#[V. Only Human // Stone Cold In My Heart: AU]

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

*rolls this over to you for Consideration* Probably gonna make a post on this later but personal headcanon that Vergil and Dante would both be really good at dance in an AU, or even in canon (they do it for fun), just because of how physically demanding it is. Dante I could see having the most fun with it, but Vergil I feel like could be good too. Probably better at keeping up with the rhythm and showing his partner off than Dante, but probably hates being the center of attention himself. Especially if it involves emotional stuff. (That and because Vergil knowing how to tango is just 👀 I would like to see it 👀 Would also like to see him get flustered and blush while dancing with somebody he's got a crush on, just because it'd be cute 💙)

AH OKAY, SO I ACTUALLY HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS (because I've read quite a few one-shots that involve dancing with the Sparda babs) AND I AM GLAD YOU MENTIONED IT!

All underlined things are links to videos of the dance(s) that I referenced in my research lol Forgive the pixelated quality of some of these, they can get kinda old lmao

So, for starters: I think that all of the Sparda-bloodline would have been/are good dancers, some more than others. All of them are talented swordsmen and fighters which in and of itself is a type of dance. All of their heights might be an issue, however. As someone who is a very tall 5' 2" the fact that they are all over 6' tall would make dancing hard.

Sparda would've been the best of the four and he would've had the most knowledge on it. I feel like he would've been alive for long enough that he was able to watch humans throughout the years, learning lots of things... including dance. I feel like he and Eva would've danced a lot. As to what he would've done the best? Sparda would've been very good at all of it (since he's been alive so damned long) however I could see Eva just being into Rumba or something like a (very unprofessional) Argentine Tango--just because it would've been fun for Eva to do with her husband.

Vergil would be the next best dancer--at least, with traditional dances. He would've learned from Sparda when he was young, per the request of his mother. Vergil used to sneak downstairs late at night to see his parents dance and would mimic them, using an invisible partner, so she wanted to have Sparda teach him (because Vergil is interrupting Mommy and Daddy's time alone together lmao). He'd be good at things like the Foxtrot and Ballroom Tango. Anything fast he is amazing at while anything slow is a little harder for him. He tends to like moving around a lot and doing fancy twists or dips. However, he knows a lot of slow dances too. Vergil would also be very into single-person dances when in private; the first thing that came to my mind was Flamenco dancing. Just imagine getting Vergil either so ungodly drunk that he busts this out or challenging him--if you tell him he can't do something, he will do so just to prove you wrong. This blue devil would be really hard to learn from, he's bad at explaining himself, so you'd have to learn by yourself. It isn't anything against you, Vergil just sucks at teaching and he knows it. Vergil would 100% dance with you in private. It is an excuse to show off--and to get nice and close to you. The idea of him just coming up and nonchalantly asking to dance makes my heart just fucKING MELT. If you gave him the same treatment, he'd die on the spot. The stoned-face devil is a romantic at heart so his lover putting on a record (or CD if you aren't into vinyl) and asking to dance, just warms his cold heart. (This all applies to V as well--the only thing that's different is that V is better with slow dances since he can't move very well, to begin with.)

Dante and Nero would be on even grounds as to who is the better dancer.

I'm gonna start with Dante because he's older. Dante would be very good at just winging shit--the Dr. Faust scene is a great example, he didn't make it up but he just pulled it out of nowhere. If we want to talk traditional dances, Dante would be good at things that are fast--like the Salsa (I was thinking specifically Salsa Caleña), Balboa (pure or swing), Quickstep, and Merengue. He would be the most lax about his partner not knowing what the hell is going on and would be the easiest to learn from. As long as you and him are having fun he doesn't care how bad either of you are at it--or if you step on his feet the entire time, he just wants to see you smile. Dante would also be the only one out of the four to dance without an issue, like in a public or bar setting.

Nero would be an odd dancer. He's got the gumption and is able to keep rhythm pretty well, however, he just doesn't know any "traditional" dances. He'd just make it up as he'd go. His dancing would be relatively "aggressive" and he'd move you around a ton. Add that with his "wings" then you'd best hope you don't end up motion sick. Dante (eventually) teaches him some stuff so Nero would end up knowing Quickstep and Balboa (pure and swing). Nero would 100% get carried away in the heat of the moment and do little cutesy dances in excitement (nothing super intricate, just little wiggly movement-type stuff). He'd also be into just quietly slow dancing with you at home, holding you close, and just rocking with you. Just like his father, if you were to ask him to dance, he'd die on the spot. He is also the only one of the four that wouldn't mind you leading the dance instead of him.

I'd like to hear anyone else thoughts on this! If there are any dances that I didn't mention that y'all think might fit, please let me know. I might've been in theatre and was a performer, but I know absolutely dick-diddly about dancing; I was born with two left hands for feet, if that helps make sense of things lmao

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[deviated-detective]

“What do humans do to express devotion to one another?” A curious question from him this morning. He watched her as he normally does. Daniela moves in ways he did not want to notice. After all this time it is clear to him despite his struggle against emotions. They are a mixture of positive and negative. However around her he is most at ease with this concept. 

The deviant hunter does not cease to exist. Danger continues due to his actions before deviation. Yet she still remains and that makes him want, need. “I should ask what is one way you would to make it known you belong to someone permanently?” 

@diivinerose dropped for convo

[sunlightheidi]

Jihyun Kim "V" x Reader/MC

AU Fantasy, written for the Mystic Dance Event, hosted by the lovely @little-butterfly-writes. Roles provided, "Princess x Court Painter".

"I'll meet you in the forest, let's let this wild thing grow."

- Forest, Fancy Hagood

Jihyun was chosen from a neighboring kingdom to paint the royal family.

It was an honor, to be selected as the court artist; for his art to hang on the palace walls alongside portraits of previous kings and queens.

There are countless tales told throughout the kingdoms; stories of the ruthless king who commanded the armies, of the regal queen who could turn men into stone with a simple look.

And of the stoic crowned princess, who possessed the ethereal beauty of the fae, and the same coldness too.

He’s painted that captivating beauty on canvas more than once; has traced the dip of your collarbone, the fullness of your lips, the almond shape of your eyes with his paintbrush so many times he can do it from memory alone.

You are always seated on that golden throne when he does, decorated in sapphires and dressed in layers of silk and lace – always watching him with a sort of fascination as he paints, a sparkling wonder in your gaze.

You sit on that throne now, your head held high, waves of black hair falling down your back, and a crown of rowan berries on your brow. Your dress is golden, accentuating the sun-touched colors of your skin and the darkness of your eyes as they roam over the ballroom to the people dancing and celebrating the return of autumn.

There is a sort of hypnotic magic about you and he sees it perfectly then, how you truly could have been fairy in a past life; sparkling wings on your back, adorned in colors of orange and red and yellow as you sat on a throne of marigolds and ruled over the autumn court.

Perhaps you may have even allowed yourself to dance amongst your folk, lost in the addicting taste of pomegranates as you moved freely to the wild music.

But that is not who you are now. Not who are you expected to be.

You do not partake in the autumn celebration with your people, you are not allowed to laugh and dance in the way he knows you desire to. In the way you have so freely danced and laughed by his side in hidden corridors.

Your only purpose is to serve your kingdom, and outside of your clandestine meetings with him, you play your role flawlessly. No one would dare suggest otherwise.

If only they knew the restlessness that lingers in your heart. The same kind and wild heart you have given to him– a secret belonging to you both alone.

The music ends and you clap gently in your lap, almost unconsciously, as most of your mannerisms are – but your eyes are dazed, he knows your thoughts are elsewhere.

He has been hounded by daydreams of you as well, wishes he could stand in front of that throne and take your hand as an equal; to lead you to the ballroom floor and hold you in his arms as you sway together, just as you have done many times before in the dark.

The orchestra begins to play a new piece, something slow and soft that echoes through the ballroom; the chandeliers shimmer from the high ceiling as partners retake their place and begin a new dance.

Carefully, as to not draw attention to yourself, you stand, hands gripping the skirts of your dress as you curtsey to the king and queen, who briefly nod in your direction in permission to take your leave. He follows you with his eyes as you walk down the steps of the podium and to the large entryway, but something catches his attention – a golden satin ribbon, left behind on the seat of your throne.

You have played this game before, he knows what the token means; and when he looks up, in a single moment that freezes time, you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He nods in understanding, and there’s a sparkle in your eye as you close the doors behind you.

He wants to run after you, to spin you around in his arms and declare his fidelity to you in front of the world. But you are a princess…and he is only the court painter – the consequences should anyone discover you two together, of the things you have done under secrecy, would end in tragedy.

So he waits, and when the kingsmen turn to assist their majesties to the ballroom floor, Jihyun slips through the entryway and weaves down dark corridors and forgotten doors.

He is lost in a haze to get to you, has waited eagerly for weeks to spend time with you, and not the person you pretend to be for everyone else. He wants your silly laughter and teasing smiles, your fondness for flowers and furry forest creatures.

In an unlit corner of an unused passageway, there is a door that blends into the stone of the walls, it is not easily seen in the dark, but Jihyun knows exactly where it is and how to twist the lock to the room that has become his haven.

He steps through the low archway and closes the door behind him, feels a sort of relief when he turns to find you watching him.

It is indescribable, how painfully beautiful you are illuminated by the candlelight – woven in golden and waiting for him.

He bows, deeply. “Princess.”

And then, the respectable haze you have found yourselves in for weeks vanishes.

In an instant, you wrench yourself forward into him, tackling him into something fierce. He grasps you, cradling you safely in his arms as you wiggle in your happiness.

“Jihyun,” you whisper against his chest, nose buried in the hilt of his tailcoat. “I was afraid you would not come.”

He pushes you back, enough to look into your eyes and trace the outline of your cheekbone with his thumb. “Of course I came. I cannot deny you a single thing, nor do I wish to.”

“I did not think I would have the time to slip by their attention tonight, I am eternally grateful their minds are elsewhere.”

“Do you need to get back?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist; already dreading having to part.

“Not yet, not so soon.” You reach for him, stand on the tip of your toes and brush your lips against his in the softest of kisses. “I have missed you terribly.”

“As have I, darling,” he whispers against your mouth. “I have to stop myself constantly from reaching for you in the hallways.”

An impish smile graces your lips, sly and conniving. He imagines this must be how the fae tempt humans into their world.

“You are certainly free to touch me now, in whatever way you desire.”

He catches up quickly, as he tightens the hold on your waist and brings his lips to yours – warm breath and honey taste – soft and slow, memorizing every part of this moment.

He rubs small circles on your back just above your waist, feeling the silky material of your dress as you put your arms around his neck, bringing him in as close as you possibly can. And when you pull back to catch your breath, you smile at him slyly, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, bottom lip between your teeth.

“Pray tell, you wicked thing. What enchantment have you placed on me?”

A soft laugh, no more than an exhale, ghosts across the side of his neck, raising goosebumps across his skin. You stand so close he can smell the sweetness of the roses pressed onto your skin, the floral scent instantly hauling him back to an afternoon in the court gardens, where you hid behind large rose bushes and he pressed you against the grass and kissed you until sundown.

“It was the pomegranate seeds I fed to you in the garden” you whisper, playfully. “It was faerie food, meant to entrap you to my side for the rest of your days.”

“You could have simply asked me,” he replies. “My answer would have been yes.”

Your eyes go soft, but sparkle suddenly in the way they do when you decide to be cheeky. “But that would be a waste of a perfectly ripe pomegranate, do you not agree?”

He bites at the pout of your lip in reprimand, feeling satisfied with the redness there when he pulls back. “Do you truly have a response for everything?”

“I thought you liked my mouth,” you say, just a fraction shy and very much teasing as your hands wonder down his chest.

“I do, it’s perfectly sweet.” His hand firmly cradles your chin and he leans in until your breath is upon his lips. “Do not divert, my dove. Will you share with me what has been on your mind tonight? You have been on a cloud all evening.”

Your eyes open in surprise, but smile softly at him as he holds your face between his hands. His thumb traces your berry lips and your eyes flutter shut in resignation.

“I have tried, for a very long time, to find dignity in my role.” He notes the softness of your voice, mixed in with the bitter resentment he’s only caught glimpses of before. When your eyes flutter open, there is sadness. “I have found nothing, and I am tired of it all. I do not know who I am beyond what I’m told to be, and I do not care for it any longer. I wish to please only you.”

Your eyes are suddenly and incredibly soft as they hold onto his, your fingertips tracing his hipbones, moving up his abdomen. He brushes a gentle stroke of his lip against yours, flashing loving eyes as if to say what neither of you has found the courage to admit yet.

“You have shone light upon my dreams, Jihyun. But there is no room for you in my life, and you deserve to be with someone that will not be a threat to your own.”

He is hardly ever angry; he finds he does not care much for such emotions. But in this moment, he feels an inexplicable sadness and fear that you will disappear before he has the chance to tell you how truly his life belongs to you.

“Should you wish to end things with me, I will retreat immediately without a word and pretend nothing has happened. But do not make decisions for me. I wish to be with you, in whatever manner possible. If these meetings are all that I will ever have, then I will have this over nothing.”

Light laughter erupts from your throat and you quickly slip one hand from his chest to muffle the unexpected sound. Tears spring from your eyes at last, a blend of humor and grief.

“I wish I could kiss you and make you king.”

He gently takes hold of your soft hands, engulfing them in his calloused ones. He notices the pleasant shiver that runs up your spine at the intimate gesture.

“I do not want to be king, I just want to be with you,” he admits.

You are quiet for a long time, contemplative. He brushes tendrils of your hair off your shoulder, feels your collarbones beneath his fingertips.

“We are in love, aren’t we?” You whisper, and there’s a sort of hesitancy there, as if you have only just realized what this could mean for both of you – the inevitable heartbreak that is destined.

From the very moment your worlds collided – he knew he would fall in love with you. And as he has come to know you – eyes alive like wildflowers and smiles that carry sunshine – he dreams of nothing more than to meet his fate by your side.

“I love you, with everything that I possess.”

“Then run away with me,” you plead, putting yourself nose to nose with him, his blue wisps of hair against your forehead. “Let’s go to another land. Somewhere far away where we can be close to an ocean and have a garden of roses.”

“Your father will send kingsmen after us,” he warns quietly, stoic beneath your hands, hesitant to reciprocate. “He will not be merciful.”

You shake your head fiercely, speak one last offer of clarity. “My father cares not for what may happen to me, he never has. He has two more children he can crown.”

“If you are sure about this, I believe King Han may grant us sanctuary should we reach his borders. I have known him since we were children, and Jumin can be ruthless, but he is fair. Though I must warn you, once we reach his castle, your title will be stripped.”

“I do not want to be a princess, I just want you,” you whisper and lean into him, press a breeze of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, another against his jawline. “Promise you will meet me at midnight, out in the forest.”

The sweetness of you has long burned away his fear, and in its place a mellow kind of anticipation has taken hold. He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his lips.

“As you wish,” he mumbles against your palm and you giggle joyfully before you throw your arms around his neck.

And for everything he believes in, your face is as precious as all the jewels and gemstones of any kingdom; it is the smile you grace him with upon his yes, shining with the power of a thousand suns, that confirm he has found the world’s greatest fortune.

[lemonandtheart]

@gxmonth Day 18 - This Wasn't In The Rule Book!! vampire au vampire aU VAMPIRE AU~~!! I have always been such a sucker for monsters and magic lol. I wrote a little fanfic drabble a hot minute ago that I'll include under the cut!

There were rumors running rampant all through Domino. Breathless whispers through the crowds of its residents. They spread fear like the plague, but who could blame them? With all of the people who’d gone missing never to be seen again it was only natural such a fear would grow until it had reached an unprecedented proportion. Whether it was truth or not didn’t matter because to the people of Domino there was no doubt. A vampire was on the loose through the city streets after nightfall.

Despite the lack of evidence, Jesse Andersen hoped the rumors true. He’d come a long way to hunt down this supposed dirty bloodsucker. His friend, Jim, had offered to come along on the journey too but Jesse had declined. They didn’t truly know if there was a vampire in Domino City. He’d certainly find out after dark. Since the people of Domino had been keeping holed up inside at night the past few months, he was sure the parasite had to be starved by now.

A chill settled in the night air once the sun fully disappeared over the horizon. Jesse pulled his thick, black jacket tighter to his chest. It would be a long night. He was glad he’s had the foresight of buying himself a hot coffee before the shops closed. It warmed him from the inside out as he perused the streets. Hopefully one of two things would occur: either there was no vampire and he’d be on his merry way after a quick report back to the Vampire Hunter’s Association or there was a parasitic lowlife lurking among the shadows that he would eliminate well before the sun would rise again. Either way Jesse felt that he’d be headed home within the next few days.

He paused underneath of a spotlight near a fountain. It wasn’t running and with the high-rise buildings surrounding he felt even the nearly silent sound of his pulse was amplified. It was quiet—eerily so. Not a thing in the whole city seemed to make any noise and the stillness of it was deafening. A soft, distant tapping of heels against pavement was a deliberate break in the silence. Jesse set his hand on the small stake launcher secured to his belt. The sound echoed and made it seem to come from everywhere at once. He slowly backed up to the fountain, craning his neck around to try and find the direction of the noise. Any direction would do. What he wasn’t expecting was the freezing hands on his shoulders matched with a silken, sultry voice from directly behind him. “Well, what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?”

Jesse jolted from the grasp and yanked the weapon from its holster, aiming it squarely at the chest of the man, no, monster he was looking for. He had messy, untamable, two-toned brown hair and a set of gleaming golden eyes staring hungrily at him. He wore a low-cut V-neck shirt that nearly slit down to his stomach, the two sides of the fabric held together by thin string tied crossways. The sleeves, he noticed, were ruffled when he moved his hands up to the sides of his head — palms facing forward in a show of submission. His pants buttoned and sat snugly on his thin hips before disappearing beneath his high-heeled boots at the knee. The heels dug into the stone of the fountain he stood upon; the streetlights the ideal backdrop for his cape he wore over the ensemble. It fastened just above his clavicle with a jeweled button. Jesse sneered in disgust at the creature, but more so at the choice of apparel. It was far too extra, making him look more like a movie villain than a bloodthirsty creature of night. “Hasn’t anyone warned you it’s dangerous to be out so late at night?” The vampire questioned.

“I could ask the same to you, vampire.” Jesse responded, gesturing to the launcher aimed still at his chest. The vampire chuckled.

“Perhaps, but I own these streets. The name’s Jaden by the way. Jaden Yuki. To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting this lovely evening?”

“Jesse Andersen. Sorry to say, but these streets were never yours.” Jaden kept his hands raised but stepped down from his position atop the fountain’s rim. Jesse began backing up, his eyes and shot never leaving the vampire as he strutted towards him.

“Is that so?” He drawled, continuing his slow approach. Jesse’s fingers twitched on the trigger, the small movement pushing Jaden to respond. He kicked high, knocking the weapon out of Jesse’s hands and into the sky. It came crashing back to the Earth and hit the rock of the fountain with a horrendous crack, bouncing into the water in a jagged movement. Jesse’s eyes widened at the horror of being disarmed. He hadn’t expected to find an adversary of any remarkable skill on the streets of Domino. Now, only panic and fear pooled in his stomach as he kept his eyes locked on Jaden’s. “Care to tell me what brings you here, Jesse?”

“You.”

“Me?” Jaden asked, cocking his head to the side in an innocent way.

“Obviously! You’re the one who’s been kidnapping people for the past few months!” Jesse’s words only seemed to confuse Jaden more. He furrowed his brow hard.

“Wait, wait. Hold on a minute. First of all, I haven’t kidnapped anyone ever! I haven’t even been out from the lair in a year or so! I’ve been—”

“I thought you owned these streets?” Jesse sassed.

“Well, ehe, I thought it’d sound cool. Didn’t it?” Jaden admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“That doesn’t matter!” Jesse exclaimed, shaking Jaden’s shoulders. Jaden pouted.

“Fine, fine. Anyways, I’m not the one you’re after.”

“Great! Now I’m stuck in the heart of Domino with two vampires wandering the streets with no weapon.” He whined, coming to sit at the fountain. Jaden shrugged casually.

“There are plenty more vampires than that here, but okay.” An idea struck Jesse, fast and hard and stupid. So stupid, in fact, it just might work.

“You!” He exclaimed suddenly, rushing Jaden and squeezing his shoulders roughly. Jaden blinked slowly at him.

“Me?”

“Yes! You’ve got to know all the vampires around here!”

“So?”

“So, you must know the one responsible! You can help me!” Jaden’s eyes narrowed, intrigue taking over.

“Oh? And what’s in it for me?” He purred. Jesse gulped but didn’t let the fear register. He knew it’d make his job so much easier to play the enemy. If he could get Jaden to work with him, he could eliminate not only the immediate threat but Jaden as well. Killing two vampires with one stake. All he had to do was play his cards right.

“Would…some of my blood be fine enough payment?” He asked, playing as though he was embarrassed by such an idea. He’d noticed many vampires he’d dealt with in the past responded well if he pretended like he was new, nervous, and never before bitten. It was like the idea of being the first to drink from a human was a special treat that was rarely given. He’d been bitten plenty by vampires and honestly it wasn’t that bad. It only would become a problem should he take his lifeblood—the true way to turn a human into a vampire. Jaden pursed his lips as Jesse lowered the collar of his jacket, offering payment upfront for his cooperation. He closed in on Jesse, gripping his biceps and wetly licking a stripe up Jesse’s neck to his ear. Jesse hated the way his body shuddered at the feeling, both of the lick and Jaden’s hot breath now in his ear. Though, he was also grateful for it. It helped to sell the unspoken act of it being his first time. He bit his own lip, mentally preparing himself for Jaden’s fangs. It was always the initial jab that was the worst part. A short, single noise of amusement left Jaden’s mouth before his answer rang numbly in his ear.

“No.” Jesse felt his eyes widen when Jaden pulled back to look Jesse in the face, a casual smirk present on his lips. He had never once in all of his time dealing with vampires ever had one turn down a willing, easy meal. It was astounding and almost admirable. Jaden was on an entirely new level of vampire he’d never seen before. He could feel his cheeks flush with real embarrassment of being turned down so casually. What, was his blood not good enough? “I came up for a reason tonight, Jesse. Would you like to know it?” Words failed, so he simply nodded. Jaden closed the short distance between them and slotted his chin in the juncture of Jesse’s neck, lips less than an inch away from Jesse’s ear. He whispered like he was revealing a grand secret. “You see, I’ve very recently come of age. It’s time to build a court of my own, but to do that I have to prove myself. Know how?” His answer was a shake of the head. He could feel Jaden’s smirk grow. “I have to turn a human into a vampire in front of everyone I know. A little ceremony if you will. I was hoping to find myself a willing participant to join my court. My first member. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

The color that’d been building in Jesse’s face drained. He was terrified in the, albeit gentle, grip of a vampire that wanted to turn him. It was a good thing in a way. At least Jaden didn’t have any desire to kill him, and that made him feel a bit better. Still, with all the vampires Jesse’d seen he’d never truly spoken to one longer than necessary. In one short description from Jaden, he felt like he’d learned more of the societal structure of vampires than he had in his relatively short career. Jaden pulled away from him, making eye contact with Jesse. He could feel the icy cold of Jaden’s fingers on the skin of his face. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Jesse shook his head, hoping to tune back in. “What?” He asked. Jaden shook his head softly, tsking.

“I said that if you wanted to, we could have a little fun. Make a game of it. Only if you’re a willing participant of course. I’d hate to coerce you into a life you’re uncomfortable with.”

“A game of what?”

“Rewards! If you win, I’ll help you track the vampire behind the disappearances and as an added bonus I’ll leave Domino. But if I win, you’ll stay and become my first court member. We can still track the vampire down, that’s a given. Either way you’ll still benefit in one fashion or another.”

“And what game will we be playing?”

“How’s hide and go seek? I know it’s a bit unfair since I know the city better than you, so we can keep tally at the fountain. Say, five minutes to hide and ten to seek? We’ll play ‘till dawn, so twelve rounds. No rooftops, no going into buildings, no turning into bats. Sound fair?” Jaden extended his hand to Jesse. His heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but it was true. Jaden was the best bet of actually locating the vampire he was looking for, and even if he lost Jaden didn’t seem like that bad of a guy. He was inclined to take Jaden’s hand, so he did. A searing pain ran up his arm and radiated through his body. “The oath is bound. I’ll seek first.” He turned his back to Jesse, covering his eyes with his hands. “One…Two…Three…”

Jesse ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The people of Domino were depending on him to end their blight. He had to win. He felt a sort of obligation to rid the world of these vermin. Yet, there was something about Jaden Yuki that’d drawn him in way too far for a first encounter. His initial presence had felt intimidating, domineering, and had in an instant become soft and genuine. It felt so wrong to see any good in one of those filthy creatures of the night, but Jesse couldn’t help it. He could sense the overwhelming good nature of Jaden and it made him feel inclined to believe that this would be a fair game.

That was five minutes. Jesse tucked himself tight into an alleyway. He slowed his breathing, trying hard not to give himself away. The click of Jaden’s heels against the concrete filled every crevasse and made it impossible to know how close or far Jaden really was. The gentle glow of the moon and the harsh lights of the city around were the only means Jesse had of sight. He wished desperately for the warmth of the sun. This alley felt like static on his skin. The clicking finally stopped. He held his breath, shifting slightly back behind the boxes he was obscured by. “Found you!” Jaden smirked. He’d moved so fast he’d nearly materialized out of thin air. “Alright! One to nothin’! Better catch-up Jess, unless you secretly do want to be a vampire!” He stuck out his tongue past his sharp teeth before taking off down the alley. Jesse couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. This was actually kind of fun. Jaden, as dangerous as he had the potential to be, actually was making this unfortunate situation fun.

He found Jaden easily, far too easily. He’d been out in the open, almost waiting for him. With each passing round Jaden found him with unfathomable ease and Jesse him with increasing difficulty. It all came down to the final round – Jaden’s six to Jesse’s five. It was Jesse’s turn to seek. “Good luck, Jess. I can’t wait to see how good you’ll look on the ceremonial altar for me!” He winked suggestively and, in a flash, he was gone. Jesse closed his eyes and willed the color from his face. He was a grown ass man. He could deal with comments like that! He could! He began his count.

There was breeze now that brushed and caressed his skin with an all-new chill. It made him feel uncertain. Could he really find Jaden? He had been getting harder and harder to find. If he failed to find him, he’d still finish the job he’d come to the city to do. The only difference was that he wouldn’t be leaving. His heart fluttered in his chest. It was making him feel fuzzy to think about. He didn’t hate the idea; he hadn’t hated the idea from the start actually. If he had, he wouldn’t’ve agreed to play. Hell, he didn’t even hate vampires down to his core like most of his friends did. He’d mostly joined to thanks to Jim’s glowing reference and the promise of traveling about. You had to dehumanize vampires to bring yourself to kill them. He’d gotten good at it and he loved to be good at something. He didn’t think now though that even if a good opportunity showed itself that he could go through killing Jaden. He’d done an excellent job at humanizing himself from the start to Jesse.

His counted ended and the final chase began. He only had until the sun rose now. Domino was huge and for once that evening, he actually felt defeated. Still, he pressed onwards and kept his search going. Every alley, every street, behind every garbage can and every car. It was like Jaden had disappeared entirely until finally he reached the first place he’d hidden. “Jaden! I know you’re there!” Jesse bluffed. He heard a chuckle come from behind him and flipped around. Jaden was so close, leaning in towards him.

“So close and yet so far.” Jaden said, gesturing over his shoulder. The sun had already begun to slink over the horizon. He felt Jaden’s thin but strong arms wrap around him and a swirling vortex of black consumed them.

[chunhua-s]

congrats on your milestone event!!! id like to request for kita soulmate!au with angst to fluff genre 👉👈 yknow sumn rejection shit bcs im hopeless like that wehee once again congrats! and i love your writing style :3

anon you’re gonna make me cry 🥺 seriously i’m happy you enjoy my writing and that you think my style’s okay! most of the time i go off of what kind of feelings i get when i’m writing or the imagery that comes up in my head and i’m never sure that it translates well enough for you guys to feel or see the same thing. hopefully as i keep writing then i’ll be able to show you guys what’s on my mind better when i’m writing! thank you again for requesting — seriously, it means a lot! and like always, you guys, don’t be afraid to come and talk to me on and off anon! your interactions mean a lot, especially for content creators! we love hearing what you all think, what you like/dislike about our work, what you think of certain characters — absolutely anything! come and talk with us more whenever you can 💕

writing for kita feels calming somehow. normally the things that come up in my chest or my mind when i write gets nearly overwhelming if that makes sense? like i’ll have to pause and remind myself to breathe because it takes up so much of my attention that i kinda get lost, but with kita, it feels more flowey to me. it’s not demanding but more like a gentle coaxing kind of thing or like looking at the surface of a calm river. i was initially scared to write for him because i was worried i wouldn’t get him right, but i feel satisfied with how this turned out, i think. i hope you guys will find it as calming as i found it too! it might not be exactly what you wanted, but because i had already written the rejection of a person for atsumu’s soulmate oneshot, i wanted to play around with kita’s character and make it instead the rejection of a concept/idea? which would indirectly lead to him... you know, rejecting his soulmate initially, but— ahhhhhh it might make sense to just read it!! these rambles keep getting longer and longer :v i’m sorry for that!! please go ahead and read and tell me what you think in the end! 💕

NOTNING MORE THAN HUMAN ➽ KITA SHINSUKE x READER

genre: angst to fluff

au: soulmate

warnings: none

shinsuke kita is human.

and of course, that much is obvious. he isn’t a machine that’s incapable of feelings and emotions, whose heart is unfamiliar with melodies of an overwhelming joy, or the quiet hymns of deep rooted sadness. his skin still burns under righteous fury and anger, his tongue still weighs heavy under hesitance and silent worries. at the end of every long day, he’s still human.

it’s because he’s human that the words on his collarbone feel so heavy, as if they might cave into the bone and destroy him under their weight. it’s because he’s human that the sight of black markings in the mirror clouds his mind with a new kind of fear and worry. shinsuke kita is human, but he’s long since taught himself how to abandon anxiety and nervousness. he surrounds himself in familiar routines that calm the turbulent voices of doubt, he builds habits that ground him to the earth lest he should be swept away by the current. shinsuke has taught himself not to be afraid for the things that will happen everyday, but meeting his soulmate isn’t one of those things he can prepare for.

it’s a strange concept, he considers to himself. shinsuke doesn’t believe in words like fate or destiny, doesn’t care for the higher powers that should judge his actions. as far as he’s concerned, his own will is what dictates where his life goes — he’s in control, and that’s how it’s always been for him. let the gods watch, if they must, but he’s already decided that he’ll live by what is right, and he wouldn’t dare falter in the face of it. and yet — and it’s such a strange thing for him to do so — he pauses under the notion of a soulmate, of a destined partner who’s supposedly bound to him for as long as he should live. at first, he hadn’t given the idea much thought; it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about something that would happen whether or not he wants it, he decided. the truth of it is inevitable, just as the leaves must fall in autumn and the earth should be buried under clouds of white in winter. shinsuke is human — what more can he do but to accept it?

the black words that spread across his skin like droplets of ink became the bitter seeds of doubt that he hadn’t felt in a long time. it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it? the sentence by itself is so bland, like something maybe aran or anyone else might say to him in passing, and at first, it didn’t shake him too much, until he was caught one day under a sudden summer storm. seventeen year old kita somehow found himself stranded beneath a small shelter, where the wooden covering could protect him more than his umbrella until the rain passed. it was nearly unconscious, but he somehow found himself on edge, his breath faltered with the harsh pitter patter of rainfall that tumbled from green leaves and tore ripples from the surface of the lake. shinsuke kita found himself with a stomach full of butterflies and a thundering heartbeat that stole him away from solace and calm, cast the peace that he would so often carry with him away and left him stranded among chopping waves. every trembling breath he took stung on cold air and left him with a burning feeling on his lungs. it’s unfamiliar in its presence and shakes him to his core, but shinsuke kita is reminded of his own humanity when he realizes that what he feels, is anticipation and nervousness.

and it’s an odd thing. as he becomes aware of it, he finds himself twisting his fingers together during spring time; he worries his bottom lip between his teeth during unexpected showers. he feels like a child who stands in line to ride a roller coaster for the first time in his life — wide-eyed and drowning in the millions of feelings that race throughout his body. the feeling itself is nothing new, though it’s unfamiliar and intense in its ferocity and demand, seizes his heart and squeezes so tightly that whenever it rains, he’s left breathless.

it’s almost enough to drive him mad.

his very foundation seems to fall apart with the thunder that rolls across grey skies. for every drop of rain that hits the pavement, he finds himself a jittery mess as his heartbeat tears through his chest. the man who taught himself to abandon his fears reverts into the young boy who watched out for god, for the higher beings who watched his every move. and the thought that comes with every brilliant bolt of lightning burns him just as hotly, invasive and demanding when it flashes through his mind on a single, low whisper:

will you be happy?

shinsuke kita is human. he learns as he sees and lives as he’s learned, and what he saw growing up was that soulmates were bounded together till death do them part. a connection that’s set deep in stone, never to be erased by unforgiving weather and to persevere during the cruelest of storms. it’s an inevitable reality that the gods designed, so that mortals like himself should dance on stage and tell them a story. but shinsuke knows that not all these stories have a happy ending.

there are plays that end in tragedy and loss, those that only knew memories of pain and sang with death’s violin. man becomes the actor to a play that he has no choice in and dances on the puppet master’s strings, he surrenders control and gives himself up to the music, and he has no way of knowing the end of it until the curtains should fall. shinsuke has never been one to lay down his will, and yet, as winter melts once more into gray rain clouds and scattered showers, he’s reminded of his mortality, of the fate that’s been sealed away in the falling of rain. shinsuke kita is human, and so he must, like all men do, bend to fate’s will and never utter a word against her.

and for a long time, the sentiment caused him to completely reject the idea of a soulmate.

that feeling of helplessness that would wash over him with the rain turned into a bitterness that crushed his lungs between tightened fist. the acceptance of an inevitable waltz — whether it be to eternal happiness or to a cruel melody — turned into rebellious loathing that spat in the face of destiny. it’s entirely childish in its tale, like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he doesn’t want to give up his precious toy. that toy is his control, the power he had to live his life by his truth, not by that of a higher being. he’s human, after all, and humans are selfish and resentful by nature.

he finds himself with a heavy chest today, as well, as he waits for the pouring rain to subside. the small shelter in the middle of the garden park is familiar, and carries with it the memories of his epiphany, the one that created thunder storms in his once tranquil heart, and for that, he hates this place. the sound of the rain hitting the roof is like nails scratching against the chalkboard; the sound of droplets hitting the lake like an annoying whining that he can’t get out of his head. shinsuke curses this little pocket away from the world with all the childish anger in the world — let it be damned that doing so wouldn’t change anything. for once, he let himself go on a petty grudge against the universe, and against that looming stage and its heavy curtains.

it’s nearly faint, but he picks up on the patter-patter of footfalls that quickly approach him, and he turns bronze coloured eyes to find your rain-drenched figure running for shelter under the little gazebo. you’re out of breath by the time you make it underneath, letting out an exhausted and frustrated sigh as you press your hands to your knees, and shinsuke finds himself sympathizing with the way you bitterly push your hair from your face. you’re an ordinary office worker, from what he can see; you’ve hidden what looks to be a messenger back beneath your coat, leaving you to tremble in a thin button-up. this day’s downpour had been sudden, unexpected as spring would soon surrender to the approaching summer, and he imagines that he would have been in a similar position as yourself had he not packed his umbrella beforehand.

a silence settles over the both of you that’s only broken by the heavy rain, but the presence of it is so soothing that shinsuke finds himself breathing on a lighter air. suddenly the smell of petrichor turns sweeter, the melody of raindrops melting into a distant lullaby, and for the first time, shinsuke feels his heart melt under an indescribable sense of warmth despite the weather. and when your eyes turn to find his, a helpless grin on your lips, he feels that warmth explode under summer fireworks and coarse throhgh his veins like liquid lightning.

“it’s raining a lot today, isn’t it?”

for the second time in his life, shinsuke has an epiphany under the shelter in the garden.

he feels every bit of resentment vanish on a sudden gust of wind, one that sends raindrops splashing against his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. not when grey clouds suddenly reveal to him pillars of sunlight that embrace your figure and makes you glow against a background of green leaves. the rain turns into something sweet and enticing, and it suddenly gives shinsuke this unexplainable urge to grab your hand and dance with you underneath the pouring showers, where he can hear your voice ring out on chimes of laughter and innocent bliss. in mere seconds, he manages to let go of the dark clouds that he’d unintentionally harboured on his chest, he let them burst with the weight of anger and childish fury so that they would hit the earth on giant droplets of rain.

shinsuke kita is human — he’s imperfect, mortal. he feels and he thinks and he speaks what’s on his mind. he can hate, and he can love: he can make that decision on whether or not to hold useless grudges and to curse a destiny he can’t change, or to welcome that inevitability with the willingness to learn and grow.

today, as he stands beneath a wooden shelter, hiding from the heavy rains, he decides to stretch his hand out and let the water hit his skin.

davi hits 200 followers — haikyuu!! au writing event! 💕

taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @bootylikepeachy @tsumue

send an ask to be added!

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around fic announcement

a @sunflowervolvimp3​ and @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ collaboration

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice draws him out of his hungry haze, snapping him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while taking a leisurely sip from the straight tequila in his highball glass. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes his friend a light smirk over the rim of his drink. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?” 

Despite the dig, Harry loves the way Mitch is honest and straightforward with everything that crosses his path. It’s one of his favorite traits about him, and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him as his best friend. Mitch doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. But he’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that spot.   

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality. 

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and especially not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate life. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older vampire remarks sarcastically, bumping his glass bottle against Harry’s crystalline cup in encouragement, using the stout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

or a story about opening up to new dynamics, an undealt past, a stolen ring, a psychotic ex, and an alluring young man with a peculiar taste in beverages.

part I: one in a million, my lucky strike

part II: she makes my heartbeat go faster, the thing is i trust her

part III: car nous nous en allons, comme s’en va cette onde (for our life slips by, as the river does)

part IV: let me inside, wish I could get to know you

part V: she’s got blood cold as ice, and a heart made of stone

part VI: when did this just become a mortal home?

part VII: lately my heart’s been so empty, but it feels different when you’re with me

posting schedule: TBD

A/N: so leyla and i have been plotting and planning this for a few days now. it started as just a random concept we were chatting about at 3 am, but then we both started putting more and more into the plot and characters and made the decision to make it our first collaboration ever!! we spent a whole day building an outline and adding details and we’re both super excited to share the au we created with everybody :D the posting schedule is going to remain pretty fluid because we both have a lot going on (school, work, etc.) but we just loved this idea so much that we had to jump on it right away cause we got attached OOP! so yeah, we can’t wait to show you what our brains came up with at the ass crack of dawn 😌 thank you in advance for any support and patience you guys are willing to put into this fic and we hope to do you justice! 💌

[scrawnytreedemon]

Cid Highwind and/or Vincent V!

Oooohhh!!! Bringing in The Boys? SNkkkkk, I’d expect nothing less of you, Enide <3 I’m not that well-versed in them as I’d like, buT!!! here’s trying!!!! Love a good challenge :)) 

Cid:

First impression: Grumpy tea DILF that swears his ass off. For some reason I keep forgetting Cid is a lancer and not a gunman because??? Usually it’s the gunmen that get depicted all vulgar and rugged, with stubble and cigarettes.

Impression now: Grumpy tea DILF that swears his ass off. Lmao, nothing much has changed, but there’s certainly a free-spiritedness to him; makes sense, the man is a pilot and would’ve been(got to be?) an astronaut. He’s very tough-love in a way that both meshes and manages to be distinct from Barret’s flavour-- I think they’d be good bros :) One thing that sours his character a bit for me is how he verbally abuses Shera :( I’d normally chalk it up to his usual tough-love, but with the major plotpoint of him blaming her for his crushed dreams and how she essentially fulfills the role of an abused wife... I, I’m not so sure. Overall, I like Cid, but it’s a shame.

Favorite moment: Ohh!!! I have a few, such as the way he joins the party, him calling Vinny back to their room, his return to the final fight-- But my favourite has to be on the Materia train hijacking sequence and the dialogue that follows if you pick Yuffie and Vincent as your party members. The dialogue is downright hilarious and you really get the sense that they’ve gotten to know each other behind the scenes(love that about FFVII <3) :)))

Idea for a story: To STEAL an idea from my bud @alunchboxofsushifries she had while we were whinging about DoC, but having the game’s storyline entirely revamped so that it’s Vincent, Cid and Yuffie doing it all together. We don’t know the finer details(and DoC being DoC quite frankly I’m scared of knowing just w h a t might we be changing), but I love the idea alot!!!!! Again, this is my friend Vee’s idea, so major credit to them!!!!

Unpopular opinion: Lmao I don’t think I have enough opinions on him to really have an unpopular one??? Dont get me wrong-- Love the man to bits, however as of yet my focus has been all over the other party members(Barret, Nanaki, ect.) and so I’m not as well-versed in what is the common fanon of this man-- Most I could say is I wished they handled his resentment towards Shera better :(

Favorite relationship: I think him and Vince are such a fun dynamic-- I lean heavily platonic, but I’m sure you know I’m cool with a more romantic connotation. Vince calling him chief and being this affectionately dry almost-sidekick to Cid is the absolute best and its what made me love the train sequence along with Yuffie calling him old man lmaooo-- Adding onto that, I think him and Yuffie could have a snarky grumpy old dad and snide-teenager dynamic where he gives her lectures and she goes “yeah okay, paps”.

Favorite headcanon: Sadly I don’t have really any(I am NOT giving you good food today, am I, Enide? :( ), but I personally think that he’s got the only functioning airship on the Planet. I headcanon Gaia to be roughly the size of our moon, so large enough to hold a fair amount of people but also small so everything’s just a stone’s throw away-- Hell, they only have one major ocean! How wild is that???

Now!!!!! Onto Vince :))))) I have alot more to say(hopefully lmaooo)

First impression: Cool edgy gunman who stands in a corner and mumbles huskily. Drinks only black coffee, if he even drinks at all. Desperately needs a hairbrush.

Impression now: This man is??? SO awkward I???? I lOVE HIM???? He’s also got such a sweetness in my eyes and it’shdfjkjhkjhjg!!!! Like mAN, he’s an outwardly chill if slightly skittish older friend who keeps to the sidelines most of the times but when he does chip in it’s a l w a y s good and very Wise. The man is a bit of a sod, though, sometimes to the point of debilitating self-pity. First thing this guy did was tell you to fuck off and go back to sleep. He rags on himself heavily for his sins and I want to!!! Give the poor fucker a hug because lord knows he hasn’t had one in 27~ years :((( All around, swell guy, WOULD love to have a chill garden-bonfire chat with him :) Still needs a hairbrush, lmao. Also g o l d - p l a t e d  c l o w n s h o e s .

Favorite moment: I must, again, bring up the train scene for reasons mentioned in Cid’s section-- But to get onto another that caught my eye, was when he returned, and Cloud was surprised, having got the feeling that Vince was cold an detached. It’s both sweet, and sad. Vince cares deeply about all of this, about all of them, but because he’s a bit of a poker-faced recluse he doesn’t express it very much. I wonder how he felt, hearing that.

Idea for a story: OF COURSE, once again, Vee’s DoC rewrite(even more so because Vince is the main character), but I think a Seph adoption!AU, whether pre or postgame where in the former he takes Seph in and they’re constantly on the run together, constantly awaiting Shinra’s wolves like stalked deer, or the latter where there’s a tender, redemptive atmosphere but also a psychological, almost-horror element where he loves his Lucrecia’s son so much but also has to serve as his warden lest he be unleashed once more.

Unpopular opinion: I don’t think he’s Sephiroth’s biological father, and, with the nigh-omnipresence of this theory, I’ll be honest and say I find it a little grating? I think it weakens Hojo’s character and makes Vince this Real Fix-It Parent Who’d Never Hurt You :) -- And I understand the appeal, of that, but honest to God it really feels like most of this comes down to Hojo Stinky Baf adn UGLIIII!!! Vimce Good adn Sweete adn Pwetty :333 Facetiousness aside, I can appreciate this being done well, as with anything! Just wish it wasn’t taken as almost canon in fandom spaces :(

Favorite relationship: The man is SO fun to platonically pair up with everyone it’s INSANE, though I don’t think I have a favourite ship??? Like yeah, sure him and Lucrecia had a thing once, but that whole ordeal was more of a human rights crisis and just generally a painful, tragic mess. I don’t think Vincent could really love like that again, not for many years. He aches, even in places he forgets aren’t meant to ache. Especially those. I think he gives everyone a little love in the help he hands out. Vincent’s heart is big and broken, and he fears that if he fills it too much, it’ll burst, and he’ll be left a beast. He needs to learn that he is worthy, but that is a task he must undertake.

Favorite headcanon: Can’t really think of any, as despite his mysterious nature, Vince doesn’t leave too many loose threads in areas of My ConcernTM-- Though if I’m gonna make one up, him, Barret and Cid get together on Saturday nights to hang out around a fire with some beers and have some good Dad Talks-- Peak DILF solidarity, tbh. 

But yeah!!!! Took awhile to write out, hopefully these are sufficient enough for you, O’ Valenwind Extraordinaire beloved! Again, as always, feel free to tack on any further thoughts of your own! Love a good discussion <3 Makes this little corner of the fandom feel warmer.

[clareisa]

Inner Voices -「Jacob Bae」

♠ - angel!jacob X demon!reader 

♠ - genre: angel!au, romantic, angst

♠ - words: 1,8k

♠ - 3rd day -  ♠ creeptober ♠

♠  - English is not my first language, so please, excuse my mistakes

"Come on... Do it, Eunjoo! Be a bad girl for a once." you whispered to the girl's mind with a suggestive tone of your voice, tempting her to take the drink from her friends. Your eyes turned red as you were expecting your human to sin.

 She was almost ready to do so, but another voice whispering to her, made her freeze. "Don't do it, Eunjoo. You know it's bad." Jacob's honey-like voice filled with kindness resonated in Eunjoo's head.

 You narrowed your eyes at him, your iris redder than before. He just smiled back with the kindest smile you've ever seen, and your demon self wanted to throw up suddenly. Of course, Eunjoo listened to him again and not you. She was naturally more on the innocent and "right" side, which was making your work much harder than the angel's boy.  He smiled satisfied as his human said no to the alcohol as still an underage girl. She was a good young woman after all and some demon voice, even yours, couldn't break her. At least he thought so.

 "See? I told you she would never do it." he smiled proudly, as he was looking at his human.  You chuckled, "But one day she will, and you'll see it from the first row, saint boy." you smirked at him. But he looked nervous for some reason, you could feel it.

 What is happening? Well...

 Jacob loved his task in this world, and that was being a guardian angel to a beautiful little girl called Eunjoo. He came into her life as the little girl was able to be conscious about what is going on with her, and when she was ready to make decisions for herself. He was responsible for raising her as a good, kind human. And it was working very well for years. Jacob, as Eunjoo's good inner voice, was guiding her for a long time on the best path possible. He made her into a kind, intelligent, responsible, helpful, innocent, but not naive young girl.

  Everything was going perfect until... 

  Until you came to the picture, and mainly into Eunjoo's life. He knew the tempting demon inner voice should come into human's life at some point. But he never expects it will happen to Eunjoo since he raised her the best he could, and she was never troublesome. But here you were, since her 14th birthday, you were by her side trying to ruin everything he was building up for years. Your work was to mislead Eunjoo from the good path and lure her to the other side of sin.

   Basically, you two were her shoulder angel and shoulder demon. Well, you were completely human-like, but she or any other human never saw you if you didn't want to. To Eunjoo, you two were just inner voices that were trying to lead her, but the choice was only hers.

  Jacob was terrified when you showed up for the first time. You were the complete opposite of himself. He must look away from you at that time since your attire wasn't angel-like and you were showing more than he wanted. But he never lied to himself, and he remembers that was the first time sinner thoughts came to his mind. 

 Since then he somehow learned how to live with you by his side, even tho he needed to cover his eyes from time to time and not look at your demonic attire.  Maybe it was his angelic side, but he grew to like you a lot, even tho you were getting on his nerves and trying to destroy his work. 

 You were the same, in the beginning, you thought how uptight and boring he is, but as time went by, you saw how determined and cute he is. And you can't lie to yourself, making him flustered become your hobby. Seeing him blush was something you liked the most, but you couldn't admit it.

   Something was going on between you and Jacob for quite a long time, but neither of you didn't want to think about it, or worse, accept it. Your need, to make him blush whenever you could and his looks that were not filled with disgust but more of an adoration, weren't typical for inner angels and inner demons.

   Jacob, as innocent as he was, even tho he knew about such things, didn't realise it, but you did. You saw how was Jacob slowly but surely starting giving you more attention, talking to you more. Even, trying to pursue Eunjoo to go, to the bed earlier so he can talk to you longer.

   You didn't know how you should feel about it. Maybe Jacob just wanted to bring out your better side.

  You know how some angels can be, they can't help the need within them to make everything better. But maybe it was something else. And just maybe, you can use it in your advantage.

   So back to tonight's story...

 "See? I told you she would never do it." he smiled proudly, as he was looking at his human. But he looked nervous for some reason, you could feel it.

 You chuckled, "But one day she will, and you'll see it from the first row, saint boy." you smirked at him.

   He looked at you, gulped, and blushed harder than ever before. He looked anywhere but not you and you could feel something was breaking in him that night. You had a black satin dress with deep v-neck, and he could see the lace top of your stockings as one of your legs was almost completely out of the dress.  You argued that this is Eunjoo's first party, so even her inner must look appropriate for such an event. And it worked, Jacob was nervous, and Eunjoo didn't seem like his main priority.

   "Come on, Jacob. Loose up a little bit." you smiled and leaned on his shoulder with the most beautiful smile he ever saw.  "You work so, so, sooooo hard for years! You need to relax a bit, don't you think?" you smirked, walked behind him, and started massaging his shoulders in a delicate manner, making sure to not forget the place between shoulder blades from where his wings are spreading. The spot he was extra sensitive about. 

  Normally, he would tell you to stop but at that moment he just sighed weakly, closed his eyes and started enjoying your touch. Your hands were always so warm from the fire that was burning deep from your inside. 

 You leaned to his ear and whispered: "Let her have some fun for once. She must learn how to choose between good and bad by herself. You know you will need to leave soon. Then what will she do without your help if she doesn't learn it?" you were whispering to his ear and he, surprisingly, nodded.

   It is true, inner angels and demons are leaving you at the age of 25 when you are a fully developed human and soul, and since then everything is on you, completely.

   Jacob was like hypnotised. He was enjoying your warm hands massaging him, your hot breath on his neck and your body close to his. After some minutes you saw Eunjoo going out to the garden with her friends and you saw your opportunity.

   "Hey, I'm going to find you some non-alcoholic drink so you won't be standing here embarrassingly, okay?" you smiled.  He was slowly getting conscious again, "Okay, I'll go to Eunjoo until you'll come back." he said.

 "No, no, no!" you panicked for a moment. You backed him up against the wall, "You will stay here, sit down and relax. Okay, angel?" you said in the sweetest voice and caressed his cheek.

   You could see that it broke in him and he was whipped as he nodded to your question. He only saw you and was willing to do anything you ask for. "Good boy." you grinned and placed a butterfly kiss on his lip corner, making him even more enchanted by you. You placed a couple more up his cheek as your warm hands caressed his surprisingly firm torso. A shaky breath came out of his delicate pinkish lips as he couldn't deny the forbidden attraction.

   You sat him down on the couch, "Wait for me, I'll be back quickly." you said caressing his fluffy blonde hair. 

 You quickly ran after Eunjoo and did what you knew the best. Bad things. With only your voice in her head and no Jacob to calm her down, she quickly becomes drunk and having fun like never before. You personally didn't like alcohol but it was your job. To make her bad. And this was your best work since you came to her life.

   You absolutely forgot about Jacob and were proudly looking at Eunjoo enjoying herself. Until you heard a honey-like voice behind you.

   "How could you?" Jacob asked, trying to contain his anger.  You quickly turned and gasped. You had a sudden need to say sorry but you stopped yourself immediately. You were a demon, you were supposed to do bad things.  "How could I what?" you said in cheeky tone and raised one eyebrow, but... it doesn't feel right.   "You know... you know everything!" Jacob raised his voice in anger and sadness for the first time in his life.  Tears formed in his eyes but he was holding them in, "You realised way before me that... that..." he couldn't say it out loud. 

 "That I... I fell for you..." he closed his eyes as he tried to swallow his pride.  That hurt you right in your stone-cold heart.

   "Jacob, I-" you didn't even finish your sentence as he yelled for the first time.  "I don't care, Y/N! You used my growing feelings! You used things I love the most!" his eyes were going between you and Eunjoo, making it obvious which two things were the most important to him, "And you used it against me just for what?! For the sake of being evil?!" you felt a sharp knife in your heart. Why do you feel like this? Why do you care? It is just a stupid angel!

  "Jacob, please..." you tried.  "Don't talk to me! Don't try to touch me ever again with your disgusting demon hands!" tears were now falling down his cheeks. 

 You ruined him. He finally realised he has feelings for a demon which is hard by itself but your betrayal was even harder.

   Jacob quickly spread his wings, not even caring about Eunjoo anymore, and flew away. He needed to be alone.  You didn't follow, you knew he wanted his peace and he will come back sooner or later. At least you will have time to think about your apology and how you will tell him about your own growing feelings, you were ignoring for such a long time. 

  But Jacob already knew he will accept anything you will tell him. Because he was angry and he regretted yelling at you. With any other demon, he wouldn't care.

   But things only hurt when it is for people you care about the most...

[presumenothing]

Would you ever write uhhhhh Wrath!Riza AU?

your brain, anon. i like it

-

aqua regia (for destruction, ice) // AO3

Not all that burns is fire. 

(Or: Riza becomes Wrath.)

-

i. 

In another world Riza Hawkeye might have asked the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle on her back, might have looked at those scars in the mirror and pretended they could lift any of the weight from her shoulders.

In this world that is the least dangerous of everything Wrath carries: a stone at her core red as her eye behind the rifle scope, as hands complicit in plans to burn up this country tearing the heavens from their sky.

She cannot walk away from death as easily as Lust or Envy can, but when the elixir had slid into her veins Riza had burned from the inside and Wrath had walked away with that fire still in her veins, always searing beneath skin that she doubts mortal flame can scar.

(“Now hold still, dear girl,” the scientist had said, gold tooth gleaming dull in lab-light, “it’ll hurt worse if you struggle,” and Riza had remembered Berthold Hawkeye saying the same thing to Wrath at ten and fifteen and eighteen, red on her skin red underneath red burning its way into her heart, and it had been a lie then too.)

.

ii.

Wrath is angry at everyone and everything at once; furious at the ones who had found a cadet with steady hands and steadier soul and saw fit to unmake that, at herself, at those who knew how blood-drenched this country was and kept painting it anyway. The first time she had seen Roy Mustang again she would have snapped his neck clean in half if not for the knowledge of how valuable State Alchemists were in the chessboard of this country.

(That, and her own distaste for the heat of blood over her own hands. Riza has heard enough from Father and the other homunculi to surmise that the previous incarnations of Wrath had loved blood like the edge of a blade freshly sharpened on diamond.

But she is a sniper – the best markswoman Amestris has ever seen, even before they gave her an eye that could see through anything. Why else would they have chosen her?)

She is the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, hell and its woman scorned all in one, and she makes it known in constellations of bullets and impossible shots, precise and deadly as any alchemist’s array.

Riza had been angry too, when she had let herself be, but hers is a cold ire, locked beneath glaciers and the burn of frostbite.

Wrath makes no such pretences. Wrath answers to a dead woman’s name, and Officer – Lieutenant – Major Hawkeye holds her anger boiling right under the surface, scalds her hands in it and fires the next shot.

.

iii.

Roy Mustang holds her at a careful arm’s length.

It might’ve been offensive if it weren’t so ironic. He of all humans should know what it means to hold flame in your hands: let one weakness slip and fire would burn it right through like so much dry grass.

Then again, maybe it’s that same familiarity that breeds wariness. Riza would hardly know. Fury is not the absence of fear, but in her case it’s fairly close anyway.

Either way, it’s the same distance that prevents Mustang from recognising Wrath’s work in doctoring the Elric brothers’ documents a whole two decades older. 

He decides to take Havoc with him, citing something about the persuasion of fellow Easterners; Riza remains in East Command and doesn’t wonder how he will react to finding out that the alchemists he is looking to enlist as human weapons are just barely a third his age.

Not even half of hers, unless you counted the several years since she had become Wrath. 

Company for you, Riza thinks none too quietly, and Wrath bristles, shoving her away to wrest back control.

(Riza lets her. This is exactly the duty she’d been assigned – locating potential sacrifices among the State Alchemists and beyond, so there’s not even any insubordination for Wrath to report, even if she won’t realise until much later how spot on she’d been to find one who’d already been through the Gate.

For now she listens to the Flame Alchemist’s empty-handed return from Resembool, hears him say with seemingly unwarranted certainty I saw the fire in his eyes, and this time she does wonder how he can notice that yet miss the same thing in hers.

Riza knows what she sees in the mirror, after all, even if she always has one eye hidden behind a false lens and swept fringe.)

.

iv.

Wrath, unsurprisingly, finds the Fullmetal Alchemist an absolute riot. 

Eight pints of unrefined rage wrapped in red with the volume cranked up to fifty percent past maximum, and if you had asked anyone at all to name one person in this room who might be the personification of fury itself – well.

Edward Elric gets angry in a way that neither of them know how to be. Riza runs cold where Wrath veers hot, but it’s always controlled, the reins another line in the delicate balance between them; in contrast Edward is an explosion, angry and incandescent with it, and sometimes Riza almost wishes they were like that too.

(No you don’t, Wrath mutters over the scratch of a pen.

Riza blinks and sighs, blacking out a line of expletives about Hakuro and the latest shitshow he’d thrown at them; homunculi weren’t much for paperwork. It’d make some things easier, you have to admit. He gets things done.

Like getting himself nearly killed three separate times in a week, ooh, aren’t you supposed to be babysitting the sacrifices, Wrath? I’d like to see them doing it–

Riza doesn’t sigh again, but it’s close.)

Neither of them feel particularly bad about keeping silent over the Elrics’ search when she’s sitting right here, but on Riza’s part it’s mostly because she’s seen enough to be certain that Edward at least would never use a Philosopher’s Stone if he learned what had gone into its making.

Wrath is just looking forward to the day he does find out. Now that’ll be something to watch.

.

v.

She meets Greed walking down a hallway one afternoon, nodding cordially at the flurry of salutes as he passes each of his people.

Wrath doesn’t miss a beat with her own salute. “Your Excellency.”

“At ease, Major,” the Fuhrer replies with a wave of his hand, but he slows down anyway. “I hear young Elric has made some – acquaintances, shall we say, from Xing with exceptional sensing capabilities. He does collect the most interesting people. I’m impressed.”

“Fullmetal doesn’t take kindly to being called young, sir,” Riza says. “I did hear the same, but I haven’t had the chance of meeting them yet.”

(Not for the first time, she wonders why they had thought it a good idea to put Amestris and all that it represents in Greed’s hands. If humans are possessions to be had, what stopped him from deciding that he’d rather keep it all for himself in the end?)

The Fuhrer smiles, benign as any lethal poison. “Let me know if you’d like some time back in the East, I’m sure your grandfather would enjoy a visit too.”

“I have my duties here, and I’m afraid I’m not much of a chess player. It would only bore General Grumman.”

Wrath’s hands do not tense at her sides, but only because they’re both too disciplined for that. Her aim is every bit as true as his swords, and she might not be able to die and walk away unscathed but neither can Greed; how dare he, Riza thinks.

How dare he, Wrath seethes in agreement, and perhaps it’s time to let some things slip to the Elrics after all.

(She is angry at them, for taking this entire plan one-and-a-half steps closer to fruition, but Riza is angry at everyone; this is just par for the course.

The difference is that she is even angrier for them. Riza barely remembers her mother, and if Berthold had still been alive Wrath would have killed him anyway, so she cannot honestly say that she understands the Elrics in that regard.

But Edward rages at the universe demanding equivalency from it while Alphonse aims cuttingly sharp remarks and wonders about his humanity in the next breath. They would be furious if they knew, anger burning hot and frigid cold, and she is Wrath and Riza Hawkeye and both and neither – this, she understands.)

.

.

+1.

“There was something I’d wanted to ask of you, after Ishval, if – things had been different,” Mustang finishes blindly in more ways than the literal, and it’s irritating what a production he can make out of not saying if I hadn’t mistrusted you.

Riza’s fringe is properly out of her eyes for the first time in years, not that he can see it, and she’d walked away from the Promised Day essentially unscathed but the Philosopher’s Stone is gone now along with Wrath; if she did ask the Flame Alchemist to burn away the circle after regaining his eyesight it would even scar over properly.

She won’t. She knows she won’t. 

Wrath had known it too. Riza still hasn’t quite parsed the jumbled impressions of those last moments, but above all of it there had been mirth. Amusement, because they had both looked at Riza’s soul unfolding around them and recognised the anger there that was hers. Had always been, only shut away and sunk deep in ice. 

If she has any fire in her veins now it is only proverbial, but she is still the Hawk’s Eye, the Fury of Ishval, and there’s more than enough left to burn the next person who tries to lay hands on her.

She looks at Roy Mustang now and continues to not snap his neck because he might be the best hope for this sorry excuse of a country, and anyway if she strangled an injured man in his hospital bed Wrath would laugh at her from another plane and say told you so, he had it coming.

“I’d rather you continue not asking it, Colonel,” Riza says, controlled as ever, but the anger is her own and she relishes the cold-hot burn of it. “I was Wrath, sir, consider yourself lucky that I didn’t let my finger slip on the trigger anytime during Ishval.”

Mustang winces, like he’d managed to avoid consciously putting it together until this point. “I suppose that, ah, rather answers it anyway. So that’s a no to supporting my bid for presidency?”

“That depends on your plans. Which you can tell me about after I’ve returned from my month’s worth of personal leave,” she adds pointedly, and turns to go instead of adding that Greed’s not exactly a high bar to beat anyway. “Have a speedy recovery, sir. Good day.”

Mustang’s expression as the door closes suggests that he’s actually okay with having a second-in-command that has been angry at him for years, and she’s… not sure what to do with that, really, but maybe she can work with it. Maybe.

(Fury is not the absence of fear, nor a dearth of kindness; the Elrics are proof enough of that. Riza knows what she saw in the mirror this morning, familiar and foreign all at once, and she’ll just have to figure out the rest from there.

Perhaps she’ll drop by Resembool and stay for a bit. She’s not angry at anyone there, not anymore – it might be a nice change of pace for once.)

.

.

.

EDIT: NOW WITH ART FROM ART

(more fics here)

oh boy. this was literally stream of consciousness on my part with even less planning than usual, impossible as that sounds – all i knew i wanted was for wrath!riza to be much more like greed!ling than wrath!bradley, because otherwise what would be the point. 

but then even as i was writing i realised how many people riza would have reason to be angry at, justified or otherwise: roy for the whole flame alchemy thing, the elrics for getting into this mess, even grumman for leaving her with berthold if he’d even suspected what was going on (and for the record, wrath would 100% killed berthold on riza’s behalf if he hadn’t already been dead)

and then i dithered on how to finish this (and indeed whether to finish it at all, i was tempted to throw hands after the second to third sections) but then my three brain cells summarily went GIVE RIZA HAWKEYE AGENCY GIVE IT BACK TO HER and fuck yeah i agreed. so here we are. in this verse roy never asks her the whole “guard my back but also shoot me if i go wrong” thing, because it’d just be… utterly ridiculous, in context, and also it’s possible that riza ends up leaving the military entirely or goes to support olivier for fuhrer instead. wrath would certainly appreciate the hell outta that

anyway this is a mess and probably the most ooc riza i have ever written but i hope y’all enjoyed it anyway

title notes: aqua regia aka regal water, a nitric/hydrochloric acide mixture so named by alchemists for dissolving noble metals like gold + a bit cribbed straight off robert frost

[desiree-harding-fic]

Taakitz Cinderella Au because I have no self respect left

It;s just the week for looking back at the old drafts! Fine! I’m gonna post it! It’s 3:00 am and I have not a single regret! If fandom isn’t for silly frivolous ideas that have exactly zero (0) merit I don’t know what it is for! I’ve had this side blog for a total of two (2) months and y’all are already about to see how trash I am!

Hi my name is Desiree and I write the dumb AUs that no one else will because every time there is a pairing anywhere in any fandom any time ever I will turn it into a Cinderella!Au because I have neither self control nor self respect.

So take the original prologue and first chapter, entirely too long and full of nothing, if you’d so like to check it out.

PROLOGUE: 

Kravitz wakes up, as he does most mornings, to the clanging of bells.

Neverwinter is a massive city, the capital city of Faerun, and as such it is rarely quiet in any measure, but in the mornings especially, when the city begins to awaken, one can immediately and intimately understand the difference between the capital of Faerun and the quieter cities that lie beyond its edges. At the rising of the sun each day, the many towers that lie along the cliffsides before they fall down to the Stillwater sea ring out the bells to awaken the city in a chaotic clanging that an be heard round for miles.

Kravitz awakens this way every morning with the rest of Neverwinter.

With the bells of course, and with the many servants who burst through his door.

The bells of the city are a more romantic image, but more often than not, Kravitz hears the bells for a moment, and has just enough time to turn over in bed before his door is flung wide open, and he must face the multitude of people who are counting on him.

Kravitz wakes this morning, to the bells, and the knocking of the servants before they open the door. The fire has been made, is crackling gently in the fireplace at the far end of his room, and he gets out of bed where a servant is ready with a warm robe to escort him to a hot bath.

He soaks, steams, dresses in fine linen and silk and velvet, and moves downstairs to take breakfast with his mother.

The palace’s fine dining hall is too large for just the queen and her son, and so his mother prefers a smaller room, somewhat akin to a tea parlor, for their morning meal together. She looks lovely today, Kravitz thinks as he enters, but then she always does.

The Raven Queen smiles as he enters, looks to him warmly as she rises from her chair, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him on each cheek, her ever-cold hands (just like his) cupping his cheeks gently.

She smiles warmly at him.

“Happy birthday, darling,” she says, before retreating back to her chair.

*****

Taako rarely wakes up to the clanging of bells.

This morning, however, is one of the rare exceptions, and Taako wakes to the loud ringing of several bells on the wall of the drafty attic, cold air reddening his cheeks and causing the stuttering in his breath, dreams still fuzzily fading from his consciousness.

And then he really wakes up.

“Shit,” he curses immediately, as he jumps out of bed, quickly pulling on his shoddy, worn wool jacket. “Lup!” he says urgently, reaching out a hand and shaking his sister, “Lup wake up!”

His sister shakes her head, turns over in bed with a half-hearted grumble.

“Wake up!” he says again, pushing at her until she rolls out onto the floor with a thud and looks up at him, startled and bleary eyed.

The bells pick up again, and both of them look toward the wall.

“Shit!” says Lup, and then it’s a flurry of activity as they quickly get dressed, Lup sprinting down the stairs, Taako right on her heels, and she hands him the tinder-box and he’s running back up the stairs, and quietly opening the door into the long, dark corridor, and approaching, quietly and swiftly as he can, those terrible ornate doors on the other end.

He slips in quietly, in total darkness, the heavy curtains still drawn across the windows, no morning light seeping into the softly oppressive space as he finds his way instinctively to the fireplace and kneels down, making quick work of starting a fire among the coal of the hearth, and feeling the room slowly become illuminated as the flames climb.

He dares not look behind him.

He almost thinks he’ll get away with it, almost allows himself to dream it, that the old man may have gone back to sleep, but –

It’s just as he’s about to sneak out the door, a voice from the bed, with its massive, dark canopy above it.

“Come here, boy.”

Taako obeys.

Tostaada takes a hold of his face, takes one long, look at him with those cruel eyes Taako’s come to know so well, and then swiftly, as if it takes no energy at all, boxes him hard on both ears.

His head is hurting and his ears are ringing but he’s still able to nod in acknowledgement as Tostaada says, “don’t let it happen again or I’ll give you worse, boy,” and he slinks out of the room to go make up the rest of the fires for the family.

He struggles to keep the tears from spilling out of his eyes.

*****

CHAPTER ONE: 

Kravitz wakes up long before the bells toll this morning.

He wakes in the dark of the castle, the clock Barry rigged up for him ringing a tiny jingle bell by his bedside until he’s able to silence it. He slips quietly out of bed, dressing himself swiftly in common clothes, simple utilitarian pants and a soft linen shirt, his riding boots on his feet. And he slips out of his room as softly as possible, hating the sound his pristine boots make as he sneaks down the hall, hating the prying eyes of every single servant that he crosses on his way out of the palace.

They’re dismissed easily enough with a well-curated glance, but Kravitz hates the attention nonetheless, as it means his activities will most certainly get back to his mother sooner than he’d like.

He manages to make his way out of the palace and into the yard, goes to the stables, slips a groom a gold coin to help him take out his horse, knowing that he ought to reward the man for continuously helping him act against the wishes of his mother.

And he rides.

Galloping through the sleeping city, the sound of the horse’s shoes loud on the cobblestones, echoing off the stone facades of the buildings, and then the wooden facades as the houses get smaller, the streets narrower and flatter, the surroundings meaner and poorer until he’s finally outside of the city limits and riding quickly along the now-dirt road that cuts between farms and fields. He jumps his horse over a low wooden fence beside the road, gallops across a wide expanse toward the trees of the forest in the distance.

The early morning air bites at his nose and his cheeks, thrilling and wonderful and misty with the dew that still has a little time left to settle before the sun truly rises.

The forest is dark, and now there is no moon, it having long settled behind the trees and the mountains beyond, and Kravitz rides slowly, hearing the birds wake and the forest slowly come to life.

He hears the bells of the city behind him as the sun crests over the horizon, and slowly, very slowly, he turns his horse around.

How often he wishes he could simply take the day off, or maybe the month, or maybe the year, ride away from Neverwinter and from Faerun and from everything, or board a ship, and see a thousand sunrises without the ringing of bells or the shouts of the city or the nagging of servants. Wishes he could be something other than what he is for even a day. Wishes, perhaps, that he wasn’t such a slave to responsibility.

But he turns his horse around, cuts back through the forest, through field and pasture, ignoring the looks of various peasant farmers as he makes his way back toward the great city rising up from this surprisingly pastoral landscape. Makes his through crowded streets, weaving through the crush of people going about their days in the capital city.

Until he finally makes his way back, back, and up to where the palace rises above the whole of Neverwinter, its balconies and parapets providing a view of the bustling throng of humanity below.

He goes right up to the gate, hears the shouts of the guards as they allow him inside, and in the first yard, the bustle of servants who rush to take his horse, to help him down, to usher him indoors nearly overwhelms him. He snaps something about self-sufficiency at the first one who comes near, until they all back away, leaving him with only a stable groom leading his horse back to its place.

His eye is drawn by a flash of movement from a balcony above the yard, and he catches the last glimpse of a swish of dark fabric, tightening his stomach.

Mother.

No time for that now, he reasons, dismounting his horse. He’s sweaty, in need of a bath. He throws off his riding gloves, letting them drop to the stable floor, and he turns to go back toward the palace, to go inside.

Barry stands in the doorway, looking at him with resignation and something a bit too like disappointment for his liking.

“Morning, Bluejeans,” he says, a bit curt, as he walks by. Barry follows him, keeping a distance just a bit farther than two friends might keep, so that he and Kravitz occupy a strange half space between looking as though they’re in conversation and as though they are only incidentally headed in a similar direction at a similar pace.

“Your highness,” he starts, and Kravitz walks a bit faster. He thinks, vengefully almost, for a moment, that he hopes the fat old fool won’t be able to keep up.

But of course he does, and Kravitz finds he can’t ignore the man anyhow.

“Your highness,” Barry says, more forcefully now, “You are due for an audience with the royal council at the earliest possible convenience.”

And all the energy drains from Kravitz’s body.

“Of course, Barry, thank you,” he says, resigned, and Barry turns away to make his way back to his lab, having delivered his message and knowing enough to leave Kravitz well alone, as Kravitz turns back toward the palace, sighing, and valiantly not dragging his feet.

The royal council of Faerun was originally founded during the time of Kravitz’s grandfather to counsel the monarch in any and all matters of governing, and to keep the monarchy in check once the absolute power of the monarchy began to go out of fashion. There is a complicated series of checks and balances holding it together, certain things that the council must approve before the king or queen can enact them, and Kravitz meets with them regularly, whether in person or through magical communication, to discuss the state of the kingdom. He has been doing so for years, first with his mother beside him, with deference given to her on each and every decision, and later more independently as he was schooled further in the ways of governing an entire kingdom of people. Now, he and his mother often meet with them separately, each about their own duties.

He wonders what they say about him behind his back to her.

At the same time, he wants nothing of it.

Kravitz supposes that the council once had a more practical purpose than it does today, with representation from Faerun’s people placed in a high priority. But since then it has broken down somewhat, and in Kravitz’s opinion, the men currently on the council are largely old-fashioned and more interested in perpetuating their own wealth and status than they are in the good of the people. He can tell his mother feels the same way, but as is implied in the council’s very existence, neither of them is legally allowed to disband it.

Not that he’d want to, per se, but still… perhaps a change of personnel might be in order.

At the founding of the king’s council, back during the reign of Kravitz’s grandfather, no one had thought to enact term limits to the positions.

Now Kravitz wishes someone had.

And, naturally, those men on the council would not be receptive to such a request nowadays. Kravitz would be voted down before he could even finish suggesting such a thing.

He makes his way to the council chambers, contained in the innermost parts of the palace on the second floor, and looking out over the courtyard in the center of the palace. There is not even a view for Kravitz to look out upon when the meetings grow unbearably slow, and it is partially for that reason he hates the room so much.

He throws open the doors with perhaps a touch more force than is strictly necessary.

Lord Sterling rises from his chair as Kravitz enters, along with Jenkins, the both of them already waiting.

Because of course they are.

“Please be seated,” Kravitz says, his voice sounding quiet in the room, and moves to take his seat at the head of the table. Lucretia, he notices, has already taken up position behind his chair, her notebook balanced atop his, writing furiously with one hand and another held between her teeth. As he enters, she quickly lays his own notebook full of notes down in front of his high-backed chair, and another pen at the ready by its side (Kravitz hopes distractedly that this one has not been in her mouth).

“Captain Davenport and Governor Kalen will be joining us by stone whenever you’re ready, your highness,” she informs him. Kravitz only nods, opening his notebook.

“Then let us begin,” he says, resigned.

*****

The council meeting is tedious, as Kravitz expected, and long, as Kravitz expected, and just discouraging enough with talk of economic downturns and dissatisfaction among the people and yet more unrest in Raven’s Roost that Kravitz walks out feeling even more tired than he was walking in.

It seems all he is these days is tired.

And there was something else that felt off in the room today as well, something even Kravitz couldn’t identify, and he can’t shake the feeling that the council knows something he doesn’t.

He sighs, rubs his eyes, and turns the corner to make his way back to his chambers for, hopefully, a quiet bath and a quiet lunch.

And he is caught.

Her Benevolent Majesty the Raven Queen stands on the landing atop the stairs that lead down to the first floor, and as Kravitz rounds the corner, her eyes immediately flicker to him.

And though Kravitz loves his mother, the look in her eyes tells him his morning is about to get a lot more complicated.

“Kravitz,” she says, “I was hoping to see you. Come with me.”

There is no point in arguing, he knows, not when the Raven Queen has that brisk tone of voice, one that so obviously says that this is a command and not a request. She moves quickly through the halls, leading him along the familiar path to her quarters, her personal sitting room and study.

And it is to her study she leads him, where her fine mahogany desk is spread with parchment and the tall windows look out onto the palace grounds and onto the city falling away down the hill below them. Where the many bookshelves behind the desk are neatly filled with thick, leather-bound tomes that range from a record of the kingdom’s laws and decrees throughout the many years of the monarchy, and family histories, and the histories of the royal families of neighboring kingdoms. Every tedious piece of information Kravitz had to learn in his many years of tutoring, in preparation to one day be the king.

He almost gets bored just looking at them.

The Queen motions to the small table set up by the windows, the two plush chairs, and the tea set already set out, that Kravitz didn’t notice when he came in. He can see the steam swirling out of the spout of the pot, denoting the hot tea inside.

He sits.

His mother sits across from him, graceful as her namesake, and Kravitz admires her elegant hands as she pours the both of them tea, fixes his with the splash of cream and lump of sugar he’s always taken, a slight furrow in her brow but a small smile on her lips as she hands the cup to him on its saucer. He does not drink, preoccupied.

The Queen seems to notice, because she fixes her own tea and looks out the window. And she stays like that for a long time, occasionally taking dainty sips of her tea as she watches the sun move over the trees of the garden to the window’s left and the buildings of Neverwinter to the right. And Kravitz waits, as he is wont to do in her company, for his mother to speak.

His tea goes cold, but he had no taste for it to begin with.

She does not look at him when she speaks.

“I have been attempting to spare you, my son, for as long as I have been able, from the responsibility to the throne which I believe you will most detest.”

Kravitz does not answer, his heart only sinking into his shoes at her words.

She sighs, setting down her teacup and leaning her chin delicately on one hand, still looking, somewhat wistfully, into the distance.

“The situation is a difficult one,” she says. “As you know, you are the last of the royal line. There is no relation I have who can carry on the monarchy in your stead.” She hesitates around the next words from her mouth. “There are several parties who are… interested, and I would say likely concerned, about your intentions toward marriage.”

Again Kravitz does not answer. This is not something his mother has said to him in years, but he remembers vividly a similar talk when he turned seventeen, his mother pulling him aside into her study much the way she did today, and telling him, really telling him for the first time, where things stood.

Where they still stand.

“The council was going to address it today in their meeting with you, but I asked for the opportunity to bring it up with you myself. I did not wish to blind-side you with the topic in a room full of people who would treat it… clinically.”

She takes another long pause, seeming to pick her words carefully.

“I would never ask you,” she says, quieter, picking up her tea again and stirring it absently, “to marry outside of your romantic proclivities, but it has come to the council’s attention, and to the attention of neighboring kingdoms, that there are no current prospects “on the table” as it were, and it has been pointed out to me many times that… that an advantageous marriage is still possible, even things being as they are.”

Kravitz now knows why she isn’t looking at him for this conversation. It’s clear even though he is looking at her face in profile how much this conversation pains her. How very, very much she wishes this were not so. It is evident in every line of her body and face, how much she hates it, and how little she wants to even mention it to him.

So for her to do so, the situation must be grave indeed.

“You know the circumstances of my own marriage, my son,” she says, and now, at last, she meets his eyes. “Please know that I will never put you through the same.”

“Of course,” he says, hoping to assuage some of her anguish, and to erase some of the pain in her eyes, to take the burden off of her shoulders. “Of course I know, mother.”

She nods, still so heavy.

“You’re turning twenty-five in a month, Kravitz,” she says, looking at him again, her eyes grave. “I don’t believe we can delay any longer without taking some sort of action.”

And now something in Kravitz awakens, and words fall, fast and sharp, from his bitter-tasting tongue.

“Mother –” Kravitz begins, his voice coming out a touch more desperately than he ever intended it, “please –”

“It won’t be horrible,” she says, reaching her hand partway across the table. “You can find someone you like, and there are… young, eligible men out there from good families who would make excellent matches for certain.”

“I don’t want my marriage to be some sort of political sham.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she presses, “but we do have to start making an effort, or else there may be trouble. The kingdom needs to know who their next leader will be, and without a marriage into the royal line there is very little confidence to be had in the future of this monarchy. We cannot entrust this kingdom to simply anyone, and you know that, Kravitz.

“I must ask you to… to at least look into potential partners. At least to give the people and our neighboring kingdoms some hope for what’s coming. We need to show that Faerun in strong and well. You know this.”

Kravitz looks down, knowingly defeated, and gives the slightest of nods. The Queen goes back to her tea and to the window’s view, and the silence in the room settles heavy and oppressive.

It isn’t as though he didn’t know this was coming, he thinks, looking despondently down at his own cold tea. He knew it would, ever since he was a teenager. His mother was right in that he was lucky to have been able to avoid facing it head on for so long. But at the same time…

He doesn’t want to end up in an unhappy marriage due to a political setup. He doesn’t want to have to go through the process of having each and every one of his potential partners vetted by the council and by his mother, and subject to the judgement of an entire kingdom of people who thought they knew better than he did. He doesn’t want to sit through awkward teas with the sons of lords he doesn’t like and discuss hunting and fishing and dancing and know at the end of the day he would be slaving his entire life under the weight of his responsibilities without the comfort of someone whose company he could even enjoy.

And he knows, he knows that it’s hardly his place to complain, living in the comfort he does. But all the fine palaces and exotic rugs and silk sheets and satin-lined jackets can never replace the happiness of a heart in love.

Or so he thinks, having never been in love himself.

But there must be a reason why people are so taken with it.

Hardly an issue that he’ll unravel sitting in his mother’s study this morning, staring at a cup of untouched tea.

Another memory, like the glint of light off of water, from the last time he had this conversation with his mother, when he was a brasher young man, and was not so restrained that he would not stand up from his chair and shout and cry and pace the floor like a caged animal.

We are born to privilege, my son, his mother had said, serenely sad as ever in her window-side chair, and her eyes full of deep regret years in the making, and with that comes specific obligations.

He closes his eyes, for a long moment, breathes. Opens them again.

“What must I do?” he says.

*****

“Who would you rather have married?” Barry says, peering over a small dish set out in his work table through a microscope, as Kravitz paces the relatively short distance back and forth across his lab, a multi-leveled world of organized chaos housed in a tower a short way away from the palace proper (all the better to protect from…accidents).

“I don’t know!” he cries, throwing his hands up, stopping his steps. Barry doesn’t so much as look up from his work, simply reaches over, fumbling a leather-bound journal open and scribbling something down quickly with a pen. Kravitz just sighs. “I get your point, Barry, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel –”

“I’m serious.” Barry isn’t looking at his microscope anymore; instead he’s fixed Kravitz with a firm look, and for all that Barry is awkward and fumbling and shy at times, Kravitz forgets what a powerful arcanist and brilliant man he is.

Until moments like these.

Something in Kravitz’s face must prompt Barry to repeat himself, because he says again, “I’m serious, Your Highness. Who would you rather have married than the man you think they’ll choose for you?”

“I –” Kravitz stammers, “I don’t know, how am I, I haven’t met anyone!”

“Alright, then, who would you rather meet than the men they’ll choose for you?”

“Barry…” Kravtiz starts, exasperated.

“I’m being as serious as the grave, Your Highness. I’m asking you a legitimate question.” Barry’s dropped his work entirely, has moved around the table to lean on it with both his arms folded over his chest as he watches Kravitz, lost in the middle of the room.

“You’re being awfully forward for someone talking to their future king,” Kravtiz says, vengefully, deflecting.

“And you’re being awfully closed-minded to the legitimate argument of a citizen for someone who has to be that future king,” Barry shoots back, quick as a flash. “You’ve got a problem, and you can make me sit and listen to you complain all you want, literally.” Kravitz stops, looks at the man. “Or you can think of a solution, which it sounds to me like you haven’t even attempted. You’re talking about how you want control of your own destiny, fantastic, but don’t also come in here and tell me that you’re upset but haven’t even tried to figure out why or what you can do about it.”

He’s right of course, and Kravitz knows, lets his shoulders drop and his head fall back as he thinks about it. He thinks about how he should know better than to come to a scientist about affairs of the heart.

“You’re upset about this,” Barry talks him through it. “Why?”

“Because I’m being forced into romance for political purposes.”

“That’s not a reason, that’s a fact. Why.”

Kravitz looks out Barry’s large window, which has a finer view of the city and the surrounding country than even his mother’s study. And he thinks he knows what she was seeing that morning as she avoided his gaze so determinedly during their conversation.

“Because sometimes,” he says, “I wonder what I would be like if I didn’t live here, and if this wasn’t my identity, and my life, and I… I wonder if maybe I was just a normal person, and I could just be a musician or study a trade or… something. I wonder if maybe my life would be more authentic. And if I’d have the opportunity to find someone I truly love rather than someone who looks good on paper and I can tolerate.”

Barry pauses for a long moment before he speaks.

“Well,” he says, “that sounds like a reason.”

Kravitz has nothing to say back to that, and it doesn’t seem like Barry has anything to continue with, so Kravitz closes his eyes and tilts his head back, put his hands on his head, and wishes that he knew how to stop the churning in his stomach and the weight in his chest that he hasn’t been able to shake all day.

“Maybe you can change your perspective.” Barry’s voice comes once again from the table, and Kravitz drops his arms, looks exhaustedly at the other man.

“What?”

“You’re the crown prince, you can do almost anything conceivable. You want to meet people, find a way to make it happen. As a merchant or a musician or a tradesman, who could you come across in your life? The people in your village? The people on your street? Maybe occasionally the odd customer from a faraway town. You, as Prince Kravitz of Faerun, son of the Raven Queen, have more access to more people from more places than anyone else in this kingdom, save your mother. Use it. Find someone you do like. You can cross the politics bridge when you come to it, if you come to it at all.”

Kravitz looks at Barry, and keeps looking at Barry as the words sink in. More people from more places than anyone in Faerun. The crown prince. Can do almost anything.

“Yes…” Kravitz says, softly, as an idea takes root in his mind. “Yes, I could –” That’s it. He whirls on Barry, strides over to the lab table, grabs his friend’s hand, squeezing it firmly.

“Thank you,” he says, and then he runs. He hears Barry say something behind him as he slams out of the lab doors and runs down the tower steps, twice almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He runs across the gardens, servants and the odd courtier leaping out of his way, hastily bowing almost as an afterthought. He runs through the palace doors from the colonnade and runs through the lower levels and up the stairs and right to his mother’s study, and he bursts through the door.

The study is empty.

Kravitz laughs, spinning around, putting his hands on his head, laughs at himself and his silliness, of course he should have asked where she was, and he laughs and laughs and laughs –

“Good Lord, Kravitz, what on Earth has gotten into you?” His mother has appeared at the door, Lucretia hovering worriedly behind her. They must have been talking about him. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I’d like to strike a bargain,” he says confidently, drawing himself up to his full height, the way he does in council meetings when he wants to be taken seriously.

The Raven Queen stands for a moment, brow furrowed, taking him in, and then a smile creeps across her face as she looks at him.

“Well, she says,” walking into the room, and waving Lucretia in after her, “tell me what you had in mind.”

*****

The tension in Taako’s shoulders flees as he slips out of the heavy, ornate doors into the hallway, shutting the door behind him with an all but imperceptible click. Even after years of successfully making fires in the house without waking the old elf, he still has the same anxiety response every time he goes in there for the morning, conditioned into him with years of boxed ears and slaps across the face, of name-calling and things thrown at him in frustration, and he always feels relieved leaving after making a fire successfully. It’s that way with any of the family, really, but with Tostaada the most.

Oftentimes it is this first chore that acts as a forecast for the rest of his day.

He does the other fires, making quick work of it. The cousins sleep more heavily than Tostaada ever has, so it’s little trouble to do theirs up. Years ago he would even occasionally catch a soft “thank you,” murmured through layers of silk and linen and wool. But that was years ago. There are no such thanks now.

After the fires comes the curtains, and there is a very small pleasure in making his way down the hallway and pulling open the heavy drapes, allowing the morning light to flood in and watching it kiss the walls and floor and the ornate mirrors and upholstered chairs that the family pretends they can afford.

He looks out the window and he takes in the view of the beautiful autumn morning dawning around the house. Hateful as the house is, hateful as the grounds and the drapes and rugs and every last painting and coat of paint is, there is a wonderful beauty in the morning. The sunlight shines warm on his face in the chilly house, and the trees are beginning to be overtaken slowly with orange and gold and Lup’s favorite fire-red.

Taako goes downstairs.

His sister is already preparing the kitchen, and she gives him a tight smile through her focus as she gets the oven fire roaring so they can cook breakfast. Lup was always more proficient than he at making up fires quickly, effectively, something in them that she can read as easy as a book and that he doesn’t see.

Taako? Taako’s on harvest duty.

Stepping out into the bright morning through the small kitchen door brings with it a sharp reminder of approaching hardship in the chill of the autumn wind on Taako’s nose and the tips of his ears, and he shivers slightly as a too-cool breeze breezes right through his ratty shirt.

He gets to work.

Lup may be proficient with fire, but she has nothing on Taako’s discerning eye when it comes to choosing the perfect pumpkin off the vine. At knowing which squash in the garden is perfectly ripe today, and which will be tomorrow, and where the vines need trimming and tending. She has nothing of his knack for knowing exactly what color the produce ought to be, and where to place seeds and dig troughs so the rain will find the roots and the sun will hit the leaves just right. She doesn’t have the same forethought that tells Taako when to put bulbs in the ground, and which clippings will make fine new offshoots of what they’ve already grown. Doesn’t have the patience to wait for slow, timid plants to grow, to make their way up out of soft soil until they bud, and flower, and give fruit just as he knew they would.

It's the same with fishing. Lup sees the waiting as torture. To Taako? It’s respite.

It’s been a long time since he’s fished, now.

The garden knife makes quick work of a couple of pumpkins that look right, Taako loading them into the half-broken-down wheelbarrow that Tostaada refuses to replace and Taako really only uses because he hasn’t devised anything better. Some zucchini and a nice number of apples join them. Taako’s quick hands collect the eggs from the chicken coop, gets a pail of milk from the cows (and he wishes that maybe just one morning, Lup could do that one for him), and makes his way back to the kitchen.

Lup’s already broken out the flour and sugar and the spices from the pantry, and when Taako brings in his lot, they get to work.

A pumpkin muffin batter comes about quickly, as does the crust for a quiche – no Lup move over, you’re rolling it too thin – and Lup sings while she works, half under her breath, little hummed melodies she makes up on the spots and comfort Taako in ways nothing but his sister can.

Lup manages the food once it’s in the oven as Taako works on the coffee and tea – no Taako you’re going to oversteep it, come on – and it isn’t long before –

Taako shushes Lup sharply and ignores her glare to listen, above the whistling of the kettle and the crackling of fires, for the telltale creak of the house above them. And then, faint but there –

They spring into action, Lup handing off her towel to Taako, telling him sharply to watch the food to make sure nothing burns as she strips out of her ratty kitchen-wear and into her black dress, tying the white apron on over it before she bolts up the stair, fast as her legs can carry her. Taako keeps an eye on the food, pulling the quiches and the muffins out at the right time, transferring the coffee to its carafe and the tea to its stout porcelain pot, preparing the trays for when Lup comes back downstairs, trying desperately to keep it all warm but unburnt until he hears the sound of her feet on the stairs.

He tugs on his upstairs jacket quickly as she comes back into the room, and performs his quick, cursory visual examination of her to see if there are any new marks, red spots or welts or the impression of fingers on her since she left him. He is satisfied this morning, relieved, and picks up the tray of muffins and butter and some toasted bread and simple biscuits they’ve whipped up as well, pulls the jam out of the cool pantry and transfers it into the serving bowls, arranging things to the tune of Lup’s hissed “hurry, Koko,” as she sees to the drinks, and they make their way to the dining room.

They make it on time. The family is just sitting down as they come in, and Lup is the one that serves them, for the most part, Taako mostly quickly placing food on the table and going back downstairs to bring up more, knowing that the less time he spends in the dining room the better.

He can’t help but overhear.

It’s as he’s standing off to the side, hovering outside the dining room and out of Tostaada and the family’s sight, ready to hand off the next tray to Lup when she comes around the corner, when he hears it.

A sharp knock on the door. Three raps in quick succession.

No one in the dining room seems to have heard.

Another knock, louder this time, but it must not carry over the lively conversation on the other room because no one seems to have noticed, and Taako is torn, wondering if he should answer the door or go alert Tostaada, and which will make the old man angrier, and Taako shouldn’t be seen, he’s barely dressed, but –

Another knock, very insistent this time, in a tone that doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and Taako makes a split-second decision.

He goes to open the door.

He does not expect what he sees on the other side.

A human man, more finely dressed than Taako has maybe ever seen in his life, and clearly in uniform. A sharp, black jacket trimmed with silver and gold braid, neat appearance, and something of a derisive look on his face as he eyes Taako over. It’s a look that Taako can identify even though he’s had no occasion to see much of it. The look of one servant passing judgement on another.

Well, Taako just won’t be fucking bothered by that then, will he?

He leans against the doorframe with one hand, and gives the man an even more shady once-over, and the man stands up a little straighter and clears his throat.

“Is this the house of Taaco?” he asks, and his voice is just as fucking pretentious as Taako thought it would be and he almost visibly rolls his eyes and also almost visibly laughs at the house of Taaco, but he thinks of how finely dressed the man is, and thinks of Tostaada’s heavy cane, and he thinks better of it.

“Got it in one,” he answers, “what can I do for you?”

The man looks distinctly unimpressed, but it doesn’t stop him from holding out his hand.

An envelope is securely in his grip, and Taako, with a little hesitation, takes it from him. It is rather stiff, with fine gold leaf applied in decoration around the edges and the fine, black seal. Taako flips it over to find nothing more than Taaco written on the back in fine, looping script, and he can’t help but look back at the man in front of him more than a little quizzically.

“Please ensure that this letter finds his way into the hands of your master,” he says curtly, before giving a small bow and turning to walk back to the front steps, not even bothering to wait for any form of answer from Taako.

And Taako shuts the door, turning the envelope over in his hands to inspect the seal. Black and silver and gold again, and –

And his heart stops as he takes in the sight of the unmistakable Raven’s wings that dominates the seal there.

He walks very quickly to the dining room.

And the room goes quiet as he appears in the doorway.

Taako knows he must be a sight and a half if he took the conversation out of the room. He’s not supposed to enter the dining room unless he and Lup deem it necessary, and often it isn’t, but now Tostaada is looking at him, derision and disapproval thick in his eyes.

“What is it, boy?” he says, impatiently.

“I – this was just delivered,” he says, holding up the letter, and hears the gasps from around the table from the cousins and the uncles and aunt, and he sees Lup standing off to the side, eyes flicking back and forth between Taako and Tostaada, pained and biting her lip, and Tostaada stands up from his chair, absolute murder in his eyes.

“You answered the door?” he says, voice dangerously low, and shit shit shit shit Taako fucked up.

“Wait,” he says, but Tostaada picks up his solid wooden cane from where it always rests at his side, and he begins to advance on Taako from the other side of the room.

Taako stumbles backwards, his whole body going cold like someone poured ice water down his back his fingers going numb with his fear.

“You didn’t think to retrieve your sister?” Tostaada asks, furious, “you insolent boy, you let yourself be seen in this state?” Taako’s fingers have gone loose, the letter dropped from his hand, as he moves to get away (he knows he won’t, he knows, but maybe –)

“I – I thought –”

“You didn’t think, you stupid fool,” Tostaada growls, and Taako’s back hits a wall, and Tostaada raises the cane as Taako puts his arms up and hunkers down –

“Father!” Comes a voice, and it’s one of the uncles, whose voice is sharp enough to make even Tostaada turn around. And Taako doesn’t dare hope that someone in his family has come to his rescue, can’t believe.

The uncle is holding the letter up, so Tostaada can see the seal on the front, and Tostaada lowers his cane and swoops over to him, snatching the letter out of his hands.

Taako hardly dares to breathe.

The room hardly dares to breathe as Tostaada’s eyes sweep over the card he pulls out of the envelope, and even from here, cowering against the wall Taako can see the fine weight of the paper, the silver and gold trim, and the slanted writing.

Tostaada reads it, flips it over, and back over, and reads it again.

And the bottom of his cane comes back down to the floor with a soft thunk.

“What is it grandfather?” one of the cousins dares to venture, and Tostaada answers, softer than Taako’s heard him speak in a while.

“It appears the Raven Queen has decided to throw open the palace doors for this year’s Harvest Festival.” He pauses, seeming to read it again, “very curious indeed.”

Lup shoots Taako a look, seemingly as bemused as she is. Taako hardly dares to move, hopes desperately that his transgression is forgotten in light of this new information.

“What does it say, father?” The aunt asks, her face proud and curious and altogether sickening, and behind Tostaada’s back Lup rolls her eyes. Taako can’t help but crack a smile at it.

But Tostaada obliges his daughter-in-law and clears his throat.

“By order of the Raven Queen, this year’s Harvest Ball shall last three nights, centered on the second full moon of the month of October, at which time the whole of Faerun is invited to share in the festivities with her royal majesty and her court. This shall be done in honor of Her Benevolent Majesty’s grace and in celebration of Prince Kravitz’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

“It isn’t a ruse, is it?” asks the same aunt, and Tostaada whirls on Taako, still sitting against the wall.

“Tell us everything you saw, boy,” Tostaada spits at him, and Taako stands, still keeping his shoulders pressed against the wall, still keeping his eye on Tostaada and on his solid cane.

“He looked legit to me,” Taako says, shrugging, “he was in uniform and everything, and he told me to make sure I gave that to you, sir,” he says, addressing Tostaada, unable to bear relating the man’s exact words of calling Tosataada his “master.”

“As if you’d know what any royal servant would look like,” the same aunt scoffs, but she still looks convinced, as does Tostaada. Lup, Taako can see out of the corner of his eye, is positively vibrating with the news, and it strikes him a funny sort of way that he refuses to take the time to analyze until he is safely out of this dining room.

The cousins are chattering, and the aunt and uncles speculating, and Tostaada studies the letter and Lup and Taako hover, until Tostaada taps his cane on the ground, sharply startling every one of them. Taako flinches violently at the sound of it, and Tostaada says, sharply,

“Why are you all sitting there jabbering away like idiots? The letter is clearly legitimate, and if we are to take advantage of this opportunity we must make for Neverwinter at all possible haste. The ball is only two weeks away, and we must have the time to take up residency, acquire new clothes for you young ones and show you to your best advantage.”

“Why so soon, grandfather?” one of the cousins asks, her eyes wide in surprise.

“Because if you think that this ball coinciding with Prince Kravitz’s birthday is mere coincidence, or that the small fact of this matter being included in the invitations was not at all by design, you are all more dimwitted than I thought possible.” The cousins don’t respond, and Tostaada sighs impatiently. “The Prince is turning twenty-five this year, and as of yet has no marital prospects that we have heard of, is not betrothed, nor, by any account, has come even close to it. It appears that the Raven Queen’s supposed patience is wearing thing. Why do you think she’d fling open her palace doors in his honor if she was not taking this opportunity to throw every possible connection at him in hopes of romance? Were all of you born yesterday? This is a golden opportunity for every single one of you to find yourself advantageous matches in high society, in nobility, perhaps even in royalty, and you’re asking me why we’re leaving so soon? Do you care nothing for your futures at all?

“Every one of you, get up at once! Pack up your things, everything you’ll need for a three week stay in the city. Bring your finest clothes, your jewels, all of it. We are going to squeeze every last drop of this once in a lifetime event if I have my say. Now move.”

The cousins scatter, getting up from the table and leaving their half-eaten breakfasts behind, pushing and squabbling about who will bring what clothing, and no that one was mine, and don’t you dare, and Taako moves forward in their absence to begin clearing the table, but Tostaada grabs his arm sharply.

“Leave it,” he says, “you run to town, boy, and make sure that we have two coaches booked for tomorrow’s journey to Neverwinter, do you hear me? By now the whole town will be making preparations, so you must make haste. Do you understand me, boy?”

Taako nods.

“Good. I expect you to be back by this evening at the latest. See to it. You,” he barks at Lup, “you help my grandchildren pack their things. Cold lunches will suffice today, and we shall take them in our rooms. I must see to my own business.” And with that, the old elf sweeps from the room, taking the last of the noise and life with him, and leaving Taako and Lup alone and silent in the empty dining room.

Lup wastes no time before she zips over to Taako’s side and grabs a hold of him, pulling him from the room and into the narrow staircase down into the kitchen. She looks around the hallway and then closes the door, behind her with a thud, pulling him down to the kitchen and then further, into the cellar pantry, where she turns around and looks at him desperately, her eyes wild and thrilled, and a smile sneaking across her face.

“Lulu, what the fuck,” Taako says, taken aback at his sister’s wild expression.

“It’s perfect, Taaks, don’t you see?” she hisses, almost giddy.

“What’s perfect?”

“We’re going to Neverwinter. The whole kingdom is going to Neverwinter at the same time, Taako. We can finally get away from him!” she whispers urgently.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Taako says, struggling to keep up.

Lup makes a noise of frustration.

“From Tostaada, Taako. Think about it. All we have to do is run one night in Neverwinter, and they’ll never be able to track us in a city that size! We can get away!”

Taako pulls his arm away from Lup’s grip.

“Oh, and I’m sure that identical twins are completely untraceable, sure Lup,” he hisses back, “I’m sure that can’t backfire on us at all.”

“The whole kingdom’s going to be there, Taaks, the entire city will be a total shitshow of people. And we’re the best damn chefs in the whole fucking – anywhere, maybe. We can get jobs! I’ll dye my hair or something! Or we’ll learn magic for real this time, I don’t know, but we can do it, Taaks, we can get out of here!”

Taako is silent for a long moment, and Lup’s searching his face.

“I can’t do it without you, Koko,” she says, somehow quieter, sincere in the darkness in that way that always tugs at Taako’s heartstrings. “I can’t leave unless you come with me.” She softly grabs his hand, tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Aren’t you tired of living under him?” she says, “They’ve been treating you like shit for as long as we can even remember, it feels like.” Her other hand comes down to take his other one, and she makes him look at her, dim in the dark cellar. “We can be our own people, for once in our lives. This is our chance. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course,” he doesn’t even have to take a moment to form his answer. He’d trust her in anything.

“Then you’ll do it?” she asks.

Taako closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Allows the hundreds of dreams he’s had throughout the years of getting out of Tostaada’s house, of never seeing his horrible family again, of becoming a great arcanist, or a chef, or a teacher, or something new altogether, to flood into his mind, allows himself to imagine them in vivid detail, down to the touch and taste and sound and smell, imagines them just beyond his grasp and as close as three weeks away.

And he nods. Slowly at first, but then it picks up as an almost-smile worms its way onto his face. And he hears Lup laugh, breathlessly, happily, and feels her squeeze his hands, and she darts forward and pecks a kiss on his cheek before she puts her right hand up in front of them, Taako’s still in her grip.

“Promise?” she says, her eyes teasing, but still oh so, so sincere.

Taako squeezes her hand resolutely, pumps the two of them down and up once in between them.

“Promise,” he whispers.

[deviated-detective]

@diivinerose​ said:

"Since it is your birthday" She took out a little box and gave it to him. "Its small and won't bother you. I-I promise!" She looked up to the tall man who she fell in love with. In the box was a coin with their initials on each side. "I-I thought you w-would like something practical." She always watched him, fascinated of his coin tricks. He explained her once that he was doing it for calibration purposes. She shyly bowed her head. "I-I hope you like it..."

Birthdays are not a thing for androids. She knows this but he also realizes her penchant for sentimentality. Connor narrowed. His brow became harsh. Analyzing the box in her hands, he already knew what it obtained before taking it from her. That is the only reason. Scanning and picking up the metal alloy left him curious only briefly before he tore the package open. One shift of his hand and the box was obliterated. 

The android plucked the coin. Rolling atop his knuckles, Connor said nothing. He merely watched the coin rippled atop his handle. The spin it took was well balanced on the tip of his index finger. Made for durability and proper calibration. 

“It is practical but you know I do not have a birthday, Daniela.” 

Connor broke the mood bluntly. However, he held the ‘gift’ up between his index and thumb. The light caught a shine off the face revealing to the naked eye a personal engraving. “Initials.” He is aware of whose but he hardly needs to say. “This is - acceptable but do not give me anything else. I was not born. I was made.” Despite his cool realism, he paused, placing a hand to her cheek. His head dipped enough to place lips against hers. Just as quickly he pulled away. The silent ‘thank you’ is deafening. 

[ravens-rambling]

14, 19, 22 for angst prompts? Prinxiety please? Thank you!

A/N: Me continuing something? More likely then you think. And it being crappy? Even more likely. 

Continuation of this https://ravens-rambling.tumblr.com/post/180322931633/if-you-are-still-doing-the-prompt-thing-merman and this https://ravens-rambling.tumblr.com/post/180712095043/snow-day

WC: 1,844

ships: Romantic Prinxiety

warnings: Yelling, Passing out, Mentions of Hypothermia, nightmares, abuse, slight panic

Tag List: @punsterterry  @stormcrawler75 @frostedlover @mycatshuman@mutechild @panicattheeverywhere15 @thewinterbookqueen@analogical-mess @saddestlittlebabe

(Au Tag List:) @vampy-personal @fandersxhale @shreckolas-cage@nasayeepo @royally-anxious @youre-lazy-and-youre-gay0-0@ishoulddyemyhairthatcolour@missblueberry5@changeling-ash @shadowjag @vir-gull@beyondthestacks

Why did everything sound fuzzy? It almost felt like he was in some sort of dream. Or that he was down a long tunnel and he couldn’t find his way out. Maybe he was…

Maybe that’s also why he couldn’t see anything. Everything was black. Even more black than the night sky, as if there were no stars or moon in the sky to illuminate the darkness.

Even more disturbing was the fact that he couldn’t seem to move. Or maybe he was moving but it certainly didn’t feel like he was doing so, at least. Was there something wrong with him? The last thing he remembers was laying on the shore feeling weirdly warm as if the sun was licking his scales. Maybe he died… Maybe this is the afterlife for mer’s that he’s heard so much about… Maybe-

“Wake up, please! Wake up! No, no, no don’t do this to me!”

Who’s voice was that? Why did it sound oddly familiar? Did he know this voice? It didn’t sound like a mer’s why did it sound humanoid? His kind wasn’t supposed to interact with humans right? Was he captured? Why did this human sound so worried then?

There were no answers to his questions. And he didn’t have enough strength to go searching for those answers. But one thing came to his mind.

His mate. His pod. His love…

Was that who that voice belonged to? His mate? No that can’t be right he can’t have a human as his mate.. He must be wrong…

“Please… Wake up…”

Okay, now that voice is definitely crying. And was there another voice he could pick up? In the background… Another voice… Definitely human… It sounded more leveled out than the previous one but he could trace the hint of franticness behind it.

He wanted to comfort the strange human-like voices to tell them that he was alright. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t even open up his mouth. Couldn’t move his fingers or fins. All he could do was float in the ever-lasting darkness.

Now he was tired, ever so tired, he wasn’t sure from what or why but he felt his mind slip away. Ever so slowly he let himself fall to his dreams unable to reassure the voices that he was okay. Hopefully, he’ll be able to once he wakes up….

Once again there was darkness when he finally woke up, but this time the said darkness was suffocating. It felt like it was pressing up against him, and was pressing up against his gills making it close and harder to breathe. He couldn’t move once again but this time it felt like something was wrapped around him keeping him in place and dragging him down to the inky depths below him.

“Why would you do this?! Betray your own kind like this?! You freak!”

He winched at that voice, it sounded..familiar…

“Mother, please! He’s my mate, isn’t that enough?”

That’s his voice, but he wasn’t saying anything. He couldn’t open his mouth to say anything. And every moment that ticked by it was getting harder to breathe. He tried to struggle and kick his tail but it was pointless.

“No! No, it isn’t! That thing is human! Don’t you know what we had to go through to get the humans to leave us alone? I-”

“Yes, mother but-”

“Don’t interrupt me!”

The next thing he knew he felt pain erupt on his face making him cry out.

“I thought I raised my son better than this! You are not going to endanger our species for one of your stupid fantasies.”

“But mother… I love him…”

“No, you don’t. That’s final, Roman. Now, we are moving for the winter maybe time away from this shore will make you see reason.”

“No.”

“What did you just say?”

“I said, No! I’m not going to abandon him cause of what happened hundreds of years ago! He wasn’t around back then! You never know maybe humans have changed, mother! We certainly have!”

“Humans. Don’t. Change. They never will. If you’re so confident in your choices then leave. But know this, if you ever come near this pod again we’ll be serving you to the sharks got it?”

His breath picked up as a spike of fear raced through his heart. Even the blackness was getting blurry now. He could barely breathe.

“Fine! I don’t need any of you! I never did! I will show you that humans can change! This human will never hurt me! I’ll prove it to you!”

“Have fun, Roman. Don’t blame us if you end up as a slave or in one of those exhibits. We don’t want to see your face ever again.”

With that the voices left, leaving him surrounded in the inky darkness alone. He tried to thrash his tail about but all his strength has left him by now so all he could do was gasp for air. Minutes ticked by and just when he could feel his eyes start to close he was suddenly blasted by cold water. Crying in pain he felt it latch onto his skin, he felt it chip away at his fins and hair.

“No, please! Don’t leave me like this! Where did you go, mother? Come back, please! Come back for me!” He finally managed to cry out with the last bit of his energy before his breath came to a halt and his eyes went back.

The first thing Roman noticed was that he was warm. The second thing was that his skin and fins hurt as he if he had burned them. The third was that he couldn’t seem to stretch out, his tail kept hitting something solid.

Blinking his blotchy sore eyes he glanced around him and was confused at what he saw.

He definitely wasn’t in the ocean anymore that’s for sure.

Currently, he was in something that looked like a clear white stone which luckily had water in it. The stone was rough and weird textured which he didn’t like at all. His tail was against a shiny grey metal that hurt every time he rubbed up against it.

There were white walls everywhere around him and even more of the white stone but these looked smoother not far away from him that stretched out to the far wall. His breathing picked up.

Are these the exhibits his mother warned him about?! Were there human eyes peering at him just beyond those walls?! Is this going to be his cage? Just a simple square box that he could barely move in?! His mother was right then, his mate did betray him! Now he couldn’t escape and nobody would even care enough to look for him and-

“Virgil, I don’t think he’ll be awake by now we should let him rest.”

“It’s been hours, Lo. What if he never wakes up?! Or if he does he’ll wake up alone, I can’t have him waking up alone Logan.”

His mate! So he didn’t betray him after all! Or.. He did and he’s just making sure he’s happy in his new ‘home’.

In any case, he started flopping his tail against the white stone frantic clicks came from his throat as he tried to get out. And that’s when one of the walls moved then swung inwards and his breath caught when he saw him.

His lover… His mate… His pod…

Tears came to his eyes as he called for him, his arms raised up in a poor attempt to reach out for him but all he could do was barely get them upwards. His love had tears in his eyes as well but he looked relieved and glad to see him, even more so then he was.

“Oh… You’re okay… You’re okay!”

Roman hiccuped and suddenly he had human arms wrapped around his neck. The scent of his mate engulfed him and made him take deep shaky breaths in. Though what made him concerned was that he felt the other shaking in his arms.

“V..?”

He knew it was pointless in attempting communication on his part, Virgil isn’t able to understand him but he had to at least try something to make him calm down. Ever so slowly he nuzzled his face against Virgil’s forehead producing calming clicks and coos as if he was calming down a guppy. He even began humming a soft tone of a song that his own mother sang to him when he was little in hopes that would calm him down further.

Ever so slowly he felt his love stop shaking so much, but he was still crying not nearly as bad however now. They stayed cuddling into each other like that for several moments neither one of them wanting to move out the others embrace. Until a clear of a throat made both of them jump and scramble to tear the other away.

Roman’s red eyes looked up to see a human he’s never seen before staring at him from behind a transparent glass. Those dark blue eyes stared deeply down at him and Roman couldn’t find a single expression on his face… And that only sent a shiver down his spine.

Is this some scientist that Virgil has summoned to dissect him or something?!

Frantically he turned to Virgil and clicked a few times in distress but immediately Virgil placed a hand on his arm. Virgil was smiling faintly at him his eyes soft. He didn’t look like he had any evil intent but he couldn’t be sure…

“Hey, hey it’s okay. This is Logan, he’s a good friend of mine. He helped me save you.”

His head tilted to the side. Save…? Save from what?

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head, intrigued by how he got here in the first place.

“I found you nearly frozen to death in our cave. Your gills were frozen together and you were barely breathing…”

Oh… Oh yeah… He looked down to the water and nodded slowly.

“What happened?”

“Virgil, I think we should let him rest. He is still remembering what happened and forcing him to do so would only cause him emotional distress. We shouldn’t push him.”

“Oh.. Yeah… Right… Sorry..”

Roman looked up to see Virgil not looking at him at all, his gaze was to the corner. He couldn’t see a single thing on his face thanks to his bangs now covering it. He gulped thickly.

And Romans’ heart broke.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry… I’m never going to do it again, Virgil!”

Slowly Virgil turned back towards him, but he didn’t uncover his bangs. His voice was quiet and emotionless as he mumbled, “I’m glad you’re awake. Rest now. We’ll be back soon.”

With that, he got up and left. Roman frantically watched him walk away and he had never felt more torn up when he didn’t even look back at him once. Logan simply stared at him for a moment then followed him out without a word closing the wall and leaving him in his own thoughts and world.

[padfootagain]

Singles Will Be Paired (V)

Part 5: Parlez-moi d’amour

Here is the fifth part of my Ben Barnes series, hope you all like it :)

I advise you all to listen to the songs I refer to while you read this ;)

So much cuteness, prepare yourselves! This is fluffier than fluff and cuter than cute…

Gif not mine

Word count : 3482

Paris at dusk was filled with lights. The sky that had been coloured with grey by the rain had cleared during the afternoon, and was now coloured with a deep shade of purple, stars slowly lightening, like tiny diamonds on a velvet dome. Lampposts had started to be turned on as well, their yellowish light shining through the street. Christmas was adding its own lights as well, decorating the tall trees down the Champs-Elysées. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was also about to wear its dress of lights. After visiting the Trocadéro and a few other places of the French town, you were now walking out of Notre-Dame, its sculpted stones towering the two of you.

You had a large grin on your face, and it didn't seem to be willing to go away. And Ben's smile matched yours.

"Well, that was something," Ben commented with a dreamy glint in his dark brown eyes.

He offered you his open hand and you walked away hand in hand towards the tall trees glimmering in the night.

Winter was shortening the days, but many tourists were still visiting the cathedral, walking with their eyes up towards the gigantic monument. You couldn't blame them for being oblivious of their steps and almost bumping into you once or twice. The tall walls sharply carved and adorned with so many gargoyles and shimmering stained glass were so impressive that you wondered how humans had been able to build something like this hundreds of years before…

A few meters away, a man was selling hot chestnuts, and you and Ben bought a tiny bag that you shared together. The warm food was more than welcome, as the inside of the cathedral, although its beauty had warmed your heart and soul, was filled with cold air. Your feet and legs were starting to be a little painful as you had spent your whole day walking, but you didn't regret it. You had spent such a lovely day…

Ben threw a chestnut up in the air, before catching it in his mouth, and you couldn’t help laughing at him.

"I didn't know that skill of yours," you mocked, and he gave you a wink and a bright smile.

"Do you want to discover another one of my incredible skills?" he asked proudly.

"Impress me."

He chuckled.

"This skill can only be revealed in the right place."

"So… that was all words, huh?"

"Of course not! You will get your demonstration before the end of the day, I promise. But here is not the right place to do it."

"Too close to a church? What kind of sin are you thinking about? Oh, so that's it… you were a serial killer all along and I'm your next victim!"

He exploded with laughter.

"Of course not! You'll see, it's a surprise."

"I can't wait to see that."

"You won't be disappointed."

You exchanged a smile, before turning your back on the hospital and Notre-Dame, choosing to cross the nearby bridge in order to walk for a while on the riverbank. You walked across the Petit-Pont that some called Pont Des Coeurs, lingering above the water for a minute. In the distance, you could see the Pont Saint-Michel that seemed to float in mid-air a few meters above the calm water. A barge with tiny golden lights hanging at the windows was peacefully floating on the Seine. You moved a little closer to Ben, until you could rest your head against his shoulder.

The atmosphere was magical, and Ben reckoned that it was a little cliché here again. Notre-Dame behind you, a barge on the Seine, stars above your heads… He had never been romantic enough to believe in the magic of this kind of settings. And yet, he felt deeply moved by the whole scenery. The fact that you were near him had quickened his heartbeat, and no matter how hard he tried to control his own body, he couldn't slow down the racing thing. There were butterflies fluttering in his stomachs, and an excited feeling tickling him from head to toe, and his heart was pounding in his chest… Was it just you? Was it Paris? Was it the view? Or perhaps a little bit of the three mingling together to drive him crazy… he didn't know. And he decided then that he didn't care at all. If he couldn't control the way he felt around you, he might as well just dive into it and embrace how hopeless he was around you. For some reason, your mere presence made him happy. And it was enough.

"I don't want today to end."

Your voice was a mere whisper, almost covered by the voices around you, the roaring of the cars driving behind you, and the shushed whisper of the water flowing beneath you. But Ben caught your words all the same, turning to you. His lips were so close to your hair, you could feel his breath warming your skin. When he answered, his voice was deep, almost hoarse, but soothing and tender as well.

"We'll still both be here tomorrow. And the day after that too. We still have time."

"But it would be great if the world could stay like this forever… Just you and me and the Seine."

His fingertips brushed against yours, his skin a little calloused against the back of your hand, until you intertwined your fingers together.

"It feels…" you whispered, more to yourself than to him. "It feels like a dream. But dreams don't last, do they? They're gone in the blink of an eye, and they leave nothing behind but blurred memories and a dizzy feeling."

"Maybe. But the dream isn't over yet. For now, we're both lost in this dream, so let's forget about the moment we will have to wake up, and let's only think about this. Now. Just you and me and the Seine."

You looked up at him and gave him an earnest smile. And for a moment he fell so deeply in your eyes that he was certain he would never find a way to escape. But did he even want to try? He could find a new tiny detail in them that made him even more lost at every second. He guessed that if he kept on staring at your eyes for eternity, he would still be able to find new things to love about them.

You were the one to look away first, Ben wouldn't have been able to even if he had tried anyway. You took a chestnut from the paper bag Ben was still holding, the hot food feeling like fire against your freezing skin, and you took a step back.

Ben's cologne had blurred your senses, you could feel his warmth radiating through his clothes and yours. And his brown eyes were so beautiful…

You needed to take a step back, or you would take a step closer and that would mean the end of you.

"Let's walk a little," you proposed.

He smiled, nodding, and you didn't fail to notice that his cheeks and ears were turning a little red as he shook himself.

You walked down a flight of stairs to reach the bank and walked towards the Pont au Double, passing next to the Cathedral again, only from the other side of the river. Lampposts shed a yellowish light on the growing shadows, the sky darkening from velvet to ink while more and more stars were hung on the canvas. There were people sitting on the edge of the bank, their feet a few meters above the running Seine, laughing and smoking. Christmas had added lights to the boats. The atmosphere was light-headed. A few couples were kissing while they walked hand in hand.

"What will you do after this holiday?" you asked Ben after a rather long while spent walking in silence.

He gave you a chestnut that you ate in one mouthful, and as he stuffed the bag in his pocket, you realized that he had given you the last one. He sniffed, burying his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. He offered you his arm, and you locked your elbow with his.

"I will have some press to do," he answered with a little wince. "Not my favourite part of the job, but I can't escape it."

"You'll be travelling?"

"For a month or so," he nodded. "Then… I don't know. I'll take a little break, I think. I had several projects in a row, I have to admit that I'm a little tired. I'll take some rest."

"You've travelled so much… where would you like to go?"

Ben let out a chuckle.

"Well… Paris was on the bucket list," he smiled.

"You can check that!"

"I can."

"And you had some wonderful company for the trip! Even better!" you joked.

"I couldn't have had better company indeed."

His tone was not as humorous as you expected, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

"What place in the world would you like to see?" you asked again.

He thought for a moment, before laughing.

"I can't choose one! That's terrible, there are so many places I want to see. I want… I want to go to Roma."

"Roma?"

"Yeah… and Firenze… and Napoli… the whole Italian coast too. I want to visit Spain as well. I went to Madrid a couple of times but only for press, and I didn't see anything. I want… Actually, I just want to go somewhere and take my time. Do you see what I mean? Just like we did today. Taking my time, walking through a city without an agenda just… visiting. Just seeing the places I want to see without anyone telling me to hurry because I have twenty interviews to give today. I want… I want today to happen everywhere."

You exchanged a smile.

"Well, next time, you may even be able to visit a town with your brother, instead of a stranger like me. And that'll be even better!"

Ben slowly shook his head.

"If I were to be completely honest, I'm quite happy my brother couldn't come. We would never have met otherwise."

You gave him a shy smile.

"I have to admit, that I'm quite happy I came here alone as well. I'm glad we've met, Ben."

"I'm more than glad that we've met… and… can I confess something?"

"Of course, I'm all ears."

"I feel… I feel like… I know you."

You frowned a little.

"I'm pretty sure we've never met, Ben."

"No, I don't mean that we've met before. But I… I feel like it's easy to be around you. I don't feel nervous even if we've known each other just a few days ago. I don't feel like you don't know who I am, like you don't understand me. I'm… I feel happy with you, like we've been friends for years and we're just catching up on each other's lives. But at the same time… at the same time I feel excited like it's the beginning of something important that I can't really understand…"

He narrowed his eyes a little as he tried to make sense of his thoughts and feelings, almost forgetting that you were next to him, walking by his side, holding his arm.

"You really are terrible at flirting, Ben," you smiled.

There was something tender in your voice as you answered, and Ben seemed to realize all the extent of his confession, and by the embarrassed look on his face, you easily guessed that he hadn't meant to tell you all this. But you playfully nudged him, and your voice was reassuring when you broke the silence again.

"I'm happy to be with you too, Ben."

You exchanged a smile, and kept on walking in silence for a little while.

You finally reached a bateau-mouche that had been turned into a restaurant. Ben gave you an excited look as he proposed to eat on the boat. How could you resist a romantic dinner on a barge in Paris?

The movement of the boat was barely noticeable and didn't disturb you at all. You were guided to a table for two with a view turned towards the Seine, the bridges alit with lampposts and fast cars. In the distance, you could guess the shape of the alit Cathedral partially hidden by branches of naked trees. The atmosphere of the restaurant was warm, a piano set at the end of the room and a door leading onto a little space outside. The restaurant wasn't full yet, and when you checked your watch, you realized it was rather early still. But you were absolutely famished.

Dinner went smoothly. French food was a pure pleasure, and you were particularly happy with the chocolate fondant. You noticed that anyone could sit behind the piano and play, and you enjoyed the happy mood it gave to the room. Many Christmas songs had been played by various people during the meal, adding even more warmth to the place.

You were about to finish your meal with a coffee, and yet, you didn't want to leave. You felt too happy here, with Ben, listening to the soft piano and eating amazing food and laughing with him and…

You were falling for him. It was more than clear. And there was nothing that you could do.

Ben would have wanted to make this evening last forever. The view on the Seine was beautiful, and you were breath-taking. He hadn't laughed like this in ages, you really were hilarious. He was happy, God, he was so happy…

He was falling for you. It was more than clear. And there was nothing that he could do.

You reached across the table to hold his hand in yours, and he gave your fingers a tender squeeze. You moved to press your palm against his, measuring your hand compared to his much larger one. Eventually, Ben slid his hand against yours just enough to intertwine your fingers with his.

Behind him, the woman who had been playing the piano stopped, and silence filled the room over the shushed buzzing of quiet conversations. A mischievous smile formed on Ben's lips.

"Are you ready to discover that other talent of mine?"

"Now?"

"Now."

"Sure! Go ahead! What is it? You can touch the tip of your nose with your tongue?"

He laughed, shaking his head, before standing up and striding towards the piano. You watched him moving between the tables with a curious expression, wondering what he would do.

He sat down at the piano, and you couldn't refrain a little gasp.

He looked at you for a few seconds, sending you a smile before he would rest his fingers on the keys, and he started to play.

Softly, he sang All I Want For Christmas Is You, and you were left breathless, your heartbeat a complete mess. His deep voice was soft and reassuring, like a warm blanket wrapped all around you. Everything around you was gone, except for Ben and this piano. Several times, he looked at you while he sang the most tender lyrics, and you were certain that you were about to faint. And you couldn’t help to imagine… what if he sang it a bit for you?

In his eyes you could read that he did. That when he spoke about wanting you by his side, he really was talking about you. Your reasonable brain tried to keep the thought at bay, but your heart knew.

He was singing about love, and it was all about you.

Only too soon, his voice faded, almost as if it were breaking, and upon the piano his fingers went still.

His dark brown eyes were fixed on yours. He knew he had revealed too much too soon. Even he wasn't sure of how deep his feelings were. He knew he had feelings for you though. How crazy was that? You had met just a few days before… how could he feel so much so fast?

The rest of the clients of the restaurant gave Ben a round of applause, but he didn't seem to notice it. He saw you clapping though. He saw the grin on your face, and was almost certain that there were tears in your eyes.

How much of his heart had he just revealed?

Suddenly, he was terrified. He felt his head spinning. So, he stood up in a hurry and strode towards the door that led to the front of the boat, outside.

The cold wind slapped his cheeks, but he ignored the bites of the wind. On the contrary, the weather calmed him down. All around the decks, Christmas lights were shining, sending reflection on the dark water and enlightening the whole boat.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. What was happening to him?

He didn't hear you coming and was startled when you rested your hand on his arm. You gave him his coat, and he thanked you with a weak smile.

"That was beautiful," you complimented him weakly.

"Thank you," he smiled.

"I have to admit, that it's almost as impressive as that chestnut trick."

He couldn’t help his laughter.

"Thanks."

Your eyes locked on his, and for a moment, you both stood still.

Inside, a woman had taken Ben's place at the piano, and had started to play Parlez-moi d'amour. You smiled, taking Ben's hand in yours and taking a step closer to him.

"I think it's time I show you one of my skills," you joked, starting to sway softly with the piano.

Ben was not a great dancer, but he didn't even think about that then. All he could think of was your hand in his, and your two eyes that had captured his soul, and how close the two of you stood. Without a word, but with a tender smile, he rested his other hand on the small of your back, and you danced in the night, upon the Seine, surrounded by the soft lights around the deck, Notre-Dame in the distance, while the notes of the piano flew towards the starry sky and the silver moon.

The voice of the pianist joined the instrument, and Ben softly sang along, and you noticed that he knew the French lyrics.

"I thought you didn't speak French," you teased him.

"I know the song."

He tightened ever so slightly his hold on you. Your breath and Ben's were a mess that mingled between you in one warm little cloud. There was nothing in the world but his arms, his breath, his deep voice singing softly and this piano…

"What does it mean?" you asked in a whisper.

Ben's voice softly switched from French back to English, and he translated the end of the song for you, still singing along.

It is so sweet

My dear treasure, to be a little crazy,

Sometimes life is too bitter

If we don't believe in chimeras,

Sorrow is quickly soothed

And with a kiss it is eased,

The wound of the heart

Is healed with a reassuring promise

 Tell me about love,

Tell me tender things all over again,

Your beautiful speech

My heart is never tired of hearing it

May you forever

Repeat these supreme words:

I love you.

 Slowly, your hand rose to rest on his cheek, your palm tickled by his beard. Your fingertips brushed the lonely freckle under his eye, and the gesture felt so intimate…

You barely noticed the fact that the space between your two faces was shrinking and shrinking and shrinking. Slowly, Ben leaned down towards you, and you leaned up towards him, your lips coming closer and closer until the feeling of his warm breath against your mouth sent shivers up and down your spine. You both closed your eyes and remained still for a few seconds, so close…

…and Ben finally closed the space between you.

Your other hand flew up to run through his hair. He wrapped an arm around you to hold you as close to him as he could, while his other hand held your face, his thumb softly stroking your cheekbone.

You had never felt this way. How could you feel so many feelings through only one kiss?

Ben was asking himself the same question, breathless, his heart beating so fast he wondered if he was about to have a heart-attack.

But then the answer was simple, and nor you nor Ben could deny it anymore. This kiss was the final proof.

He was falling in love with you.

You were falling in love with him.

And in the boat, the piano kept on playing the same song a second time…

For how long did you stay there, kissing… a minute? An hour? A year? You would have wanted it to last for a lifetime…

***************************

Tag list : @geeksareunique @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmasow @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @madamrogers @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse @newtstarmander @iammadeofstarsandlazyness @presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0 @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 54

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS:  In the White Room, Madame Cheung is now in the hands of Madeline and defiantly awaits her fate.

*N.B. Some text alludes to violence in this chapter

THANK YOU to all the lovely people who are reading and liking my story. Much appreciated.  As promised Chapter 54  is the first instalment in the White Room xox

Chapters 1 - 53 can be found at …https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

   CHAPTER 54 (V)

Madeline closed the White Room door behind her and stopped for a moment. A Mona Lisa smile enigmatically but fleetingly bowed her mouth as she softly began humming. The melodic sound echoed in the stark room bouncing off the walls a strategy she knew would unnerve the stoic figure of Madame Cheung who sat shackled in the centre of the room.   Section One’s second-in-command, a specialist in psych analysis, interrogation and pain techniques enjoyed matching wits with the targets and eventually breaking them by any means necessary and now, this woman was her latest victim. 

Within Section, Madeline was the primary person responsible for analysing and predicting the behaviour of the enemy and she didn’t flinch at using torture in this capacity.   In contrast to Operations, she was calm and methodical; when she wanted to, she could be charming and gracious, but the warm façade could drop in an instant to reveal an arctic iciness. The White Room was her domain and Madeline knew she was going to enjoy this grilling of her latest victim. Her skills were unique and beyond belief but she always got what she sought … eventually and Madame Cheung would reveal what she wanted to know regardless of how long it took.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Known by Section operatives as the “ice queen” and the “high heels of death”, she was a cold-hearted bitch, as calculating and humourless as her partner Operations. She was also unemotional and ruthless. Her cold intelligence coupled with her brilliance as a shrewd strategist, could manipulate everybody without any feeling of remorse or hesitation. Madeline was an outstanding psychological puppet master whose mantra was to get the job done no matter what. The level of emotional and mental cruelty that she inflicted on terrorists boarded on sociopathic but extreme measures were often necessary in her job prescription.  Information is what they required at Section One and Madeline merely carried out the Section mandate to its logical conclusion.

The woman however, was an enigma.  

Emotionally, she was detached, analytical, and almost shockingly unsentimental. She would literally do anything to further Section One's interests, no matter what the sacrifice, and she expected the same effort from others under her command. If they wouldn't make those sacrifices willingly, she had no compunctions about manipulating or even coercing them to do so. Her recruitment to Section One, her background or her life prior to Section was unknown and the only thing that anyone really knew for sure was that Madeline had been in Section for a long time.  Beyond that, people knew very little and that’s how she liked it.

The main thing that was known about her background served to make her even more enigmatic and the few details from her past held clues to the woman she became.  When she was just a child, she and her sister Sarah fought over a doll they both wanted but neither was willing to give any ground until Madeline made the deliberate choice to push Sarah down a flight of stairs killing her.  “I wanted the doll,” … was her emotionless statement about the incident.   This was a clear indication that the accident was indeed malicious and that perhaps it was always in her nature to take what she wanted from others regardless of the consequences.  However, that event wasn’t what brought her into Section One. There were rumours that she repeatedly stabbed a lover to death after suffering years of physical and mental abuse which would partially explain her uncanny gift of doing the same thing to others.

Although she could manipulate anyone into revealing their deepest motivations, Madeline herself was the most secretive Section operative of all.  What made her tick? No one knew, not even Operations to whom she was so closely allied.  Colum from Oversight referred to both of them as Siamese twins because of how the two worked in lockstep. She is always by Operations’ side to help him make vital decisions including who lives and who dies. Dougal Mackenzie could rely on Madeline and her counsel but that didn’t mean he understood her, and that was likely the way she preferred things.

Madeline is the most elusive of the agents at Section One whose power flowed from the perception that the limits of her knowledge and abilities seemed infinite. Always with a secret agenda, her modus operandi involved stepping back, assessing the captives and using her keen insight to pry deeply into their minds. She is cunning and beautiful and deadly and those traits are what make her formidable. In some respects, Section’s second in command is more ruthless than Operations himself, for it is difficult to believe that she had any respect for human life when she appears to think everyone is expendable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Alone with her thoughts, Madeline quietly observed Madame Cheung strapped into the chair in her foreboding domain before proceeding towards the target. Walking across the cold, unadorned floor her footsteps echoed with each step she took. 

With a self-belief that she would do what she had to do in order to extract the information about the Rising Dragons for Section's benefit uppermost on her mind, Madeline approached the lone figure of their latest incarcerated triad member. Now at long last Madame Cheung was her latest victim. From what she had observed so far, she knew that this woman would be interesting to say the least and there would be no holds barred. She’d read Jamie and Claire’s debriefs and had viewed the mission tapes. Therefore, Madeline was well aware of Madame Cheung’s strengths but her forte was finding weaknesses. She left no stone unturned in her pursuit, for it was in so doing that she gained the higher ground, and she had every intention of finding Madame Cheung’s Achilles’ heel. 

Although the triad member had proved to be ruthless, little did she know that Section One’s chief strategist was more so. Madame Cheung was in her domain now, and there would be no escape from her fate there. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The target sat manacled in the metal chair lost in her thoughts. Reciting the Rising Dragon’s mantra in her mind in some way gave Madame Cheung comfort and strength.

“Death with Honour” its way of life With motto “Strength by Dare” Once you yield fear nought … but When it seeks you, beware! The Rising Dragon! She had been in this stark room for some time, but how long she did not know. There was little she could do except wait to see what would happen next. It was obviously some kind of interrogation room as it was devoid of colour and furniture. Her hands were shackled and she had little chance of escape although she’d tried to loosen the restraints on her wrists but to no avail. No one had entered since two men had placed her in this chair. So, she had little choice but to play the waiting game ... then she would know where she stood and what, if any options she had. Madame Cheung’s steely resolve was exacerbated, particularly when she relived the duplicity of her protégé Claire Beauchamp. She had been betrayed by Claire and her bitterness at her treachery knew no boundaries. Le Comte St. Germain too had deceived her. They had totally fooled her after having won over her confidence. To think that her uncanny wiles had let her down was unforgivable. She had failed to see their subterfuge ... and at no time had she suspected them of being anything other than who they were pretending to be. They had ingratiated themselves into her world of the Rising Dragons for ulterior motives. She had trusted them but they had betrayed her. Now because of their ruse, she was a captive in this place. She had meant every word uttered to Claire when she’d been captured. Not only would she need to be wary but Le Comte St. Germain... James Fraser ... would also need to be vigilant. When Sun Yee Lok found out about her betrayal at the hands of these individuals, as she knew he would all in good time, then he would seek vengeance as only the triad could ...the triad way. It was her one consolation for her stupidity in being so gullible and being deceived by this slip of a girl who had got under her guard. As another consequence she had lost face ... not only with herself but with her leader. When Sun Yee Lok found out, he would be merciless in his retribution of her, so whatever she was dealt here in this place of incarceration, would be nothing in comparison to what he would do to her if they should meet once more. She was after all part of his trusted inner circle. How had she been fooled so easily? Betraying the triad was reprehensible and because she had been duped this played more heavily on her mind. It was now perfectly clear that other members of the triad had gone before her and had met a similar fate at the hands of these mercenaries. Sun Yee Lok had been most displeased with the death of Tony Wong but his suspicions had led to another rival triad rather than other foul means. The other deaths had not been suspicious, however, knowing the ruthlessness of these people perhaps they were suspicious after all.  Now it was she who was on the receiving end ... one that found her in a predicament ... and one that she may have trouble getting out of. What was this place? Who were these people and what were their motives? As her thoughts reverberated in her head Madame Cheung felt a wave of doom course through her body at what her fate might hold. Although she would never show it, she was afraid. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Unable to see when someone entered the room because her back was to the door, Madame Cheung was aware she had company. She listened to the sound of the creaking hinges as the door was pushed wider and wider, then came the closure and the clack of a bolt moving into the locked position. Shackled in the chair, she wondered who had entered. The unwavering gait of light footsteps resonated on the flooring as a woman, most probably, came into the room. Then she heard the humming sound. Her eyes narrowed as an expression of determination crossed her face not dissimilar to that of other Triad members who had been Section One’s guests here in the White Room before. Hearing the footsteps draw nearer, Madame Cheung steeled herself for what may come. However, little did she know, but her fate had already been sealed … a fact she would soon discover. Madeline stopped behind the target and addressed her back. “Hello, Madame Cheung ... Can I get you anything? ... Some water?” The woman’s voice chillingly reverberated in the quietness. Madame Cheung’s body tensed. She opened her eyes slowly and focused on the voice that had spoken to her. Saying nothing in reply she just stared down at the floor in defiance. A wry smile crossed Madeline’s face at her noncompliance. Circling the chair in her usual interrogation manner, her next verbal banter began to increase her advantage over Section One’s victim by destroying the subject's defences. “I've looked at your file. ... You present similarly to our other detainees from the Rising Dragons triad. Bright ... well connected ... very attractive, but ruthless ...” Madeline stopped talking and stood in front of Madame Cheung resolute, determined and unflinching. Brown eyes as cold as steel never left the woman in her sight and watched her straight-faced and emotionless. They missed nothing. They saw everything. Neither woman flinched as steely looks passed between the two women. Two pairs of cold eyes appraised one another as they sized each other up. Although one woman was in control, the other would never admit defeat and she waited to see how things would pan out with the formidable woman dressed so austerely. With bravado and venom Madame Cheung hissed in reply, “The triad will seek vengeance.” Madeline smiled her Machiavellian smile letting the target know in no uncertain terms who indeed had the upper hand. As she studied her opponent too, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she did not like to be bettered on power games. Her greatest talent was her mind, so if Madame Cheung wanted to play mind games with her, she would come off second best. 

“Interesting ... but I think not. Tony Wong, Alain de Marillac and Oliver Chan ... have been our guests ... All were members of the Rising Dragons ... All are dead!”

“The triad is much bigger than the individual. It will atone for the deaths of its members,” Madame Cheung retaliated with as much audacity as her inquisitor now realising that her earlier thoughts had been confirmed.

“Perhaps ... then again ... How will it atone for yours Madame Cheung?” A cold, piercing stare angrily held Madeline’s gaze.

Section One’s head strategist scrutinised the hostile watching for any facial movements that would betray that her words had hit a nerve. Bravado by the victim was the first stage of capitulation and Madeline relished the chance to pit her wits against this new adversary. Bit by bit she would wear her down as she always did. Some targets were more obstinate than others but, in the end, there would only be one winner. After she had finished messing with her mind, acting on her fears, Madame Cheung would wish she had never been born. Not only was she the one in control, but the White Room was her domain after all. No one bettered her perception about people and she had Madame Cheung figured out. The woman was a carbon copy of herself. As Section One’s resident torture expert she definitely had the upper hand. Madeline knew exactly which buttons to push, when to push and how to push them to get the required results. Her cold demeanour allowed her to torture people for information without batting so much as an eyelash. Her methods were succinct, purposeful and she got the job done with as little fuss as possible. Given her confidence in the face of adversity, Madame Cheung may prove to be difficult. Madeline, however, relished the thought of matching wits with her for there was nothing she liked better. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Reciting the Rising Dragon’s mantra in her mind had calmed Madame Cheung’s nerves and given her the burst of courage and confidence needed to face her foe. Although she was unable to see her adversary at first, she had known the very moment that her interrogator had stood in front of her. She’d felt her presence while the woman’s words had cut through her with the underlying cynicism of someone who had the upper hand. The humming had obviously been a ruse to unnerve her, but her training in martial arts had prepared her for such tactics. Nothing much fazed her and a little humming certainly hadn’t. As the attractive, brown haired and well-groomed woman approached, she’d observed her more closely and had seen a cold and calculating opponent. Neither of them had flinched when their eyes had met. Madame Cheung had known immediately that this woman, who showed no emotion, was composed, stoic and unflinching, and ... she was used to winning. Unequivocally she’d seen a mirror image of herself. Her bravado was an effort to diffuse the situation and catch the brown-haired woman off guard, but her boldness had backfired. She was a bit taken aback when the woman had mentioned the members of the Triad who they’d thought had met their demise by natural causes. Little did they suspect that Alain de Marillac and Oliver Chan had met with foul play. Sun Yee Lok had blamed their rival triad group the Black Panthers for the death of Tony Wong but now she knew it was indeed these people. What were their motives? Who were they? Perhaps they were some kind of anti-terrorist organisation. Did they want to see the triad implode in order to eliminate the Rising Dragons? Or were they taking down its hierarchy one by one in order to destabilise the triad? Would another less powerful triad better serve their purposes? There were too many questions that she could only hazard a guess at. One fact that was obvious though was that she was at their mercy and had little prospect of finding a way out of her dilemma. She was conscious that any facial movements would be a sign that the woman’s words ... “How will it atone for yours Madame Cheung?” ... had hit a cord with her. However, it had taken all of her willpower not to flinch as the meaning hit home ... Her death! She’d swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat ... So; she was to die at their hands if she refused to cooperate? For a moment she’d been afraid ... not of death, because death didn’t frighten her. She wasn’t afraid to die ... there were always others who would take her place within the triad. She had meant it when she’d said that the triad was bigger than the individual. It may suffer for a while but like the Phoenix it would rise stronger and more defiant in its adversity. Sun Yee Lok was astute enough to work out that there were forces working against it and take affirmative action against the perpetrators. The triad would indeed rise up. These people would do well to take heed and be cautious of its merciless ways for when the triad sought you out there was no escape from the wrath of the Rising Dragons! No ... she was afraid that the rhetoric she’d espoused may be for nought, unless there was a way that Sun Yee Lok would indeed piece together the chain of events that had occurred to the triad over the past months. If there was no escape from this place of incarceration for her and her death was inevitable, how would he know that she too had met her demise by subterfuge and deception? She was afraid of what may come and the pain they would inflict to make her give in, but she hoped that she had the steely reserve to counterbalance whatever they may do to her. The woman in brown had scrutinised her features watching for any sign of capitulation that her words had unnerved her ... but she would not show her any fear. Fear was a weakness that was to be exploited ... a means to an end. If she showed them no fear, then she would in turn unnerve her interrogator.

Madame Cheung wondered what this woman had in store for her, but whatever it was ... she had the resilience to offset it. And so, she waited for one of them to strike the first blow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Madeline moved closer, deliberately moving into Madame Cheung’s space yet watching her surreptitiously. Her next statement to her, however, was cause for alarm and the matter-of-fact way in which Madeline spoke sent chills up and down her spine. Her tone indicated to Madame Cheung that she was indeed a fearsome and cold-blooded opponent. “Trust me ... you do not have the strength to withstand the pain our technology can inflict. The question is simple: will you cooperate now ... or will you force me to modify you?” Madeline watched and saw a slight flinch in the target’s eye at her words, but raising her head even higher in defiance, Madame Cheung said nothing but merely stared her down. “Madame Cheung ... you have a business relationship with a man named Sun Yee Lok.” “So that’s why you got me here? Sun Yee Lok?” She laughed. “Ha! Classic! Sun Yee Lok!” “Yes Sun Yee Lok ... the supreme head of the Rising Dragons’ triad.” “Now why would you want him?” As Madame Cheung’s insolence continued, Madeline decided to shut her up once and for all. Without any warning, she grabbed her by the throat closing off her windpipe. She gasped as the last vestige of air began to escape her lungs leaving her spluttering and choking unable to breathe. Leaning in to the target and with eyes that were merciless Madeline whispered just loudly enough to be heard. “Now listen carefully. We have our reasons for wanting Sun Yee Lok, and you will help us. Usually, I’d extract what I want and you’d be disposed of. You’re a very lucky woman, Madame Cheung.” Madeline released her fingers from her wind pipe so that she could respond. Coughing, Madame Cheung moistened her throat but her eyes showed no other emotion other than contempt. “Oh? How do you figure that?” “You should be dead by now. It would only take one slight movement to your carotid artery and ...” Gasping for breath she managed to say, “In other words, you’ll keep me alive until you get what you want.” Looking Madame Cheung in the eye, while playing her cat and mouse tactics, Madeline replied. “Actually, we know that you are a member of the Rising Dragons and Sun Yee Lok’s inner circle. I have a much better offer for you.” “Oooh. I’m afraid.” “I think there’s an opportunity here for someone with your skill set.” “Really?” “Yes ... seduction techniques are always in demand for luring unsuspecting targets. Don’t you agree Madame Cheung?” “I don’t want to work in your organization.” “I disagree. I think the work here will appeal to you; after all you’re very good at seducing clients. But I digress ... we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First things first.” “What do you want me to do?” “Tell us the whereabouts of Sun Yee Lok.” “Go to hell!” “Very well, if that’s how you feel ... you leave me little choice.” Madeline turned her back to her and smiled inwardly. She had plans for Madame Cheung ... plans that included Henry and Elizabeth, Sections One’s pre-eminent torture technicians. They had yet to pay a visit to her but when they did, she would know it. They were so good at applying that extra little persuasive pressure that was sometimes needed to tip a terrorist over the edge. Madeline knew that Madame Cheung would “enjoy” their little session. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ No sooner had the words had left her mouth than the sound of a door opening filled the eerie silence of this cold white room. Madame Cheung heard two pairs of footsteps in unison approach to where the interrogator stood. Glancing up she noticed a man and a woman carrying what looked like a suitcase each. The be-speckled pair was dressed sombrely in dark suits, but it was their demeanour that unnerved her. She had seen their likes before ... people who specialized in interrogation through the use of torture techniques and who were indifferent to their victim’s pain. This deadly duo had evidently been called to the White Room in order to acquire information from hostiles swiftly and efficiently and Madame Cheung knew that that meant her. Obviously, they had a variety of medical equipment and devices in their cases that would persuade their victim to relinquish information quickly. The Rising Dragons also used such people and Madame Cheung knew what awaited her because of her insubordination to comply. Her fate was now in their hands. “Madeline?” “You know what to do.”

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

[dweemeister]

A list of all films featured in 2019′s 31 Days of Oscar

This is the exhaustive list of all 388 short- and feature-length films featured during this year’s 31 Days of Oscar marathon (up from 296 last year). Best Picture winners and the one (and only) winner for Unique and Artistic Production are in bold. Asterisked (*) films are films I haven’t seen in their entirety as of the publishing of this post.

Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927)

Two Arabian Knights (1927)*

The Crowd (1928)

Sadie Thompson (1928)*

Speedy (1928)

Street Angel (1928)

A Woman of Affairs (1928)

White Shadows in the South Seas (1928)*

The Broadway Melody (1929)

The Divine Lady (1929)*

Weary River (1929)*

All Quiet on the Western Front (1930)

The Big House (1930)

The Doorway to Hell (1930)*

Flight Commander (1930)*

The Criminal Code (1931)*

Little Caesar (1931)

The Public Enemy (1931)

Flowers and Trees (1932 short)

Grand Hotel (1932)

What Price Hollywood? (1932)*

42nd Street (1933)

Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933)

Morning Glory (1933)*

The Private Life of Henry VIII (1933)*

Cleopatra (1934)*

Imitation of Life (1934)

It Happened One Night (1934)

Manhattan Melodrama (1934)*

The Thin Man (1934)

Alice Adams (1935)*

Captain Blood (1935)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935)*

Top Hat (1935)

Dodsworth (1936)

Fury (1936)*

The Great Ziegfeld (1936)

Libeled Lady (1936)

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936)

Captains Courageous (1937)

Night Must Fall (1937)*

The Prisoner of Zenda (1937)

A Star Is Born (1937)

Way Out West (1937)*

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Boys Town (1938)

Merrily We Live (1938)*

Pygmalion (1938)

You Can’t Take It with You (1938)

Beau Geste (1939)

Dark Victory (1939)

Gone with the Wind (1939)

Goodbye, Mr. Chips (1939)

Gulliver’s Travels (1939)

Lady of the Tropics (1939)*

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

Ninotchka (1939)

Only Angels Have Wings (1939)*

Stagecoach (1939)

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Wuthering Heights (1939)*

Young Mr. Lincoln (1939)

The Great McGinty (1940)

The Mark of Zorro (1940)

Night Train to Munich (1940)*

Our Town (1940)

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Rebecca (1940)

Strike Up the Band (1940)

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

Waterloo Bridge (1940)

Dumbo (1941)

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)

Suspicion (1941)

Bambi (1942)

Casablanca (1942)

Johnny Eager (1942)*

Kings Row (1942)*

The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)

Mrs. Miniver (1942)

Now, Voyager (1942)

Random Harvest (1942)

To Be or Not to Be (1942)

Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

The Desert Song (1943)*

The Human Comedy (1943)*

Lassie Come Home (1943)

The Ox-Bow Incident (1943)

The Song of Bernadette (1943)

Henry V (1944)*

Lifeboat (1944)

National Velvet (1944)

Anchors Aweigh (1945)

Blithe Spirit (1945)*

Brief Encounter (1945)

The Lost Weekend (1945)

They Were Expendable (1945)*

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

The Harvey Girls (1946)

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)

The Stranger (1946)*

First Steps (1947)*

Forever Amber (1947)*

Life with Father (1947)*

The Perils of Pauline (1947)*

Bicycle Thieves (1948, Italy)

Hamlet (1948)

The Naked City (1948)

The Red Shoes (1948)

I Remember Mama (1948)

Romance on the High Seas (1948)*

Adam’s Rib (1949)*

Battleground (1949)

The Heiress (1949)

A Letter to Three Wives (1949)*

Mighty Joe Young (1949)*

On the Town (1949)

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949)

The Stratton Story (1949)*

The Third Man (1949)

White Heat (1949)

All About Eve (1950)

Broken Arrow (1950)*

Destination Moon (1950)*

Mystery Street (1950)*

Rashômon (1950, Japan)

An American in Paris (1951)

Royal Wedding (1951)

Show Boat (1951)*

Strangers on a Train (1951)

High Noon (1952)

The Quiet Man (1952)

Umberto D. (1952, Italy)

The Band Wagon (1953)

The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)*

From Here to Eternity (1953)

Julius Caesar (1953)*

Lili (1953)

Little Fugitive (1953)*

Little Johnny Jet (1953 short)*

Titanic (1953)*

Brigadoon (1954)

La Strada (1954, Italy)

On the Waterfront (1954)

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954)

Seven Samurai (1954, Japan)

A Star Is Born (1954)

Blackboard Jungle (1955)

It’s Always Fair Weather (1955)

Marty (1955)

Speedy Gonzales (1955 short)

To Catch a Thief (1955)

Around the World in 80 Days (1956)

The Bespoke Overcoat (1956 short)*

Forbidden Planet (1956)

Lust for Life (1956)

Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956)*

The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)

Funny Face (1957)

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957)

12 Angry Men (1957)

The Defiant Ones (1958)

Gigi (1958)

Mon Oncle (1958, France)

The Young Lions (1958)*

Ben-Hur (1959)

South Pacific (1958)

The 400 Blows (1959, France)

North by Northwest (1959)

Inherit the Wind (1960)

Macario (1960, Mexico)*

The Time Machine (1960)

Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)

The Children’s Hour (1961)*

Judgment at Nuremberg (1961)

Through a Glass Darkly (1961, Sweden)*

West Side Story (1961)

Days of Wine and Roses (1962)

How the West Was Won (1962)

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

The Longest Day (1962)

The Miracle Worker (1962)

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)

Bye Bye Birdie (1963)

Charade (1963)

Cleopatra (1963)

The Leopard (1963, Italy)

Tom Jones (1963)*

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow (1963, Italy)*

A Hard Day’s Night (1964)

Mary Poppins (1964)

My Fair Lady (1964)

The Pink Phink (1964 short)*

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964, France)

Doctor Zhivago (1965)

A Patch of Blue (1965)*

The Sound of Music (1965)

The Battle of Algiers (1966, Algeria)

Fantastic Voyage (1966)

Grand Prix (1966)*

A Man for All Seasons (1966)

The Professionals (1966)

Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

The Dirty Dozen (1967)

Doctor Dolittle (1967)*

In the Heat of the Night (1967)

Two for the Road (1967)*

Bullitt (1968)*

Funny Girl (1968)

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter (1968)*

The Lion in Winter (1968)*

Oliver! (1968)

It’s Tough to Be a Bird (1969 short)*

The Magic Machines (1969 short)*

Marooned (1969)*

Midnight Cowboy (1969)*

The Great White Hope (1970)*

I Girasoli (1970, Italy)*

Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion (1970, Italy)*

Patton (1970)

Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970)

Fiddler on the Roof (1971)

The French Connection (1971)

The Last Picture Show (1971)*

The Godfather (1972)

Sounder (1972)

Travels with My Aunt (1972)*

The Day of the Dolphin (1973)*

The Way We Were (1973)*

Blazing Saddles (1974)

Nashville (1975)

Harlan County U.S.A. (1976)

Network (1976)

The Slipper and the Rose (1976)

Taxi Driver (1976)

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

Smokey and the Bandit (1977)

California Suite (1978)*

Superman (1978)

The Black Hole (1979)

The Black Stallion (1979)

Kramer vs. Kramer (1979)

A Little Romance (1979)

Every Child (1979 short)

Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979)

Atlantic City (1980)*

Kagemusha (1980, Japan)

Das Boot (1981, Germany)

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)

Annie (1982)

Tron (1982)

Victor/Victoria (1982)*

Blue Thunder (1983)*

Amadeus (1984)

Dune (1984)*

The Times of Harvey Milk (1984)

Agnes of God (1985)*

Back to the Future (1985)

Legend (1985)*

My Life as a Dog (1985, Sweden)

Silverado (1985)*

Hoosiers (1986)

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (1986)

Au revoir les enfants (1987, France)

The Last Emperor (1987)

The Princess Bride (1987)

The Untouchables (1987)*

Stand and Deliver (1988)

Willow (1988)*

Do the Right Thing (1989)

For All Mankind (1989)

Glory (1989)

Henry V (1989)

When Harry Met Sally… (1989)*

Dances with Wolves (1990)

Misery (1990)*

Beauty and the Beast (1991)

The Prince of Tides (1991)*

Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (1991)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

A River Runs Through It (1992)

Toys (1992)*

Unforgiven (1992)

The Age of Innocence (1993)*

Philadelphia (1993)*

The Remains of the Day (1993)

Schindler’s List (1993)

Legends of the Fall (1994)

Three Colors: Red (1994, France/Poland)

Mr. Holland’s Opus (1995)

Hamlet (1996)

Sleepers (1996)*

Star Trek: First Contact (1996)

Children of Heaven (1997, Iran)

Four Days in September (1997, Brazil)*

Titanic (1997)

Saving Private Ryan (1998)

The Sixth Sense (1999)*

South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (1999)

Toy Story 2 (1999)

Erin Brokovich (2000)*

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000)*

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001)

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

Monsters Inc. (2001)

Y Tu Mamá También (2001, Mexico)*

Chicago (2002)

Big Fish (2003)*

I, Robot (2004)*

The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

Walk the Line (2005)*

The Danish Poet (2006)*

Little Miss Sunshine (2006)

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006, Mexico)

Persepolis (2007, France/Iran)

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)*

The Dark Knight (2008)

Frost/Nixon (2008)*

Man on Wire (2008)*

Milk (2008)*

The Reader (2008)*

Slumdog Millionaire (2008)

The Wrestler (2008)*

The Secret in Their Eyes (2009, Argentina)*

Biutiful (2010, Mexico)*

How to Train Your Dragon (2010)

The Artist (2011, France)

Hugo (2011)

A Separation (2011, Iran)

The Act of Killing (2012, Indonesia/Norway/Denmark)*

Frankenweenie (2012)*

Life of Pi (2012)

Lincoln (2012)

Skyfall (2012)

Ida (2013, Poland)

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

12 Years a Slave (2013)

American Sniper (2014)

Interstellar (2014)

Song of the Sea (2014)

Creed (2015)

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)

The Revenant (2015)

Spotlight (2015)

We Can’t Live Without Cosmos (2015 short, Russia)

World of Tomorrow (2015 short)

Ennemis intérieurs (2016 short, France)

Fences (2016)

Moonlight (2016)

My Life as a Zucchini (2016, Switzerland)

Pearl (2016 short)

Baby Driver (2017)*

Dunkirk (2017)

Loving Vincent (2017)

The Shape of Water (2017)

At Eternity’s Gate (2018)*

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018)

Cold War (2018, Poland)

Hale County This Morning, This Evening (2018)*

Mary Poppins Returns (2018)

Shoplifters (2018, Japan)

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)

The eight nominees for Best Picture, including the winner, Green Book (2018)

The fifteen nominees for the short film categories (2018)

[nitewrighter]

Of Blades and Broomsticks pt. V

Previous Witch Mercy AU Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4,

Witch AU on AO3

---

“’It’s been a while,’” Hanzo repeated flatly, “Is that all you have to say?”

“I’m... happy to see you?” Genji ventured.

“I see you’re still insisting on that frivolous and fragile form,” said Hanzo.

“Yes, well... Blue is not my color,” said Genji. He smirked beneath his mask, “It’s hardly even yours.”

Genji brought up his wakizashi just in time to deflect the sickle blade of Hanzo’s kusarigama before Hanzo retracted the chain.

“So you can still defend yourself,” said Hanzo, “I was worried. Rumor had it some monk trapped you in a teapot.”

Like many siblings, Hanzo and Genji happened to be very good at pissing each other off very quickly. Genji rushed forward and struck this time, only to find his blade tangled in the kusarigama’s chain. The sickle blade was going for his shoulder but Genji drew Ryū Ichimonji and stopped it before it made its mark. Hanzo bore his weight down on the sickle blade, but Genji knew better than to get into a battle of brute strength against his brother.

 Genji brought up his foot and kicked hard against Hanzo, more of an escape than an attack as it distracted Hanzo long enough to let Genji yank his wakizashi’s blade from the kusarigama’s chain and fly backwards, disappearing into the clouds. Hanzo snarled and rushed in after Genji, only to find himself coming out of the other side of the cloud empty handed.

“I’m not here to play games,” Hanzo spoke in warning, “I’m here to bring you home.”

“Home?” Genji’s voice rippled on the wind in such a way that it was difficult to tell its source, “Your home, perhaps, but not mine.”

“How long do you think you can continue cavorting with mortals?” said Hanzo, letting his kusarigama dissolve into lightning before reshaping it into an arc shape with a long upward sweeping motion of his hands. He grasped the arc of lightning and in a flash it took the form of a bow.

“If you ask me, you could do with a bit more cavorting yourself,” Genji’s voice echoed on the wind and Hanzo turned and fired an arrow of lightning and wind into a slightly more distant cloudbank, the force of the arrow cutting a circular wake through the clouds. 

Hanzo couldn’t tell through the clouds, but his shot had only barely missed Genji, who flinched back from the arrow’s wake, his breath short. His aim gets better every time, Genji thought with a slight bitter smile, he looked to the gold bracelet, which hung prettily on his wrist, unchanged. Still unharmed, he thought, I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit patient with me, Witch Mercy, I’ll be back as soon as I can---

Another arrow barely whizzed past him, clearing his cloud cover off of him as it flew by.

“You forget who spends more time in the storm,” said Hanzo, nocking another arrow.

“And you forget who is swifter,” said Genji, holding his blade at the ready.

---

Most fainting spells don’t leave the mind with enough energy to dream. They fall over you in a sheet of darkness and swallow up time---but the case is not so when the cause of unconsciousness is magic. And so it was that Mercy dreamt of the death of her predecessor, of the old woman Gramercy.

It was a cool, bright day in autumn and the old woman took Mercy out to pick mushrooms. Mercy had told the old woman that she knew all the mushrooms for their work by heart and that the old woman should stay home and rest. “So you can poison me?” the old woman scolded her, “Dreadful, willful girl, we are going into the wood today and I’ll not have you idling and daydreaming out there on your own.” And with that the old woman took up her gnarled walking stick in her equally gnarled hand, whispered to the door of their cottage to keep away thieves and meddlers, and set out for the wood with Mercy in tow. It had been a terribly slow-going walk, and Mercy was doing most of the work since it hurt the old woman’s back to stoop for mushrooms, but they wandered deeper and deeper into the wood, far deeper than Mercy had ever gone before. The wicker of Mercy’s basket was creaking from their haul and the shadows of the trees had grown long.

 “We should be getting back,” Mercy remembered herself saying, but still the old woman went on. The light went gold and orange, and the shadows grew dark, and at one point they had to stop and sit on a rotting log when the old woman was seized by a coughing fit, but as soon as it passed the old woman walked on. It was then that Mercy realized the old woman had no intention of getting back to their cottage by nightfall. Dusk had fallen when they reached a karst cave at the base of one of the region’s mountains. Numerous stones were stacked on top of each other outside, and ragged witch’s ladders hung from the ceiling of the cave mouth.

“What is this place?” Mercy asked, but the old woman said nothing and hobbled in.

“You don’t honestly expect us to stay here for the night?” said Mercy, “We have no torches and you’ll catch your death of cold!” 

The old woman simply hacked in response and gestured with her right hand. A flame spun itself into existence a few inches above her palm. “Come,” said the old woman. Mercy’s eyes widened. It was not like the woman to use magic with so little thought. She followed.

They ventured deeper into the cave, past slimy-glittering stalactites and stalagmites and columns and calcite formations hanging like wrinkled sheets of stone, before they reached a small place a large hall of stone, hollowed out by floodwaters years ago. where a cave river still ran through cold and deep. Someone long ago had put in torch sconces and fat candles, and with a flick of her wrist, the old woman split the flame in her hand into many smaller flames, and with a gesture, let the smaller flames light candles and torches.

“Magic’s stronger here,” said Mercy. She stepped forward and something crunched beneath her foot, she glanced down to see it was bone. Human bone. She had crushed the brittle collarbone of a skeleton. Mercy flinched and took a few steps back, then stepped gingerly around it. There were several other skeletons, but they all seemed to be of varying states of age. Some were all but dust with only a skull and a few bits of rib and femur left, some were small enough to be children, the pelvises suggested both men and women had been interred or died here. 

“Old magic,” said the old woman, “Very old.” She took a torch off of the sconce and walked over to a pale glittering wall of flowstone, on it, there was some sort of mural of a figure painted out in blood, and red and violet and yellow earth and charcoal, with two rough-hewn bits of citrine embedded into the stone for eyes. The painting itself looked to be half-melted away by the slight amounts of precipitation that had been shaping the flowstone for years, but in a way, it also looked to be distorted, like the air above a fire distorts the images behind it. Mercy squinted at the figure in the mural. The citrine eyes reminded her of the illustrations of dragons in the margins of illuminated texts, yet the figure seemed mostly human shaped. In any case it had been too faded and washed away by age and water to be sure what it really was.

 “Do you know why I took you under my wing, girl?” the old woman looked over her shoulder at Mercy and Mercy broke her sight away from the mural. 

“I was an orphan,” said Mercy, “You needed help keeping your home. You gave me a roof over my head and were wise and patient enough to teach me your skills and I would have died long ago if not for your charity,” Mercy still couldn’t edge all of the bitterness out of these words. Theirs was not a loving relationship. In Mercy’s lifetime the old woman frequently told Mercy that she could have just as easily left her to die in that burnt out village.

The old woman chuckled a little, “And here I thought you were clever,” she said.

“...Are you going to kill me?” said Mercy.

“Kill you? Silly girl, “ the old woman shook her head, “No. This place is where I die.”

“What--No!” said Mercy, “You can’t just... decide that!”

"My hands shake too much to work the doctor’s knife. My eyes have grown too weak to read the old texts. I feel the exhaustion in my heart and I feel my breath grow short. There is nothing you can do, girl. I will be dead soon. I could let my power rot and return to the earth with me, but you are a clever girl, cleverer than I was, and this world is a dangerous place for clever girls, so I give it to you. And here is the only place I can give it. And I must give it now while I still have the strength to pass it intact.”

Mercy looked at the bones scattered around the cave, and then back to the figure in the mural. “This power...” she said slowly, “It wasn’t yours originally either, was it?”

“I made it my own, and you will make it your own, in time,” said the old woman, “But yes,” she stooped and picked up a long knife of black glass from the hands of the newest-looking skeleton, “This is a magic ancient and powerful. At some point the chain was nearly broken, and much knowledge of its true potential was lost. Those who bore it were hunted like animals, and it was all they could do to pass it on. Clothes off, quickly now.”

Mercy disrobed and awkwardly folded up her dress and set it, along with her basket of herbs and mushrooms, near the chamber’s exit. It wasn’t the first ritual she had done skyclad, though it would be the last one she would do with the old woman. The old woman closed her hand around the knife of black glass, and with a swift movement unusual for her age, slashed it out from her closed fingers. She opened her hand to Mercy and Mercy’s breath caught in her throat . The cut was bright orange and yellow, like embers, and her blood glittered like liquid flames.

"This is a wellspring of power, a lick of flame from the forge of creation,” said the old woman, “Heal and grant power to others as you wish. But know that no seed of man can flourish in a field of fire. You will bear no children."

“I understand,” said Mercy.

 The old woman nodded and marked out four marks on Mercy’s forehead, two above each eyebrow. Mercy inhaled sharply as four flames hovered around her head, dizzying, fizzing, roaring flames, yet beautiful. Mercy raised a hand to them, but then the old woman caught her wrist and drew the knife of black glass across Mercy’s palm, a blade so sharp Mercy felt little more than the pressure of a hair on her palm, yet she watched as blood rushed easily from the wound. Black glass didn’t scar when it cut. The old woman had taught her that much. The old woman placed her own open, molten bleeding cut over Mercy’s hand, and Mercy drew a sharp intake of breath as she felt the fiery blood flow into her cut. The old woman released Mercy’s hand and Mercy looked at her own cut hand, now engulfed in flames but feeling no pain. Amidst the flames, the cut on Mercy’s palm closed. It was healing power unlike anything Mercy had ever seen before, and suddenly the flames were enveloping her whole body.

 Mercy was about to speak when the old woman’s hand suddenly shot forward, went tight and hard around Mercy’s neck and yanked her forward. The old woman’s grip was forcing Mercy’s mouth open for breath and Mercy was half choking from the suddenness of the action. Then the old woman’s grip loosened and instinctively Mercy gasped for air.

It was then that the old woman breathed fire down Mercy’s throat.

With that last breath her grip slipped from Mercy’s neck and she fell with a dull thud, and the flames faded off of Mercy. Mercy knelt near the old woman, touched at the her wrist, and waited. Silence. Death. Mercy bowed her head. Her hand went to her neck, slick and burning with the molten blood, and her hand came away with the blood still glowing on her palm. Mercy felt the fire burning in her chest, and she rose to her feet and walked over to her clothes and basket. She took a kerchief from the basket and wiped the molten blood from her neck and hand, then wrung it out into a small glass vial which she corked off and tucked into the basket. She didn’t know what she would do with it, but the old woman told her to waste not. Mercy silently put her clothes back on, then took a sprig of pennyroyal from her basket. She walked over to the old woman’s body and looked down at it, and it suddenly occurred to her how small the old woman truly was like this.

“You were a terrible old hag,” Mercy said, gently kneeling by the old woman’s side and positioning her body into a more dignified position, “But I am thankful, and I will not forget all you’ve taught me. And I will regain the knowledge lost of this gift.” She closed the pennyroyal sprig in the old woman’s hands before they stiffened with death, “This I promise you.”

Thunder suddenly cracked and Mercy’s eyes snapped open. She was in Doctor Junkenstein’s lab. He had apparently dragged her over to his musty settee and put a sheet on her. She moved to sit up then felt a rush of lightheadedness and grunted, bringing her hand to her forehead.

“Ah! You’re awake!” Junkenstein said, glancing up from his creation, “You had me worried there, Gramercy. Here.” He passed her a cup of hot ale posset and she sipped at it. 

“You cooked something?” said Mercy, watching as Junkenstein walked over to his cookfire and spooned out some posset for himself from his own iron pot.

“Well I figure capturing lightning is worth celebrating,” said Junkenstein. He raised his cup to her. “Zum wohl,” he said before sipping it himself.

Thunder cracked again outside and Mercy’s eyes quickly flicked to the window. 

“Where’d he go?” she said quietly, looking at the window.

“Where’d who go?” said Junkenstein. 

“The sparrowhawk,” she said without thinking.

Junkenstein arched an eyebrow at her and she cleared her throat and sipped at her posset again. 

“Storm’s been going wild for a while now,” said Junkenstein, “You’re welcome to stay for the night if it doesn’t let up.”

“Thank you, Jameson,” Mercy said, before taking another sip of her posset.

“Well...I wouldn’t have half my accomplishments if not for you,” said Junkenstein with a shrug, “Least I can do.” There was another crack of lightning and he shuddered, “Glad I took those wires down,” he said quietly, “Didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

“I heard once that storms were demons fighting,” Mercy said with a slight smile, looking up at the clouds, “That lightning was the clash of their blades and thunder was the sound of their blows.”

Junkenstein scoffed. “I thought you were a woman of science, Gramercy,” he said with a slight smirk.

---

“...A woman of science,” Gabriel muttered, tossing the last of Mercy’s texts aside. There was the whisper in the door, his own voice rang in his mind, She knows some of the old arts. She could have enchanted the place for you to see only what you wanted to see. The Witch Hunter’s brow furrowed and his shook his head. If he went after every woman who change a man’s mind with a whisper, nearly half the world would be gone. He had seen too many innocents burn in Spain. He wondered if he could ever be the one bearing the torch again. He glanced over at the old one-eyed cat, which was curled up sleeping in the corner. “I suppose you think this is all very funny, me making a fool of myself,” he said to the cat. The cat lifted its head, blinked its one yellow eye, then yawned and resumed its napping. 

Gabriel stood up and dusted himself off. “I’ll be leaving then,” he muttered and he gave a glance to the storm outside. It would be a miserable ride back to Adlersbrunn. He huffed and glanced over at the cat. “Almost wish I could be like you, all warm and curled up and--” he blinked a few times, gave a glance to the fireplace, then to the cat. The cat was not on the hearthstones. It was nowhere near the hearthstones. He frowned. That was usually where cats preferred to stay, with the embers of the cookfire warming the stones. He stepped over to the cat and felt an unusual amount of warmth in that lonely corner of the cottage. The cat lifted its head and narrowed its one eye at him. “Now... what’s making this corner so cozy?” Gabriel said mostly to himself. He glanced down to see the cat was bristling now, and he put a hand on the wall and felt an abnormal heat.

“Ffffft,” a hiss escaped the cat, arching its back.

“I just need to look,” said Gabriel, feeling along the wall and dropping down to one knee, “You can have your spot back in a---” The cat suddenly bit his hand as he felt at the wall and he drew his hand back, sharply, glancing at his black gloves. The cat had not only broken through the leather, it had broken through the skin. “Nasty old devil, aren’t you?” said Gabriel. The cat just hissed at him again.

Gabriel frowned, seized the cat by the scruff of its neck, held it at an arm’s length as it yowled and clawed and slashed at his arm walked over to the door of the cottage, and tossed the cat out into the rain. It landed with a slight bounce on the muddy path, regained its footing and sprinted for the door, but Gabriel closed it just before it raced back into the cottage to attack him. Gabriel could hear the cat yowling at the door as he turned on his heel and walked back to the corner where the cat had been sleeping.

 Gabriel felt along the wall for the source of the heat, knocked the wood and heard a hollow sound, then felt around for some kind of latch or something to grab ahold of. There was nothing. He sighed, braced his hands against the wall, and with a well-placed kick he knocked in the plaster of the wall, revealing a compartment with a small pile of grubby books in an odd glowing light. He looked for the source of the glow and reached into the compartment, dug around a big before pulling out a glass that was hot to the touch. This was the source of the heat. It was full of something bright, like melted down amber, or liquid fire. 

Definitely magical, he thought, Might not be hers, though. Could have belonged to the old woman who lived here before.

He pocketed the glass vial, then picked up a book. The symbol on the cover was not promising. Some kind of ancient sigil, not chemical or astronomical. Magical.

They could have belonged to the old woman before her, thought Gabriel again, a bit more desperately this time, They might not be hers....

He flipped the book open, then sighed. There was the text itself, ancient, but of course, of course, just as she had done with Plato’s ‘Natural Philosophy’ the Midwife Gramercy just had to annotate. He knew her writing. He needed to get to the village dovecote and send a bird back to Adlersbrunn. A witch was on the loose.