#[CRACK.] “THE MONSTER CANNOT LAUGH OR SMILE!”

[all-with-angel]

↳˳ ❝LOVEGAME ᵕ̈೫˚∗

❥ DEFECTED!Satosugu x reader || LEVEL 1 : Game start!

❥ In which you act as a double spy for Jujutsu Tech to finally take down and kill Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto. Can you fulfill your mission?

❥ gn!reader, angst, fluff for now, crack, they're kinda down bad, scratch that they're REALLY down bad, suggestive, plot, non-canon compliant, yearning, yandere-ish, more warnings tba!

♡ Taglist is open! Comment under here to be added!

<- BACK TO MAIN MENU || LOADING COMPLETE! START GAME!

When you decided to knock on this temple’s doorstep looking like a kicked puppy, you didn't expect this.

You expected yelling, to have the door shut in your face and be turned away by the two people who you once loved so dearly or in the worst case scenario— be killed right then and there. A blotched red stain on the tatami mats or maybe even eaten whole by one of Suguru’s curses.

In the best case scenario, maybe they’d let you join them. Be under constant supervision— under suspicion or go through some sort of painful hazing. Torture or some sort of sick ritual with a sacrifice. That's what you expected. That's what the higher ups told you to expect.

They had told you that Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo were monsters. Monsters who would laugh and look down upon you for coming to them after all these years. The most dangerous cursed users who betrayed Jujutsu Tech. Betrayed you. 

Well clearly they were wrong.

Because you were being hand-fed grapes by those so-called ‘dangerous curse users’ right now. 

… The grapes were really sweet, by the way.

“Here’s another one! Say ah~” Satoru beamed, bringing another ripe and juicy grape to your mouth. You were still chewing on the one Suguru had given you seconds prior, but you opened your mouth and Satoru happily popped it in. “Thanksh.” Your voice was warbled, but you still managed to let out a quick thank you.

You had double-checked, triple-checked and hell-- Even quadruple-checked the food for any poison. Any cursed energy that could potentially enter your system and put you under some sort of trance. Nothing. With every bite, you could just taste how sweet and delicious the food was.

Still, you kept your guard up.

Suguru sipped on a cup of tea, humming in contentment as he watched you and Satoru interact. “Enjoying the fruits, sweetheart?”

Satoru popped a sliced piece of an apple in his mouth, talking in between bites. “Could be better.”

“Noted. I’ll have the servants prepare something better next time.” Suguru nodded, turning to you. “Darling, what do you think?”

You swallowed. To be honest, this past week has been.. Refreshing, in a way. You had been treated better here than you ever where and ever will be at Jujutsu Tech. It was almost scary, the way anyone who passed you would bow in reverence. Servants called you master, and yet they treated you like a god. Like something sacred that was to be feared before they were loved.

You wondered if this was how Satoru felt like growing up, if the way people treated him here was no different from back at his clan. Speaking of, the white-haired man had barely left your side. While Suguru had to leave for prolonged periods of time to preach his ideals to his followers, Satoru didn’t really like participating- When you didn’t participate too, of course.

You had joined Suguru in his sermons only once, but something about it made you sick to your stomach. You were sat on a comfortable chair beside Satoru, who looked bored out of his mind. But he didn’t say anything. Simply smiled and nodded to Suguru’s tangent about a better world. The speakers, which were way too loud from where you were, echoed every word that fell from his lips.

And with every word, you remembered what the higher ups had made sure to ingrain into you within the 10 years you had to fight alone.

‘He’s insane.’

‘He will not see reason.’

‘He cannot be saved.’

You bit your cheek so much during that sermon that you were sure it was about to fall off. The next time Suguru had cheerily invited you to another one of his sermons, you turned him down gently, excusing yourself that you had something to attend to.

He didn’t comment on it, didn’t pry. Simply smiled and told you that you were free to join him anytime you wished.

Most of your downtime was spent either eating, sleeping or in the gardens. There was a severe lack of electronics in the temple, and even your shared room- Yes, shared room with Suguru and Satoru had nothing to entertain you other than a few outdated magazines that you were sure Satoru had sneaked in, even while Suguru probably knew about them already.

Satoru had puffed up his chest in pride when he showed them to you, bragging about how sneaky he had gotten these past years. Even if you had found them near-immediately when you sat on the bed, hearing the crinkle of the pages under your weight.

“I think it’s fine.” You answered Suguru, swallowing as you brushed your thoughts away. You had all night to think about those.

Suguru smiled. "At least one of you isn’t a picky eater.”

“Hey! I’m not picky!” Satoru shrieked. “I just have taste, that's all.” 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse. Forgive me.” Suguru hummed, the sarcasm dripping from his tone left ignored. “Whatever. You are forgiven.” You could sense the eyeroll under his blindfold, the familiarity of the interaction leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

“I am NOT a picky eater.”

“Yes you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

You rolled your eyes, biting into your burger that had a suspiciously extra amount of lettuce in it. Courtesy of Satoru. Arguing with him was like walking on a treadmill, it leads nowhere.

“We’re just saying, eating vegetables makes you stronger.” Suguru hummed, swirling his pasta with a fork as he glanced at Satoru.

“Why would I want to be stronger? I’m already the strongest anyway.” Satoru drawled. “Besides,” he grins, picking out and tossing another piece of lettuce onto your plate. “I gotta save some strength for the two of you anyway.”

Suguru rolls his eyes this time, taking a forkful of his pasta. “I thought we were the strongest already?” He voiced in between bites.

“Yeaaaahh, but you two could use some work,” He waves his burger towards the two of you, some of its oil dripping onto the table. “Especially you.” He points the soggy, lettuce-less burger at you, raising his voice in accusation. “You almost made me a part of the infrastructure today!”

You cringed at the reminder. “Sorry.” You mumbled into your burger. “My cursed technique is pretty hard to control.”

“Yeah, we can see that.”

“Now, now, Satoru. You have to give them some credit,” Suguru chimed in with that smooth voice of his, making you let out a sigh of relief. At least he was on your side-

“Last mission both of us were almost a part of the infrastructure. Having you be the only one at risk this time around is progress, don’t you think?”

Nevermind.

“Maybe next time I should do it on purpose.” You grumble, snatching Satoru’s milkshake and taking a sip. “HEY!”

“Heeeeeyyyy, earth to you, helloooo?” You flinched when a pair of bright blue eyes were suddenly in front of you. Getting jumpscared by that pair of eyes had become something akin to routine nowadays. You had woken up too many nights to count to Satoru just staring at you in the dark, his eyes cryptically glowing in the dark as he ushers you to go back to sleep.

“Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking.” You leaned backwards, awkwardly smiling as you felt your ears slightly burn from the close proximity.

Satoru didn’t look convinced at all. Neither did Suguru, who was now staring calmly at you.

“You’ve been doing that alot.” Satoru leaned closer, making you lean back instinctually. “What are you thinking about?” He pouts.

“Satoru, sit properly.”

The man himself huffed indignantly, plopping back into his seat and giving you enough room to breathe.

Suguru took a sip of his tea, taking his time before speaking. You and Satoru stay quiet, waiting patiently for Suguru to break the silence. “Our dearest is still adjusting to their new life here, need I remind you to give them space to process everything?”

“I knoooow Suguruu~” Satoru whines, rocking side to side with his legs crossed. “But it's been a week! That's enough time for them to start talking more, don't you think?”

No, you don’t think it is.

“No, it isn’t,”

Thank god

“They can take their time. Besides,” Suguru continued, putting his teacup down with a soft clink! And turning his gaze to you. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but then again, none of them did. “They’ve already told us about why they had a change of heart, no? I think that should be enough for the time being.”

Satoru sighed. “Fineee. I guess you do have a point. But I still wanna know!”

“Soon, my love.” Suguru’s eyes softened. His hand found your knee, and you pushed the urge to flinch away. You hoped that he didn’t notice how you tensed against his touch. “They’ll open up to us in time, I’m sure.” His eyes were kind, understanding.

You let out a forced smile, praying to whatever god above that they had forgotten how you truly smiled. How you smiled at them before they’d broken your heart and left. “Yeah.”

Suguru’s hand lingered a few moments longer, studying your face as his thumb continuously brushed against your thigh. You could feel the sweat trailing down the back of your neck, the light thump of your heart in your ears but you stayed passive.

Finally, after a time that felt much too long, Suguru slid his hand off of your knee and let it rest on his lap. Satoru was pouting, but that seemed enough to satisfy them. 

For now.

You fall into your bed facefirst, the sheets around you fly a few inches upwards before settling around your tired form. With a huff, you turn your head to the paper-thin divider separating your bed from the other two. The three of you had made a compromise when the two had insisted you slept beside them while you pushed for your own privacy.

This was the best they could do without Satoru whining, complaining and threatening to destroy any other wall between him and you.

You were 99% sure he meant it. Suguru was 100% sure.

Satoru peeks from the side of the divider, smiling widely when he sees your exhausted form. “Goodnight~ You're free to join us anytime!!” Satoru implied, eyes going half-lidded as he traced his eyes over your body, admiring the way your body looked in the yukata. You felt yourself burn under his gaze, swallowing thickly before his eyes met yours and he returned to his cheery demeanor. “Goodnight~” He quickly disappeared behind the divider, presumably joining Suguru in bed as far as you could tell from the rustling of sheets and soft giggles.

“..G’night.”

You flip over to lie on your back, gazing at the ceiling.

One of them blew out the last candle, the light orange hue getting replaced by the soft blue glow of the moonlight. You could barely see in the dark, but it was enough to make out the lines and intricacies of the ceiling. You don’t dare close your eyes.

You lie there for hours, barely moving— Save from turning your head to look at a more interesting view from time to time. The ceiling, the wall, the divider, the closet that was slightly ajar. You had pretty much memorized every detail you could.

Even when you feel your eyelids become heavy, your mind screaming for sleep, your will keeps shaking you awake. Your mission. Your purpose.

You remember when your purpose wasn’t to betray the two men sleeping just a few feet away from you, a time when your purpose was to protect and fight alongside them.

A time long gone. You were sure.

When you were sure that both of them had gone to sleep, their heartbeats in sync with eachothers, you sat up. Slowly, as your blanket shifted around you, you make sure to only move under the noise of Satoru’s snores.

This was one of the biggest hurdles you had to pass while staying here, and it will continue to be. Not the lies, not the fake smiles and excuses, but sneaking away from the literal six eyes user and his just as sharp husband. 

You held your breath with every second you took getting up. Once you were standing, you took slow, careful steps on the tatami. Mindful to avoid the places where the floor creaked. You had memorized it in the days leading to this one.

You reach the door and grab the handle, sliding it open just enough to fit you. You take one step outside, the floorboards groan under you. 

You heard Satoru’s snores hitch. Everything pauses, and you could practically hear the crickets outside.

You stop breathing, pausing pretty much every other bodily function in anticipation. 

Silence stretched into something that felt like forever. And you were half-convinced that if you turned around, Satoru’s bright blue eyes would be beaming down at you with rage and betrayal. A familiar look. You wonder if you looked the same when you had learned that Suguru had killed that entire village.

A beat, then another.

You hear Satoru’s snoring cut back to normal with a loud huff. You let out your own sigh of relief, feeling a few tons lighter and taking careful steps out of the room and sliding the door shut.

Your footsteps pad across the hallways, practically non-existent to any ear that isn’t Satoru’s. You make your way to the farthest point of the estate, the farthest point from your bedroom. Or their bedroom. It didn’t really feel like your own, it felt too foreign and too wrong. It didn’t feel like the room that you, suguru and satoru had shared back in the school dorms. When it  felt like each other's room were an extension of their own.

This was different.

The sliding door creaked as you eased it shut behind you, the low thock swallowed by the night. You're met with the fresh night air, thick with the fragrance of flowers and damp grass. A small and humble garden, a small pond tucked away in the corner. 

You took a slow breath and stepped down from the engawa. Your sock-covered feet met the grass with a hush. You walked carefully, each step deliberate, weaving between stepping stones and a cluster of thin bamboo stalks until you reached the flowerbeds tucked into the corner of the garden.

Your eyes swept across your surroundings once more. You heightened your senses, searching for even a flicker of cursed energy nearby. From here, you could still feel the faint pulse of Satoru’s cursed energy. Still asleep. Good.

You crouched, admiring the flowers for just a moment. Your fingers sifted through the dirt beside a stone lantern, slow and methodical. The soil was cool, clinging to your skin, and you could feel the pulse of life underneath—roots, minerals, memory. Memory that you had stored just a few nights ago. You etched a sigil into the dirt. It pulsed faintly, a ripple of your cursed technique weaving into reality itself. You were careful to use the least amount of cursed energy possible, just enough for your technique to take hold.

Reality Warp.

The soil seemed to distort and crack like glass, geometric shapes unwinding from your palm and curling around the small depression in the soil. Circles spun within circles, fractal patterns blooming like mechanical flowers. The stones shifted, fusing together. The dirt reshaped itself, compressing and hardening, folding in on itself like origami.

Click.

A cold, silver burner phone. Straight out of the 90’s. Compact, dustless, unnaturally clean against the backdrop of moss and earth. You flipped it open, chunky buttons taking a moment for you to navigate and dial a number you had memorized.

It rang once, the volume making you flinch before you remembered to isolate this part of the garden. The space around you cracked and shifted, as if the world were just refracted by mirrors. There, the sound wouldn’t alert anyone. Nor would anyone see you if they were simply passing by, you were sure that your technique wouldn’t be too visible in this darkness. Not unless someone was looking for it.

It rang for a little while longer, and you felt a light feeling of dread that nobody would answer.

But finally, a familiar voice came from the phone, slightly glitchy from the poor signal. “You’re late.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry. Had to wait for everyone to fall asleep.”

“Whatever. Your report?”

NEXT LEVEL IN PROGRESS...

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Do not copy or redistribute my works.

[birdofwildness]

⋆☀︎｡Dreambound part 10

⋆☀︎︎｡Morpheus x underworld princess!reader

Summary::You beg your parents to save your husband.

Warnings::Smut,18+,piv

“You're going where?” he argued.

You crossed your arms, jaw set. “You heard me. I’m going to the Underworld. To speak to my parents.”

Morpheus stilled. “You would beg the King and Queen of the Dead to spare me from a fate decreed by beings older than time?”

You lifted a brow. “If that’s what it takes. Then yes.”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “You mustn’t.”

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me what I must or mustn’t do. They’re my parents.”

“They are gods,” he said.

“I’m doing this to save you,” you continued. “I’m your wife. I refuse to just stand here, smile, and watch the kindly ones rip you apart like a goddamn prophecy puppet.”

“You cannot interfere.”

“I already am.”

“What if they say no?”

You looked at him, and for the first time in days, let the fear crack through your voice.“Then at least I tried.”

...

The Underworld hadn’t changed.Still dark, still cold, still dripping with power.

Home. Sweet...or in this case,rotten home.

You walked the obsidian corridors with purpose, not just blood. Guards didn’t stop you,no one in their right mind stopped the daughter of Hades and Persephone when she moved like that.

There is no other monster, no other fire, like an unadorned woman.

You reached the throne room without a word, pushing open the massive doors.Your mother was seated, graceful as ever, dressed in silks the color of rotting pomegranates. Your father beside her,sharp angles and silence carved into bone.

You slowed as you approached, squaring your shoulders before dropping into a short, respectful bow,just enough to show you remembered who they were. And who you were.“Mother. Father.”

Persephone gave a slight smile. “Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but not warm. “It’s been some time.”

“I didn’t come for pleasantries.”

“Then what?” he said, voice still low. “Did your husband raise a hand to you?”

You blinked.“What—? No!”

“Because if he did,” Hades continued, calm as death, “he’ll never dream again. I’ll make sure of it. Limb by limb. Thought by thought. Until there’s nothing left.”

Persephone sighed beside him, unbothered.“Not everything is solved with dismemberment.”

“Most things are,” he muttered.

You raised a hand, pinching the bridge of your nose.“Gods, no. He didn’t hit me. I’m trying to save him.”

“Pity,” Hades murmured.

You steadied your voice.“I came because the Furies want him dead.”

Persephone’s expression didn’t change. Not even a blink. Hades simply looked at you.“So?” your father said at last.

You frowned. “So? So?! I—”

Persephone cut in. “He is not our concern.”

“He’s my husband.”

“He’s also one of the Endless,” Hades replied, folding his hands together. “Not a child in need of parental rescue. If his actions have led him to the Furies, then let him answer for them.”

You clenched your jaw. “You think I haven’t tried everything else?”

Persephone finally stood.Her beauty was quiet and terrifying.“You chose to love a god who trades in dreams and consequences. It is not our fault.”

“You're judging me?” you snapped.

Hades leaned back on his throne, his gaze impassive.“You ask us to interfere with forces even we respect,” he said. “You ask us to risk our realm for love. That’s not strategy. That’s foolish.”

You swallowed hard.“It’s not just love,” you said quietly. “It’s mine.”

Persephone and Hades fell silent.You didn’t lower your gaze.

“If you won’t help me,” you said evenly, “then I’ll face the Furies myself. Alone, if I have to.”

Hades laughed. Cold. Dry. Hollow.“You? Alone? Against the Kindly Ones?”

He shook his head.“You’d jeopardize the balance of the realms for your husband?”

“I’d do worse,” you replied.“If it meant keeping him alive.”

Persephone’s eyes flashed.“You’d risk everything we’ve built. The peace we’ve held. The respect we’ve earned.”

You shrugged.“Then maybe it’s not worth as much as you think.”

Hades’ eyes darkened.His voice, when it came, echoed through the hall like thunder.“Enough.”

It nearly made you flinch,but you didn’t. You stood your ground, defiant, chin held high.

“If you choose to stand against the Furies,” he said, his tone dangerously calm, “then do not expect our protection.”

“Leave. Before I forget you’re my daughter.”

...

The air shifted the moment you stepped back into the Dreaming.Gone was the choking heaviness of the Underworld — replaced by the quiet hum of dreams, soft and alive, threaded with starlight. But even that could not quiet the storm still churning in your chest.

You didn’t teleport directly to Morpheus. You couldn’t. Not yet.So instead, you landed in one of the palace halls.

Your shoes echoed faintly as you moved, each step louder.Anger clung to you.Shame, too, but buried deep. You had stood before the gods who raised you, and they had turned their backs.

Your hands clenched at your sides as you walked, breath tight in your throat. Part of you wanted to scream. Another part just wanted to see him,just to make sure he was still here, still real, still breathing.

“Back so soon?” came a voice. You turned to see Lucienne.

You didn’t look at her right away.“It went about as well as you'd expect when you tell the King and Queen of the Dead to help save your emo husband from three cosmic harpies.”

“So. Badly...shall I prepare tea?”.

“Not today. Thank you.”

You barely made it halfway down the corridor when the air shifted.Three shadows stepped into your path. Three sets of eyes, ageless, merciless,fixed on you like you were already guilty.

The Maiden tilted her head. “You walk with heavy steps, daughter of the Underworld.”

The Mother’s voice slithered around you. “Did you go to them? Did they give you what you came for?”

The Crone’s lips twisted into something close to a grin. “Or did they send you crawling back with empty hands?”

You exhaled through your nose. “You always show up when I’m about to seduce my husband. You think that’s symbolic?”

“Answer the question,” the Mother said.

You folded your arms. “No. They didn’t help me.”

“And you?” the Crone asked. “Have you chosen sides, little goddess?”

You didn’t blink.“I’ve chosen him.”

“Then it is war,” the Maiden whispered.

And just like that, they vanished.

War.

You stood there a moment longer, shoulders tense, before finally pushing open the door his chambers. His chambers, that turned to be yours aswell.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.He was there, as always, seated on the edge of the bed. His back was to you, shoulders hunched, head slightly bowed,but he looked up the moment you stepped inside.

“Dearest.” he said softly. “You’re back.”

You nodded, slower than usual.You walked to him, your movements more careful than they needed to be, and sat beside him without a word.

“They said I was reckless,” you murmured finally, staring down at your hands. “That I was foolish for even asking. That siding with you would mean risking the balance of the Underworld.”

Morpheus didn’t answer at first. His gaze lowered, unreadable and still.“You came back to end it, didn’t you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Our marriage,” he said, still not looking at you. “It’s the logical conclusion. Your parents have disowned you, the Kindly Ones seek my end, and now you stand to lose everything for staying by my side.”

“My love—”

He stood up slowly.“I would not blame you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You owe me nothing.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then you stood too.No distance between you.

“That’s not why I came back,” you said. “I didn’t walk into the Underworld just to crawl back out and abandon you.”

His eyes met yours. He looked scared.

“I came back to you.” you said.

His lips parted like he might say something,but the words never came. Instead, he reached for your hand, fingers brushing over your knuckles with a care that made your chest ache.

“If you back down now,perhaps the kindly one's will have mercy on you.”

“I do not wish to.”

You leaned in first.Your lips met his softly.He kissed you back with equal tenderness, no urgency, no weight of kingship or doom.Just him, and just you.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t say anything. Just rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, hands still holding yours like they were the only thing keeping him steady.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I wasn’t gone long.”

“I still missed you.”

Morpheus’s fingers traced lightly along your wrist, his gaze diving deeper into you than ever before.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Not now. Not like this.”

You stepped closer, the heat of his body against yours both tender and burning. Your fingers curled around his neck while his hands settled on your waist.

Your kiss deepened slowly with the quiet desperation of someone who had written a thousand stories but was afraid of the ending to this one. His thumbs found the edge of your jaw, tilting your face just so, as if trying to see every expression, every flicker of want in your eyes.

You helped him shed the layers.The robe slipped from his shoulders, and your hands followed, brushing over pale skin.He trembled under your touch.

The bed behind him met the backs of his knees, and he sat, looking up at you like you were some miracle conjured from starlight. You crawled onto his lap, straddling him slowly, your hands braced against his chest.

He leaned into your touch, his lips ghosting along your throat, your collarbone, reverent, never rushed. “Why did you come back?” he breathed against your skin.

You held his face in your hands. “Because I love you.”

That broke something in him.His eyes darken, a flicker of something possessive sparking behind the stars in his gaze.

His hands roamed now, slower but needier, mapping your body.Your thighs bracketed his hips, your bodies pressing closer, breath and skin and need all tangled together. Every shift of movement sparked heat, and still, neither of you rushed it. This was worship.

You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his lips parted under yours, the low sound he made in the back of his throat when your hips shifted against his.

He undressed you like you were something sacred, like he’d been waiting lifetimes to touch you like this. And when his fingers brushed bare skin, he stilled in awe.

“You’re divine,” he said softly, like it wasn’t nearly enough.

When he slid inside you, it was careful.His forehead pressed to yours, and you both froze for a breath, for the unbearable sweetness of being one.

You gasped, and he kissed the sound from your mouth.You rocked against him slowly, letting every shift of your hips, every breath and moan and whispered promise, build something sacred between you.

“You're perfect,” he whispered, voice cracking like a prayer. “You were made for me.”

“Yes” you breathed. “I’m yours.”

His hands gripped your hips tighter, his mouth finding the curve of your shoulder, your neck, your collarbone. Kissing, tasting, worshiping.

And when it finally crested, when your body trembled against his and his name broke free from your lips, he followed you into it, burying his face in your shoulder, breath shuddering as he let go with you.

For a long time, neither of you moved. His arms around your back, your fingers curled into his hair.

He pulled you close, voice hoarse. “I love—love.Love you.”

You kissed his temple., “I figured,beloved.”

And in that moment, tangled together in warmth and starlight, you both believed in a happy ending.

[rottingghosty]

Father I pray to Thou | DP X DC

i’m alive my rotten ghostlings !!! i’ve been working on ch 2 of the cuckoo song fic

i think danny with religious guilt is a beautiful thing #catholicguilthaver …. i dislike this one a lot cause i wrote this while with a 100°F fever. anyway i’ll most likely start posting my prompts on ao3 soon, so if you notice it on ao3 please know its me !!

☁️☁️☁️☁️

The Cathedral in Gotham was beautiful in an eerie way, the way the building was soak in the sins of falsehoods of priests and bishops who believed they did good. Yet the good was never there for they pocketed donations and turned a blind eye to the suffering that Gothamites enduring by living in the cursed city. The way the air was charged with energy from people praying still to whatever God was out there.

Danny settles on a kneeler, hands fiddling with the rosary in his palms. Fingers rubbing against the cool, green rocks of the rosary as Danny takes a deep breath. The incense was sweet and reminded him of the times that the Foleys would take him to church every Sunday. How they’d dress him up in a suit that was too big on him but he never complained because he enjoyed going with them even if it was a bit of a drive to the church— a little thing outside of Amity Park.

His parents would take Jazz and him to church back when they weren’t focused on the portal or ghosts. When he didn’t feel like his parents had reached a level he and Jazz couldn’t even grace upon. This was the first time Danny’s stepped into a church since his death, even as he closes his eyes he can feel the pushes against him. Danny stopped being religious the moment his death occurred, wouldn’t call it a miracle or a blessing from Jesus Christ.

Instead he is a monster, a sinner in the house of God and all that is holy for he is a demon to those who cannot accept him when he was at his worst.

The crunch of boots stepping on rough, broken stone reached his ears.

Danny ignores it for he closes his eyes as he feels for the first bead of his rosary. Thumb digging into the cool, cracked texture. Lips opening as he begins to lowly recite his prayer.

“O My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee.”

A shift of boots, a creak of wood. There, in the shadows— a figure moves. Quick and steady, inching closer to him. Danny almost wants to laugh but he refrains from doing so because his sins weigh heavily on his shattered soul. That this won’t ease the ache he feels, the disconnection he has with his God but he hopes that even the repentance he feels and is doing will be the soothing balm even temporarily.

“I detest all my sins because of thy just punishment,”

A sickeningly feeling edges along Danny’s orbit, he could feel the words stuttering briefly before he brings himself back to focus. They were beginning to surround him, the curiosity they feel was basically being blared by them that Danny refrain from stopping. The way he wished to crack a joke, running a soothing palm against the wearing, cautious feelings. He wanted to but the deepening presses against his already cracked, aching core brought his attention back to his task.

What feel like hours— reciting the Act of Contrition spanned in a smaller time. His thumb pausing on the larger bead, lips wetting themselves with his tongue as he opens his eyes to tilt his head up to the state of Jesus Christ. A sigh escaping him as he silently mouthed the prayer to Our Father. The feeling of heavy hands on his shoulders lightened as he said the last word.

He didn’t get to go through his entire rosary, only up to the first bead of Our Father but it was enough to soothe the gnawing monster in his body. Feeling the thing chuff and yawning as it curled up to sleep.

He’s an abomination. Something that shouldn’t walk the mortal realm. He’s a demon and he hosts one.

“What’re you doing here at… 3 in the fucking morning?” A person asks, their voice staticky in the way of using a voice modulator. A smile twitches onto Danny’s lips as he wears his rosary and hides it underneath his shirt. The smell of decay heavy, the creaks of boards wanting to collapse. The vision of a grand cathedral fading away to turn into a rundown building with pews thrown about, broken down or even seats ripped the shreds. The scent of the incense gone within a moment.

He could feel the startles of the people around him and he gave a low laugh, pushing himself up from the kneeler even as he knees popped and his spine cracked when he straightened.

“Can’t a guy just pray?” Danny mumbled as he turns away from the stare of Jesus Christ on the cross to turn to the Bat brigade of vigilantes. The ecto contamination on a few members made him curious, especially to the one who wore a red helmet.

“In an abandoned cathedral? Where everything looked fine until it wasn’t.”

“Tt must be a meta with illusionary abilities.”

Danny gave a involuntary snort at hearing the youngest Robin— hidden behind the altar speak, despite the slightest echo from the ruined remains of a holy place that burnt down like Gotham’s weary soul that still kept stubbornly fighting to continue to exist as a city spirit.

“Not a meta. Just something else… something a lot more depressing. Can’t a man indulge himself in his Catholic guilt?”

Red Hood crossed his arms in response, rolling his neck as the bigger man gave a shrug to the big bad Bat himself. “He’s got us there, B. I’ve indulged in my own Catholic guilt myself a few times.”

Danny threw finger guns at Red Hood with a crooked grin— his fang peeking out slightly as Batman frowned in response. The amount of emotions that guy radiated almost wants to give Danny a headache but he’s a stubborn bastard and has to do ‘exposure therapy’ so he doesn’t get sick from overwhelming emotions by people in case he’s attacked with something that heightens someone’s emotions. Or whatever excuse Jazz had given him at the time before shoving him out of the Ghost Zone with a finger wag.

“Who are you?”

Dead. A ghost. A sinner. A monster. Demon. Something to be exorcised. Halfa. King. Weak.

“I’m just a friendly neighborhood ghost.” Danny says, blue mist coming out from his mouth as he looks between Red Hood, Black Bat and Batman. His aura briefly brushing against the youngest Bat’s being. The sickly contaminated ectoplasm lingering on his tongue.

Danny raises his hands as he shakes them in goodbye, feeling himself turn invisible. The ruins of the former holy land creaks and shakes, harsh whispers heard as they grate against Danny’s very essence, his core shaking in protest at being pushed out from a safe space by the Gods he prayed to. Even if it was a brief respite, Danny felt lighter in years.

Below him the Bat brigade curse as they talk into comms to find out where he is but Danny’s long gone. He thinks he managed to avoid them until he bumps into one Jason Todd and Duke Thomas while heading to the church in Crime Alley. The two children of Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne who has an adoption problem.

Fuck. He almost wants to scream but Pandora taught him better than that.

[holylulusworld]

Animalistic (2)

Summary: He’s coming for them.

Pairing: Alpha!Kraven x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, betrayal, human trafficking, sex trafficking, angst, kidnapping, innocent reader, implied character death (unnamed thugs), grumpy Kraven

A/N: Please consider that I do not write for Kraven from the comics, but from the movie.

Catch up here: Animalistic (1)

Animalistic Masterlist

Kraven wraps his jacket around your shoulders, knowing you must be cold in your party dress, with no shoes and nothing to keep you warm.

“Thank you,” you murmur, offering a cracked smile. It’s a kind gesture, and you want to tell him you appreciate it.

“Your friend, where is she now?” The man dragged you around town, never stopping until you reached a car hidden in the dark. “I need to know. I cannot waste more time tonight.”

You swallow hard at the mention of your best friend. “She was my best friend since childhood. I always looked up to Oriana. She was so strong and self-confident.” You choke out a sob. “How could she do this to me?”  

“Greed.” He grunts and opens the door to the passenger seat. “Get inside. We don’t want one of them to follow us.” You glance at him. “Even though, I don’t think there’s anyone left.”

You sniffle and wipe your teary eyes. “I know where she lives. If that was her home. Maybe she lied about that too. I don’t know anymore. If I ever knew her at all.”

“She’s not worth your tears,” Kraven tells you to get inside the car. He silently closes the door, sighing deeply because he didn’t plan on bringing a helpless and scared omega with him on a hunt.

Kraven gets behind the steering wheel. He leans forward to open the glove compartment, causing you to stiffen in your seat. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He grunts. “I only wanted to get this.” He drops a pencil and notebook in your lap. “I want you to write down everything you know about her. Every detail.”

“I can just tell you.” You sniff and look out of the window when he starts the engine. “What do you want to know?”

“First, we will go to her home,” he says and quickly glances at you. “I want you to write down her address. You can sleep while I drive.”

You scribble her address down. “She has a roommate…” You sniffle and shake your head. “Had.” You correct yourself. “Celia was one of the women at the party. I don’t know what happened to her after Oriana slammed my face into the tile wall.”

Kraven exhales sharply. The last thing he wanted was to get involved with the victims. He only wanted to take out the monster and move on. “You said something about the other women. That you heard where they are taking them.”

“I heard the men laugh and joke about the women’s future. One of them mentioned a truck and that they should be happy they showed them how to satisfy their owners.” You start to whimper and hide your face in the palms of your hands. “They wanted them to be thankful.” You growl now. “Can you believe this?”

“Sadly, yes,” Kraven replies. “I’ll try to find the others too. I won’t make any promises, though.”

“That’s more than I can ask for,” you sniffle. “After everything happening to them, they deserve to be free.”

Kraven nods and focuses on driving while you slump into the seat, slowly drifting into sleep. He drives slower than he likes but doesn’t want to risk getting in an accident with you.

“That’s her place,” you whisper, once again averting your gaze. “There’s a back entrance.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to get inside.” He looks at you for a brief moment. “Hmm… I can’t leave you here all alone. It’s safest if you come with me. She won’t be a challenge.”

You open your mouth to protest. “I don’t know if I can face her. Not after everything she did and the pain she caused. Maybe I’ll freak out and kill her.”

“You’re welcome to be my guest,” he laughs. “I won’t let her live either…”

You stiffen in your seat again. So far, you haven’t had the time to think about Oriana’s future. Blinding rage was what kept you sane over the last few days. “I can live with that.”

“Kraven.” He offers his hand.

“Y/N.” You shake his hand. “That’s a unique name.”

“I choose it myself after—” He stops talking and hastily gets out of the car. There seems to be more behind the man saving you. A story to tell. Maybe you’ll get to know it one day.

Kraven guides you inside the building. He’s hiding in the shadows, sneaking toward Oriana’s apartment with the deadly accuracy of a lion.

“You’ll stay behind me.” He signals you to stop and listens closely. Kraven inhales deeply and visibly relaxes as he doesn’t sense enemies. “If you cannot go through with this, I can help you hide.”

“No!” You walk around him to walk toward Oriana’s door. “I’ll take that woman down myself!”

“Cub, wait!” He moves faster than expected to shove you behind his back. You ignore the pet name and growl as he won’t let you have your revenge. “Let me get her first. You can do whatever you want after she tells us everything about Darian Garton and his business.”

“Fine,” you sigh but lean against the wall next to the door. Closing your eyes, you listen to him pick the lock. Kraven usually would just kick the door open, but he cannot risk drawing attention toward you.

It’s a blur after Kraven entered the apartment. You heard a scream and then, silence. It took you a few moments until you found the strength to enter the apartment—the place you knew so well.

“She’s not here,” Kraven huffed and pointed at the man on the ground. Dead, without a doubt, but you didn’t want to step closer to be sure. “Any ideas?”

“Sometimes,” your voice cracks as you try to help your savior hunt your friend down. “Sometimes, if the world got too much, she came to my place to find solace.”

“Your place,” Kraven curses. “We should’ve known she was not waiting at home. If you do business with Darian Garton, you grab the money and run. I don’t think they’ll look for her at your place. It’s a condemned place now.”

“Condemned because they kidnapped me,” you murmur. “Oriana is hiding there until she can leave town.”

Kraven takes a quick look around the apartment. He doesn’t believe Oriana left anything useful behind. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go to your place.”

It wasn’t easy returning home after what was lying behind you. This place felt colder now that the world tried to swallow you whole.

Kraven and you sneaked inside your apartment. Finding the traitor sleeping on your bed. Oriana looked so at peace, and it made you even angrier. After all she had done to you and the other women, she slept as if nothing had happened.

“Let me,” Kraven says. “You cannot come back here. We don’t know if I will find all of them. Grab a bag and pack a few things. Only the most important things. I’ll take care of her.”

You don’t listen when he rudely wakes Oriana or when he slams her into the wall like she did with you days ago.

Busying yourself with packing two duffel bags, you ignore her whines. Oriana showed no mercy that night, and you will return the favor.

“Done?” Kraven asks as he ties Oriana’s hands behind her back. “This place isn’t ideal for an interrogation. We need to bring her somewhere else.”

“Okay,” you turn around, not sparing Oriana a glance. She looks up at you, gasping as you walk past her.

“What? Y/N?” She whimpers before Kraven puts duct tape over her mouth. Oriana starts to trash, but you couldn’t care less.

Kraven wraps one hand around her throat, forcing her back on her feet. “Listen,” he growls. “If you don’t stop, I’ll break your fucking neck.”

You laugh when she starts to cry. She brought hell over you and the other women—now she will feel the heat.

Part 3

[mononijikayu]

immortal sukuna who — in your fourth life (2).

immortal sukuna masterlist

immortal sukuna who doesn’t know how to care for you, watches with clenched fists as you stumble, frustration simmering beneath his cold exterior.

“damn it.” sukuna mutters under his breath, hating the helplessness he feels but unable to look away.

immortal sukuna who despite his inexperience, can’t help but fuss over you.

“you’re doing it wrong, little bird.” sukuna growls, but his grip on your arm is careful, his touch lingering longer than it should.

"i-i'm sorry." you whisper back to him, the guilt in your voice prevalent. sukuna felt the throbbing pain in his eyes, looking at you. he didn't want you to feel this way. not ever.

“just... let me help you.” sukuna says, though his tone is sharper than intended. he never wants you to be aggrieved by his frustration. because it wasn't you. it was him.

immortal sukuna doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know how to take care of you in this way. and he was angry at himself.

immortal sukuna truly only wants nothing more than to ease your life, feels a rare pang of helplessness every time you hesitate.

“you don’t need to ask me, little bird." sukuna whispers, quieter now, as he walks beside you, a silent guardian, fiercely protective even when you can’t see him.

“but i...” you whisper back, your voice echoing a tone of guilt.

sukuna shakes his head, his lips pursed in a flat line. “it doesn’t matter. i... i want to care for you. so, don't worry, little bird."

your lips pursed into a line. "alright."

immortal sukuna who understands the fragility of your human form, spends sleepless nights imagining how to show you the world through his eyes.

“if you could see what i do… you’d know why i want to protect you." sukuna murmurs in the dark, his voice soft and uncharacteristically tender. “the world is cruel, little bird.”

“but you aren’t." your sweet voice echoes as the wind rustles through the flower-laden field. “you’re kind.”

immortal sukuna can feel his heart shatter. “i was never kind, little bird. if i was… why would i be cursed like this?” his voice trembles with the weight of unspoken pain, the question hanging heavily in the air.

you step closer, tilting your head as if trying to see sukuna through the shadows. “but you are kind to me. you guide me when i stumble. you stay by my side. that’s kindness.”

a flicker of uncertainty passes through sukuna, and he shakes his head. “you see what you want to see.”

“but i see you, even if my eyes cannot.” you insist gently. “you protect me because you care. isn’t that kindness?”

immortal sukuna cannot help but let out a soft, incredulous laugh, a sound so foreign to him. “perhaps… but i’m still a monster.”

you reach out, fingers brushing against his arm. “even monsters can have soft hearts. just look at how you’re here, with me.”

the weight of your words sinks in, and for a moment, sukuna’s icy facade cracks, revealing the warmth beneath. “you really believe that, little bird?” he asks, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

“with all my heart.” you reply, your smile brightening the dimness around you. “you’ve shown me more beauty than i could ever imagine. just let yourself be the one who cares.”

in that moment, as the flowers sway gently in the breeze, immortal sukuna feels the impossible stir within him—a glimmer of hope, a touch of warmth he never thought he could possess.

“maybe… just maybe, little bird.” sukuna tenderly whispers back to you. “i can learn to be kind.”

immortal sukuna watches as you close your eyes, tilting your head to feel the warmth of the sun on your face, a smile blooming despite your blindness.

“can you smell the flowers?” you ask, inhaling deeply. “it’s like spring has come just for us.”

sukuna nods, though you can’t see him, the corners of his lips curling up. “yes, but you make it brighter. you always do... little bird.”

you turn towards sukuna's voice, as if trying to catch a glimpse of him with your other senses. “do you think the flowers know how beautiful they are?” you muse. “or do they just bloom without knowing?”

“maybe they know, little bird.” sukuna replies, his voice softer than usual. “just like you. you bring light to places I never knew existed.”

you laugh lightly, a sound that dances through the air like music. “you’re sweet when you want to be, you know. just admit it—you enjoy this little world we’ve created. well, it was mostly you. i was just....helping you out.”

sukuna hesitates, then concedes, “perhaps i do. it’s… nice to feel something beyond my curse.”

your hand finds sukuna's own, fingers intertwining effortlessly. “then let’s create more moments like this. you can help me experience the world, even if i can’t see it.”

immortal sukuna squeezes your hand gently, the warmth of your touch igniting something deep within him. “i’ll always be here to guide you, little bird. wherever you want to go, i'll bring you there.”

you lean in closer, your voice barely a whisper. “and i’ll find you in every flower, every breeze, and every moment we share. even if i just hear it or smell it. because you, sukuna, are my world.”

immortal sukuna feels his heart racing, and for the first time in eternity, he feels something other than the weight of his past.

immortal sukuna finds lightness, a sweet tenderness that makes him want to protect you fiercely, not just from the world, but from the shadows lurking within himself.

“then let’s make this world beautiful together, little bird.” sukuna murmurs, a vow laced with warmth, a promise of kindness that echoes softly in the field of blooming flowers.

you smile at him with everything in you. “together!”

immortal sukuna smiles the happiest because of you.

“together.” sukuna agrees, taking your hand and kissing your ring finger, as though a promise, as though a vow.

[grifffins]

🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble) 🔮 | Ch. 5

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

summary: A matchmaking event, a reckless plan, and a game that cuts a little too deep—because playing with fire always has consequences

wc: 8.3k (Chapter 5/?)

a/n: I'm reading all the reviews you're leaving, and it's filling me with so much joy, seriously, thank you so much! I promise I'll eventually get around to replying to them all, but for now, just know that I've seen them, I appreciate every single one, and they are absolutely fuelling me to get these chapters out faster. If I had to stare at this chapter any longer, I was genuinely going to throw myself off a cliff, so here it is before I lose my mind. I don’t know, I hope you like it!

And just a heads-up—ratings have officially gone up 🔥 y'all better handle this with care.

Ch. 4 ch. 6

also on ao3

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of routine and mild frustration. I’d gotten used to maneuvering on crutches though not without my fair share of near-disasters and before long, I was downgraded to a boot. A clunky, annoying boot, but it was better than nothing. And now, I was almost out of it, counting down the days until I could finally move like a normal person again.

Lilia had been... Lilia. Ever present, always hovering just enough to make sure I wasn’t doing anything too reckless, but never crossing the line into anything that could be considered more. There were lingering touches, soft smiles, and the occasional meaningful glance, but nothing had really progressed.

And, honestly? That was fine.

Mostly.

Between the shop being surprisingly busy and my friends constantly roping me into their latest schemes, fundraisers, work drama, and questionable life choices. I barely had time to dwell on it. I liked keeping busy, helping where I could, and throwing myself into distraction after distraction. It was easier than thinking about how much I wanted Lilia but didn’t know how to move things forward.

Some days, it felt like we were stuck in this comfortable, frustrating limbo. We'd laugh, we’d bicker, we'd work side by side in the shop, but there was always this invisible line neither of us was willing to cross.

Still, things were good.

Lilia was still a mystery I was determined to solve, even if she sometimes acted like an impenetrable fortress. But there were moments, tiny cracks in the walls she put up. The way she’d refill my tea without asking, or how she’d linger at the end of my shift, pretending to read while really just making sure I got home safely. The way she’d watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking, like she was thinking about something.

And those moments? They were enough to keep me going. For now.

One afternoon, as I hobbled around the shop stocking shelves, I sighed dramatically. "Lilia, please, I cannot wait to be out of this boot. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster."

Lilia smirked from behind the counter, flipping through an old grimoire. "You only have to wait till this afternoon."

I shot her a glare. "Rude."

She chuckled, but there was that usual softness behind it, the kind that made my heart skip a little. "You'll be back to your reckless self soon enough. I'm sure I'll regret it."

I grinned. "Oh, you will. First thing I'm doing is dancing barefoot on the counter just to spite you."

Lilia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just said, "I'll keep the first aid kit ready."

I snorted, limping toward the register. "You should always have that thing on standby with me around."

"Trust me," she said dryly. "I do."

The bell above the shop door jingled, and before I could process it, Jen and Agatha waltzed in like they owned the place.

"Y/n!" Jen beamed. "Still hobbling around, I see."

Agatha leaned on the counter, eyeing Lilia with that devilish glint in her eye. "And, you're still under Lilia's watchful eye, huh?"

Lilia arched a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Jen smirked at me. "Oh, it's not a bad thing at all."

I groaned. "Guys, please."

Agatha ignored me, grinning. "Anyway, y/n, you up for helping me with something later?"

I sighed, already knowing I was about to get roped into something ridiculous. "What is it this time?"

Jen wiggled her brows. "Oh, you know, just a little... matchmaking event."

I blinked. "No."

Lilia, to my absolute horror, looked very interested. "Matchmaking?"

Agatha smirked. "Yeah. You in?"

Lilia, without missing a beat, looked directly at me and said, "I think y/n should go."

My jaw dropped. "What?!"

Lilia’s lips curled into that maddening smirk. "It could be... fun."

I groaned, slamming my head onto the counter. "I hate all of you."

Lilia just sipped her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "You'll survive, baby."

“What exactly is a matchmaking event?”

Jen leaned against the counter, grinning like the devil she clearly was. "Oh, y/n," she purred, eyes sparkling with mischief. "A matchmaking event is exactly what it sounds like."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And why, exactly, do you think I need to attend one?"

Agatha smirked, completely ignoring my very valid concern. "It's a charity event, actually. Think of it like speed dating, but fancier, cocktails, music, a little light mingling." She waved a hand dramatically. "People will bid on dates, there'll be matchmaking games, the whole romantic shebang."

I groaned. "You have to be kidding me."

Billy, who had apparently appeared out of thin air (or just snuck in without me noticing), clapped his hands together. "Oh no, she's not kidding, and I am so excited for this."

Lilia, who had been sipping her tea silently this whole time, finally spoke up, eyes fixed on me in that infuriatingly calm way she had. "I think it’s an excellent idea."

I gaped at her. "Et tu, Lilia?!"

She shrugged, setting her cup down with a smirk. "You did say you were bored."

Agatha nodded sagely. "Exactly! And what better way to pass the time than by meeting some... interesting people?"

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my God, no. I am not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder like a damn prize goat."

Jen laughed. "Oh, come on. It’s for charity! Think of it as... networking."

Billy wiggled his brows. "With benefits."

Lilia quirked an eyebrow, but there was something sharp in her eyes now, something that made my stomach flip. "You never know, y/n," she said smoothly, "maybe you'll find someone... intriguing."

I stared at her, heat rising to my cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this?

I pointed an accusing finger at the coven. "You’re all just doing this to watch me suffer, aren’t you?"

Agatha grinned. "Absolutely."

Billy winked. "One hundred percent."

Jen shrugged. "You should be used to it by now."

I sighed, sinking onto the nearest chair. "This is actually my worst nightmare."

Lilia, standing far too composed and far too smug, leaned against the counter. "You'll do fine, baby."

And the way she said it, soft, teasing, but with just enough of an edge, made me wonder if she was enjoying this a little too much.

I stared at Lilia for a long moment, watching the way she casually sipped her tea, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos the coven was throwing at me. Mixed signals? Oh, she was full of them. She’d spent weeks hovering, making sure I didn’t overdo it, looking after me with a quiet protectiveness, and now she was totally fine with me flirting with other people?

Okay, Lilia.

Fine. If she wanted to play it cool, I could play it colder.

With a wicked smirk, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair. "Alright," I said, shrugging. "I'll do it."

The coven exploded.

"YES!" Billy practically fist-pumped.

Jen beamed. "Oh, this is going to be so good."

Agatha cackled. "I knew you'd come around."

But I didn’t take my eyes off Lilia, watching for any flicker of emotion behind that carefully composed exterior of hers. She raised a brow, looking mildly impressed but ultimately unfazed. “Good for you,” she said, nodding. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll meet someone intriguing, like you said.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”

Ugh.

I was going to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because if Lilia was going to keep up this whole mysterious and unattainable older woman thing, then I was going to make her watch me flirt with someone else.

By the time I got back from the hospital that evening, boot-free and feeling like I had reclaimed my dignity, I was on a mission.

I went all out.

I pulled out one of my best dresses, the kind that hugged in all the right places, paired it with strappy low heels— I wasn’t about to push my luck after just recovering from a broken leg — and topped it all off with red lipstick. My hair was styled to perfection. 

I looked in the mirror and grinned. Damn, I missed dressing up.

Before I left, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to the group chat.

Me: Ready to break hearts tonight.

Billy responded instantly.

Billy: BABE. I AM DEAD.

Jen: GIRL, THEY WON'T SURVIVE YOU.

Agatha: Show Lilia. Right now.

I rolled my eyes, typing back.

Me: No way. Let her suffer.

I grabbed my clutch, took one last glance in the mirror, and smirked.

Lilia Calderu had no idea what she was in for.

I arrived at the venue, the heels clicking confidently against the pavement as I made my way inside. The place was fancier than I expected, soft lighting, elegant decor, and the kind of crowd that screamed money meets desperation.

I spotted Agatha immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, watching me approach with an impressed smirk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. If I weren’t rooting for Lilia, I’d bid on you myself.”

I rolled my eyes, planting myself in front of her. “Alright, what do I need to do?” I asked, folding my arms.

Agatha grinned wickedly. “Eager, are we?”

I sighed, eyeing the bustling room. “Let’s just say I’ve been encouraged.”

She chuckled, handing me a glass of champagne like she hadn’t practically dragged me here. “Alright, here’s how it works. There are three... let’s call them options.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”

Agatha held up a perfectly manicured finger. “Option one—the bidding auction. People bid for a date with you.”

I groaned. “Hard pass.”

Ignoring me, she lifted a second finger. “Option two—the matchmaking questionnaire. You fill it out, they set you up with someone they think is compatible.”

I stared at her. “Do I look like someone who’s here for a deep connection?”

Agatha smirked. “No, you look like someone here to make a certain divination witch jealous as hell.”

I didn’t deny it. “And option three?”

Agatha smirked, holding up the final finger. “And then there’s option three... mingling, flirting, working the room.” She gestured grandly at the crowd. “And, honestly, that’s where you shine.”

I sighed, taking a slow sip of champagne. “And which one exactly do you want me to do?”

Agatha’s grin stretched impossibly wider. “Oh, baby, I didn’t bring you here to find your soulmate.” She winked. “I brought you here to make Lilia Calderu jealous as hell. So, option three it is.”

I arched a brow. “And if she doesn’t show up?”

Agatha shrugged. “Then at least you’ll have some fun and free champagne.”

I sighed, finishing my drink. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Agatha grinned, looping her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit. Now, go mingle. And remember, eye contact, light touches, and laugh at everything.”

I groaned but let her pull me toward the crowd. This was going to be... interesting.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back and putting on my most dazzling smile. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

Armed with another glass of champagne and Agatha’s ridiculous advice bouncing around in my head, I stepped into the crowd, letting myself glide from conversation to conversation. I laughed, I touched arms lightly, I made just enough eye contact to keep people interested without giving too much away.

And through it all, one thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Please show up, Lilia.

I scanned the room subtly, pretending to be fully invested in whatever some guy in a ridiculous suit was rambling about, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel the absence of her. Could feel the weight of her not being here.

The evening dragged on, and despite the flattering attention I was getting, more than I knew what to do with, there was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t quite go away.

I found myself standing near a group of women, effortlessly charming my way through another conversation, when I caught myself staring toward the entrance for the millionth time.

Nothing.

I sighed internally, feeling my excitement wane just a little.

But just as I turned back to my conversation, I caught a shift in the air. A presence.

And then I saw her.

Lilia Calderu, standing in the doorway like she owned the place, dressed in a simple but devastatingly effective black dress, nothing overly elegant, just effortlessly put together, the fabric skimming her figure in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark curls were loosely pinned up, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and those brown eyes of hers scanned the room with sharp intent, missing nothing.

My heart stopped.

She looked... incredible.

Her gaze locked onto me almost instantly, and I saw the way her eyes flickered over my dress, my posture, the easy way I was leaning against the table with a glass of champagne in hand and a smile that may have been a little too smug.

For a second, I thought she might turn around and leave, but instead, she walked in with the kind of calm, deliberate grace that made my stomach twist into knots.

Agatha, appearing by my side out of nowhere, whispered, “And there she is.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought she wasn’t coming.”

Agatha smirked. “She didn’t think she was coming. But then she realised she couldn’t let you have all the fun without her.”

I watched as Lilia made her way through the crowd, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, her eyes, never left me.

I forced myself to smirk, turning back to the group I was talking to, making a show of tossing my hair over my shoulder and laughing lightly at something someone said. But my heart was pounding.

Lilia Calderu was here. And she was watching me.

Game on.

I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as I kept my posture relaxed, my smile effortlessly charming. I could feel her gaze burning into me from across the room, sharp and assessing, but I didn’t look her way, not yet.

If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a damn show.

“So, y/n,” the woman beside me purred, leaning in just a little too close. “You never told me what you do for a living.”

I smiled, tilting my head coyly. “Oh, you know... a little bit of everything,” I said smoothly, trailing a finger along the rim of my glass. “Keeps life interesting.”

I swore I could hear Lilia’s scoff from across the room, and it took everything in me not to grin.

Agatha, who was lingering nearby, nudged me under the table with her foot. “Subtle,” she whispered, her tone practically dripping with glee. “She’s watching you like a hawk.”

I shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Let her.”

I felt her familiar presence before I even saw her. Lilia’s energy was intense, heavy and magnetic, drawing people in without her even trying. And then, just as I was laughing at something unremarkable, I saw her appear at the edge of my vision, standing beside the group with her arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face.

But her eyes? Her eyes told an entirely different story.

They flicked from the woman leaning too close to me, to my lips, and then, finally, locked onto mine.

I arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Lilia,” I greeted, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into that maddeningly subtle smirk. “Neither did I.”

Agatha, not missing a beat, grinned and chimed in. “Lilia! Finally decided to join the fun?”

Lilia’s gaze didn’t leave mine as she responded, “I suppose someone had to keep an eye on y/n.”

“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine on my own,” I shot back, playful but pointed.

Lilia’s lips twitched. “So I see.” Her gaze dragged over me, slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my posture, the way I was standing just close enough to the woman next to me to imply interest.

I held her gaze, my heart racing. “You know, you could’ve just stayed home,” I teased, my voice dropping just a bit. “No need to check up on me.”

Lilia stepped closer, leaning in just enough that I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Maybe I just wanted to watch?”

I swallowed, my bravado slipping just slightly.

Agatha, watching the exchange like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, nudged me again and whispered, just for me to hear, “You’re losing, babe.”

I straightened up, regaining my composure, and smirked at Lilia. “Well, since you’re here... maybe I should introduce you to some people.” I gestured to the woman beside me, who looked suddenly very interested in this new development. “This is—”

But before I could finish, Lilia reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a second too long. The touch sent a shiver down my spine.

“Enjoy yourself, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, she stepped back, leaving me absolutely reeling.

Agatha burst into laughter. “Oh my God, she is so playing you.”

I clenched my jaw, staring at Lilia’s retreating figure as she casually wandered toward the bar, looking as cool and composed as ever.

Oh, hell no.

I was not about to let Lilia Calderu waltz in here, throw me off my game with a well-timed smirk and a touch that lingered just enough to make my brain short-circuit. If she thought she could walk away with the upper hand, she had another thing coming.

I plastered on my best grin and turned back to the woman next to me, who was still watching the whole exchange with keen interest. “Sorry about that,” I said smoothly, letting my fingers graze lightly over the rim of my glass. “Old friend.”

Lilia, who had just reached the bar, tilted her head slightly at my words, clearly listening in.

The woman smiled, intrigued. “Old friends who stare at you like they’d rather eat you alive?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely fake. “She’s... complicated.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilia's shoulders tense slightly. Gotcha.

Agatha, still lingering with a devilish glint in her eye, whispered in my ear, “Atta girl. Make her work for it.”

With renewed confidence, I turned my full attention to my current company, leaning in just enough to make it seem like I was entirely absorbed in our conversation. I laughed at all the right moments, let my hand casually brush against hers, and even threw in a little coy lip bite for good measure.

And Lilia saw every second of it.

I could practically feel her eyes on me, dark and heavy, her carefully composed façade slipping by degrees.

When I dared a glance her way, I caught her watching with that unreadable expression, cool, detached, but with a flicker of something darker beneath. Jealousy? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.

Still, she didn’t approach.

Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, I’d push a little harder.

I tilted my head back, laughing at something the woman said, making sure my posture screamed confidence, my neck arched just enough to be noticeable. And then, as casually as I could manage, I said loudly enough for Lilia to hear, “You know, I was a little nervous about coming tonight, but... I think I’m really enjoying myself.”

From across the room, I saw Lilia’s grip tighten around her glass.

Agatha, ever the enabler, had appeared at the bar, bit back a grin and leaned against the bar near Lilia. “So, Lilia,” she said innocently, “what brings you here tonight? Surely not jealousy?”

Lilia’s eyes flickered with something sharp, but she simply took a sip of her drink, her voice smooth as silk. “Just making sure y/n doesn’t get herself into too much trouble.”

“Oh, I think she’s handling herself just fine,” Agatha teased, shooting me a wink.

I smirked, running a hand down my hip and throwing Lilia a pointed glance before turning back to my conversation.

But before I could say another word, Lilia appeared at my side, moving silently and suddenly. Her presence was commanding, and I felt it in every nerve of my body.

“Y/n,” she said smoothly, her voice velvety and low. “A word?”

The woman next to me raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, clearly amused. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding, but I kept my smirk firmly in place. “Of course, Lilia.”

She led me away from the crowd, her hand resting lightly on my lower back, just enough to own the situation, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.

Once we were in a quieter corner, she turned to face me, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Having fun?”

I shrugged, playing it cool. “I was.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but her gaze sharpened, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re walking a fine line, baby.”

I tilted my head, stepping closer, pushing just enough. “Maybe I like the edge.”

Her eyes darkened, and for the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. But instead of pulling away, she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers straight down my spine.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth. “You might find yourself wanting something you can’t have.”

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my cool. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”

Lilia’s expression remained unreadable, her head tilting just slightly.  “Getting ahead of yourself, baby.”

I exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to roll my eyes. “And you love dragging this out, don’t you?”

She made a soft, thoughtful sound, her gaze sweeping over me like she was deciding just how much she wanted to let me have. “Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

Heat curled in my stomach, frustration and want tangled together, her eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, but before I could say anything, she let out a slow, almost teasing sigh and stepped back, putting space between us. “Go on, baby. Enjoy your night.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me reeling.

Agatha appeared at my side almost immediately. “So... that looked intense.”

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. “I think I might be losing.”

And honestly? I didn’t want to play this game anymore.

Agatha grinned. “No, babe. You’re both losing.”

I groaned. “Great.”

I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I watched Lilia disappear back into the crowd with that same frustrating grace she always carried. I turned to Agatha, my lips pursed in irritation. “You know what? I don’t want to do this matchmaking thing.”

Agatha, ever perceptive, didn’t even argue. She just sipped her drink and gave me a knowing nod. “Of course, no problem.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “I know when you’ve had enough, y/n. And right now, you look like you're two seconds away from murdering someone.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Yeah, I think I just... I need to go home.”

Agatha nodded, patting my arm. “Good call. Go home, take a bubble bath, and—”

“Eat my feelings?”

Agatha grinned. “Exactly.”

I gave her a small smile, grateful she wasn’t pushing. “Thanks, Aggie.”

She winked. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll gossip later.”

I nodded, weaving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and the lingering presence of Lilia somewhere in the room.

By the time I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a long breath. The tension that had been building inside me all evening eased slightly, but the frustration was still simmering beneath the surface.

Because despite everything, the flirting, the teasing, the stupid mixed signals, Lilia still managed to keep me at arm's length. And I was tired of playing the waiting game.

As I made my way home, heels clicking against the pavement, I couldn't help but feel like I had just walked away from a fight I wasn't even sure I wanted to win anymore.

I made it home, kicking off my heels the second I stepped through the door. The silence of my apartment felt jarring after the noise and chaos of the event, but it was exactly what I needed. No prying eyes, no teasing coven, and most importantly, no Lilia.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving me feeling tired, annoyed, and... a little disappointed.

The evening had started off fun, with the whole “make Lilia jealous” plan in full swing. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about teasing her and started feeling like something else. Something heavier.

I wanted her to chase me. I wanted her to want me.

But instead, she just kept pulling back, staying in that frustrating space of almost.

I flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral.

Maybe she really doesn’t feel the same way.

Maybe the age gap is too much for her.

Maybe I’m just a fun distraction to her.

I groaned, tossing a pillow over my face. “Ugh, stupid.”

Just as I was debating whether to text Agatha and unload my feelings, my phone buzzed against my thigh.

I grabbed it, half expecting it to be one of my friends checking in, but my breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.

Lilia.

I stared at it for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Was she going to scold me for leaving early? Check on me? Or just... toy with me some more?

Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then Lilia’s voice, soft and measured. “You left.”

I blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

Another pause. “I see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you call just to state the obvious, Lilia?”

She hummed, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Maybe.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Lilia.”

She sighed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually say something real. But then—

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

My heart did that stupid little flutter thing, but I pushed it down, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine. I always am.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d hung up. But then—

“I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go,” she admitted quietly.

I swallowed, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. “Why did you?”

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, it was softer than I expected. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling frustration bubble up again. “And? Did you enjoy the show?”

Lilia exhaled, something close to a chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “More than I should have.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Another pause. “So I’ve been told.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Lilia.”

“You too, baby,” she murmured, and before I could come up with a snarky response, the call ended.

My heart pounding, frustration and something else, something deeper, swirling in my chest.

I stared at my phone for all of ten seconds before I muttered, "No, fuck this." Without thinking any further, I tapped Lilia’s number and called her back.

She answered almost immediately, her voice a little softer, maybe a little surprised. “y/n?”

“You’re confusing,” I blurted out, pacing back and forth in my living room, frustration bubbling over. “You are so confusing, Lilia.”

Silence.

I didn’t care, I was on a roll now. “You flirt with me, you pull away, you get all soft and caring, and then you act like none of it happened. And I keep trying to play it cool, keep waiting for you to make up your damn mind, but you never do.”

She didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t stopping.

“And fuck you and this whole age gap excuse, because that’s what it is now, Lilia. It’s an excuse. You keep telling yourself that’s the problem, but it’s not. You flirt with me, you want me, and then you shut me out like it never happened. I’m tired, Lilia. I’m so tired.”

I paused, breathing hard, and then it hit me. My eyes widened as I blurted, “And you never even gave me my underwear back!”

I was hysterical. 

I could hear Lilia inhale sharply on the other end, and for a second, I thought she might say something, anything. But all I got was silence.

And that silence was worse than if she’d yelled at me.

I swallowed hard, my anger deflating into something... heavier. More raw. My voice softened, and I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

Still, she said nothing, and it was starting to hurt more than I thought it could.

I took a shaky breath. “I’m done, Lilia. I can’t take any more.” My throat tightened, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “It hurts too much.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint static of the line. Then, finally, Lilia’s voice came through, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Y/n...”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

Another pause. Then she sighed, long and slow, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well... you did.”

Silence again, and I could almost imagine her, standing in her shop, looking down at the floor with that troubled frown she always wore when she was thinking too hard.

After another beat, she said, “I—” but she cut herself off, like she couldn’t finish the sentence.

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “Lilia, I can’t do this anymore. Not unless you actually want me. Not unless you’re willing to admit it.”

There was a pause. Then, finally, so quietly it nearly shattered me, she said, “I do.”

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest. “What?”

“I do,” Lilia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I didn’t know how to.���

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

There was a long silence before she finally admitted, “Because I’m scared.”

I felt something shift inside me, my anger melting into something softer. “Scared of what?”

Lilia sighed again, and this time, she sounded... tired. Vulnerable. “Of how much I want you.”

My lips parted, my throat suddenly dry. “Then stop running,” I said softly. “Please, Lilia. Just... stop.”

She was quiet for another long moment, and then— “Come over.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“Come over,” she said again, a little stronger this time. “Now.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Lilia, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please.”

And just like that, I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes, and bolted out the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely registered it, I was too focused on getting to Lilia.

The drive to her shop felt endless, every red light an eternity, every turn slower than I wanted. My fingers tapped anxiously against the wheel, my thoughts racing.

She admitted it.

She finally admitted it.

But what did that mean? What was waiting for me when I got there?

By the time I pulled up outside her shop, I was a mess of nerves, my stomach churning with anticipation and something I couldn’t quite name. I parked and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to collect myself.

Come over, she’d said. Not “we need to talk,” not “I need to explain.” Just... come over.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. The street was quiet this time of night, the shop windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.

I knocked, and almost immediately, the door creaked open.

Lilia stood there, looking... different. Her usual confidence wasn’t as sharp around the edges tonight. Her hair was loose, curling naturally around her face, and she had changed into casual wear, soft sweater and leggings, barefoot.

Her dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

I exhaled shakily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied softly, stepping aside to let me in.

The familiar scent of her shop, incense, old books, and something distinctly her washed over me as I walked inside. She closed the door behind me, and the quiet settled around us like a heavy weight.

I turned to face her, my heart still racing. “I meant what I said, Lilia. I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I know, baby.”

The sound of her calling me that made my knees weak.

I swallowed. “Then why—”

Lilia took a slow step forward, her eyes locked onto mine. “Because I’ve spent a long time being careful, y/n. Too careful.”

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just let her talk.

“I told myself I couldn’t do this,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure. “That you deserved someone... younger. Someone with fewer complications. Someone who wouldn’t keep you waiting.”

I blinked, my throat tightening. “Lilia...”

She stepped closer, and this time, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist. “But you’re right. The age gap, the excuses... they’re just that. Excuses.”

I felt something break inside me, my breath hitching. “Then stop making them.”

Lilia looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the struggle in her eyes, the hesitation, the longing, the fear. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she cupped my face in her hands, her thumb grazing lightly over my cheek.

“I’m done,” she whispered. “No more excuses.”

I barely had time to react before she kissed me.

Soft at first, hesitant, but then I melted into it, my hands gripping her waist as I kissed her back with everything I’d been holding in for weeks, months.

Lilia pressed closer, her body warm against mine, and I felt her exhale shakily into my mouth, like she was finally letting go of all the barriers she’d built between us. Like she wanted this just as badly as I did.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Took you long enough,” I whispered, my lips curling into a smile.

Lilia chuckled, her fingers still ghosting over my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I know, baby. I know.”

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.

But Lilia barely gives me a second to recover before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me through the shop, her grip firm, her steps hurried, almost reckless. I can barely keep up, my heart racing, my body already aching for her before we even make it to her bedroom.

And then I’m there, being pushed back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me as I look up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s standing over me, eyes dark and burning with something dangerous, something I’ve been craving for so long. 

I moan, unabashedly, because fuck, she’s so hot.  The way she looks at me like she’s about to devour me whole, like she’s going to ruin me, like I’m something she’s been starving for.

And then she starts stripping, slowly, painfully slow, slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto mine the entire time. Teasing me with every inch of skin she reveals. She peels her sweater over her head, her curls tumbling loose, and I watch, breathless, as she undoes the clasp of her bra with deliberate precision, letting it fall to the floor, her smirk growing the longer I stare. Her hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, sliding them down her hips with an agonising pace. She steps out of them with ease. My pulse pounds in my ears as she takes her time, dragging it out, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me, letting the last of her clothes slip from her body until she’s completely bare, standing before me in nothing but those dark eyes and the wicked smirk playing on her lips, and I’m left staring, aching.  

I can’t take it.

I stand up, lurch forward, hands reaching for her, closing the space between us, my hands immediately on her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her neck. My hands roam over her bare back, pressing her closer, needing to feel her. My teeth scrape over the pulse hammering at her throat, and I hear her breath hitch.

Lilia moans, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me even closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. I trail kisses down, across her chest, down her stomach, dragging my nails lightly, down her ribs just to make her gasp, desperate to taste her, to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.

I want her. I want to wreck her, hear her fall apart beneath me.

But Lilia has other plans.

With a low growl, she shoves me back onto the bed, straddling me before I can even react. Her body pins mine against the mattress, a delicious weight that has me gasping. She tugs my dress up, her hands rough and impatient as she drags it over my head and tosses it aside. A shiver runs through me as her fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and without thinking, my hips lift to help her slip them off.

And then she does the same to me. Lilia’s lips are everywhere, hot, demanding, claiming me in a way that’s anything but soft. It’s hard, it’s raw, it’s pent up tension that’s been building for weeks, and it’s so damn good, and I can feel it in every press of her teeth, every bite of her nails against my thighs.

She kisses me like she’s making up for lost time, her hands gripping my hips tightly, grinding down against me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the friction, with enough force to leave bruises in the morning. My nails rake down her back, desperate, needy, and she loves it, moaning into my mouth as she deepens the kiss.

We don’t stop.

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just heat and need and the overwhelming feeling of finally having what we both wanted.

I gasp as Lilia's hands roam lower, her touch possessive, her mouth following her hands, unrelenting, claiming every inch of me. She grips my thighs, spreading me open, pressing teasing kisses along my inner thigh, slow, deliberate, making me squirm.

She pauses just above where I need her, her breath warm against me, teasing, torturous. And when she finally looks up at me, her lips just barely brushing my skin, her eyes are dark, lips slick, pupils blown wide with hunger. She smirks.

“Took me long enough, huh?” she murmurs against my skin.

I can’t even answer, just nod breathlessly.

Lilia’s mouth is on me before I can even process it, her hands pressing my thighs apart with a hunger that makes my head spin. She doesn’t tease. She doesn’t drag it out. She takes. 

She devours me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for too long and refuses to do it a second longer. Her tongue moves with precision, slow at first, savoring, before she licks deeper, pressing her mouth against me with a hunger that has my head spinning. She flicks her tongue, dragging it over me just right, and I sob, my body jerking beneath her. 

Her fingers slide through slick heat, teasing, testing, until—

I gasp, my back arching off the bed as she pushes in, stretching me, filling me in a way that has me gasping for air.

She’s ruthless, curling her fingers just right, stroking deep, pushing, pulling, setting a pace that leaves no room for mercy.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, baby?” she moans against me, the vibrations sending a shiver up my spine. Her fingers don’t slow, thrusting into me hard, fast, each stroke deliberate and punishing. “The things I’ve thought about... every time you walked into the shop in those little skirts, every time you teased me?”

I whimper, my hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back in pure bliss.

She bites the inside of my thigh, and I cry out. “Those panties you left behind,” she breathes, her voice thick with lust, “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About you. About what it’d feel like to have you.”

A desperate moan rips from my throat, my body trembling under her touch. “Lilia... please.” My hips lifting, chasing her, needing more. She hums, low and indulgent, before finally sliding another finger inside me, stretching me open, pushing deeper, pressing her palm against me just enough to make me whine. My hands clutch at the sheets, my body burning, every nerve ending sparking.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” her tongue circling me in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me apart piece by piece. “Had you like this ages ago. Been wanting to hear these sounds from you for weeks”

Her fingers press against that perfect spot inside me, and I choke out a sob.

She licks deeper, pressing her tongue flat against me before sucking lightly, and I jerk, crying out.

“Want to hear you cum for me,” Lilia purrs, her voice dark and commanding,  before she sucks harder, her fingers thrusting into me faster, curling deep, coaxing me higher. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it.”

And I do.

The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my body shaking, moaning her name over and over as I fall apart beneath her touch. Lilia doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m completely wrecked, panting, and twitching from the aftershocks.

She finally pulls back, pressing a final, lingering kiss against me, her breath warm and heavy.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach, her voice full of praise that makes me shiver all over again. “You did so well for me.”

I can barely respond, my limbs boneless, my mind hazy. But I know one thing for sure, I want more.

It takes me a moment to come back down, my body still trembling, my breaths ragged and uneven. Lilia watches me with dark, satisfied eyes, her smirk smug and dripping with confidence. Her fingers still teasing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s enjoying the way I twitch under her touch.

But I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.

Before she can even process it, I flip us over, pressing her into the mattress with a wicked grin. Her eyes widen, but there’s no surprise, just anticipation, hunger.

“Fuck.” The word comes out in a breath, barely a sound, but enough for her to hear.

She hums, amused, her nails skimming over my arms as if daring me to continue.

My fingers trail lower, slipping between her thighs, and I pause, my breath catching as I feel how absolutely soaked she is. The realisation sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

I pull back slightly, looking at her properly now, taking in the way her lips are parted, her pupils blown wide, her body already straining toward me.

“Oh,” I breathe, teasing my fingers against her, dragging them slowly to feel every bit of her need. “You don’t need any help, do you?”

Lilia’s breath hitches, her hips twitching beneath my touch, but she doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in anticipation. Fixes me with a look that makes my stomach flip.

It’s daring. A challenge. Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“Fuck,” I say again, letting out another slow breath, pressing a little firmer, feeling how she responds so easily. “You really have been waiting for this,” I murmur, my voice dark, satisfied. “Haven’t you?”

She parts her lips to respond, but I don’t give her the chance.

I sink my fingers into her, slow at first, teasing, stretching her open, feeling the way her body clenches around me. 

And then I push in deeper, hard, and she gasps, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders..

I don’t go slow. I don’t tease. I take her hard and rough, my fingers moving with purpose, curling inside her in a way that has her moaning instantly.

Lilia’s hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails scratching, dragging down my back, and I lower my mouth to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples between my lips. I swirl my tongue around it, biting down just enough to make her cry out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, y/n,” she moans, her hips bucking up against my hand, her thighs trembling around me.

I smirk against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention while my fingers pump into her relentlessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around my fingers, and it doesn’t take much before I feel her start to tighten around me, her walls fluttering, her breath coming out in broken gasps.

“So, you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I murmur against her chest, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Thinking about how I’d feel inside you?”

She groans, her back arching as she gasps, “Yes... yes... fuck.”

I grin wickedly, increasing the pace, curling my fingers just right until she’s on the edge, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Come on, Lilia,” I whisper against her skin, sucking hard on her nipple as I thrust into her with delicious precision. 

“Let me hear you.”

And she does.

Lilia spasms around me, her moan breaking apart into something raw and desperate, her entire body trembling beneath me as she comes undone, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows.

I watch her fall apart, mesmerised, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen. 

My fingers slow, riding out her high as I press soft kisses along her collarbone.

Her breathing is ragged, a deep flush crawling up her chest, sweat slicking her skin, and she lets out a soft, breathy laugh, pulling me against her, her fingers tangling in my hair. “I should hate how smug you look right now,” she murmurs, voice thick and shaky.

I smirk, kissing along her jaw. “You love it.”

She hums, her lips ghosting over my temple as her breath steadies, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. 

After the intensity of it all, after the heat, the moans, and the desperate need finally sated, we collapse into the sheets, bodies still humming with the aftershocks.

Lilia sighs softly against my hair,  her arm draped lazily over my waist, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath me, and I feel her hand lazily tracing circles on my back. 

I shift slightly, my leg sliding between hers, my fingers still ghosting over her skin, unable to stop touching her even in the aftermath.

Her skin is warm, still damp from sweat, her breathing slow and steady.

“Comfortable?” she murmurs, voice low and raspy, and I can hear the lingering amusement in it.

I nuzzle against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “Very.” My voice is heavy with sleep, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I don’t want to move. “You?”

She hums, her lips pressing against my temple in a slow, lingering kiss. “Mm. I could get used to this.”

My heart stutters at that, but I don’t say anything, just smile against her skin, letting myself bask in the warmth of her.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, time feels irrelevant when I’m wrapped around her like this. Lilia strokes her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, and I can feel her breathing slowing, the tension that always seems to cling to her finally easing away.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut, my body melting against hers. “Don’t retreat in the morning,” I mumble sleepily, barely coherent, but needing to say it.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “I won’t, baby.”

And that’s enough for me. With her promise lingering in the air between us, I drift off, feeling safe, sated, and completely tangled in her. Tangled in her warmth, in her scent, in the quiet hum of her presence.

[bobbiereynolds]

Shirley Temple (Bob Reynolds Oneshot)

Character/s: Bob, Valentina, Thunderbolts team

Word Count: 1,535

Warning/s: excessive drinking/hangover mention, sobriety, etc.

A/N: This might be tmi, idk, but ya gurl is thinking of stopping drinking. I want to talk it over with my therapist, who I don't see until Tuesday. It's not a problem, I don't think, but I feel it's starting to be, if that makes sense? I'll see what she thinks. I don't want to tell my family or anything, I don't think they'd get it. I made a deal with a friend to do it together so that's really sweet of them and helpful. Also inspired by this amazing shirley temple I got recently lol on a less depressing note :) Feedback is always appreciated!! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

SHIPS ARE OPEN / THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

A cold glass covered in condensation, ice clinking together before it melts. Something deep, and copper, and smelling like gasoline. A can, wet from a cooler, the tab hissing open. Disgusting, the thought makes you gag, and yet, you’d give anything to taste even that. You’d take a cheap plastic bottle at this point, the kind that leaves your throat burning and your eyes watering, the kind with the screw on cap. You’d collect them in your pocket (the tabs, the bottle cops) to keep track. Something satisfying about collecting them, pressing them into your palm until there was a perfect circle in your palm. Emptying them at the end of the night, giggly, but your stomach hurts. Too much, too drunk, too many. Anything to numb this feeling, this gnawing. Anything to smother this kind of deep ache in the middle of your chest, this cracking, broken sort of feeling the alcohol numbs for a few hours. Instead you crack your knuckles, then your fingers, trying to keep your hands busy. At this moment, they feel especially empty. Especially needy, desperate for a distraction. A crutch. 

It stares back at you like a monster with a dozen eyes and big sharp teeth. Ready to inhale you. To chew you up and spit you out. Watching party goers and donors and politicians and acquaintances stand in line. Each of them is wearing more money than you’ll see in your lifetime in jewelry, cufflinks, technology strapped around their wrists or sitting in their hands telling counting their macro, doing the math on what to drink and how much to get the perfect buzz. Jealousy creeps up your throat, but you swallow it before it touches your tongue. You cannot let your envy get the better of you. That leads to problems. That leads to self-annihilation. You can’t do that, not here, not now. Valentina ordered each of you to be on your best behavior. Play nice. Smile when you’re told to. Sell yourselves that the city, and its most powerful, will have you in their good graces. That way, you wanted to say, if you destroy the city, or the world, or even the universe in its entirety, at least you will have their blessings. 

 Itching to go to the bar, to ask for something that’s going to help you forget. Something strong, something hearty, something you find utterly repulsive, but efficient in getting the job done. No, you think, don’t do that. Bad idea. Abort mission. Without thinking, you go in the opposite direction. Your shoes are tight and uncomfortable. Your clothes are a costume you want to tear away, ripping into pieces. Itchy in some places, others are too tight, too compact. She picked out a wardrobe for each of you to choose from. All of you stared at her, some of your jaw agape, but, in the end, whatever fight you had in you wasn’t enough. This was the best of a bad situation. Still, it made you feel clownish. You spot John across the hall. He smiles easily, laughing, his arm reaching out to touch their shoulderblade. The act is so natural, so carefree. His suit is blue, dark and moody, reminiscent of his days as Mr. America. He chose well given the circumstances. You don’t stop, though. You can’t. You’re not sure what, or who, you’re looking for, only that you’re not far enough away. The line was long and their hum, anticipating their booze, so loud. You can still feel it vibrating under your skin. 

Down the stairs, you see the pair. Bucky and Ava, both in black. They made her suit in a lab, whereas yours was bought off the rack, so that she would remain in one piece. They looked good. His hair slicked back. Hers down, short and wavy. They are quiet, but with intention. You were always in awe of them. Not just the way they presented themselves at events like this, so composed, so mature, but in general. The thinkers, the parents, for lack of a better term. The ones who helped you when you got into trouble. Talking to Valentina, to anyone else you might have pissed off or screwed over, smoothing the whole thing out. You couldn’t thank them enough in those moments, it never felt substantial, equal. Instead, childlike, you’d keep your head down and stay out of sight, hoping your lack of mistakes afterwards, at least for a little while, would suffice.. As you get to the bottom, they both eye you, trying to speak to you with just their eyes, but you haven’t mastered the language and your translation is iffy. Were they angry or concerned? You chose the latter, afraid of the former. You weren’t schmoozing, you weren’t winning anyone over, but you also weren’t causing problems. That has to count for something, right? You smiled at them, hoping that would convey whatever kind of reassurance they needed, but the group needed their attention more, and that was your sign to dodge whatever lecture you feared waited for you.

You find a corner just hidden enough to watch from, grateful for this blind spot. Better to be alone. Nothing to mess up, nobody to offend. Nobody to hurt. Thinking about it's not just humiliating or embarrassing, it feels cruel enough, and yet, like the necessary punishment. You drank too much, binged on whatever you could get your hands on. And when it was over, when you were not just tipsy, but intoxicated, you grew sick and restless. You had to be cleaned up and put to bed, the mess that you were. Are, you correct, the mess you are. You never missed a meeting, you never let it interfere with missions or interviews, but you did sit, hungover, your stomach churning. You did count the hours, minutes, before you could be somewhere with a bar, with enough alcohol to stop your thoughts, your panic, your everything. It isn’t the taste you miss, but the numbing. You let it consume you. It was so much easier that way. It still is, though you’re trying not to think about it. Your back against the wall, cold, but welcomed. In each of their hands, John, Ava, Bucky, something you wish to drink and never stop drinking. You stopped before it could get worse, before you hurt someone beyond healing, beyond remedy. Before it cost you your career, the only thing you have left. 

Still, it doesn’t mean you like it. It doesn’t make it easy. Things like this, with people who want you to be easily digestible, tender and meaty without being chewy, make you ill. Reminiscent of being served on a silver platter. You think about leaving, ducking out before anyone can find you, feigning a headache, before someone holds out a glass in front of you. Three cherries sit in the fizzy soda. It’s dyed red and smells like childhood. Bob wears a smile across his face, shy, but so, so comforting. You looked like you needed this, he says, moving to stand beside you. Aren’t we a little old for Shirley Temples? You smile, taking a sip. It doesn’t burn. It won’t cause inhibitions, it won’t go to your brain, not like that. It is all sweetness, just like him. Bob wears a suit, but no tie. He must’ve lost it or, better yet, in an act of defiance, took it off. He looks better this way. His top button is undone and his hair, which was gelled back, moves naturally over his forehead. He looks more like himself than any of you do. You look at his glass: only two cherries. Never, he beams back, and you know it’s true. 

You don’t speak for a long time, just sipping your drinks, grateful for his company. You sensed, Bob felt the same way about these things. He was always doing little things to fight back, to show Valentina she wasn’t in charge, you were. The hair, the tie. Sometimes all he had to do was look at her when she was especially upset and take it out on you before she stopped and apologized. Sometimes it was warranted. Other times, you weren’t really sure who should have been more sorry: you or her. Together you watch everyone, making the occasional comment or joke at their expense. You can tell, by the look of her face (angry, but subtle enough for anyone who doesn’t know her not to notice) that she was looking for the two of you. You start to move, but he grabs you, gently, not saying anything, and you understand just by his body language. Just a few more minutes. That’s all. You nod, as if he’s spoken, and move back. You sip your pomegranate drink silently, turning towards Bob and sticking your tongue out, showing him the cherry stem tied in a knot. He was right. You really did need this. The mocktail, sure, but also company. You would thank him, a sincere appreciation, before the night was over. For now, you plop your extra cherry into his drink. He goes to say something, but you wave it off. Maybe tonight would be bearable after all.

[123puppy]

I'd like to thank this precious video for giving me the mental image of Alastor's suffering~

-------

Cute.

It's a word Lucifer cannot seem to stop thinking about when it comes to The Radio Demon. For this, it's beyond his expectations. And a beautiful discovery he never thought possible.

Alastor lays flat on his back, arms barely staying near his head as he struggles to contain, and fail, the giggles that spill from between his teeth, face twisted into the sheets in a futile attempt to hide, flustered.

He forgoes his red-striped coat, sleeves rolled up along with the bottom hem of his light red shirt exposing his stomach and small waist, white strips almost zig-zagging his ashen skin.

A choked sound comes out of the man, unable to keep one of his arms in place, bringing said arm down to cover his mouth, grin growing bigger with a wobbly edge as his eyes pop open.

Long black claws dance gently over Alastor's lower tummy. It's been like this for over a minute, but Alastor is falling apart at the seams at the display, his other arm dragging itself down, red claws easily slicing through the crimson sheets in a slow 'rrrrRRRiiiip' and finding itself over his other hand to stop the giggles as they reach a slightly higher pitch, accompanied by a ringing, pitched with distressed deer noises.

Lucifer has a smile on his own face as he continues to tease the deer with no hope of stopping unless the sinner voices it. He's praying Alastor doesn't end it too soon, because for all that is holy, this has got to be the cutest and wholesome moment he's seen since Charlie's birth.

Another minute goes by. It could have been eons for all Al knows.

The sinner cannot keep still the longer this goes on. One long leg pulls itself up and scrapes along the sheets as he fights to keep from squirming about. But Lucifer, the little shit, has been discreetly pushing his shirt up little by little, then he would drag his nails down back to where they started. The sporadic reaction is a feat, the younger man fighting his instinct to curl forward even when the Angel pressed the pads of fingers into his hips. The tears welling within the corners of his eyes don't give him hope of enduring this much longer.

Alastor had been holding out for as long as he could, to the point that his death mark began to glow, until he broke when one of his lowest ribs gets grazed.

He slams his elbows down and twists his body onto its side, ears flat against his skull, "That's enough!" His voice cracks. His actual voice, no filters. He yelps when a devilish finger finds his belly button and twists away, choking back a squeal, "LUCIFER!"

Lucifer pulls his hands back, "I'm done I'm done!" He laughs, "Still, that was a lot of fun, and your skin, or fur, is so soft," He cages Alastor and grins at the withering look the demon gives him but doesn't miss how he tensed at being 'trapped'.

"Fuck off."

Lucifer raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing, "Not my fault you're sensitive. I didn't go full Tickle Monster on you like I do with Charlie." He wiggles his fingers over Alastor and the demon flinched, slapping his hands away.

Blood-red eyes turn into dials, locked on the smaller man, grin exposing all his teeth.

"I haven't forgotten how sensitive you are, Your Highness."

"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves-" Lucifer shrieks as Alastor pounces.

[ejkreader]

YALL

It's TIMEEEEEEE

(Wow I genuinely forgot to link the work in my excitement. I'm so cool right guys)

Unspoken Truce IS FINALLY HERE FOR DAY FOUR OF @azrisweek WOOOOOOOOO

419 LINES OF AZRIS POETRY IN IAMBIC PENTAMETER BABYYY

Many, many, MANY thanks to @irithiadourden for beta-reading and hyping this work up!!!! You were so, so sweet for agreeing to beta and your reactions were priceless, I will keep them forever <3

Little snippet/intro below ^^

They never needed to say it, they knew

All the same. But soon, maybe, one of them

Would gain the courage to say the words in

Both their minds, hearts, their very being. ‘Till

Then, they could figure out the rest, with an

Unspoken truce.

ENTIRE THING BELOW THE CUT (bc I just noticed ao3 is down) (it's up again but I'm keeping this here :)) (also the story on Ao3)

Characters in the Play

Shadowsinger,  Azriel of Velaris; spymaster of the Night Court

Prince of Autumn → New King of Autumn,  Eris Vanserra; son of Beron

Lord of Foxes,  Lucien Vanserra; son of Helion

The Prophetess,  Elain Acheron, mate of Lucien

The Doomed Love,  Jesminda Taylors

Bird with Broken Wings,  Eleanor Vanserra → cor Aurum; Lady of Autumn

Lord of Bloodshed,  Cassian of Illyria

High Lord of Autumn,  Beron Vanserra

High Lord of Day,  Helion cor Aurum (Heart of Gold)

High Lord of Night,  Rhysand de Tenebris (of the Dark)

High Lord of Spring,  Tamlin Vercustos (Springkeeper)

Vanserra brothers (mortuus)

Chorus

Servingman

Nurse

-Shadowsinger

Wild colors, hot and bright, burn below rock

Whil’ over strong gales and tree-tops sings he;

The darkest blue from night, star in the sky.

Why, wondered he, would he decide to strike

Moons before they had detailed, risking all?

-Prince of Autumn

Harsh, cruelly was he taken from his rest,

As shrewd fire cannot of ease be contained.

It sears, burns, eats at human flesh, but when

They try oppressors to bite, death rains them.

Through struggles he waits, knowing he’ll be saved.

Try as he might to deny it, he knew.

-Shadowsinger

A glinting light the only showing, seen

Past acers, past demesnes he soars, watch him.

Glimpse shadows shelter their sore master, wild

With fury trapped in mortal shell, escaped.

Alights, ire and cold, on the forest’s house.

Engulfed by the night, silent, quiet, go—!

No need to search, connecting string pulls him.

In dungeons he appears, fair light sole guide.

-Prince of Autumn

“Ere— guards hear you approaching?”

“No father, I can hear naught.”

The darkness shudders as a whip strafes down.

“Vile boy, dare you talk back to me? Disgrace!

Await I your return for days, but then

No news bring you? I should kill thee for this!

Your hours North wasted, it seems, for that bat.

Think you I know not of your bond with him?

So foolish, it seems good to rid of you.”

“Yes father, you always do what you will.”

The wrath of Ares shone from the king’s smile.

The other simply hung there, antics known.

His face still; turmoil hidden, left inside.

But fear was written there beneath his mask,

His mate known by the one fed lies, had now

This truth found, he must have left clues, his fault—

-Shadowsinger

It was fine. The day’s end would come to them

Together.

-Prince of Autumn

Heart violent, a match lights, flame sparked.

At once aware of his mute presence here,

Here to save him, but he must not do so.

The darkness’ death would end with his sole corpse.

A fitter end: him alone, broken, dead.

His burnished locks left alone on cold stone

That errant Shadow of his left unscathed.

For he was a monster on this world, and

Should be killed as such. Laugh at this pity!

Again, papa raised his hand to cuff him.

Each crack of the crop brings him closer, or

Perhaps it’s further. Then he stepped aside.

His bane smiled as he neared the last, sharp tool,

The wicked, glinting silver edge tightly gripped.

No method of evasion found or used

Nor hoped for or thought of. It would be done.

He wished for it to be quick— now, he thought,

If his shade would just let him go alone…

Yes, then he could repent for his soul’s sins.

It was not ending for him, but a start.

-Shadowsinger

“It’d be an ending for me, you vile prick!”

Words into empty woods, not replied to

With his mind in a quiet place, blocked off.

Had he planned this? Had he known how this would

Break him: if he was to pass? This was it;

Time to stop this fool’s play by saving him.

And then—

Just when—

It rises—

Held taut—

Now falls,

He can see his snake's eyes close at the end,

As flesh turns into shadow on the spot

Reforming in the blade's path to halt it.

Four dark red eyes enlarge to see him kick,

Jab, and lunge at the bigger, stumbling form.

Grab from its sheath the teller of truth, and

See him fall down as if taking a bow,

Because of the length lodged in his thick throat.

It was all just so perfect. At last; now.

Revenge would at last be enacted on

The monster in the room, to save his light.

But the king would not simply give his throne,

No, he would grab the Shadow’s arm, pull him

Down onto his hilt, only then cave in.

-Prince of Autumn

The Prince of Autumn opened his eyes to

Torn flesh and blood; remains of dear papa.

(He had been far-gone, almost in a sleep.)

But next to it, what ho! The shadows pooled

All around their Voice, wounded, on the floor.

Wings all splayed at odd angles, knife still grasped.

“What have you done, Night? My plan is naught if

You are not there for it. Please, stay with me.”

His bones shook as he held him to his heart

And the limp body’s blood pooled down his vest.

There was a wan pulse, fading, as he clung

To the flight leathers still on his bird’s form.

Do not remember, push the thought away:

This was not the past, not his brother’s love

Laid dormant in the hall for all to see.

No, it was not the affair of his kin

But he was just as cold as she had been.

Perhaps he was the cold one. That was odd,

It was assumed he had heat in his veins.

Now, he was so engrossed in his mate that

He did not heed his father’s carcass as

It started to glow.

And a strange feeling began to fill him

As molten blazes, liquid flame, began

To quickly filter into his dour self.

It fled from the inert corpse of his sire

To the new, blazing scion of their dreams.

The flames loved their new master, for they knew

That he would be the Lord to make their heat

Known as angelic and good in his lands.

Why did his body arch as it gained this

Abnormal force, jolt as if gored by it?

As it burned his skin, curdling his red blood 

Gold, raising him above the standard fae.

But Mother, how it made him writhe, for he

Dropped the man’s arm as he was lifted up

Not of his own volition, but the fire’s.

Still he reached down, forever straining back

Though his frame became wreathed in molten flames,

And pain lanced through his every nerve, filling,

Re-molding him in the harsh forge of fate.

Just then, a man burst through the doors and yelled,

-Lord of Foxes

“Wait!” 

His red hair flamed out, a slash through one eye.

A Cauldron-made strode in his wake, a bright,

Fair haired, far seeing maiden. She knew all.

So as the new king fell, she sent her knight,

The brother of flame and son of pure light,

To catch him and lay him down on the tile.

Then he leapt to the hulk of shadows ‘round

The winged man, still and silent on the floor,

Encircled his limp form with his limbs, and 

Took him in his broad arms as he stood up.

Now, holding both, he winnowed to Day Court,

Returning quickly to bring his adored.

Both darkness and divine fire in day’s care,

Both with a large dearth of blood; rough from wear.

Sat here next to them, he prayed for their lives.

-High Lord of Day

Unfiltered sun— distrustful of the Lord,

Though he himself was one, and stronger too.

However, he still went, for his son asked,

And his love, whom he’d rescued, had proclaimed

Her deep amór for the son she’d first birthed. 

He had felt the exchange of power when,

Mere minutes ago, the king of flak and 

Shogunate kindling had gone from this world.

So he passed the door with his hackles up,

Presuming the worst would meet him, but no.

Two bodies, dying slowly, laid on cots.

Their blood soaked his sheets through; they needed help.

He looked at his son, head bowed at a bed.

Thought of his caring minx, who loved her spawn,

Who would not want her son to be disturbed,

Turned crazy, wild from a dead mating bond.

The Sun, Spell-cleaver, stepped up to the cots

And held out his palms.

However, he stood

For many hours ‘fore either man woke up.

-New King of Autumn

Oh Mother, his head hurt. What had he done?

‘Twas scalding, so hot he knew he wasn’t home.

Perhaps this was the portent of his fall.

But, if true, why did his chest pain him so?

Ah, his beloved! Was he at life’s risk—

That was when it all came back to his mind.

His turgid father, dead and gone at last,

And his bat, red sap soaking into his

Tight leathers from the lesion in his side.

Then he had become Autumn monarch, but

It had ached too much. He assumed he’d fell

Unconscious. Even so, where was his spy?

He stood, his mind made up. He would find him.

He followed the tug on his ribs outside,

Where he found the crown of Night screaming at

The baron of Day out in the hall’s way.

Next to him stood his son, defiant and

Proud, still and tall against the turgid rex.

“I am his Lord, and he is mine! If you

Choose to protract his stay here any more,

You shall be the one ending this fight sore.

Heed, give me back my shadow singer, for

I tire of this talk.”

Pretentious prick, his mind voiced. Give him back?

I, even, would see that he tried to help.

“They are in my care, dear sir, on account

Of my son, who brought them here for my help.”

“‘They’? You mean to tell me that Autumn is

In your court? Do you not know what risk he—”

“Your Lordship, I think that is quite enough,”

He said as he strode into the mad fray.

“Your master of spies was extremely hurt,

And the khan of day, at risk to himself,

Took him in and helped him heal. Why do you,

With knowledge that your brother is alive

But healing, barge in to take him away?

You are a knave and a fool, evening king.”

The silence flooded into the arcade,

All four in it shocked for a moment, then,

“Ah. Autumn. Just ascended, did you not?

You should go back and lie down, for it seems

You don’t know what you’re talking about. I

Let him go help you, and now it is time

For him to come back. Do not meddle more.”

He studied the fall ruler with a lens,

Assessing him just as a boffin would.

He hated it, loathed his perspective on

The matter, for, was that man not his kin?

Dolts; foolish blockheads, surely, the whole lot.

He merely turned to the spell cleaver, and

Told him, “Thank you for healing him and I.

I will remember your concern for us.”

Air seemed to freeze around the dark-clothed man,

Immensely vexed that he was being shunned.

-Lord of Foxes

The Prince looked at his father, then wheeled back.

He took a pace towards the most potent,

Dynamic, potent figure in the room,

And said, “Please leave our presence at this time.

Assistance is not needed here and now, 

For all his vitals are steady. You have

Forced your way into the alcazar, rent

Apart quite a few wards on your way here,

And trespassed in the inner chambers to

Boot. Before we declare this as an act

Of war against our nation, take your leave.”

A host of feelings passed on his paled face,

Then he twirled on his heel and left the hall.

To the side of the Lord of Day, the male

With red hair stumbled and fell to the wall.

-New King of Autumn

The world was spinning. He gripped the wall tight.

Perhaps it had not been the wisest thing;

To stroll around soon after losing so

Much blood. Still, while he could, he had to ask,

“May I see the liege of the dark? I know

It might be brazen to ask now, since you

Just kicked out the doyen of night for the—”

Both other males cut in at the same time,

“Not an astute idea, you should sit,”

And, “Surely you would like to lay down first?”

They gave sharp glances at each other, then

Looked back for the response. A moment passed.

He straightened, the walls stopping to close in. 

“No… I am quite fine. Thank you, once again.

Should I leave? As Lord of Fall, surely I

Am causing you concern by staying here.”

His brother took a stride, approaching him.

“I was who brought you to the palace, here:

Your presence here is my fault; I’ll take blame.

Come, follow me. You shall view your brave knight.”

A clear blush on his face, the eldest trailed.

The room was scarcely any strides past his,

The fixtures almost the same. Only the

Carl dozing in the vast four-poster, like

A big, unwieldy dog, curled in for sleep.

He drew up a chair, perching on the edge

As he leaned forward to glom a glance at

His saving grace, his darling, turning to

Appraise his sibling after. “Why did you

Come to save us— save me? The last I knew,

You were with that blonde lass from the night court,

And our… familial ties did not help our

Connection. To put it in simple terms:

I thought you hated me. Why did you help?”

Beseeching him for a response with his

Large eyes, as his soul screeched for a reply.

-Lord of Foxes

He did not know what to say. Maybe, with

The urging from his wife, yes, maybe it

Was high time for him to tell the whole truth.

“Yes, most of what you speak is true, but hear:

A year past my nuptial, whence I had left

The court of night, I came back to my friend,

Another I thought long lost. Yet he took 

Me back, back into his life like no time

Had passed. I had not noticed how I had

Missed him all those years. Then, he mentioned that

He had kept something from me all those years.

‘Lu,’ he said, ‘I should have warned you before.

But every time I tried, you got so riled

And angry, shutting out all that I said.

In any case, I should have told you. Lu,

When you came to Spring, wounded but asleep,

Your brother carried you here. He begged, tears

In his eyes, to take you. When his kin came, 

He killed one of his brothers by himself.’

Then, he gave me your letters. I had not

Seen them, did not know they existed. And…

They faced me with the truth that I had tried

Denying for years. I talked with my spouse,

Her sister- both agreed you were not like

Your father. I recalled my mem’ries of

Old, when you took care of us if our ma

Was too frail to move, when you took the brunt

Of the belt- I remembered that you had

Not showed up when… she died. I had assumed

You hated me, was of the notion that

If you could have done something, you would have

Saved my tryst; my love. Mother, I was thick.

Because of course, you would try to save me,

Not the girl who, without doubt, would incur

The wrath of the Tsar. I did not read in-

Between the lines, just wrote the book my way,

Not caring who I left. Why did I help?

I wanted to bring back the brother I

Once knew.”

-New King of Autumn

He stared at this male, the one he gave so,

So much to, and tried to accept what he

Was hearing. It was too much, all at once.

So he just nodded slightly, trying to

Smile, but the muscles on his face were still

And frozen. He just sat there, looking grim.

At last, the sole words he came up with were,

“Thank you.” They each looked at the other, a

Sort of peace crashing into them at last.

There would be a time, later, to talk more.

He turned back to the figure on the bed, 

The one that proffered a speech so akin

To this one, after he had found him in

Chains, locked up in the house of his late dad,

Forgotten or left for dead. After a

Long moment, he stepped forward, going to

Take him out of the shackles, but he said—

“No. If you help me, he will know. I would

Have to spend more time down here. I cannot

Risk that. Please, Shadow Singer, do not help.”

He stood there for a second, torn, but then

Turned and left. Later, when the door of his

Cage had been opened, and he was alone

At last, the male appeared again. Without 

A word, he dressed the sores on the male’s weak, 

Frail corse, then put him in his bed when he 

Fell into sleep. A slow truce had emerged,

And quickly, it spilled over: the night they

Collided. It was not hard, painful, or 

Fast— They did it again, again, again.

One day, the male with dark hair had sat him

Down, telling him that he saw, could discern

The man behind the masks. Of course, he was

Scared, but perhaps he shouldn’t have attacked.

Yes, he had acted rashly, but he had

Known that his bat would come back. Always did,

Forever would. They both knew why it was.

When his love woke up, 

The sun was rising

On the next day. He

Had not slept at all.

-Shadowsinger

His eyes were heavy-lidded, the world he

Could see, blurred. There was a large, breathing mass,

Unmoving on the chair beside him. That

Was when the pain rammed into him, full force.

He groaned, a headache creeping in. But what—

Oh. Yeah, he had killed the Fall Monarch, had

He not? Well, the old bastard had deserved 

It. Every second of pain was worth it,

He only wished that he had suffered more,

But you take what you get. Including a

Stab wound in his side, it would seem. It hurt.

The man on the stool stirred as he awoke,

Decrying the outrageous locus that

He fell unconscious in with a loud yawn

And a loud cracking of joints. Then, he looked

Up, straight at him. Awake. Alive. Still here.

The pain in his bones all but vanished, though

His heart seemed to jump, running with the wind.

-New King of Autumn

He was awake. It would all be okay. 

But the winged male was shaking, he should ask:

“Do you want something to drink? Are you cold?

You’re surely cold, here, I can—” He reached out, 

To touch him, mayhaps, warm him, he flinched

Away. Then he regretted it at once,

When he went rigid, his face turning in

To that familiar mask of stone. No, his

Brain shouted at him, He should not have to

Look like that. Never, not again. Around

Him, shadows stirred from their rest. Forcing his

Weak body to move, he grabbed the outstretched

Palm, twining their hands into one. “Sorry,”

He muttered, “I don’t know why I did that…

Some water would be nice. Thanks.” After a

Short moment, he unclasped his fingers, and

The other seemed to leave his stupor. He 

Stretched to grab the glass from the table on

His left side. His arm had to reach across

Him, and he stood to grab the damned thing at

Last. After a tense second, the tall male

Seized the cup, handed it to him, and sat

Back down with a huff. He drunk it down with

A fervor only seen with someone whose

Lips have not seen hydration for hours, days.

He put the glass down. Glanced at his hound, who

Schooled his face into form at once; He had

Been wearing a slight smile. As they held

Each other’s eyes, the golden string between

Them lightly hummed, delighted at this act.

-Chorus

They never needed to say it, they knew

All the same. But soon, maybe, one of them

Would gain the courage to say the words in

Both their minds, hearts, their very being. ‘Till

Then, they could figure out the rest, with an

Unspoken truce.

I love you, Azri’l

I love you, Eris

TAGLIST WOOO (ask in reblogs/message me if you want on or off) eatsbooks, @jess011mae, @irithiadourden, @g00seg1rl, @aleksandra25cracow, @jules-writes-stories @chunkypossum

[skulkiee]

So um. The Characters possessed me for a moment, this wasnt supposed to turn out how it turned out, but oh well

The first time that Polites doesn't die, they count themselves lucky.

Lucky that such a young boy had survived an injury from Athena's sacred boar that should rightfully have killed him. Lucky that he had gotten himself and the prince back to the palace before either of them bled out.

The second time he didn't die, Perimedes raised an eyebrow. As a healer in training, and as one of Polites' best friends, he knew of the scrapes Polites would get himself into. He knew that what should kill a grown man hadn't killed Polites.

Perimedes watched as people called Polites lucky, once again. Lucky to have survived a nasty tangle with some horrible man on the rougher outskirts of Ithaca's town.

Eurylochus watches his friend wear his scars proudly. Watches him laugh and smile when people speak of how lucky he is, how he must be blessed by the Gods.

He is the only one who sees the way Polites bristles slightly when people speak of luck, and knows that it was not luck at all, but something more.

Everything spirals when the war begins.

The third time it happened, it could be played off as a coincidence. An injury that in theory could be survived, but really, Perimedes is Ithaca's best healer, and he knows when a man should have been taken down to Hades. He watches Polites more closely after that.

The fourth time that Polites doesn't die, everyone begins to doubt that he is actually mortal. The Trojans had started raining flaming arrows down upon the Greek forces, and many had died.

Really, not dying to a wild boar, however divine it is, or not dying to the violence of man, or not dying in a war- they can all be played off. Luck, luck cannot excuse not dying from a flaming arrow through your throat.

Polites is either cursed or blessed, the Ithacans decide, unable to decide on which one. Nobody asks Polites for his opinion.

"What are you?" Odysseus had yelled the fifth time Polites didn't die. Everybody else who had taken ill to Apollo's plague had never stood up again, Polites had brushed it off like a common cold, "What Thing have i invited willingly into my home and my heart?"

"I don't know!" Polites' desperate reply had shocked Odysseus into silence, "I don't- i don't know, Odysseus!" They could all see the terror in his red eyes. They all watched the way Polites' carefully crafted mask cracked.

It hurt Elpenor's heart to see the way his dear friend threw himself much more carelessly at the war after that. To watch as Polites came back from each battle injured, sometimes fatefully, though he never died, no matter how careless he was, no matter how bad his injuries were.

Polites never stopped smiling, though sometimes it looked more like a sharp-toothed grin. Then the word monster started circling, and only the people closest to him could see how it hurt.

Still, he didn't die. The incidents kept piling up, stories and rumours growing wherever Polites stepped. The most famous was the flaming arrow though, and Eurylochus never missed the way Polites' fingers would drift to his throat whenever he heard it mentioned- drift to those horrible scars, as if it all still hurt him. As if he could still feel it.

Gods, Eurylochus can still hear how he screamed when it happened, where any other man would be dead.

The other members of the Ithacan army started getting more careless too, and though none of them sustained any injuries as bad as Polites had, it seemed as if his curse had spread to the rest of the crew too, for no one from Ithaca died during the war.

Odysseus walked out of the war, famous for his stunt with the Trojan horse, and for not losing a single man.

Polites walked out clinging to the strands of a life he used to live, desperately clutching at his open arms ideology.

And then the cyclops happened.

Nobody quite knows what happened, just that there had been fighting, and screaming, but even as they faced a horrifying monster from legend, no one was killed-

And then Polites had been struck down, and he realised first what was about to happen. They'd all seen the utter terror on his face when he reached out for Odysseus, and then the cyclops had brought his club down a second time.

Polites hadn't gotten up again, as expected. He hadn't laughed or cracked a joke, no, his lifeless body had just lain there, sightless eyes staring up at Odysseus as if to say, you got so complacent with my curse that you weren't even worried i might get hurt. You stopped caring.

And then, as the Fates cut Polites' string, they also cut away whatever curse- or blessing- was keeping the rest of the crew alive.

All chaos broke out.

It took barely three years for six hundred men to die. Six hundred men who had survived a decade of war and violence.

It was as if the universe was making up for that decade of war, now that it was allowed to.

Odysseus flinches when he sees the yellow feathers of a canary flitting between the branches of his Olive tree one day. It stays there for months, singing a happy tune that sounds much too much like one that Odysseus hasn't heard in ten years now.

This life is amazing-

Penelope was upset when he got his bow and arrows and shot the little bird down, but Odysseus couldn't stand another day of its singing, not when those accusing, lifeless eyes and that old song still haunt the edges of his nightmares.

The canary's lifeless eyes stare up at him now, saying, why would you silence me? The lack of my song means danger, though i guess you are a monster, aren't you?

Odysseus stares at the arrow through its throat, staining beautiful yellow feathers a deep red.

-when you greet it with open arms.

Yeah :D

[cat-mentality]

It happens at night.

When darkness falls and the moon is not enough to illuminate the world, when the stars dim and the monsters are at their most active.

It happens at night.

They are not silent.

Why would they be?

You hear the laughter first. Always the laughter.

The screams and the laughter mixing together in a cacophony that sends shivers down everyone's spines, the sound grating at their ears.

They are not silent.

Knowing they are coming doesn't mean anything.

Their weapons are rudimentary, not a single enchanted item but the ones they took from previous corpses. Their armor does very little to protect their body but it doesn't matter, they welcome death as a blessing, hug her as an old friend.

They come, as a group.

Always a group.

They destroy the lights first, always. Bathed in darkness, like their senses have gotten intimately familiar with it.

A flash of colorful wings, cracked with dirt and blood and debris, and she laughs and laughs as she descends upon you with a stolen knife. She laughs and laughs as they strike her back, as they kill her, she is still laughing when she comes back and attacks again with her bare hands. Blood coats her whole body and she bathes on it.

Eyes that flash in the darkness, pools of blue consumed by madness, eyes that stared at the void and smiled at it. He smiles with blood red lips as he cuts you with a knife made of bone, he smiles as he licks the blood of the blade looking you in the eyes, a challenge, a plea. He smiles as he tears out pieces of the bodies, as he offers it to his companions like offerings. You never thought monsters could be so beautiful.

A flash of corrupted green, static that cuts the air, whispering things you cannot understand, that you cannot make sense off. He follows, without rest, he tears himself apart as long as it keeps you going and going and going, you blink and suddenly you are alone in the middle of nowhere, he smiles, twisted, eyes poison green. The static consumes you.

A sword you never see coming. A moment you are watching your surroundings, ready for an attack, expecting it because you know you are stronger, knowing that victory is promised to you. It doesn't matter, you don't see the blade until it is sticking from your body, gone in the blink of an eye searching for a new victim to sink into. You never see who is holding it.

A flash of ink black wings, in the darkness of the night you can't even see the spots where feathers do not grow anymore. Before you see the wings you can always feel them approaching, a chill down your spine, the air growing colder and colder, mist surrounding you, heavy, oppressing, the smell of blood and candles mixing together. Your death is an offering, a sacrifice. Blood for the Blood God. A soul for the Goddess of Death.

Eyes that stalk you in the darkness, unblinking, challenging you. He laughs and laughs in good nature as he invites you to kill him, as he begs for a reason to feel something, you can swear that sometimes even as his lips spread into the biggest grin you ever saw tears glisten into his golden eyes, his skin glowing, blessed with the un-death. You kill him over and over and over again. It doesn't matter. You cannot kill what was never truly alive in the first place.

A voice, soft in the darkness of the night, singing. Songs of mirth and joy, some in a foreign language most do not speak but those who do recognize the silly little lyrics, she sings and she kills you, she sings as you kill her, she invites you to join her over and over again, coming back like a lamb waiting to be made sacrifice, grinning, asking you why do you care? Why do you fight? You shiver once more as you sink your sword into her knowing she will be back and you still wouldn't have an answer to her question.

They die.

Over and over and over and over and over.

An unending circle of death and resurrection, of blood and pain and screams and laughter and madness.

They don't care.

They come back with the night, they bring darkness, they bring death like a second skin, they laugh and they laugh as they kill and as they die.

This is not Purgatory, they will crackle with blood dripping from their mouths, this is Hell.

Why do you care, they ask with genuine curiosity as you sink diamond blades into unprotected flesh, Why do you care.

Join us, they chant as they disappear into the shadows as the sun threatens to appear, join us, join us, join us.

We will wait for you, the last words spoken before they are gone, when you realize, we will be waiting for you.

You don't relax even when you can't hear their laughter and screams anymore, when you can't feel the madness spreading, consuming.

They will come when the night returns.

They always do.

[nikkigameslore]

Stories From Miraland - Love Nikki: Ghost Gathering [Part 2/3]

Ghost City [Part 2/4]

Note: think I fucked up the first part and said only two parts for Ghost City, idk why my brain is dead. Also Stich has a meaning for a poem or verse.

Warnings for this part: murder, abuse by family, mental instability, confinement, suicidal ideation?

Part 1 here this part will focus on Underworld Lord. (also known as Lady Stich).

Poem of Night I was on the border of dream On the line between life and death The pale moonlight Cannot break the nightmare The yellowed memory withered and Fell in deserted night

Story: I'm a prisoner. I live in a square box, without doors or windows, and I don't know why. I have nothing but a sewing kit in my possession. My role in this bleak world is to mend dolls.

I know what kinds of silk are the lightest, and which calico fabrics are the best, and my skill at embroidery is top-notch. When I take in these ragged, patched-up dolls and make them into exquisite work or art, the corners of their mouths curl into smiles. But now I have a new friend, aside from my sewing kit.

The roof of my prison cracks open, and light pours in. I look up and see strings of broken limbs and entrails falling into my cell, splattering my face with icy-cold blood. 'Fix them.' That's what the voice tells me to do. I want to run away, but the cold walls reign me in. Even if I cried out until my voice went hoarse, no one would come to take these things away.

I grab a doll and curl up in a corner of my prison, exhausted from crying. I hear a sound, a slight movement. It sounds like something is crawling on the ground, gathering it together. It makes wet, slopping noises as it does so. I'm too scared to open my eyes, but I do and I look in the direction of the sound. A creeping shadow, with a disfigured shape; parts of it resemble human limbs. It seems to have noticed that I'm looking at it; it convulses and begins crawling towards me. The pieces that resemble limbs…they are making those sounds.

I cover my ears, and try to shrink into the corner as far as I can, but I can still hear it crawling towards me, closer now. As the monster crawls towards me, some 'limbs' fall off, and land on the floor with a dull sound. They craved for what to hold them together…my needlework. 'Stay away! Don't come any closer!' I scream as its sounds draw even closer, and it stops. A long silence ensues. I pull my hands from my ears and open my eyes. It's right here, right in front of me, reaching out for my sewing kit. Deep despair engulfs me, and I can't even make a sound. The doll in my arms suddenly moves, and gently hugs me. The monster, my prison, the darkness…all of them are one.

I find myself huddled in the corner of a corridor. Outside is a tree in a silent courtyard, its dark leaves blocking the sun and only allowing small rays to filter through. The leaves rustle slightly in the wind. 'You're having nightmares again, Stitch.' But it wasn't a dream; that doll just saved me! It's still in my arms. I look down at her; she is a little girl, dressed in a snow-white dress. She blinks her eyes playfully as she smiles at me. But no one believes me, and think I just want more dolls.

They hand me a new doll, as well as some old, broken bolts of cloth, and tell me to mend them, to embroider them with flowers and turn them into fine clothes. I like bright colors, but they bring me nothing but rags and old cloth. I want to play with moving dolls, but they only give me dolls with fake, unmoving smiles. I go to play quietly with my doll in the hallway, out of everyone's way as well as their disgust.

Later, they just locked me up in a room full of cloth and fabric. I keep working, but the fabrics don't seem to end. It becomes more and more gloomy in the room, and the smell of dust weighs heavily on everything. As I work, my doll dances around me noisily. She can't talk, but she can smile and laugh. When her laughter is heard outside of the room, they yell at me to stop. But it's not me, just my little doll. I stroke my doll's long hair. Then they scold me for no reason, and say that I'm crazy…that I'm a monster.

Eventually, there is only one voice left. It only tells me one thing. 'Fix them!' I don't want to go back to that nightmare. I weep day and night, begging them to let me out. They remain silent, and even send exorcists to come cure me. They keep saying that I'm a monster, that the room was full of corpses…but aren't they just dolls that they gave me? The room is becoming crowded, I can't even roll over inside. I suddenly realize that this isn't a room…it's a coffin.

I'm alive, but they put me in a coffin and nailed it shut. I curl up as best as I can and close my eyes, holding my doll tightly in my arms. I hear them talking, sighing…weeping. They talk about sending me away. I hear the sound of a horse-drawn carriage, the roar of thunder, and then a loud bang. Then, everything went quiet except for the sound of rain. It takes me a long time to muster up the courage to try and lift the lid. A soft, white hand appears on my shoulder.

'Don't be afraid…you are free now.' I don't know when the doll disappeared from my hands. The sky booms and crackles, as if the world is falling to pieces. All of my memories, all of my visions… they crack like the sky and fell apart like the raindrops. I open my eyes; the world outside my dream is raining, too. Right…I remember now.

The Stich in the coffin, the me trapped by obsession. I lost my memories from before I died; I only kept seeking the way to extricate myself. My return, people who were turned to monsters, and the mountain of corpses in that inescapable mansion…all of these are memories from after I died. But now, it's all over.

I catch the scent of life, surprisingly, from my body which should have long decayed. My power is washed away by the rain, and the ghosts no longer obey me. They are all ready to devour every last bit of flesh and blood of my body. But then, I see a girl in white. She casts off her delicate disguise, and shows her true might for the first time. The ghosts cower and shrink into the shadows before her. Embraced by the rain and the dim moonlight, she holds a parasol woven together with bones, and steps towards me. I recognize her; she is the doll who rescued me from the coffin, and breathed life back into me. That was the one and only way to stop me.

She will become the new master of this city, my death through resurrection acting as a stepping-stone for her ascent to power. But her eyes are hazy, bewildered… Somehow, she looks like a real human being. I want to hug her; I don't notice that my hands had unconsciously gone to wipe the beads of rain from her cheek.

Item Description Story: The daytime set tells the story of Lady Stich, a kind person who lets in wanderers and orphans to her asylum and heal them herself. It is said she could bring those who were dying back to full health. Everyday new people come to the asylum but its never full and nobody wonders why. One day ghostbusters come to the city trying to eliminate the monsters, around the same time Lady Adora comes to visit, she wants to be friends with Lady Stich and gives her a doll. The ghostbusters weren't able to find the ghosts hideout and perhaps if Adora hadn't come to visit nothing would have changed. The Lord dies and, Lady Stich remembers everything and forgives it all. The mansion piled up with skeletons is revealed.

The nighttime set tells about Underworld Lord, the master of Ghost City and all the ghosts. Her power is inexhaustible and she lives forever. Whoever kills her will become the new Lord. She doesn't expect the gift of a doll. When Adora finally arrived the scent of blood could be smelled in the wind, Stich looks down the street and sees the carriage. Seeing her ambition and greed she hopes this is the person she had been waiting for. She is confined to a coffin and the mansion falls to a hell, ghosts stare greedily at it but none of the dare move. It is a long confinement filled with dreams of mystery and darkness, but she knows this is the end she's looking for. Pale moonlight falls in front of the coffin and red stains the air. Dense fog covers the air, someone's life has just ended, someone's has just begun. Stich reaches out a hand and rubs the tears from Adora's face, she is free and wishes Adora to find her own answer.

[dangraccoon]

It's Still You

Day 26 ~ nightmares ~

Tech x Phee

Word Count: 665 Content: PTSD, nightmare, brainwashing/mind control and the aftermath of it

Wind howled around him as he crouched on a rooftop. It chilled him down to the bone, but he ignored it, just as his conditioning required.

He could see the target through the reticle of his rifle’s scope. All he needed to do was shoot.

But then the target turned. He almost gasped as Phee Genoa smiled and laughed, unaware that her life was about to end.

“N-no,” he whispered, but his body moved without his permission, realigning the rifle, level with her head. 

“Please, please,” he begged. “D-d-don’t!”

His body inhaled, then exhaled. It held its breath, finger moving to rest lightly on the trigger.

As the plasma burst from the end of the barrel, he screamed.

“Tech, it’s okay,” Phee whispered, her hand lightly touching his arm.

He looked around frantically. He wasn’t on that freezing rooftop. Phee wasn’t even the target of that mission, she was sitting next to him here, in their bed. He was home on Pabu, his partner beside him, and their tooka blinking curiously at him from the end of the bed.

“It’s alright,” Phee cooed, hand drifting to rub soft circles against his shoulder.

Once his breathing started to equalize, Tech turned to face her but kept his eyes shut tight, as though it would push away the bloody images in his mind. “I-I’m–”

“Nothing’ to be sorry for,” she hummed with practiced ease, hands gently pulling at him, but not pressuring.

He relented, allowing himself to be pulled tightly against her chest.

“It was just a nightmare,” she said.

“No,” he breathed, hating the way his shaking voice caused her hands to go still. “It was mostly a… a memory.”

She didn’t answer but smiled softly and nodded in a quiet encouragement to continue.

“It was a mission to… I-I cannot remember the name of the moon,” he said, his body–having no trouble remembering the cold–shivering despite the comfortable temperature of their home. “I was sent as…” he trailed off, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his guilt.

“As an assassin?” Phee filled in, her voice soft, unaccusing.

Tech felt like something was clawing up through his throat as he pushed himself up and out of her arms. He needed to move. Staying still wasn’t an option–you move or you’re dead.

He growled slightly as he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.

“Tech,” Phee said, her eyes shifting from sympathy to concern. “Come back to bed.”

His hands pushed up, fingers running through the short patch of curls that were still growing in after his Empire-issue buzzcut.

“Whatever you dreamt,” Phee murmured, rising to meet him at the end of the bed, her hand caressing the side of his face. “It’s in the past. They forced you to do awful things–”

“How can you hold me like this?” he asked, no louder than a whisper for fear of the crackling of his voice. “I… I killed in cold blood with ruthless efficiency… no matter the location, the… the target. Phee, how can you… live with me when I cannot live with myself?”

She huffed a slight laugh. “Tech, I love you. This,” she said, gesturing to him. “Is how. After you fell, you were used by those monsters. I know you know that you couldn’t control it because I know you tried, I know you fought. And this… misplaced guilt? It shows me that despite everything you’ve been through, it’s still you right here.” One hand pressed against his chest as the other wrapped around the harsh metal cybernetics that covered the entirety of his spine.

He let her pull him back into their bed, allowing himself to exist in the moment. Her soft words and touches pulled him up to the surface of the deep, dark pool of the thoughts that threatened to drown him, eventually soothing him into a blessedly peaceful sleep.

“I love you, Tech” she whispered against his skin as she pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

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Thanks for reading! - River

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[the-forests-blessing]

Chapter 25

The afternoon Lukas had laid with him underneath the weeping willow has become a part of his daily thinking. The Admin has done what he can to explain his reasonings for his curse of seclusion and privacy. For years his mind had faded into his subconscious, giving no thoughts to his actions past or present and certainly having given up on any sort of future with peace and happiness. That is until this kind ecologist had come along and disrupted his fundamental ways of thinking and feeling, or lack thereof. 

     He had no one, nothing, to compare his thoughts to or to have conversation with. What does it mean for Lukas and him now that they’ve gotten close enough to where the blue deity is feeling a sense of worth in a relationship? These boundless feelings of comfort for when the blond is near, and longing for him when he goes home. They had laid together for hours after having a heart shaking conversation. 

     Admin has come to crave Lukas’ company and interactions. Without it, he feels as though he may lose his sanity all over again. It’s gone so far for Admin, he can feel his heartbeat pound heavily within his chest and his icy palms warm with blooming affections whenever he hears the blond laugh, or sees that kind smile. Private, close, and just for him. The smiles, the friendly touches, and creators above.. Being hugged, giving hugs is so wonderful. To be a friend again is.. Wonderful, and life changing.

     Lying beside Lukas had changed his gloomy outlook, knowing how much affection they hold for one another now would be comforting if it weren’t for the very apparent fact that he is still and always will be, a monster. Hunted and chased until his final day in this world comes to an end. That is why Lukas cannot stay, no matter how much it aches his heart to express that. 

     The closer they are, the more danger the ecologist is in. There’s still so much to say before he returns to his travels and becomes a hero, but how does one say it? Being an omnipotent beast, an enemy of humanity and all of his old friends.. Does he have the right to claim his old life, taking the name he used to be called? Nobody has come for Jesse, nor given him the chance, even after all these years have passed..

     What is this emotional turmoil? To be changed is to be loathed, lost and forgotten by one's own sense of self. Brought on by no longer dormant wants and needs, by tears of a soul that has not yet been lost to the passage of time.

     Within these walls, his memories are of an itching static while Admin sits upon something he used to regretfully call his own. The smell of old, rotting wood fills his senses, just as the very walls of the build he has surrounded himself in are crumbling, falling apart with holes in the ceiling and greenery invading through every available crack it can squeeze through. 

     Lukas had just gone, his wonderful smile and curious words playing on repeat in Admin’s mind. He’s reluctant and apologetic for being so distant over these past few days, for it's never Lukas’ fault but, only ever directly affecting him. But what is Admin to do? Let them both fall deeper into this closeness, only to knowingly have to part ways in the next few coming weeks? 

     It’s all so confusing. He may even call it unfair, to come this close to being somebody again and to have a friendship he cherishes more than anything hinging on a time limit. Lukas has a job to do, and Admin is a massive distraction.. A poor friend to him.      The deity sniffs, overcome with an emotion that feels so foreign as it continually brings more tears to his eyes. They blur his vision, his mind succumbing to the unfathomable sadness that's lain dormant in Jesse's heart. Finally brought to the surface of this numb vessel’s protective form of mind, body and soul. 

     As he drags his ungloved fingers along the surface of a dusty, old and tattered surface, he takes a moment to calm his breathing. It hurts, this body isn't built for the emotional output Jesse is exuding. It’s a terrible heartbreak that he had long forgotten and never thought he would feel again. He remembers nothing, yet can feel it all coming back to him in the form of a sickening ache in a heart that he now recalls sharing with Jesse. 

     This place he’s in, it’s Jesse’s. Everything is so old. The sights, scents, and every forgotten item.. All of it supposedly at one point meaning something to him. This object… It used to tell a story that he could have maybe shared with others. Now it all feels like it would only be ignored and burned for not fitting a certain narrative. Though he keeps searching its confines, he’s quickly learning that this is private lamenting and the horrors of being forced into a life of solitude. 

     Becoming a horrible being that he loathed, only to be dubbed a monster and his life, his heroism.. Forgotten about and given to a bloodthirsty killer who lives on in the monster's skin.

     Jesse.. What have I become? What.. happened to me? The memories are fractured, distorted, laced with confusion and feelings of loss..

     Searching further, Admin has his answers and his emotional output bears such negativity.

     His chest hurts with realization, a deep hollow ache that’s nothing but loss and grief for a life he never got to fully live. A life he worked so hard to make work.

     Everything that’s happened, everything he’s done.. Jesse did it. Axel.. Olivia, they were his best friends. Now they will never be that again. Even if they were to listen, hear him out.. The friendship they've all once had has been cruelly stained by betrayal and grief. They, like many others, will never find relief in knowing their hero is still alive. Alive, yet.. Far beyond his humanity.

     He can feel the dampness on his face, his head aches for his mind is whirling with thoughts, feelings and memories long forgotten. So many have been burned in the wake of his spitefully given powers, yet he is overcome with so much..

     How can Lukas forgive him when the world, his best and closest of friends, couldn't even bear to look or listen to him, even for a moment! 

     He cannot lie to his friend, he cannot hide or keep up this avoidance forever. Lukas is becoming a formidable archer and his studies are coming along so nicely. Their friendship is undeniably comforting and feeling warmer by the day. If only the Admin could put his own heart out there and stop putting up these emotional walls in between them both. 

     …He knows he must tell him the truth. He must tell him what happened, everything there is to know about his past because Admin cannot bear the thought of losing such a good person in his life. The only person in his life who’s been willing to press his ridiculous boundaries and to truly know him, even as this monster! Lukas listens and always has something nice to say in return, even if it’s realistic.      Would it be wrong to accept these words of an old hero's ailing heart in the face of the current state of the world? To become Jesse again, and to keep Lukas as his dearest friend.. And to maybe, live outside of these woods? Somewhere.. With Lukas, maybe.     Admin takes one deep breath, then exhales, leaving the item behind. Sitting up and sniffling again before he wipes his eyes on his tattered sleeve. With a deep huff the deity collects himself, flexing his fingers as his gloves appear upon his hands. Gaze to the wooden floor, the world warps around him in light bending flashes and streams of environments.

      All in the matter of a second, he’s now by the weeping willow where he and Lukas had laid together. His slender, yet fit body was remarkably warm for it being such a cold day out.. Admin is happy to know his cape kept the human warm through those hours spent asleep. But now, he turns away from the long swaying fronds of the willow’s vines. The tree is very tall, but smaller than the far off forest line of evergreens, a rarity for it to be here.     The former hero emits a mighty sigh, walking towards the pond at the end of the short hill. Hands down at his side, he watches as his power manipulations take place in the form of the lily pads moving along the surface and creating a clear space in the water. He looks upon his own horrible reflection, a terrible grimace upon his features. 

     No matter what he hopes for, He must be honest and tell Lukas the truth of all that had happened. It's not fair to know so much about his friend, his life before he’d become the little hero Admin sees him as. It’s truly only fair if.. Lukas knows about the man he once was before becoming the shadow that haunts his once beloved town.

     Admin looks back to the weeping willow, white and blue little stars have bloomed as the night has fallen. They glow with warmth and dance lightly in the wind as it blows. His expression of exhaustion softens and his heart beats with a moment of comfort that’s quickly overshadowed by a sense of sadness.     The flowers are beautiful and quite delicate. There was never intention for these flowers to grow, finding them popping up around his forest more often than not without his power encouraging the design and growth of the flora. They make it impossible to not think of his dear friend.

     The day ended once he reached the pond, and the night passed slower without the comfort of ignorance. He is lucid now, he knows what should come for him and Lukas moving forward with their own lives. He wonders where he is too, if he’s comfortable in his bed. As well as, where is Berry? The moon is high amongst the stars and it's been hours since he’s last heard of its crystalline trill. 

     A deep sigh leaves the Admin. He has no will to move forward with his patrols, he feels heavy with exhaustion for the first time in years. Admin then makes his way over to the patch of glowing white flowers, watching them as their bright color gleams within the black sclera of his eyes. The illuminated teal ring of his cornea reflecting in his inner thoughts, glowing brighter as his mind lingers on Lukas.. How he can approach him again, apologize for his distant behavior for the past few days..      Admin clenches his teeth and bites back his emotions yet again before the mere idea of Lukas rejecting him breaks his heart. He takes slow, deep breaths before he turns away from the flowers and teleports yet again. The world whirls around him and he appears in the small clearing that they would usually meet up in, he feels relief at the sight of the wild flowers sprinkled in with the illuminated star flowers. 

     He gives a shake of his head and holding out his hands, he retrieves a journal from his inventory. His own practice book that he works in while Lukas is away. He plops down in the grass as he opens up to empty pages, a quill in hand…      Time passes, and Berry comes from the treeline with loud and very excited squeaks. Surprised for the first time in so long, Admin is also washed with relief. Feeling at ease as his long time tiny partner swirls high up above and swoops down nestling into the thick bush of his pelt. Admin breathes easy now, petting the happy little creature. It’s blue light lighting up the dark clearing, squeaking as its cheer rubs off on the Admins low mood. Where has Berry been? He’ll never know, but he is simply happy that it returned to him.      He tilts his head and stares in the direction where Berry had flown from, dubbing it the edge of the woods that leads straight into BeaconTown. Admin doesn’t feel any sort of intruding presence laying siege to the fog boundary line, he stays put and watches the Allay play. 

     Being a team player, the allay whips out a freshly swiped cookie! Admin huffs with mild amusement, knowing this cookie must’ve come from Lukas’ bag in some way. As the Allay swirls around Admin’s head before settling in front of his face, it looks rather proud of itself as Admin takes the cookie from its tiny grip. Admin splits the cookie in half, a small smile on his face as he gives Berry his half and they share in the bounty together.  For while they’re both here, he’ll wait for Lukas..     The sweet flavors of sugary dough and chocolate chips officially help his mood and allow his glassy gaze to rise toward the stars. Where he can momentarily find a bit of peace, which leads to his overwhelmed thoughts to calm enough for him to form a plan. 

     When the sun begins to rise above the trees, the forest comes to life. Admin’s unrested eyes open and Berry lifts off his shoulder. They are surrounded by a thin mist and the dark trees are backlit by a cold, somber morning blue hue. Dew coats all that the open sky touches, including Admin’s hair, shaul and his lap.

     He stays where he is though, having no need to pursue the day just yet. His exhaled breaths come in white clouds now that he’s no longer basking in the night, while he wasn't asleep, he most certainly wasn't truly conscious. He had been in a meditative state, slowing his heart rate and conserving his energy as he allowed his very soul to become one with the ancient forest. 

     With the sky cloudless and the fall’s chill boring in with no breeze, a frost begins making everything look rather minty. The deity watches as the dew turns into thin crispy ice upon the grass and flowers, feeling it cling and freeze upon himself as well. Cooled by the morning frost, Admin finds it to be entertaining to sit and linger, interested in seeing how much he can gather before it’s time to be on the move. 

     Berry has been slowly floating about the clearing, emitting a distracting trill every few minutes. While yes, Admin is determined to see Lukas too, Berry just wants to get the day started! Of course, that means the promise of exploring and perhaps more cookies to share. 

     He huffs at the little spirit, its eyes cheerful as it spins in a sparkling display. Admin lifts his head, feeling the frost shift and fall off the tips of his hairs. The tip of his nose is a shade darker than the rest of him due to the cold, but it hardly bothered him. Berry descends and waits for its guardian to rise, then guide them both into a brand new day. 

     Admin gives in not a moment later, Berry’s pleading expression being the proper motivator the deity needed. He stands tall, the frost sparkles as it falls from his clothing. Then it puffs like a soft cloud of crystals when he gives his hair a quick shake. Even as he moves forward, the frost naturally clings to his cape, giving the dark colored leaves and moss a sparkling rainbow hue as he walks underneath the scattered sunbeams which peak down from the tall trees.

     Berry flies ahead, burning off its morning energy as the Admin slowly trudges behind it. 

     The air is crisp and clean, keeping the newly acquired emotions at bay. The feeling of walking through the woods would usually keep him occupied as time passes. But with this state of new consciousness, he cannot help but count the minutes as they pass. Just how long does it take to get to the fog line again? Should we take the straightforward path, or go around the deep ditch that keeps hunters at bay and take his time? 

     It's a shame he cannot call to Lukas and bring him here, for that would be.. that would be all too Admin-like. The idea of teleporting at all makes the weary soul within his body feel uneasy.

     Berry squeaks for him, floating over and waiting to see that Admin had stopped walking. The deity doesn't seem to realize it either, the unwavering sadness beginning to bloom once again behind his monstrous gaze. 

     It trills, then its little head tilts as Admin turns away from it. The Deity growls and shakes his head as if it's shaking off a bug, an echoing plea within his mind rendering him immobile. Stricken by the entity's despair, his mind begins to tear in two. It's frustrating, startling. His breath shakes as he’s overtaken by the life altering emotion of a fallen hero.

     Berry slowly approaches and settles on his shoulder, looking somber. 

     It takes a few minutes but the Admin is able to gather himself, his hand resting on his little friend's body as a source of comfort. Something he hasn't truly needed before.. 

     As his heart beat slows to normal, Admin shudders from the cold and decides to keep moving. The sun has risen higher than the trees as it nears the afternoon, a certain ecologist should be here soon. The warmth of his friend always makes the day brighter, as do the hugs and closeness they share. 

     It's not long before he finally feels that presence among the trees. He can hear the man's voice too, as does Berry who lifts off his shoulder and zips through the trees towards the voice then vanishes out of sight. 

     “Admin! Admin, where are you!” Lukas’ voice cracks as he calls out for the forest guardian.

     Something is wrong. Lukas sounds distressed. The deity lifts from the ground and hurries. Aiming his direction towards the path of Lukas’ voice, his body barrels down the path causing wind to stir, and his boots meet the earth yet again just before he exits foggy treeline. 

      The moment he sees Lukas, the little human snaps his gaze towards him, meeting his own with an expression that makes the deity freeze. “What have you done to this town?” Lukas’ voice is stern and demanding as he steps forward. Berry floats nearby, looking just as uncertain as the ocelot who’s head hangs low as he follows Lukas further into the forest. “Tell me it isn't true! Tell me you're not a monster, some cruel calculated killing machine?”

     Admin is frozen in place, his mouth agape in horrified shock.

      Lukas clenches his fists, sucking in a sharp breath as he barks out more emotional words. “Nothing to say?! What happened to Champion City? What happened to Jesse?! Tell me! Just who exactly are you?!” 

     Never in all his time knowing Lukas has he heard the author’s usually soft spoken voice so loud and rough. He feels choked by the despair the hero feels within his heart and soul. He is frozen and terrified, but not of Lukas. By what he knows and how it will affect their futures. He wanted to tell Lukas himself, he wanted to try and explain it.. He thought he had more time…

     Lukas closes the distance, and for the first time in his many years as an admin, he feels small. The way Lukas stares at his face, almost as if he’s taking in his appearance for the first time all over again. The blond then grits his teeth, using his hands to come down on his chest and shove against his thick layer of leather armor. Admin doesn’t budge, but the patting on his chest gets aggressive, if not desperate. There are tears in the human's teal eyes, his cheeks are flushed red. 

     “Just say something dammit! Tell me anything to make me think that you’re not what they say! I saw it! Petra showed me Champion City and told me what happened! I-I saw what Romeo’s done, I see what the loss of Jesse has done..” The closed fists on his leather gear slide down weakly against him as the blond crumbles, emitting a broken plea. “Please, tell me you're not him.. please tell me that you're just.. my friend.” 

     The deity takes careful steps back and shakes his hands. He does his best to instill eye contact, Lukas’ impending heartbreak is all too erratic.

     “No? Then tell me!” Lukas snaps again, making even Dewey hunch down and flatten his ears. “Please tell me you aren’t this horrible Romeo person Petra spoke of! You- You-” 

     No… 

     No, that wasn’t me!

     The deity’s frown deepens so much seeing Lukas step away, taking cautious steps back from him. All Admin can do is take a slow step forward, raising his right hand to cover the left side of his chest, right above his rapidly beating heart. Lukas stills his steps, staring down at the honest gesture, then looks back up to see the Admin slowly shake his head. 

     Lukas’ eyes are wide, full of the fear Petra has fed into him. The Admin takes a careful step closer, laying one mighty palm down upon the author’s shoulder. He can feel the man trembling beneath his touch.

     “So all of those horrible things she said you did… That wasn’t really you?” Lukas’ voice is breathless, desperate for reassurance. Admin shakes his head again, keeping eye contact instilled as he reaches to his inventory, pulling a folded up sheet of paper out. He looks at it and hesitates for just a moment before he’s able to place it in Lukas’ hand. 

     “Wha-? What is this?” Lukas looks at the paper- only to be hushed by a slow, passionate hug. Huge arms wrap around the human’s shaking form, pulling him closer until his body is pressed upon Admin’s. He feels the author’s body loosen, his arms dropping to his sides with boundless relief as the deity moves his hand to gently cradle the back of his blond head against his chest.  

     The distant snap of a twig, a hushed, infuriated voice and the sharp twang of an arrow-

     Admin bristles and bares his teeth before both hands grab Lukas by his peacoat and launches him several blocks away into a large bush. The deity lets out a beastly snarl before turning–

     ~

     An immense light shines as if lightning has struck the forest’s heart. It feels like slow motion as Lukas falls back, witnessing the light before his very eyes. An anguished silhouette is seen within the blinding luminescence and then all returns to darkness. 

     Branches crack and crumble as his body is hurtled into the forest’s undergrowth. He lands into the bushes with a startled grunt, laying on his back and when he finally opens his eyes, all he is capable of witnessing is pure darkness without light.

      Have I gone blind? He fears with an anxious pound throbbing throughout his entire body. Suddenly the sound of distant shouting averts his attention elsewhere. He squints, honing in on his other senses, finding his hearing abilities much stronger with his lack of vision. A voice shouts something along the lines of "I can’t see!" With a few other voices following it. "Find them, find them!" More shouting, and with a terrifying realization, Lukas is able to recognize the unmistakable sound of Petra’s booming authority.

      She followed me!? Lukas’ heart hammers in his chest, panicking as he hears the voices getting closer and closer. The snapping of twigs and branches closing in on his location makes the author’s heart throb distractingly hard throughout his entire body. Suddenly a blue light overcomes him, the blond panicking before… tensing with shock when he sees Berry appear through some of the tangling bushes. Its little body illuminates the bushes just enough for Lukas to catch a glimpse of what kind of area he’s in.

     Berry’s expression once it sees him is something of frightful relief. It darts down and clings to his face. Terrified, the spirit shakes and with the closing in sounds of Petra’s patrol, Lukas shushes the sweet little thing and stuffs its glowing essence into the safety of his peacoat, shutting out the light and returning the world to pitch black darkness. 

     Where’s Dewey? Lukas anxiously wonders as he keeps still. His body then locks in extreme tension as he hears the hunters enter the clearing. Eerily, they aren’t speaking, so the only thing Lukas can hear is the pounding in his eardrums as they step around the bushes the Admin threw him into. 

     He waits….. 

     And waits….. 

     Keeping his breathing controlled and silent until the sound of footsteps clear the area, disappearing deeper into the woods until he can hear them no more. 

     The allay under his coat starts squirming, Lukas fighting against it but man is Berry relentless when it's determined. The little sprite wiggles its way free and zips out from the bottom side of Lukas’ peacoat, sending the blond into a silent panic as he instinctively launches upward in an attempt to catch it. The sounds of the bushes rustle, making him freeze. A short distance away, more rustling sends Lukas on high alert, slapping a hand over his mouth as the movement gets closer and closer until–!

     The head of his friendly ocelot poking through the leaves of the bushes makes Lukas sigh in exasperation. Goodness Dewey, you scared me, he thinks to himself as he reaches forward and brings him in close with outstretched arms. The two meet with a hug, Dewey emitting a purr of relief to match Lukas’ gentle petting. 

     Okay… Two down… 

     Where is Admin? 

     The darkness still lays like a blanket of nightfall over the forest. Lukas comes to a stand, trembling on his feet from his unwavering unease. 

      “Berry… Come here,” Lukas demands in a hushed whisper. The allay seems hesitant. Lukas just sighs. “I know you don’t like being contained, but you can’t fly around right now. You’ll put us in danger.” Lukas reasons, and thankfully that seems like enough to make the fairy pout for a brief moment before calmly floating over and slowly descending down in front of the author. Lukas grabs Berry carefully, helping to guide the tiny thing into the safety of his coat again. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll keep you safe.”

     Lukas steps forward once and that is all it takes for the most bizarre feeling to overcome him. It’s a feeling similar to the Admin’s tampering of his inventory. Lukas reaches in and without intent, pulls out the lantern. His eyes widened, as did Berry's and Dewey’s as they all stared at the lantern, its core flickering with a dull, dim light… Strangely enough, the light no longer flares blue like it used to, instead becoming a pattern of interchanging colors. Purple, red, and blue. The lantern is extremely cold to the touch, making Lukas’ hand feel icy even beneath his gloves.

     It barely emits any sort of light, but there is something about it that unsettles Lukas deeply. Suddenly he remembers the letter Admin had given him just before he’d been thrown! Lukas searches his surroundings valiantly, feeling as though the next course of his actions depend on whatever this note withholds. 

     Thankfully, the missing scrap of paper is not too far from Dewey’s paws. The ocelot steps away from the folded paper as Lukas reaches for it from the tangle of dirt and leaves. Once grabbed, Lukas picks up Dewey too and proceeds out of the foliage with only a slight struggle. Miraculously, there’s little to no pain in his body thanks to the bushes breaking his fall. No pain keeps him from pursuing his next actions, which is to stop beside a massive spruce tree, lean against the bark and sit down. 

     The darkness shrouds him, but thankfully he’s able to see the wobbly attempt at writing within the confines of the note thanks to the dim lantern light he rests beside him. He takes a few moments to listen to his surroundings, looking around through the imposing darkness before turning his attention back down to the letter. I really hope whatever these shadows are doesn’t encourage mobs to spawn, he fears with an anxious swallow. Opening the letter now, he holds the soft, crumply paper down close to the faint lantern light.

     "Lukas

     I must first tell you th at these past weeks beinGg your friend have been the beSt of my life. I charish you gratly and that is why i have to tell You the Truth. I am Sorry that I couldn t befor please under stand. i am not who I used to be. no where closed to i t.I canot change what hapened to me but You make me feel like I can be more than just a monster. I can do more with my life when you are around. I am Sorry for my distans it is not your falt.  It is never your falt. Ive been thinking of what to say and I hope you can acsept that. I hardly feel as thouh i deserve you, but i am happy you chose me. a friend like you is all i ever wanted

     Im ready to tell you every thing.. I want you to know me the way i know you."

      Lukas stares down at the paper in complete and utter speechlessness. He can feel the emotion in his eyes return, but before he lets his feelings overwhelm him, the author is standing up straight, keeping Dewey and Berry close as his expression changes from surprised to determined. Grabbing the lantern off the ground, he lifts it up, seeing just how much light this thing can emit. The response to his actions nearly knocks him back off his feet in shock. 

     A thin ring of blue light pulses throughout the forest from his location, touching every tree as it flows towards one direction. It’s as if a light is moving through a tunnel, except it keeps returning in these repeated patterns that almost seem to beckon him. The light flows through the cracks of bark in the trees, caressing the edges of every leaf on every bush, and even making the grass illuminate as the rings of light flow. The darkness is still extremely intense, making Lukas very nervous of his surroundings.

      “Woah… Do you see that?” Lukas whispers to Dewey, but the ocelot only fixes him an odd look and turns his head around. Guess not… He casts his gaze up, eyeing the lantern curiously. Add this to the list of unexplainable phenomena Lukas has experienced since entering these woods. 

      Where has Petra and her patrol gone?

      Where is Admin…

      Lukas steps forward, following the illuminating light show. Dewey stays perked up but clearly frightened, keeping his ears pinned back as he stares off into the dark. Berry takes its chances peeking out of Lukas’ coat, watching as the author walks through the forest, it being the most haunting it's ever been. 

     He stops momentarily to listen, keeping the lantern held up and averting its light to see around him. The pulsing light does not change direction, but the forest is eerily calm, just as it is deafeningly silent.. The only thing he can hear as of now is the soft crunch of dirt and dead leaves beneath his feet as he takes the utmost caution in traversing through the darkness. 

     Giving Dewey a bit of an adjustment in his right arm, he uses his free hand to pull back the sleeve of the arm that carries the lantern. The compass embedded into his watch tells him he’s going north, and if he can recall correctly, it sounded as though the hunters headed east of his location where he’d previously met up with Admin. There’s so many negative feelings flowing through him all at once, that it’s only the heartfelt determination Lukas found after reading that card that is keeping him going.

     The flow of the light doesn’t stop, and by the creators he hopes the hunters do not see him. Glancing up at the lantern, he stares into the dim, flickering colors that continue to interchange, as if they were fighting against one another in an attempt at overpowering and taking control of the lantern as a whole. Lukas wishes it would stop… He wishes it would stop this and return to its natural blue flame that keeps his heart calmed. 

     He feels like he’s been walking forever by the time he begins to hear a noise break the dreadful silence the forest has fallen into. Closing his eyes, he listens and takes a deep breath.

     That sounds like the river, he realizes. Opening his eyes again, he begins to walk a bit faster, holding Dewey tighter and the allay keeping its gaze fixed forward as the three venture through ring after ring of guiding light. Finally, the sounds of the river have expanded upon most of his surroundings, meaning that he’s close. There’s a wall of foliage he has to pass through to reach it, only to hesitate when seeing there’s thorns encompassing all the branches. Lukas looks up and down the stretched wall of overshadowed greenery, squinting as he comes to a miserable discovery that there's a thorny bramble keeping him from passing through the foliage. 

     He’s passed through many different angles of this foliage and never did it have thorns as dense as this-!

     He will not let this barrier stop him. A good ecologist never lets some prickly bushes keep him from reaching his destinations! Lukas holds Dewey tight, tucking his chin above his little head. Berry sinks back into the safety of his peacoat as Lukas turns his back towards and begins shoving his way through the thorns. His body is mostly protected by his thick warm layers, but his face is under attack and suffering from many branches thwapping back against him, leaving tiny scratches all over his face. Some bleed and some don’t. 

     His determination overcomes the pain, finally making it out and nearly stumbling off his feet as he’s welcomed back to the fresh cool air of the damp river environment. The sound of rushing water overlapping the rocks keeps his senses heightened, constantly listening for any sounds that might detect an unfamiliar presence. Lukas sighs, exhausted and feeling his face burn with the newly formed scratches covering him.

     Suddenly, there’s a sound he hears close by that immediately gives him a terrible chilling sensation all over his body. It sounded like a low pitched growl… Pained almost. Lukas freezes in his spot, standing in the grass just a few blocks distance from the water that he cannot see. The darkness has drenched not only the forest, but the world around it.. There is no sky to be seen or any stars or moon within its endless abyss to guide him. There is only this darkness, and the horrible feeling that something is very, very wrong.

     Lukas leans down, dropping Dewey into the grass gently. “Stay here,” he whispers and although he cannot see him well, he knows where his ocelot’s head is just by the touch of him. Lukas kisses the tips of his fingers and rubs it into Dewey’s little fur tuft atop his head. Next, Berry is taken from the confines of his coat. The area around them finds illuminating light in the darkness thanks to the allay’s natural luminescence. 

     It’s just enough for Lukas to use to look towards the sound of the growl, and to feel a horrid wave of fear run through him when he lays eyes upon a very large, almost entirely black figure hunched over by the riverside. 

     That has to be him…

     “Stay.” Lukas says to Berry, even gesturing with a finger pointed towards the ground for the allay to stay put. Neither Dewey or Berry make any movements as the author turns away and faces the lonely figure down by the water. Berry’s curing light is just enough for Lukas to watch where he’s stepping, even to the point where he’s leaving the grass and descending down the tiny hill towards the rocky riverside. A couple blocks away from the figure… he stops. 

     “Admin?” Lukas whispers, using extreme caution as he takes another step closer. The rocks beneath his feet shift, causing enough of a disturbance to make the most unsettling form of the deity growl again, this time much lower, distorted, and with warning. Lukas’ heart is pounding so hard in his chest, it's only adding more anxiety onto the already extremely stressful situation. 

     Closer, he whispers the Admin’s name again, earning another growl and this time, the man snaps his head towards him. Lukas freezes, gazing upon a blackened face. No facial features are present on him aside from the turquoise eyes that send a chill down his spine. His face, as well as his massive body have become a dark silhouette. Listening closer, he can hear how heavily the deity is breathing. How… pained he sounds. 

     Lukas finally steps beside him, raising his hands just a bit in a calming gesture. “I-It’s okay… It’s okay. It’s me, Lukas.” He kneels down now, allowing his knees to sink into the water lapping at the rocks. “Admin… Wh-... What’s happened?” He asks, looking over his friend’s hunched over form… How his hands stay sunken into the freezing river water, how his breathing stays heavy and ragged and… As he’s studying him, Lukas notices something… Strange… Poking out the back of him. 

     Leaning in closer, he ignores the way the Admin growls angrily at him, his moss pelt and the hair on his head bristling. 

     There’s… There’s an arrow sticking out of him.

     Good creative gods, one of the hunters actually struck him?! Lukas’ jaw drops in horror, instilling a look of sympathy and deep remorse for his own outlandish and erratic actions. If he hadn’t let his emotions get to him in front of Petra… If he had been more careful… If he had taken the time to think with logic and reason. Lukas scrunches up his face, feeling the disdain of his own actions. 

     Lukas shakes his head. No… Quell these thoughts and save them for later!

     “Admin, there’s an arrow in your back can you–” Lukas glances down, looking upon the deity’s head that’s now turned away. “Can you use your powers to get it out?” There is then a violent shudder that overtakes the Admin, the forest guardian emitting a hair-raising snarl that leaves Lukas shaken and unbearably nervous. 

     “O-okay if you can’t, then I’m going to try and get it out of you okay? I have a first-aid kit in my bag, I can help you.” Lukas attempts to reassure, but there is no changing the nightmarish darkness that has taken over his friend. He reaches, laying a gentle hand on the Admin’s shoulder. He can hear the man grunt and the rocks in the water rustle as he digs his fingers deeper into the riverbed. Carefully, Lukas uses his other hand to take a firm grasp and handle on the base of the arrow, closest to the Admin’s pelt. In one daring movement, Lukas gives the arrow a strong and confident yank, tearing it from the Admin’s back in one heroic motion.

     A splash of bright red blood follows the movement, splashing the moss on Admin’s back, as well as a bit on Lukas’ sleeve. Teal eyes widen, staring at the blood splattered arrow until—

     Suddenly Lukas is being shoved down , hard, hitting the ground on his back and gasping, choking on air while the heavy hands of the Admin aggressively pin his shoulders into the rocky shore beneath him. Lukas grunts, cringing and clenching his teeth as he attempts to look up through narrowed eyes. The deity’s strength will forever be unmatched. He may as well be pinned by the ender dragon itself. However, there are no more movements. 

     The Admin breathes in deep, heavy huffs of air above him. Lukas weakly turns his head, now looking upon the arrow in his hand. To his surprise, the arrow shimmers with an enhancement, something he always thought to be impossible. Looking closer, he gives the arrow a slight turn in his hand, seeing now the distinctive glint of the arrow tipped in diamond.  

      No wonder it was able to penetrate through all his gear, Lukas thinks, eyeing the strange weapon. Is… this part of what Petra spoke of? The weapon she had mentioned back in Champion City? 

     The Admin’s breathing begins to soften… Becoming quieter and more controlled. Lukas looks up now, seeing that color has begun returning to his friend-! While he’s still very overshadowed still, Lukas can at the very least make out his furious facial features again. His nose, furrowed eyebrows, those deep turquoise scars, and the gentle presence of freckles on his cheeks. 

     “A-Admin…” Lukas chokes out, giving himself a tug. Even if Admin’s colors have begun to slowly return, his omnipotent pressure overpowers every attempt Lukas makes at trying to escape his grip. “Admin I’ve got to–” The ecologist gives another pull. “I’ve got to check your wound. You’re bleeding–”

     No budging. Lukas sticks the arrow in his inventory and instead reaches forward, taking their closeness to an all new level by gently taking the Admin’s deep blue cheeks into his gloved hands. “Can you hear me?” He asks, but there’s still no response. Admin instead slowly closes his eyes, taking deep breaths while Lukas holds him.. As nice as this is, the desperation to finally have answers keeps Lukas from pursuing affection, instead gliding his hands down and grabbing at the deity’s mossy pelt.

     “I’m… going to take this off– okay? It would be easier if you’d let me–” Lukas attempts to move again. “Up.” Still no budging, so Lukas gives the Admin a gentle push, finding him to be incredibly tense. “Okay… This– must be really painful for you so you just focus on breathing and let— me—” 

     Careful hands glide up the leather clad chest of the Admin, nestling beneath the moss of his pelt and giving it a lift when he has a good hold on it. He knew the cape to be heavy, so this takes some strength. Admin is unmoving, his eyes stay closed as Lukas clenches his teeth and lifts the hefty cloak up, shimmying it past his head until it falls off to the side of them both with a hefty ‘pomf’. 

     Taking a deep breath, he sighs and fixes his focus on the rest of the Admin’s gear. Tugging at his straps, trying to figure out just how it is exactly that the deity gets these things on him. He recalls watching him use his magic to reacquaint himself with his armor a while back. It’s rare for Lukas to see him outside of it. Eventually finding a clasp in the front buckle, he tugs at it a bit and finally the straps loosen. Pulling those off, next is the rest of this armor, which Lukas ponders how to get the rest off while he’s… still being pinned. 

     Focusing back on his friend, he can see more color has returned to his appearance, bringing back the pretty blue hues Lukas has found himself so fond of these past few months. He attempts to move again, this time finding that the Admin’s grip has slacked, giving Lukas the ability to slip out from underneath him. Now by his side again, the deity stays slumped over on his hands and knees, breathing quietly. 

     Lukas looks at his back, seeing where the arrow struck deep into his skin, as well as blood that speckles around the puncture the arrow pierced into his friend’s back. With enough determination and frustrated mumbling while trying to get the rest of this leather armor off the deity, now all that Lukas is left with (supposedly) is this old flannel. So many rips and tears in this thing, as well as the stains of mud and dirt. 

     He is… extremely nervous about this. 

     “O-okay Admin, just hang in there. I may do something you won’t like, but it’s to help you. You’re bleeding, and I have to make sure you’re patched up properly, alright?” Lukas says, but there is still no response from him. Instead, the Admin’s eyes stare down at the ground.. His expression is void of emotion. 

     Nervous hands carefully grab and pull the flannel shirt, tugging it out from beneath the deity’s utility belt. Slowly, he begins pushing the fabric up. The more he pulls it, the more Lukas’ eyes become frantic in their search of the most scarred and tortured skin he’s ever laid eyes upon. There’s scars all over the Admin’s back, with the deepest gashes a dark teal, and the lighter knicks and scratches being fainter, but still very visible upon his deep blue skin. 

     Lukas’ heart snags in his chest and he feels the breath escape him. With his hand holding up the flannel garment, keeping it pinned up against Admin’s shoulder blades, he now bears witness to something so striking, he’s left staring in disbelief. 

     Three horrible scars, almost like dragon claws, tear through the deity’s dark skin, taking up a mighty expanse of his friend’s back. The three tears in his back follow the flow of colors the lantern had lit; purple, red, and blue. They all glow, flowing with power unfathomable to Lukas’ human comprehension. Teal eyes stare, gazing upon this new discovery like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes eventually land on the gash in the top of the red scar. How it bleeds, the red blood bubbling from the wound and dribbling down the musculature of the deity’s freckled, scar coated back.

      “I–” Lukas says, then swallows, finding himself at a moment's loss of speech “I-I’m going to patch you up,” he then speaks with a soft, yet shaken voice. First I've got to get this shirt off, he decides. Reaching in towards Admin, the blond can’t help but blush as he does the awkward task of feeling around his friend’s chest, searching for the buttons buried in the bunched up flannel. “S-sorry…” He says quietly as more buttons fall away and finally, he lifts the garment up and over the deity’s head and it falls forward in a soaking clump as it lands directly into the water.

     Peeking back behind him, Lukas can see that Dewey and Berry are still residing up in the safety of the grass close to the treeline. He picks his gaze up further, looking up towards the sky and seeing that it too is becoming visible once again. It’s as if a dark haze is slowly lifting from the forest, but it is still far from natural. Turning his attention back to Admin, Lukas keeps his eyes on the wound as he reaches into his inventory and pulls out his first-aid kit. 

     He only had to use this a few times on himself, mostly for scraped knees or the few burns he’d acquired while treading deep within the Nether. There was also one time Dewey got a thorn in his paw and Lukas wrapped it up for him, but aside from that, he’s never had any medical experience aside from minor injuries. This seems… very out of his league. It’s abundantly clear Admin isn’t able to respond normally, or use his powers as he usually would. 

     He does his best to clean the wound, and as he does, he feels a shift as Admin moves, then the sound of a heavy fist coming down and meeting the earth in a mighty slam. Peering at Admin, Lukas’ frown deepens seeing his painful expression. His teeth bared and his breathing returned to a heavy and ragged pant. Lukas looks back at the glowing scars on his friend’s back… wondering what their purpose is. 

     “You know..” He says as he applies gentle pressure when swiping away the blood. “I read the note you gave to me and I want you to know that… It really means a lot to me.” Lukas stops his motions, losing himself to his thoughts as his eyes wander, looking at all the scars on Admin’s skin. “I had no idea Petra followed me. I’m not even sure how they got past your detection either…” Lukas says that, but he has a feeling it's because all of Admin’s focus seemed to be on him. 

     “I’m so sorry this happened to you… But I must admit, it does feel a little nice to finally be the one helping you for a change…” Lukas gives him a weak smile, even if Admin isn’t looking. That smile falls quickly as the author continues to speak. “After this, I’m going to hear you out, but… If… All of what Petra said is true then…” Lukas scrunches his face up, in deep, emotional pain. “Then I can’t be your friend anymore, and I will leave and never, ever come back here. So, more than anything, I need you to tell me the full truth.” 

     Pulling the cloth away and looking at it, it’s smeared in the deity’s luminescent blood. Without any potions of healing or any medical gels to aid in healing him, Lukas is forced to cover his wound with nothing but a band-aid and hope to the creators that the bleeding stops. What more can a little human do for an all powerful god?

     Sitting back now, Lukas sighs, gazing upon his wounded friend with a saddened expression. He really, really hopes that Admin has an explanation for all this that doesn’t put him in the murderer’s place. To have spent all this time, befriending a person who killed hundreds and tortured thousands… Lukas shakes his head, refusing to believe it until he has his answers. 

     Opening his eyes, he sees that light has now begun to break through the shadowy barrier. Lukas perks up, lifting his gaze up towards the sky. Never in his life has he been so relieved to see the sun. Not even after that entire month in the Nether compares to this feeling. Lukas’ eyes shine, relief filling him, helping to relax so much of his own tension and pains. 

     He barely has time to react, let alone even gasp as he’s suddenly yanked by a powerful hand grabbing him by tucking in beneath his left arm and pulled into a heart shattering embrace that leaves the author breathless and a light like stardust gleaming in his eyes. Another strong arm wraps around him and oh how the human is helpless as he’s pulled into the deity’s lap and cradled in a powerful embrace.

     Admin holds him in a way that seats him in his lap, right atop his thighs with his face pushed into the deity’s shoulder where the skin twists in a nasty scar caused by scorching hot flames. Lukas’ blush deepens upon his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut at the overwhelmingly wonderful feeling of Admin gently nuzzling his nose into his neck, causing goosebumps to rise upon his sensitive skin. 

     Lukas says nothing, although his eyes do tear up and he does shove his face back into the crook of Admin’s blue shoulder and neck, feeling how… how warm he has become as compared to how cold he’s been in the past. His shaking hands are so careful where he touches as he too wraps his arms around the deity’s wider build. Finally feeling his skin… He’s so smooth, yet his fingertips are touching scars every inch or so. The muscles in his back are firm, yet powerful, and Lukas can only imagine what the rest of him may look and feel like. 

     The shadowy void dissipates, lifting from the evergreens and allowing light to return to the lush landscape. The morning sun at its peak, enchanting the forest with radiant beams of ethereal sunlight to grace the river and make it shimmer. Dewey and Berry look around too, sharing that sense of relief, at least until the allay trills in joyous celebration and hugs onto the ocelot, making him scowl. 

     Lukas is first to pull back, looking up at Admin, only to feel butterflies scatter inside him when he’s met with such a soft, tender, yet tired smile. Without any words, the deity moves, lifting off his knees and keeping Lukas held tight against him as he comes to a slow and confident stand. He gives the author a single nod, and before Lukas can say anymore– they vanish, along with their companions, as well as the rest of the deity’s items. 

     When Lukas blinks again, he’s in an entirely new area.

     The evergreens stand very tall, the forest treeline dense with foliage. There’s long, lush grass swaying in the wind, and the sound of a stream can be heard nearby. Must be hidden somewhere in the grass like the one in the meadow. Maybe it’s the same creek? He can hear frogs as well, croaking somewhere in the distance. 

     It’s all so green, that Lukas is surprised when his wandering gaze stops upon something that muddies up the picturesque clearing. It’s a house… Or, well, it used to be. Admin sets Lukas down into the grass, allowing him to walk forward and take it all in. What remains of a cabin is this very dilapidated structure. One of the sides of the home is falling into itself, and there’s so many holes in the roof and on the sides, it’s almost sad to look upon. Usually abandoned places spark excitement for adventure in Lukas, but this… Lukas steps forward further. This doesn’t feel the same.

     In an instant, he suddenly remembers, turning back towards Admin. “The hunters– they’re still–” Lukas’ mouth is shut by an unseen force, just as the forest guardian raises his hand and shakes his head. No? Lukas wonders, but his eyes wander. Admin is still very much shirtless, and now with light having returned to the forest, Lukas is able to look upon his full, naked torso in all its glory. So many more scars… A particularly deep and wide one stretches just beneath his friend’s collarbone. 

     Before he can lose his mind staring at him, the deity steps forward and begins to walk past him towards the crumbling cabin. Lukas watches him, and just as he’s about to uproot from his spot, he’s stopped and distracted by the scars on Admin’s back once again. They still glow but… all three of them are blue now. Lukas blinks, taken aback but quickly returns to following him. He trots up behind Admin, following close to the calmness that now follows his friend as he walks, although Lukas cannot take his eyes off those blue scars. How they flow with power… 

      Is this what they look like normally? He can only wonder, deciding to place that question in the back of his mind for later. 

     Behind him, he can hear the happy trills of the allay. Lukas looks back, seeing little Berry floating around, looking happy as ever while Dewey sits beneath it, trying his best to seem annoyed. 

     The sound of wood creaking brings the author back to his main goal. He looks back at Admin, meeting those glowing eyes. Admin stands tall, much taller than the broken door that’s barely clinging on to its rusted latches. An invitation. Lukas says nothing as he approaches the door, Admin’s silent gaze following his every movement. 

     Standing in the doorway, Lukas stares into the deathly silent and shadowy building. The place looks dull, abandoned and long forgotten. Left to the elements and what they decide to do with it. Light shines in from the open doorway, as well as the many holes that break up the place like missing puzzle pieces. 

     Lukas steps in, the old wood beneath his boot creaking with the first step, and every single one after it. Once he’s inside, Admin follows him, having to duck in through the door and the floor creaking much harder under his massive form. 

     From the looks of it, the place is tiny. Suitable for one person and one person only. To his left, he sees a few empty shelves. Approaching them, he notices how they’re coated in a thick layer of dust.. Lukas frowns at the sight of it and moves on. Everything looks so colorless. Like someone came in and stripped the entire building of its color from its shabby floorboards to its weathered ceiling. 

     He finds some chests, but he’s reluctant to open them just yet. He continues on in his search of the place, finding the dust particles that float around tickling the inside of his nose and threatening a sneeze with every other breath. All the holes and broken windows allow moss and vines to sneak in, giving at least some part of this abandoned home a bit of color. 

     He keeps moving towards the right of the building, finding in the deepest far right corner a crafting table, furnace, as well as what looks like a desk. Everything is coated in dust, left to time. Finally his exploration comes to an end at the far right end of the home. Nestled in the corner and against the wall closest to the door, is a bed. The light from the broken window shines on it, lighting up an object that lures Lukas’ curiosity in. 

     Stepping over to it slowly, he realizes it's a journal. The dust in the air glows in the filtering light, making the journal stand out above all else in the home. Lukas gently takes it up and seats himself upon the bed, its old frame creaking beneath his weight. Admin watches from the doorway, keeping to the shadows of the home as he watches Lukas run his fingers along the old leather binding. 

     With one deep breath, Lukas rests his hands in his lap, holding the journal and without any words— opens it.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Monster, Mine Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: M Status: One-Shot Main Characters: Minthara, The Dark Urge (Ursa), Orin Ships: Minthara/Ursa Additional Notes: Character Study, Past Abuse, Devotion Word Count: 2.1k Summary: With the threat of Orin looming so closely, Minthara cannot hide the fear she still has of the monster. Ursa promises to keep her safe, and when the confrontation finally comes, that oath will be put to the test- and a new monster may be revealed in the process.

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There is very, very little in this world which can strike fear in the heart of Minthara Baenre. She is a woman who does not fear death, nor pain, nor darkness, and she laughs at those who do.

But Orin…Orin the shapechanger, the daughter of Bhaal, Orin who is death and pain and darkness and worse…

Orin, she fears. It is a fear that has been carved into her, slowly and deliberately, and now that it is a part of her, it cannot be hidden or denied. Especially not now, when she walks so willingly into the city which acts as the murderer’s hunting grounds.

“Do not let me fall into her clutches again,” she asks of her companion- it is more than a request, she is begging, even as she detests the weakness in herself.

Ursa looks up at Minthara with earnest, silver eyes, and she touches Minthara’s hand. “I won’t. I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise.”

What a world it would be, if Minthara could believe her. The cruelest thing is that she almost can. She has seen Ursa’s power; she has stood at the dwarven woman’s side and played witness to the work of her daggers, her heated hunger for blood. It could be easy, for Minthara to believe that her lover can devour this threat as she has so many others.

But Minthara’s knowledge of their foe is scarred into her very being, and she can only shake her head, angry at them both as she pulls away from Ursa’s comforting touch. “Do not make vows which cannot be kept.”

Minthara remembers that vow when they meet Orin in Bhaal’s temple, deep in the bowels of the Undercity. This place is familiar to her; she recognizes the chill and the thick scent of blood which permeates the air. 

When Orin notices their arrival, she laughs, and the sound is so shrill and feral and familiar that Minthara cannot hold against the sudden flood of memories.

(Cold fingers and colder knives press into her skin. A voice coos in her ear with cruel mockery of affection. Precious spider-filth, lovely pet-thing, bleeding so song-sweet for me. Copper and bile in her mouth as icy lips press against her own.)

Orin notices. She knows all the cracks in Minthara’s impenetrable armor, and her smile widens at the sight of the drow flinching before her once again. Minthara wishes she could stand bravely against her, but she remains frozen, nailed into place by the force of that awful milky gaze.

Then Orin’s attention shifts to Ursa, and she laughs again. “Look how low you’ve stooped, sister mine. Dragging around my broken blood-toys. You used to be so proud, and now you scavenge the bones I’ve already sucked dry.”

“This isn’t about her,” Ursa says, holding Orin’s gaze. She motions to the wizard strapped to Orin’s altar. “And this isn’t about him, either. This is about us.”

The promise Ursa has made echoes through Minthara’s mind as she watches her approach her sister, a dagger in each hand, and Minthara feels a fool for not insisting that her love swear the same oath for herself. 

A Command dances on the tip of Minthara’s tongue. Stay away from her. Any other time, she would give it voice, and she would be obeyed. But now the order sticks in her throat, and she can only watch in terrible silence as Orin stalks closer, her shape twisting and cracking until she stands in front of Ursa as her perfect mirror. 

Her imitation of the dwarf is flawless, and so, so much worse than the sight of Orin alone. Every inch of the woman Minthara knows so well is reflected exquisitely: the soft silver gray of her hair, the constellations of freckles upon her skin, the long jagged scar stretching from temple to jaw. But the worst twist of the knife is in the expression- that violence and hunger which is Orin’s trademark, which fits all too naturally on Ursa’s face. Minthara has glimpsed that look on Ursa before; it has simply never been directed at herself.

They truly are the same, these daughters of Bhaal.

(Are you afraid of me? Ursa had asked once, after the reveal of her lineage. “I am in awe of you,” Minthara had answered, and neither had acknowledged her lack of answer to the question.)

But this is a good thing- it means Ursa can do what Minthara never could. She can rip Orin to shreds. She can water the temple stones with Orin’s blood. She can crush Orin beneath her heel, and oh- what an exhilarating thought that is.

Then Orin’s shape twists and snaps again, into a shape Minthara has never seen. She screams with the pain of it- Orin has never screamed like that before- and where she once stood now stands a monster, all twisted bones and claws and teeth. It- Orin- looks over to Ursa, who despite her dwarfhood has never before seemed small.

She does now.

And Minthara knows, with a sickening certainty, that her lover is going to die. 

 She also knows that the only thing worse than facing Orin’s wrath would be to stand by and watch it happen. With nothing left to lose, Minthara reaches deep inside herself, to those small crevices in her soul where Orin and the Absolute have not yet managed to reach, and she clings tightly to whatever splinters of courage and faith remain. An aura of resolve fills her lungs, and she lets the feeling flow out to those around her.

Fueled by a devotion beyond understanding, Minthara draws her sword and leaps to Ursa’s side. The creature that was Orin roars in fury, and the effigy of Bhaal glows red with indignation over the discarded rules of his ritual. 

But Minthara cares not for the rules and rituals of this god, so she drives her sword into the twisted skin of Orin’s heart. It does not kill her, but oh- it is far more satisfying than she’d ever fantasized.

Orin turns on Minthara, and even through her Aura, her heart is suddenly gripped in icy fear. But Ursa has already Misty Stepped to Orin’s blind spot, and her daggers flash as she digs the steel into her sister’s spine. Orin screeches again, her eyes wild and panicked in a way Minthara has never seen.

And the fight is on.

Orin fights well, if not honorably. But it is Ursa who draws last blood- her daggers slice through skin, blood rains on the stone floor, and when Orin finally slumps over she does not rise again.

Minthara breathes heavily, her bones aching, her ears ringing. She watches as Orin’s form twitches, and her sword lifts again- of course Orin would not go so easily, she thinks, but the movement is merely the shapechanger’s form falling away, withering from a formidable beast to nothing but a pile of dust and gore.

She is dead. Minthara lives, and Orin is dead. Victory rises in Minthara’s blood, and a vicious, vengeful smile spreads across her face. Orin is dead, and Minthara lives.

Ursa would do well to share in this elation, after all that her sister has done to her…but she is quiet. She stares down at her sister’s body, and the daggers slip from her hand. Her expression is unreadable; she seems, in this moment, to not be feeling anything at all.

“Orin,” Ursa murmurs, and she says nothing more.

Then her head snaps up, and her eyes go red, and the voice of Bhaal fills the temple. 

Something has changed. Minthara senses the full power now dwelling within Ursa, just as she had sensed it within Orin. But Ursa is alive, and her eyes are bright as they meet Minthara’s own. That is enough, for Minthara.

The others judge Ursa’s choice. More than that, they have the nerve to condemn her, she who has saved them all and brought them so far. And now she has embraced her birthright and the ultimate power which comes with it- and they disapprove.

Not Minthara. Minthara takes her lover’s hands and laces their fingers together. “You have become what you were meant to be,” she whispers fervently, “and it is glorious.”

“I’ve become what Orin was,” Ursa says, her voice low as a melody. “Bhaal’s monster.”

The words send a shiver through Minthara, but she fights it off. “You are nothing like her. You are magnificent. You are mine. And I am yours, gladly.” Minthara touches her forehead to Ursa’s, uncaring as she senses the others watching with cold disgust. “Do not regret taking what you can.”

Ursa is quiet for a moment. Minthara can feel her breathing as they rest against each other. Then she nods, and with a slow stiffness she separates from Minthara and wordlessly moves to Orin’s remains. She studies the wreckage for a long moment, then silently takes the jagged red daggers from the filthy stone floor and slips them into her own belt.

Minthara shivers again, and this time she cannot stamp down the feeling. She knows the bite of those daggers all too intimately. But they seem to strengthen Ursa, and so Minthara says nothing as she follows her out of the temple.

And for all their disapproval, the others soon follow as well. That is how it always is; the spineless may protest in the face of strength, but they bow before it all the same.

There are, however, exceptions.

Jaheira is an exception. Foolish though she is, Minthara could almost respect her for that. 

But the Harper’s misguided bravery is not enough. Not when Ursa has Bhaal on her side and Orin’s daggers in her hands. The dwarf cuts down the first Harper who approaches her, and after that it is all chaos and blood.

All seems normal at first; Ursa has always been most herself when covered in blood. But there is a viciousness to her now which surpasses even what she’d had before, and when her eyes lock with Jaheira’s across the battlefield, that fury explodes.

Her body twists and cracks. A shriek tears from her throat.

And then she is the Slayer- the same monster Orin had been, all teeth and claws and malice- ripping through Harpers with fierce abandon. 

Minthara freezes. She knows it is not Orin; it is Ursa, her beloved, her beacon. but…

A sharp pain cuts into Minthara’s arm. In her distraction, Jaheira has snuck up on her. Minthara hisses in frustration at herself and locks her blade against another blow. Jaheira’s eyes are level with hers, and the druid growls as vines creep up Minthara’s legs, binding her in place. “You are aiding an evil greater than you know. It is too late for her.”

Minthara growls right back, a wordless sound of righteous fury. “You do not know her.”

“Do you?”

Minthara never answers, for at that moment Ursa’s jaws close around Jaheira’s neck.

Blood is slick on the stones when the last Harper falls and the fighting subsides. Ursa is left, still in Slayer form, staring down at Jaheira’s broken body.

Minthara approaches her slowly, taking in the new sight of her lover. So similar to Orin, in so many ways. Ursa may sense that thought, or perhaps she is still raw from Orin and Jaheira and all the other corpses in her wake. They weigh on her in a way Minthara does not understand, but they also excite her in ways she understands all too well. 

And that, all of that, even her strange regrets, are what make Minthara love her.

Even now.

Especially now.

Their eyes meet, and their minds touch, and that is all Minthara needs to know that whatever else Ursa is, she is still hers.

“My love…” Minthara says softly, “you are stunning.”

She rests her forehead against Ursa’s, just as she had before. She stands at her full height now, and the Slayer’s skin is scarred and slick, but it is no different, not really.

“And you…” Ursa’s voice echoes in Minthara’s head. “I am my father’s daughter. But I swear by all that is holy and unholy, I will never let anything hurt you.”

This time, Minthara believes her. This time, she does not pull away. She presses a kiss to Ursa’s fanged mouth, and her lips come away bloody.

She doesn’t mind. They are both most themselves when covered in blood.

[word-ghost]

Gale is where you left him in the clearing, gaze no longer tilted toward fabricated starlight, but to the barren soil between his boots. The stars are dimmer now, shrouded by swirling wisps of dark clouds.

He doesn’t turn when you approach, but knows you are near. He grits his teeth and draws a sharp breath, waiting for you to speak. You swallow the lump that rises in your throat. Before you find your voice, glaring eyes snap upward to pierce yours. 

“I know I cannot change your mind. If this is what you want—” 

“What I want?” he growls, rising to his feet.

“If it is what you must do,” you amend. 

“Still you speak as if there is an alternative.” 

“I pray one might still present itself.”

“Mystra has—”

At the utterance of her name, your limbs tense. You forget the apology you’ve been circling and burst, “What you did has caused you more suffering than it ever could her. How long did she force you to feed your guilt?”

“I have been offered atonement.”

“What good does forgiveness do a dead man?”

“Then I shall not beg yours,” Gale spits. 

Silence bleeds between you. The tenuous thread of hope that has kept you looking forward slips from your grasp. You might live to see the day the malign darkness lifts from these lands, but he will not.

Your strained voice finally cracks. “Is this the memory you wish to leave me with?” 

He falters, lips parting, though the tension never leaves his brow. 

You stare at each other, dark gazes fixed, oblivious to how the magic changes around you, the only evidence a glint of light in Gale’s eyes.

“How would you rather remember?” He moves a step nearer. You can feel the power emanating from him, tendrils of it encircling you, connecting you to him. All you need to do is recollect. 

From the first touch when you pulled him free of the sigil, when you almost wondered whether you shouldn’t put him back. Learning of his condition, and later its cause, the relief that rushed through you for having agreed to help him. Long, silent stretches poring over books by firelight, searching for the means to survive one inevitable fate, and then another.

Your mind whirls with dozens of small moments over the course of your travels, laughs had, smiles exchanged, even instances of annoyance, in hindsight softened by affection. 

He can feel your panic at the sight of him taking blow after blow in battle, your energy expended to keep him on his feet, or out of an early grave. 

Your thoughts linger on the road south of Last Light. It was only a night or so ago, but enough to fill a tenday has happened since. 

You show Gale himself through your eyes, one moment smiling and the next on his knees, clutching at the cord that tightens around his neck. Using the last of your voice to cast a spell even as your vision blurs at its edges. The deafening calm that follows, seeing him take a breath, though you cannot. 

The moment shifts as Gale takes another step forward. 

His perspective, the dazed instant where he gasps for air and takes in what has happened. You caught sight of the ambush in time to prepare—but you’re surrounded. A beam of dazzling light brightens the surroundings enough to see you clearly. 

There’s a smile in your eyes even as strong arms drag you down by your neck. The monster in the moonlight keeps Gale in place with a strong blow to his shoulder. His cold terror pierces through the pain as you vanish before his eyes, along with your tormentor. 

His growl of rage claws your throats, as he sends bright bolts of condensed energy in all directions, hitting every one of the remaining attackers. Your companions have the upper hand, even as another of them vanishes from view.

Gale’s heart and yours pound with panicked fury as he scours the darkness, mind inundated with imagined scenarios of your unfortunate fate—until your conjured moonlight shifts. In a breath and an incantation, he is at your side. Solace warms your bellies like wine, until you ask why he followed. 

In the space between reality and memory, you move nearer, pushing your thoughts ahead in time.

You tend to his injuries with care, your touch significantly more gentle than your playful barbs. Honest melancholy permeates this memory; to think of this attempt at affection, either misplaced or misinterpreted. 

The Gale in between takes your hand. 

His relief at your safety floods you, melded with a sense of—shame. How many times have you saved his neck, tended to his wounds, lent a listening ear? What has he given you in return, other than the added burden of his own difficulties?

So you show him his smile, the moment he makes you laugh despite the pain you’re in. You let him feel your heart flutter at his concern when his fingers brush the scar on your lips, silently saying the opposite of what he’s told you tonight. 

In the in-between, he mirrors the action. He shows you your flushed cheeks, then barely noticed under the curse’s gloom, and now, more than apparent under an illusory sky that once again twinkles with stars.