#I need something to set me on fire again to relight my eyes before I die of suffocation

[macaulaytwins]

if I can’t consume the book with a voracious intensity and have the book consume me back then I don’t want it

[bumble-bee-beatrice]

Christmas kids by Roar is so Black brothers coded like the line “You'll change your name or change your mind And leave this fucked up place behind But I'll know, I'll know”and “Do what you want as long as you stay here” is Regulus talking to Sirius when he leaves and “I love you so much, more than you could know” is Sirius talking to Regulus after he leaves because he “abandoned” Reggie. “I'm going to escape, but you won't know how Or where to find me when I'm gone” is Reggie talking to the death eaters when he leaves to go destroy the locket or him leaving his parents both work. Finally we have “I'll drink myself to death inside this prison cell” is Sirius when he is in Azkaban. I think about this a lot and when I do I get just a bit sad but also happy at the same time because I love them both so much.

❤️

[nightshade-minho]

-The Ritual-

-Incubus!Minho + BestFriend!Jeongin x fem!Reader-

Warnings: themes of jealousy, occults and demons, unprotected sex, minho has a huge cock, face fucking, sir kink, cunnilingus, 69, anal penetration, creampie, a little cumplay, a little overstimulation, a lil finger blood for ze ritual~ etc.

Word Count: 5.2k (I got a little carried away...this is the smuttiest thing I’ve written in a while hhhhhh-)

Disclaimer: This scene is entirely consensual. Minho’s powers do have the ability to make you incredibly aroused, but it can’t force you to do anything against your wishes. 

"Have you got everything?" You whispered, making the boy next to you jump in shock.

"Y/n! For God's sake, you scared the fuck out of me-"

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes at Jeongin, who went back to perusing the library shelf with a small huff. 

"Did you get everything?" You repeated insistently, following as Jeongin moved away from you, walking over to another shelf. He glared at you, sighing.

"Did you-"

"Shut up!" He scowled, looking away from you to grab another book from the shelf. 

A few seconds of prolonged silence passed as Jeongin turned to look at you, sighing when he saw your bottom lip quivering.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled.

"Y/n- no, it's okay. Next time, don't sneak up on me like that..." he sighed. "I've just got so much work on my plate. It's so frustrating...and I took that frustration out on you. Sorry."

You pressed your lips together, nodding and looking away. He sighed, moving a little closer, hand hovering over your shoulder before hesitantly coming down.

"I'll come over at 10, okay? We'll do this." He said, trying to feign enthusiasm. You shoved his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head. 

"I know you're not as into this as I am. I just thought...as my best friend, you'd want to do something fun with me. But if you'd much rather spend the night with your nose buried in a textbook, I won't stop you."

Jeongin smiled, that wide smile of his that affected you in a way you couldn't quite describe.

"Summoning a demon in your college dorm at midnight isn't exactly what the average individual would call fun, Y/N."

"You've always known I'm not the average individual." You winked. "Right...I'm going to let you study now. See you tonight! Don't forget-"

"Candles, rose petals and wine. Got it."

You grinned, waving as you walked away, a slight bounce in your step. Jeongin watched as you left, fondly shaking his head as he turned back to the shelf.

***

As the doorbell rang, you jumped off your bed and rushed to the door, opening it with a wide smile. "Jeonginnieee!~ Did you bring snacks?"

He nodded, struggling with the amount of packages he was holding. "Yes, along with the things for the ritual- shit, can I have some help here?"

You giggled, grabbing the plastic bag and one of the packages from his hand. You stared at the wine bottle in his hand pointedly.

"One of my friends got this for me. Don't ask who. It's a super cheap brand and I think it's half drunk already but-"

"It'll do." You interrupted, smiling as you suddenly pulled him down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jeongin's grip on the bottle tightened as his brain filled with sparks- the contact of your lips against his skin sending electricity shooting through his chest.

"You're the best best friend I could ask for. Thank you for getting everything."

Jeongin nodded nonchalantly, scratching his neck as he set the bottle and another package on the counter.

"Hey, the ritual needs to take place at midnight. We have like, 2 hours till then. Wanna watch a movie or something?"

"Why else do you think I brought snacks?" He laughed, opening the plastic bag and throwing a large packet of chips to you, that you caught with ease. Grabbing two cans of soda and a bag of candy, the two of you made your way to the couch. 

"Let's watch a horror movie? To get us in the spirit?"

"Sure." Jeongin commented, ripping open the packet as he sat on the floor and leaned against the couch. You smiled, popping a CD into the DVD player and crawling back over to Jeongin, cuddling close to him.

Jeongin gulped as you wrapped your arms around him. Your proximity was making him sweat, and he discreetly wiped away a drop of perspiration from his forehead. Over the years, you'd think that he would get used to your touchiness...but he just never did.

Nearly an hour later, you fell asleep halfway through the movie. Jeongin sighed, patting your hair as you slept, watching the rest of the horrid movie by himself. When a particularly silly scene came on screen, he wished you were awake so he could criticize it with you. His eyes drifted to the clock, eyes widening as he realized the time.

He poked your shoulder insistently. "Fuck, Y/n, get up...the ritual needs to take place soon, and we haven't set everything up yet-"

You blinked slowly, looking at him in confusion. "Hmm? Oh-"

You pushed him away, jumping up to your feet. "Shit, let's get the things ready, quick-" 

He sighed, standing up slowly as you ran to the packages on the counter, unwrapping everything. He watched as you jumped around in your hurry, chuckling to himself. 

Man, she's really into this.

Jeongin thought about it for a few seconds, sighing as he decided to show a little more enthusiasm...after all, you were his best friend...you always listened so patiently whenever he talked about his interests. 

He made up his mind. He'd put a little more effort into-

"What are you standing there for? Help!!"

He smiled at you, shaking his head, moving closer and helping you take out the things you needed.

***

Jeongin sat on your bed, watching as you tweaked some final touches here and there.

The silk had been laid out on the floor, all the lights were off. The room was illuminated in a warm, ochre glow, thanks to the numerous candles that had been lit and placed everywhere in the room. 

You made sure the rose petals were scattered properly, pouring just a little more wine into the single glass in the middle of the pentagram you'd made with the red yarn you'd found on sale in the crafts shop. 

Sitting up, you rubbed your forehead as you went over to the windowsill, relighting one of the candles that had snuffed out.

"15 minutes." Jeongin reminded as you nodded. "Okay...we're ready."

You sat down in front of the pentagram, breathing heavily in anticipation. Jeongin watched from his perch on your bed...He knew nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen tonight...unless a candle knocked over and set fire to the whole building. However, as he watched you bite your bottom lip in worry, he almost hoped you wouldn't be disappointed...that something out of the blue would happen.

Oh, if only he knew.

"So...say we do manage to summon a demon. Exactly how would this benefit us?"

"Good question." You pointed to the big book in front of you. You'd bought the huge tome from an occults shop down the block...it had been expensive, and you'd gone a few days without breakfast...but it was worth it.

You read out the paragraph to Jeongin, and he nodded, chewing on his lip as he listened. When you were done, he sighed, moving onto the floor next to you. 

"So, basically...like a genie? The demon will give us 3 wishes?"

"Eh. Genies don't exist. Also...they're not exactly wishes, more like...favours? I think? He'll ask us to repay them at a later date."

Jeongin rolled his eyes. "And nothing sounds fishy about that? Nothing? I'm not sure I want to be indebted to a demon..."

"Eh, it'll be fine. We've got to start. Okay, everything's ready...now, it says that the person who conducts the ritual needs to mix in a drop of their blood with the wine, and then drink it."

Jeongin wrinkled his nose. "Eww. Y/n, come on..." 

"What? It says it right here in on the book. It's just a tiny drop of blood, Jeongin. No big deal." 

"Are you sure...?"

"Yep. Okay so after that, we just need to chant this phrase three times, blow out the innermost circle of candles and voila! Our very own demon, here to do our bidding."

"F-fine."

You smiled at him, glancing up at the clock on the wall and swearing under your breath. "Fuck, it's time...Okay, let's begin." 

You scrambled around with one hand, finding the pocket knife and hovering it over your fingertip. Biting your lip, you slowly sliced your skin open, letting a tiny drop of blood fall into the wine glass below. Jeongin quickly got up, grabbing a box of band-aids from the bedside table and handing it to you. You glared at him for interrupting you, but sighed and let him wrap your finger up anyway.

Wrenching your hand away once he was done, you glanced at the clock once again before lifting the glass to your lips.

The wine flowed down your throat, the taste bitter and potent. You coughed once as you set it down, your eyes going over to the paragraph.

"Recipienti pignori obligo animam meam, et non sunt daemonium...et quod summoneret eum cum sanguine." 

You repeated it thirteen times, and then glanced at the clock again. One more second...

12:00.

You blew out the candles quickly, the entire circle snuffed out before it became 12:01.

You sat back, panting as the plumes of smoke danced around in the air. A minute passed by, then two.

Nothing happened.

A small sigh left you. You turned to Jeongin. The boy gave you a sympathetic smile, pulling you into his side and patting your shoulder. "It's o-"

He was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. The two of you turned around so fast you almost got whiplash...but there was nothing. Just smoke.

Wait...a lot of smoke. You frowned slowly as the candles kept releasing more and more of it, until there was far too much. The curlicues of smoke twirled in the air, fogging your vision as it slowly started forming into a figure. 

A figure with horns.

You quickly buried your face into Jeongin's chest, your heart beating fast. No way. No way it actually worked. This had to be a dream...right?

The way Jeongin shivered slightly beneath you proved otherwise. No. It all felt too real.

You looked up slowly, swallowing. 

He was still there.

A man...he was clad in a suit, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned all the way to his torso. His black hair was slicked back, exposing his forehead, and his nose was sharp...

Perhaps the most notable of it all were his eyes. They were almost catlike and shone with a crimson glow. 

Oh...that and the horns. Huge, blood-red horns that jutted out from his head.

His gaze was filled with scrutiny as he coolly stood there with his hands in his pockets, raising an eyebrow at the two of you, cowering on the floor.

"Did the pretty one here summon me?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, a small smirk on his face as his eyes roved over the silk and rose petals on the floor.

You gulped, pulling away from Jeongin a little more, but the boy didn't relax his grip on you. "Y-yes."

He nodded. "Thought so. I was actually extremely busy...but I could sense you were a cute one. I don't mind bending the rules a little for mortals like you." You noticed how he was only looking at you, completely ignoring Jeongin.

He looked around, going over to the armchair next to your bed and reclining on it, his stance reminiscent of a king's as he placed his chin on his hand, looking down at the two of you.

"Hmm, go on with it then. Why are you still fully clothed?" He asked, hand coming down over the straining bulge in his pants. 

Jeongin frowned, looking over at you in confusion that mirrored yours. What the fuck?

"I'm s-sorry? I thought...it doesn't mention that I have to be naked in the book here-"

He rolled his eyes, still palming himself. "Whatever. If you prefer being clothed, that's fine. Let's just get this over with, okay doll? Come here." 

"I'm c-confused-"

He tilted his head. "Why? You want your wishes granted, right?"

"Yeah-"

"Exactly. There are certain things I require as payment for those, you know." He meaningfully looked down at his bulge, and then back up at you again.

Your eyes slowly widened in outrage. "Wait...what the fuck??" Jeongin's mouth slowly opened in disbelief as you shook your head vehemently. "No. Nope. No way. I'm not going to let a demon fuck m-'

He shook his head, chuckling. "Darling, how else would an incubus such as myself grant your wish?"

"Pardon!?"

"We draw our powers from sexual energy-"

"I never-" You looked back at the book, scanning the paragraph over and over again. "I- it says nothing here about incubuses-"

"Incubi. And of course it doesn't. It's common knowledge that all wish-granting demons are incubi."

Jeongin shook his head, deciding he'd heard enough. He worked up his courage, trying to pretend like he wasn't intimidated by the actual demon that was in his best friend's bedroom.

"Look here, Sir- you can't just have sex with her. We must have missed the part where it said you were an...an incubus. Just go back where you came from."

The demon frowned slowly, his eyes finally landing on Jeongin. There was a questioning look in his eyes.

"Oh. I hadn't noticed the boy here." He sniffed the air, shaking his head. "His blood isn't involved in the ritual...must be why I couldn't see him properly till now." He mused, almost to himself as you looked at Jeongin, the two of you sharing a look filled with fear and bafflement. 

"It doesn't work that way, unfortunately, boy. I came here...and sadly, I cannot leave Earth until my purpose is satisfied and 3 boons are granted."

You shivered, wondering what the hell you had gotten into. The demon noticed your discomfort and sighed, inspecting his fingernails. 

"Look. I don't care if you have sex with me or not, although it wouldn't hurt to have my way with a pretty little kitten like you. All I need is sexual energy, so just fuck your friend here. I don't care."

It took a minute for the two of you to process what he had just said. He felt embarrassment fill him from head to toe as he buried his head in his hands, unable to look you in the eye.

However...you were starting to feel something quite different. The air was heavy and thick with a scent that was melting your inhibitions away, one by one. You felt arousal grow in your core, amplifying to the point where you let out a soft whimper, unable to control yourself anymore. 

You looked up slowly, gulping as you noticed the demon's eyes on you. He was smirking, a malicious one that was trained on you. His aura was driving itself into your brain, making you weaker and weaker in his presence.

"What...what are you doing to m-me?" You choked out, trailing off into a moan as you felt another sharp burst of pleasure.

"Hm? I'm not doing anything, little kitty. I'm just here, existing."

You felt your brain grow mushy as your neediness grew. 

He was an incubus, and you were chained to him with a blood link, thanks to the ritual. His pure sexual energy was merely too much for your human brain, and as the seconds passed by, you were closer to giving up.

Jeongin watched with horror in his eyes as you closed your eyes tightly, trying not to breathe in the contaminated air. However, as you felt another ribbon of ecstatic pleasure shoot through you, you finally snapped.

Whimpering like a bitch in heat, you crawled across the floor as the demon spread his thighs to accommodate you. He smirked at your needy form that looked up at him with wide, blown-out eyes, on your knees.

"Good girl." He ruffled your hair, chuckling as you ate up the praise, scrambling to unzip his pants. You managed to take his cock out finally, after a few minutes of fumbling.

He was big. Too big. His cock was redder than a human's, and almost angry looking.

Mouth-watering.

"What are you waiting for? Cat got your tongue?" He cooed, grabbing a handful of your hair as he held his cock with his other hand. 

You moaned, opening your mouth and staring up at him. He groaned, the innocence on your face entrancing him as he shoved you onto his length, your tiny mouth engulfed with his huge cock.

Spluttering, you felt tears spring to your eyes as he slid impossibly far down your throat. He groaned and threw his head back. The sight of you with your mouth stuffed full, your throat bulging with his cock...it was threatening to drive him insane.

Meanwhile, Jeongin could hardly believe what he was witnessing. He was frozen in place, unable to move even an inch as the shock filled every inch of his brain. The demon looked up at him, his grip on your hair relentless as he slowly started fucking your throat, so deep you could barely breathe.

"Like what you see, boy? Your girl's little throat mercilessly fucked by a demon? Tsk. How spineless." 

Jeongin felt the slightest bit of anger rush into him. Somehow, the demon's presence was amplifying his feelings, making him even angrier as he continued using your throat as a fucktoy. 

"S-stop."

"Hm? Why should I?" He paused, pulling you off his cock roughly, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, Sir. Please, please use me!" You begged, eagerly moving forward to take him into your mouth again. 

The demon looked back up at Jeongin, evil grin reappearing. 

Jeongin clenched his fists, hating how weak he felt. The sight of you on your knees, sucking off this, this impossibly hot demonic man, was putting a bad taste in his mouth. 

"Sir, just...you have to, stop-"

The demon wrinkled his lips, shaking his head. "My name is Minho, boy. I don't own you, so I don't expect you to treat me with respect...although you will, if you know what's good for you." He tutted, looking down at you again and holding you down on him harshly, your nose pressed to his skin.

"This kitten here does, though. The little ritual she did binds her to me for life."

"You can't- you can't just do that. You can't just take ownership of someone against their will-"

"It's not against her will. She's the one who carried out the ritual, may I remind you. I'm not forcing her to do anything." He lifted a finger in the air lazily, and somehow you found your body changing position, hands slipping off his lap and settling on the floor. Now you were on all fours, lips still wrapped around him as he bucked his hips up.

"The air stinks of jealousy. May I remind you that Envy is one of the deadly sins, little boy?" 

Jeongin didn't know what to say any more. He felt utterly helpless, out of place. His feelings were all muddled, and he didn't feel like himself. Sweat was gathering on his brow as Minho eased his grip on your hair, slowing down a little and letting you control the pace. He lifted his finger again, waving it in a tight circle...The energy in the room shifted even more as your skirt slowly lifted up, exposing your ass to Jeongin's eyes.

It was becoming harder to hide the straining bulge in his pants. 

You whined softly as Minho pulled out of you, fingers holding your chin as he observed your wrecked face carefully. "What a good kitten. Now, I think this little boyfriend of yours is enjoying the show too much." Minho looked up, his gaze directed at Jeongin's bulge.

"Wouldn't it be mean to make him watch and leave him out of this, kitty?" He asked, mock sympathy on his face as he waved his finger again, making your panties and shirt disappear in less than a millisecond.

You let out a soft yelp, feeling slightly humiliated. It turned you on more, as you realized you were now completely naked except for your skirt and socks. "Yeah, Sir, whatever you say." You let out a sigh and rested your chin on his thigh. "Want Jeonginnie to join too~" you mumbled.

Jeongin gulped, hating the way even more blood rushed south at the sight of you half-naked and on all fours. Now, he had a clear view of your glistening pussy as well as your puckered rim. He licked his lips subtly, all his emotions conflicted as he found himself moving closer. 

"Y/n...you really want this?" He asked softly, stopping a few centimetres away.

You turned around to look at him. "Yeah...please..." You pouted. The expression on your face was so needy that Jeongin couldn't help but cave. Besides, now that he was closer to Minho, the aura he was emitting was starting to affect him as well. And that meant he could feel his arousal grow at a fast rate, his cock painfully caged in his pants.

Minho leaned down a little to pick you off the floor. His suit jacket and shirt disappeared, leaving him shirtless as he settled you on his lap, facing Jeongin as he spread your legs.

Hands on your waist, Minho nosed at the back of your neck as he lined your entrance up with his tip. Your eyes were focused on Jeongin, senses clogged with ardor as Minho slowly lowered you onto his cock. The wetness gushing out of you made it a little easier for him to slip in, however his size was still stretching you out to the point where it was borderline painful. 

You felt the tears flow down your face freely, as Minho finally managed to push the last few inches in, his entire girth sheathed in you. He was as thick as he was long, and your pussy accommodated him desperately, aching.

He grunted, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Too fuck- fucking tight, princess-" He groaned, starting to fuck you on his cock slowly, his strokes roughly trying to open up your pussy.

Jeongin couldn't remember exactly when he'd taken his cock out...but his hands were wrapped around it, stroking slowly as his hooded eyes watched you bounce on the demon's cock. Minho used one hand to gather your skirt up, exposing the spot where you two were connected to Jeongin.

Jealousy, arousal, fear, shock and anger...it all melted together in his brain as he let his dark side take over, slowly. He knew it was because he was in close quarters with an incubus- the raw sexual energy was too much for his human brain to process healthily...it still felt so wrong.

"You want to fuck her, don't you? What are you standing there for, then?" Minho groaned, as he continued plunging his cock into you.

You whined loudly as Minho's tip hit your sweet spot roughly. "Jeongin- want jeong-" You tripped over your words as Minho fucked you dumb.

"P-please, Jeonginnieeee~ Want you in me!" You begged, one arm reaching behind you to wrap around Minho's neck as his hands came up to cup your boobs.

Minho looked up from kissing your neck, red eyes trained on the boy. "You heard her."

He sure did. As the last shred of apprehension faded away, Jeongin couldn't bring himself to care any more. In a few long strides, he was right in front of you.

He let go of you, as Jeongin pulled you downward, so that your face was level with his cock. Minho's grip on your hips was tight, making sure you didn't fall as you tried to steady yourself by placing your hands on Jeongin's thighs.

His thumb swiped across your bottom lip as he stared at you with hungry eyes, before he slipped it in. You started sucking on it eagerly, making the boy above you chuckle. 

He pulled his thumb out, prompting a whine from you- but quickly, it was replaced with the head of his cock as he pressed it against your parted lips, taking him in.

Jeongin's cock, despite being much smaller than Minho's, was above average for a human, and it still filled up your mouth deliciously. You felt him dive deep into your throat as he tangled both of his hands in your hair, using that as leverage to fuck into your mouth harder. 

"Good boy..."

"Don't call me that." Jeongin spat, his anger building up. He took out his frustration on you, fucking your mouth harsher than Minho had. The combination of two cocks in you turned you on more than ever, and soon enough, you came as you blubbered incoherencies, clenching tightly around Minho.

A few thrusts later, Jeongin felt his high approach. Not wanting to cum yet, he pulled out quickly. You looked up at him, looking so fucked out, absolutely heavenly. How ironic.

He needed you. He'd never felt any emotion this intense before. Gritting his teeth, Jeongin pulled you off Minho, throwing you onto the bed with a grunt. You stared up at him in shock, looking to the right at Minho. 

The demon let out a low chuckle, settling himself comfortably in his chair as he propped his chin up with one hand, the other jerking himself off.

Jeongin couldn't look at you. He avoided eye contact, knowing he'd go completely insane if he looked at you.

Roughly spreading your thighs, he leaned down to take your clit between his teeth. You let out a moan, throwing your head back as he shoved his tongue between your folds, groaning at the taste. He kissed and sucked all over your pussy, heart beating a little too fast. His fingers came up to rub at your clit as he shallowly fucked his tongue into your entrance.

Minho slowly stood up, tired of standing to the side. Gently, he shoved Jeongin to the side. The latter growled in frustration, but stopped as Minho lay down on the bed. You quickly understood, his power influencing you to comprehend what he wanted you to do.

You climbed onto Minho backwards, his cock in front of your face. You kissed up his length immediately, lips wrapping around his tip as you felt him grab your ass, pulling you so your pussy made contact with his tongue. 

He pulled away for a second. "Go ahead and fuck her ass, it's a lot tighter than her pussy." He said, knowing how roughly he'd fucked you just a while ago.

Jeongin couldn't care less. He just wanted to be in you, as quick as possible. As he led his cock to your ass, he gulped. This was not how he'd expected the night to go. 

He spat on your winking pucker, pushing in shortly after. You were so consumed with passion that it barely hurt, even when he started thrusting roughly. The pleasure set you ablaze, the combination of Minho's lips wrapped around your clit and Jeongin's dick deep inside your ass tantalizingly unreal. You couldn't think straight. 

Minho put his hands under you, spreading your ass cheeks, making Jeongin groan. You felt his tongue making its way into your pussy, making you moan around his cock. 

The room was filled with sounds of skin slapping skin, as well as the groans of the two men fucking you.

Jeongin had imagined having sex with you before. This was definitely not how he'd ever expected it to go. He'd thought of asking you out, taking you on dates, kissing your face and lips softly...yet here he was now, fucking your ass demonically. 

You purred as you felt his cock twitch inside you, starting to suck on Minho's cock harder. He tasted so different, almost addicting. You were driven with an intense need to taste his cum, kitten-licking his slit to try and get him to orgasm. 

You whined as Minho used his grip on your ass to drag your pussy over his mouth. The sound was so beautiful, driving Jeongin closer to his high. Before he knew it, he was fucking into you faster than before, intent on filling you up. In seconds, he came with a grunt, filling you up perfectly with his seed.

As he came down from his high, he regained some of his sensibility. He felt self-loathing fill him, hating what he'd just done. 

Jeongin watched as Minho ate you out roughly, his grip so tight on your ass that it was sure to leave future bruises.

As the demon sucked on your clit, you felt yourself shake, whimpering around his length as another orgasm washed over you, clenching around Jeongin's cock that was still inside you. The overstimulation made him bite his lip and pull out, watching as a drop of his cum leaked out of you. Using his finger, he gathered it up and pushed it back into your hole gently. 

Your continuous moans were sending vibrations down Minho's length, and soon he was fucking up into your mouth, chasing his high. He came after a particularly rough thrust, filling up your mouth with so much cum that it leaked out of the corners of your mouth.

Jeongin sat back as Minho pushed you off of him slowly, propping you up on the bed. Weakly, you closed your eyes, collapsing against the pillow. All the strength had been zapped out of you, and you fell asleep quickly.

Minho noticed Jeongin's worried expression, chuckling. "She just got fucked by a demon and her best friend. She'll be okay after some rest." He said, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"I...don't like this. She's never going to look at me the same way ever again. I've failed her as a best friend-"

"Woah, stop right there. She wanted it. She was practically begging for you."

"Well our friendship's never going to be the same after this, and I blame you." He said, glaring at the demon, who put up his hands in defense. 

"Look. You two summoned me, I came, I did my job." 

Minho lazily leaned back next to you, as you slumped, resting your head in his lap as you snored. He chuckled, and stroked your hair as if you were a cat.

"I could get used to living here." 

"What?!"

"Once I'm on Earth, I can't leave until I've satisfied my client's wishes. And I can tell the two of you are going to be...hard to satisfy. I'm going to be here for a while." He smirked. 

Jeongin tried not to let the jealousy show on his face. He hated the idea.

"You're in love with her...aren't you?"

Jeongin's eyes widened as he stared up at the demon whose eyes had softened. 

"I see the way you look at her. How protective you were of her." He sighed. "I'm a sex demon...love isn't my specialty. But...I know a few things about passion. You can't give up."

"That's easy for you to say." Jeongin groaned. Here he was, taking advice from a hellsent demon. What had his life come to?

"Anyway, I'll be spending a lot of time around here, so you'd better get used to this, boy."

"Jeongin." He looked up. "That's my name." 

Minho grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

He sighed, looking at you as you exhaled in your sleep, heart clenching with fondness. He couldn't believe the situation you'd gotten the both of them into...but somewhere deep down inside, he didn't regret anything that had happened.

Sometimes, being the responsible, mature one in your friendship was a challenging job..but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

[rebrandedbard]

A Bard He Would A-Wooing Go (6858 words)

Gift for @valdomarx: some good old mutual pining morons. In which Jaskier courts Geralt and Geralt is oblivious. Ao3 link in title.

Jaskier wrote a song like counting; Counting the years, the steps, until one day he might count the seconds and centimeters of distance that seemed to stretch like oceans between them. Each of them were like marks on a calendar, an entry in a diary to mark the progress. At first, he hid his true intentions behind false names and romantic figures, crafting beautiful damsels for the recipients of his verses in the time when he was still uncertain, but when the depth of his love became apparent to himself, he decided the day had come to be more overt.

He sang of a beautiful man with hair kissed by moonlight, eyes of amber still hollowed with the liquid golden honey left to flow inside. This he played by the evening fire, casting shy glances at Geralt over the flames. “Do you like my new song?” he asked.

“You inflate my image enough already,” Geralt replied in his usual gruff manner. The idea was to make him a hero of monster-slaying, not the heroine of some romance. Jaskier’s verses were too pretty and flattering, bound to be laughed at by the public. Moonlight and honey—such descriptions were wasted on witchers.

Jaskier frowned and played the second verse a little louder, ignoring his response. “I would rather sing it below a balcony; perhaps the artistry of the setting would help better mold your opinion.” He took on a faraway, doe-eyed expression as he spoke, strumming the gentle melody. “I would weave a crown of clover and present it to you. Yes, I think that would suit you fine. You’d cut a majestic figure, lighted by the stars. I would pluck one from the heavens and offer it to you so that it might sit atop your head, the very jewel of the crown, so that all might better see how brightly you shine.”

“Your songs do enough as it is. No need to crown me,” Geralt scoffed. He was not some divine hero. He was a witcher working for pay, and it was crude work. “You romanticize everything too much.”

“Oh, what would you know of it? You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.”

“First true thing you’ve said tonight.”

“The honey was more than true,” Jaskier huffed. He played the verse again, then stopped, something new glittering in his eye. It was an idea, Geralt recognized. He was far too familiar with that expression by now to mistake it, and he knew there would be a long, terrible enterprise awaiting him. Jaskier started to smile, and he took to his feet.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he proclaimed. “I’ve decided that this will not do. A simple song is not enough! Let it now be known that it is my intention, henceforth, to court you with all the trim, all the pomp, all the circumstance and bells and whistles! You must know the pleasures of romance in their many forms, and I will leave no stone unturned, no mountain unclimbed, until you have been thoroughly romanced!”

Geralt groaned and closed his eyes. He was not interested in a study of human courtship. He was especially uninterested in receiving such lessons from Jaskier of all people. Yet he knew there was no refusing once Jaskier set his mind to anything. Whether he wanted to or not, whatever protests he’d make, Jaskier would not be denied. The bastard would dig in his heels and get his way, and this—it was this game of his that would at last be the thing to kill Geralt. This farce would not be something Geralt’s heart would survive in one piece. He retired early, hoping the declaration would be forgotten in the morning if he gave no reaction. The slightest acknowledgement was all the encouragement Jaskier needed.

The next day, to his surprise, Jaskier was the first awake. He’d gone wandering in the woods before sunrise and returned with his arms laden with flowers. Geralt had awoken to the smell of the bouquet waved under his nose.

“Good morning, my dear witcher,” Jaskier said, grinning ear to ear. “Welcome to the first morning of the rest of your life! A humble offering, still wet with sweet morning dew.” He bobbed and placed the bouquet in Geralt’s hands with finesse before bounding over to relight the fire and begin their breakfast. To Geralt’s even greater surprise, there were five fish speared in the dirt beside it. Jaskier had gone fishing, it seemed. Flowers, fish—would there be a third gesture awaiting him so early in the morning? Or perhaps being first up was the gesture itself. Jaskier was not an early riser by any measure. Geralt might as well still be asleep as unbelievable as it was.

“So, you were serious about that courting thing,” Geralt said.

Jaskier waved his flints in the air dramatically. “Perfectly serious. Honestly, Geralt, you must have known this day would come.”

And Geralt had to admit, after several days spent with Jaskier giving lessons detailing the etiquette of the high courts, the more fashionable dances of the season, a history of the textile arts in which he explained how his doublets were made from the harvest of the fibers all the way through decorative pleating, and the proper forms of address for peers in no less than seven countries … yes, Geralt ought to have known that courting customs were next on the list of useless trivia Jaskier meant to impart.

At first, there was not much fuss and they were able to get on as usual. Geralt didn’t know what he expected in regards to a courtship from Jaskier, but what little thought he’d given the subject conjured images of endless smothering, Jaskier waxing poetic, arms waving dramatically, attaching himself at the hip of his hapless, adoring victim. But perhaps courtship was a one-a-day expression and that would be all until tomorrow.

He was wrong in multiple ways. Jaskier did not leap upon him with some obnoxious peacocking gesture, but he took it upon himself to pack camp after breakfast. Geralt watched him shuffle about, humming quietly. Jaskier had insisted Geralt stay out of the matter and sent him off to ready Roach. Camp packed, Jaskier tied their things to her saddle, and Geralt notice that he’d been careful to arrange the bags just as he himself might, the weight evenly distributed, potion bag furthest in front in easy reach, the rest in the order in which they’d need unpacking come evening. It was observant to say the least. Such a little thing, really, but Geralt was impressed.

“Ready?” Jaskier asked, offering Geralt his hand.

Geralt looked curiously at it, not sure what it was meant for. Jaskier was looking at him expectantly, and for an absurd moment, Geralt thought he wanted a tip like the men who kept Roach tended to in stables in town. At a loss, he shook Jaskier’s hand and turned to hook his foot in the stirrup. He startled when Jaskier took his hand again and helped him up over the side.

It was ridiculous. Geralt needed no help mounting. Yet … something about the action stuck with Geralt. It had been brief, but the way Jaskier had looked up at him as he held his hand, he looked almost as if he’d been about to kiss it.

Geralt wished he would.

After a while of travelling in companionable silence, Geralt inched his head to the side. He looked at Jaskier from the corner of his eye and asked, “What are your plans for this?” wondering just how well Jaskier had thought this silly game through.

“The courtship? Oh, flowers, sweets, dancing—the usual,” Jaskier replied with a careless wave of his hand. He played so casual, and yet Geralt saw the mischievous quirk of his lips. There was more. Jaskier was a great lover of surprises, both in giving and receiving.

Jaskier fiddled with one of his lute strings, running his nail up and down its length shyly. “I’m surprised you’ve accepted it without quarrel,” he said. “Thrilled, really. Not to imply that I’m blind to your reservations; I know how you must feel about the idea of formal courtship: a lot of fluff and unnecessary nonsense. But this is how I express my love, and it means a great deal to me that you would allow me to share the experience with you.”

“It’s not such a great burden,” Geralt replied, offering a light shrug.

Jaskier laughed. “No, indeed, I shouldn’t think so! It’s a gift—the greatest gift of all.”

Geralt snorted and argued that a new set of armour would be a much greater gift.

“Ever the pragmatist,” Jaskier sighed, smacking Geralt’s boot with a smile.

When they stopped for lunch, Jaskier offered his hand once more to help Geralt dismount. After eating, Geralt put his gloves quietly away in one of the bags, muttering to himself that is was a warm day, as if Jaskier might notice and wonder. And though the air had a leftover chill of early spring, when the time came to ride off again, his hand felt hot in Jaskier’s. Geralt soon forgot his gloves entirely, had misplaced them quite carelessly among his bags or on the road. But Jaskier never commented on their absence.

In addition to the attentions Jaskier lavished upon Geralt, Roach benefitted from a surge in care. Jaskier brushed her coat nearly every other day, and it was shinier than ever before. He braided wildflowers in her mane, styled each morning length by length. Afterwards, he would brush Geralt’s hair, braiding it to match. It was the most preposterous thing, and yet Geralt could not help feeling a silly sort of happiness. Jaskier had been feeling much bolder since the first day, and had even allowed himself to put flowers in Geralt’s braids. Geralt would wake to find them on his bedroll in the morning—Jaskier wasn’t as sneaky as he liked to imagine.

It was new, Jaskier brushing Geralt’s hair this way. He might comb Geralt’s hair after a bath or wrestle a brush through it when it had begun to resemble a feral rat’s nest, but now it was more regularly maintained. There was no excuse of necessity. Geralt could close his eyes and enjoy the moment, Jaskier’s gentle hands at work, sometimes simply scratching his scalp, the brush abandoned for minutes at a time. It was such a tender gesture, Geralt at times forgot that it was nothing more than a demonstration.

But oh, Jaskier went to such lengths so teach! He had Roach re-shoed in the city with fine new horseshoes, claiming that the shoes would clip and clop and ring out the song of his heart on every cobblestone, and that the gait of her stride itself would be a reminder of his devotion. And truly, as they walked her to the stables afterwards, Geralt heard their cheerful mocking with each step, “It’s all a game! It’s all a game!” He was glad to give her the day off to rest, and to avoid the clippity-clop of her bright new shoes.

Geralt tried to be objective. When they spent the evening at a tavern, listening to a local bard perform, he did not allow his thoughts to linger on the hand resting over his on the bench. Nor did he read into things when Jaskier asked him to dance. Dancing—the usual. It was one of the most basic aspects of courtship.

When they spun in and out of the formation on the dance floor, when Jaskier entwined their fingers, when Jaskier pulled them close together, Geralt tried in vain to blame his dizziness on the spinning steps. When someone tried to cut in for a quick romp with Jaskier, only for Jaskier to snatch Geralt’s waist again in rejection of the advance, Geralt did not let his thoughts linger on how pretty the young woman had been and how well Jaskier might look dancing with her, nor the thrill he’d felt in that instance of being so firmly chosen against such an enticing offer.

Though there were contracts to be fulfilled, Jaskier found ways to steal Geralt away for an hour or two here and there and between. He’d dragged Geralt along to see a play: something very modern and poetic. They paid for standing admission, the cheapest and, according to Jaskier, the very best way to appreciate the art up close. They talked throughout, joking with the other patrons and laughing at the worst bits in near-vicious mockery. Evidently, that was the only way to enjoy anything so poorly critiqued, and a step above throwing rotten fruit. He bought them a little parcel of candied nuts, and now and then they flicked a nut at the very worst actor for having every other line fed to him from offstage. They came away laughing with not a single guess as to what the play itself had been about.

The next week they were on the road again, and things were quieter. The city provided so many forms of entertainment, but Geralt liked it best when it was only the two of them, nestled in the calm of nature. Jaskier was lively, and the environment affected his mood. Out in the woods, his gestures were sweeter, smaller, and sentimental. Geralt enjoyed this gentler aspect of Jaskier’s courtship, for his method changed between the city and the road.

Away from the excitement and bustle, Jaskier expressed himself more subtly. As if by magic, ingredients for Geralt’s potion stock would be replenished after one of Jaskier’s morning walks. He did not make grand declarations or even show any signs of wishing to be acknowledged for the little things he did. He simply did them, waiting to catch Geralt’s smile.

“Here,” Jaskier said, tossing a coiled bit of leather at Geralt. It was a braided strap of cord, burnt black over the fire. “In your favorite gloomy color,” he teased. “Your old tie is a twist from falling apart; I thought you might like a new one to tie back your hair.”

Geralt smiled, and he was sure he’d begun to build muscle in his cheeks from how often that had happened now. He admired the tie, running his thumb over the pattern. Cautiously, he edged closer to Jaskier and handed it back to him. He turned around, offering Jaskier his back and whispered, “Would you fix it for me?”

At once, Jaskier’s hands were in his hair, swapping out the old tie for the new. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had the old tie fasted to his wrist, looking down at it with a gentle smile. His eyes flickered back up to Geralt, and that same shy expression softened his features from that day when he’d presented his new song. A new shine glinted in his eyes, a fresh spark that danced in the firelight. Geralt’s words of thanks died on his tongue at the sight of it. His eyes roamed Jaskier’s face, taking in the warmth of his gaze.

So loving. So deceptively close to genuine. What a fantastic actor Jaskier would make, Geralt thought. He even smelled happy. Like … vanilla. He leaned closer, breathing it in. By now he’d forgotten the smile in Jaskier’s eyes, forgot how long he’d ceased to study it. Now he’d been distracted by the smile on his lips, taking in their color, the shape of them. He wanted a better look. If he touched them, perhaps he’d learn what made them turn up the way they did—might know how much of their warmth was owed to the fire, how much was owed to Jaskier. He thought they’d come nearer now, and he could just make out the small lines in them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, sweeter, and he felt the touch of Jaskier’s hand brush his cheek.

Jaskier’s hands rose, curling back around his neck as he leaned forward. Geralt blinked rapidly, tilting his head a fraction to the side. His slow heart fluttered to life in his chest. Often he’d imagined what it might be like to be in this very moment. Once, he’d even had the pleasure of dreaming it, but living it was more unbelievable. That Jaskier might kiss him was unfathomable, yet he was here, his hands reaching out, his lips parting, the nearness of him overwhelming and gloriously true. Geralt had nearly closed his eyes when he felt a slight tug on his hair.

“There,” Jaskier said with satisfaction, pulling away. “It was a bit crooked.”

His hair. Jaskier had leaned forward to … to fix his hair.

Jaskier was up now, walking toward their bags. The wind of the motion sent a chill through Geralt and he slumped forward, feeling suddenly cold. He’d been on the flat of a mountain once, standing at the edge of a cliff, all the wide world below him. Looking down, he’d felt as if the world might swallow him up. The sky above was so clear, devoid of even clouds, and he felt he might fall into it if only to relieve the endless void. That was how Jaskier’s absence felt. The wind which had commanded the mountainside was but a puff of air compared to the waft of air left in Jaskier’s wake. Geralt turned like a dying flower turns toward the sun, longing after him.

The bedroll was made smooth beneath Jaskier’s attentive hands as he went about preparing to retire. Geralt sighed and watched, trying to remind himself again that he was reading too much between lines that were unwritten: lines like bars in a cell. His infatuation was unfounded, and this scheme of Jaskier’s to educate Geralt in the ways of courting was only fuel to the fire. What a pointless endeavour. When would Geralt ever use this knowledge? To aid Jaskier as he pursued his fancy of the month? To himself win the heart of some stranger?

Jaskier bowed playfully and motioned to the bedroll. “Your chariot awaits to carry you off into Slumberland, sweet prince of the night,” he announced. He held a blanket in his hands, his boots and doublet set by his pack. With a flourish he rose and waited for Geralt expectantly.

Geralt obediently removed his boots and crawled onto the bedding. Best to sleep and let the moment be forgotten by morning, start over with another day. He turned on his back, waited for Jaskier to cover him with the blanket, to finish his joke and set up his own roll to sleep. Instead, he found Jaskier flopped at his side, his arm flung over his chest, and the blanket wrapped around the two of them snugly.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. His breath puffed against Geralt’s neck as Jaskier cuddled closer, hooking an ankle over Geralt’s leg. He settled comfortably on Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes, the most contented smile on his face. Geralt could hear his heartbeat slow down, even and rhythmic, lulling.

After some time, Geralt thought he’d gone to sleep. He cautiously shifted, rolling on his side to face him. Jaskier had long eyelashes, he discovered. This close, Geralt could see a number of faint freckles on his cheeks, the subtle wrinkles about his eyes. He rarely allowed himself to look when they were together at night, but lately that had become a temptation hard to resist. He looked now while he might steal a private minute or two without fear. There was one little hair poking out from Jaskier’s nose and Geralt chuckled to know how bothered Jaskier would be when he noticed it eventually. He reached a tentative hand out, resting it on the loose fabric of Jaskier’s chemise where it lay on the roll, too cowardly to reach out and touch Jaskier in spite of the arm Jaskier had around him. That alone was enough. That already was daring.

Geralt slowly closed his eyes, trying to lock away the memory of the moment. He opened them again for one last look as the fire died down. Jaskier seemed to shine in the afterglow and Geralt closed his eyes again so that he might trap the afterimage in the dark. Then, Jaskier shifted and there was a warmth pressed to Geralt’s forehead. A kiss goodnight.

Was Jaskier awake, or was he in a dream? Geralt’s fingers curled in a fist around the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, desperately wondering. The question plagued him as he felt himself slip away. He shuddered, the inches between them a frozen tundra, all his doubts denying him the feel of Jaskier’s warm embrace even as it wrapped tighter around him. His last thought before being claimed by sleep was a silent wish. He wished that tomorrow the game would end. And more secretly, he wished it would be replaced with something real.

The courting continued more enthusiastically than before. Jaskier broke from the conservative spending habits Geralt had instilled in him over the years. He did not skip about buying frou-frou delights for himself or wasteful fashions. No. When he loosened his purse strings, it was to buy an extra plate for Geralt at dinner. It was to stock the spices Geralt liked best and the preserves he would never indulge in on his own. Geralt did his best to object, but relented upon Jaskier’s insistence that, “It’s a part of the courtship! You cannot deny me this privilege!” And because Jaskier would not be denied, he even found a twisted paper package of caramels hidden away in his bag among the empty potion bottles.

Jaskier continued to cuddle up with Geralt even as spring gave way to the heat of summer. Geralt thought that the game would surely be over by now, but there was no end in sight. Jaskier kept finding more and more ways to surprise Geralt, and it seemed his knowledge of courtship was far more lengthy than Geralt might have ever anticipated. That such an affair could hold Jaskier’s attention for so long was incomprehensible, and with nothing in return. Geralt could understand continuing their study if Jaskier were courting someone in earnest all the while, or having one of his romps for a weekend when they were travelling, but Jaskier had not so much as looked at anyone since … Geralt could not remember the last time Jaskier had flirted with anyone. That made it so much easier to believe. And that made it so much harder to withstand.

Months passed. Jaskier’s courtship fluctuated. He was mainly reserved in his affections and things were not much changed from before they’d begun. There may have been more lingering touches, but those had always been there, since the day they’d met. Likely it was only that Geralt was more aware of them, looking for any sign, grasping at straws for a hint of truth, denying it whenever he found one in an act of self-preservation.

Occasionally the grander gestures would return, and Jaskier counted these as special days. He justified their indulgence by using the situation as evidence; usually these occasions fell on holidays or anniversaries of which Geralt had been unaware, and if they should happen upon a festival or event unaware, Jaskier would sweep Geralt along for an improvised day of fun.

“As with any courtship, one ought to take any opportunities to enjoy oneself as one may find,” Jaskier said, always happy to remind Geralt that the courtship was ongoing, no matter how many months had passed, as if he could not tire of such proclamations. “And what could be more memorable than a day together where all the world is colorful, all the people laughing? It’s so much more fun when everyone is having fun! You can pretend that all the world is right and perfect for one day: no monsters to fight, no prejudices to contend with, and no disdainful destiny pulling at strings. Just a day chasing whatever shining thing catches your eye, unplanned, unbridled joy!”

And truly those were days where it felt like anything might happen. Jaskier shined so brightly, dragging Geralt from booth to booth. They played horseshoes, tried their hand at throwing hatches and other games and tests of skill. One favorite event they’d come upon was a sort of artist’s exhibition in Oxenfurt. Jaskier had been invited to give a lecture on his composition process and he’d insisted on Geralt coming along. After his lecture, which Geralt had listened to attentively from the back of the room, they’d gone through the university and explored the other lectures and demonstrations.

There were great works on display: tapestries and steam-powered inventions, fastidiously cultivated plants with clippings and pressed blooms for sale; a perfumer gave samples of scented paper and described how the brewing was done, and a much better kind of brewing was explained by an artisan ale brewer who offered them small mugs of her product while they listened. Jaskier attended a workshop on embroidery. Fascinated by the practice after so many years of wearing finely embroidered clothes, he wished to learn a bit of handiwork himself. Meanwhile, Geralt was especially interested to watch the smelter, blacksmith, and silversmith at work, privately comparing their methods of crafting swords with those he’d studied in the keep. It was by far one of the more memorable days of the season.

Jaskier bought Geralt a small scrap of decoratively twisted iron from the blacksmith to keep as a reminder. It wasn’t useful for much apart from keeping away faeries, but he bought a strip of cord from the lecturing tanner and fashioned a charm for him, tying it to the sheath of his silver sword. Once more, Geralt chided him for wasting money on useless things, but he found himself smiling at the charm whenever he sat to sharpen his swords. Later on, Geralt had nearly lost it on a hunt and had lingered later after the kill, searching the rocky terrain until he found it.

By fall, Geralt had nearly forgotten Jaskier was courting him at all. It had become their new normal. He let himself indulge in Jaskier’s attention, taking a page from his book. Once in a while Jaskier would make some comment about their courtship to someone in a tavern when asked why he would be travelling with a witcher, and Geralt would remember and the heavy feeling would settle over him again, but the days were too busy and bright, so he soon forgot again. It was difficult to be sad long with Jaskier’s arm looped in his.

When they weren’t travelling, that is to say, when they spent a day or two in town on a contract, Jaskier had taken to spending time alone. He would spend a few hours in their room, or he’d be somewhere in town, a bag always at his side. He practiced his embroidery, following the sample patch he’d stitched at the exhibition. Sometimes he displayed his work proudly when Geralt passed, and other times he was quick to hide it in his bag. Once, Geralt overheard news in a pub that Jaskier had been present at a quilting bee, then the gossiping party fell to whispers when they saw the witcher approach. This was during the time when Jaskier was more frequently away, acting secretive and sneaking about.

The reason behind these mysterious disappearances was shortly unveiled by the end of the month when Jaskier presented Geralt with a new winter cloak. He held it proudly stretched in his hands. It was a dark blue wool. The hood and collar were embroidered with white and yellow flowers, framed by a curling green ivy. There were two metal clasps sewn on either side, and a close look revealed them to be buttercups.

“I made it myself,” Jaskier said, glowing with pride. “Well, all but the clasps. But I did design them—think of it as the signature on a great painting!” Before Geralt could take a breath to compliment his work, Jaskier swung the cloak around Geralt’s shoulders, adjusting it handsomely. “Good, it’s not too narrow. I was a little worried, but I thought if it fit me it ought to fit you fine. Had to make sure it was wide enough in the shoulder, so I measured your armour for a good estimate. Do you like it?”

Geralt blinked. “It’s for me?” he asked.

“Of course it is. Why else would I have been so secretive? I wanted to surprise you!”

Jaskier turned away, kneeling down to pull something from beneath their bed. There was only one—had only been one for a long time now. When Jaskier emerged, he had a large box in his hands. “And now to complete the ensemble,” he said cheerfully. He shoved the box in Geralt’s hands looking up at him in anticipation.

Struggling to process the enormity of the gift, Geralt opened the box mechanically. Inside was a pair of new black leather boots with heavy tread. Upon further inspection, he discovered they were lined with rabbit fur inside the cuff.

“There. Now you’ll be ready for the journey home this winter,” Jaskier declared. Then, just a twitch, there was something reserved in his expression—something that suggested gloom. He smiled through it and straightened Geralt’s hood, making it symmetrical. His hands remained a moment, poised on Geralt’s shoulders. He seemed hesitant. There he stood, looking up at Geralt, and he appeared to be holding his breath, waiting for something.

“Thank you,” Geralt said at last. He shook his head. “No, I … it’s more than that.” It was too much; he didn’t know how to express his gratitude.

Jaskier’s hands fell and he looked at the shining clasps, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. “Yes, well. You’re welcome to it,” he said.

“I’m not sure how I ought to thank you,” Geralt continued. It occurred to him that he could ask. That was the purpose of all of this: to educate him on courtship. Every good pupil asked questions. So he did ask. “How does one usually show their appreciation after receiving a courting gift? Should I reciprocate?”

Whatever cloud passed over Jaskier’s features faded and was replaced by a small smile. “Custom dictates that you should complement the handicraft and dress yourself immediately that I might admire you bedecked in my gifts,” he answered. “Go on then! On with the boots! And if you’re feeling especially gratified, you may accompany me to dinner and allow me to show you off in all your glory.”

Geralt snorted. “Long-winded way to say you’re hungry and broke.”

“Put on the boots, you ass; I’m paying for dinner.”

As soon as Geralt had his new boots on—and oh, how comfortable they were!—Jaskier twirled his finger in the air, made him turn and model. Geralt rolled his eyes but turned around graciously. Jaskier beamed and showered him with praise. He slipped on his own cloak, for it was a cold evening, and they left the little inn, headed toward the delicious smell of the pub and their dinner, following the welcoming glow of its windows down the cobbled street.

“Wait!” Jaskier cried, leaping in front of Geralt. He spread his arms wide and Geralt nearly crashed against his back. Geralt looked over his shoulder to see what danger caused Jaskier to halt in the middle of the road, only for Jaskier to sweep the warm cloak from his shoulders and drape it across a rather nasty, muddy puddle before them.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. It was a new cloak—Jaskier had bought it only a fortnight past. He’d carefully selected a cool green, saying it would remind him of spring when the winter made the world grey, and Geralt had seen him embroidering the collar of it in the evenings before bed. Jaskier had doted on it, and Geralt had never known Jaskier to wear a cloak. Ever. He was never on the road when the weather was cold enough to warrant one, always holing up in Oxenfurt or carving himself out a space in some court for the season. He’d taken such pride in the cloak, adding his own personal touches to it, making it quite his. He talked about it constantly, boasting that it would keep him thoroughly safe when the winter chill set in, that he might climb the most icy, terrible mountain and feel as though he were snuggled up by the fireside.

That was the straw to break his back at last.

“What are you doing? That will never wash out,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskier bowed dramatically and rose with a charming shrug. “What burden is a bit of mud, my dear? I’ll not have your new boots so soon sullied on their first venture. If I allowed that, what kind of suitor would I be?” He chuckled and pressed a chaste, teasing kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt flinched away, heart leaping into his throat. “You’ve taken this too far!” he cried.

“Geralt, I assure you, the fabric is perfectly sensible and there’ll be no stain. I specifically chose it for wearing on the road.” He looked at Geralt, picking at the end of the cloak still draped in his hands. He kept his tone teasing and light, but there was a nervous edge to it he tried to hide behind a laugh. “Come now,” he said, “don’t let my gesture go in vain; I was trying so very hard to be suave.”

“No. It’s not just the cloak,” Geralt hissed. “This whole charade! I—!” Geralt fisted his hands in the thick fabric of his cloak. He turned his head away, grit his teeth. “I’m calling it off, Jaskier. I can’t tolerate one more day of this game.”

“What game?” Jaskier asked. The false cheer left him. Honest worry furrowed his brow as he lifted the wet cloak once more from the puddle, clutching it as a child might cling to a blanket.

“This courtship. It has to stop.”

Jaskier turned pale. He trembled, though no breeze swept through the air. When he spoke, his voice trembled in kind, and he looked at Geralt with anxious eyes. “If this is about the winter,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for being pushy. You’re not ready—I can wait. But we can move slower if that’s the issue, and I can give you your space until spring, just like every year.” His hands twisted in the cloak and he held it closer to his chest. “But I thought you wanted … you agreed to the courtship. And we were headed east together. It’s coming on winter, so I thought … And you’re not one for words …” he trailed. “I don’t understand what’s changed. Just this morning we—”

“This morning, you didn’t kiss me!” Geralt snapped. “I can hold your hand, I can dance with you and listen to your pet names, I can accept your gifts and gestures in an effort to understand your customs. I know you want to teach me about courtship. It’s important to you—or entertaining. But I can’t abide being kissed! Not as part of some lesson.”

Geralt’s eyes felt hot and there was a strange hollow in the pit of his stomach. “Not if it doesn’t mean anything,” he concluded. He couldn’t look Jaskier in the eye for fear of the understanding he’d find there. What pity or disgust would he see when the realization hit? What horrible expression would he find twisting Jaskier’s expression when he finally understood that his best friend, an emotionless, beastly, taciturn witcher, was in love with him?

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered.

There it was. Geralt’s head hung low. He silently braced himself. This was the part where Jaskier would let him down gently. Or he might make an awkward joke and pretend he didn’t understand, brushing it all aside and moving on as always. Geralt wasn’t sure which would be worse. He wished Jaskier would simply leave and he wouldn’t have to suffer either one.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt heard the splash as Jaskier dropped his cloak once more to the ground. And suddenly there were warm hands cradling his face. “My darling,” Jaskier said, “let me be perfectly clear. No, no, don’t look away—you’ve got to look at me and listen very carefully to what I say. This isn’t a game. I’m not playing at romance with you. I’m not trying to teach you anything either. No games, no jokes, no tricks.”

Jaskier pulled Geralt closer, forced him to meet his eyes. Geralt looked at last and saw nothing but raw sincerity staring back. “This is real,” Jaskier said. “All of it. Since that day I stood and swore to court you and win your heart. Every action and effort I made was in earnest.”

Geralt felt the grounding touch of Jaskier’s thumb stroking his cheek. His heart remained in his throat, still uncertain, but it beat with a fragile hope. “What does it mean then?” he asked.

Jaskier sighed, resting their foreheads together. “It means I love you,” he answered.

Geralt closed his eyes. He felt such a fool. Slowly, he brought his hands up to cover Jaskier’s, pressing them more firmly against his skin. The touch felt new. It had a weight to it now, and he felt lighter than ever before, needed their anchor to keep from drifting away.

Jaskier loved him.

“How does a happy courtship end?” Geralt asked, though he did not wish for it to end so soon, now that he’d learned it was real. He was inclined to start over again and do it properly, no shadows or clouds to hang over them.

Jaskier let out a last nervous breath and smiled. “With marriage,” he said. “Eventually. But I think that may be a bit too soon for us.”

“Then before that.”

“Generally, the first stage ends with a kiss. I think that’s about right for where we are.”

“And … will you kiss me?” Geralt asked, opening his eyes again. He looked into Jaskier’s deep blue irises, and for once he could examine them as much as he liked, he realized. So he stared, taking in every brown freckle, every fleck of gold however small, looking as he never allowed himself to before. With satisfaction, he watched Jaskier’s pupils widen. He was sure he looked much the same.

Jaskier chuckled, pulling Geralt’s hands down and cradling them in his own. “Me?” he asked playfully. “Oh no, my dear; I did the wooing. The stage ends when you take the reciprocating action and encourage me to continue. Therefore it is you who must kiss me. If you like.”

“And if I do?”

“Then by all means,” Jaskier prompted. “Kiss me!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side, no more hesitation, and pressed their lips together in a gentle embrace. Just one short, reverent kiss: the fruition of his longing. It was not studied—was even a bit skewed from lack of practice. But it was freeing. He leaned back again as they parted, and he felt Jaskier leaning forward after him. Geralt smiled, his heart fluttering with a joy he never thought he’d know. This felt right. Felt wonderful. And now the tension was gone and he had nothing left to fear with Jaskier’s hands so tightly clasping his.

“So. What comes in the next stage of courtship?”

“Another kiss, certainly,” Jaskier said, stepping forward in an attempt to close the distance.

Geralt stepped back, a cheeky smile rising to his lips. “I’m fresh out,” he teased.

“Goodness me!” Jaskier gasped theatrically, and he was grinning right back. “Thankfully, I have one spare! Many, in fact, if you’d like them.”

“I would.”

“But, ah! I’m not so cheap as that!” Jaskier cried in retribution. If Geralt would refuse him another kiss, Jaskier would make him earn the next. “I must be wooed first, Geralt of Rivia. It’s your turn, I did say, and I’ll have you know I expect a great deal after all the work I put in. Rides on Roach, dinners cooked for me, breakfasts, embarrassingly poor poetry; then there’s the matter of you holding my hand when I ask, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me to bed in the evening, fresh flowers, foot massages, the—”

Geralt stepped forward again and silenced Jaskier’s rambling with another kiss, smiling through it too hard to make good on the act. He laughed, tucking his face against Jaskier’s jaw as he tried to compose himself long enough to see it through, then he was kissing Jaskier’s jaw and cheek, his eyes, everything within reach as the giddy feeling rose from his chest, laughing all the while as though he would never stop.

Jaskier laughed and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Yes, and as many of those as you can afford,” he chuckled. “You were holding out on me, you old tight-purse.”

Geralt pulled away enough to look Jaskier in the eye. “If I promise to woo you later, would you please just shut up and kiss me now?” he asked.

Jaskier huffed and regarded Geralt with sarcastic affection. “Someone has got to teach you about romance,” he said.

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Two

*gifs not mine*

Chapter Two: Welcome Home

Series Masterlist

Plot: Reader arrives back on D’Qar and reunites with Poe and Leia. A bit of the Reader’s backstory is also explained.

Warnings: A little suggestive flirting 👀, fluff and a little bit of angst at the end.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Poe’s finally here 🥳 I’m already loving writing him and the reader’s story! I’m also loving writing the relationship between Leia and the reader. Hopefully you like it, feel free to comment (I love hearing what you think!) and let me know if you want to be tagged. (I apologize for any typos)

————

They’d found her when she was only four years old, Leia and Han. They’d travelled to Naboo so that Leia could meet with the Queen on a Republic matter. Han had been walking through the marketplace carrying a seven year old Ben on his shoulders. Han wasn’t exactly the warm and cuddly type, but Ben and Leia could bring it out in him instantly. He grinned as his son would point out the different colorful items the vendors were selling.

“Dad, I’m hungry. Can we get lunch?” Ben asked, tugging on one of Han’s ears.

“Yeah, buddy,” Han replied, pulling Ben down from his shoulders and walking hand in hand with him. They found a small cart selling fresh fruit, Ben picked out two large pieces for him and his father. He handed them to Han and waited by his side as he paid. That was until he spotted a darkened alleyway and got curious, deciding to go down it. And at the end of it, there she was, knees to her chest and crying. One of Ben’s greatest gifts was empathy so he instantly ran over to her. 

“Are you ok?’ he asked, standing above her. She looked up at him with tears down her chubby cheeks,

“No, I’m so hungry. A-and I’m thirsty. And I don’t have any money.”

Ben sat down next to her as she began crying again, putting an arm around her shoulders,

“Well, where’s your mom and dad?” he asked, but his question only provoked more tears from her.

“They died, and now I’m stuck here.”

Ben’s little jaw dropped, his parents were his whole world. He couldn’t imagine being without them. And he didn’t went to see anybody suffer like this girl was. So he stood up, put his hand out to her and said the three words that would change both their lives forever,

“Come with me,”

—————

When I landed, I expected Leia to send a new recruit to come pick me up.

I did not expect Poe Dameron to be waIting for me.

The first thing I saw upon stepping off the ship was a small beat up roofless cruiser and the cocky pilot leaning up against it. A couple of curls fell loose against his forehead and a smile graced his lips, he looked at ease. A relaxed Poe Dameron was hard to find these days.

“Well, someone looks happy.” I said as I got closer to him.

“How can I not be when my favorite person is finally home?” he responded joyfully.

I stopped in front of him, a few inches of space between the two of us, “Aw, did Snap get back from his mission?”

Poe laughed, “Yeah, but Snap’s not half as pretty as you are, sweetheart.”

I could feel the involuntary blush climbing my cheeks, a reaction only Poe could set off in me. I was pretty sure he knew it too judging by the way he was smirking at me. He couldn’t help himself, he was always charming. But his flirtatious side seemed to be saved solely for me. I’d have been lying if I said that it didn’t make me feel special.

“Nice to see you haven’t changed in the four days I was gone,” I quipped as I climbed into the cruiser and set my backpack in the backseat.

Poe climbed into the pilot’s seat and turned the ship on, beginning our journey into the heart of D’Qar. As hard as it always was to leave Han and Chewie, there was something comforting about being back home. I wasn’t even sure if I could call it home, but it was the closest thing to it I could remember having.

“So how was your visit with Solo?” Poe asked, he was one of the only people who knew the true meaning behind my “surveillance missions”. It wasn’t that I was ashamed and it’s not like people didn’t know that I was the adopted daughter of the Han Solo and Leia Organa. But everyone already looked at my family as a tragic story, I didn’t need any pity or pats on the back every time I came from seeing Han.

I stuck a hand out of the cruiser, letting the wind dance between my fingers, “It was good, it had been a while since my last visit.”

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been slow around here lately, now has it?” Poe remarked, maneuvering us through the crowded forest with narrow openings. 

I chortled, “No, sir, it has not. I can’t imagine how many messages are waiting for me on my datapad.” I knew I’d be working late into the night.

“Sorry, I’m focused on the fact that you just called me ‘sir’” Poe said before glancing over at me smugly.

“Keep it in your pants, Dameron.” I said with an eye roll and a smack to his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, don’t hit the pilot. Otherwise I might-“

All of a sudden, we swerved to the left practically hitting a tree. I yelped and clung to my seatbelt, Poe quickly straightened out as he laughed.

“Do something like that.” He finished.

“Poe Dameron, I swear I’m never flying with you again!” I yelled, trying to catch my breath.

He continued to laugh at me and even though I was mad at what he’d just done, I started laughing too. It was easy to be mad at him, but nearly impossible to stay that way. Poe and I had been friends practically since he stepped foot on base after Leia recruited him. He’d certainly pulled more reckless stunts with me present than swerving in a forest.

As I looked over at him, laughter still escaping his lips, I couldn’t help but wish I could see him like this more often. Worry and stress were absent from his face, replaced with relaxation and joy. Poe always looked handsome, but in that moment he looked damn right beautiful. He wasn’t a soldier right now, he was a young man unencumbered by war enjoying time with a friend.

“See something you like?” He quipped, his eyebrow raised suggestively.

I hadn’t realized that I’d been staring at him for a solid two minutes while I silently mused,

“I just wish we had more time like this. Not worrying about the next mission or hoping that everybody comes back alive. Just...” I let my sentance trail off, the weight of my words settling in the air

Poe’s face turned serious, “Yeah, I know...But think of it this way,” He took one of my hands into his, “The sooner we win this war, the sooner we get to our lives being nothing but moments like this.”

I smiled softly, squeezing his hand and looked ahead of us to see the base in the distance. Poe’s few words seemed to relight the fire inside me. I wanted to fight for a life filled with love, happiness and safety not only for me or Poe, but for the galaxy. Some days it seemed an impossible goal, but I believed in us. I believed in the Resistance. And the closer we got to base, the more eager I was to dive head first into whatever workload was waiting for me.

Poe still hadn’t released my hand from his, not that I minded. His touch was comforting. I also didn’t mind the fact that his thumb was idly sliding up and down the skin softly.

We pulled into base and headed into the always noisy hanger, the smell of X-Wing engines and oil filling my nostrils. I used to hate the scent but with most of my friends being pilots, I learned to like it. Poe landed the small cruiser in a corner away from the larger ships. Powering it down, we both looked at each other with a relaxed smile,

“Wecome home, sweetheart.”

“Good to be back, flyboy.”

He finally released my hand to hop out of the vehicle while I grabbed my backpack. He waited on my side till I’d gotten out and proceeded to walk with me through the hanger. The sounds of pilots yelling over the sounds of drills and soldering irons, mechanics walking back and forth between tool boxes and their assigned planes...I was definitely home.

My communicator buzzed as we entered the first long hallway of the base. I took it from my pocket and looked at the message,

Come to my quarters once you’re back.

I stopped and turned to Poe, “Two minutes back and I’m already needed.”

”You and me both,” he said as he looked down at his own device, “Black Squadron ‘s meeting for drinks in the cantina tonight, should I count you in?”

”I’ll most likely be catching up on work so I wouldn’t bet on it. But give them all my love.”

He smirked, “I’d rather just keep it all to myself.”

I chuckled, “Do what you want, but I’m not answering any communications from Snap or Jess asking me to help your drunk ass to your room.” The last time I hadn’t accepted the squadron’s invitation for drinks, Jess messaged me later that evening that Poe was completely wasted and asking for me. I’d never get the memory of him stumbling down the hall singing old folk songs from his home planet of Yavin 4 out of my head. I started laughing again just remembering that night. At some point I realized Poe had gone silent and was intently watching me,

“Well, now who’s staring, Dameron?”

He shook his head with a grin, “Nothing, just glad you’re back.”

“You act like I was gone a month, I was only gone four days.”

”Yeah, that’s four days I spend worrying about you.”

My eyes narrowed, “You worry about me?”

As he opened his mouth to respond, his communicator beeped again indicating that he was truly needed somewhere else. He glanced at it before looking at me while beginning to walk backwards,

“I always worry about you, y/n.”

Flashing me one more signature Poe Dameron smile, he turned and disappeared down a corridor. And even as I continued my path down the other side of the hall, I had a feeling I’d be wearing a similar grin on my face all day.

——————-

I punched in the code on the datapad, the door to the familiar room whooshing open. I walked in slowly and saw a familiar figure hunched over the desk by the window, exactly where they’d been when I left. Though I could sense that as soon as I’d entered the room, she seemed more relaxed than before.

“Did you move at all while I was gone?” I smirked as I set my bag down at the foot of her bed.

Leia turned in her chair and warmly smiled, “For your information, we gained another planet as an ally, bombed another small First Order base on Utapau and got a fresh batch of recruits.”

I removed my jacket and set it on top of my bag, “No wonder everyone seems to be in good spirits,” I crossed the room to kiss her on the cheek, she pressed her hand to the side of my head and pulled me close.

“I brought you something,” I said, walking back over to my bag. Leia rose from her chair to join me, I found the small decorative box and handed it to her. Inside were pouches of her favorite tea from Naboo that I’d haggled for in a market on Rattatak.

“Oh, I was just thinking about this the other day. Thank you, honey,” she gave me a hug and I pressed my face into her shoulder. As much as returning to base and seeing Poe had made me feel at home, I never truly felt at home until I had seen Leia. She was the only mother I could ever remember having and she was the only family I had consistently. Han could only get in contact every month or so in between smuggling jobs, and I only saw him a couple times a year. I had tea with Leia most mornings, I worked side by side with her every day and we beared the weight of running the Resistance together. We were each other’s rock.

“I missed you, Mom.”

She pressed her lips to my head and squeezed me a little tighter before pulling back to look at me, 

“I missed you too. But it looks like your father brought you back in one piece,” she spun me around lightly as if to inspect me for wounds that I didn’t have. She’d done the exact same thing when I was a kid and Han would take me out flying.

“Mom, I’m okay, really.” I said as I turned to face her, chuckling lightly.

She patted my shoulders, “Alright, alright...” She trailed off and a distant look appeared in her eyes, I took one of her hands into mine and waited for her to ask the inevitable question,

“How is he?”

I shrugged, “Same as always, getting into trouble everywhere he goes.”

Leia smiled, “Nice to know he hasn’t changed.”

For the second time today, I heard the statement that gave me the tiniest bit of hope that one day my family would be reunited. So once again, I tried to shift the balance in favor of that...

“He misses you, even though he won’t say it. I see it on his face.”

She looked at me lovingly, rubbing a hand up and down my arm, “It’s complicated, y/n...Our family is complicated, and you know what I mean when I say that.”

I looked down at the floor and nodded, I was painfully aware of all the ways our family was permanently screwed up. Taking a deep breath and shoving those memories to the back of my mind, I looked back up to Leia, “Tell me, have we had any progress on finding the map?”

She guided us to her bed amd we sat on the edge, “Not as much as I’d have hoped, but I feel as if we’re moving in the right direction. Once we find Lor San Takka, we find the map.”

The map. The map. We’d been searching for so long, I’d lost track of hen we’d started. If we could find Luke Skywalker and bring him back, we’d stand a much better chance at winning the war. Not to mention, my mother would gain her brother back. I’d only seen Luke here and there throughout my childhood but the memories I did have wih him, I cherished.

“When we do locate it, I want to be the one to go and retrieve it.” I stated.

“That depends entirely on how dangerous it would end up being,” she said, her voice shifting into a tone I privately referred to as ‘General Mom’. “I will not entertain the idea of sending you-“


“Mom, this isn’t some standard mission. Do you honestly think I would leave this to anyone else? Dangerous or not, I have to be the one to go.”

She put a hand to her temple and rubbed, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I don’t want to think about sending you off when you just got back.”

I sighed, knowing the conversation was over. Despite what she said, I knew there wasn’t anyone else that she would trust going to collect something so personal, something so important. I also knew my mother’s extra protectiveness over me stemmed from past events in our family...

I rose from the bed and retrieved my jacket and backpack, ”I’m gonna go get settled, I’m sure there’s a lot to get done.”

Leia nodded and stood, “There’s a few reports I left on your desk, other than that there shouldn’t be too much.”

“Ok,” I reached out for her hand and she squeezed mine, “I don’t mean to sound impulsive or like I don’t know what danger I’m running towards...I just want to do my part, and when it’s this personal, I just get tunnel vision.”

“I know,” she reassured me, before a mischevious twinkle appeared in her eye, “You know, you sound just like a certain pilot I know...”

Pulling my hand from hers and pressing the button to the door, I shook my head. “Nope, we’re not having this conversation again!” I announced loudly, walking out of the room as I heard my mother laughing to herself.

————

I quietly walked through the hanger, trying not to draw any attention to myself. Luckily there was always so much going on, nobody really noticed anything that didn’t require their specific attention. Once outside, I hung a sharp right along the side of the building where you’d rarely ever see someone. As long as I could get away from base undetected, I was home free.

The work I had to get done hadn’t taken long, lunch In the cafeteria was barely over by the time I was finished. I had weighed my options as to what I could do with the rest of my day. I didn’t know why I even had to think, I knew what I would end up doing.

I began trekking deeper and deeper into the D’Qar forest. I carried a small messanger bag on my body containing only two items, my blaster and...the other thing.

Once I was satisfied with the amount of seclusion I had, a good mile from base, I set my bag down on the same tree stump I always did. I took stock of my surroundings, trying to feel at one with them and let go of everything I was feeling. That was the only way these sessions worked. I sat down in the grass, crossing my legs and placing my arms on my knees.

Focus.

I spotted the rock I usually practiced with and proceeded to close my eyes. In my mind, I pictured the rock slowly lifting up in the air. As I imagined it, I got the familiar feelng that indicated it was rising. A small smile appeared on my face, as much as I hated to admit it, I did enjoy my self-taught training sessions. I also enjoyed the fact that I wasn’t half bad at using the Force. I began moving the rock to come closer towards me, eventually making it land in the palm of my hand. After a few seconds, I made it float back down the ground. A few more minutes of meditating and I rose to my feet. Now came the part I really loved...

I reached into my bag and grabbed the lightsaber, examining it as I did every time I picked it up. So many memories, good and bad, were felt when I looked at it. A familiar weight began to sink in my chest, but I quickly pushed it away. This didn’t work unless I let go. Shaking my head, I took a stance and ignited the weapon. It’s bright blue blade shone in contrast to the deep forest green of the trees surrounding me. I’d memorized the landscape a long time ago and knew the precise location of every branch. I could maneuver around it in my sleep...

I began my usual sequence of movements, twisting my arms so the blade avoided any branches and ducking under low hanging ones. I threw the saber into the air, somersaulted between two trees and stood, using the Force to summon the blade to my hand.

I continued through my makeshift training course as usual, for once my mind wasn’t as clouded as it typically was. I had mixed feelings when it came to my set of abilities but I couldn’t deny that I was at some of my calmest when I was training. I felt like I was unlocking some part of myself I didn’t even know was there. I was almost done, taking a few final swings at the trees when it happened...

Screams echoed in my mind.

“No...”

I could see the flames surrounding me.

“No...”

And the weapon I held in my hands being violently pushed into the chests of innocent people.

“NO!!”

I switched the saber off and threw it at my feet. I fell to my knees crying and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady my now shaking breath. I’d seen the visions as clearly as I’d seen the trees around me. It felt too real...I began to remember why I avoided coming into contact with my lightsaber. There was too much pain attached to it.

After a few minutes, I stood up and went to grab my bag. As much as I wanted to leave the blasted thing in the forest and never look back, I knew I’d regret it...So I walked back to where it lay and stuck it in my bag. I began the walk back to base, praying that no one noticed the tear streaks down my face.

——————

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert

[dragonologist-phd]

Could I request something with, “What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?” or, “You see everyone so clearly except yourself,” using one of your Pillars OCs?

thank you for the prompt! I got You see everyone so clearly except yourself from someone else, so I’ll do What am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?

For this one Rudi grabbed my inspiration, so have some Rudi & Eder BroTP!

(AO3)

When Edér first wakes up and realizes Rudi is gone, he isn’t too worried. Over the course of their travels, he’s learned that she’s got a habit of up and wandering off whenever she can’t sleep. He himself is usually the first one of their little group to rise in the morning- an old habit from years of farmwork that still hasn’t died off- and it’s no strange thing for her to come waltzing back into camp just as he’s relighting the fire, brandishing a rabbit or two for breakfast. So rather than wonder where she’s gone, Edér simply follows their routine and waits for her to return.

When the sun has crept up above the horizon and the others are beginning to stir awake, Edér does begin to get a bit concerned. The woods along the river pass aren’t especially thick, and Rudi is more than able to handle any stray bandits or wandering beasts… but still, with her luck it’s hard to tell what she might encounter. Best to check in on her, Edér decides, even if she makes fun of his hovering later on.

It doesn’t take long to find her- she didn’t bother to cover her tracks, and it’s hard to miss the lion footprints leading down dirt path. The first moment Edér catches sight of her, he thinks that maybe she actually fell asleep after all. She’s nestled on the ground, back against a tree, knees curled up to her chest so she can rest her chin on them. Sol is curled up at her feet, his tail flicking lazily through the leaves that cover the ground.

Then his foot comes down on a twig with a sharp snap, and Rudi’s head shoots up. Sol is on his feet at once, teeth bared and every hair in his mane standing on end.

“Whoa there, buddy,” Edér says, holding up his hands and giving the big cat a grin. “It’s just me.”

The lion only snarls in response, not relaxing until Rudi lays a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Sol.” She stands, stretching out her arms as she does, and turns to give Edér a weak smile. “Checking up on me now? Sorry, I guess I lost track of time out here.”

Her tone is casual and unworried, but it doesn’t match up to her appearance. She just looks so damn tired- bags under her eyes, unsteady on her feet, and a half-hearted grin that just doesn’t quite do the job. “Now, I know it ain’t polite to comments on a lady’s appearance,” Edér says, keeping his tone light, “But did you get a wink of sleep last night?”

He’s hoping to draw a laugh out of her- and normally he might have- but today Rudi’s mood instantly shifts, her eyes narrowing and her mouth setting into a hard line. It’s the same look she gets when she’s deciding whether to shoot something or not, and if she weren’t looking too exhausted to aim straight Edér might consider hiding behind a tree. Eventually she settles for crossing her arms and fixing Edér with a stern look. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need sleep. I need to hunt down Thaos before…”

She stops and looks away, blinking hard and lifting a hand to her temple. The moment passes quickly, and then she’s pushing past Edér with a scowl. “Let’s just get going.”

“Whoa, there,” Edér says, putting a hand on her shoulder as she passes. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” she insists, pulling away.

“Right. You’re actin’ exactly a person who’s fine.”

Rudi turns her glare on him again, to which Edér only raises an eyebrow. And then the fight goes out of her, just as suddenly as it came, and her shoulders slump as she lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine, yes, I got some sleep. For all the good it did.”

 “What does that mean?”

“I had…dreams.” Rudi looks down and kicks at the dirt. “Memories, I guess, I don’t know. And then I woke up and I didn’t even know where I was, I just kept thinking I had to find…someone. Like it was the most important thing in the world that I find her right away.”

Watcher stuff, Edér thinks, worry sinking into his stomach. He knows Rudi’s been having nightmares and visions and a whole mess of strange stuff. But he’s been hoping it’s the sort of the thing to get better with time, not worse. “Who were looking for?”

Rudi shrugs, but her eyes flicker upward, and for a moment they flash as Rudi stares at something that isn’t there. “Iovara.” She speaks the name heavily, as if each syllable carries an unfathomable weight.

Rudi goes silent then, until Edér finally has to ask, “Who’s that?”

The questions breaks her from her reverie, and she scowls and throws her hands into the air. “I don’t know!!”  she exclaims, turning to pace in a circle. “I just had to find her, and I started moving- with no idea where I was or why I was here- and then Sol came up to me and for a split second I was scared. Of Sol. Like I didn’t even know who he was.”

Her voice gets thick, and she stops to take a breath, sinking once again to the ground with her back against the tree. Sol watches her with concern, and approaches to nuzzle against her shoulder. A small, sad smile creeps onto her face as she runs a hand through his mane.

As Edér watches the two of them, it occurs to him that he’s never actually seen them separated. Sol sleeps at Rudi’s bedside, shares her meals, even sit next to her in the receiving hall at Caed Nua. For Rudi to not even recognize him, even for a second…he can’t imagine it.

And apparently she can’t, either.

Eventually, Rudi recovers herself enough to continue. “After that,  I guess I just…woke up. I remembered who I was, and the other memories went away but I…gods, Edér, I couldn’t go to sleep again. I couldn’t risk going away like that.” She closes her eyes, her hands trembling as they continue to stroke Sol’s mane. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But what am I supposed to do when I can’t even trust my own mind?”

It’s a big question, that’s for sure. And yet to Edér, the answer is immediate and obvious.

“You trust us, of course.”

Whatever Rudi is expecting, apparently that isn’t it. She blinks, looking up at Edér in silence, and he takes advantage of her surprise to continue. “Hey, I know you haven’t really known us all that long. But you know we’re your friends, right?” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe not Durance. I wouldn’t put much trust in him. But me and Sagani and everyone else- we got your back.”

He bends over and holds his hand out to Rudi. “We’re gonna look out for you, and we’re gonna find this Leaden Key guy, and we’re gonna put you right as rain again. So don’t worry too much about bad dreams and memories and such.”

Rudi hesitates, watching Edér with unveiled skepticism. “And if I forget again?”

He shrugs. “Bucket of cold water. It’s a cure-all, and I bet anything it’ll wake you right back up.”

Rudi regards him for a moment, then snorts as she takes his hand, letting him pull her up. When she’s on her feet again, she shakes her head and punches him in the arm. “That’s your first instinct? Really?”

“It’s an incentive, too,” Edér answers with a grin. “Keeps you on your toes.”

“Ass,” she says, but she’s laughing, and the tensions seems to have left her shoulders. She still looks exhausted, and maybe still a little worried…but she also looks much more like the Rudi Edér knows so well.

“Alright, let’s get back. For real this time.” She starts walking in the directions of the camp, rubbing your back and groaning as she goes. “Gods, I’m too old to be staying up all night. And we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Edér grins, falling into step beside her. “Bet you could convince Maneha to carry you for a while.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that. First good idea you’ve had all day.” She continues like that, talking and making jokes as they approach the campsite, Sol padding quietly at her side. Just before they arrive in sight of the others, however, she pauses and glances at Edér from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, by the way,” she says hurriedly, as if embarrassed by the words. “I do trust you, you know. I haven’t had someone like that for a long time, but…you’re a good friend.”

Edér nods- of course he knows. ‘Cause Rudi’s his friend, too- probably the best one he’s had since his brother- and looking out for each other is just what friends do.

[grantyort]

Prelude IV: Relight

Post-Surgery: DAY ONE

[Sean sits in the hospital bed, legs crossed, staring into space when he hears a familiar voice.]

Joey: Sean, Sean Diaz? Well damn. I never thought I’d see your sorry ass again!

Sean: Geez Joey. Is that how you talk to all your patients?

Joey: Just the ones I like.

[Sean chuckles]

Joey: C’mere big man.

[Joey gives Sean a big bear hug]

Sean: How’ve you been Joey?

Joey: Can’t complain. These days, they got me up in hospice care. You’re probably the first person I’ve seen today that didn’t need their bedpans changed.

Sean: Sounds terrible.

Joey: It’s all not all bad. Lot of these folks have stories that you wouldn’t believe. One of my patients has lived through five wars and two depressions, tells me I’m a credit to my race.

Sean: Yeesh.

Joey: (shrugs) She means well. It’s almost flattering compared to some of the stuff I’ve heard. Been on this job almost ten years now, some people still treat me like I have no idea what I’m doing.  

Sean: That sucks Joey.

Joey: Yeah... Anyway, you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. From what I heard, this procedure cost a small fortune. You must have friends in high places.

Sean: Yeah, something like that.

Joey: And no guard at the door this time. I assume everything got cleared up with the police? Not planning to make a break for it again are ya?

Sean: Nah, no daring escapes this time.

Joey: Good. I don’t think I’d survive another blow to the head.

Sean: Listen Joey I’m really sorry-

Joey: (laughs) Relax Sean! I’m just messing with you! It’s ancient history as far as I’m concerned. Say, did you ever end up finding that brother of yours?

Sean: Yeah. He’s actually coming to visit me tomorrow.

Joey: Can’t wait to meet him!

Sean: Famous last words.

Joey: So… what you been up to these days?

Sean: Mostly just cramming for the SATs, drawing, listening to music. Normal teenage shit.

Joey: That’s good to hear. I was worried about you man. You went AWOL after the hospital. I got police and Feds breathing down my neck for weeks. Then a month later, I hear about a couple of kids trying the border to Mexico on the news.

Sean: Sorry I never reached out. I just didn’t want to get you more involved than you already were-

Joey: You made the right call. They questioned me for hours. My apartment was filled with G-men, my girlfriend was freaked. I honestly thought she was going to dump my ass.

Sean: I’m really sorry Joey.

Joey: Don’t sweat it Sean, it was for a good cause. Besides, everything worked out in the end.

Sean: Yeah I noticed, how long have you been-

Joey: Almost a year now. We’re expecting our first baby in the summer.

Sean: Congratulations dude!

Joey: Thanks, but honestly, I’m kinda nervous, don’t think I’m ready to be a father.

Sean: You’ll be a great dad, Joey. You’re awesome at taking care of people.

Joey: You’re damn right. Speaking of which, we should probably take a look at that eye of yours.

[Joey takes off the bandage and gives Sean’s eye a thorough examination]

Joey: Well it looks a helluva lot better than the last time I saw it.

Sean: That’s good to hear. I wasn’t sure it would work.

Joey: Well it’s too early to say if your vision will fully recover. But at the very least you won’t have to walk around with a patch anymore.

Sean: Good. It’s hard enough finding a prom date let alone one that’s willing to go with a pirate.

Joey: Still with the pirate jokes huh? Hopefully, you’ll have to write some new material after this.

[Joey applies a new bandage on Sean’s eye]

Joey: And you’re all set. Now as much as I love our talks, I gotta make my rounds. Buzz me if you need me.

Sean: Later Joey.

Joey: See ya tomorrow Sean.

 [Joey leaves the room. Sean turns to look out the window. The door shoots open, and a small figure comes bursting in.]

Daniel: Sean! 

[He jumps onto the bed and into Sean’s arms]

Stephen: (out-of-breath) Sorry, I tried to stop him, but he outran me.

Sean: You okay Stephen?

Stephen: I am… just need a minute to catch my breath. The old ticker ain’t what it used to be- I need to sit down.

Daniel: Take it easy grandpa.

Sean: What are you doing here, enano? I wasn’t expecting you guys until tomorrow.

Daniel: I made grandpa book an earlier flight. I just couldn’t wait! 

[he hugs Sean again]

Sean: Haha easy. I just had surgery, remember?

Daniel: Oh right, s-sorry.

[There’s a brief flash, followed by a shutter click]

Sean: What’re you doing, gramps?

Stephen: Oh nothing, just commemorating the moment. Thanks to your brother, I finally got the hang of this newfangled smartphone camera.

Daniel (whispering): He had it stuck on selfie mode for days. Anyway, did it go? Is your eye…

Sean: I mean… it’s not 100% yet but I can sort of see again.

Daniel: T-that’s awesome! Can I see it?

Sean: Dude last time I showed you my eye, you almost cried. Besides, the doctors say I still need to keep the bandage on for a bit, while it heals.

Daniel: Right. That makes sense. Oooh this room looks cool. Do they have Netflix or a Playbox?

Sean: It’s a hospital, dude.

Daniel: Lame.

Sean: So catch me up. Did I miss anything interesting at home?

Daniel: Nah… Chris is still on that fishing trip with his dad so there’s no one to hang out with. Oh I almost forgot. He made you this card. Isn’t it awesome?

[Daniel gives Sean a hand-drawn “get-well-soon” card from Chris]

Sean: Yeah. It’s pretty cool. We can have Claire put it up when we get back.

Daniel: Grandma’s still in that feud with the lady from church.

Sean: Which one was that again?

Daniel: Agnes, the one who gives off major Lisbeth-vibes. She says grandma stole her casserole recipe for the church bake-sale. Lying bitch.

Stephen: Language!

Sean: Maybe one of us should try to smooth things over before it gets nasty.

Stephen: Hell hath no fury… lemme tell ya. I’ve been married to your grandmother long enough to know once that woman sets her mind on something… there’s no stopping her. Best to just let things run their course.

Sean: Claire can get a little… passionate sometimes. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen her lose her temper for real.

Stephen: There’s a fire in that woman. It’s part of the reason I married her. Just pray she never turns it on you. I hope I’ll never live to see that day, god willing.

[Sean notices Daniel circling the hospital bed, pressing his hand on various parts of the mattress]

Sean: (laughs) What are you doing, enano?

Daniel: Just trying to figure which side of the bed I want to sleep on tonight.

Sean: Dude. There’s no way this bed’s gonna fit both of us.

Daniel: The one in Mom’s trailer was way smaller!

Sean: Yeah well… you were a lot smaller back then.

Stephen: They have a nice area for visitors down the hall.

Daniel: But I want to stay with Sean!

Sean: I guess I could ask Joey to bring in a couch or something.

Daniel: Who’s Joey?

Sean: The nurse who took care of me after the accident. I told you about him, remember?

Daniel: Oh right! I can’t wait to meet him!

 DAY TWO

Joey: How are we doing today? Any headaches, dizziness, socket pain?

Sean: Nah it’s all good. Still getting used to having depth perception again. It’s kinda weird.

Joey: You’ll get used to it. Anything else to report?

Sean: Nothing major. I’ve just been having some really weird dreams.

Joey: We have a psychiatrist on-site if you need a professional to talk to.

Sean: Nah it’s alright, probably just the drugs messing with my brain.

Joey: Well your vitals look good. We’ll go over some basic tests. You know the drill.

(Sean covers his right eye and tries to read the chart. Joey then shines a light and asks him to follow along. Finally, he asks Sean to put the cap back on the pen.)

Joey: You passed with flying colors. The doctor will be in for a final exam tomorrow and then we can discharge you.

Sean: (sarcastically) Too bad, I was ready to become the first Mexican pirate to attend college. So much for being a trailblazer.

Joey: Good to see you haven’t lost that snarky-ass sense of humor.

Joey: Anyway, I’m taking my lunch now. Want me to get you anything from the cafeteria? Wait… don’t tell me. Chocolate pecan?

Sean: You know it.

Joey: I met your brother in the hall. Cute kid.

Sean: (deadpans) Give it a few days. Then see if you get a “second opinion.”

Joey: He does seem a little… “energetic”. But that’s normal for kids his age.

Sean: Yeah one minute I’m his favorite person in the world. The next, he’s off doing God knows what, and doesn’t want me “bossing him around”. You know how it is.

Joey: Can’t say I do. Grew up in a house with three older sisters. Guess I must have been the annoying one. Daniel’s lucky to have you looking out for him. Must be tough sometimes.

Sean: Oh you have no idea.

[Joey claps Sean’s shoulder, he feels a jolt shooting up his spine, everything goes white] 

(Sean sees a door marked: “Miranda A. Connolly, Hospital Director”)

Connolly: You’ve been a valuable asset to this hospital. Stellar feedback from all of your patients and attendings.

Joey: I sense a “but” coming.

Connolly: But, given the dubious circumstances surrounding your transfer and your past involvement with the law. The Board thinks it might be better for one of the other nurses to take this spot.

Joey: Please. I’ve got a kid on the way. We just bought our first house. Can you at least consider bumping up my pay? I haven’t gotten a real raise since I started here. There are kids coming out of nursing school that make what I make!

Connolly: The hospital has limited resources as it is, and the State just slashed our funding again. I just can’t justify raising anyone’s salary right now.

Joey: I break my back for this hospital, work extra shifts, get to know the patients. You promised me at the annual review that I’d-

Connolly: That was before this new information came to light. I’m sorry Joseph, maybe next year.

[Sean snaps out of his trance]

Joey: Sean? Sean are you okay?

Sean: Sorry, Guess I spaced out. Must just be the medication.

Joey: I can have the doctor come by and adjust your dosage.

Sean: I’m fine Joey. I swear. Weren’t you about to take lunch?

Joey: Oh right. We’ll pick this up later.

[Joey leaves the room, looking slightly puzzled.]

Sean: (thinking) W-what what was that? A dream? But It felt so… real.

[Sean takes out his phone and enters the name of the hospital, He finds their website. Under the ‘About’ section he scrolls to the Executive team bio. There is a photo of the woman he saw in the vision followed by a small blurb]

“Miranda A. Connolly is the President and Chief Director of Mt. Cedar General Hospital. She was appointed back in 2016 as Associate Director and has since made ground-breaking changes to the field of medicine and medical care. Under her leadership, this hospital was able to expand greatly, hiring new diverse staff members and vastly improving quality of care for all its patients.”

Sean: (thinking) Holy shit… it’s real. Does that mean I…?

Daniel: Hey Sean! What you looking at?

Sean: Dude! Don’t sneak up on me like that!

Daniel: I wasn’t sneaking. I was practicing my stealth!

Sean: Yeah sure.

Daniel: Are you looking at the new Playbox Pro? My birthday is right around the corner you know.

Sean: Birthday? It’s still January!

Daniel: Never too early to start preparing.

Sean: (rolling eyes) Yeah cuz everything’s always about you.

Daniel: Oooh I bet you were watching those dirty videos again. I’m tellin’ grandpa!

Sean: Hey hands off my phone you little-

[Daniel tries to grab Sean’s phone. Sean wrests his hand away. There is another a jolt]

[Daniel stands in front of the vending machine, staring at the jumbo chock-o-crisp. He looks around to check that the coast is clear. Then he waves his hand causing the chock-o-crisp to fall off the rack and into the dispenser slot.He gleefully retrieves it and devours the candy bar in a matter of seconds]

Sean: Dude, I told you not to eat any more chock-o-crisps! Do you want another trip to the dentist?

Daniel: What are you talking about? I haven’t had one in weeks!

Sean: Yeah sure. So you didn’t pig out at the vending machine before coming in here?

Daniel: How did you-

Sean: Maybe I have magic powers or maybe… you’ve still got crumbs on your collar.

Daniel: Aw, damn it. Promise you won’t tell grandpa.

Sean: Oh so you can tell on me but I can’t tell on you?

Daniel: (smugly) Exactly.

Sean: C’mere ya little shit!

Daniel: Sean stop! Ha that tickles. Quit it!

(After their little bout, Daniel curls up next to Sean, resting his head on Sean’s lap. Sean ruffles Daniel’s hair absentmindedly)

Sean: You ever wish you were… you know “normal” again?

Daniel: You mean not have my powers? Nah. They’re a part of me now. Besides, being normal is overrated.

Sean: (chuckles) I guess it is. But do you ever get that feeling like you thought you wanted something for a really long time but when you finally get it, it nothing like you thought it’d be?

Daniel: Uhhh… you mean like how I begged grandma to get me a PlayBox Live Subscription, but then the exclusives turned out to be shit? And now I have to act like I love it?

Sean: Yeah something like that.

Daniel: (yawns) Meh I’ll just ask for a gaming PC for my birthday.

Sean: Dude you’re like the greediest ten year-old I know.

Daniel: How many ten year-olds do you know?

Sean: Uh… just you and Chris.

Daniel: So, you want me to be more like Chris?

Sean: Wouldn’t hurt.

Daniel: (imitating Chris) “Only the purest of hearts may wield the power of Captain Spirit!”

Sean: Guess that rules you out.

Daniel: (playfully) Shut up.

DAY THREE

Doctor: Okay Mr.Diaz. I want you to follow the light. Look to your right, up and to the right. Good, good, excellent pupil response.  Now look at the chart, cover your right eye and read this line.

Sean: Uh… A, O, E, P… T? Sorry I can’t really make out the last one.

Doctor: That’s okay, it takes time.

Doctor: Now this is probably the last thing you want to hear, but I recommend that you wear a patch over your right eye. It’ll be temporary of course, just until you learn to see with your left eye again.

Sean: (laughs dryly) And here I thought my seafaring days were behind me.

Doctor: You know… pirate actually wore patches so their eyes could easily adjust to the darkness and see below deck- Sorry my son’s going through a pirate phase.

Sean: I know the feeling. My little brother’s been through every phase imaginable.

Doctor: Kids, you gotta treasure every moment. Because before you know it, they’ll be all grown up, ready to go off on their own. Look at me, rambling on. Anyway, I signed your discharged papers. They’ll schedule you for some outpatient care in the coming months.You’re almost ready to go. 

Sean: Sounds good.

Doctor: And you’re sure you don’t want to get do something about that nasty scar? A good-looking kid like you, it would be a shame to-

Sean: That’s okay, I think I’ll keep it… as a reminder.

Doctor: Alright but if you ever change your mind, I could refer you to a great plastic surgeon.

Sean: Thanks Doc, for everything.

Doctor: The pleasure’s all mine, Mr.Diaz. The groundwork we laid here could help hundreds of other patients in the future. We are making history. Your nurse should be along in a moment to help you get discharged.

[Sean sits in quiet contemplation. Reflecting on his dreams and new “vision”]

Sean (thinking): Be careful what you wish for... 

Joey: Looks like everything’s good to go. Remember to use your eye-drops-

Sean: Twice a day. Yeah Joey, I know.

Joey: Guess it’s goodbye again. Don’t be a stranger this time okay?

Sean: I won’t.

Joey: Here’s my number. Call me if ever need professional advice or just want to shoot the shit.

Sean: Thanks Joey. Let me know how everything goes with the baby.

Joey: Oh don’t you worry about that. Soon I’ll be blowing up your phone with pictures.

Sean: Haha can’t wait.

Joey: Now hospital policy says I gotta wheel your ass outta here. For liability reasons.

Sean: At least it’ll be a smoother exit than last time.

Joey: (laughs) Get in the chair smart-ass.

Beaver Creek, One Week Later

Sean: Okay, you ready?

Daniel: (takes deep breath) Alright. Show it to me.

Sean: So… how does it look?

Daniel: Looks… normal.

Sean: You almost sound disappointed. Were you expecting a bionic eye or something?

Daniel: No. I just… it looks good. I like the scar; makes you look extra tough.

Sean: You think so?

Daniel: Yeah… totally badass!

Sean: Thanks, enano.

Daniel: You need a new codename, like Scarred Wolf or Deadshot Diaz!

Sean: Let’s leave the nicknames up to Chris.

Daniel: Hey! I make up awesome names too!

Sean: Whatever you say,“Superwolf”

[aromantic-romance-writer]

Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem! Reader

[Rekindle the Flame Inside Your Heart]

U M A I

That's basically the only word to explain why I wanted to make this for Rengobro-

I don't really have much info of when he was young, or just don't remember some details so uhhh a headcanon-?

Either way, I hope you enjoy!

WARNING: Very slight manga spoilers ahead!

How many times have he seen you on the same bed, in the same room already?

Kyojuro just came back from a mission. He was injured, but nothing really big. Just sprained his hand a little. But he knew injuries would be in the way of his missions if he doesn't treat them immediately.

But this was the fifth time he sees you at the Butterfly Estate already. And he doesn't even come here that often.

You never changed since the first time he saw you. You were sitting on the bed, head wrapped in a bandage, and staring at the wall. He decides to finally ask Shinobu about this.

"Oh, her." She says, her tone sounding pitiful. She finishes wrapping the bandage around his wrist and starts cleaning up. "She's never left. It's been 5 months since her last mission. It was horrible, really."

"A demon was able to wipe out her comrades with a blood demon art. She was able to kill him, but she was badly injured. She couldn't stop crying for a week. The poor thing..." She's finally finished cleaning up and faces him. It was kind of obvious in her tone that she wanted you leave already, but she doesn't have the heart to ask you. "You have to rest your hand for at least 48 hours, and you have to take this medicine after--"

"Kocho." Kyojuro cuts her off, but his smile doesn't waver. "May I spend those hours here?"

° ° °

At this point, why are you even alive?

It's been 5 months. Why are you being pathetic? You must be a really big burden to Kocho-san already. Stop being weak. Stop mourning over te past. You've killed the demon, right? Shouldn't you be happy? He wasn't gonna terrorize anyone anymore. No more people will be killed. You saved everyone. You also saved the demon from himself.

But your comrades. You couldn't save them.

The memory was still so vivid and horrifying. The memory turned into a nightmare, it was refusing to let you sleep.

It was refusing to let you rest.

You were so deep in your thoughts, you didn't even notice someone sitting beside your bed.

The person snapped his fingers in front of you. You snap your head around to see -

"R-Rengoku-san?!" you quickly bow down to show respect to the Flame Pillar. "W-what are you doing here?"

He gave a hearty laugh. "I would just like to have a little chat!" he says cheerfully. You sweat, you'll go blind from his radiant smile. "I've seen you many many times already, so I thought that I introduce myself if we'll ve seeing each other that often."

"But I know who you are already..."

"Nope!" you were startled at his exuberant response. "You only know my name, but not who I am."

You blink. Well, he's right. But what exactly is the reason for a pillar to talk to a low-ranking demon slayer such as yourself?

"Speak to me like I'm just a friend, and not a pillar!" his eyes sparkled with an unusual determination. You were sure none of your friends are as eccentric as him. "I'm Rengoku Kyojuro! You can call me by my first name!"

You stare down at your hands in diffidence. Are you not allowed to just run away? But you don't leave your bed unless necessary. Maybe you should just go with it, he is a pillar after all. But he said to treat him as a friend. Wait, what friend exactly?

You cut off your thoughts and raise your head, pink hues covering your cheeks. "N-nice to meet you, Kyojuro-kun! I-I'm [Y/N]!" you stutter in exclaim, your eyes glinting with clear confusion. But you admit that this is quite fun.

Kyojuro seemed to smile wider. "Okay, [Y/N]! What do you like to eat?"

° ° °

Kyojuro-kun.

Kyojuro-kun.

The name kept repeating in his head. He talked with you for hours. You've been calling him that name in those hours and he can't help but feel something warm inside him other than his flaring passion as a demon slayer.

He also learned a lot of interests that didn't suit the you when he first saw you. He realized that you were just this bubbly person who likes to get into trouble sometimes, but you're very compassionate about demons.

That's why you only blame yourself for their deaths and not the demon.

You were depressed. You couldn't save them. Kyojuro knew the feeling. But he wants to make you realize that it wasn't your fault. That whenever the sun would set, it would rise again the next day.

Your sun hasn't risen for such a long time, but he'll make it rise, he thought as passion flared his heart.

° ° °

Even after Kyojuro left the Butterfly Estate as his hand has completely healed, a day won't go by without him visiting you. He claims that he was free, so it was alright.

You still have no idea what and why he talked to you in the first place that day, but you were glad he did.

His smile was so infectious that you'd forget how sadness feels like. His bright and lively personality reminded you how to be happy.

Everyday, he would eat beside you and tell you how his day went. If he went on a mission the previous day, he always makes sure he finishes it as early as he can so he can visit you the next day and tell you all about it. You honestly missed going outside in your demon slayer uniform, but Kyojuro makes that feeling go away.

You couldn't leave yet, even thought you knew you would have to, eventually. But you're rooted here for some reason, and once you remember that, all the happiness would go away because once the moon rises, all of it will come back washing over you.

The nightmares. The tears. The regret. The guilt.

The blood.

Why won't it go away? Why is it still haunting your dreams? Why can't you move on?

You woke, sweating and gasping and crying as usual. The same thing would happen every morning; it's like a part of your day-to-day routine now.

You forget that someone is part of that routine as well.

That day, Kyojuro visited early and caught you in that state. You widen your eyes in horror to meet the eyes of the Flame Pillar.

Why is he here so early? You didn't want him to see you in that state.

He rushes over to you, eyes that were used to be so energetic now full of worry.

"[Y/N]! Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?" He throws his questions at you like daggers you can't dodge. All you could do was cover your face with your hands and cry.

Why are you like this? Why are you crying in front of him? Why aren't you saying anything?

The questions quickly vanished from your mind as you can feel broad arms wrap around you into a hug. Your head was resting on his chest. You feel your face grow warm. His steady heartbeat was audible as it calmed you.

After a while, both of you were outside and sitting on the engawa. You have washed your face and decided to tell him what happened 5 months ago.

It was weird to you. You're actually saying what happened and it was your mouth. But your features were calm. Not even a single tear. Did you finally run out tears? Are you finally numb?

When you finished, you felt as if something that was crushing your chest disappeared. Like it was never there. It's like you can breathe properly again.

The silence goes on for a few minutes, before Kyojuro speaks. "[Y/N]."

You turn to him. He was looking at you with such a fierce look. You admit he looked kind of scary.

"It's not your fault. It's never your fault. I'm sure you're comrades always wanted to say that to you." he finally turns his whole body towards you. "You're strong and human, and you can only do so much. You saved a lot of people from that demon. You also saved the demon from himself."

"Relight the flame of your heart - the heart of a demon slayer! Stand back up like how the burning sun would rise every morning. Even without you, your comrades are putting their hands on your back - putting their faith in you! For their sake, draw your sword and protect the weak from the evil by my side!"

You blink. The passionate speech moved you. He has a point. You're a demon slayer. You can't back down. You have to protect loads more of people. You have to save loads more of demons.

Your dull world was suddenly scorched in fire. Such beautiful colors flooded your vision, but for some reason, all you see was Kyojuro.

Then you realized that your flame has been relit already. It was just a tiny flame, so you didn't notice.

But that day, along with his loud introduction, barged into your heart to light a match.

"I mean...!" you snap out of your thoughts to see Kyojuro red in the face, but he was still smiling. "You don't have to do all the beside me! You can do it on your own! You don't need me! You're strong by yourself, so--"

You started laughing. At first, ut was a small snort until you bursted unto tears while laughing. "Oh, Kyo!" you finally calm down, wiping the tears from your face. You smile at a very red and confused Kyojuro. "Thank you. I would like to fight by your side as well."

~

You were dreading that your uniform might not fit anymore, since you haven't worn it for 5 months. But you gave a big sigh of relief when you were able to slip into it without ripping any if its sides.

"Kyo-kun!" the brazen haired pillar turned to see you. His eyes sparkled with adoration. It was an endearing sight for him. "I'm ready to train!"

He stares at you for a while, before crouching to move a stray hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. "Don't let any of your hair in the way! It'll be difficult to train that way." his smile widens as he walks away, leaving you paralyzed and flustered. "And make sure to show your pretty face all the time!"

You run after him as you try to calm your heart down. What the hell was that?

And so, you trained under his supervision. You've changed and it was all thanks to Kyojuro. You were back to your usual self, but with more determination to go on missions.

Kyojuro has changed as well. You weren't sure if it was a good change or a bad change, but surely it must be bad since the outcome would always be you getting flustered?

But because of this change, you can't help but grow romantic feelings for the guy. Everything he's doing, you have no clue why he does it.

"Hah!" you pointed the wooden sword at him as he fell on the ground. "What happened? I don't think I actually beat you."

He grabs the other end of the wooden sword. "My aplogies! I got distracted. You're unusually pretty today." Your eyes widen. Another flirt? Again? You turn away in attempt to avoid his stare at your very red face. And because of this, you accidentally let your guard down. He notices and pulls the sword, making you fall on top of him.

Your face was inches from his. You swear, he can feel your heart beating out of your chest too fast. His radiant smile turned into a cocky one, only making your temperature rise. "Or maybe you should be the one apologizing for that?" he says in a low tone.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You quickly try to move away, but he doesn't let you. In fact, he only draws you closer to him by the waist. "Why are you escaping? You did this to me, [Y/N], how can you expect me to just let it go?"

"K-kyo, what's the meaning of this?" you timidly ask. The tone in your voice was obvious that you were begging him to stop.

He finally lets you go and sits in an indian position. He gives you time to cool off and calm yourself before he speaks. "[Y/N]." he says in a serious tone, making you snap towards him and sit with a perfect posture. Despite these little mishaps, you never forget where you're place is.

He breathes deeply, feeling his own heart beating out of his chest. "I like you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Kyojuro just sits there, smiling again. "I'm afraid I can't say it again."

You heard it clearly the first time, you were just making sure you weren't deluding yourself or hearing things. You weren't sure whether to jump in joy or drown yourself in the river. "Am I in any position to hit you as of this moment?"

His smile widens. "You have a position in my heart. Is that okay?"

"Kyo!"

He laughs. "I'm really sorry, [Y/N]. I can't help myself. I just really like you."

You play with your hair as you avert your gaze, your cheeks covered in pink blush. It sent weird sparks to his heart to see such an adorable sight. "I-I like you too, Kyo..."

He was still smiling, but his eyes widen in shock. "You do?"

"Don't make me repeat what I said! It's embarassing enough as it is."

He holds your hand, making you look at him. He wore his warmest of smiles. "That makes me really really happy, [Y/N]."

~

So you did fight side-by-side when you're asked to go on a joint mission, but he mostly tried to protect you and wouldn't let you fight. You were happy together and had this amazing chemistry everyone admired, even on the battlefield. You were both very happy together and supported each other to this very day.

Even when he was gone.

° ° °

The boy sitting in front of you sniffled, wiping his tears with his green and black checkered haori. His demon sister patted his back as she also felt emotional herself.

"Er, should I get you some water?" you chuckle lightly.

They both shake their heads as they finished wiping their tears away. "Your love story is so touching, [L/N]-san! I'm sorry I couldn't protect him..." he lowers his head, gripping his uniform's trousers very tightly.

You notice this and wrap his hand around yours. He looks up to you just in time before he cries again.

"Tanjiro," You say with the warmest tone you can give him. "Do me a favor and smile."

He blinks cluelessly. "R-right now?"

You laugh lightly. "If you feel like it. Remember to smile even if it seems all hope is lost. Even in your darkest days, never forget to smile again. The sun sets, but it also rises. Be like the sun, Tanjiro, and give the weak the hope and light that they need.

"Be the match that will rekindle the flame inside their hearts, and until then, smile once more. Set your heart ablaze, Tanjiro, Nezuko."

He and Nezuko stares at you, but you trust that they understand.

By the entrance of your home, the kind boy bows. "I almost forgot! Rengoku-san wanted me to give this to you." he hands you a letter with your name written with his familiar hand-writing. "Thank you for everything, [L/N]-san!"

You wave at him as he walks away. You waited until his figure was as small as an ant before going back inside.

You sit on the engawa and open the letter.

"Be the happiest as you can be, [Y/N]. When I pass, find someone else. Make sure that person can protect you. You'll always be my flame."

A single tear streamed accross your face.

"I am the happiest that I can be, Kyo. And it's all because of that day when you revived the fire in my heart." you say, hugging the letter close to your chest.

Right where the fire is flickering.

Never realized how much Rengobro's death affected me when I started reasearching about him for this.

[selfless1978]

SURRENDER

She hit the ground hard, grunting on the impact. Vicky found herself in the undignified position of lying on the ground, her eyes clenched shut against the pain of her sore ribs. Her arm wrapped around her throbbing ribs as she ignored the rest of her more minor injuries.

“This is her?” Came the unseen woman’s voice. A voice that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hide the amusement in it. Quite the opposite, the owner made it very clear that she was not impressed with what she saw on the ground in front of her. Vicky felt the nudge of a booted toe against her side, igniting a flare of pain.  

“Yes, Mistress.” Came the answer from one of the thugs who had drug her in.

“Pathetic. Leonardo shames himself by associating with her. She makes such an easy target to get his attention with.”

Leo....

At the mention of that name Vicky’s eyes snapped open again. Unseen to those around her, a fire began to light up in those deep brown orbs. A fire she never thought she’d need again. One she hadn’t felt since the first time her life was in dire peril. 

There's so much life I've left to live, And this fire is burning still

She didn’t know how long she had lain there, being taunted and occasionally kicked. But it hadn’t been a long amount of time. Vicky just remained quiet at the torment. For now. Instead she tried to focus on her situation. It seemed that they were in a large lot of some kind. She could smell the scent of dirty sea water and there seemed to be warehouses and buildings surrounding them. 

The docks, they had to be at the docks. Okay, one question down, only fifty million more to go. Vicky tried to sit up, and was instantly kicked back to the ground again by this damned woman.

“Stay down. Crawl on the ground where you belong.”

There was harsh laughter from those around her. Laughter that silenced abruptly. Even hurting and struggling to focus, Vicky clearly felt the sudden tension in the air. She raised her eyes to find the reason why.

Leo had just landed. As her eyes looked up he was already righting himself from the crouch he had landed in, and his glorious blue eyes met her brown ones. His expression neutral, but those blue eyes held anger, fear and something more. Hers held the relief of seeing him. Even in this dire situation her heart lifted. Leo... He had come. 

“You actually came for this worthless thing?” The woman laughed.

He remained quiet, but his eyes shifted to her and his anger flared in those icy orbs.

He had come for her....

When I watch you look at me, I think I could find the will. 

“Let her go.” His tone was low. It sent shivers down Vicky’s spine. It was a side of him she hadn’t ever seen before. That tone promised untold violence as he strode closer. His steps filled with a purpose as he  strode closer. In an instant a katana was in his hand and the threat of violence breaking out was heavy as those around her pulled out theirs.

Suddenly, a blade was held at her own throat by this bitch. “Stay where you are Leonardo, or I’ll spill her blood all over the concrete.” 

He froze, fury in his expression as she gloated at him. 

“So easy to control you now. You waste your time with this useless sack of flesh.”

To stand for every dream, and forsake this solid ground

And give up this fear within, of what would happen if they ever knew

Vicky glared up at her captor. This cunt was using her. Using her to get to him! She began to tremble in her rage. She was being used as a god damned pawn. Again! And this time against someone she was...

I'm in love with you

...falling deeply in love with.

Anger filled her even more. Starting to drown out the pain from her bruised ribs and numerous smaller injuries. It pumped adrenaline in her veins and she clearly felt her body readying itself for something she didn’t know yet. For once, she was clearly facing her feelings. And getting ready to fight clearly for them. She was surrendering. Not to this woman, but...to him.

'Cause I'd surrender everything, To feel the chance to live again

I reach to you, I know you can feel it too

Her eyes flipped back to his from her prone position on the ground. His expression was helpless as he met her gaze. His hand tightening on the hilt of his weapon. Vicky’s own eyes held an apology that she had let herself be caught. To be used to draw him into this situation. She had never wanted this. Vicky wanted him to be happy, to be free of responsibilities when he was with her. She wanted to be his place to escape the shit he had to deal with. Not to be a cause of torment.

We'd make it through. 

No. She wouldn’t fall into that trap. The fault was not hers, nor was it Leo’s. It was this nameless woman’s. She was the one trying to use her against him. The one who was trying to tear something apart Vicky was beginning to understand that she wanted, needed. 

“You go to far, Karai.”

“I’ve not gone far enough. She still lives, for now.”

A thousand dreams I still believe, I'd make you give them all to me. 

I'd hold you in my arms and never let go

It wasn’t enough. She didn’t want to just live. She wanted to live with him. To spend every waking moment by his side. Regardless if it was lying next to him in his bed, or fighting by his side. Vicky was reliving every moment she had spent with him. Every moment of laughter, of tenderness. Moments where she began to feel she had found a purpose in her life again where it had been so cold and empty before. She didn’t want to just be someone in his life, she wanted to share his life. 

Vicky knew there was more to this turtle than goofy oreo dipping moments and silly jokes and gentle teasing. He was a warrior. He was a fighter. He defended those who couldn’t defend themselves. He stood for the downtrodden. He stood against tyrants like this woman. A woman who had a very distant set of morals.

The woman pushed away her pain even more. Finding something that had been buried deep down inside of her. She had lost hope over the years that there was nothing left for her to fight for. But now, memories of a time before she met him came to the forefront of her mind. She had been a soldier. She had face tyrants before. She had faced death before. And so had he. 

With him, she could find that place in this world she had tried to find when she joined the army. When she left, she had been disillusioned. Now, he was relighting that fire. 

In mere moments she went from living under her hopeless views to knowing that with him she could make that difference she had wanted to make since Amy died....if she surrendered to him completely.

I surrender

Her life still was in danger. That blade inches from her neck as the stand off continued. Vicky didn’t know what exactly Karai wanted from Leo. And at this point she didn’t care. All she knew was that she had made up her mind in whose hands she actually wanted to place her life. And it wasn’t this bitch.

I know I can't survive, another night away from you

She owed him so much he would never know. He taught her how to trust again, to enjoy her life. A life that was so much better now with him in it. No, she would not lay here and be the cause of his downfall.

You're the reason I go on, and now I need to live the truth

Right now, there's no better time. From this fear I will break free

She had been so scared at first. Not knowing what was going on. Not knowing what she should, or could, do. She had been at a disadvantage, now she studied Karai very closely as she exchanged words with Leo. 

Leo....

Her eyes met his again. This time free of the confusion and full of determination. His own eyes widened slightly, as if he could read her thoughts. Then, he smiled lightly and nodded. He was ready.

He knew more than Karai would ever know. And Vicky now had a reason to end her cowering on the ground. She had him. 

And I'll live again with love. And no they can't take that away from me

And Vicky refused to let Karai rip them apart.

And they will see

Kara was about to find out who she was actually surrendering to....and it wasn’t to this black clad tramp. Vicky’s fighting spirit came awake with a vengeance.

'Cause I'd surrender everything, to feel the chance to live again

I reach to you, I know you can feel it too

With a speed fueled by adrenaline, Vicky slapped the blade away from her throat and spun her body on the ground just enough to kick Karai’s feet out from underneath her. The caught off guard woman hit the ground on her back next to Vicky, and she wasted no time to crawl onto of the woman and began to pummel her. Vicky’s face was twisted in a furious snarl as Karai regained her senses. The two of them rolled around on the ground like two bar room brawlers, Vicky knowing that if this woman got to her feet she would easily outmatch Vicky with her martial arts skills. The brunette simply refused to let her back to her feet as she dished out punches.

We'd make it through

In her peripheral, she could tell that all hell broke loose. These strange soldiers had moved in to try and pull this feisty woman off of their leader, but was met with a swift moving blur of green as Leo joined the fray. His blades flashing in the light as he swung them around with practiced ease of years of training and fighting. Even as she kept on Karai, Vicky had to marvel at his strength and speed. His fighting was so smooth it seemed like a dance. A deadly one, but beautiful to watch. 

A thousand dreams I still believe, I'd make you give them all to me

I'd hold you in my arms and never let go

Vicky had finally managed to daze Karai enough to where she could roll off. Finding a weapon on the ground, thanks to Leo disarming one of these goons, she picked up the sword, not really knowing how to use the silly thing. It didn’t stop her. She used the none sharp edge like a club and smashed her way to him. She had to get to him. Once she was with him, they could find a way out. She would trust herself to his more than capable arms. Arms she wanted so much to surrender herself in.

I surrender

It seemed that the fight went on for hours, even if it had only been a few moments. Her arms were rapidly beginning to tire. Her momentum beginning to slow.

Every night's getting longer

But she refused to give in. Now stumbling towards him in exhaustion. Nothing else mattered than reaching him.

And this fire is getting stronger, babe

And he saw her coming. He saw how much she was struggling to just stay on her feet at this point, and yet she refused to give in.

I'll swallow my pride and I'll be alive, can't you hear my call

“Leo!”

I surrender all

With a last push, she stumbled towards him. He quickly sheathed one of his swords and supported her as she fell against him. Giving all her trust and faith to him. His arm wrapped around even as he fought on. Somehow keeping them all at bay while keeping her shielded.

Then, finally, he broke free and scooped her up in his arms and ran. His swift strides quickly outpacing their pursuers before he went up to the rooftops and took a route they could not follow easily.

Right here, right now, I’d give my life to live again

I’ll break free, take me. My everything, I surrender all to you

She melted in his grip. Trusting him with her very life. The final surrender as she accepted that he would do anything for her, and she would do the same for him. She gave up her long fight of trying to live this life on her own. He was now a part of her, heart and soul.

Right here, right now. I’d give my life to live again

I’ll break free, take me. My everything, I surrender all to you

She surrendered to her love. Her love for him.

@bushido-in-blue

@the-second-circle-of-shell

And here is your first introduction to me writing a song inspired story. Doesn’t have to be canon with us. I just get these spontaneous story ideas when I hear songs. Thank you for letting me do this.

[antihero-writings]

Before It Kills You Too

(Cover art by _xstlyricax_ on Instagram!! I’ll put a link to her profile in a reblog!!)

Fandom: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)

Fic Summary: 

Hera goes for a drive after a fight with Zeus, and has some time to think. Her internal monologue and memories, using Blackpink's "Kill This Love" as a prompt. ||

Anger was a fire, it burned white hot and devastated the world around it. But then it faded...This was more than anger.

Character Focus: Hera

Notes: If you haven't listened to, and/or watched the music video for Blackpink's "Kill This Love" (I’ll put a link in a reblog!), I highly recommend you do so either before or after reading, as the fic is based on the lines, and a few of the visuals of it!

The cover art is based off of the visuals of 0:59-1:12 of the music video too!

 I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I'm not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

(I’ll put some more notes in a reblog!)

Chapter 1: I Owe It All to You

Hera kept glancing from the road to the speedometer, the dial sneaking steadily upwards: sixty miles an hour to seventy in seconds.

She leaned over and took a cigarette from the pack, putting it between the fingers of the hand on the steering wheel. She took out the lighter and clicked it open, lighting the end, then closed it again and set it back down in the cupholder while she breathed in.

Smoke never tasted so sweet as when she was angry with him.

Eighty, ninety.

“Good to see you again, Bunny!”

“It’s only been a few days!” She laughed, “And who’s Bunny?”

“You are!” Zeus took her hands and gave her eskimo nose kisses. “Who else?”

The golden girl smiled, big and bright—

—the kind of smile one can only give when the world itself is big and bright. When one lives in a realm of hope, where beings keep their secrets, and their promises, and no one lies, or steals, or cheats.

She breathed out, smoke billowing like her mouth was the gates to the Christian’s hell—(they say hell hath no fury right?).

Sometimes she wished she had Zeus’s power; that she could set the world on fire with a glance.

A hundred.

The world was nothing but streaks of light across her vision. Not trees, people, and buildings; not distinguishable as life or meaning, just lines of color as she flew by. Maybe things were better that way. She could dance in the in-between, reach up and grab the ribbons, twirl around with them in beautiful absurdity. Only absurdity was beautiful; truth and sanity were far too ugly.

“Bunny I—”

“Don’t ‘Bunny’ me!”

She took another long draft, letting the smoke’s medicine filling her lungs.

And out.

Breathe out, feel the negative emotions leaving your body, all the meditation gurus say.

What a load of bullshit that was.

For every soothing inhale there was always an exhale that felt like it was clawing its way out of her throat. For every sweet hello there was a bitter goodbye, full of curses at his back, in return. For every incredible high there was a unfathomable price. That was the rule to life; what goes up, must come down.

And she had risen too high, once upon a time.

The test of life had no answer, let alone a right one. Even the gods were slaves to fate, and emotion.

The tires screeched hellishly as she rounded corner.

Hera walked around the corner.

“It just—I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him! You know?”

The queen stopped. It was that nymph’s voice. The one who came by earlier.

“Ahh I’m so jealous! Tell me more! Tell me!”

“Well he just…I don’t know! When he kisses me the whole world just kind of…stops. You know? And when he listens…I feel like he’s actually listening.”

“Ugh, too sappy! Tell me the dirty stuff!”

“Oh stop! I’m not gonna tell you about our sex life!”

Hera rolled her eyes, beginning to walk away when—

“Well he is the king of the gods. You’re right; It’s better if I imagine.”

The queen froze.

“Eugh I don’t want you imagining me in bed with him!”

“No, I’m imagining me in bed with him!”

Hera couldn’t hear them anymore. Couldn’t see the world in front of her. She was staring at a space before her eyes only she could see; a space, a memory, where the world was wide and she and Zeus were the only beings in it.

That space was shattering piece by piece.

Her breath was shallow in her chest, her blood pumping her ears.

“Mama?” Ares’ little voice brought her back to the world. “Mama, you’re hurting me.”

She immediately let go of her son’s tiny hand. “I’m so sorry sweetheart!” She crouched down and took his hand in both of hers, this time with the most gentleness she could muster, and kissed his fingers. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…‘m okay.” He took his hand back and rubbed it.

He looked at her apprehensively.

“…Are you okay, mama? …Are you angry?”

She whizzed passed broken stop sign, catching her reflection in the rear view mirror; her hair in tattered locks like rags about her face, eyebrows permanently furrowed, lip permanently pursued, blue eyes dim and hollow, with nothing of the brightness they once contained; only a few lingering sparks of electricity in an abandoned power plant.

‘Okay’. ‘Angry’.

Such ugly words.

“I just…” the golden girl pushed her hair behind her ear sheepishly, her eyes bright, “I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him…you know?”

“Can’t say I do,” Aidoneus muttered softly.

She put her gently hand on his. “Don’t worry, I know you will one day.” She grinned.

And what made it better was that she really meant that.

He tried to smile back.

“So what’s that…like?” he asked softly.

“Well…when he kisses me the world kind of …stops. It feels like there’s nothing and no one in the universe but him and me. We can talk about anything. And when I talk it feels like he actually listens. He always makes me laugh. When I’m with him…it feels like nothing else matters…”

She hated that word: okay. It was too simple, too easy; one could always throw it out as an answer. It didn’t mean, I’m doing very well, or I’m doing poorly—(though it could mean either depending on the context). Okay was just, ‘fine’, ‘alright’. Okay could mean you were doing wonderfully, having a great day, and okay could mean you would rather be dead, and either way people would smile and say good! I’m okay too!. Okay was never truly satisfied, never fully living. Just existing. ‘Okay’ was a word for ghosts; for those who are neither dead nor really alive, neither sinners nor saints. Just floating through the world, caught in between.

She was always okay…and she was never okay.

She rolled down the window, cool air rushing in to the car and scooping up all the smoke, taking it out into the night, giving it to some other lonely Goddess who needed it.

“Ugh, this again? I thought we were done with this…Just leave it for now. You’ll feel better after lunch.”

And, anger, anger was a fire that blossomed like a rose high, and bright, and scorching for a while, eating everything it saw. Then it dwindled. Sometimes it could be lit again by a passing breeze, if the embers were still fresh enough. And sometimes that relight could touch a passerby leaf or bush, and from there desecrate forests and cities. But often, even then, once it had finished blazing it would wither and die. Anger burned white hot and violent at first, but eventually it would fade, and the world would be left to deal with everything it blackened in its wake.

She sometimes had a vague image of smashing Zeus’s head in, of him clutching his big ugly skull, golden trails of blood intermixing with his violet hair, draining down his cheeks. And there she was, holding the stem of glass, half of the vase, in her hand, the rest of it in pieces all over the floor before them. Sometimes. Sometimes it felt good to take out all that anger out on innocent paintings. Sometimes she had to destroy something, before it destroyed her.

“You’re acting crazy.” He had said.

Crazy, was she?

Crazy for believing visions in her head, which were always right in the past? Crazy for being angry? For kicking him out? No.

Crazy for staying with a being like him?

Yes. If she was crazy, that was why.

If I’m crazy, well, then…

She smirked, taking a long draft, and letting it out, grey wisps filling the air around her.

Thanks, baby, I owe it all to you.

She had a faint recollection of being sane once. Before him. He always made her crazy, be it when she was first fell in love with him, or when she rose in hate for him. But there was a time, when, before all this, she was a sweet, naïve little golden girl in the forest, with her sanity in tact, who loved animals, and taking care of broken things, her innocence still put together.

He thought he knew crazy. He hadn’t even scratched the surface.

But then that impulse would fade as quickly as it came, and she was left with guilt for even thinking that way. She’d never do that. She might burn his picture, but she wouldn’t actually hurt him…would she? She hoped it would never get that far.

No. That was anger. The boiling thing rising inside her that made her want to smash, and spit in, his face, and burn paintings, that was anger. Anger rose, vehemently, but in the end it dissolved.

This was more than just anger.

This, this feeling; this dull resounding ache at the back of her consciousness like an unending death knell; this thing that bored a hole in her stomach, making her feel constantly sick; this thing that hung as a weight in her chest; this thing wrapping around her, chaining her wings; this thing that stained her eyes with sleeplessness; this thing that broke into her mind and ransacked her thoughts, tainting all those happy memories, making them seem diluted with lies, and sickening to think of, and never, ever left her house—

This was heartbreak. Eternal, infernal, heartbreak.

She was on a long stretch of road now, out where nature still bloomed and she didn’t have to look at anyone’s faces or talk to anyone. The ribbons of light still outlining the air—(was it two hundred now? She’d lost track.).

Lucky me.

Everyone always told her she was lucky. Not everyone got to be the wife of the king of the gods. Just her. She was lucky she had a husband who was powerful. Who was rich. She was lucky she had a husband who adored her. Who doted on her. Who listened to her. Who she could talk to. Who made her laugh.

Not everyone had that. Some had husbands who were poor. Who were weak. Who didn’t love them, and whom they didn’t love. Husbands who didn’t dote on them, or give them so much as a wanton kiss. Who fixed a permanent scowl on their faces. Who they couldn’t talk to. Husbands who lied to them, and cheated on them.

She was lucky she didn’t have that.

Not everyone got to be queen.

Lucky her. So lucky he chose her. So lucky she got the crown. No one else.

No one but her.

So lucky she had that handsome face to wake up to every day.

(Every damn day)

So lucky could talk to him every day. So lucky could kiss him, and hug him, and make love to him.

(Sometimes she couldn’t even look at him.)

So lucky she had Zeus. That goofy, dumb, brave, arrogant king as her better half. So lucky she had a husband who was so sweet, and kind, and gentle, and funny, and patient, and forgiving. So lucky she didn’t have had a cheating, lying, conniving, backstabbing little weasel for a husband, who put that crown on his head, and walked into his office like he owned the world—!

And he was the one person who could say he did. Including her. Sometimes she couldn’t say a word against him.

He owned the world. Along with every fucking girl in it.

And he did fuck them.

After it all, what would he say?

We all lie, so what? Something like that.

So what.

Him; the illustrious king with his throne, and his lightning. Her; a jealous queen with a stolen crown.

The only one to blame was herself.

“I just feel like everyone’s lying, everyone’s—!” the golden girl cried, her hands over her eyes.

Someone took her arm, someone whose grasp was gentle.

He put his finger on her chin, tipping her gaze up to him.

“I’d never lie to you.” Zeus said, giving a gentle smile.

And what made it better was he meant it.

She returned the smile, placing her hand over his. “Nor I to you.”

That naïve little ray of sunlight darkened by his moon.

We’ve both lied, so what? That would surely be his excuse.

“You know what?! Why don’t we talk about you for a change?”

He’d said he was sorry before. He’d promised to be better.

And she believed him, then.

He’d spent enough time telling the truth that she believed he meant it when he apologized. When he made promises. When he spoke to her, she thought he meant the things he said.

I cheated on you, I’m sorry.

I lied to you, I’m sorry.

Now she questioned everything he had ever said. His apologies, his promises, his compliments, his kisses. Were those words so long ago just another lie? His promise to never lie to her, was that just the first lie of a thousand? As numerous as the hours they spent together. Did he ever intend to keep his words back then?

That was the unfortunate thing about lies; they could reside in even the most sincere of promises.

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

Long ago she’d wanted him to apologize. She’d been more than desperate to hear those words falling from his lips.

Now she knew they meant nothing. They could, and usually would, be just another lie. And, even if he meant them, they wouldn’t fix this aching hole he’d left in her chest.

She remembered herself at her wedding; them, the picture of a perfect, royal couple, his violet a compliment to her gold. Both of them practically shimmering, wearing traditional wedding attire—(though impossibly embellished and adorned)—and those goofy, light-filled smiles. The whole pantheon applauding, smiling, wiping away tears at their back.

In other countries, at weddings, they said they’d be together in sickness and health, till death did them part.

Did this count as sickness? As death?

Didn’t he break that promise? Did her promises matter after he broke his? Was her faith and faithfulness worth nothing anymore?

She now imagined herself in a black dress, standing at the back of that ceremony with a bow, and an arrow made of adamant, laced with the venom from a certain many headed monster, its gleam reflected in darkened gaze. She breathed out as they spoke, and loosed that arrow, shooting that girl in the back. Olympus shouted in vain, as she watched all that gold flow out of her past self, those blue eyes fade to a cool grey, keeping her from making the biggest mistake of her life. And she’d look at Zeus’ horrified face and think

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

That was surely better than this. Better than dying slowly, the blue in her eyes dimming day by day into lifeless grey still animated somehow, better than that gold leaking out of her with each forsaken sunrise she woke up next to him.

Would he be happy then? Without her? He could fuck around with whoever he wanted.

Would she be happier, dead, without all this?

There was no way she could have known, back then what their lives would become after a few millennia. How that god who held her hands and said he’d never lie to her, who hugged her and kissed her, and seemed so in love, could become dissatisfied. That lust would overtake him; he’d keep wanting more and more, gorging himself on it. She had no way of knowing that she wouldn’t be enough one day.

She was young, and innocent then, and didn’t know better.

She couldn’t forgive herself for that.

Something flashed gold in the headlights before her, and for a second her mind manifested before her; she saw that golden girl still, her own hair draining down the street like liquid, that white wedding attire—old, ragged, covered in burns—her own naïve eyes, still full of light and life, staring up at her, terror overtaking their innocent frames. And her own eyes boiled.

The sound of breaking glass was like a cooling rain upon a fire that had been left raging too long.

******

Zeus was doing important business work. Focus was imperative.

Someone knocked on the door. “Your majesty.”

He fumbled with the spinner he was playing with, dropping it on the floor, sitting upright. He folded his hands on the desk, clearing his throat, trying to look professional.

“Yes? If it’s Hermes wanting to install racing tracks in the sky again—”

“Uh, n-no,” the messenger poked her head in the door, looking nervous, “It’s… about your wife.”

He blinked, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. “…What’s does she want this time?”

“Um…” she swallowed, avoiding his gaze, “S-She’s been in a car accident.”

*****

Notes cont.: Do you guys have any ideas for what song I could use for Zeus for the next chapter? (I want the next chapter to be framed like this one--based around a song, but for him, and from his perspective.) Let's see...In the simplest terms, I'm looking for a song about someone who knows they've made mistakes and/or hurt someone, and wants to do better. It doesn't have to be kpop, it can be anything XD (Though to be honest I'd prefer if it wasn't American pop...)

[dragonnan]

WIP Challenge

WIP Challenge!! Tell your blog the titles of all the WIPs you are currently working on right now and a little about them and then tag five other writers.Another posting challenge I saw that appeals to meTagged by: nobodyDisclaimer: I'm only "actively" working on a handful of these.  I deeply want to finish all of them but some that have lingered for years are of a lower priority.  I also can't write for more than 2 fandoms at any given time and right now the two that interest me are MCU related and Sherlock.

1.  Sed Diabolus (MCU)

Takes place soon after Endgame.  Due to the nature of the multiverse it is both compliant and non-compliant to the film as well as being both a fix-it as well as making shit significantly worse.  The story is structured around Peter Parker - who returned, with everyone else, with the snap that restored everyone to life.  The difference is that he won't wake up.  Meanwhile, in another universe, Peter Parker has recently returned from from Europe.  Left to skulk around Queens at night, now that his identity has been revealed, he is feeling more lost than ever before.  Meanwhile Doctor Strange, back in the other universe, has been called upon to rescue the comatose Peter - and a startling truth is revealed!  What will it take to restore Peter once again?  Worse still, an old enemy of Stephen's has returned.  And a new enemy threatens to destroy everything they'd won with the defeat of Thanos.

2. Avengers: New Beginnings (MCU)

This is also an Endgame fix-it.  This is actually the first fix-it idea I had but then @kitcat992 and I started brainstorming Diabolus and I got extremely side-tracked.  In this one, the focus is more specifically on Tony Stark and the fact that he's been having horrific nightmares.  The thing is, according to Stephen Strange, they aren't nightmares but memories that come from another universe.  The story will involve repairing the fractures in the universe caused by the use of the gauntlet as well as looking at the various Avengers as the go forward from the defeat of Thanos.  There will also be the introduction of Kamala Khan and how, exactly, her powers came to be.

3. The Fire in Which We Burn (Sherlock)

Molly Hooper-centric.  Set immediately after TFP (with a thick dose of establishing history in the first chapter).  In essence this story developed from the question "what was upsetting Molly just before Sherlock made That Call"?  It also provides context for how she could go from speaking about Tom in glowing terms during TEH to stabbing his hand in TST.  Snatching back terminology from the jaws of obscurity this story relights on a ton of UST (unresolved sexual tension for the fandom young).  There is also a lot of Mycroft and Anthea involvement.  As to the actual story-line it involves an ex of Molly's who got dangerous.  The story will be about her dealing with said ex and the shit going on between herself and Sherlock.  Is anything salvageable from all of this?  Is it even worth discussing?  

4. Oompa Loompa Doom-Pa-Dee-Die (Psych)

Originally this story was part of a huge Virtual 9th Season set after the end of the series.  Myself and about 6 or 7 other writers had plotted out in tremendous detail a connected story arc that would carry through 8 episodes (originally 16).  This story was set to be the 5th episode.  Sadly, after many years of trying to make the VS happen, I finally contacted the various writers and we agreed to let it go.  However, as this story was fully plotted and was a bit of writing that I remain very proud of, I reworked it to function as a stand-alone story.  Basically, Shawn and Gus end up finding themselves involved in a murder investigation at a chocolate factory.  As is likely evident from the title, the themes in this fic draw very heavily from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film.  There are actually two rival chocolate factories run by two sisters who have been rivals since their youth.  Their father, the former owner of the first factory, is fan-cast as, of course, Gene Wilder.  There are a lot of mysterious elements, humor, and hopefully a decent twist by the end.

5. Simon and Simon and Psych (Psych and Simon & Simon crossover)

In spite of letting this thing linger so long I’m actually pretty excited about it still.  The basic story plot is that Rick and AJ Simon travel to Santa Barbara so that AJ can compete in the annual (and real) half marathon.  Of course things go sideways when Rick gets caught up in a drug trafficking scheme with him as the accused.  To make matters worse, Shawn, Gus, and AJ all get caught and kidnapped while investigating the drug traffickers.  The one thing I’m especially excited about this story is bringing Rick and AJ into modern times with a few changes to their personal history.  It’s a lot of fun having them banter about websites and politics and stuff of that nature.

6. The Big Stink (Supernatural)

My very first foray into fanfic for this fandom I started this thing years ago when I had already become frustrated by the direction of the series.  I wanted to recapture what had originally made me love the show and that was the story of two brothers fighting monsters - no more no less.  The story is built around Dean being cursed to constantly have a terrible smell in his nose - which also affects his sense of taste.  While initially humorous the side effects of something like that become gradually worse as if not only makes eating and drinking awful but also leaves him constantly nauseous.  The story is about the boys backtracking their movements to figure out who or what put the whammy on Dean as well as trying to work out how to break the curse.  

7. Asgårdsreia (HTTYD)

Right off the bat I made the mistake of starting this fic before properly plotting out the story first - thus the initial reason why it was left hanging.  Then the third film hit with its swath of disappointment and I’ve been somewhat less than eager to get back to it.  So the story, as it stands, is that the Viking clan is in the midst of celebrating Fyr Bal (basically “fire festival”).  Most of the clans join together at this time with each clan taking a turn to host on their year.  That year it’s Berk’s turn to host - much to Hiccup’s dismay.  He’s especially off-put by certain visiting clans eyeing him like a side of beef for their eligible daughters.  So, needing some escape, he takes Toothless out to survey some unexplored islands in search of new dragon species (basically the typical shit he’s been getting up to in Race to the Edge as well as the second movie).  Things go severely awry, however, when he comes across some dragon hunters and is hit with a bolo - breaking his left leg and making it impossible to operate the pedal used to fly Toothless.  Forced to shift on his side and fly by using one hand on the pedal, he and Toothless eventually crash land on a deserted island.  Now, badly injured and with no way to escape, they’re forced to run from the dragon hunters who followed in their wake.  

Tagging: @hanuko @ceruleanmindpalace @kitcat992 @sgam76 @mizjoely @ariaadagio @aelaer    

[dancing-sword]

Catrina’s Story: Megumi

So I started this back last year when @bace-jeleren first showed off. I've been working on and off for forever and I finally was able to finish it.

Megumi and Sophi, but it took me months to even get halfway through this. I finally had the creative burst to get finish it and knocked out the last half last couple days.

“Found you,” Sophi said in a soft voice with a smile.

Megumi returned with a broad, toothy smile of her own before looking around, her feet already carrying her forward. The only sound around was the ever so slight breeze rustling the thick branches over head. Moonlight bathed the world in pale light and for a second Sophi believed they were on Innistrad, but a feeling deep down told her this was not home. There were little things off that her angelic senses could tell and she thanked any higher force that be that Megumi hadn’t stumbled back to her home.

The path they followed was winding and partially overgrown from disuse. It meandered along rocky outcroppings and around trees and oftentimes disappeared in the brush. There was the occasional broken down fence and the sparse ruins of some old outpost that would always pique Megumi’s curiosity and lead her to pepper Sophi with questions about this and that, although Sophi found much of them hard to answer since she was certain she had never been to this plane before. Eventually the treeline broke and opened up to a large clearing. The road they had followed ran off into the horizon over low rolling hills and disappearing into fog-covered mountains.

Megumi fell slightly and stumbled for a step as her feet hit the ground. She wasn’t sure if she was getting any better at this planeswalking business since she just appeared a few feet off the ground. The young soratami puffed out her cheeks in indignant embarrassment, knowing she could and should have easily just floated, but calmed quickly when she felt a hand on her head.

Just off the path standing in the brush bathed in moonlight, was a warrior woman. A beast twice the size of a horse laid slain at her feet, its crumpled body masked in the shadow of the tall grass. She withdrew her blade, long and grim and painted red from battle, from the corpse. As the breeze picked up, it carried the smell of battle towards the two and the scent of iron immediately sent a word through Megumi’s mind.

Blood.

She was no stranger to it. Her dad was a vampire after all and both of her parents dabbled in the macabre so the appearance of blood was not inherently concerning to her, but she was still just a child and the grisly spectacle before her sent a chill down her spine. She inched behind her angelic guarding, squeezing a bit tighter onto Sophi’s hand.

Sophi was hit a little bit harder than Megumi was at the scene. There was a lingering darkness behind the blood that she could detect where Megumi couldn’t and it brought old feelings bubbling up from within her. It was unmistakably demon blood before them and her years of fighting instinct as one of the Flight Goldnight were starting to bubble up, but so was something else. Feelings of hate and divine fury crawled up her throat as a lingering voice started to worm its way into her ears. For a second, her heart started to race as it began to dawn on her what was going to happen next until Megumi’s small hand gripped her own, grounding her. She swallowed the feelings back down, closed her eyes, and exhaled a sigh of relief as her heart finally started to settle.

When Sophi opened her eyes, she caught the woman looking back at them over her shoulder briefly before wiping the blood from her blade on the corpse. While not completely clean, the woman must have thought she was presentable enough as she turned and started to make her way towards the two. As she came closer, it became apparent how the woman won her bout, her unarmored arms and legs thick with muscle. Sophi guessed the woman might have been considered a towering person had she herself not been closer 7 feet tall. When the woman finally stopped a few feet from the pair she gave them a once over, her eyes squinting slightly at Sophi and her one brow raising at Megumi.

She licked her teeth in thought, her gaze both penetrating and unfeeling, before speaking. “It is unsafe out tonight. My camp is further down the road. You can rest there until you get your bearings.”

She spun around and started marching off, not waiting for a reply.

“I’m Megumi and this is Sophi! What’s your name?” Megumi exclaimed as she floated up to eye-level with the woman.

“My name is Catrina, little one,” Catrina replied, lacking the severity she had first appeared with much to Sophi’s surprise.

“Are you from here? Where are we anyway? You’re strong. Did you defeat the monster all on your own?”

“Yes, child, this is Freimrann. My home. And I did kill that creature. It had been terrorizing the countryside for some months now.”

Catrina entertained the curious Megumi with more details of her fight as the trio continued towards the campsite. Just off the road, following a beaten dirt path, it was nestled in the broken ruins of an old watch tower. Only three of the four walls still stood and much of the structure past the second floor had long since crumpled from decay.

“You can explore the tower if you would like, little one. Be careful though. It is sturdier than it seems, but can still be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry! I can flyyyyyyyyyyy!” Megumi yelled, gently floating up through a hole in the ceiling. She had to grab the ledge and pull herself, her tiny giggles fading as she disappeared from view.

Sophi on the other hand followed Catrina toward a makeshift fire pit, standing awkwardly to the side as her guide sat down on an old chair, relighting and stoking the fire.

“So, what is an Innistrad angel doing with a child Soratami? I can only assume you are not her mother.”

Sophi had to do a double take. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lie or do not, it does not matter to me. I am just curious to why you travel.”

Sophi paused as she took a seat of her own, unable to meet Catrina’s gaze for the moment nor could she see Catrina having an ulterior motive. “Megumi is lost. She cannot guide her planeswalking and travels to worlds at random. I am with her to make sure she is safe and that she returns to her parents.”

Catrina nodded. “Noble.”

With Catrina’s own curiosity satiated and Sophi not feeling terribly open with the stranger, a silence fell between the two aside from the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of Megumi’s play. Sophi could only twiddle her thumbs as Catrina began setting up her cooking supplies for a meal.

“So...” Sophi began, hoping to break the silence, “How did you know I was an angel?”

“Angels have a… a light to them. After the first few, you can recognize it pretty easily.”

“I- I’m sorry, but what do you mean by ‘the first few’?”

“The first few kills.” Catrina said off-handedly, more interested with the food she was starting to cook than the implications of her words.

“I- I’m- you- what-” All Sophi could do was stutter, utterly perplexed as her mind seemed to have trouble comprehending Catrina’s sentence. “You’ve killed angels before?”

“I have lived a long time and have killed many things. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes for not. Angels were in there somewhere.”

Sophi unconsciously dug her nails into her seat as her breath started to quicken and sweat started to bead on her brow. Part of it was because of the now unsettling feeling she was getting from her host, but the other were dark thoughts. She could feel they claw at her insides, whispers that flowed from the depths she had tried to bury them in. She desperately wanted to fight these feelings again, but their words were so tempting now. This woman had killed angels? How could someone destroy something so holy and pure and be safe from judgment or punishment? Each fleeting thought she followed pulled her along a path that spiraled further and further down into the darkness once more. Her vision tunneled, the shadows and branches seeming to grow long and jagged like twisted tentacles as they crept further into view. Before she knew it, her eyes were wild, her brow furrowed, and her breath ragged. A single word, almost not it in her own voice and barely audible over the crackle of the fire, slipped from her lips through gritted teeth.

“Sinner.”

Catrina paused, her collected gaze locking onto Sophi’s far more crazed one. Had Sophi been in a much more attentive mood, she would have noticed a quick flash of confusion and caution in Catrina’s eyes, but they disappeared quickly under her steely facade.

“You- you vile creature. You need to be cleansed-”

“What is your name.” Catrina cut the angel off, her tone less of a question and more of a command.

“Do not try to distra-”

“What is your name.”

Sophi was furious. How did this monster even think it was in any position to make demands. If it would not beg for forgiveness, maybe she should give it her name so it would know what to call out for in its dying breath. “My name is Sophi and I-”

“Where are you right now.”

Sophi gritted her teeth. How many more question was she going to be asked? “Freimrann. Your filthy home.”

Catrina at the very least let the angel finish her sentence. “And tell me why you are here.”

That gave Sophi pause as her racing mind seemed to hit a wall. She knew the answer, but it was struggling to come out passed the divine rage. “I was… I came here to...”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

Sophi blinked as if light had been flashed in her face. The vitriol slowly left her voice as she spoke, “I follow Megumi. She is lost and I have promised to protect her.”

“Repeat it. From the beginning.”

“My name is Sophi. I am on Freimrann. I am following Megumi to protect her.”

“Good. Keep going.”

Sophi closed her eyes and repeated the mantra over and over, each time it brought her slowly back out of the madness. When she finally opened her eyes, the tower was back to its crumbling state, but at least the tree and the shadows were also back in their normal state.

“Thank you,” Sophi said softly. She couldn’t find the words to articulate her thanks and felt like anything she could say wouldn’t be enough.

“It is nothing,” Catrina replied, her focus already back onto the food in front of them, “I have seen many warriors lost to madness and battles with the mind and I have seen the toll it can take on a soul. I cannot say it will always bring you peace, but I do hope it helps. That being said, you can come down now, Child.”

Having been found out from her eavesdropping perch, Megumi slowly floated down from an upper floor and came to sit down near her guardian angel. The two chatted between themselves, Sophi reassuring Megumi she was doing better as the little soratami fretted over her. Catrina left them to their talk, only listening to them in passing as the food finished and she passed them their share.

As the group finished their meal and Catrina started to break camp, she paused, turning slowly to look off into the distance. Sophi and Megumi exchanged a confused look while their host held up a hand. “Someone has entered the plane. It does not feel familiar.”

A roar shook through the woods, guttural and angry that sent birds scattering in the distance. While Catrina was more curious than cautious, she raised an eyebrow to Sophi and Megumi’s horrified looks.

“I assume that is what you are protecting Megumi from.”

Sophi nodded, “That’s Grii. She’s a cyclops that has been chasing Megumi.”

Megumi nodded, gripping tightly onto Sophi’s sleeve as her eyes stayed locked on the direction of the scream.

Catrina liked her teeth as she considered her options. “Go,” she commanded, waving the pair off and much to their confusion.

“You don’t have to do this. We’ve gotten away from her before,” Sophi tried to reassure her, but did get up all the same.

“I will stall her. Or kill her. I have not decided yet.” Catrina kept her eyes on the treeline. “But I am curious and I want to see what is so worrisome.” Catrina stood at the sound of another roar, making her way to the edge of camp and only stopped when she felt something cling to her leg. Megumi had glided up and hugged her side. “It is okay, little one. It is not me that you will have to worry about. Now you two run along. I will be fine.”

Megumi floated back to Sophi. The pair gave Catrina one last thankful look before planeswalking to parts unknown. With that, Catrina stood like a sentinel, eyes once again locked in the direction of the roars. It didn’t take long until the towering form of the cyclops came into the clearing, snapping branches and kicking brush aside as she strode in.

“So the runt and the broken goods ran away again. Typical.” Grii growled, first looking around at the encampment before slowly turning towards Catrina with a large fanged smile. “But it looks like they left me something fun to play with. Well, old woman, do you want to tell me which way they went? Or do you feel like making this difficult?”

Catrina said nothing. All she did was give her a long judgmental gaze as she looked the cyclops up and down.

Grii snarled. “What? Are you deaf? I’m asked you-”

“Is this it? This is what they were scared of?”

It had been some time since Grii had last felt such utter confusion, a level of befuddlement that matched Catrina’s disappointment, but it was quickly replaced by an equal amount of rage. Grii roared and a wave of magic slammed into Catrina and a shiver shot down her spine. She seemed confused for only a moment before a small chuckle left her lips, the laughter only making Grii more furious.

“Fear?” Catrina asked in a mocking tone. The smile on her face was small, but it might as well have been a wicked grin towards the cyclops. Grii charged and threw a wild right hook at Catrina’s jaw, only to have her hand casually batted away with the side of Catrina’s palm. “Do you think you are the first to try that trick on me?”

Grii threw another combo of punches this time connecting against arm and rib before Catrina moved to slip around her fists and grab a hold of Grii’s shirt. All Grii felt was a quick lurch of movement before the world became a blur and found herself pushed flat on her back. She tried to push up, to pry herself from the woman’s grip, but it might as well have been a house placed on her chest.

“Show me why they ran. Do not disappoint me.”

Grii ripped and clawed at Catrina’s arm, scattering flesh and muscle before another blinding blur of movement and vertigo took her. Before she could even react, she felt the sudden and rapid string of blows to her back before she slammed to a halt against a large tree. She braced herself and looked up, the dozens of yards that now suddenly separated the cyclops and the human was filled with smashed trees and destroyed brush. In a single leap, Catrina cleared the broken stumps and scattered limbs, coming to a stop in front of Grii and stood above her.

Grii bellowed again, her scream blood curdling as another wave of chilling dread shot out from her. The wind gusted forward as well, harsh and cold and biting. It howled with the screams of her fallen prey.

Catrina did not budge.

“Did you think it would work better a second time?” She tossed Grii’s sword at her feet, the cyclops not even realizing it had fallen from her grasp after being launched nor the fact that Catrina’s arm had already mended itself. “I do hope you try something other than screaming at me.”

Grii snatched up her sword and swung for Catrina’s neck, dead set on silencing her once and for all. For the first time in this whole confrontation Catrina raised her blade, parrying the strike in a shower of sparks. She swung again and again, rage guiding her sword just as much as her instincts. She felt her arms burn with each strike as she put everything she had into them. Try as she might however, Grii found Catrina moved with a speed and strength she hadn’t expected. She’d swing down to crush the woman only to have her attack deflected and her blade dig into the ground. She’d cut with the force to split a tree only to have her attack stopped as if it was nothing. Catrina’s sword seemed to always be in the right place at the right time and she seemed prepared for attacks before Grii had even started moving.

The cyclops could feel her arms tiring now. Very few of her prey lasted more than a few her empowered swings and even fewer could resist the fear she could inspire. She could count the number of fights she’s fought that lasted more than a couple minutes on her hands. Nothing she did, no amount of fear or strength, seemed to deter this stoic woman. Her mind started to wander to thoughts of simply leaving the fight. She needed to get back to hunting down the twerp and the wannabe hero and then when she was done with them, she’d be back to put this woman down once and for all.

“I think I have seen enough.” Catrina slipped through Grii’s slowing attacks and distracted thoughts to grab her by the collar once more, a move Grii was all too over at this point. Catrina jumped and the sudden rush blood to her feet caused Grii’s vision to tunnel for a moment, coming back to clarity at the apex. They seemed to hover for a second as Grii recovered. They were a few hundred feet up now, far above the forest and far closer to the clouds than was comfortable for Grii.

As they started their descent and Catrina twisted in the air to position the cyclops underneath, it only took Grii a second to realize what Catrina had planned. She bellowed, slamming another wave of fear into Catrina as she ripped and clawed into her arm and face. Catrina held strong, unfazed as her blood and sinew scattered into the wind rushing by them.

Grii’s heart raced as she could feel the ground getting ever closer to the back of her skull. “NEXT TIME, YOU ARE DEAD!” she screamed over the wind. She focused through her own rage, on the lingering mana trail of the angel and soratami, and planeswalked just moments before impacting.

As the dust settled, Catrina stood up slowly from her crater, her body already stitched up from her scuffle in the air. She turned her head skyward, standing in silence feeling the mana trails fade from her world. She had considered finishing off the cyclops for Megumi and Sophi, but bruising Grii’s ego seemed good enough and she was confident the two could handle something like that on their own. Besides, this was a good way to build the child’s character. Maybe she would find them in a few months and see how they were fairing. She nodded to herself, and made her way back into the woods. She had hunting to get back to.

[the-roanoke-society]

now i have a story that i’d like to tell...

about this guy you all know him, he had me scared as hell! / he comes to me at night after i crawl into bed / he's burnt up like a weenie and his name is fred!

horror aus part trois. part one can be found here, and two, here. all warnings and disclaimers still apply--as does the love.

do you dare dare journey below the cut...?

it’s a long way down, a long way down - a holy hell au inspired by the creep series

there are stories are stories on stories on stories about matches made in heaven. about two pure souls destined for the other, finally reaching a ‘happily ever after’ after going through trials and tribulations that, honestly, are played out and boring.

that’s exactly what fergus macleod would tell you, anway.

he’s been inhabiting his mortal coil for a few decades now, engaging in his favorite activity--serial murder.

but lately, something has--gone out.

he’s lost his light. his passion for killing.

so he gets an idea, and puts out an ad for a videographer.

he’ll make a documentary, he decides. a magnum opus to relight the blood and the violence that had brought him so much joy over the years.

what he didn’t expect was andi.

not her beauty. not her courage. not her wit, sharp enough to make a god bleed.

and not her fangs, and a thirst to rival his--even if her moral compass was a bit more lawful.

enough of stories about matches made in heaven.

talk to me about a match made in hell.

(these--particular films are not easy watches, though i personally enjoy them. the sequel is my favorite, but remember when i said ‘explicit sexuality’ in the first warning post? the especially applies to creep 2. when i imagined this au it was less in-line with the main narrative of the movies and more, say, a meet-cute story you’d overhear at an addams’ family function.)

mini soundtrack sampler includes: lovelytheband, ‘buzz cut’ + catfish & the bottlemen, ‘longshot’ + albert natural, ‘sara loves her juicy fruit’

red sun rises like an early warning - an ancient cares au inspired by sleepy hollow

sleepy hollow was often called a “sleepy” village, in the way that meant that nothing ever happened there. marie van tassel, daughter of the richest man in town--and immediately intrigued by the arrival of one police constable walter vaughn, sent all the way from new york city--would disagree. especially in recent years.

the headless horseman had returned.

and marie, for all the occult studying she’d done far from the gaze of her father’s watchful eyes, still so haunted after her mother’s brutal and untimely passing--couldn’t figure out why.

she knew exactly who he was. what he was. but why had he returned? what had woken him?

and could see really be that mournful, when it had sprung start the machinations of fate that brought walter right to her doorstep?

“i have shed my tears for boom... and yet my heart is not broken. do you think me wicked?”

“no... but perhaps there is a little bit of witch in you, marie.”

“walter, why do you say that?”

“because you have bewitched me.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: frank sinatra, ‘witchcraft’ + creedence clearwater revival, ‘i put a spell on you’ + the rolling stones, ‘sympathy for the devil’

drunk and driven by a devil’s hunger - a safety nets au inspired by apostle, co-starring @agent-thorn​

it was only five years into the birth of an entirely new century, and her twin brother had been taken; her father, lost in his grief, was utterly useless.

it was all up to parker jensen.

she found a fake pass easy enough, slyly dancing her way through conversations with began with “you know, i don’t remember seeing you at any of the prayer meetings...” until finally, finally, they reached that accursed island.

she’d never been to wales before.

she had no idea what to expect.

what are you supposed to expect, when you’re all alone on a solo rescue mission going toe-to-toe with what can only be described as a cult?

but ivar--son of the enigmatic priest of the island, malcolm--was a nice surprise.

the only nice surprise that she’d find.

it wasn’t until she caught jeremy, sneaking home after what she could only guess had something to do with ffion, that she got her first flash of what would be a more and more grisly truth.

this island had its own god.

and something much more sinister than genesis had happened on this soil.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: bakar, ‘hell n back’ + mumford & sons, ‘little lion man’ + neil reid, ‘mother of mine’

let that fever make the water rise - a grace & choice au inspired by the ritual

it was supposed to be like a vacation. diana hadn’t had one in at least fifteen years. vida, even longer.

so why not hiking? why not the kungsleden--the king’s trail--in northern sweden?

the first two days were bliss. nothing but rolling hills, clear skies. up until:

“ah fuck!”

“vida--shit, vida, are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m--urk!”

“all right, that was not a reassuring noise, let’s have a look at that--”

vida’s left knee went from pink to a swollen blue to an agonized, deep purple tinged with green over the course of next day. diana couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to keep up, especially when this was supposed to be a romantic break, nothing as taxing as the fieldwork happening back home.

by the light of a campfire, diana studied their map, humming. “what if we just cut through the forest?” she asked. “if we just went as the crow flies... it cuts the time in half. and you need medical attention, vida, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“has the battalion cleared this area?” vida returned her question with one of her own, eyes shining. the reflection of the fire made them look like stones polished by a river. “we wouldn’t run into anything, would we?”

diana smiled. “nothing we couldn’t handle, love, i’m sure.”

and diana didn’t change her mind when they set off the next morning... up until they found the disembowled carcass of an elk, placed up high in a tree like a religious icon.

she thought of morgan.

“diana, what--what put that up there? something had to have put that up there!”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: billie eilish, ‘bury a friend’ + two feet, ‘i feel like i’m drowning’ + coldplay, ‘paradise’

you can hear the river from my burial bed - a secret gardens au inspired by the legends of slenderman & mercy black, co-starring @agent-hood​

she wouldn’t say she wouldn’t remember. she did.

it was just that caroline janson had been in therapy for so long... she was no longer sure what of shards of her memories were real, and what would be, as dr. ward would say, hallucinations.

but she knew one thing: she was glad to be coming home.

“i hope chicken’s okay for your first night back,” parker began gently. “i’m just now realizing i forgot to ask--”

caroline smiled at her, “chicken would be great.”

she watched parker’s profile, as she opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. finally, she inhaled, then began, “you know... carter’s missed you since you’ve been gone...”

caroline rolled her eyes. “parker. it’s been a decade and a half. i seriously doubt it.”

“hey, who knows my brother better right now, me or you?”

that earned a huff... and a grin. subdued, but still there. “... okay. fine. but... maybe not tonight.” parker glanced at her once, and nodded.

“i understand. besides, maybe i want you all to myself for the first few days, anybody think about that?”

and caroline laughed.

and she wished that it felt like she wasn’t still being haunted.

mini soundtrack sampler includes:  oingo boingo, ‘dead man’s party’ + shaed, ‘trampoline’ + corrina repp, ‘only a beat’

don’t let it shake your steady thread-cutting hand - a royals & robots au inspired by kristy

it was hardly tilde’s idea to spend thanksgiving alone harvard. but between the pandemic, the weather, and her own growing agitation at her father’s behavior...

it just seemed easier.

and it wasn’t all bad. she still had prudence, who opted to stay with her out of love (and perhaps a lack of family--but she didn’t ask). and they had run of essentially the entire campus--there were several buildings that stayed opened, even over the holiday. the library being one.

but it wasn’t until one night, when they made a late night trip to a convenience store not far from tilde’s housing that things became... strange.

“pru. ... pru!” she whispered, snacks in one hand, the other on pru’s elbow. “... i think she’s following us.”

“she?” pru asked, lowly, careful to keep her eyes down, as if they were just having a very, very difficult time decided on what kind of poptarts they wanted.

tilde, face oddly blanched, couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded.

at the end of the aisle, a figure in dark hoodie and skinny jeans passed out of view.

one of pru’s arms went around tilde’s waist. “don’t worry. i’m sure she’s just here at the same time as us. it’s a small store.”

tilde would remember that when she got home in time to find a snuff film loaded onto her laptop.

“oh shit--oh shit, oh god--!”

this is why she preferred halloween.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: yeah yeah yeahs, ‘heads will roll’ + rihanna, ‘disturbia’ + nonono, ‘pumpin’ blood’

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor - Part Two

Read part one here!

Summary: Princess!Reader wakes up in Sir Langdon’s palace post-rescue. 

From the writer: Hey guys, I’m so excited for this fic! I really enjoyed writing Michael like this— very sweet and caring. If you enjoyed this, all likes and reblogs are appreciated + check out my masterlist for more things like this! Thank you so much to @jocelynscloset​ for proofreading this for me. :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part three, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,665

A red room with a black ceiling and black crown molding— a cast-iron chandelier with no gems dangling, but nine black, lacy lamp shades. A black canopy above your black four-poster bed, with ornate fabric and ribbons hanging from the sides. Silky sheets run past your fingers as you pull the fabric from your body. The same silky material clings to your body as you stand, and you’re wearing a black nightgown that hits mid-thigh with red lace detailing. A strict, but visually pleasing theme, you think. 

You cannot exactly recall how you ended up here, but you are assuming this is Michael’s palace. Opening the armoire, you search for something more appropriate to wear. Many dresses, exclusively black or red, and many more tiaras, all cast-iron with rubies. Plenty of options are available but you settle for a simple black linen dress— the temperature seems unusually high. Perhaps it’s the many candles burning, or the two fireplaces in your room. One across from your bed, and the other near the back of your room, connecting to what seemed to be an en suite bathroom. A simple tiara with one peak and a large ruby in the center is your accessory for today.

Exiting through the large, carved wood doors leads you to a long, arched hallway. Doors are shut until the hall reaches a dead end, and a wooden door is left ajar with a faint light fanning from the crack. Hesitant at first, but eager now as you push the door to reveal a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and a focused Sir Langdon writing a letter, quill in hand and scroll on desk.

“You’re awake!” he says, standing up to greet you. A warm hug is graciously accepted and a soft smile is flashed— you hold Michael in your grasp before breaking the hug to look back up at him. 

“Where are we?” you ask, looking around his grand office. A window gives a glimpse of what lies beyond the castle walls, but it’s a dark setting with a faint orange glow in the background and a reddish sky. 

Michael motions for you to sit at a chair across from him, then makes his way to his seat across from you. He folds his hands and crosses his legs.

“Would you join me for dinner tonight? I must explain something to you,” he says. 

His offer comes as a surprise, but you instantly accept. Curiosity begins to boil as he continues on, but his words are lost as your mind races with things that could be what he means to reveal later. It’s difficult when somebody says they would like to share something but leave it on a cliffhanger to reveal at a later date. Fortunately, Michael arranges dinner for tonight— your curiosity will soon be extinct. 

As you open the doors to your room, a blonde woman is sitting near your fireplace flipping through a book and smoking a cigarette. She stands and outstretches her arm for you to shake her hand. Her name is Madison she introduces herself as your guide for anything you might need around the castle. Where the library is, kitchen, dining room, garden, you name it. There is another young woman, Zoe, who is busy right now but should soon be available. 

Searching for something to wear seems harder than it actually is, given so many options in your seemingly endless wardrobe. Madison insists that a dark red, lacy gown would suit you for tonight as a darker look is more traditional for dinner. She leaves you to dress and get ready, but returns when accessories are needed to be chosen. A small, black evening bag and dark tiara highlight this as a true nighttime look. Realizing it’s almost time to meet Michael, Madison guides you towards the dining room and leads you to the door. She wishes you good luck, then leaves you at the threshold alone. 

A nervous jitters type feeling stirs inside of you, but as that passes, you push the door handle down and enter the room. Sitting across an elongated table, Michael sits against a tall chair, parallel across the table to yours of equal height. In the middle of the table, a large feast awaits of ham and various other side dishes, vegetables, and salads. He stands and greets you, pulling out your chair for you to sit and lays a napkin across your lap. Retreating back to his chair, he stops to pour himself a glass of red wine, asking if you would like one as well. As much as you would like to partake, you realize you may want a clear head for what he would like to tell you, if it’s important. 

“What is it?” you ask, looking across the long table, barely able to make out Michael’s expression, save for his light eyes being accentuated by the fire. He stands and approaches your side of the table.

“I would prefer to show you, if that’s alright,” he says, placing a hand next to yours. A small nod gives him permission to show you what he has in store. Without warning, the candles on the table burn out, then reignite with no match. Michael raises his hand, and an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table makes its way to his palm. He must have the gift of the Light as well. How fun, you think. Not a better match could be made if your parents tried. Raising your hand up, the apple flies from his hand to yours. Candles go dark again at your will.  The steamed broccoli sitting near your plate begins turning green and growing more stalks. Michael turns towards you as you take a bite from the apple you stole from him.

“I was never planning on telling you, but I’m glad we share the same abilities,” you say, waving to relight the candles on the table.

“You’re a warlock?” you ask, telekinetically pouring yourself a glass of wine from the other side of the table, then sending it over towards you.

“Much worse, Dear,” he says, swallowing hard enough it’s visible in his throat. 

“I had to lure you to that Hellmouth, that well, if you can remember,” he goes on, recounting how he had led you into the woods. Those memories seemed distant and faded until he now brings then up. 

“Because we’re in Hell, Dear,” he says bluntly. Peeking behind you to glimpse out the window, the same darkness is outside that was present when you woke up. It was easy to brush it off as a cloudy day then, but now it seems ominous and mysterious. For some reason, you never imagined Hell to be like this. 

“You’re the Devil?” you ask, looking up at Michael after turning from the window.

“Close— I’m his son,” he replies. 

Dinner is nice; the food is delicious. Being the Devil’s son obviously has its perks, especially in Hell. Now that you’re here, you may as well get comfortable and get used to this life with Michael. Truly, you are grateful he was the one that rescued you. Ending up with somebody that would never know about or understand your abilities seems boring. But, Michael’s analogous abilities to yours, drawn from the darkness, are more intriguing than anybody else’s powers ever seemed. A different route to the same result of having supernatural abilities. 

After dessert is over, Michael stands to hug you, then holds the door for you that leads out to the hallway. To your surprise, he hasn’t tried to make a move yet. Sure, you’ve been locked in a tower for a few years prior to Michael, but boredom from living at your previous castle lead you to quite a few bedrooms over time. There have been a couple of knights and cute messenger boys. Even this beautiful palace of Hell would begin to seem dull without a refreshing touch once in a while. 

“Would you join me for a cup of tea?” you ask as Michael begins walking the opposite direction, towards his room. He turns as he hears you speak, then comes closer towards you again. He insists to go back in the dining room and sit for tea there, the servants could prepare any kind you would like instantly. 

“Michael, I have it in my room,” you say, looking up at him and smiling, then extending a hand for him to take. You wait for a moment but become disappointed when he lightly pushes your wrist down and does not take your hand. 

“I will come talk with you, answer any questions you may have, nothing more,” he says, walking in the direction of your chamber. 

The door flies open with no hands, and Michael walks in after you. After he quietly closes the door, you turn to him and grab the front of his dinner coat, pulling him towards you in a needy kiss. He reciprocates but breaks the kiss after a few seconds. You were hoping another tug on his dinner jacket would bring him closer again, but he walks away to sit on the couch near the fireplace. Quickly, you follow and sit next to him, placing a hand on his strong thigh. He crosses his legs, now out of reach for you.

“Why? You rescued me just so we could talk and eat dinner together?” you say, annoyed. Meeting his gaze, you could tell he now has a stern expression on his face. There is a serious and somber element to his presence now. It is surprising, however, that the son of Satan wouldn’t care to indulge in his own sinful nature. 

“I will not do anything to compromise your honor, we will have plenty of time to do whatever you like after we are wed,” he says, conjuring a glass of red wine for himself and one for you, resting on the coffee table in front of you. 

“That ‘honor’ you speak of— it’s gone, Michael, we’re fine,” you say, crossing your arms and sighing. If he’s upset, it’s his fault for rescuing you. You never know what you’re going to get when you decide to snatch random people from random towers. 

“I never intended for it to come out like that; whatever has happened is fine by me, but I do not plan on compromising my own values,” he says, taking a long sip from his drink and setting the glass down. Interesting, you think. His values must be pretty uptight, but you’re charmed by his determination to meet his own high standards. 

“May I ask what you value?” you say, picking up your glass from the table and steadying it on your bottom lip. Michael looks towards the front of the room and takes a moment to think. Dry, red wine flows past your lips. Candlelight reflects off of his shiny shoes and golden hair. 

“Being the son of the Devil, people expect me to be evil, wild, indulgent, sinful, carnal, whatever you would call that. My father can control many aspects of my life, my purpose, what he intends for me to do. But, he can’t control all of me. I can be a good Antichrist and a good man.”

Michael is determined. He realizes his own destiny, yet still recognizes the aspects of where he can have free choice. You had very little doubts about him before, but the entirety of your worries wash away as you realize that Michael only seeks to honor you, and himself, in the best way he knows how. It seems he would like to prove that even being brought into the world by evil, there is pureness and redemption in the supposed worst people. This is an admirable statement and a job well done, for his example at least. He is responsible and recognizes the consequences of ‘behaving badly,’ as your parents put it. Michael is a very noble man considering his demonic lineage. 

You would like to ask him more, but you wouldn’t like to pry into anything too personal to share. But, you think if you share about yourself, a good conversation should ensue. Half the battle of a good marriage is having good communication with your partner, right?

“I think people would expect a princess to be virtuous, but that’s boring,” you say, raising your glass to your lips again. It’s bittersweet, knowing that you have ended up with somebody who waited with the right intent in mind, but you wasted all your firsts when you were bored and tipsy, looking for entertainment around the castle. 

“I don’t mean to be rude, but how many? Please don’t answer if you’re not comfortable, I’m only curious,” he says, looking towards you as long, blonde hair falls to frame his face. 

A small chuckle escapes your mouth as you sit up, leveling your eyes with his. It’s actually not such a high number or bad at all, considering how spaced-out over time your encounters have been. 

“You would make it five,” you say, breaking eye contact and looking down towards the floor. The expression on Michael’s face does not change, even when you look back up towards him. 

“Have you ever, you know?” you ask, a small smile making its way across your face. Michael’s smile perks up and matches yours before he answers. 

“No, Princess. I’m boring, I know.”

It amuses you how back home, Above, this conversation would likely be happening in the opposite direction— a prince or king who’s been around town paired with a naïve princess. Only this time, Michael is not naïve, not one bit. He recognizes what he is doing and the reasoning behind it. You hate to be thinking of this now, but the idea of him sticking to his resolutions and following through is very intriguing— captivating, even. His first time would be with you. Would he be a delicate lover, or a touch-starved man, ready to claim what he has rescued for himself? He must be big, he’s a very tall man. Your eyes wander down to his shoes, glancing down. His feet are almost double the size of yours. And, in your experience, the whole ‘men with big feet’ saying has been surprisingly accurate. 

Again, you take Michael’s dinner jacket and draw him closer to you. A soft kiss is shared between the two of you, and the lingering taste of red wine is present on his lips. Oh, you wish you could throw him down on your bed and show him what he’s missed out on. But, you’re not going to be the one that deters him from his promise to himself. Breaking the kiss, you keep your eyes closed and lean in towards his shoulder. Your noble knight is not going to be deterred by your own bad intentions. 

“When are we to be married?” you ask, voice muffled against Michael’s shoulder. 

“We could begin to make the plans tomorrow if you’d like,” he says, resting an arm on your upper back. Planning seems like the boring part, but it’s one step closer to making Michael your husband. 

“Could you stay? To cuddle?” you say, sitting up and giving your best puppy dog eyes towards Michael. 

“One thing leads to another, Princess,” he says, standing up and gently removing his hand from your back. Now that it’s gone, the feeling of his pressure on your body is more present than if it were there. Before heading out, he takes your delicate hand in his palm and brings it to his lips, leaving you with a soft kiss and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your belly. He walks towards the door and quietly opens it, wishes you a good night, and heads back towards his room. You already miss him next to you, even if you were just chatting. Excited for tomorrow, you get changed quickly and go to bed early, eager to wake up and see Michael again.

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes​ @ms-mead​ @daydreamingofcody​ @psychobitchtess​ @swampwitchh13​ @ahstmblrupdates​ @forgivemelucifer​

[joemuggs]

Pirate Material: Still Original

Saw some discussion of The Streets’s early work, and went to see if this article was still online - it’s not because the Vice brand partnership vertical (I’m sorry) that it was originally written for is gone. So here you go again!

I don't hold with the insidious theory that making brilliant art is a young man's game – or, in the words of Sickboy in Trainspotting, that “you have it, then you lose it”. It's a trope that's been with us since the beginning of rock'n'roll, dammit since the romantic poets, that idea that inspiration is intrinsically tied up with the energy of youth, that great works come like a bolt from the blue and artists are best off dying young1 rather than chasing round in ever-decreasing circles trying to relight your creative fire the rest of your sorry life. But it's clearly rubbish, a denial of craft and labour, put about by fantasists and advertisers and used as justification by those with a vested interest in keeping us emotionally immature and by the worst kind of poseurs for their ghastly Peter Pan antics.

Every so often, though, something I see or hear will make me think again – will make me have a flickering moment of belief in the essential white light of youthful creativity. And 'Original Pirate Material' is one of those things. I mean, have you heard it recently? Really heard it? Played it loud from the beginning, given it your full attention, let that utterly insane opening salvo of 'Turn the Page', 'Has it Come to This' and 'Let's Push Things Forward' work their magic on you? It's arm-hair raising stuff, it really is. The false hierarchies and dreary consensus of best-ever lists is another of those things I don't hold with, but yeah this really, really deserved to be on all those best-of-the-2000s lists, and I will gladly fight its corner against the Arctic Monkeys, Dizzee, Radiohead, Outkast, whatever you care to bring in fact.

Like almost all the best music, I didn't really get it at first. It was tinny-sounding and clattery, where I was used to dance music's oomph; I couldn't work out what Skinner's roaming accent was getting at as he slipped and slid across the rhythms, in and out of ordinary conversational cadence, lurching from sublime to ridiculous within single phrases. It was intriguing right enough, but it was impossible to shake the idea that it was all a bit contrived, an indie-weakened version of soundsystem/MC culture, or even more naggingly the idea that it was a wind-up, that this music was taking the piss out of all of us. Lines nicked from 'Gladiator' and talk about his Reeboks? Be serious. And then I had the epiphany.

The scene couldn't have been set better, really. I was out in Amsterdam for eight days on my first ever magazine feature assignment – to cover a conference on Amazon shamanic practice AND a High Times convention. I'd been hanging out with psychonauts, ravers, witch doctors2 and Dutch farmers, and experienced the best that ancient cultures and modern science had to offer; I was in a terrific mood as I was finally doing the job I'd always wanted to, and had been able to utter the immortal phrase “can I claim my ritual on expenses3, please?” on the phone to the Face magazine office. So when someone mentioned “that new band The Streets are playing the Melkweg” I was pretty much up for it.

The DJ beforehand, a Dutchman called Big Head, was playing what was generally known as “breakstep”, a kind of funky uncle to dubstep, and I liked it so much I bought his mix CD4. The Streets were very late coming on, but the crowd were raving and so was I, so who cared? When they did crash onto the stage, though, Skinner immediately and repeatedly asking the crowd if anyone had any cocaine, it was a glorious disruption of the groove, their sound spiky and awkward, and from the beginning I loved it. I don't remember a lot about the band except there was an ex-member of the Senseless Things5 on bass, and that Skinner and his co-vocalist spent a lot of the set pushing, shoving and trying to trip one another up.

And that's when it clicked into place: yes, this was a piss-take, but it was a deadly serious piss-take. This child-like 24-year-old was not just meandering between voices, themes and levels of seriousness, he was embodying every single one of them. He was a shaman too6. What was chaos and what was control became impossible to discern7. The only time I could remember seeing elemental clowning like this before on a stage was the Happy Mondays back in 1990, but I also recognised the spirit of so many loony rave urchins I'd been bamboozled and bantered at and had lighters stolen by over the years8, the never-ending babble of these Shakespearean monkeys, possessed by the endless power of the English language to spin out shaggy dog stories, to make jokes of the most serious matters and suddenly turn jokes deathly serious. The films that were projected as back stories to each of the tracks matched the quotidian urban subject matter of those songs – but they, like the lyrics and the music, revealed something so much more primal beneath. And still you could dance, laugh, drink and carouse to it.

Which is why, when I listen to 'Original Pirate Material' now, I don't hear “bloke poetry” or grittiness or mundanity or social realism any of those other things that are inevitably reeled out. I hear constant windows in to the most profound and abstracted of human instincts and experiences: vertigo, jealousy, transition, glory, loss, innocence and so much more. Just listen to the sudden swerves from domestic detail to dizzying generality in 'It's Too Late' or the affirmation and melancholy in 'Weak Become Heroes': these are about so, so much more than losing a girl or doing a pill9. They're about being human. Only years later did I start realising that Skinner was writing in a great English language tradition going a millennium back to Beowulf and taking in Sterne, Carroll, Lear, Pound, Spike Milligan, Ivor Cutler, Mark E Smith and Roots Manuva10, gibbering gobshites and bullshit artists, holy fools who could skip wildly into parts of our psyches where angels fear to tread.

He could never top this, could he? None of this is to dismiss Skinner's later work – he has on occasion made some glorious music and told some great tales since, and especially on 'Computers and Blues' when he turned full circle back to some of his early themes and freeform lyricism he showed he was tapped into the same wellspring – but 'Original Pirate Material' had it all. Everything afterwards, whether it's his narratives of modern life and celebrity, or his more philosophical turns, couldn't help but be self-conscious, trying to impose more structure onto what he had already expressed so perfectly in its rants, sketches, jokes and asides. This isn't about drugs, it's not about  “authenticity”11, and it's not really about youth as such – others have tapped into this very British, very mongrel method of accessing the ways of the human mind from very different places and perspectives – but for Skinner it was all tied into a particular openness to everything that comes with being a hungry young man with his eyes (very) wide open.

--

1 See the infamous “27 Club”, much discussed when Amy Winehouse carked it, and so called because it's the number of times anyone who takes it seriously deserves to have their face walloped with a cricket bat.

2 To be precise, a shaman from the Shuar tribe of Ecuador who played the Jew's harp.

3 Yes, bloggers, these were the days when journalists got paid expenses. They were decadent times, the early 00s.

4 In fact it is sitting on my desk right now, and it still sounds good.

5 You think nonsense genre names like “Post Dubstep” or indeed “Breakstep” are silly? Back in the 90s, The Senseless things were lumped, along with Mega City 4 and Silverfish into a genre called Fraggle Rock. Seriously.

6 No Jew's harp though, just a microphone.

7 You want to know how giddy with the brilliance of it all I was feeling at that moment? My brain flashed up the image of Stockard Channing going “chaos... control... chaos... control... you like?” to Will Smith as Donald Sutherland spun a double-sided Kandinsky in 'Six Degress of Separation'. And what? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjwiachXkjc

8 One routine about fake vs real Nike caps that managed to weave in and out of between-song patter for almost the entire set was such archetypal rave bollocks that you'd swear you'd heard it before from someone who was about to do you out of a tenner at some party on a hillside.

9 They're about those things too, though.

10 Peter Ackroyd's 'Albion: the Origins of the English Imagination' is the book you need on this topic, although admittedly he doesn't get right the way through to Roots Manuva.

11 There's no such thing.

[cela-astral-projection]

The sun fades on me now and I miss you like words can't know. And I missed my shot at dying young a long time ago. It's just a lesson learned in love, it's not angry, it's not sad. Sometimes you have to lose something to know what you have.

Part One of this thing that’s getting way out of hand. Cut for length. 

Asra had been with Celeste for the majority of the time since she had been resurrected. As wrapped up in her recovery as he had been, life moved on. There were supplies to obtain and a business to run. A business that she had helped him build and expand. He had obligations.

Celeste was better. She was not mended.

On a good day, she was almost entirely restored. His Celeste. Who loved him. Adored him. Trusted him.

She did struggle with articulating her thoughts. And it frustrated her. Occasionally, her mind would wander, and Asra would have to remind her to do simple tasks.

Her memories were gone, but, on occasion, he would see the flicker of recollection dance across her features, just not quite connecting. She was nearly there.

She was coming back to him.

And other days, she was silent, staring off into the void. In a place Asra could not call her back from.

On the worst days, she was disabled by pain. Headaches that blinded her and left her in a darkened room, weak. Days that she'd pushed too hard. Gotten too frustrated trying to call up information and history that was just beyond her grasp.

It was hard to know what was going to set her off. If Asra would say the wrong thing. If she smelled something. If she recognized someone that came into the shop that she saw passing by from the window.

He had to keep her safe. And there were some days that she flat out refused to listen to him. He couldn't fathom how frustrating it must be, to have nearly all of her faculties, but not be able to articulate her thoughts. To know that something was missing from her that she couldn't recapture.

Asra knew he was responsible for her. But it was so exhausting. His love for her was only matched by his fatigue. And then guilt, for the sin of being wearied by her reliance on him. She didn't ask for any of this. He hadn't considered the consequences in the wake of his grief. He had simply wanted her back. And he had her now. It was just so much more than he had anticipated.

She simply could not be left alone. She would need to be redirected. She needed someone to keep her tethered. On task. And safe.

He had tried everything he could to adjust vendors, find alternate sources for his herbs and ingredients. But, some things, high demand things, required him to meet in person. He knew that if the Celeste from before knew that he was putting off replenishing his inventory and putting his livelihood at stake for her, she would have had none of it.

He would have to go, and someone would have to watch her. And he didn't trust anyone to take care of her.

Except for Muriel.

Muriel was opposing him. His contentions were ranging from the fact that she didn't know him anymore. That he would frighten her. The idea that he didn't know if he could see her like this. That Asra was stronger than he was. That he could endure it. Muriel had tried so hard to seal himself away. This would be a step back for him. Back to that dark place, he'd struggled to free himself from. To put in his past.

He wanted to respect that. He did. But, he had a lifetime with Muriel and knew that even as he battled against him, how much he resisted and withheld...he wanted her back. As severely as Asra wanted her back.

And Celeste wanted Muriel. She would tell him, over and over, how she had made a promise. Celeste didn't know what the promise was. Or to whom she had made it. But she knew she had broken it. And that it broke her heart.

----

When Muriel stirred in the early morning hours, he was quite sure he was still dreaming. He felt a chill. Ordinarily, it was warm in the hut.

It was a dream he'd had many times before. Celeste, in his hut, her silhouette framed in the low morning light.

He closed his eyes again and sighed. Rubbing a hand over his face, trying to wake up.

"Asra left," she said, staring out the open door, leaning against the frame, her back to him. Inanna sat at her side, and she pet the wolf absentmindedly.

Muriel swore and scrambled upright, pulling the fur from the where it had pooled in his sleep around his waist, hiding his bare body. Decidedly not dreaming. And seriously underdressed, even by his usual, lax standards. That was one of the perks of being alone. You didn't have to wear clothes in your own home. Something he would have to reconsider, apparently.

She turned to look at him. She looked...amused. "You snore," she stated plainly. The corner of her mouth turned up.

"Celeste?" he asked, not quite comprehending what was happening. It had been a year. Maybe longer. A year since that terrible day. Since she had forgotten him.

Her hair was longer now, but she was much the same. Just softer. She had always looked so refined before. But, she was wearing a shirt Muriel knew belonged to Asra. A flowing, colorful skirt. Shoes abandoned.

She nodded, placing her hand on her chest. "Celeste." Repeating her name back at him.

"And...you know who I am?"

"My friend," she replied, confident. Her hand moved to the pocket of her skirt, and she produced a small bundle. His charm. "Asra said. To...to..."

She pressed her lips into a line, not able to find the word. Frustrated with herself.

"...Remember?" he offered, moving to the edge of the bed, fishing for clothes that he had discarded the night prior, struggling to keep the fur up as he did so.

She sighed. "Remember," she repeated. She tapped a finger at her temple. "Broken." And then she looked at the charm. "Doesn't work."

Muriel winced, pained. It was a bandage. A temporary fix. It would not restore her. It couldn't bring him back to her. But, she would remember him for the time being.  "It doesn't work for that," he said quietly. "Keep it on you. That's...important. Keep that with you."

He gestured for her to turn around, and she obliged by going back to the door. He scrambled to dress and raked a hand through his hair, tangled from the night's sleep.

The hut was cold and damp. How long had Celeste been there with the door open?

He crossed the hut and reached past her, moving to close the door. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. He sighed, but he did not relent. "I'm closing the door." he asserted. 

"No window," she said, gesturing around the hut, irritated.

He nodded. "It will warm up in a few hours. We'll open it back up then." He closed the door, and his arm brushed against hers. She was so cold. She didn't even seem to notice.

He pointed at the bed, and she followed his hand with her eyes, then looked up at him.

"Go get under the fur. You're too cold."

She nodded and started moving towards the bed. When Muriel did not follow, she turned around, tilting her head. "Coming?"

He looked scandalized and shook his head. He knew, though Asra had spared him the details, that one thing she very much remembered and was not in the least bit shy about. Touch. Affection. Sex. And the fact that she absolutely would not go to bed alone.

"You don't invite strangers to bed," he said, blushing, looking away from her.

She scoffed. "My friend," she said, reaching her hand out to him.

"What's my name?" he countered, an eyebrow raised, hand firmly at his side.

She looked stricken at that, and he immediately regretted asking.

"Tell me?" she asked, eyes downcast, retracting her hand.

"It's not important. What's important is that you go warm-up,"

He brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself. Inanna nudged him and whined. He glared down at her. "Do me a favor and bite him next time. " He rolled his eyes. "And thank you for protecting the hut, too. Hell of a job." he scolded.

She held her hand out to the wolf, fixing Muriel with a reproachful look. "Sweet girl. Be nice." Inanna stood and came to Celeste, who scratched her chin affectionately.

Celeste turned and went to the bed, sitting on the edge, drawing a fur up around her shoulders. The wolf was jumping up beside her and resting its head on her thigh. She stroked her hand over the wolf's head, humming quietly to her. Not at all afraid. Not of Inanna. Not of him.

He busied himself with relighting the fire and making breakfast for them both. Celeste watched him from the bed the whole time. He could feel her eyes on him.

He fought not to look at them. Precisely what he had always wanted. Not at all the way he wanted it.

He thrust the plate of eggs at her, and she accepted.  She took a bite and seemed to think them over, rolling them around in her mouth. He appraised her, confused.

"Could use salt," she said, her tone teasing. "Good--..." she started, then wrinkled her nose up, searching her mind. "Technique?" she said, settling on it, and looking up at him for reassurance.

He nodded, having to stifle a laugh. Celeste was still a culinary critic, after all of this?

He went, grabbed a stool, and came to sit in front of her, and they ate quietly together. When she had her fill, she took her fork and offered it to Inanna. He watched the wolf, afraid she'd get too excited by the prospect and snap at Celeste, but she took the egg as gently as she was able.

Celeste looked up at him, patting the wolf's head. "Name?"

He swallowed a bite, watching them together. His heart ached with the pure domesticity of it. "Inanna."

She repeated the name quietly, then offered another bite from her fork. After a long moment, she decided to try him again.

"Your name?" she implored, studying his face.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't want to hear his name on her lips. He couldn't bear it.

She would forget him again.

---

She knew this man. She knew that she knew him. She had spent a good part of the night just watching him sleep. She didn't recognize him, of course, but she knew him.

Asra had made a point to sit with her and talk about the man before they left the shop. She knew that he was shy. That he would be upset with Asra for leaving her there, at first, at least. That they were old friends. That they cared about each other.

It wasn't until she saw him that she really understood what he had been telling her.

She had grabbed Asra's hand and pressed it against her chest so that he might feel the way that her heart pounded.

"Like us?" she had asked, and he gave her a sad smile.

"Just like us." he had whispered in reply, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"Who...is he?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Asra didn't answer her. He simply wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear, then pressed a kiss against her temple.

Then he was gone. Leaving Celeste alone in the dark with this memory that made her heart race.

She had stood in the door frame, watching Asra go. Waiting for the pain to come. The pain that began when memories like this pushed their way to the surface.

But, it never came. Just the pounding of Celeste's heart. The old want. For someone, she didn't have a name for.

The words "Keep your promise." resonating in her mind.

---

Muriel had cautiously approached her and asked her to come with him to feed the chickens. He almost wanted to go alone but was terrified to let her out of his sight. Just in case she forgot, and they had to start all over again.

No, that particular wound would come soon enough. Another thing to thank Asra for when he came back.

They were in the clearing, and she followed after him, watching him feeding the birds. He extended the bag to her, and she took some of the kernels in her hand, kneeling down so they could eat out of her palm. The birds swarmed, and she laughed as they pecked at her. He thought it all looked rather aggressive, but she didn't seem to mind.

When he was satisfied that the chickens had enough, they walked through the woods, quiet. He turned to look at her, but she was gone. He whirled around and caught a glimpse of her skirt as she disappeared behind a tree.

He strode off after her, trying to catch up. She wasn't far, standing at the base of a giant, ancient tree, with thorny vines climbing up its trunk. He watched her as she reached out and pressed her palm against the tree, and the vines sprung to life. Wild, white roses were blossoming and flourishing under her touch.

He stepped behind her, marveling at it. Asra had said that her magic was returning, but seeing it in action was something else entirely.

He caught a glimpse of pinpricks of blood on her palm. "You hurt yourself," he said, startled, more by her lack of self-preservation than the actual blood, though he wasn't terribly fond of either.

She shrugged and turned around to face him, lifting her empty palm. He watched the tiny holes close over. "Magic," she said, flippant, and then she stepped past him, moving further into the forest.

He shook his head, "Can you please stay where I can see you? It's dangerous out here by yourself."

He heard her scoff as she walked away, and he groaned. "I'm serious, Celeste," He stalked after her.

"I'm fine," she said over her shoulder, walking ahead. Just wanting to see this place. To feel this place. It was beautiful here. Peaceful here. The peace she didn't always feel in Vesuvia. Too many people. With Asra, alone, yes. But, even so, she felt more herself here. Like she belonged here.

It didn't take much for him to catch up, and he caught her by the arm, gently as he could. "Please," he begged. "I don't want you to get hurt."

His voice was so distressed, and his eyes so sad. Celeste couldn't understand. She had seen this pain so many times. From Asra. The same words. That they didn't want her to be hurt.

Asra said, frequently, that she was too fragile to tell. He was right, of course. She had felt the aftermath of pushing too hard. The bodily agony, the way that her subconscious lashed out against her bones.

But, she didn't know how long she could go on, not knowing. The pain was temporary. It always ebbed away. And she was left with new knowledge. She was ever made better by it. The pain was worth it. Always worth it.

She searched his face. She knew him in her bones, in the very core of her being. And yet, his name was somewhere where she could not summon it. "Please, tell me?" she implored again.

He released her hand and stepped away, frantic. "I can't..." he begged her. "You won't remember me when you go. I don't want to lose you again. Please, don't..."

She stepped toward him. "I can stay. I will stay. I will remember."

"Celeste...I made a deal. You can't..." he said pleading.

"Why?" she said, not relenting. "Nobody tells me why." She said, frustrated and discouraged.  "I will be better soon. Please...I know, I promised. I broke it. Please, let me try."

He stared at her, trying to parse what she was saying. A promise?

Then, realization dawning, his eyes went wide.

Her promise that they would be together. When Muriel was free. That he, Asra, and Celeste would be together. Did she remember that? How was that possible? That she would know this, but not know his name? That so much else was lost, and she would know this?

It pained him. For Celeste: She felt obligated to him. This man that she didn't remember. For him, that it was every unanswered prayer that he made in the dark of night. And that she wanted to be with him.

And that it didn't matter. Because Muriel and Asra had given it all away. Her past and their future together.

When he left her, he thought it would be forever. He was prepared for it to be forever.

But, every day, he woke up wanting.

Somedays, he'd find himself on the outskirts of Vesuvia, looking towards the city.

And Asra had told him, in the early days, when she had started getting her bearings, he had woken up and found her missing. He had searched, frantic for her. And found her at the gates of the palace in the early morning hours.

The easiest route to the forest, through the palace gardens, through a gate, under the aqueducts.

She had never even been to his hut. She had no idea where to find him. And yet, she had been so compelled to seek him out...Neither of them had known what to make of it.

It had destroyed him all over again.

He had asked, begged, and pleaded for him to keep her away. Because he couldn't handle the regret. Knowing that she was out there. That they were making a way ahead without him. That she was still so broken.

And that she still loved him.

He tried to console himself that she didn't really know him. That it was sympathy or pity. She didn't really know what he had done. What he was capable of. She had never borne witness to it. That she would fear him if he saw her again, just for the inescapable sin of being himself.

But she was here, and she didn't shy away or flinch. Muriel's size, his collar, his chains, his scars. None of it seemed to disconcert her. And he didn't know what to do with that. He had been so sure that she would cower. But, she looked at him so fondly. As if no time had passed at all.

She stepped to him, and she reached her hand up, pressing her palm against his cheek."For now," she said, low and sweet. "You have me now."

And he understood. Even if it wouldn't last, they had each other now. For how long, neither could say.

It would have to be enough.

He drew a deep breath, resigned, and looked into her eyes.

"Muriel."

She beamed and repeated it back to him. "Muriel."