal. It needed some proper rest and some clear water, you couldn't deny that you weren't able to give your horse this kind of comfort on your travels.

To be honest, from the first moment you stepped in, you knew that the bathhouse stank. You hated those lingering, sweet smells that usually settled on the tip of your nose. Bathhouses usually used these scents because the humans found it more relaxing. Yet it was like a catalyzer for your damn nose - that was maybe for the first time in the last years when you sneezed. And it was damn uncomfortable.

Finding Sigismund wasn't exactly challenging - that man couldn't be ignored with the bright colors he tended to wear and with the size of his body. One of his legs also wasn't exactly in the best shape, so the limbing was quite easy to recognize when he was on the moe. At least to witchress's ears, it was unique.

Once you entered his office, you could see him sitting behind a table, going through some papers. You were quiet, so it took him a while to notice a caped person standing in the corner of the room. His face lit up with a smile that wasn't soothing nor comforting; he looked like a dick if you had to be honest.

"It is always a pleasure to see old friends. Have a seat with me, come on." - He said when you took the hood off and your face and white hair could be finally seen. You snorted when you sat down, taking a few grapes without even asking Dijkstra a word. He was quickly pouring you some of the sweet wine he had on the table but both of you knew that your lips won't even touch the drink.

"We aren't friends, Dijkstra. And also, it is never a good sign when you can find me without too much of trying." - A short answer to his greeting could be heard while your eyes scanned the books in his bookcases. Law things, political archives, some of the Novigrad's biggest family chronicles, nothing too extraordinary or interesting. Yet the Gwent packs caught your eye, so you took the Northern Kingdoms deck and started to go through it, looking at the cards with interest.

"Well, it didn't take too much of an effort to figure out that a witcher is in the Mire West currently. People talk and news spread quickly, don't forget about that. Especially quickly when you know who to ask for details." - The man slowly leaned into the chair behind his back while you turned your attention back to him, eating the grapes slowly.

"You torture people, you don't ask for details, Sigismund, don't you try to make me laugh because I am not in the mood for jests. You're just as much of a bitch as I am." - You smiled ironically, being tired of his little welcoming games. - "What is it that you need? Don't tell me that I came all the fucking way to Novigrad from Mire West just to see your fucking handsome face. And lemme tell you, you are fucking ugly."

At that, Sigismund laughed and shook his head. You two couldn't be exactly considered friends since everybody knew that you don't like Sigismund one bit. That wasn't too hard to understand - Sigismund was a spy who couldn't be trusted. But you two couldn't be even called enemies, since most of the time, you both stood at one side of a case - if you ever decided to take a stand in anything political.

"I have a friend in need and I told her that I will try to ask you for a helping hand." - He looked you in the eyes. Sigismund had a job... For a witchress? With that, you rose your eyebrows and furrowed. - "She offers you a ridiculous amount of coin - for searching and killing the source. And also invites you for a damn dance and pays for your stay Novigrad, no matter which inn you'd name." - He told very seriously so you could understand that Dijkstra isn't in a mood for games either.

"Damn. That must be a real matter of life and death if they're putting so much coin into it. What is going on?" - You asked and stole another grape from the small silver plate, putting the deck back on its place. You liked the grapes, they were sweet. Dijkstra surely had to offer them in Passiflora, the whorehouse just a while from Saint Gregory's bridge.

"No-one knows. We only know that whatever the fuck it is, it breaks trees and rocks like small wooden sticks and that it cooks humans for dinner. We dunno much more than what I've told ya." - Dijkstra told you and your face got even sourer than before. This wasn't just some ordinary Vampire, nor a Fiend. - "It lives in the mountains east from Novigrad and the Vegelbuds are rather concerned with it. No matter what in the horse's ass it is, it already massacred two villages."

Again, you pushed yourself more into the plushy chair Dijkstra had offered you. This wasn't a matter you could laugh at. Whether you liked it or not, it was more than fucking serious. Women and children were killed, men could be eaten or stomped to death.

"Bullshit. There ain't no monster who can destroy a whole damn village just because it wants to in Redenia. There ain't one like that on the whole Continent. Before you jump in with Fiends, they are too lazy for any that." - You started slowly and put a strand of your hair behind your ears.

"Dijkstra, honestly, I ain't a dumb bitch. You're the mediator between me and the Veganbrods or what the fuck is their name and I know that you'll have a lot of money from this. But no witcher, squirrel, or human will take this fucking job. This ain't a job. This is suicide." - You said, looking him in the eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, I just love how honest you can be with me. This ain't a one-man job, of course. We already have some... Takers who are gladly willing to accompany you." - Dijkstra said in a solid-sure tone.

"If it's Letho of the Viper school, tell him to fuck off right away. I hope it's not a sorceress either, I can't stand these bitches either. Lambert would be a nice company, tho and I wouldn't mind me an Eskel either." - You said honestly with a small smile. Yeah. You knew how did your witcher brothers work on their contracts, you knew you would get along with them and if there would be anything that would go bad, they would have your back.

You liked Lambert the most of all the witchers you knew - it didn't matter if they were from your school or the Griffin school or the Vipers, you just liked Lambert the most. There were rumors that you and he had some kind of a relationship - whether it had ended up or was going on. And any of that wasn't confirmed either denied by any of you. When people asked you, you both just smiled and changed the subject.

"It's not Lambert, unfortunately, but it is someone you know, which is some good fucking news. And it is someone you don't like, I have to say - one of them sings all the fucking time and the other one is a grumpy moron who had fucked up my leg. But don't think about that. Business is business, darling, it's not about liking someone. It's about money and surviving the fucking trip to the mountains." - Dijkstra looked you right in the eyes. You sat there in silence, watching the man with a dead serious face.

Of course. Of fucking course. Your partner for the trip, who you had to believe with all your will power, the partner who was supposed to be someone you should be able to trust with whole life, that man was supposed to be the white-haired moron. And his possibly gay friend. You looked at Dijkstra, having that daring look on your face.

"I can still say no, you ugly bastard." - You said honestly. At that, the idiot sitting opposite of you started laughing.

"No-one denies your right to deny - only your financial state and the reputation you have around Novigrad and other big cities now. Tell me, Y/N, you and the other witchers have some kind of a competition which should determine who is the worst person of you all?" - Dijkstra asked, having you speechless for a moment. - "Because according to my people, you have the leading position now. The incident with Stjepan got pretty known here over the last few days. And I know you like to keep your honor clean."

"I had never hurt a woman or a child. And that's it." - Was the sentence you said coldly as ice.

"People heard otherwise. Almost dragging the children out of the bed, abducting them so you can bring them to your witcher school as payment and all of that came with your promise of the next generation of witchresses... Oh Y/N, you know that one small rumor can completely ruin your business, huh?" - He leaned in, closer to you, watching your reactions. You hated Sigismund but there was one thing that needed to be said - he was a damn good businessman.

Why did that hiding rat want you to take the contract? You had no idea. But even though you didn't want it for some reason, he knew how to make you take it.

So it was said and done - you were supposed to travel to the mountain alongside Geralt of Rivia and his small musician puppy Julian. But not before a grand ball held at the Vegelbud family residence three hours away from Novigrad. Which, on the other side, you were excited about.

[jaskiersvalley]

Oh my god im the anon with the cuckoowitcher ask. I've been running around all day trying to have a few quiet Moments to read! I really loved it thank you so much. I've been reading all your lovely Storys but I have to say I have a Soft Spot for cuckoo Jas. Thank you for responding and writing something so sweet. Still love your writing and it still helps a hell a lot! Lots of love! Hope to see much more

Some people get stuck in my head and you, cuckoo Jaskier Nonnie, are one of those people because you’re always so polite and sweet. So while I may not have more cuckoo Jaskier stories at the moment, I wonder whether you’d like something else. There’s a lot of warlord Geralt going around, with Jaskier offered up as a tribute. But has anybody ever considered warlord Jaskier before?

It had started off as a side gig, Jaskier would always be adamant about that. He had wanted to be a bard. Sing songs, witness adventures and maybe be adored by the masses, that was his grand plan for life. Unfortunately, being a travelling bard didn’t pay well and people weren’t as quick to laud him as Jaskier had hoped. However, according to Redanian Secret Services, he was in the unique position to help them gather intelligence. So, on the side as Jaskier collected materials for his greatest works yet, he also picked up intel on armies, prisoners, relationships between factions, species and kingdoms. It was quite eye opening.

The only problem with it all was that Jaskier wasn’t stupid. He could see where wars were brewing, what allegiances were being forged. And, really, Jaskier thought he could do so much better. The information he was returning back to Redania wasn’t being used in the best way possible. So Jaskier started tailoring the information to ‘help’ them along. He had also managed to make friends with a few of the other intelligence officers, namely Valdo and Priscilla. Between the three of them, they had quite a spread of information and spent many a drunken night gossiping over maps, discussing how they would solve the problems of the continent.

One thing led to another and suddenly Jaskier had more than two fellow spies at his beck and call. Somehow he’d ended up with the loyalty of the dwarves, Zoltan and his crew being quite helpful. Then Filavandrel and his elves entered a truce with Jaskier, followed by Triss Merigold and a handful of sorceresses. It was haphazard at best but word travelled. And suddenly Jaskier was being approached by the Redanian Secret Service not as a spy but as an equal. They wanted to trade information and Jaskier almost laughed. Except, after Redania came Nilfgaard, offering riches in exchange for information and good relations. Not like Jaskier had an army or lands or anything like that. Did he? The dwarves and elves had their own regions, Redania was trying to save face that their own officers had done a better job of keeping the peace. Well, there was no harm in keeping on good terms with Nilfgaard, they had been the thorn in the continent’s side for a while. Maybe by being friendly, Jaskier and co could actually help settle issues.

When Temeria took umbrage at Jaskier’s meddling, it was one hell of an awkward moment because Redania, Nilfgaard, elves, dwarves and even Aedirn joined forces to quiet the unrest. Which was a turning point of sorts. Suddenly, every kingdom great or small came knocking on Jaskier’s door. He’d returned to Lettenhove because home was home. The steady stream of well wishers and ambassadors was, frankly, embarrassing. Jaskier had a hard time keeping up with everything.

Then there was the matter of Kaedwen. They were trying to be fiercely independent and up in arms. It just wasn’t going to do and, for the first time in his life, Jaskier asked his newfound allies if anyone was willing to raise arms against the threat. Unsurprisingly, Nilfgaard was down for a battle or two but they were joined by the elves. Redania offered medical assistance while the dwarves and trolls helped with supplies. It was all rather anticlimactic, an army marching to Kaedwen, only to be greeted by a white flag.

Not all battles were so easy though, sometimes factions arose, Cintra was being a royal twit and the war fought with them and Skellige was brutal. In the end though, they were defeated, Queen Calanthe had to admit defeat. Despite this, they weren’t prepared to roll over and play nice. In an attempt to display might and dignity, they sent the most extravagant offerings to Lettenhove. It wasn’t riches, no silks, no finery or gold. Instead, they had captured the most difficult of offerings. A witcher.

He was trussed up in his own silver chains. Silver for monsters as witchers had been known to say. It was a warning from Cintra, they had caught the most feared of beasts, the monster designed to kill all monsters. They wouldn’t bow down to a warlord, no matter what the kingdoms thought and did. The witcher was tied to a horse and made to walk behind it though a shuffle was a more apt description.

Jaskier stood in the hall of Lettenhove and watched as the half starved wretch was shoved to his knees in front of him. A hungry witcher was a weak one, much easier to subdue and manage.

“A gift, from Cintra,” the messenger had declared and stepped away with a bow.

Approaching the witcher, Jaskier ignored how every eye seemed trained on him, hands on swords and prepared to leap to his protection. Rather than pay them any attention, Jaskier sank to his knees in front of the witcher.

“Hello,” he offered. There was no response, the witcher’s head was bowed, whole body tense, trying to exude disdain and an air of threat. Up close, Jaskier could see the fine tremors through muscles though. He stood up. “Please pass my thanks to Cintra, I accept your fealty and this offering. Though I would request no more live tributes. Or dead ones! Gold, silks, food and shared knowledge is more than enough. Court dismissed.”

Nobody moved for a moment. “Everyone out!”

Jaskier stood next to the witcher who hadn’t moved throughout the exchange. As soon as they were alone, he was crouching down, tugging at the silver chains.

“You poor thing, how could they treat you like that.” Gradually, the witcher was freed from his bonds and as soon as he could, he had Jaskier’s own dagger at Jaskier’s throat. “Harsh,” Jaskier observed, “but fair. Can we save the killing for after dinner though? I have always found having a full stomach helped with most decisions.”

He didn’t expect the witcher to waver, the dagger fall from his hands and for him to collapse on the ground in a dead faint. It seemed that springing on Jaskier had really been the last of his energy. What a waste.

Needless to say, there was no killing after dinner. Jaskier learned that the witcher was called Geralt, he’d been to Cintra to collect his child surprise but Queen Calanthe had different ideas. Trapped, Geralt had been helpless to do anything which was how he’d ended up becoming an offering to a warlord.

That had Jaskier laughing. He wasn’t a warlord. If anything, Jaskier was a failed bard and a very bad intelligence officer because he thought he could do better than those he worked for. It wasn’t his fault people were pledging their allegiances to him or that he had to ask if anyone was willing to help deal with a threat to the peace that he was bringing to the continent. No, Jaskier wasn’t a warlord because he helped bring new rules to kingdoms and enforced them. Oh shit. He was a warlord. His parents were going to be so pissed off when they found out.

“I think they already know,” Geralt had interrupted Jaskier’s internal panic. “You might have been the last person on the continent to find out.”

“But I didn’t mean to become one.”

“I didn’t mean to become a witcher. Destiny is a bitch.” Geralt had shrugged. “At least you get to choose who you will speak to from different kingdoms. Is Emhyr over the fact you won’t talk to him yet? That you picked some general of his army as a representative”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward grin. “I mean, I just figured the Emperor of Nilfgaard himself wouldn’t want to deal with me. So I picked someone who would and who I liked. Then I heard of what Emhyr’s like and just decided I liked my pick better.”

Over the course of a week, Geralt ate and rested, gaining back his strength and resilience. Jaskier admired from afar, astounded by how quickly his witcher seemed to bounce back. Not his witcher. Geralt didn’t belong to anyone. Even if Jaskier quite fancied the idea.

“You’re free to come and go. I’ve set out a new law that’s making its way round the lands. Witchers are to be lauded and appreciated for their hard work,” Jaskier said as he stood, facing Geralt by the stables. His witcher was ready to head out on the Path again, hopefully it was going to be a little easier for him from now on.

“Thank you.” The thing was, Geralt sounded so earnestly genuine. “I was wondering, could you keep something safe for me until I return?”

An unusual request but Jaskier would help if he could.

“You’ve been a wonderful guest, even if your arrival wasn’t the most wholesome one. I’ll keep anything safe for you.”

He didn’t anticipate Geralt leaning in to kiss him chastely. “Keep my heart safe. I’m leaving it in your good care.”

The bastard then had the gall to hop onto his horse and ride off without a backwards glance. Jaskier was going to tell him exactly what he thought of that tactic when he came back. Until then, he would treasure Geralt’s heart, even if he didn’t have time to officially give his own in return.

[a-recovered-sugar]

A Sense of Duty... But respect has to be earned

 JAN MOIR says Harry and Meghan's grovelling documentary could damage their cause

By now, we all know the Harry and Meghan drill. Their royal mission in life is to 'shine a light' on hardship, to raise awareness and funds for good causes, while still being 'authentic' in themselves.

And truly, they are to be commended for this.

If they so wished, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex could slink behind the vegan silk curtains at Frogmore Cottage, they could hunker down on their Soho House velvet sofas and tell the world to go to hell, while raising baby Archie in the most private and pampered environment that only a century of British royal prerogative can provide.

However, they clearly have a sense of duty that precludes the luxury of such seclusion. Yet they want the best of both these worlds, which is where the trouble starts.

Harry & Meghan: An African Journey offered an insight into the emotional journey the 'vulnerable and bruised' royal couple have been catapulted into. 

In an interview with ITV, The Duchess of Sussex said she has found the focus on her after her marriage and giving birth a struggle, adding: 'Not many people have asked if I'm ok'

They hoped to focus on important humanitarian issues in a country still riven with gender and racial inequality, where dirt-poor black people remain trapped in townships and life expectancy rates are among the lowest in the world.

As the cameras started rolling, it was clear this could have been one of the most inspiring and amazing royal tours of all time, especially at the beginning when Meghan met young women in Nyanga township, the so-called 'murder capital' of the country.

'I am here with you as a mother, as a wife, as a woman, as a woman of colour and as your sister,' she informed the small crowd that had gathered.

Her words might seem glib to first-world ears, but there is no telling how stirring they might seem to young women who could see and hear, through the Meghan prism, of a more hopeful future for themselves.

Later the duchess told documentary presenter Tom Bradby that she had added those words herself, with Harry's approval.

Bradby was given special access to the Sussexes for this hour-long documentary, and he reminded us more than once of the depth of his 20-year friendship with Prince Harry.

The two men had often talked privately, we were informed, about grief and mental health issues. Yet did we really need to hear that Tom had a few issues of his own, and had to take time off work to deal with them last year?

Bradby clearly thought this gave him a special insight into the byzantine workings of the prince's mind, who – never mind the poverty and social blight he was witnessing – was soon voicing concerns about the media spotlight on himself and his wife.

As the couple vented, Bradby crept around like a 17th century court flunkey, tugging his flaxen forelock and holding an orange pomander to his nose at any perceived criticisms of H&M.

'This is a couple that feel themselves on a moral mission to challenge what they feel is wrong,' he whispered at one point.

The shocking thing was Harry and Meghan weren't talking about luckless Africans they met who have struggled so long and so hard to overcome their ill-fated lot in life. They were talking about themselves.

On the banks of a nameless river deep in the veldt, Harry talked emotionally to the ITV cameras of his difficulties.

With the velvety embrace of the African night unfolding behind him, there he stood, this motherless son, his eyes shining like headlamps in the gathering gloom.

Every time he heard a camera click, he said, it made him think of Diana. He was still struggling, his pain was endless.

One sympathises with Harry, still seeking to apportion blame for the death of his mother 22 years later.

This is unbearably sad in itself and we have all witnessed and understood his pain. Yet there are many stages of grief, and he seems unable or unwilling to move on from the first soul-crushing phases.

If that is really how he feels about the situation, if this royal life for him is so unendurable and intolerable, then perhaps he really should desist from his duties.

Perhaps he and Meghan should opt for a quiet private life, give up the proselytising, retreat to the country. Everyone would entirely understand. Especially with a wife who complains, as Meghan did to Bradby, that no one ever asks how she is doing and that their life together is 'existing and not living'.

In conclusion, Bradby said the Sussexes hope to turn the 'relentless media interest in them into a positive force for good'. If so, they are going a funny way about it.

For one wonders at them visiting Angola, one of the most unfortunate countries in the world, and then using it as a backdrop to complain about their own problems.

All those wonderful people the Sussexes met across the continent, all those desperate problems they encountered, were condensed into a thin, doomed chorus that no one was listening to, while attention focused on the grandiose oratorio of their unfeigned pain, and the jolt of their first-world grievances.

Think of their plight compared to the teenage girls taking boxing lessons to fight off sexual predators who rape them with impunity. The tiny children in Angola who are still having their limbs blown off by land mines and the adults who have coped with mass killings and endless wars, not to mention a life without limbs themselves.

If you can bear witness to all of that misery and still stand in front of a camera, biting your lip or with a tear in your eye, as you complain that behind the ramparts your life is tough, then you are tone deaf to the concerns of real people and blind as to how you are perceived.

Harry and Meghan think that people are mean to them.

They have to learn that respect has to be earned, not demanded. And that grovelling documentaries such as this damage rather than support their cause. ----------------- This piece by Jan Moir pretty much sums up where I am at in my recovery from the Sussexes. I naievely thought that this tour was going to be where they finally settled down to realise that railing against the gilded cage was going to bring nothing but mockery, but then the statement came out and I couldn’t do it anymore. And now the entire tour has been summed up by a documentary where “their plight is compared to the teenage girls taking boxing lessons to fight off sexual predators who rape them with impunity.” I mean fuck. I can’t swallow the gold pill anymore.

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

This city was beautiful. The touristy parts, anyway. You were sure that – like every other city in the world – Beijing had its ugly scars, too. But you stayed in the areas that all the brochures and websites bragged about, saving you from having to see those not-so-shiny places.

You’d been saving up for this trip for the past year and a half. All your life you wanted to experience just one place new. Then you’d be perfectly content going back to your ordinary life with your office job. Or maybe this trip would just make you eager for the next one. It was kind of a toss up at this point in your youth. But you wouldn’t worry about whether or not you could be content with your boring routine until you were back home. For now, you’d continue exploring, taking in the beautiful, ancient architecture that was so unique to the region, visiting the art and history museums to learn more about what you were seeing, and trying all the street food you could get your hands on. Your main focus was to take in all that you could and not forget a single moment.

When you’d first arrived in Beijing, a nauseated feeling had bubbled up in your stomach. You were in foreign territory, completely on your own, with very little knowledge on how to navigate this roaring city. The feeling refused to die down as you checked into your hotel and searched the maps you’d been given by the front desk worker for something to eat. Even with as exhausted as you were from traveling, sleep didn’t come easy. By some miracle, however, you woke up the next morning much more at ease with your surroundings. Still nervous about getting lost or accidentally offending someone, but it wasn’t as threatening a feeling as it had been before. Going throughout your day, you nearly forgot all about your worries, too absorbed in your findings to pay attention to it.

By day three, you were practically a local. It was so magical, each new finding, that you couldn’t believe this was truly your reality, like soon you’d wake up to find it was all a dream.

“Oh, back again?”

You blushed as you bobbed your head in greeting. There was one vendor in the market place near your hotel that you kept coming back to. A mother and daughter team sold the most delicious baozi you’d ever tasted. Granted, your experience was limited to a few blocks, but it was a common street food and none compared to this dynamic duo’s. While the mother didn’t speak English, you were able to communicate with the daughter well enough.

“It’s my favorite treat,” you admitted shyly. The daughter waived you closer before pulling out two steaming, fresh buns, wrapping them carefully before holding them out to you. When you started to pull out your wallet, she shook her head. “No. These are just for you. Since you like them so much.”

You pursed your lips. “That doesn’t feel right.”

“You’ve been a loyal customer,” she laughed. “It’s the least we could do! However,” she rounded the cart, coming up close to you as she lowered her voice, “tonight is the Shangyuan Festival. My mother will be staying in, but if you would like to join me to make her happy that I won’t be alone, we’ll consider that payment.”

It still didn’t seem fair, but you laughed anyway. “Yes, of course!” You’d noticed the streets being decorated with paper lanterns since your arrival – some were the traditional round red ones you were used to, but others were shaped like flowers and animals, beautifully crafted and painted, making you stare in awe. “It’d be nice to have someone show me the festival.”

“Good! It’s settled then. We will close before the sun sets, so meet me here then. We’ll walk my mother home and then I will show you the festival!”

You nodded eagerly. Before parting so you could hurry to your other planned activities for the afternoon, you finally learned the daughter’s name: Shishi. It was cute and not something you’d really heard before.

The afternoon hours seemed to fly by and before you knew it, the sun was beginning to disappear from the sky. As quickly as you could, you ran back to the stall, careful not to ram anyone down in the process. Shishi was still waiting for you patiently, her mother shaking her head at you in a scolding manner.

“I’m so sorry,” you huffed, half doubled over from your exhausting sprint.

“It’s okay,” Shishi laughed at you. “Let’s get Mother home and then we’ll attend the festival.”

You nodded and stepped back for her to lead the way. Their home wasn’t too far from the stall and once Shishi saw her mother inside, the two of you took off towards another district in the city where a big crowd had gathered near the Chaobai River.

Lanterns of all shapes and sizes hung from nearly ever ledge. Children ran around the streets while carrying sticks that held small paper fish on the ends of strings, making it looking like schools of fish were swimming through the air. Different sweet scents drifted up to your nose, making your mouth water.

Perhaps seeing that ravenous look in your eye, Shishi pulled you over to one of the vendors, getting each of you one of those sugar coated sweets made by the true experts of the trade. The artists didn’t have fancy, expensive culinary schooling; they simply had tradition and a love for the for food.

You continued to walk along the street in order to take in all the sights happening around you. This was the reason you’d come to the beautiful city of Beijing. The joy and laughter around you was infectious and you felt as if you were on the receiving end of a precious gift. All the pictures and blogs in the world couldn’t truly capture the feeling, the essence of the festival and the deep rooted traditions happening before your very eyes. No matter what happened to you on this trip, you knew tonight would be something that you would never forget.

**

Luhan leaned back in his chair and waited rather impatiently for the underling to arrive. It was ten minutes past the time he was told to be here and Luhan was losing his patience.

For the past month, he’d had a man inside the main police department of Beijing and he needed his updates. Lately, the cops had been one step ahead of him while conducting his deals, putting several of his suppliers behind bars and ruining his business. His own customers were getting antsy, hence why he needed the information to squash the rat.

Leaning up against the wall to his right, Kris chewed on a toothpick between his teeth. “I thought he was supposed to be here by now.”

“Unfortunately, Xiaofei isn’t known for his punctuality,” Luhan huffed. He picked up the glass ball he kept on his desk and inspected it, although there was nothing wrong with the small paperweight. In the low lighting of his office, he could only make out a faint shadow on the smooth glass rather than his reflection. The small globe was almost completely see-through except for the etched continents covering the surface. While he couldn’t quite say that he held the world in his hands, the little globe gave him a sense of accomplishment, even when things went a little askew.

“I still think we should have sent someone else,” Tao whined from the couch. He was staring up at the ceiling, hands folded behind his head for a pillow as he reclined on his back. His suit jacket was draped across the back of the couch to save it from wrinkling.

Luhan rolled his eyes. He was tired of having this conversation over and over again. “Xiaofei already had connections within the office, I’ve told you that. Plus, he’d be able to blend better than most.”

There weren’t many people in the world Luhan could trust, the top two being in this room. Everyone who worked for him was under constant surveillance and he occasionally had to clean out the filth with little crumbs of fake information. It was how he survived all these years. The Chinese underworld was ruthless. He hardly had a moment where he wasn’t watching his back.

Just then, the door to the office creaked open. Tao sat up, eyeing the crack that wasn’t quite big enough to let a human through while Luhan placed the globe back down on the desk with a heavy thump. The vaguest outline of a shadow, visible against the white door frame, flinched at the sound. Luhan could practically smell the stench of fear radiating off of the underling from his seat.

Picking up his feet and placing them back down on the floor, Luhan growled, “Just come in before I lose my patience and shoot you through the door.”

That little threat did the trick. Xiaofei scurried inside the office, closing the door behind him with a sound that was halfway between a click and a slam. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if he was trying to keep the contents of his stomach from spilling out onto the rug. The police uniform Xiaofei had been given was wrinkled and half untucked. Were his men really such slobs?

Clearing his throat, Xiaofei straightened up and then bowed at a ninety-degree angle. He was putting on a brave front, they all knew. And Luhan would let him play his little act.

“Sir, I have not been able to find the leak within the department as of yet.” The voice that left Xiaofei’s mouth didn’t match the round, burly face he was born with. It was of a higher pitch, not fit for his age. The face that Luhan imaged the voice belonging to was one of a rat, pointed and sharp, all the features focused in on the center. It was a face that fit Xiaofei’s character much more closely.

“Did you even really try?” Tao spat. His dark eyes were narrowed at the underling. He was not one to take kindly to a lack of results.

“Y-yes, sir,” Xiaofei bowed quickly to the silver-haired boss. “The department is very tight-lipped. They don’t take too kindly to new faces. It’ll take me another few months to get them to trust me.”

“We don’t have another few months,” Kris snarled, flicking the toothpick at the trembling man. The little piece of wood stuck to Xiaofei’s shoulder, but he made no attempt to brush it away, accepting the small but humiliating action.

Luhan let out a long sigh in order to make his displeasure known in a much more subtle manner. “Xiaofei.” The man flinched at the sound of his name even though Luhan didn’t raise his voice above a causal level. “Before I sent you in there, you swore to me that you had connections inside. Now, that wasn’t a lie, was it?”

“No, sir, I swear!” Xiaofei staggered on his feet as he tried to plead for his life. As soon as Luhan stood, the coward fell to his knees in a showy sign of respect. “My connections are good. It’ll just take a little more time. Please. I will find the leak. I swear it.”

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Luhan bent down and stared Xiaofei down. “You have one month left. I suggest you bring me back something viable at the end of that time frame. If you don’t, then you’ll be replaced.” Letting him go with a forceful shove, Luhan headed for the door. He only paused long enough to give one last warning. “I like to think of this organization as a well-oiled, well-maintenanced machine. The only way to keep it working is to upgrade the parts that have become useless. And there’s only one thing to do with useless parts, isn’t there?”

Though Xiaofei didn’t look back at Luhan, the shiver that ran down his spine and shook his shoulders was visible enough proof that the message had been received. With confident steps, Luhan glided down the hall of the mansion he called home. Soon, he would find out who was undermining his operations and he would make sure they regretted ever going up against The Deer before he ended their life for good.

**

Your feet were aching and throbbing, but you still weren’t ready to go home for the night. Stuffed full of delicious street food made only during this special time, you continued to follow Shishi through the crowds, stopping every once in a while to watch a choreographed dance by a group of performers ora magic show put on by a man you suspected might be tricking the audience in more ways than one.

The stars above were beginning to come alive for the night, adding to the mystical atmosphere. Only the strongest were able to be made out against the fading backdrop thanks to the stronger lights of the city. It made you a little sad, not being able to see a sky full of twinkling stars, but you pushed that emotion away, preferring to focus on the happier commotion around you.

However, when you brought your eyes back to the festival, Shishi was gone. You whirled around several times, but you couldn’t find her. Over and over, you called out, but no reply was ever sent back your way. Frantically, you shoved through the crowd. Had something happened to her? Or had you simply been separated? It was your own fault for dawdling and not paying attention. Panic was starting to set in. Until you saw a familiar bun of black hair resting on top of a head that was about Shishi’s height.

You followed the bun through the crowd until the owner disappeared into an alleyway. She took a few more twists and turns before you finally caught up to her, grabbing her shoulder in relief.

“Shishi!”

When she turned around, however, you were frustrated to find that it wasn’t your friend, but a stranger you’d never seen before. She threw you a snarled look even as you bowed out an apology over and over again. Soon you were alone again and utterly lost. The only light to see by came from the more occupied main streets, but you weren’t sure which one you should head towards to try and find your way back. Every direction looked the same. You cursed yourself for not paying more attention the further you got from the main street.  

Crash!

You jumped back against the brick wall, collapsing down to hide in the shadow of a dumpster when you saw a man fall to the cracking asphalt, his head bouncing off the ground as he landed hard on his back. Even in the dim light, you could make out a stream of blood running down from his nose and over his lips before dripping off his chin. When another man stepped into your line of vision, you shrank farther back, practically melding with the grime-covered trash bin.

The man who was still standing pulled out a gun and pointed it down at the one on the ground. As if knowing that his end was near, the first man simply groaned and turned his face upwards towards the sky. The man with the gun chuckled and began speaking in Mandarin. You couldn’t understand a majority of the words leaving his mouth, but one word did stick out to you: Lu. He repeated it a few times, mixed around in sentences that you couldn’t make out.

Then he shot the man on the ground, the bullet slicing through his forehead.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that your shock and horror forced out. Immediately, you slapped a hand over your mouth, praying that he hadn’t heard you. Seeing that there was just enough space between the wall and the dumpster, you scrambled to better hide yourself, hoping that you weren’t simply jumping into the barrel for an easier target.

Footsteps slowly headed in your direction, crackling the loose pebbles under his shoes with each step. You squeezed your eyes shut and sent up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. And apparently, someone was.

Sirens blared from a street close by. You barely caught the man disappearing around the corner when you risked opening your eyes. Slowly, you crawled out from behind the dumpster. Your hand landed warm and sticky, making you jump back with a scream when you realized it was blood pooling out from the dead man’s head.

Two new voices shouted and you threw your hands up to show you were unarmed. A bright light made you squint and you couldn’t tell who was approaching you, but you hoped it was the police. The light finally lowered. You let out a sigh of relief. The two officers lowered their guns and exchanged dumbfounded looks.

You had no idea what kind of mess you’d stumbled into.