#bound by blood and by love and by our sheer force will and i want nothing more but to sink my teeth in to her neck just as she does mine

[h-doodles]

Connection // Consumption // Possession is my way of Love & you are mine as i am yours, various - a web weave for it's quicker & easier (to eat your young) by @pinkcannibal 💖

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Hiya!! (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) I love your stories and your OCs a lot and i read them everyday. Especially loving your Damon, Knoxx, and Eros 😘. Would you mind to write a scenario when Y/n teasingly calling them "husband" one day when talking to their friends like : "Oh, me and my husband just doing something" and their reaction to that lol. Thank you very much (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Yandere! Jock, cowboy, and Villain with their darling calling them "husband"

This is really cute djadjasdja like if ya'll watch tiktok, you know that one trend where the gf "mistakenly" calls their boyfriend husband? THATTTT I like that trend. It's sweet and cute (except for that one viral boyfriend who obviously hated it. I felt bad for the girl ;-;)

YAN! JOCK

Damon was a bit inebriated that day.

After the gruelling day's work of grinding his ass off, proving to his coach that you aren't a bad influence on his sports career, all he wanted to do is lie by your side and kiss your soft, supple cheek. Maybe cuddle, touch... Run his rough, calloused fingers down your skin, tease the hem of your shirt...

He tenses, feeling the blood rush between his legs. He needs to calm down if he doesn't want to scare you into ignoring him again.

Ah, those days were quite painful.

Speaking of, did he feed Venus that day? He can't remember.

Drinking more of the beer one of his teammates offered, he wiped his lips dry. They were celebrating the fact that they got in the preliminaries for the national team. Just one more step and--

"Pah!" Damon exclaimed, his throat bubbling deliciously from the froth. "That's a good beer. Hmm~ I want to see my cute darling..." He even used that dastardly nickname he uses for you.

He smashed the can to the floor and stood up, excited to find you. "Don't you dare all follow me. I want to see my darling alone." He threatened to his teammates who only chuckled at his antics.

He skipped towards the Education building, drunk and confidently giddy. He doesn't care if he's caught drunk, but he just wants to see you.

Then, there you are. Talking to your friends who were asking for help in their Lesson Plans.

"Darling!" His eyes lit up like lights blaring down, bounding towards you. The ground shook a bit even due to the sheer force of his powerful legs and weight. "I miss you..."

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face and nibbling on your outfit a bit.

"Ah..." you blinked, not expecting this. Is he drunk? Well, he smells like it.

The friends flushed red from the sudden display of affection and looked away, excusing themselves as they decided to run away. Annoyed, you looked at Damon. It's the first time you saw him drunk.

Wanting to tease him a bit, you gave him a gentle pet on the head and hummed. "I miss you too, my husband."

He froze, his whole body rigid as your words took 10 seconds to register.

You just said husband, right?

He looked up at you. And sure enough, you are giving him an affectionate, almost domestic look as you hummed a bit. "My husband is so drunk. Hah, I don't really like drunk people."

Oh god. He's sober now. He cleared his throat, washing his face with his hands. He can feel the heat running through his body and to his neck, then his face.

"Ah... W-wife..." He whispered, holding your hand. He feels extremely shy now, but really happy.

YAN! COWBOY

Knoxx has just finished feeding all of his horses.

It's been a long day of rounding up his animals, patrolling the whole town, talking with the mayor, interacting with the residents, helping them with their shit...

Knoxx can't even take a break.

Seriously, who's the sheriff or mayor here again? It sure ain't him.

"Sorry, boy." He whispered as he caresses the mane of his horse, Red. "I didn't mean to neglect ya. We'll have our walk tomorrow mornin'. How's that sound?"

As if to answer, Red whinnied and huffed out air from his nostrils.

Knoxx felt his body ache from the whole day of activities. All he wants is to rest on his bed, sleep, and dream of nothing. He looked down at his muddy work boots and pondered if there's something he forgot.

"Ah shit... Darlin..." Knoxx groaned, feeling ashamed that he forgot about you.

He can feel the bile rising to the back of his throat. It's a date night too. And it's already 7pm, way past the meeting time. His skin crawled from the cold air and the quiet air. He just knew he fucked up.

He slowly slid down to the floor, burying his face on his knees. He's so overwhelmed that it's not even funny for the usually calm man. He can feel his ears ring, his heart hurting from the fact that he forgot about you. Fuck this day, fuck the mayor, fuck the people, and fuck himself for forgetting you.

He can imagine your disappointment painting your face as you thought he stood you up, waiting in your beautiful dress as the people wondered where he is. His fingers and toes curled as he buried his face deeper to his knees.

He'll just explain to you tomorrow. What time will the florist be open again? Also, where is his mother's cookie recipe sheet?

He shakily stood up, chuckling weakly at Red's attempt to nuzzle him. "Not now boy. Dad's kind of... Sad. I stood up your mom." Red whinnied again, perking at the word mom and started looking for you.

Knoxx sighed again and pat Red once more before walking outside of the building.

As he sluggishly opened the door to his home, he froze when he realized it's unlocked. And is that stew he smells?

He looked down to remove his shoes and froze again. A pair of shoes. Shoes that are so familiar. He trembled.

Not bothering to remove them entirely at the front, he stumbled as he ran to the kitchen. His heavy footsteps echoing on the floorboards as it creaked.

And there you are, stirring the stew you cooked with a smile on your face.

"Hi Knoxx." You giggled, a bit shy. "I saw how much you ran around the town today. ANd I kind of knew that you're not gonna be able to attend our date. So I decided to surprise you by cooking. You were working so hard too."

You wiped your hands on the apron and approached him. You gently grabbed his face, cupping his cheeks. Instantly, Knoxx melted at your gentle touch and leaned to his left, the stress leaving his visage.

"Wife..." He muttered lowly, making you blink and chuckle.

"Husband..?" You said, a bit unsure but giggling at the face he showed.

Red, shocked, shy, and happy. The previous look in which he looked like the world collapsed on him, was exchanged with a look that says that you're the most precious thing in the world.

YAN! VILLAIN

Eros has done it again.

He threatened Yuno once more because of his stupid mouth.

It was just supposed to be a nice, relaxing cup of tea with the Empress. She just wants to catch up, see if she can weasel her way into how's Eros' mind work. After all, with Yuno's position as a crown prince being shook due to the scandal, the Empress wanted to see if there's a way to make her son the crown prince again and not that arrogant Callisto.

But the Empress found herself trembling at the presence of Eros. He may be lowkey these past few months, but he's still a warlord of intelligent standards. That cold, calculated look in her eyes always struck fear in her. She also remembered how Eros exposed his own mother, a pedophile, and had her executed sadistically with a rusty axe.

The Empress then discreetly called for Yuno, excused herself, then placed Yuno in that uncomfortable spot to "reconcile".

What's there to reconcile when Yuno's ex-fiancee is rumored to be dating the Duke?

Yuno was trembling as he watched Eros sip his tea calmly, a bloodthirsty glint in Eros' eyes.

"Yuno, may I know what's going on in your head?" A line of a polite man, but the distant coldness in his tone was surfacing. Yuno gulped and decided to talk his annoying mouth again.

"So, y/n..."

Eros gripped the teacup in his hand. small cracks forming.

"Yes?"

"Did they seduce you that much? Or are they pregnant that you have to take responsibility?"

The sound of broken porcelain, a terrified shriek, and the sudden influx of dark mana spreading around the vicinity of the greenhouse.

"Do not talk to y/n like that." Eros gravely tone came out. "I do not like filthy pigs like you being hypocritical about the situation."

"B-but how did the two of you even know each other? There's no other way to explain it really. They were really head over heels with me too!" Arrogant yet wrong, Yuno blurted out stupidly and that made Eros even angrier.

And that's how he found himself. His arm, with pulsing veins running across the muscular appendage, wound itself on Yuno's collar. His eyes filled with bloodthirsty rage that one cannot fathom the depth of the emotions in them.

The air was full of tension. As if one wrong move will make Eros ballistic.

Then, the door opened and a familiar voice made Eros falter slightly.

"Yes, your imperial Majesty..." You inwardly sighed. You were just supposed to visit the Imperial library to know more if there are other cases of reincarnation like you. But the Empress knew of your entry and had to rush off to where you are to convince (command) you to talk to Yuno. Talk about luck. "I will talk to Yuno..."

When your eyes finally landed in front, you froze from the scene in front of you. The air was thick with dark mana too that you can even feel some pour inside of you despite not intaking them. That's how thick it is.

And you saw Yuno suffocating from the dense mana that seems to clash with his. So, in a panic in not making Eros a royal murderer and you an accomplice, you rushed towards the still Eros and tackled him in a hug.

"My loving husband! You're here! I've been looking everywhere for you!" You can feel sweat pouring on your back as your lips trembled from telling those words.

You somehow know that Eros adored you greatly. Maybe romantically. Well, not maybe. You know that he's deeply attached to you for some reason. You had suspicions that he remembers the past too, so you have to get close to him no matter what.

Even if it meant being brash like this.

Yuno's jaw slacked, his eyes wide. Husband? The fuck you mean husband?

"COUGH! COUGH!" Yuno coughed out saliva and spittle when Eros' grip loosened and he fell to the ground. He looked at you once more, betrayal on his face. "W-what do you mean husband?!"

Eros finally moved. He moved in front of you protectively and held your hand. "Yes. Husband. We were supposed to announce it at a later date, but we got married secretly. An elopement if you will." Eros lied smoothly. But gods is his heart pumping so fast that it's embarrassing.

He doesn't know why you called him husband. It honestly confused him. But he loves it so much. It rang true in his ears, and is intending to make it stay that way.

So, with a kiss on your hand, he took you away from that greenhouse with a triumphant, calm smirk on his face.

[luna-writes-stuff]

As Long As It’s Not About Love, Dean Winchester

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Fluff

Word count: 2141

Tw: Brief mentions of injuries/blood, spoilers for all SPN seasons, you get a dog (no excuses). Dean struggles to say ‘I love you’. Some pining, but it’s all resolved. This was written in an hour and you can tell.

Summary: The three times Dean wants to say the L-word, but he can’t. And the one time he does.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“From the first time we touched with our eyes Only magic could take away my heart. I am always afraid for my heart.”

For as long as you’d known Dean, you knew he could never say the L-word. You had known this when you became friends and you had known this when you became a couple. It never seemed to bother you. Friends around you had thrown it around like a casual thing, but Dean seemed to attach more meaning than most to that word. He never outwardly discussed it with you, but you knew it bothered him at times. It never bothered you, though. No matter how long the two of you had been dating, you found peace with his reluctance.

Dean, however, did not. He loved you - he knew he did, which was exactly why it bothered him so much. If his feelings told him one thing, but his mouth couldn’t voice it, where would that leave him?

He had tried to tell you. Many, many times. But there was always something, or someone that would interfere. More often than not, that was his own conscious.

“So lay beside me now and tell me lies, sweet lies. As long as it's not about love.”

The first time he almost said it, had been a sheer moment of fear. Hunting halfgods sometimes appeared to be more challenging than you were originally led to believe. He and Sam had sprung the perfect trap: you and Dean would serve as easy bait as Sam would try to sneak from behind. But plans always worked better in theory.

The god had been aware of your scheme, and had set his very own trap, leaving Sam unconscious on the floor the second he had opened the back door. Neither you nor Dean had enough time to react before you were both on the floor.

When you awoke, all three of you had been tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly together, almost restricting the blood flow. Dean remembered all too well how he had felt that day. The halfgod had loomed over your figure, taunting and threatening you, almost enjoying the way the Winchesters reacted.

From the back of your chair, you managed to clumsily reach Dean’s hand, clinging to it tightly. When he felt it shake within his own, he would have whispered any words to comfort you, but there hadn’t been much else he could besides show the same stone cold expression, not daring to let the god know he had been pushing all the right buttons.

“Shall we sail off the edge of the world? Fall forever and never look behind. But I must keep my heart from my mind.”

It was when you finally returned to the motel after slaying him, that reality began to dawn upon him. You had been frightened that day - mortified. And there was nothing either of you could do besides watching it happen.

When it took you longer than usual to get out of the bathroom, he had entered the room and found you upon the floor, your head in your hands as you silently wept out all the left-over stress. He had sat down on the floor beside you, not saying anything. His arms wrapped around you as he forced you into his hold, his embrace grounding you as you found yourself slowly coming back down to Earth.

The blood on his shirt was a rude interruption to your eyes. Where calmness had finally begun to settle in, you now found yourself reliving it again. Your sobs grew harder again as Dean began to gently shush you, his fingers tracing figures on your back.

Mumbles of desperation escaped you without full context, and - though he had no idea what you were saying - Dean knew you were trying to make everything make sense in your head. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” He muttered into your hair. “I…” His breath hitched slightly, a dawning feeling settling in his stomach.

He couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Lay beside me now and tell me lies. As long as it's not about love.”

The second time was after Dean came back from the post-apocalyptic dimension. You had stayed behind with Rowena, watching over Lucifer. Rowena had insisted she didn’t need the help, but Dean would rather have you safe in the bunker than possibly stuck in a world where angels ran haywire.

When Lucifer had shown up on the other side of the portal, his blood had almost run cold. First, he lost Sam - who eventually came back -, then Lucifer would be terrorising Jack, and to top it all off, the devil loved to boast about how terrified you were of him.

In truth, you had kept yourself standing for quite a while. You had almost gained his respect for it. But you were still a mortal, and you stood no chance against an archangel. Not even a fallen, half-fuelled one. Not when he was pissed.

Rowena had cast him out before he could deal any severe damage, so the words he had spoken to Dean had been nowhere close to the truth. He hadn’t gutted you, tortured you or put your head on a spike. Dean hadn’t truly believed all of his words either, but they chilled him to his core nonetheless. There was no easy way to check up on you; nothing would soothe him but perhaps his own mind. And it caused a terrible distraction to him in the whole escaping plan.

“Oh, the last time we touched with our eyes And the magic was stronger than the heart. Oh, I can't run away with my heart.”

When Dean finally resurfaced, he was met with your bloodied face, a hasty plaster just beneath your left eye. Confusion was evident on your face, but he dismissed it. The people behind him could be introduced later.

His bag immediately fell to the floor, a heavy sigh escaping him as he walked towards you in three long strides. His arms wrapped around you tightly, squeezing your back as his head fell in the crook of your neck.

“You’re safe,” He uttered, swallowing down the urge to let out a choked cry. “You’re alright.” His hands rose to your cheeks as you parted, his eyes staring into yours with relief. A comforting kiss was placed upon your lips as he revelled in the feeling of your warm hands covering his. You were alive - you were well.

“I…” Again, that dreadful feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Your eyes showed empathy; you knew. He didn’t have to say it. He wanted to. He just couldn’t.

“I missed you so much.”

“So lay beside me now and tell me lies. As long as they're not about love.”

The third time was during Chuck’s impending doom situation. Worlds had already been destroyed, and you knew it was just a waiting game now until yours would be next. You had lived through apocalypses, dimensions and times, but impending doom had been your worst experience thus far. There was nothing you could do to stop it. Sam and Dean were adamant and stubborn, always ready to fight, but even now they began to see that perhaps, this truly had been the end.

“So, what’s next?” Sam sighed, multiple papers strewn on the table in front of him. You and Dean sat on the other side of him, a bored expression on both of your faces. “I hate to be the one to say this,” You sighed. “But I think acceptance is really all there is now.”

You felt Dean’s eyes turn to you. “Really?” “Yes, really, Dean.” You clarified. “We’re fighting God. We can’t win that one.” “We can’t just give up.” “Then, what do you suggest we do?” You shouted, all pent up frustration suddenly tumbling out. “Bring him a gift basket with a note ‘please, don’t kill us’? Maybe he’ll show some sympathy!” You rose from your seat, the chair falling on the floor behind you with your movement. “We’re going to die! The sooner we accept that, the better! Makes it a lot easier.” Though the last part was mumbled, you were sure the guys heard it too. You didn’t want them to respond to it. You turned around, heading out the library towards your room.

“Sweetheart, come on!” Dean called after you, also rising from his seat, but you had already disappeared. Sam cast him an apologetic glance. “Ah, save it.” His brother groaned, taking off after you.

“Shall we sail off the edge of the world Fall forever.”

A soft knock was heard on the door before the knob slowly turned. “Sweetheart?” “Leave it, Dean.” You groaned, curled up on the bed, which you had almost forgotten you shared. “No,” He answered, before the door closed. A moment of silence fell over the room before the bed slightly dipped behind you. A hand gently made its way to your shoulder, placing comfort there.

“How do you find any solace in all of this?” You muttered, hugging a pillow closer to you. “I don’t.” He answered honestly. “But we can’t afford to stop fighting. If I did, I would have been dead ten years ago.” “You were dead ten years ago.” You countered. A chuckle escaped him at your remark. You turned your head at the sound, showing him a faint smile.

“We’ll keep fighting,” He returned, his voice equally hushed. “Until we fall down. We don’t stop fighting until we stop breathing.” His hand lowered over your arm, finding your hand instead. As his fingers intertwined with yours, he gave you a pleading look: “Please, don’t stop fighting. If we can get five more days, I’d like to spend them with you.”

You let out a low scoff at that. Not in annoyance, but in agreement. You brought your hands up to your mouth, placing a light kiss on the back of Dean’s hand. “I love you, Dean.” You whispered against it, your eyes looking up to look into his. “You don’t have to say it back.”

“Take my heart away but, no You can't say words about love.”

When he finally managed to say it, he didn’t even think of it. Where he had once tried to find proper words for every situation, he had now come to accept things as they were.

When Jack had brought everything back, you and Dean decided to take off on your own. Sam wanted to leave the hunting life behind, and after everything the three of you had been through, you completely understood him. And to your surprise, so had Dean. Both of you had settled into a typical white fence house, the occasional demon traps hidden under doormats and salt lining every window. But besides that, you seemed to have found somewhat of a normal life.

Much to Dean’s demand, you had gotten a dog, caring for it as if it had been a child. Walks were always shared together, a great way for both of you to get some exercise without having to hunt everything that hadn’t seemed relatively normal.

“If the magic comes between us And we never meet again. Take a part of me away.”

And that was exactly how he had found himself in that situation. On a bench in a dog park, sitting directly next to you, your head on his shoulder. He never thought he’d find himself enjoying a simple life, but there he sat, watching his dog run with the others while both of you sat in blissful peace.

“I was thinking of going to that new steakhouse downtown tonight.” You mumbled, a faint smile on your face as you felt Dean’s shoulders shift slightly with his laughter. “Bought some pie for when we get home afterwards.”

“That sounds amazing,” He groaned. “Good,” You laughed, looking up at him. “Because I already made the reservation.” A fond smile crossed his face as he leaned his head against yours.

“God, I love you.”

Your body tensed simultaneously with his as his words were spoken. Lifting your head, you gave him a surprised look, unable to suppress the grin growing on your face. Dean copied your look, a low chuckle escaping him as he processed his words.

“I do,” He reassured. “I love you.” You laughed at that, your hands falling around his shoulders as you brought him in for a hug. “I love you.” He repeated between kisses placed on your collarbones. Then, he kept you at arms distance, unable to deny a second laugh. A firm kiss was placed upon your lips - one you gleefully returned. “I love you.” He spoke again, placing a second kiss on your forehead.

“God, I love you too, Dean Winchester.”

“'Cause maybe it's all about love, love.”

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

So here I am, unable to sleep again, because of the horrifying attack on Israel.

The stories keep coming out and for every new detail I find out, another part of my soul shatters.

[***massive trigger warning for the rest***]

I feel like I'm living in a parallel world to everyone who is not affected by this situation. It's been surreal to go about my work day and regular life as if the images of blood-soaked cradles, burned corpses, raped and wounded women, captives of all ages being taken away on vehicles, video of a small child being taunted for crying for his mother, body bags lined up in rows on the ground, torched cars and homes, and the raw grief of the surviving family members aren't burned onto the backs of my eyelids.

One account I read from a family member of the deceased was that she was beaten, raped in multiple ways and sticks shoved into each place, and left for dead. Another I came across spoke of a small child being forced to watch his parents tortured, killed, and hacked apart. Still another I saw was a report of several children bludgeoned to death so as not to "waste the bullets."

How can I possibly begin to process this?

These people look just like the people in my communities and the friends I've made across the sea. They have my Hebrew teacher's hair, my rabbi's cheekbones, they sound like the shinshinim kids we have each year. They look like the baby nephews of my fellow congregants. I could have davened next to any of them and never known. It is only sheer dumb luck that I don't personally know someone who has died or lost close family.

There has been a pit of dread in my stomach since Shimini Atzeret that will not go away. I find myself on the verge of tears at all times, yet have not been able to actually cry (which is not a good sign; an inability to express sadness in tears is a known post-trauma response for me) and I cannot rest normally. Sometimes I can distract myself for a bit, but the pain and grief rush back in immediately when I remember.

I can feel, in real time, this Jewish cultural trauma sinking into my bones.

And you might think I might be able to separate myself from it since I'm not there and don't have family there. But I can't, because I don't want to. I can't, because some tether bound me forever to the land as soon as my feet hit the ground there, and some part of my soul stayed behind when I left. I don't want to, because these are my people and so they are my adoptive family, even if I do not know them. I am my brother's keeper.

And so here I stand, half a world away from the danger, nervous and scared and grieving, searching our perfectly blue sky for signs of missiles that are not falling here and being startled constantly by the normal and unbroken landscape. The lush beauty of Midwestern autumn woods is juxtaposed in my mind with Middle Eastern walls painted in the blood of my people and their broken bodies beneath them. I see it in the waking light of day as clear as anything in front of me, and walk around like a person divided, in both places at once yet not being fully present in either. I cannot unsee it.

How can I possibly explain this? To myself? To the people actually having to live this nightmare? To the other people removed from the immediate physical danger but who do have blood relatives and/or other family there that they're just praying stay safe and come home at the end of the day? That they are constantly checking their phones for updates or even minimal signs that they're still alive?

The words fail me, but I the closest thing I have to an answer is love. I love my people and I would rather absorb this pain with them and carry it in my soul forever than look away from Jewish suffering. That is a promise I made by joining this people, that my fate would forever be bound up in the collective fate of klal Yisrael. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you stay, I will stay; your people shall be my people, and your G-d my G-d. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus and more may Hashem do to me if anything but death parts me from you.

אַל־תִּפְגְּעִי־בִ֔י לְעׇזְבֵ֖ךְ לָשׁ֣וּב מֵאַחֲרָ֑יִךְ כִּ֠י אֶל־אֲשֶׁ֨ר תֵּלְכִ֜י אֵלֵ֗ךְ וּבַאֲשֶׁ֤ר תָּלִ֙ינִי֙ אָלִ֔ין עַמֵּ֣ךְ עַמִּ֔י וֵאלֹהַ֖יִךְ אֱלֹהָֽי׃ בַּאֲשֶׁ֤ר תָּמ֙וּתִי֙ אָמ֔וּת וְשָׁ֖ם אֶקָּבֵ֑ר כֹּה֩ יַעֲשֶׂ֨ה יְהֹוָ֥ה לִי֙ וְכֹ֣ה יוֹסִ֔יף כִּ֣י הַמָּ֔וֶת יַפְרִ֖יד בֵּינִ֥י וּבֵינֵֽךְ׃

[רות א]

I do not take that lightly, and I feel it in my bones. Some core part of me shattered at the same time as the rest of my community.

I cannot, and I will not look away. I will not close my heart or shield myself from this tragedy. And I will not forget.

עַ֥ל נַהֲר֨וֹת ׀ בָּבֶ֗ל שָׁ֣ם יָ֭שַׁבְנוּ גַּם־בָּכִ֑ינוּ בְּ֝זׇכְרֵ֗נוּ אֶת־צִיּֽוֹן׃ עַֽל־עֲרָבִ֥ים בְּתוֹכָ֑הּ תָּ֝לִ֗ינוּ כִּנֹּרוֹתֵֽינוּ׃ כִּ֤י שָׁ֨ם שְֽׁאֵל֪וּנוּ שׁוֹבֵ֡ינוּ דִּבְרֵי־שִׁ֭יר וְתוֹלָלֵ֣ינוּ שִׂמְחָ֑ה שִׁ֥ירוּ לָ֝֗נוּ מִשִּׁ֥יר צִיּֽוֹן׃ אֵ֗יךְ נָשִׁ֥יר אֶת־שִׁיר־יְהֹוָ֑ה עַ֝֗ל אַדְמַ֥ת נֵכָֽר׃ אִֽם־אֶשְׁכָּחֵ֥ךְ יְֽרוּשָׁלָ֗͏ִם תִּשְׁכַּ֥ח יְמִינִֽי׃ תִּדְבַּֽק־לְשׁוֹנִ֨י ׀ לְחִכִּי֮ אִם־לֹ֢א אֶ֫זְכְּרֵ֥כִי אִם־לֹ֣א אַ֭עֲלֶה אֶת־יְרוּשָׁלַ֑͏ִם עַ֝֗ל רֹ֣אשׁ שִׂמְחָתִֽי׃

[תהלים קלז]

[black-kitties]

Worldheart Chapter 11

Start reading at Chapter 1

Timber Wolfs arms were bound over his head by large shackles. They were attached to the ceiling by thick chains that forced him to stand upright at all times with his arms above his head. He was exhausted. Maxmellius had taken special interest in personally visiting him every evening to taunt him and torture him starting after the first visit when Brin had managed to land a kick on him. The walls of his cell were bare metal with a large wall mirror on the wall facing him. Every time Maxmellius had entered the room he’d pointed out the mirror and forced Timber Wolf to look at himself and the sorry state he was in. Alone, he didn’t look up.

The guards gave him precious sips of water but refused to speak to him. At Maxmellius’s command they’d inject him with green liquid that had no affect on Timber Wolf. They’d been taking his blood since then, and he watched them mix the green liquid in his water. He drank every last drop, glaring at Maxmellius the entire time.

He knew Jaz couldn’t survive the conditions they were keeping Timber Wolf in. Maxmellius would tease information about her, but ultimately Timber Wolf had no idea whether he could believe him or not. The walls to gave no clues as to how much time had passed down here. Weeks? All he knew was that he was running out of time. The rage inside him was growing and his ability to resist and keep it in check was waning hour by hour. Because of him they were recaptured… No. It was his cockiness that got them in this mess. He believed he could take on anyone dumb enough to attack the clinic. He thought they didn’t have the numbers or the ability to get past him… He walked her into that killing room. The worst part wasn’t the physical torture, nor was it the mocking taunts or experiments. It was the shame he felt chained and alone with his thoughts.

“Ahh, how has my mutt been.” The nasally voice of Maxmellius drew a growl out of Timber. He chuckled at the response before slamming Timber Wolf’s side with a bat. Timber grunted, “Ahh. It’s lovely to hear you finally make some music,” The man circled Timber keeping just out of range. “It’s only been a short couple of days and you’re already breaking under my boot.” The man moved to swing at Timber Wolf again but the bat was sent flying by a well placed kick. It smashed into one of the lights of the ceiling casting half of Maxmellius’s face in shadow. The mask of humanity the man wore cracked and for a moment Brin saw the sheer manic rage Maxmellius carried around with him. “Punish him.”

A bolt of electricity travelled through the chains shocking Timber Wolf. He bit his tongue trying to stop himself crying out. Enraged, Maxmellius shouted to them to increase the frequency until one of the scientists monitoring his vitals warned it could kill him. “I don’t care! Kill him if you have to! He. Will. Submit.” Timber Wolf began to see white as the sound of screaming deafened his ears. He dropped limp the moment they shut it down. He could barely feel the bat hit him as darkness swallowed his consciousness.

-          -      -

“Brin!” Light Lass’s voice snapped Brin out of his daze. He looked around realizing he was standing in the Legion clubhouse completely zoned out with her looking quite annoyed. “Earth to Brin, you in there?”

“I’m here, I’m listening… Sorry.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“What were you thinking about just now, I had to practically yell your name to get your attention.” His heart twisted for a moment. It almost felt like old times between them, though the way her eyes refused to stare into his was a constant reminder that it was over.

“I... I don’t remember. Sorry, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” It was his fault it was over. The thought twisted in his chest.

“About your mission. Are you sure about this? It could be a one way ticket back to the 2000’s… You might never come back.” Right, his mission. How could he forget?

“If this mission fails it’ll mean the end of our entire universe as we know it, and every parallel one as well. Without the Worldhearts, our universe will end. We must stop any chance that their plan could succeed.”

“I- I know. I’m not questioning the mission. I just.” Light Lass Looked away, hugging herself. “Its just, why does it have to be you?”

“Why?” Brin repeated, “Who better than me? Ultra boy?”

“No, that’s not what I mean-“

He cut her off, “I have no family, and I have no one to miss me if I can’t make it back.” Light Lass flinched. Her mouth opened as if she had more to say. He wanted her to say something, to tell him he was wrong, but her hesitance spoke louder than the words she wanted to speak. Frustrated, Brin turned away and didn’t stop when she yelled his name.

The door slammed harder than Brin expected. He blinked, turning around only to realize he was alone in the room with the Time Bubble. “Right. No one else is coming…” He remembered now. Brainiac 5 was wrong; the destabilization of their universe was already upon them. While earthquakes wreaked havoc on Earth and suns were dying the Clubhouse had been attacked by the mysterious cult they couldn’t track. The supposed weeks of planning they had to prepare was gone and the team they’d assembled was reduced to just him. He had no time to think about these things. Timber Wolf entered the Time Bubble engaging the coordinates Brainiac 5 had imputed already, just in case.

The Bubble began to travel, the familiar multicoloured hues distorting around Brin. Something was wrong. The colours stretched and tore, as if time itself was bleeding. The Time Bubble shuddered as the path grew twisted and warped. The Bubble was strong, it had survived crashes and explosions but now a crack appeared in the glass. The controls began sparking. The time and destination started to shift by hundreds of years back and forth faster and faster. The Bubble began to spin and Brin had to anchor himself to the controls as he tried to stabilize the machine. Brin was no immortal, if he landed in the wrong place in time he’d be useless, too soon and he’d die before the events came about and too late and well. It would be too late.

Another arc of electricity sent Brin flying into the glass cracking it further. The G forces pinned him to the glass, the last thing he saw was his arm struggling to reach the panel before he woke to the force of the Time Bubble suddenly stopping above the ocean. It fractured into seven pieces. As he fell from the clouds, he helplessly watched them streak across the sky. He hit the ocean hard, knocking him unconscious again. Had it not been for Aquaman that day, he would’ve died. He was a thousand years in the past, with no plan and no idea what had happened to cause the universe to collapse. All he knew was that the Worldhearts were at the centre of everything, and he needed to find them.

 -          -      -

Timber Wolf’s eyes opened. One was swollen shut and the taste iron and rust filled his mouth. He spat out blood on the floor just as Maxmellius entered his holding cell again. The man sneered, his feelings of superiority palpable in his expression. “Ah. How kind of you to join the waking world again. I see last night was too much for you.” The mans taunt stirred nothing in Brin. Maxmellius frowned, annoyed by Brins sudden apathy, “I see my training is beginning to work. You’re so obedient now, hardly barking.” He sneered, but Brin didn’t growl. He didn’t respond except watch him as he moved about the room just out of reach.

Maxmellius didn’t like this. He’d enjoyed toying with the supposed Hero but the way Timber Wolf was looking at him now. It was like he didn’t even matter, as if the hero was thinking about something else. “Well, since you’re so well behaved I should reward you, shouldn’t I?” He forced himself not to scowl when Brin didn’t react, “I saw your girlfriend. Jaz, wasn’t it?”

“Let her go!” Timber Wolf surged forward again straining against the chains, his fangs elongating past his lower lip. He could barely feel the pain in his arms now.

Max smiled getting the reaction he’d hoped for, “Did you know, your girlfriend is quite special. I tested her blood-“

“You bastard! Leave her alone, she’s just a human, she has nothing for you!” Timber Wolf yelled. He surged towards Maxmellius, the chains drawing taught putting strain on his arms. He barely noticed the pain.

“Oh, I’m not so sure you’re right about that.” His smile twisted when he noticed Timber Wolf Falter, “Her readings are entirely too different for her to be ‘worth nothing to me’. You’re correct, she is a human… But she’s entirely to weak compared to a normal human. Her bones are brittle, her flesh bruises far too easily. Even a child from could accidentally break her legs. Keeping her locked up here is honestly for her own good, she could die if she was allowed to just walk around outside. Besides, if I could understand what causes her weakness, manufacture it and weaponize it against the Justice League her body would prove all to important to my goals.” The shackles holding Timber Wolfs arms up groaned under the strain. His muscles were once again reshaping. Fur was erupting along his chest and forearms and his face was warping into a permanent snarl as Maxmellius spoke. “What I need is stem cells, and to get those I’ll need her bone marrow. Easy enough to crack into I suppose.” Timber Wolf roared incoherently.

“What do you want from us? Why are you doing this!” Brin was pulling on his chains so hard that he felt his shoulders dislocate.

“Why? To defeat the Justice League once and for all, of course… But, I’m feeling quite generous today. Let’s make a deal. I’ll spare Jaz that pain for one day longer if you become a willing test subject for me. I mean, I don’t actually have to ask you but-“

“I’ll do it.” Timber Wolf hung his head, gritting his teeth.

“Oh? Just like that. You don’t even know what I’m going to do to you.” Brin didn’t respond, but Maxmellius didn’t care. He nodded to one of the few scientists he had working for him. They brought him a new blue vial, uncorking it and holding it to Brins lips. “Drink.” Timber Wolf downed the entire vial. It hit his gut like a hammer. He faltered and took several steps back as far as the chains would let him before he slumped to the floor being held up by his arms.

 Timber Wolf writhed. The blue serum was entering his bloodstream wreaking havoc, weakening his ability to control his power. “You must be dying to know what it is I did to you. See, when the serum didn’t work the way it should have the first time, rendering you weak and incontinent, I searched through your blood for answers. Turns out your DNA is altered with a little something extra. The blue stuff should act around that now, weakening you properly. Can you feel it?” Max approached Brin again no longer taking care to keep out of range of any attacks he could land. As he spoke the rage inside Timber Wolf was unleashed. The serum did work on weakening his resolve. He could no longer hold the beast inside in check. Timber Wolfs muscled swelled, fur erupted over his body as his bones cracked and reshaped.  “Tomorrow I’ll drill into your friends femur and drain of it of the marrow. That should give me a good head start on researching her condition. Oh of course I won’t be using any pain killers. Don’t worry though, she’s to strong to struggle against the binds so she can’t hurt herself.” The sound of the shackles snapping startled Maxmellius but it gave him no time to prepare for Timber Wolf’s attack. Max was slammed into the mirrored wall shattering it and bending the bulkhead behind him. Timber Wolf was a ball of fur and claw. His jaws closed around the arm Maxmellius had raised to shield himself from the assault, snapping it and biting through it cleanly. He reared back to attack Maxmellius’s head when an eruption of bullets followed by the heavy metal body of one of Max’s beloved Rex tackled him.

It was larger than the Raptors, equipped with gatling guns mounted over its shoulders and tasers on the tip of its tail. The taser shocked uselessly against the chest of Timber Wolf. He lunged and bit its head crushing through the metal and tearing it from the body before tossing it aside. He turned to the men shooting at him through the door. They faltered and ran. Timber Wolf slammed into the wall outside his cell. The metal buckled under his weight. His vision was blurred and tinged with red and he was barely able to form a coherent thought.

He stumbled down the hall, ripping the metal door from the wall to enter the main laboratory. Brin tried to understand what it was he was looking at. There was a massive machine at the center of the room with various tubes and metal cords erupting from the walls and connecting to the machine. At its center was a giant blue plasma ball spinning in place with various other coloured plasma circling around it. Timber Wolf was trying to pull one of the metal arms out of the machine when bullets began pelting him and the machine around him. He ducked behind it and was about to run for the nearest exit when he heard the voice of Maxmellius ordering them not to damage the generator. Brin’s vision shook as rage coursed through his body, fighting with him for control.

“Careful dog,” The man spat the word, “Any damage you do to my machines, I’ll be sure to take out on Jaz.” Maxmellius had expected the warning to make the hero reconsider escaping. He was going to torture the man and break his limbs for having dared destroy his arm. An ear-splitting roar reverberated through the room. The last coherent thought had was to find Jaz before the transformation fully completed. Timber Wolf leapt from behind the generator snapping through the metal conduits stabilizing the machine. A hail of bullets didn’t slow him down. He slammed through the wall of Rex’s protecting Maxmellius, lunging at him. The machine exploded sending the room into chaos. Timber Wolf was slammed out of the air into the nearest wall as ceiling and rock tumbled into the room. He pulled himself from the wreckage tossing aside slabs of concrete before turning to find his prey. Maxmellius was no where to be found. Timber Wolf roared his frustration. Must. Find. Jaz.

Chapter 12

[shiftynightshade]

Cody shifted as General Kenobi gestured to the holo-map, a frown accompanying the crease in-between his eyebrows. The general was discussing tactics and strategies with the dreadful Wilffur Tarkin, and the two were debating over the better battle plan.

(It was arguing really, one-sided as it was.)

‘Well’ Cody mused. ‘Which strategy will allow more Vod’e to walk away alive.’

Tarkin was infamous in the GAR, ruthless in all his plans, and he certainly didn’t care about how many brothers died, and if all of them died but the battle was won, all those deaths were overlooked by everyone.

Except the Jedi.

The Jedi treated them like people, sentient beings with thoughts and feeling, not flesh droids. Called them by their names rather than their numbers, mourned them and loved them.

And Cody’s general, Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator, was the best of them all.

Tarkins’ oily voice was cold and snide as he leered at Kenobi through the hologram.

“Well, General Kenobi” He spat out their Jedi’s title, which evidently didn’t go unnoticed, if nearly every brother on the bridge bristling in offense was any indication. “It seems that we are yet to meet at a compromise, I shall call at a later date to discuss this again.” With a harsh flick the call was cut.

Under his bucket Cody frowned. He hated the way Tarkin talked or looked at his Jedi. Obi-wan had turned around, a scowl in place of his normal charming smile, and Cody longed to run his thumb over those soft pink lips and kiss them sweetly.

The sudden beeping of the comms nearly made Cody jump. Nearly. Though judging by Waxer and Boils snickering, his brothers still noticed. Fuck.

“Kenobi?” Helixes’ drawl trickled through. “The Jedi healers arrived sir.”

Obi-wan nodded, even if Helix couldn’t see it. “Bring them to the bridge, thank you Helix.” Cody sighed internally, whether it was from relief or anticipation, he wasn’t sure yet. The senate had finally caved and ordered for a Jedi healer to be stationed with major and heavy-hitting battalions to assist and to make sure that those Jedi didn’t get themselves killed or captured as more and more cases of force exhaustion and force coma’s quickly rose among the Jedi.

Cody could still remember Pond’s terrified voice trickling through their comms, his breathing laboured and speech borderline hysterical. Sobbing about how during one of Windu’s worse bouts of force exhaustion and headaches, caused by there being too many shatterpoints had left them vulnerable.

Ponds was clutching his generals lightsaber in both fists, hands trembling and obviously trying to not think about what Dooku and Ventress could’ve been doing to his riduur, and he had refused to let go of the lightsaber until they had finally located and retrieved Windu two months later, the master of the order in a force induced coma and still temple bound.

Cody repressed a shudder. The sheer brokenness in Ponds eyes as he stared at the Korrun’s battered body floating lifelessly in the bacta tank, then later spending every day religiously by his side while holding his hand gently, not caring of the days going by as he sat his protective vigil by the comatose Jedi’s side.

Cody pursed his lips. It’s probably for the better.

Obi-wan’s expression morphed into slight confusion, even if it’ was only a slight narrowing of the eyes.

Cody removed his bucket to rest it on his hip and opened his mouth. “Sir?” He was going to say more, but he was cut off by the door to the bridge opening and a scream of “OBI!” echoing in the room. A blur of cream and blue robes and pinkish red skin rushing past him which quickly turned into a hug like tackle, the blur turning out to be a red-pink Calamari woman in a combined set of cream and blue robes, her shout having quickly drawn the attention of everyone on the bridge.

Obi-wan had looked up at the shout, surprise then joy spreading across is face as the calamari latched onto him like a barnacle from Kamino’s oceans.

Cody felt his eyebrows rise, in curiosity, and when Obi-wan hugged the vibrating stranger back just as tightly, he was pretty sure they were going to fly off his head.

Obi-wan smiled warmly, and for one in a long time, it met his eyes.

“Bant! I didn’t expect you to be assigned to u!”

Head against Obi-wan’s chest, the side of the temple where ears on a human would be rested right over his hears. Crys cleared his throat.

“I’m going to guess that you two know each other?”

Obi-wan gave a rare, but blindingly radiant smile. The two shifted so his and Bant’s arms were wrapped around each other’s shoulders a position Cody was familiar with. It was one of kinship and a way to acknowledge siblings.

Bant giggled. “Obi’s my Clanmate and brother in everything but blood.” Cody blinked.

“Clanmate..?” He ventured. “Is that like the vode’s batchmates?”

For a ridiculous moment Cody thought that would’ve been confused about the concept of batchmates, but her large eyes sparkled and she smiled.

“Exactly! There’s a few differences obviously, but the concept is same!”

Cody gave a small smile at the praise, ignoring Cry’s imploring look.

Suddenly Obi-wan straightened. “Everyone, this is Bant Eerin, she’ll be serving alongside our medics for an unprecedented amount of time.” A shiny whose name Cody has yet to learn raised their hand.

Obi-wan nodded at the shiny. “Yes..?” the prompt for their name went unsaid. They shifted on the spot. “Ace sir.” He tapped his fingers against his yet to be painted armour. “If you don’t mind me asking, but what’s different about clanmates?”

Bant smiled. “Great question Ace! Clanmates are like a Jedi initiates family until they are picked by a master, and then they join that lineage’s family.”

She bumped her shoulder against Obi-wan’s with a small grin. “It’s up to an individual whether or not they still consider their clanmates family or not.”

She fiddled with a necklace, the rope and pendant barely noticeable under her robes. “Sometimes a Jedi will switch masters, whether because they requested a change or something happens to the master, then you will be considered apart of two different lineages.”

Obi-wan grinned and nodded. “Does that answer your questions Ace?”

The clone nodded bashfully, a small smile and a soft blush making its way onto his face.

Crys leaned against a console with his arms crossed, but swiftly raised a hand. Obi-wan nodded over at him. “Yes Crys?”

Crys stared at the two Jedi with thinly veiled curiosity, and on the excited shifting from the rest of the Vod’e, they were just as excited to learn.

“What did General Eerin mean by if a Jetti shiny requests a new master?” They all knew what ‘if something happened to the master’ meant. Too incapacitated to teach and raise, or dead.

Bant’s eyes grew sad, while Obi-wan closed his eyes. “If,” Bant began, a mix of grief and anger swirling in her eyes. “-A padawan requests a new master, an investigation is launched immediately for why they want a change.”

Obi-wan took over. “There has been only a few cases of abuse, but they still exist, some instances a master had declining physical or mental health. And both have agreed that it would be safer and more beneficial for both to part ways.”

Obi-wan grew quiet. “And there has only been a handful of time where the master has fallen to the darkside.”

The bridge grew quiet at that. Cody hadn’t seen a Jedi that had fallen outside of Dooku, but he’s heard stories, tales of how they became a shell of their former selves. He shuddered at the idea of an ad’ika happened to be with them…

And Cody dreaded the idea of his general falling. Pale skin splashed with the blood of innocents, Jedi and Vod’e alike, warm blue-green eyes taken over by a cold, molten gold that boiled with rage and hate. His blue lightsaber, usually a blazing symbol of hope and safety, instead replaced with red, a symbol of fear and darkness.

Cody let out a breath. He and the rest f his brothers would rather be cut down or eat their own blasters than fight against their general.

“-Ways Bant, do you need any directions or do you want to go straight to the med-bay?”

Cody jerked out of his head, eternally grateful that he had put his bucket back on.

Bant and Obi-Wan had turned to face each other. Bant smirked. “Are you saying you’re willing to go to med-bay with me?” The bridges occupants collectively held their breaths.

Bant hummed. “Sixty-six seconds Obi, better start running.” Cody watched in amusement as a few clones cheered or yelled out “go general!” as he dashed down the hall, and Cody managed to catch a glimpse of Obi-Wan kicking a vent covering open and leaping into the vents just as the covering fell back into place.

Sixty-six seconds later and Bant stood from where she was sitting and cleared her throat. “Alright, boys!”

She grinned. “Who wants to help me hunt down a rogue patient?”

Cody grinned as Crossbones cheered from his spot next to Crys.

[acourtofsnakes]

Tor - Rogue, Chapter 3| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: A little bit of Mando pov for you all!! It’s a shorter chapter, just kind of the same as the previous but from our Space Dad’s point of view this time. Though there may be a little hint of your decision at the end…

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, swearing, angst? Hints of fluff?

AN: There’s a very small ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ reference to a certain Dornish prince and his nickname in here too. Wonder if you’ll find it? 👀

Also, thank you to @ithinkwehitametaphor​ for sending me the gif! i couldn’t for the life of me find it and you honestly saved my life 

Wordcount: About 3465

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar​  @weirdowithnobeardo​

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ​

Mando’a Translation: Tor – justice 

He always thought it would end like this. Never in some big blaze of blaster fire or with his ship, but in some back alley, bleeding out, alone. 

Hell, maybe he deserved it. He’d killed enough people to warrant this end, slumped on the floor, too weak to save himself. 

He didn’t deserve a warrior’s death, a Mandalorian’s death. Not after all he had done.

Of course, it was his duty, his honour as a Mandalorian and a bounty hunter but… that sacred Creed did nothing to stop the thoughts that plagued him at night, the whispers that hissed in his ear during his waking hours. 

He almost laughed at himself. 

The Creed was all he had. 

Until…. Until the kid had come along. 

Until he saw that little wrinkly baby in the crib and… it had all changed. 

He couldn’t kill it, him, couldn’t take it back to the Client or his Clones. 

One look at that damn little silver ball, and eveyrhting went straight out the window. 

Fuck the Guild code. He would never kill a child, an innocent being that couldn’t even talk, could only make those little cooing sounds that even he had to admit were adorable. 

Rescuing him… it had given him something to live for. Something to fill his days and a reason not to go hurtling helmet first into danger with no regard for his own safety. 

Except… well, no. That wasn’t strictly true was it. He’d become more reckless since that moment, the rules that his bound his life for so long were slowly coming undone bit by bit. All of which made him so reckless, so… desperate?

You only had to look at the sheer amount of people lining up for his and the kid’s head to prove that. 

So maybe he didn’t always make the smartest decisions, but they were still alive, weren’t they? Had friends to help them if he needed it. 

In a short time, he’d gone from being Judge, Jury and Executioner, to being the person that people called when they needed help. Sometimes people didn’t even call him. He just showed up and offered his services. 

And truth be told… he liked it. He liked people looking at him with hope and admiration, rather than fear and jealousy. He liked the way people fussed over the kid, asking if Mando was taking good care of the child. Like they were a family. 

A Clan.

The sigil on his armour said as much. Him and the kid. A unit of two rogues. 

That’s what it all came down to, in the end. Everything was to keep Grogu safe. That’s why he stuck to the Outer Rim, taking jobs that would draw him further away from those that relentlessly hunting them, those who wanted to harm the Child. Besides, he needed the credits that came with the big jobs. Taking care of the little womp rat was expensive. Not to mention there was always something falling apart on his ship. 

So, when that guy in the hood had cornered him in the bar, given him the fob and told him about the bounty that no one could catch, he’d taken it without a thought. He’d had so many over the years that were supposedly uncatchable that the word had nearly lost its meaning. And this stranger had obviously sensed that, explained that it was true. Reeled off the sheer amount of hunters that had been sent that way, Imps, Trandoshans, Empire workers, IG-11 robots, even another Mandalorian. After hearing that list, Mando had expected some high-level bounty. An escapee from the deepest pits of the darkest prisons, someone who had done terrible, terrible things.

So… when he’d activated the puck, and the hologram of a woman’s face had come up… he was shocked. This woman… she was beautiful. Still young. She didn’t look like she bathed in the blood of her enemies, or killed children and babies, she looked… well, not exactly harmless. There was a glint in her eyes even on the hologram, a spark that warned of danger, promised pain to anyone that tried to hurt her. 

A survivor’s look. 

Something niggled at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. It might have been hesitation, but he ignored it. The bounty over her head was enough that he could take Grogu to one of those sanctuary planets and lay low for a few weeks. Maybe even a few months. The kid deserved it, to be able to play and explore. 

And himself… Maker, he was just so tired. 

So, he’d pocketed the puck and the fob, didn’t ask who the client was, went back to the Crest and then he was on his way to Sorgan. 

Maybe it would take him a little longer than usual to bring the girl in, but it was nothing that he hadn’t done before. After all, stealing back the kid, breaking into a prison, everything else that had occurred recently… this was a walk in the park. 

He still believed that, right up to tracking you. Even when he chased you. 

He had to admit, he did love it when they ran, even if his back was killing him. 

Something about the chase, the frantic fear of the prey as he hunted them down, the conclusion inevitable. It thrilled him. 

But… this felt.. different. 

You were different. You fought like it was a dance, whirling across the clearing and around his punches like there was a song only you could hear. And you were taunting him, laughing as you did. You lived for this, like you had been bred for it. No… you’d been shaped by it, shaped by the choice of cowering or turning into a wolf. A wolf, like those he’d seen in Lothal.

You were strong, you fought well, he had to give you that much. He knew he would have to work for it, but with the promise of safety lingering, he matched you move for move, determined to hold this out as long as it took. 

He’d read your file, read what had happened and used that to his advantage. The words had come easily, even though they had stirred something inside him, perhaps a mirror of the feelings he was encouraging in you. 

But then… then you just gave in. Straight away. And not like the others did. Not in the way that they had, thinking it would make him go easier, change his mind.

No, you had completely, utterly given up.  He saw it in your eyes. Saw that survivors glint gutter out, a wolf tamed back into her cage with her tail between her legs. 

And… it threw him. He had touched something, caught something deep within you as he taunted you. Something broken… that again whispered to his own deepest thoughts. Like calling to like. 

He’d ignored it, pushing that thought back into the part of his minds where his darker thoughts lay slumbering – for now. He’d carried you back to the Crest, shackled you to the wall and had made to leave you there. 

Only, he had seen that the wound on your shoulder was torn open again, ripped by your fight and his jamming with the rifle. It was bleeding through your tunic, and even with unconsciousness heavy in your body, you still looked somewhat pained. 

He’d hovered there, staring at the bleeding wound and having some kind of internal battle. 

It wasn’t fatal. It was just a recent injury that had torn open. You’d be fine. He nodded, turning around and making all of one step. 

But. A Trandoshan had been the last person to hunt you. They relished in the hunt, had probably fought dirty and used a poison. It might be infected. What if you died on his way back to dropping you off? Or got really, really sick?

Nevermind. The messenger for the Client stated you had to be brought back alive. Alive didn’t mean whole. He carried on walking, trying to focus again on something else… only to pause a couple of metres away. 

Help her. 

The Mandalorian had turned back around to look at you, a frustrated grunt slipping from his lips. He moved through the ship, grabbing a med-kit and then practically stormed back to you, nearly ripping your tunic as he’d eased up the sleeve. 

It wasn’t too bad, a deep wound but it hadn’t been infected, yet. He cleaned it up, spraying it with the last of his bacta-spray and binding it with the last strip of bandages. He’d have to get some more soon, dig up some credits from somewhere. 

A cruel reminder of why he took this job. What you were. A bounty. That’s all. 

Muttering a string of curses, he finished binding your wound, wrenching his hands away and then made his way back upstairs. 

A bounty. A means to an end. The way to getting a break that his aching body craved for. 

He was hunter. You were prey. 

That was the mantra he had to keep repeating to himself when he’d brought you up to the cockpit. 

Had to keep repeating when you were teasing him, which simultaneously ground on his nerves but also made his skin tighten in a way it hadn’t for a while. 

It had been a long time, so long since he’d that kind of verbal play with someone. 

Hell, it had been a long time since he’d had any kind of play with anyone. He just didn’t have the time anymore, not with Grogu and not when everyone knew who he was. How could you trust someone enough to sleep with them when nearly everyone wanted to kill you?

His new mantra had echoed in his head when you began to verbally poke at him, hitting home about being lonely. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you knew you’d hit a nerve. But thankfully you stopped. 

But not before that broken thing had called between you again. Your words were spoken with too much ease and casualness, someone who knew all too well the loneliness and starvation for touch and companionship. 

Maker, he had to get rid of you soon. 

It had almost been a relief to find the small bounty on this planet. You’d been asleep, the kid asleep too so he’d gone. He didn’t need to wake either of you up, you knew why you were here - he’d told you so this morning. 

Besides, it was a small planet, easy prey to catch when everyone here feared the dark. He’d be back in a few hours. 

With the way he was so wired, he’d probably be back in two. 

That’s the way it was meant to happen. 

Track down the bounty, disarm, bring him back, freeze him in carbonite and Mando would have you back in the sky before you’d even woken up. 

And it had happened that way initially. He followed the sharp tailed bounty from the fighting pits to a cantina. Had to sit and listen as he boasted about some girl he’d bedded the night before and had screaming his name. He then, of course, launched into detail of said night, drawling about this girl in such a derogatory way that it took all his training and restraint not to just shoot this creep in the head there and then and be done with it. 

But, the Mandalorian had endured it. Sat there for an hour or so and then followed him out into an alleyway. Mando kept hidden as the bounty had spoken to a friend, talking about another girl he’d seen. Apparently, this one was even better than last night. He had it on good authority that this girl would be game for anything he wanted to do and more. 

And then Spikey had started describing again, in detail, what he would do. And Mando had been disgusted, angry that this creep was talking about a woman this way, such sick and derogatory things. Spikey’s friend asked if this ‘slut’ had a name. 

And then…

Your name. That’s what he said. 

And that’s when it went wrong. 

Your name had barely come out of this animal’s lips when a red haze clouded over the Mandalorian. Everything in him screamed violence and his body went on autopilot, attacking this vile waste of space matter so quickly he hadn’t had time to breathe. Mando didn’t even notice the friend bolt, running away. He was just so focused on taking down the bounty, ripping him apart for what he’d said about you. This one would be brought in cold. He would say that it put up a fight, tried to kill him so Mando acted in self-defence. 

His previous mantra of the last two days was forgotten, overtaken by a need to defend you, make sure this guy stayed the hell away from you. Bring him down, freeze him in carbonite and get off of this planet. He fell back into that haze, relying on his skills and instincts. 

Except… except that when the haze cleared, he wasn’t leaning over the body. 

No, he was the one being pinned against the wall by the bounty, with a strength he hadn’t realised Spikey possessed. What the fuck was he?

Escape training came to him now, but before he could disarm and kill, the bounty began to spew those vile thoughts about you again. About how Mando was keeping you tied to a bed, for his own pleasure. How he was going to take you, ask to keep you, use you-

And then for the first time in his life, Mando forgot his training. He forgot about blocking and defensive maneuverers. He forgot about the myriad of weapons on his body, the Whistling Birds, the flame-thrower. 

He reached out in a blind fury to throttle this creep. 

He left himself open to attack. 

That was the first time he royally fucked up tonight.  

Pain had suddenly become a living thing in his side and waist as he slid down the wall, and then his only thought wasn’t of survival, it was of the kid, and you. 

You were back in the ship, both of you safe at least. Maybe you would know how to fly, know how to get yourselves out of there and run, escape. That’s what he’d hoped. You were smart, you were a survivor. You’d take the initiative and get yourselves out. Besides, he might not have admitted it, but he trusted you with Grogu. 

And then like he’d fucking summoned you… there you were. Launching into Spikey Tail’s side and getting him away. He could only watch as you engaged him in the fight, taunted him with that same tone you’d used on him. Only this time, he could watch you. 

Beautiful. 

There was no other word for it, as much as he might not have wanted to admit it. You fought like it was a dance, that prowling wolf in you giving way to a viper, striking and falling back with all the grace of dancers he’d heard about performing in Coruscant. 

He was almost breathless as he watched this deadly game – though that might have been the blood loss and blow to his head. 

He thought he might be sick when the sound of your ribs shattering bounced off the slick metal walls, the muffled cry of agony it tore from you. 

But still, the taunts kept coming, and he couldn’t help himself when you complained that Spikey Tail talked too much. You had possibly two broken ribs and yet you were still a cocky little shit. The impressed, huffing laugh that came from his lips was loud enough to be heard by you. 

And that was his second fuck up of the night. 

What started as an unexpected burst of warmth in his chest as you turned and smiled at him, had immediately frozen his lungs as Spikey slammed you against the wall, strangling you. 

Fear shot through Mando, colder than his body had begun to feel. He tried to get up, tried to help you but he couldn’t move. His limbs wouldn’t respond to him. 

He couldn’t save you. 

He was going to watch you die defending him. 

Just like his parents. 

No, no, no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that, not again. He swore against his body, gathered every remaining ounce of strength that he had and reached for his blaster, just as those sick comments of degradation and ugly lust began to fall from your attacker’s lips. 

All he needed was to give you an opening, just one tiny opening and you would do the rest. 

Spikey’s lips were creeping toward yours, fear bursting in your eyes as you scrambled for the vibroblade sheathed against your thigh. 

An opening, that’s all he had to do. 

And he did. He managed to haul his body back from the edge of death long enough to shoot the guy in the back. 

You took your opening. 

He saw the flash of your vibroblade, heard the muffled, wet noise as it sunk into his bounty’s neck. 

The guy fell to the floor in a dead weight. You dropped too and he managed to see you gasp for air, assure himself you were mostly okay before that flame of energy guttered out so quickly, he saw stars. 

Darkness hovered around the edges of his vision as he felt his life slip through his fingers – literally, his other hand was pressed to his side in an effort to try and staunch it but he didn’t have the energy to. 

This was it then. 

The way he would go. 

Nothing noble, or heroic. 

Bleeding out in a back alley. The creatures in the dark would take him soon enough. 

At least you would be able to take the kid and run now. At least there was that. 

And then he felt hands knocking his way, significantly smaller hands push into the wound. He couldn’t even make a noise of pain; it didn’t hurt anymore. His vision cleared again and there you were once more, leaning over him with blood sprayed over your face, falling from a cut on your cheek. 

No. No. 

What were you doing?? 

You were supposed to escape. You were supposed to flee the mess he’d bought you into and take the kid and run. 

He tried to speak, to convey these thoughts to you but his lips had stopped responding. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. But somehow, it was like you got what he meant. 

Your hands began to lift, and he had a weak wave of relief that was marred by the fresh soaking of blood that oozed out of his side. How much had he lost now?

Too much, by the cooling temperature of his body and the trembling that had begun. 

He had come close to death before, so many times before but this felt different. This felt like he was losing something. Something that was just within reach but he hadn’t had the chance to grasp at yet. And it was being wrenched away, taken from him and trickling over the stones beneath him in a deep, scarlet puddle. 

Maybe he’d begun to hallucinate too, because you were back, leaning over him, hands pressed into him again like they could stop the blood. He lifted his eyes and something in him curled up and panged when he saw that you were already gazing at him. 

Gazing right into his eyes. 

How you knew where they were, how you looked through the blackened visor without seeing, he didn’t know. But he could read the war raging inside of you, the battle off stay or go. 

Go.

Mando tried to talk again, but only managed a faint noise, a croak that sounded so pitiful, he might have cringed at himself had he not started to hear a ringing in his ears. Time was nearly up, ticking away his life and that glimmer of something. 

So, he instead just looked at you. You were clearly not made up yet, so he did something selfish. 

He put his life in your hands. 

If you left him here to die, he deserved it. It was justice. Justice for every ounce of pain he’d caused. The grief he’d doled out to mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children. 

Justice for the life of treachery he had all but dumped Grogu into. 

Justice for letting his parents die for him and not save them. 

But, if you let him live…

Then he would try harder. He would repent for his mistakes. 

He would make sure you were dropped somewhere safely. You couldn’t stay with him, he wrought death and destruction to those around him whether he meant it or not  

But he could take you somewhere safe, maybe to Greef and Cara. 

Then he would hunt down whoever came after you next, giving you the respite that he was going to keep for himself. 

They were the options. 

A deserved death, or a new determination to set right his mistakes. 

These thoughts swum through his hazy brain at a surprisingly rapid pace, only a few seconds worth of time as he still watched what you would do with this choice. He could see that you understood, understood the choice he had selfishly bestowed upon you. 

Only it was too late. 

Heavy darkness thundered over him in an unrelenting tidal wave and with a choked gasp, he was dragged under, so deep he might have imagined your arms winding around his battered body, hauling him to his feet as much as you could. 

His brain giving him one last reprieve, perhaps, or maybe a cruel taunt to what might have been before he was sucked under and everything went numb. 

Previous chapter| Next Chapter

[voltronfandomhag]

Albegas/Gladiator Voltron Revisited

A few years ago I posted about Gladiator Voltron, the proposed third Voltron season which was to be adapted from Lightspeed Electroid Albegas. Ultimately it was abandoned in favor of producing another batch of Lion Voltron episodes. About a year ago Toei released the first two episodes of Albegas with English subtitles on Youtube. You can watch both episodes here and here. 

This post is meant to be an update of my first Gladiator Voltron/Albegas post, with more detail about the characters and setting. I also briefly share my thoughts on the show based on the two episodes available.

SETTING AND STORY

In the future, the nations of Earth have been at peace with each other for many years. Our three protagonists, Daisaku, Tetsuya, and Hotaru, are talented students at Aoda School, which is famous for its robotics program and located near Mt. Fuji. Their lives are turned upside down when the evil alien Derringer Empire, who already rules the galaxy, invades Earth. Earth’s only hope against this threat is the super robot Albegas and the three teenagers piloting it.

THE HEROES

Our heroes are teenagers who attend Aoda School in Japan. Each of them created a robot for a school competition. Their bots were later improved and modified so they could combine into Albegas. 

Daisaku Enjoji

Daisaku is brash, confident, loud-mouthed, and a total cad. Despite his bad grades, his skills in robotics are apparently superior to both Tetsuya and Hotaru’s. He comes from a working class family consisting of his painter father, stay-at-home mother, cheeky younger brother Jiro, and a younger sister. Both he and Tetsuya have a crush on Hotaru, though Daisaku is more blatant and perverted about it. His hobby is soccer. Pilots Alpha Robo (black).

Tetsuya Jin

Tetsuya comes across as more reserved than his two teammates. Like the others, he’s a student at Aoba School and skilled in robotics. It’s unknown what his grades are like, but at least one of his teachers, Ms. Danko Kibi, scolds him for his rebellious attitude. He and his sister grew up orphans with no other family to take care of them. Currently he lives alone in the school dorms. Tetsuya feels lonely and envies those who still have parents. What happened to his parents, along with the whereabouts of his sister, aren’t mentioned in the first two episodes. Unfortunately, he’s  something of a slob; his dorm room is a mess. Like Daisaku, he also has a crush on Hotaru. However, he’s more subtle about it and expresses exasperation at Daisaku’s pervy antics towards her. His hobby is playing guitar. Pilots Beta Robo (blue).

Hotaru Mizuki

Hotaru is the daughter of Professor Mizuki; her mother isn’t mentioned, but it’s implied she’s been out of the picture for a long time. Beautiful, intelligent, and feminine, she’s the star of Aoba School and her class representative. Despite being adored by her teachers and the heartthrob of her male classmates, she’s bullied by her female peers. She also longs for a mother figure; there’s a scene where Hotaru outright tells her father and his assistant, Saeko Asabuki, that she approves of their relationship and hopes they get married so Saeko can be her stepmother. While annoyed by Daisaku’s caddish ways, it’s implied the attraction might be mutual. Her hobby is tennis. Pilots Gamma Robo (red).

SUPPORTING CHARACTERS

The allies, family, and friends of our heroes. 

Goro Kumai

HIS JAPANESE BLOOD TINGLES! A well-meaning but bumbling classmate of the main trio who serves as the show’s comic relief. Goro does his best to help defend Earth with his self-made gorilla robot but he’s simply out of his league. Daisaku considers him a burden while Hotaru pities him.  He has an unreciprocated crush on Hotaru. 

Professor Mizuki

A brilliant scientist and Hotaru’s father. His knowledge of robotics is second to none. After the main trio’s robots were nearly destroyed by invading Derringer, he not only rebuilt them, but made them much more powerful and able to combine into Albegas. He also serves as both a mentor and the voice of reason; he tries to encourage the trio to exercise caution and patience. However, his words often fall on deaf ears, and the trio’s insistence on rushing headlong into battle against his repeated warnings frustrates him. But he believes in the trio’s abilities. It’s implied he’s sweet on his assistant, Saeko Asabuki.

Saeko Asabuki

Professor Mizuki’s assistant and love interest. She’s soft spoken, beautiful, and lady-like. Hotaru wants her as a stepmother.

Ms. Danko Kibi

An overbearing, outspoken and strong willed teacher at Aoba School. She takes her job very seriously, is fiercely proud of the school, and believes it’s important her students grow to be strong, stout, and fearless. Despite not being the head teacher, she often gets her way through sheer force of personality.

THE VILLAINS

The villains aren’t very fleshed out, but given I only had two episodes, that’s not very surprising. Anyway, the Derringer are an evil purple-skinned alien race of conquers who have set their sights on Earth. They desire our planet for its beauty and consider humans primitive. Albegas is humanity’s only effective weapon against their superior technology. Their giant robot Mecha-Fighters are the Derringer’s most fearsome weapon.

Lord Deran the Great

Supreme ruler of the Derringer. We don’t actually see him in these episodes. The only information we learn about him is he desires all things beautiful as his own.

President Azass

The leader of the invading Derringer force stationed in a base orbiting Earth.

General Duston

President Azass’s top officer, at least during these first two episodes. He’s ruthless, prideful, and doesn’t take humans seriously.

General Catastra

Another army officer on President Azass’s orbital base. 

Dyme

Yet another Derringer officer. He considers Duston an incompetent moron for not taking Albegas more seriously as a threat 

LIGHTSPEED ELECTROID ALBEGAS

The three robots that compose Albegas (Alpha Robot, Beta Robo, and Gamma Robo) were not originally designed to combine together. Instead they were individually built by the main trio as entries into a school competition. When the Derringer attacked Japan, the three teens attempted to fight off the invaders in their robots, but were soundly defeated. Professor Mizuki, seeing the robots’ potential, both rebuilt and heavily modified them, making them far more powerful and able to combine together into multiple configurations. However, the three pilots, at first, don’t know and understand just how extensive the modifications were despite Professor Mizuki’s repeated warnings. Unfortunately, circumstances in the first two episodes have not given them time for proper training. As a result, the pilots are learning about Albegas’s abilities, and how to use them, in the heat of combat.

As stated, the robot comprising Albegas can combine in different ways, with each combination having its own specialization.

Denjin Dimension

Alpha, Beta, Gamma. This is the basic combat configuration. Can use the finishing move Denjin Sanbai Sword.

Sky Dimension

Beta, Alpha, Gamma. We don’t see any of its abilities, but I’m guessing it specializes in flight and/or aerial combat. 

Professor Mizuki mentions four other modes: Space, Sea, Underground, and Rescue.

My Thoughts

Do I think American Voltron fans missed out by not having Albegas localized? Not really. Between this, Golion, and Dairuggar, I feel this was the weakest show of the three, and I don’t think it would’ve captured kid’s imaginations the way Lion Voltron did. Granted, in some ways Albegas has more elements in common with GoLion than Diaruggar: small number of pilots, planet bound, faster paced, and a simpler story. But, again, I only have two episodes to go by, so I could be wrong on some of those points. But I’m interested enough that I’d watch more episodes if they became available.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

I aint sure if someone wants this as a prompt or even just a speaking point but I had an idea about jason

Tw blood mention

Okay so we know the steve rogers scene where he goes to the gym to help deal with his trauma? (Even if its one of the only times he's does in the series but whatever) well jason, raised by wolves with no communication systems grace would do the exact same thing and I can just imagine how terrifying itd be for those around him. Like they'd see him start to lose his temper in little outbursts then he'd just remove himself from the situation and use the arena or whatever the Argo 2 had and train till his knuckles were bloody and his throat was raw. Or if he was in an open area he'd just scream and cause storms and fuck with the air particles because it would be cathartic to let it all out.

oh anon you have my heart forever and ever!

I agree with this for so many reasons, half of them being Jason is literally Steve Rogers/Captain America and the other half being I just love seeing our little Roman Soldier go batshit (as he deserves).

anyway I hope it's okay I wrote this lil thing?🥺

CW: blood

[image has alt text]

Spending days on a ship with six powerful people you barely know and one completely crazed satyr is less than ideal. Spending weeks in such company is bound to make any person a little...feral.

Or at least that's how Jason rationalizes his barely controlled anger. Nothing quite close enough to rage but too hot, too skin boiling to be irritation.

Another monster, another wreckage in the ship, another screaming match from Coach Hedge. Piper trying to "talk", Leo cracking jokes in an attempt to ease tension not even a crowbar can pry. And to make matters worse his head is constantly throbbing because he keeps getting knocked unconscious. If not for the ambrosia he's sure he would have suffered severe brain damage and multiple concussions.

Another spike of pain needles it's way through his temple as he practically falls through the hull of the ship and into the small room next to the scorching boilers.

Percy had said something a little too truthful and Annabeth had a look a little too cutting and Piper too pitiful and he was so sick of everyone looking at him like the dead weight of the group.

The punching bag, ragged with age and too much use in the last few days, swings gently in time with the ship's motion. He thinks about putting on the worn gloves that sit in the corner but his skin is still too tight and his vision is all hazy with pent up Emotion and he just needs to fucking—

An echoey THWACK resounds. The bag swings violently. His fingers take pain, his knees take the brunt of the force. With a dangerous, glinting smirk he raises his hands in front of his face, curls them into fists, and swings.

again

again

again

again

The bag rocks away and he chases it to the other side, bouncing on his toes. He punches so hard he feels his elbows groan. He adjusts his stance. The muscles in his shoulders jump, pin themselves to each other in an attempt to carry the sheer strength he's trying to strike with.

again

again

again

His kuncles ache, his wrists feel twisted but he doesn't stop. The bag is heavy and blackened with his own anger. Skin hot. He feels on fire. He feels wild. Too much lightning not enough rain.

He knows the exact moment the skin on his fingers splits. Because he punches the bag and it feels slick. Not cold, smooth leather. But thick and liquid. Like jet oil. He doesn't stop. His grip loosens and he tighten his fists to the point of pain. Blood smears across the bag, making paintings of his violence. He punches again. This time the bag doesn't swing as far, as wildly. He plants his feet on the floor, feeling the rough wood dig into him. With a scream that makes the clouds go black he pulls back and strikes. The bag gives an unceremonious creak, and then a BOOM follows. As if sound hadn't caught up to his hit yet.

The leather splits open and sand pours out.

Jason collapses to his knees, fingers bloody enough to look bathed in. He doesn't bother to wipe the tears on his cheeks. The storm outside rages unchecked.

He feels more in control. He feels less human.

[saladejin]

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’ 

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me) 

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :) 

<< masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories. 

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.  

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.” 

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed. 

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

  ~ three months later ~

 “That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.  

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

~

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

~

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

~

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

~

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

~

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?  

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

 ~

~

 Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home. 

.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

TO BE CONTINUED

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[ryukoishida]

QianQiu/Thousand Autumns Fic: In which gang leader!YWS and school teacher!SQ falls in love.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 1/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: A syndicate!AU that literally nobody asks for. It’s also been awhile since I last wrote a fic, so please excuse awkward/bad writing. Sobs. List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3] 

-

i. First Encounter

“Tie the pretty boy up nice and tight,” Sang Jingxing ordered his subordinates in a lazy drawl, his face half hidden in the shadow of the poorly lit room, but even the darkness couldn’t conceal the cruel smile crawling along the lips of the deputy leader of He Huan Group. As he stepped away from the wall and began walking towards his captive, his grin widening when he saw how much of a mess his men had made of the young man, his foot crushed the discarded glasses that’d been knocked off the man’s face during the brief but vicious fight.

There were no windows, just a lone, bare lightbulb swinging back and forth from the ceiling casting a meager glow of light in the underground chamber.

Glancing down at the half-conscious man bound at the wrists behind his back, Sang Jingxing grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his neck to crane back.

“We don’t want you running back to your daddy so soon again, do we?”  

The only response he received was a pained groan. A sound that sent trills of excitement down Sang Jingxing’s back.

It had taken four trained men to finally take Shen Qiao down. By the time the scuffle ended, Xiao Se had an impressive bruise on his right cheek, Yan Shou had bloodied scratches along one of his arms, Huo Xijing had been elbowed directly in the solar plexus and was still recovering on the ground, and Bai Rong was smart enough to retreat just after receiving a blow that barely missed her eyes.  

After a valiant attempt at escaping, Shen Qiao was no match for the sheer number of guards Sang Jingxing had assigned to keep him under surveillance in the end.

“At least not before we get what we want, isn’t that right, my dear?” Sang Jingxing turned towards the woman with an overly saccharine smile.

Yuan Xiuxiu rolled her eyes at her partner’s theatrics, but after working and managing He Huan Group together for so many years, she was used to his antics by now, so she merely ran a hand through her wavy hair and replied, “I don’t care what you do with the boy – torture him, fuck him – do whatever you want. Just don’t go overboard. We still need him alive if we were to negotiate with Qi Fengge.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Sang Jingxing said to Yuan Xiuxiu’s retreating back as the leader of He Huan Group slammed the cell door shut behind her without another word.

There were no windows, just a lone, bare lightbulb swinging back and forth from the ceiling casting a meager glow of light in the underground chamber.

“Ah… Shen Qiao. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it was to steal you away under Qing Fengge’s nose?” he’d released his grip on Shen Qiao’s hair, and his head lolled forward like a broken, ragged doll. Blood streaks on his face made his complexion more pallid, and the only sign that he was still breathing was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Sang Jingxing continued, circling his captured prey like a hawk. “I get that you’re his adopted son, but you aren’t even meant to be his successor, so why does he spent so much of his resources on protecting you?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but he wanted to have fun with the boy first before he dived straight into business. With a leering, animalistic gleam in his eye, Sang Jingxing reached out towards Shen Qiao’s bruised face, thumb roughly brushing against the man’s lower lip as he tried to force his finger past the seam of his lips.

Though Shen Qiao was in no shape to fight back, he was not a man who surrendered as long as a drop of strength still remained inside him. He twisted away from his captor’s hand and swiftly angled his head to bite Sang Jingxing’s finger with a snarl, hazel eyes bloodshot from what little adrenaline still lingered in his system during the fight.

Sang Jingxing hissed in pain, fury flashing across his eyes as he yanked his hand back, and Shen Qiao felt a sharp blow across his cheek just a short second later. Taste of iron flooded in his mouth.

“Playing hard-to-get is cute the first time around,” Sang Jingxing muttered while inspecting the teeth marks Shen Qiao had inflicted on him, before he put his hand on Shen Qiao once more, “but I don’t have that much patience, even for a beauty like you.”

He wrapped his fingers around Shen Qiao’s neck and started to squeeze with real intent to hurt.

“Yan Wushi, how did you—!” Yuan Xiuxiu’s muffled high-pitched exclaim transmitted through the thin walls of the basement and was interrupted by a distressed scream.

Before Sang Jingxing could react or shout for backup, he heard the men who were stationed outside the cell yelped in surprise and agony, and two successive bodily thuds later, the cell door was busted open.

Two men strode in with confident steps. The one leading had a cold, lethal look to his maroon eyes, the streak of star-silver locks a stark contrast to his otherwise dark, slicked back hair. In between his index and middle fingers was a small silver blade, still dripping with fresh blood of his latest victims; he wiped the blood off with a clean handkerchief that the younger man standing just half a step behind him handed him with the kind of easy elegance that one couldn’t simply mimic.

“Sang Jingxing, has He Huan Group lost so much money these days that you can’t even afford decent guards anymore?” the older man sneered.

“Leader Yan,” the utter of the respectful title was pleasant enough, but they’d been rivals long enough to know that there was no amiability in this exchange, “what’s the meaning of this?”

“I heard you got yourself a new plaything,” Yan Wushi said, glancing over at the barely conscious Shen Qiao with one of his eyebrows raised, “is that him?”

“What is it to you?” Sang Jingxing asked, narrowing his eyes. His flexed his fingers instinctively, his muscles taut and itching to reach for the revolver tucked inside his suit jacket. If anything, at least he was certain that the bullet would find its target faster than Yan Wushi could cause any real damage with his infamous silver blade. It had been awhile since they last confronted each other face to face like this, but Sang Jingxing could never forget the scars and humiliation of defeat from their last meeting.

“Oh, calm down,” Yan Wushi chuckled, the other man’s subtle signs to initiate the first attack all too obvious under his trained observation, “I’m not here to pick a fight, unless you’ve already forgotten what that was like the last time that happened.”

Sang Jingxing pressed his lips tight, silent anger threatening to boil over in the form of whipping out his revolver and pulling the trigger, but he didn’t dare — not when he knew he’d already lost. The fear of losing once again to this man – this monster – was simmering at the back of his mind, and he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to get away with just a long, ugly cut along his back this time.

“That’s what I thought,” the corner of Yan Wushi’s lips curved up slightly into a cold smile, “let’s not waste any time here. I’ll take what I want, and then we’ll each go our separate ways, hmm?”

“Yu Shengyan,” the leader of Huan Yue Group commanded his assistant with a nod towards the bloodied man still tied up in the chair a few steps away from them. Without further instructions, Yu Shengyan quickly ran over to Shen Qiao and started to cut the ropes loose. With practiced swipes of his switchblade, it took him only a short moment before he freed Shen Qiao.

At this point, Shen Qiao had already completely fainted, and when released from his restraints, he fell forward limply into Yu Shengyan’s arms.

“What do you want with Qi Fengge’s kid anyway?” Sang Jingxing asked. Though he’d given up on trying to keep Shen Qiao in his possession, curiosity still got the best of him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Yan Wushi only said with a laugh.

Carrying Shen Qiao on his back, Yu Shengyan followed his master out of the dank basement cell, thrilled that he got to witness Yan Wushi scaring the shit out of Sang Jingxing and his minions, but mostly confused about the purpose of this confrontation. He didn’t know what to expect when Yan Wushi had suddenly ordered him to come to He Huan Group’s headquarters. To be honest, the young assistant had been half-expecting the gang leader to start a bloodshed for one reason or another — after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time Yan Wushi went off the rails due to the most miniscule of reasons — but he’d never thought they’d be rescuing a stranger.

They were rescuing him, right? Yu Shengyan was hesitant as he carefully placed the unconscious man into the back of the car before slipping into the driver’s seat. Glancing over at his master out of the corner of his eye, the young man almost felt sorry for Shen Qiao, for he recognized that particular look on Yan Wushi’s face.

It probably would not bode well for the man still unaware of what he’d gotten himself into by getting accidentally entangled into Yan Wushi’s life.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Demon Alya fic snippit

Feel free to do what you want with this. (If you want to put it on your blog or AO3 or something as a related work, I don’t mind).

—- 

This, Juleka thought as she strained at the ropes which bound her tightly inside the bloody pentagram, is really not my day.

“The hour grows nigh!” shouted the loudest (and smelliest) of the five hooded dorks who were standing around the pentagram, one per point, and intermittently chanting while waving cloying incense around. “Soon a powerful demon shall accept our sacrifice and manifest before us, and in exchange for our undying loyalty and our immortal souls, shall grant us vast power over this world!” He spread his hands. “Rejoice, my coven! Rejoice!”

“Rejoice!” repeated the four idiots, as Juleka termed them, to the lead idiot. “Rejoice!”

Juleka thrashed a little but still couldn’t get out, and she growled to herself. If she somehow got out of this, she told herself, she would learn for her mistakes. For instance, the next time Rose had to cancel their date because something came up, Juleka would not browse around online until she found a meet up for people who ‘believed in the occult’ and ‘wanted to explore the horrors lurking beneath the world’s surface with an open mind,’ and even if she found such a group she certainly wouldn’t go to check it out without telling anyone where she was heading. Or at the very least, if she did go, she’d get better at dodging so that if a bunch of creepy robed guys jumped up from their Dungeons and Dragons spellbooks and  tried to seize her again she’d be able to get away.

But that presupposed she’d be able to escape in the first place, and unfortunately, it seemed like the one things these guys were good at was tying people up. She wondered briefly if she could try to get mad enough that Hawkmoth would akumatize her and give her the power to escape (and throw these idiots into the Seine), but she knew that if Hawkmoth was paying attention he’d likely have already sensed her anger and done that. And besides, even if she did get akumatized, wouldn’t the Miraculous Cure put her right back down here when Ladybug finished beating her up and de-akumatizing her?

“We have already laid the incense and slain the goat!” the first guy went on. “And painted the pentagram in the goat’s blood!” Juleka gagged. “Now-”

“Are you sure your Mom is cool with us killing a goat in her backyard?” another of the robed guys suddenly asked. “I mean, it kind of made a mess.”

The leader shook his head. “When we get our demonic powers, we won’t need to worry about messes or moms. We’ll be able to do whatever we want. We could–we could stay out after curfew! Order two desserts at dinner! Make girls hang out with us!”

Juleka wondered if it was possibly to die of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

“Now, the hour is nigh at last!” the shouty guy yelled. “And as for our sacrificial victim: know that your death is not in vain, for with your blood we shall obtain the power to change the world!” He grabbed a knife from within his robes and Juleka’s eyes widened; despite everything she realized that on some level she hadn’t thought these losers would actually do it. “Have you any last words before your soul is sent to the realm of the demons?”

Juleka debated a dozen different responses, but none seemed right–she wasn’t going to beg and plead with these morons, or even threaten them; there was no point and she wouldn’t satisfy them by looking angry or terrified. So she settled on, “You’re holding that knife wrong.”

“What?” The robed guy seemed to have been knocked out of his spiel. “I–no I’m not! The pointy end–”

“If you’re going to sacrifice someone, you grip it differently,” said Juleka in an annoyed tone. “You’re holding it backwards, like you’re going to stab up at someone. For a sacrifice you aim the knife down at the sacrificial altar. And you use a different knife in the first place, one specifically for rituals.”

The other robed guys stared at the leader as he fumbled with his blade. “This is a ritual blade!” he insisted.

“Ritual blades are made of special materials and don’t have serrated edges like that,” Juleka said. “That's… dude, I think that’s a steak knife.”

Everyone froze. “It is not!” the lead guy yelled at last. “It is magic! Look, this sigil on the hilt we could not decipher–”

“That’s the logo of the cutlery store down the street,” Juleka noted. 

All of the other robed guys looked at each other. “How do you know so much about knives?” one asked Juleka.

Because my Mom has one and every so often she insists on telling me about how she dated a coven leader one time and has her ritual dagger to prove it, Juleka thought. It’s the story that comes after the 'I dated a pirate and here’s the scimitar to prove it’ one and before the 'I dated a magician who I think might have had actual fey lineage and here’s some other sword to prove it’ one. 

Juleka loved her mother dearly, but she had to admit that Anarka was… not entirely moored in reality at times. 

“No! She knows nothing!” the leader raved before Juleka could answer. “And besides, I know the knife is real! I bought it on EBay from a genuine wizard; it said so right in his seller profile!” The leader took a breath. “I mean, come on, do you really think I would have spent eight hundred francs on a ritual dagger that was forged in the fires of Hell itself if there was any chance it was just a steak knife?”

“Based on what I know of you,” said Juleka, “I think you’d spent your life savings on a rock if a guy with a mysterious accent told you it could give you magic powers, but would only work once he took all your money and left town so you couldn’t get a refund.”

“She’s got you there, dude,” said another of the robed guys.

The leader roared something inarticulate. Then he slashed down and cut Juleka’s cheek, just enough to draw a trickle of blood that spilled down and touched the pentagram. And then, to Juleka’s amazement, the circle actually began to glow and hiss. “We’re doing it!” gasped the leader. “See? I was right! This works!”

Juleka felt herself growing warm as the pentagram heated up. The blood suddenly ignited and Juleka cringed away from it, but the only place to hide was the pentagon in its center, and the smoke from the burning goat blood was all drifting there despite the absence of a breeze in the dingy basement. She was forced to roll into the pentagon and hide against one of its edges as the smoke coalesced. “Demon, we summon you!” the leader was yelling. “We bid you speak your name! Have we summoned the mighty Asmodeus? The brilliant Mephistopheles? The great Balphagor? The–”

A crack of thunder sounded and the smoked cleared, revealing the shape of a girl a little shorter than Juleka. The figure had horns, red skin, small wings sticking out of her back, and a tail with a spade on the end, but otherwise looked like a regular girl. In fact, she looked like a very familiar girl to Juleka. She had red hair, a beauty mark on her face, glasses, a red-and-white checkered shirt–

Wait.

“Um, Alya?” Juleka managed. “What’s going on?”

The redhead didn’t seem to notice her as she spread her arms and beamed at the robed guys. “You have summoned the demon Alya Cesaire!” she said. “Are you prepared to trade your immortal souls in exchange for great power?”

“Oh yes!” said the robed leader. “And we even prepared a sacrifice for you, oh mighty demon!” He pointed. “You can rip out her heart whenever you want!”

Alya glanced down, then froze. “Juleka?” she said. “Is that you? What are you doing?”

“Being sacrificed by these idiots, apparently.” Juleka briefly wondered if she was going crazy, but this didn’t seem like the kind of thing she’d hallucinate. Somehow, someway, Alya Cesaire had teleported in and at least appeared to be a demon. Maybe this was some weird akuma, or a new miraculous user with a demon theme for some reason (although Juleka personally felt that if anyone got a 'demon’ miraculous it would be LIla Rossi), but whatever was going on, it was really happening. So she’d just have to find some way to deal with it. “Alya, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

“They summoned me–” Then Alya caught herself. “Wait, no no no, you’re not supposed to know about me! Oh no, Nora is going to slaughter me…”

Everyone stared at Alya as she took a few breaths, suddenly looking less like a demonic tempter and more like an unhappy teenager who was about to get grounded. “How do you know these guys?” Alya asked Juleka at last.

“I don’t! They said they were looking at occult stuff, so I came by and they jumped me when I showed up!” Juleka insisted. “I don’t know them!”

Alya stared at her, and Juleka saw a truly frightening look of anger cross the girl’s face for a brief moment before Alya turned back to the cultists. “Did you seriously just try to sacrifice a random stranger to me?“ 

"…yes?” said the leader. “I mean, we’re not going to sacrifice someone we like–”

“It’s not a sacrifice unless you sacrifice someone you like!” said Alya, sounding both angry and exasperated. “The whole point of this is you’re promising to forswear any earthly attachments in order to devote yourself to demonic causes, you idiot! You can’t just kill some random stranger to do that! If it’s not someone close to you, someone where it’d mean something for you to betray them and give them up, there’s no point!”

“So,” said Juleka, “what you’re saying is, if Luka was going to sacrifice me for some reason, you’d be cool with it.”

Alya looked down at her with a hurt expression. “I mean, not you specifically, but…” She caught herself and quickly coughed before turning back to the cultists.  “I can’t accept this sacrifice,” the demon said more loudly. “I–”

“You have to!” crowed the lead cultist. “We summoned you. It’s a bargain, and you can’t leave until you take the sacrifice and give us the powers we want! And if you don’t do what we want we’ll cast spells on you to hurt you!”

“That isn’t how that works!” Alya rolled her eyes. “The only power you have is the power I give you! You can’t use it against me or I’ll just take it back! Devil below, did you put even five minutes of thought into this?" 

"You have to!” repeated the leader. “Or you can’t leave. Look, we don’t care if you take the girl, but give us our powers already!”

The demon and the cultist leader stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Alya said, “And what powers do you want, exactly?”

“All of them!” said one of the other cultists.

“Yeah, you’re going to need more than one sacrifice for that,” Alya snarked. 

“Then we’ll start with just one.” The cultist leader grinned. “I know. The one we discussed earlier. Make girls like us!”

The other cultists nodded. “Yeah, I need a girlfriend,” said one. “Someone who doesn’t care about dumb illogical stuff like 'showering,’ and who doesn’t mind me playing games with my friends all night.”

“Why just one?” The lead cultist rubbed his hands together. “You, demon. Make us irresistible to girls in general. We’re smart; we deserves harems!” He chuckled. “Oh, and we can have them wrestle to see who gets to spend each night with us!”

Alya exchanged astonished and exasperated glances with Juleka. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “You–”

“I read there was this Chinese emperor who had a harem of a thousand girls,” said another cultist. “So many that when he wanted to go on a date he had a donkey take his carriage around the harem quarters and just dated whichever women was closest when the donkey stopped, so the women put out salt and carrots and stuff to make his donkey stop by them. Give us the power to have that many girls!”

Alya shut her eyes for a long moment. “I might be able to do something,” she said at last. Her tone was a bit off and Juleka noted that this was how Alya sounded when she was lying, but the cultists didn’t seem to realize that. Alya went on to say, “But not with me in here and you out there. Step into the pentagram and I can give you power.”

The leader grinned. One of his subordinates said, “Hey, aren’t we supposed to stay outside that thing?”

“It’s fine. The demon knows who’s boss,” said the leader as he entered. (Juleka managed to roll over so she had a good view of the guy; she figured Alya was about to wreck him and wanted to see it when that happened.) “And maybe she’s charmed by me. After all, I did summon her, and it’s not like I’m a bad catch. I speak fluent Klingon and–”

Alya surged forwards as soon as the guy got into the pentagram, then rammed her hand into the guy’s chest. Juleka gasped but no blood leaked out, and then Juleka realized that Alya had somehow phased her hand into his body without harming his physical self. The guy cried out, and then Alya withdrew her hand holding a greenish-brown ball of light about the size of a billiard ball. “I do need to take a soul before I can leave here,” she said. “Fortunately, yours qualifies." 

"That’s my soul?!” gasped the lead cultist. “Hey, give that back! I–”

“Nope. Mine.” Alya grinned, and Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw that the girl had fangs in this form. She then looked at the captured soul thoughtfully and said, “Of course, one soul is fine, but five are better.”

“Five?” said one of the other cultists while the leader just gaped dumbly at his missing soul. “Well, we’re not going in there, so–”

Alya chuckled. “No problem.” She tapped the captured soul and it seemed to glow a little more brightly. “Break this pentagram,” she ordered–and the leader stiffened before mechanically walking over to the pentagram and scuffing out a section of the bloody lines with his foot.

The cultists yelled and began to run. Alya glanced down at Juleka and said, “Be right back,” before blasting after them. Juleka could only watch as Alya’s wings flared and she leapt, hands curled into claws, on top of the slowest fleeing cultist and ripped out his soul too. Then she threw some kind of fireball–Hellfire?–at the stairs, blasting them out and cutting off the cultists’ escapes from the basements, before she jumped at another. 

The battle was over in less than a minute, at which point Alya–now casually juggling five ball-like souls in one hand–ordered the cultists to 'sit down and shut up’ before hurrying back to Juleka and slashing the ropes with her talon-like fingers. “Are you okay?” Alya asked quickly. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not too bad.” Juleka managed. She stood and stretched before backing up a step and looking at her demonic friend. “So. Um…”

Alya hesitated, and then her head dropped. “Yeah,” she said in a voice that actually sounded sad. “I know. You know about me and now you’re scared and you think I’m awful and–”

“Hold on,” said Juleka quickly. “I’m not afraid of…” The word 'monsters’ seemed rude, so Juleka looked for a better one. “…unusual people,” she said at last. And it was true. She didn’t know exactly what Alya’s deal was, but now that her life wasn’t at stake, she wasn’t feeling nearly as scared anymore. Not scared enough to lose faith in a friend, even one with a demonic appearance, anyways. “I mean, you did save me from these guys–thanks for that–and we’re friends, so–”

“We’re still friends?” Alya asked quickly. “Really?”

“Of course, and–agh!” Juleka flinched as Alya rushed to hug her. The girl smelled like sulfur and brimstone, which Juleka decided really shouldn’t have been that surprising. Despite herself, Juleka felt a small smile coming to her mouth as she hugged Alya back. “Yes. We’re still friends. ”

Alya grinned. “You’re the best, Juleka.”

Juleka nodded, then saw something. “Um, Alya?”

“Yes?”

“I think you just dropped one of your souls.” She pointed at the ball of light–this one a brownish-black–which had just fallen out of Alya’s hands and was rolling away towards what looked like a small hole in the floor. “So-”

“Agh!” Alya immediately sprang for the soul. Juleka wasn’t sure what Alya planned to do with it in the end, but she hoped it was something mean. The guy had tried to murder her, after all. “Bad soul! No running away! I need you to make my quota!" 

Juleka couldn’t help but giggle as Alya gave chase. This might not have started out as her day… but her life had been saved, she’d discovered an amazing secret about her friend, and things were starting to look up.

Chapter 2

Juleka had taken a few minutes to rest on the (gross) couch and munch a pudding pop from the cultists’ fridge while Alya fixed the summoning pentagram. "Just need to drop them off,” she had said cheerily. “Be back in a minute.” And then she’d vanished in a puff of smoke and brimstone along with the souls.

“So,” Juleka had said after a little bit. “Are you guys, uh, okay?”

The cultists gave her blank looks that were… well, 'soulless’ was probably how Juleka would describe it. 

“Meh.” Juleka finished her pudding, then looked in the fridge again and grabbed a soda. “You guys deserve it.”

Alya reappeared with a flourish and another blast of sulfur. “Alright!” she chirped to the guys. “Your souls are now safely stored in my demesne Down Below. I'l be in touch with your orders.” She turned to Juleka and seemed to hesitate for a moment before catching herself. “Want to get out of here?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Juleka rose. At the same time, Alya shimmered and then her body took on the form Juleka was familiar with–no horns, no wings, no tail, and skin that was brown and definitely not red. “Let’s go.”

As they left the house, Juleka glanced back at Alya. Her mind was bursting with questions and she barely knew where to start. “So, uh–”

“You weren’t just saying that before, right?” Alya asked suddenly. “About still being friends with me despite, you know…?”

“Of course I wasn’t just saying it.” Juleka paused. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be friends with someone that went around hurting innocent people, but the only people I saw you hurt were the guys that tried to kill me. And I know you. I can’t imagine you ever hurting an innocent. As long as you’re only going after really bad people like those guys, I don’t care.”

Alya let out a breath. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and Juleka thought she sounded sincere. “That's… that means a lot.” She managed a smile. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“More than a few.” Juleka considered, then went for one of the simplest ones. “So when you get someone’s soul, you just order them around? Can you control them directly?”

“Not exactly. It’s not like how Max can program Markov to run certain programs or take specific actions. But when I get someone’s soul I can influence their personality: make them more aggressive, or lazy, or hedonistic, or whatever. We do that to push humans on the paths we want for them. One of the things we can influence is loyalty, so I made those guys loyal to me. There’s limits–I won’t be able to get him to rob a bank or jump off a cliff, because his loyalty won’t be able to override his self-preservation or sanity or whatever–but within reason, now they’ll obey what I say.”

“Hmm.” Juleka paused. “And… just to be clear, you’re an actual demon. Like, this isn’t a really weird akuma or something.”

Alya giggled. “No akuma. No miraculous. Just 100% grade-A demon here. If you have a copy of Dante’s Inferno I can show you the exact circle I was born in.”

“Not necessary,” said Juleka, and the two girls exchanged grins. Then Juleka asked her next question. “So if you’re a demon have you… I don’t know… met the Devil?”

Alya laughed louder. “You’re French; that doesn’t mean you hang out with the Prime Minister,” she said. “I saw the big boss a couple times, including when I got assigned to Paris, but no more than that. Of course, if I do a good job here I could get a promotion.”

“Why are you in Paris specifically?”

“Well…” Alya paused. “Honestly, I got assigned here because I’m junior and the more senior demons filled up the other postings. Not a lot of demons want Paris these days. You can probably guess why.”

Juleka could. “The miraculouses?”

“Right. Historically, some miraculous users were known to go full paladin and strike down tons of demons. So all the demons want jobs in London, or Shanghai, or Abuja, or America–places without miraculous users. I got sent here because they needed someone and I was what was left.” Alya frowned. “But I’m going to do a good job. I’ll impress my superiors and show them all.”

“What exactly is your job?” Juleka thought back. “You mentioned a quota.”

“I just have to bring in so many souls a month,” said Alya. “That’s basically it.”

Juleka nodded. “And I’m guessing you can’t just run around yanking them out of people’s chests whenever you want.”

“Right. I can only 'yank’ the souls of people who make a souls-for-power deal with me, or who are like those cultists and do something evil enough that I can take their soul right away instead of having to wait for them to die–that’s in Dante’s Inferno too, actually, the story about Fra Alberigo–or in a few other circumstances.” Alya waved a hand. “There’s a bunch of rules. So my job is to get people to make a deal or otherwise break one of those rules so I can get their soul.” She smiled. “It’s fun work. Challenging too, since everyone’s different and needs a different strategy to tempt them.”

“What kinds of people do you usually focus on?”

“Well…” Alya’s eyes twinkled. “You know how the news is always wondering why Hawkmoth only akumatizes random people and doesn’t go after professional criminals, people who are already really evil and would work with him willingly?”

Juleka hesitated. “He worked with a criminal one time, when we were in New York.”

“Okay, but just looking at Paris. It’s like he can’t pick criminals. Why do you think that is?”

Juleka got it. “You get to the criminals first. When someone does something so evil it shows they’d probably be willing to work with Hawkmoth, you get their soul and then make them loyal to you and order them not to accept his akumas.”

Alya beamed. “Yep. I get the souls, and Hawkmoth loses a fighter–which means Ladybug is less active and there’s less chance of her discovering me. Win-win.” She paused. “There’s a rumor that a demon was assigned to tempt Hawkmoth and Mayura full-time; get their souls and make them use their miraculousness for Hell instead of whatever their real goals are. But if that’s true, I don’t know who the demon is.”

“Huh. Well, on behalf of Paris–thanks for screwing over Hawkmoth. We appreciate it.”

Alya grinned.

They stopped at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for snacks–Alya bought several pastries, murmuring to Juleka that as a demon she didn’t technically need to eat but she loved the taste of the Dupain-Cheng’s food, while Juleka got some lemon bread and a few Japanese sweets called mochi which she knew Luka liked–and then headed for Alya’s house. Juleka was a little nervous about going into a demon’s lair, but she figured that if there was a giant portal to Hell in the living room or something, Marinette would have noticed during one of her sleepovers at her best friend’s house and mentioned it. “Do you have any cool powers besides the soul thing?” she asked.

“I might,” said Alya in a teasing voice. “Let’s get to my room and I’ll show you.”

Alya let them in and then hurried Juleka into her room. “Is the rest of your family, uh, like you?” Juleka asked as Alya pushed her inside.

“Just Nora. Marelan and Otis couldn’t have kids, and so they made a deal with one of my bosses. In exchange for being able to have Etta and Ella, they’d agree to provide covers for two demons who would be based in Paris. The demon said yes, Marlena and Otis had the twins, and a few years later it was time to make good on their promise, so they took in Nora and I.” Alya shrugged. “It works pretty well. They know they aren’t allowed to interfere in our soul-collecting, but other than that they look after us okay.”

“Is Nora your real sister, or is that part of your cover?” Juleka looked around Alya’s room as Alya shut the door behind them. It certainly didn’t look like the room of a powerful demon who could literally rip out the souls of sinners. But of course Alya didn’t look like such a demon either, at least in her human guise. Looks could be deceiving.

“No, she’s my real sister. And she’s kind of protective of me, which is why it’s probably better if she doesn’t know you know about me.” Alya stretched, then snapped her fingers and dispelled her human glamour. “Ah. Much better.” She stretched again, and Juleka watched in amazement as her wings and tail flared. “Those get so cramped under the glamour.”

Juleka moved a little closer. “Do you mind if I, uh, take a closer look?” Alya gave her a curious look and Juleka blushed. “Sorry, but I find this stuff really cool and–”

“Go right ahead!” Alya beamed and Juleka wondered if she was just happy to have a human friend who thought her true appearance was neat and not scary. Juleka leaned in and marveled at her wings and her waggling tail. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got a pretty awesome body,” said Juleka before she realized how that sounded. Alya burst into laughter, Juleka couldn’t help giggling too. “I meant the wings and stuff! Seriously, I’d love to have wings. Flying sounds awesome.”

Alya hesitated, and Juleka blinked. “What, can’t demons fly?”

“We can, but…” Alya blushed, her already-red skin darkening. “It’s kind of embarrassing…”

Juleka got it. “Demons in general can fly, but you specifically can’t.”

“I’ll be able to!” Alya insisted. “My wings just aren’t done growing yet!” Juleka grinned. “I’m serious!” Alya went on.

“Of course you are,” said Juleka neutrally. Alya didn’t seem too put out by the teasing, and Juleka guessed that maybe she was just relieved Juleka was still willing to joke with her instead of freaking out and worrying that Alya would damn her over some tiny slight. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fly. Someday. Far in the future.”

“If you keep teasing me I won’t show you any of my cool demon powers,” Alya sniffed. “And some are really awesome.”

Juleka sat down on the bed. “I’ll be good,” she said, though she was unable to hide her smile. “I saw you throw a fireball at one of those guys–”

“Yeah, I can summon Hellfire!” Alya snapped her fingers and a bright ball of flame, about the size of one of the souls she’d taken from the cultists, appeared in her talon-like hands. (And now that Juleka looked closer, she saw that Alya’s feet were cloven). “This stuff is great. Burns hotter than human flame, and it’s perfect for barbecues. Seriously, meat grilled over this stuff is awesome.”

“Can you possess people?” Juleka asked. “Like in the movies?”

“Some demons can but I’m not good at it.” Alya summoned more balls of fire and began to idly toss them around. “I’m okay at Whispers, though.”

Juleka blinked. “Whispers?" 

"Have you ever been talking to a friend or family member and then heard a little voice in the back of your head saying something like, 'they don’t really mean it when they say they like you, they’re just pitying you, and as soon as they can find someone better they’ll abandon you?’ Things like that?”

“Uh…” Juleka couldn’t deny it. That had been worse before Marinette had fixed her photo curse problem, but she did sometimes have to fight off the fear that Rose and the others were only hanging out with her to show her charity. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Sometimes–not always, but sometimes–that’s a demon. Here’s how mine sounds.” Alya focused on Juleka, and her eyes grew a little redder. And then–

Juleka heard a voice in the back of her head. “Juleka,” it hissed in that familiar tone of cynical wisdom, the voice of a grizzled elder cutting through nonsense and delivering the hardest of truths. “You are a bad person. You must redeem yourself by buying more cookies at the Dupain-Cheng bakery for Alya–”

The goth snickered at that and threw a pillow at Alya, who cheerily ducked and impaled it on her left horn. Then Juleka mimed holding her hands straight out as if she were a zombie and meandered in the direction of the door like she was really about to do it. Alya burst into laughter as she removed the pillow from her horn. “Hey, stop, I wasn’t serious! And I’ve already got cookies. I go to her bakery every day.”

Before Juleka could respond, the door slammed open. “I heard noises, sis,” said Nora as she strode in. “What’s going–”

Her eyes flicked to Alya, still in her demon form, and then Juleka. Her face twisted into rage. “Human!” she hissed as she surged forwards, and by the time she’d grabbed Juleka by her collar and slammed her against a wall her body had shifted into a greenish lizard-like thing with four arms, bright yellow eyes, and a forked tongue. Her new form reminded Juleka of a yuan-ti from that Dungeons and Dragons game the cultists had been playing when she’d walked in on them. “Alya, what are you doing?!” Nora demanded. “We can’t show ourselves to humans! What if she calls a paladin or an angel!”

Juleka choked and struggled to escape, but Nora’s demon form was apparently even stronger than her human one and she couldn’t move. Then Alya was rushing towards them. “No, it’s cool! Some idiot cultists summoned me and tried to kill her, but I dealt with them. And hey–I got five souls, I’m ahead of quota–”

“Don’t change the subject!” Nora yelled. “And don’t take her word for things either! Do you really believe she just happened to be there when the cultists summoned you? What if she’s a paladin trying to get in close so she can banish you?”

Nora, Juleka recalled, was sometimes overprotective of her sister. This was apparently one of those times. “I’m not a paladin,” she managed in a deadpan voice. “Seriously.”

“So you say now, but I’ll make you tell the real truth.” Nora’s grip tightened and Juleka winced. Alya opened her mouth to object, but Nora cut her off. “Sis, you know I’m looking out for you. We can’t have humans knowing who we are. So let’s just lock her in the basement until I get the truth out of her and she also agrees to give up her soul in exchange for letting her out. Then you make her super loyal to you so she never talks. Or we just go the other way and have Marlena and Otis move across town and change our identities so she can’t sell us out.”

Juleka thrashed more. “I’m not going to tell anyone!” she insisted instead. “Alya’s a friend, I wouldn’t sell her out!”

Nora gave Juleka an astonished stare and Alya smiled a little. “She means it, sis.”

“We can’t trust that. And even if she’s serious now, these are long-term covers. What happens if in five years you guys have a falling out?” Nora shook her head. “It’s not safe. There’re rules against this for a reason.”

“Those rules have exceptions,” Alya pointed out.

“Yeah–for humans that form cults to worship us and make us stronger. Is she planning on being the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire or something?”

Alya hesitated. “Uh… yes,” she said. “That’s what she wants to be.”

Juleka swiveled her head to stare at Alya in surprise, but then Nora shoved her into the wall again and Juleka got it–if they could bluff Nora into believing this, the chances of Nora trying to rip out her soul or something would go way down. “Totally,” Juleka lied. “That’s why I was with the cult. I was like, 'I want to find a demonic overlord to pledge my loyalty to,’ and they seemed onboard with that, but then they tied me up and tried to use me to summon Alya. Once she saved me, of course, she earned my undying love and devotion.”

Despite the situation, Juleka saw Alya visibly stifling giggles as she turned away. But Nora was less familiar with Juleka and couldn’t pick up on her sarcasm. “Really,” she said. “That’s your story.”

“Uh huh. I even practiced chanting for hours.”

Juleka wondered if that last line was too much, but Nora gave her a long look before dropping her and stalking over to her sister. “Don’t go anywhere,” she said. “I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. I could follow you across the English Channel.” Then she grabbed Alya and dragged her out of the room.

Juleka took advantage of Nora’s absence to take a breath and then try to think through her story in more detail. She didn’t know anything about being the high priestess of a demon cult, but she imagined it couldn’t be too hard–some chanting here, some praising the demon there, maybe lighting candles or setting off fireworks on whatever the demonic equivalent of Christmas was. (Although, she somehow doubted Alya actually wanted those things.) And besides, this was just a blufff for Nora. She wouldn’t have to actually go through with it–

The door banged open again as Nora came back in with Alya behind her. “So,” Nora said. “Juleka, right? Why do you want to lead my sister’s cult? What’s in it for you?”

“Uh–”

“Magic?” Nora snapped her fingers and summoned some Hellfire of her own, though her fireball was much larger, about the size of a basketball. “I mean, that’s possible, but I think it’s best we’re all on the same page. Wouldn’t be good if you wanted something she couldn’t give you.”

Juleka opened her mouth, then hesitated. Magic was awesome and she’d love to have the chance to cast spells, but she wasn’t sure if she should say that. Nora still seemed volatile and Juleka figured there were probably 'wrong’ answers to this question which would be very bad for her.

“Or other kinds of power?” Nora went on. “Gold smelted in the fires of Hell? Demons have plenty of that. Or political power? Maybe a boost to your blog? Are you here because you want Alya to get Nadja Chamack’s soul and then induce her to promote you all over Paris?”

Juleka glanced at Alya for just a moment and noticed how nervous the other demon seemed. But then Nora went on. “Or do you want Alya to smite your enemies? Like Hawkmoth, or that Marinette girl who brought you on as a model and then made you so nervous you got re-akumatized into Reflektdoll?” Nora clenched a fist. “Well?”

“Um.” Juleka paused, having no idea what to say. If she got it wrong she was in real trouble, and…

And so why not just tell the truth?

Juleka gulped. “I, uh… I mean, all that stuff sounds cool but it’s not why I’m here. And honestly, I didn’t go to the cult hoping to meet a demon either. I found out about Alya’s whole, uh, demon thing by accident. But she’s a friend, a really good one, and I’m not going to abandon her. And so if being her 'high priestess’ is the only way I can keep my soul and stay her friend without you, I don’t know, changing covers so I never see her again or wiping my mind or something, that’s what I want to do." 

Nora stared at Juleka with a stunned look, and then her tongue darted out. "I don’t taste any deceit,” she murmured. “I…”

“See?” said Alya, looking relieved. “I told you she’s legit. You can relax.”

The bigger demon struggled for a moment before growling and saying, “Fine. Bind her properly, sis. Don’t screw it up. I’ll check on you later–I’ve almost got Roundhouse Ron’s soul, and if I can get him to throw the match tonight it’ll be as good as mine. But when I’m done I’ll be back.” She stalked out.

Alya ran to Juleka’s side and hugged her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know Nora can be rough–”

“It’s okay. Not your fault.” Juleka returned the hug. “So. Apparently I’m your new high priestess.”

Alya’s skin somehow grew even redder as she blushed again. “We don’t, uh, have to go through with that if you don’t want. I’ll make up some story for Nora.”

But then Alya might get in trouble, Juleka thought. And she’d might never see her friend again if Alya were forced to change covers. “What would it entail?” Juleka asked.

Alya blinked. “Uh… well, there’s a magic spell I’d cast and we’d exchange blood. You’d become bound to me. I’d be able to lend you magic power, and when you 'worshipped’ me I’d get stronger. You’d be responsible for worshipping me on a regular basis, eventually bringing other people into the cult, and helping me to enact my will–that is, capture souls.”

“Any risks?” Juleka asked. “Would I lose my soul?”

“No. I mean, technically I’d be supposed to constantly tempt you into giving it up–that’s the usual reason most demons do things like this, most other demons don’t like humans and only loan them a little power to ensnare people who are too clever to just lose their souls the usual ways–but I wouldn’t do that. Um, if you ran into a paladin or angel they might notice that I’d marked you and want to smite you. It’s not likely unless you’re actively using demonic magic, but it’s a risk, so I get if you don’t want to do it. Like I said, I’ll lie to Nora–”

“I’ll do it,” said Juleka at once.

Alya stared. “Really?”

“Sure. It doesn’t sound too bad, as long as I get to keep my soul. And… and you’re a friend. I don’t want Nora to take you away. And this is sort of my fault anyways for getting captured by those morons. If this is the way to stop you leaving, let’s do it.”

Alya was still for a moment before a genuine grin burst onto her face. “Alright,” she said. “Here we go.”

She got a ritual knife–a real one this time–from her desk and then had Juleka sit cross-legged across from her on her bed while she summoned a ball of Hellfire between them. She murmured several words in what sounded like Latin, then motioned for Juleka to put her hand in the fire. Juleka cautiously did so, but whatever spell Alya had muttered prevented it from burning her. Alya used her knife to cut into her palm, forming a trickle of sizzling blood, before doing the same to Juleka’s hand and then clasping it in the flames.

Juleka gasped. Suddenly she felt as if power were surging into her, power that clutched at her mind and screamed at her to use it to do whatever she wanted, smashing up her enemies and building palaces of molten gold for herself and–

She caught the thoughts and forcibly pushed them away. Then Alya dropped her hand and when Juleka looked at her palm there was a strange sigil instead of a scar. “There!” said Alya. “You’re my high priestess now. It’s official.” She beamed. “I can’t wait to tell Asmodeus. He told me when I started taking soul-catching lessons that I’d never be good enough to start a cult. And here I am, one of the first in my class!”

“Great,” managed Juleka as she uneasily got up. Power was still surging through her and she felt heady. “Woah. That’s a rush. Um, do I need to worry about accidentally setting off fireballs or anything?”

“I haven’t given you any magic yet, just the potential to cast it once I do,” said Alya. “So no.”

“Okay.” Juleka took a breath. “And this worship thing. What does that involve?”

Alya hesitated. “You know, worship,” she said at last. “Spending time being devoted to me. Making me happy. I’ll do the same for you of course–we’re friends–but when you do it to me, I’ll grow stronger and then be able to give you more magic.”

“But specifically,” Juleka pushed. “How do I be 'devoted to you?’ That’s pretty broad.”

 "I don’t know,“ Alya admitted. "I’ve never, uh, actually had a cult before. I didn’t think I’d be strong enough to make one.” She glanced away. “Just… whatever’s traditional, I guess.”

“Ah.” Juleka tilted her head, then smiled wryly. “Well, based on Hollywood movies–which I’m going to assume are totally accurate–I think the tradition here is for me to take you into a drafty catacomb, light some smelly incense, chant in Latin neither of us understand, and talk a lot about how someday the rivers will run red with the blood of your enemies.”

Alya blanched. “Please don’t.”

Juleka’s smile grew. “I could also dress up in stupid clothes and wander around yelling prophecies that the dread lord Alya will slay all who do not bow before her. I could form a 'Satanist’ metal band and yell that everyone who didn’t buy my merchandise with your face on it would burn. I could–”

Alya burst into laughter and threw a pillow at her. “As your new demon queen I hereby order you to not do anything so ridiculous I’d get laughed out of Hell.”

“Or,” said Juleka, still beaming, “Seeing as how you told Nora you’re caught up on your soul quota and don’t have anything to do for awhile, I could rent us a couple movies about exorcists and demons. Then we could watch them together, eat popcorn, do each other’s hair, and laugh about everything the films get wrong. Would that count as being 'devoted to you’ and 'making you happy?’”

“I…” Alya smiled. “I think it would. And seeing as how literally no other cultist I’ve ever heard of would have come up with that–seriously, most of those guys love Latin chants, except they don’t know Latin so they just recite random phrases and usually wind up chanting that their togas got caught in their chariots or something–I think it’s safe to say you are officially a much better high priestess than all those other guys.”

She gave Juleka a hug, which the goth returned. And then she flopped down on her bed while Juleka got the movie set up. And as Juleka did so, she saw a contented look on Alya’s face and grinned.

It was nice to be someone’s friend. Especially a very unusual someone, such as a certain Alya Cesaire.

Chapter 3

Life as the high priestess of the Cult of Alya Cesaire, thought Juleka, was pretty similar to her life before taking on that role. She still went to school, did her homework, played music with Kitty Section, dated Rose, and helped Marinette’s various doomed attempts to win the heart of one Adrien Agreste. But now she was hanging out more with Alya too, and those hang-outs could be… interesting.

This was the case when, a few weeks after becoming high priestess, Juleka noticed that Alya was looking sluggish in school. She caught up with the girl at recess and asked, “What’s wrong? Can you, uh, get sick?”

“Not with human diseases, but there’s some demon ones that are a real bitch.” Alya wrinkled her nose, then sneezed into a tissue with an annoyed grunt. “Ugh.”

“Why don’t you go home?” Juleka asked. “I mean, your 'parents’ are just supposed to be looking after you for your bosses, right? They can’t actually ground you?" 

"They actually can. To 'maintain the cover,’” Alya smiled ruefully. “Wouldn’t look very realistic if I was just going around doing anything I wanted and they ignored it. I mean, I know Chloe’s dad does, but that’s because he’s a total idiot–it still doesn’t look right. But that’s not why I’m staying here.” She gestured at her bookbag, which Juleka saw had a thick notebook sticking out of it. “Today’s the study review session in Mendeleiev’s class, remember? And the test is next week. I can’t miss that.”

Juleka raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” Alya sneezed again. “I mean, this is a long-term cover. I won’t be able to tempt people if I fail out of school and wind up living in an alley behind Marinette’s family’s bakery!”

Juleka gave Alya a long look.

“…and I like this stuff,” Alya admitted. “We don’t really have 'schools’ like this in Hell, just lessons on specific things like tempting people. It's… interesting being in this kind of place.” She gestured at the school around them. “I don’t want to screw it up.”

“Hmm.” Juleka tilted her head, then came to her decision. “Okay. As your high priestess, I’m making an executive decision and sending you home.”

Alya blinked. “I… I don’t think that’s how–”

“I’m supposed to look after you,” said Juleka. “So I’m ordering you to go home. I’ll take detailed notes at the study session and run them over to you once school’s out.”

Now Alya looked stunned. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course–ack!” Juleka winced as Alya wrapped her in a tight hug. She was confused for a moment–taking notes for others was pretty common, after all–before remembering that Alya was new up here. She wondered if maybe demons didn’t have 'friends’ in Hell, and that was why Alya kept being surprised and overwhelmed whenever Juleka behaved decently towards her. (And now that Juleka thought about it, she could recall Marinette having said similar things about how happy Alya seemed to get over the slightest kindnesses.) “No problem.”

“Thanks.” Alya broke the hug and began to run off. “I’ll be at home then. See you later!”

###

Juleka took copious notes, paying even more attention than she would have if she were only focusing on her own learning, and after school she headed out for Alya’s house. Before she got there, though, she was stopped by Rose. “Juleka!” chirped the short blonde, giving her girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Are you doing anything?I got tickets to the new fashion show down on the Champs Elysses and I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“Wish I could,” said Juleka, taking a moment to hug her girlfriend and lose herself in the girl’s sweet perfume and sweeter personality. “But I’ve got a thing with Alya; she’s sick and I’m bringing her notes to study for next week’s test. Maybe tomorrow?”

“She is?” Rose gasped. “That’s awful. But it’s really nice of you to go help her study. You’re amazing, Juleka.” She gave Juleka another hug. “Tomorrow is fine. See you then!”

Rose ran off and Juleka headed over to the Cesaire house to see her friend. When she knocked on the door, though, it was Nora who opened it. “You,” she grunted. “Right, Alya told me. Come in.”

Juleka let the older demon usher her inside and then tried to go to Alya’s room, but Nora blocked her. “Wait,” Nora said. “My little sis is sick. You’re her high priestess. So here.” She thrust an ancient-looking book into Juleka’s arms, and when Juleka opened it to see tiny, spidery writing, the book let out what sounded like a pained moan. “Use this.”

“…how?” Juleka asked.

Nora glared at her, then flipped the book to a certain chapter. “A spell for healing sick demons,” she said. “Now that you’re her high priestess, only you can cast it on her. So do it. Or else I’ll eat your soul.” She stuck out her tongue, and it briefly flashed back to being forked and scaly before Nora restored her own glamour. “Got it?”

Juleka glanced down at the ingredients for the spell and almost gagged. The first three were goat’s blood, the heart of a lamb whose wool was pure-white, and the frayed end of a hangman’s noose; the rest were similarly baroque. “Got it,” she managed. “Make Alya feel better, check.”

“Good.” Nora finally let Juleka go. “And remember, Juleka: her welfare is your responsibility. If you screw up and my sister gets hurt, or banished, or something worse, I’m taking it out on you.” She clenched a fist and a ball of fire appeared above it. “Just so we understand each other. Now: get out of my way.” She stormed off, presumably–Juleka guessed–to go capture another soul from someone she knew as a boxer. Juleka watched her go and took a breath, then headed into Alya’s room.

“Hey!” Alya was lying on her bed in her demonic form, which now looked a bit blotchy and mottled. The base of Alya’s wings in particular were covered with some kind of splotchy growth, and as Juleka watched Alya tried to scratch them but couldn’t quite reach. “You okay? I mentioned you were coming over and Nora freaked out.”

“I’m fine,” said Juleka as she set down her bag. “Nora just told me to make you feel better. Apparently I’m supposed to… let me see…” She looked at the book. “Sprinkle you with goat’s blood, then puree the prepared heart of a lamb and have you drink it…” She flashed a wry smile. “Do you like your lamb heart prepared any particular way, o mighty demon?”

Alya groaned theatrically. “Agh! Nora’s cures for things are worse than the diseases. Please don’t do any of the goat’s blood or lamb’s heart stuff.” The two laughed. Then Alya reached at her back again but still couldn’t reach the splotches at the bases of her wings. “Stupid demon-rot…”

Juleka paused, then went over to the bed. “Here. Let me get that.” She sat down and began to gently scratch the splotches.

“You don’t need to… oh. Oh, yeah, right there.” Alya let out a sigh of contentment as Juleka massaged the inflamed and splotchy patches of skin on her back. “Oh, you’re awesome.”

Juleka smiled slightly as she continued to work on Alya’s back, as well as a couple of blotchy spots near the base of her horns too. The demon made contented noises, almost purrs, and her tail began to thump on the bed and against Juleka’s legs. “That better?” Juleka asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. You’re the best high priestess ever,” sighed Alya. “Way better than that stupid toady Asmodeus got that he never shuts up about.”

Juleka massaged Alya for about fifteen minutes until Alya declared she was feeling a lot better and needed to get to studying. Then they got the books out and began going over Juleka’s notes, with Juleka still giving Alya an occasional scratch or massage on one of her sore spots. 

“Best high priestess ever,” Alya repeated quietly, and Juleka couldn’t help but grin.

###

The next day, Juleka got a text from Alya that she was feeling much better. “I’m practicing with Kitty Section before the fashion show,” Juleka wrote back. “You can come by if you want.”

But by the time Alya had gotten there, practice had been canceled and Juleka was consoling a sobbing Rose. “It’s awful!” Rose was saying. “I can’t believe it happened again!”

“What’s wrong?” said Alya, now wrapped in her human guise, as she climbed onto the Liberty.

“That XY jerk stole our music again.” Juleka growled something inarticulate and hugged Rose more tightly. “And Bob Roth threatened to sue us for slander if we protest.”

“You should tell people anyways,” said Alya at once. “We’ll show him.”

Juleka shook her head. “The last time this happened, Luka got akumatized when he found out. We can’t risk that happening again.” She looked down. “We’ll figure something out, Rose. We can write another song.”

“Maybe…”

Alya hesitated, and then a faint smile crossed her face while Rose’s head was buried in Juleka’s arms. Juleka saw the smile and gave Alya a querying look, but Alya just waved it off. “Well, let me know if you want to go public; I’ll talk about it on the Ladyblog if you do,” she said. “Anyways, I just came by to say I couldn’t hang around for practice after all. Maybe next time. Later!” And she hurried off.

Juleka didn’t think too much about it until an hour later when, as she sat in her cabin with Rose on her lap while they ate ice cream and tried to think of a new song, Luka came in. “Hey, you guys hear? Something’s going down at Bob Roth’s studios.”

The two girls looked at each other and then Juleka opened up her laptop to see a news report. “Fire at a major studio!” Nadja Chamack was saying while Roth’s building burned behind her. “Preliminary reports are that a fire somehow ignited in the server room and destroyed most of the master recordings, including a new piece of music scheduled to debut later today. The fire then spread through the building–oh, Mr. Roth!” Bob Roth and XY had just burst out of the building as firemen ran into it. “Do you have any–”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” XY was screaming. “THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED!”

“Monsters!” Roth gasped. “A monster set everything on fire! Aaah!” And the two ran away.

Chamack blinked, then shrugged. “So to recap: a fire at a record studio appears to have driven famous pop musician XY and his manager Bob Roth into temporary states of insanity, as well as destroyed their new release. We’ll keep you informed. Now back to the station.”

“Hey,” said Rose as Nadja’s feed cut off. “If their recording was destroyed–that means they don’t have our music anymore! We can still release it and Roth can’t claim it was his first!”

Juleka smiled to herself. She had a pretty good idea of which 'monster’ had started that fire. “Yeah,” she said. “We can.”

Later, when Juleka was biking home, she happened to come across Alya and braked to stop near her. “Thanks,” she said.

Alya put on an innocent expression. “Who, me?” she said sweetly. “But I would never burn down a record studio! I’m very innocent and gentle.”

Juleka laughed at that, and after a moment Alya followed suit. “Hey, just like you look after me, I’m supposed to look after you,” Alya said. “I’d lose all my cred if I let someone mess with my high priestess. You guys practicing tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll be there. Unless Roth tries again.” Alya winked, and Juleka grinned at her once more before biking off.

###

Two days later, Juleka helped Alya capture a soul for the first time.

“Our target is Aurore Beaureal, the wannabe weather girl,” Alya said. Juleka was with her in her bedroom, and Alya was in her natural demon form. Juleka smiled as she Alya’s tail lashing around eagerly while Alya spread out a map over her bed. “She’s a prime target for soul-capturing.”

“She is?” Juleka asked. “Why?”

“Because she wanted to be the weather girl but Mireille bribed the guy running the contest to pick her instead,” Alya said. “All I have to do is tell her and she’ll be so angry she’ll make a deal with me to get revenge–and then I’ll get her soul.”

Juleka shook her head. “Wait, back up. Mireille bribed Cataldi?”

“Of course she did. What, did you think a half million people really voted in a competition for a local news show to pick a weather reporter?” Alya shook her head. “One of my demon powers is… I guess you could call it a 'sin’ sense. I can tell when people are doing corrupt or evil things, and when I saw Mireille that day she was practically glowing red to my eyes. So I knew she’d done something really bad, and after that I made a few guesses as to what it might be, then snuck into Alec Cataldi’s room and recorded him telling one of his goons how he was going on a shopping spree because Mireille had bribed him with so much money.”

It took a moment for Juleka to consider that fully. She didn’t know much about Mireille, although she had indeed found it odd that the weather girl had won the competition by so many votes. “Shouldn’t we be going after Mireille then?”

“I tried.” Alya frowned. “But her soul is… guarded, somehow. I can’t touch it. That usually means she’s pledged herself to another demon. Well, either that or an angel, but if she were with the angels she would have had to admit to what she did to Aurore and she hasn’t done that. So she has a different demon patron, probably the demon that’s preparing to go after Hawkmoth, and I don’t want to mess with that. We’ll take Aurore instead.”

“Why now?” Juleka asked.

“Because Mireille’s contract with the studio is almost up. If she wants to renew it she’ll need to win the next competition, which means she’ll be cheating Aurore out of it again.” Alya rubbed her hands together. “I just need to tell Aurore what’s going on and she’ll be putty in my hands.”

“Oh.” Juleka hesitated. “I’m, um, not really comfortable taking someone’s soul just because they’re mad about being cheated in a competition. I mean, those cultists were one thing because they tried to kill me, but…”

Alya waved a hand. “I’ll get her to agree to some really awful revenge on Mireille. Something damnation-worthy. I’ll make it work.”

Juleka wasn’t fully convinced, and she thought she heard something catching in Alya’s voice. The demon didn’t seem entirely comfortable with this either, and Juleka wondered if Alya was doing this more because she her superiors demanded damnation for even 'minor’ sins like Aurore’s anger, as opposed to Alya being truly convinced Aurore deserved it. “Are you sure?” Juleka asked gently.

“Sure I’m sure! Now come on!” Alya snapped her fingers to summon her glamour. “Aurore posted on her blog that she’ll be visiting the studio today to submit paperwork, and there’s all kinds of back hallways in that place. We’ll just catch her in one of them and get it done.”

She hurried out, and Juleka followed, though with clear unease on her face.

###

Juleka raised an eyebrow as Alya put on a hooded robe after sneaking them into the back hallways of the television studio. “In case she says no, I need to keep my cover,” Alya explained. “Besides, this makes me look more credible.”

“It really doesn’t,” Juleka said.

Alya stuck out her tongue. “Well, maybe not to you, but trust me–when you try to get someone to sell your soul, you can’t do it in jeans and a T-shirt. You need to look the part. Here.” She shoved a robe at Juleka. “I brought you one too.”

Juleka glanced at it, then pointedly dropped it. “What am I supposed to be doing here, anyways?”

“Right now, watch and learn. Eventually I might have you help me with temptations, but for the moment, I just want you to see how awesome I am.” Alya chuckled from beneath her hooded robe. “And–wait, those are her footsteps. Hide!” She pushed Juleka behind a stack of crates and then moved into a shadowy part of the hallway.

Soon enough a disgruntled-looking Aurore came up. “Why won’t they take my papers?” she growled as she glanced over an office map. “Last time was bad enough, but this time it’s like they don’t want me here!”

“They don’t,” intoned Alya in a low voice.

Aurore jumped and then swiveled to point her parasol in the general direction of Alya’s shadows. “Who was that?” she demanded. “I’m–I have an umbrella and I know how to use it!”

Juleka had to work to stifle her giggle.

Alya slipped out of the shadows, and as Juleka watched, Alya’s robe shuddered in an almost inhuman way. Juleka made a note to ask her how she did that. Then Alya spoke again, “I think you know they don’t want you here. Mireille bribed the host last year, and she did it again this year. Your application to compete won’t even be accepted. They’ll have Mireille run against a fake candidate who already agreed to take a dive, and thus she’ll win for sure.” Alya shook her head. “Such a shame.”

Aurore flushed. “Why should I believe you? You’re just a creepy person in a scary robe!”

“Am I?” Alya held up a phone, her hand briefly shifting into its natural state–red, with talon-like fingers–before blinking back to its human form again. Aurore boggled but didn’t flee–Juleka figured Aurore was trying to tell herself she was just seeing things–and then Alya hit a playback button on the phone. 

“…going to be eating steaks and sushi for a month!” Alec’s voice said. “That Caquet girl paid me so much I can really take it easy for a while!” He laughed. “Maybe I’ll finally get that sports jacket… nah, I’ll wait until Caquet wants to win something else and comes knocking again. Say what you like about her, she’s loaded!”

Aurore flushed a bright crimson. “I knew it. I knew that jerk cheated!” Her fist clenched, and she dropped the papers she’d been carrying. “I worked harder, I was better, I deserved to win! Just because she has money–agh!” She slammed her fist into the wall.

“It’s so unfair,” Alya agreed. “But I could help you get revenge.” She lowered her hood just enough to reveal her horns and red skin. Aurore gasped, but Alya said, “What? In a world with miraculouses and akumas, are you so surprised there are other powers out there?” She waited for Aurore to jerkily shake her head. “So, Aurore. Would you like my help?”

“And what do you want in exchange?” managed Aurore. 

“I think you know.” Alya moved closer to Aurore. “Your soul. But in exchange… revenge on Mireille, perhaps Alec too, the job as weather girl, and so much more.” She spread her hands. “Well?”

Aurore hesitated, and Juleka could tell she was really tempted. But then she shook her head. “No,” she said twice, first hesitantly, then more strongly. “I don’t–just forget it. No way. I’m not the kind of person who would do something like that.”

She turned, but Alya quickly moved around her to face her again. “Not so fast,” she said in a charming tone. “You don’t want to give up your soul; I get it. We can work something else out. In fact… I might be able to lend you a little magic help to get your revenge, just so you can see what I"m offering. No other charge.”

Juleka frowned, but then remembered that Alya had told her there were at least two ways for her to take a soul: either to get someone to explicitly make a deal with her in which they gave it to her, or to convince someone to do something evil enough that Alya could just take the soul without a deal. The first tactic had failed, so now Alya would be trying to get Aurore to agree to some really bad sin and thus allow Alya to get the soul that way.

“Magic?” repeated Aurore.

“Sure.” Alya leaned close. “For instance, if I gave you a certain power you could…” and her speech trailed off as she whispered something, presumably advice on how to use magic to do something really evil, into Aurore’s ear.

But rather than agree, Aurore stiffened and then shoved Alya back. “What? No way. I’d never do that, not even for revenge. I told you, I’m not that kind of person.” She scowled. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“But–” Alya began.

“Why am I even talking to you? Get out of here before I call Ladybug.” Aurore backed away. “And–”

Then Alya’s phone went off.

Aurore and Alya both stared down at Alya’s pocket, and Juleka winced–Alya had a distinctive ringtone, a theme song from one of those shows following investigative reporters, and everyone knew it because her phone sometimes went off when she was filming Ladyblog stuff. “Uh,” said Alya. “Hang on–”

“Alya?” asked Aurore. “Is that you?”

“No!” Alya insisted as she reached for her phone, but Aurore was faster and swept out her umbrella to fully knock down the demon’s hood. That revealed her head, which–though red and with horns–was still noticeably that of Alya Cesaire. “Alya?” breathed Aurore. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not Alya!” yelped the reporter. “You can’t prove–”

Aurore turned, said, “Stay away from me!” and began to run for the exit.

As soon as she had turned a corner Alya slammed her head against a wall. “Stupid stupid stupid!” she hissed. “I completely botched that!”

“Yeah,” Juleka noted. “You did.”

Alya shot her a mock glare, but it quickly dissolved into fear. “If she tells people I’ll have to move and change identities, assuming I don’t get recalled to Hell and punished, and without her soul I can’t influence her to–”

“Wait.” Juleka thought quickly. “I might be able to set her up so you can take her soul. But then you have to do me a favor.”

Alya blinked. “Sure, anything, but how can you–”

“No time.” Juleka grabbed the office map Aurore had dropped. “Just follow me at a distance. And 'watch and learn.’” She shot a faint smile at Alya, then took off at a run.

Aurore had a head start but no longer had a map, which meant Juleka was able to catch up to the lost girl before Aurore could find her way back into the inhabited parts of the station. She reached the blond’s position just before Aurore would have passed through an exit door, then grabbed a random object–a little ball that someone, probably Manon Chamack, had left lying around–and gently tossed it at Aurore’s head before ducking into an open office.

“Huh?” gasped Aurore as the ball bounced off her. She spun around. “What was that?”

“You are Rain Delay,” called Juleka in her lowest, most imposing voice, “And this is Hawkmoth. I–”

“Oh, come on!” complained Aurore. “What, are all the bad guys trying to tempt me today?”

Juleka smiled. Aurore had been akumatized, but seeing as how it was hard to remember what happened once Hawkmoth touched someone, that didn’t mean she knew what it was supposed to feel like. For all Aurore knew it was a simple 'butterfly bumps into you and turns you evil’ thing. Meaning she’d have no way of knowing Juleka was faking. “Tempt you?” she said. “Oh, no no no. I’m helping you get revenge. No need to thank me, just get me the jewelry, yadda yadda.”

“I’m not–”

“Yes you are,” said Juleka. “You already want to. Your anger is growing. Nobody can resist me.”

Aurore hesitated, and Juleka smiled; she’d figured Aurore correctly. Aurore hadn’t refused Alya’s offers because she was opposed to taking revenge; rather, she just didn’t want to feel like she was the kind of bad person who would agree to a demonic bargain in order to get said revenge. But everyone knew that nobody could resist Hawkmoth, which meant that it wasn’t anyone’s fault for getting akumatized. So all she had to do was convince Aurore that Hawkmoth was making her do something bad, and Aurore–now believing that anything evil she did wasn’t really her fault but just was Hawkmoth’s influence–would go along with it. 

And Aurore finally said, “…yes,” in a tight, angry voice as a cruel smile crawled across her face. “Give me power and I’ll destroy Mireille. I’ll bury her in a storm, I’ll drown her, and Alec, and–”

And then Alya slipped out of the shadows behind Aurore and easily pulled her soul out of her chest.

Aurore flinched and shuddered, then turned–and gaped at Alya holding a ball of blueish-gold light about the size of a billiard ball. “What–”

“Your soul,” said Alya by way of explanation. “Mine now.” She glanced in Juleka’s direction. “Well done, high priestess. Your help was useful.”

“Help?” said Juleka in a joking tone. She came out of the shadows–Alya had Aurore’s soul, so she could ensure Aurore didn’t tell anyone about her identity–and frowned. “Is that what we’re calling 'doing the whole thing?’”

Aurore reached for her soul, but her hand passed through it without making contact. “Give that back!” she insisted.

“Nope. Mine now.” Alya beamed. “I’ll be taking this Down Below and–”

“You can’t!” insisted Aurore. “That wasn’t fair! I’m sorry!”

Alya hesitated and Juleka saw real conflict on her face. The goth coughed. “Hey, Alya, remember that favor you said you’d owe me if I got you her soul?”

“Yeah?”

Aurore turned. “Wait, Juleka Couffaine, right?” she asked. “Why are you helping her do this?!”

“She’s my high priestess,” said Alya.

“She what?!” Aurore sputtered. “You can’t have a high priestess! You’re a demon! You–”

“Aurore,” said Juleka at once. “Hold on a minute. I need to say something to Alya.”

The blond scowled at her but stopped talking, and Juleka turned back to Alya. “My favor is: don’t take her soul down to Hell.”

Alya blinked. “But that’s the only reason I got it. To make my quota.”

“We can look for someone else to fill your quota, a real bad guy. I’ll help you. But don’t take hers down there.” Juleka paused. “She doesn’t deserve it, Alya. You know that.”

“Well… I mean, my bosses–”

“Your bosses want you to take every soul that just barely steps over the line,” Juleka guessed. “Because they’re jerks. But I don’t think you want to do that. Getting rid of really bad people so they can’t hurt others, or work with Hawkmoth, or do things like that is one thing. Aurore’s not like that." 

The two locked gazes for a moment before Alya said, "…maybe… I mean…”

“No maybe about it,” said Juleka. “You know damning her isn’t the right thing to do. Besdies, I’m your high priestess and we made a deal: I’d get you her soul so she couldn’t tell the world that Alya Cesaire is actually a demon temptress running around Paris, and in exchange you’d do something for me. Well, what I want you to do is not damn her.”

Aurore blinked. “Um–”

“But–but then what do I do with her soul?” Alya asked. “I can’t give it back or she’ll be able to talk to people about me!”

“Can’t you just keep it around?” Juleka asked. “In, I don’t know, a desk drawer or something?”

“Hey!” Aurore said. “I–”

“–were going to willingly ally with Hawkmoth,” said Juleka in a deadpan tone. “If you’d been successful you would have stolen the miraculouses and possibly helped Hawkmoth conquer the world. You’re getting off easy, Aurore.”

Aurore blushed a bright red, but then bowed her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just–I worked so hard on the weather competition, and learning that Mireille cheated… but alright, I know I should have tried harder to resist 'Hawkmoth.’ Still, I don’t want Alya to mess with my soul!”

Juleka turned back to Alya. “As long as you don’t try to rewrite her personality, will you having her soul effect her?”

“No. I mean, there might be a few odd issues now and then, but nothing big. I do need to make her loyal so she doesn’t tell–”

Juleka swiveled again. “Aurore, if you tell anyone about Alya or me, she’ll have to move and change identities, and then you won’t be able to get your soul back from her because you won’t be able to find her. So you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

The blond quickly shook her head. 

“Great.” Juleka smiled at both of them. “Then there’s no need for Alya to 'mess with’ Aurore’s soul, about loyalty or anything else. Alya can just hang on to it until… I don’t know… Aurore demonstrates she’s not the type of person to work with Hawkmoth anymore, no matter how mad she gets.” She nodded. I’m glad we worked this out.“

Alya and Aurore both seemed like they wanted to argue, but neither could come up with anything. And that was that.

###

"This is weird,” Aurore said.

They had returned to Alya’s house and Alya had put Aurore’s soul on her dresser, where it lit up the immediate area with a gentle blue and yellow light. Aurore had tried to take it back, or at least poke it, but her hand just passed through it; Alya had explained that only those whom she allowed to touch it could do so now that it was hers. “This is so weird,” Aurore said. “I mean, I’m happy I’m not getting damned, but…”

“Alya will take good care of your soul,” Juleka promised. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ll polish it every week, maybe take it for walks on Fridays.” Alya playfully stuck out her tongue. “And hey, if you want to check in on it maybe you can come over now and then.” When Nora is away, Juleka thought. “We could have you over for girl’s night. Ooh, you could even join my cult.”

Alya brightened. “Yeah! We need more members.”

“…cult?” asked Aurore. “What, like chanting?”

“It’s mostly watching anime, eating ice cream, and telling dumb jokes,” said Juleka. Alya tossed a pillow at her, and she easily dodged it. “But if you really want to chant I can pencil that in somewhere.”

Aurore actually laughed a little at that. “No, that’s okay.” She paused. “Um, does the whole stealing-my-soul thing being… allowed to happen, I guess… mean I’m a really bad person?”

“It means you did a really bad thing,” said Alya. “I wouldn’t be able to take your soul otherwise.”

“But,” Juleka went on, “It doesn’t mean you’re irrevocably bad. That’s just for people who actually do get sent Down Below. You can get better. We’ll help.” She smiled gently. “And also have some fun. For instance: the meeting of the Cult of Alya Cesaire is this Saturday at noon. We’re going to be 'worshipping’ Alya by watching Lord of the Rings–which she somehow hasn’t seen–”

“They don’t have human movies in Hell!” protested Alya. “At least none of the good ones!”

Aurore and Juleka both laughed at that, and then Juleka went on. “We will also be snacking on stuff from the Dupain-Cheng bakery and talking about what to get Principal Damocles for his birthday. And maybe we can fit in some, I don’t know, moral instruction or something. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Aurore nodded. “I… I guess I’ll see you two then.” And she left.

Alya left out a breath and sagged down on her bed. “Ugh. That was a trainwreck,” she muttered. “I need to get better at tempting.”

“Fortunately, you have your expert high priestess to help,” joked Juleka.

Alya smiled at that. Then she said, “And… thanks. For coming up with the idea of what to do with Aurore. I think–I think you were right. Damning her would have been the wrong move.”

“Of course I"m right.” Juleka sat next to Alya, who leaned on her shoulder. “Happy to help.”

“Yeah… but I still need to get another soul by the end of the week.” Alya pursed her lips. “I–”

Juleka’s phone beeped with an alert. She looked down at it. “Hey, some nutjobs are trying to rob a bank,” she said. “And they’ve taken hostages that they’re threatening to shoot. If you hurry I’ll bet you can get their before Ladybug, steal a few souls from the robbers, and make your quota that way.”

Alya brightened. “Yeah, that’s perfect!” She jumped to her cloven feet. “Thanks again, Juleka! You’re great.”

“I know,” said Juleka as Alya ran out. Then she chuckled and lay back in the bed. Becoming a counselor and spiritual advisor to a demon–and, apparently, at least one newly-soulless girl who needed a little anger management–wasn’t really where she’d seen herself going when the year had begun.

But that didn’t make it not fun.

Chapter 4

It was about one month after Juleka had learned Alya’s secret when things began getting hectic again.

“You know what I think?” Rose asked as she lay on Juleka’s lap, staring at the sky while they finished their lunches. “I think we should do something special tomorrow. We should go to Andre’s ice cream cart, get our favorite flavors, and then ride in one of those boats that goes up and down the Seine.”

“Sounds fun,” said Juleka. She gently stroked Rose’s hair, and the girl grinned and wriggled deeper into Juleka’s lap. “Is tomorrow a special occasion?”

“The most special of all!” said Rose. “Tomorrow is our six-and-a-half month anniversary!" 

Juleka chuckled. "Ah. How could I forget. The most important day in any loving relationship–”

“Don’t make fun of love,” said Rose. “It’s amazing. Like, I love you, so when I look at you my heart starts racing and I feel like the most fortunate girl in the world.” Juleka blushed at that. “And I’m sure you feel the same way, 'cause you’re also in love!”

“Sounds about right,” said Juleka. “Although, at the moment, I’d kind of love to get back to class before Mendeleiev gives us detention…”

Rose checked her watch and made a soft 'eep’ sound. “You’re right!” she said as she scrambled upright. “But let’s cuddle more later. It’s fun.” She grinned at Juleka before rushing back to the school, with Juleka following at a slightly more sedate pace.

Juleka had gotten inside and was heading towards the classroom when she saw Alya approaching. “I think Marinette’s in that room there,” Nino was calling to her from around a corner. “I heard her say Lila wanted to talk to her about something.”

“Thanks!” Alya called back. Then she looked at Juleka. “Hey. Got any plans for this afternoon?”

“Cuddling with Rose,” said Juleka. “And after that… I dunno. We can do something or–”

A yelping noise sounded from the closed room. Jueka and Alya glanced at each other, then quickly looked through a crack in the door. Juleka’s eyes widened as she saw Lila pulling her hand away from Marinette; the hand looked bruised and Marinette was giving LIla an astonished look. “That’s all you’ve got? Poking me in the chest? Whatever. I’m done with you." 

Marinette stalked towards the other door. As soon as she left, Lila’s scowl deepened, and then–

Then her body flashed and took on an appearance similar to that of Alya’s.

They weren’t exactly the same. Lila’s horns, wings, and tail were all larger than Alya’s, and her skin was a deeper red. She also had some tattoos which writhed a little on her body. But they were clearly the same species, and Juleka couldn’t stop herself from gasping. 

"No!” hissed Alya as she covered Juleka’s mouth.

But it was too late. Lila glanced at the door, then waved one claw-like hand at it and whispered something in Latin, and then Juleka felt herself being dragged through the door by an unseen force. Alya was dragged in besides her, and the two were thrown to the ground in front of LIla.

“So,” said Lila. “I guess you two will be my next acquisitions.” She waved a hand and the door shut behind them. “Don’t worry, though. I’m not too hard of a taskmaster. Your souls will be safe and–”

“Hang on!” said Alya as she forced herself to her feet. Her body shimmered and then she was in her natural demonic form too. Juleka scrambled up afterwards. “Our souls aren’t up for grabs. I’m gathering souls for the bosses, same as you. And, uh, Juleka’s the high priestess of my cult.”

Lila blinked and then stared at Juleka. “You. The high priestess. That’s insane. She can’t possibly do the job.”

“I get that a lot,” Juleka drawled. “But it turns out I’m really good at chanting.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Har har. If your demon shows up at midnight half-dead from fighting a paladin, can you rush out and sacrifice a vestal virgin to restore her strength?”

“No,” said Juleka, “but I can watch anime with her on the weekends. It makes her happy, and it comes up a lot more than the vestal virgin thing.”

Lila boggled, and then Alya stepped between them. “But seriously, I had no idea,” she told Lila. “I mean, you’re always doing charity work with these famous celebrities from all over the world and…” She trailed off for a moment. “…and now that I know who you are, I can see those stories are totally ridiculous and you’ve probably been using demonic magic to make everyone believe them.”

“Exactly. And even if Dupain-Cheng is still too 'pure’ right now for it to work on her, everyone else believes me. It’s the perfect cover.” Lila beamed. “And I’ll get Marinette eventually.”

“Hang on,” said Alya quickly. “That’s–that’s not a good idea. I mean, you just tried to get Marinette’s soul and you failed, right? That girl is damn-near incorruptible. No way would she ever do anything bad enough to be vulnerable to one of us. You’re better off looking elsewhere.”

Juleka gave Alya a querying look. The girl sounded nervous. Evidently Lila picked up at it too, because she leaned back on her cloven hooves, then grinned. “Oh, I get it! You’re actually friends with that little pink rodent!”

Alya scowled. “Marinette is… nice,” she said at last. “We’re allowed to have friends.”

“No, we’re allowed to fake being friends so we can get their souls.” Lila snorted. “As if humans were worthy of friendship. Bunch of self-righteous morons who’ve never really been tested and think they’re better than us. Put any of them with a decent tempter for thirty seconds and they’d sell their souls, their lovers, and their children to satisfy some sick desire. I might be here for Hawkmoth and Mayura, but along the way I’ll get Marinette, Alya. I’ll get anyone I want.”

“Marinette,” said Alya in a slow voice, “Is off limits. So are all my friends in class. Come on, Lila, Paris has millions of people. You can go after any of them.”

“Sure. I could. But I think I’ll go after Marinette and her friends instead.” Lila grinned. “Marinette annoys me. She acts like she’s virtuous, and she’s so… smugly casual about it. Like she doesn’t even have to try at it. Like anyone could be that nice if they wanted.” She shuddered. “Filthy human. And I don’t think she’ll be hard to get at all, Alya. See, first I’ll get the souls of her friends and make them act incredibly cruel to her. Then, when she’s hurt and broken, I’ll corrupt her and take her soul too. Hmm, maybe when I finish here and get back down to Hell I can have her as a personal thrall to trim my hooves and everything.”

Alya opened her mouth, but then Lila began talking again. “Besides, I have my own career to look out for, don’t I? Right now I know of two demons in Paris: you and me. If anything big happens, we’ll share credit, and half-credit’s just not enough for me. But if one of those demons should, say, lose her cover–because all of her friends start telling people she’s a demon, working to expose her, maybe even going crazy and drawing attention to her–she’ll have to leave. Then I’ll be alone, and when I capture Hawkmoth’s and Mayura’s souls–not to mention Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s, of course–I’ll be promoted for sure. I might even become an archfiend and have a whole legion of lesser demons under my command." 

Juleka stared at Lila as the demon grinned. "Sorry, Alya,” Lila went on. “But that’s how the game is played. If you don’t like the thought of me stealing all your 'friends” souls in front of you and using them to force you out in disgrace, you can leave now, quietly, with your dignity and reputation intact. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised on how my work in corrupting Marinette is going.“ She chuckled, then walked past Alya towards the door. "See you around, partner,” she called, then summoned her human guise around herself and left.

When the other demon was gone, Juleka shut the door and turned to Alya, who was starting to panic. “No no no!” Alya hissed. “This can’t be happening! This isn’t fair! I don’t want Lila to touch them!”

“Can you call your bosses?” Juleka asked.

Alya snorted. “They’ll tell me if I"m not strong enough to fight off Lila I deserve to lose everything to her. Damn it! We have to do something, but her magic felt really strong. I don’t know if I can fight it.”

“I could worship you more,” offered Juleka. 

“One or two worshippers won’t be enough, and even if you post an ad on Craigslist or something and get more recruits we don’t’ have time. Lila will already started corrupting the class more aggressively.” Alya clutched her head. “This is awful.”

Juleka thought for a few moments. “But we do have time, at least a little. Lila just tried to get Marinette’s soul and couldn’t, and in fact, her hand looked pretty messed up from the attempt. Do you know what that means?”

“That something’s blocking her, I’d guess.” Alya shrugged. “Marinette might have angelic backing; she’s pure enough it wouldn’t surprise me… although if she did they would probably have warned her about me by now. Or maybe some other semi-divine force is protecting her, though I have no idea what.”

“Still,” said Juleka. “We just saw she can’t get Marinette’s soul.”

Alya shook her head. “She can’t directly, not yet, but her plan’s a good one. Marinette loves her friends. If Lila gets their souls and warps them so the class is horrible to Marinette, then Marinette could break and become vulnerable.”

“Hmm.” Juleka thought back, and then an idea hit her. “You said you couldn’t get Mireille’s soul because someone already had it.”

“Right.”

“So why don’t we try to get the class’s souls before Lila does? If you have them locked up then Lila can’t loot them.” Juleka tensed as she spoke. She had no idea how she’d go about getting Rose’s soul in particular without it seeming like a betrayal. But if that was the only way to keep her girlfriend safe from Lila, Juleka would do it. 

Alya blinked. “That… that just might work!” she beamed. “Juleka, you’re brilliant!” And she hugged the goth.

“Thanks,” managed Juleka. “I–”

“There’s no time to lose,” said Alya. “We’ll start today. Operation: protect the class from Lila by stealing all their souls first is a go!”

Chapter 5

“Let’s deal with Alix first.”

Juleka leaned against the wall and looked at Alya, who was putting together a corkboard with photos of their classmates. Alya drew a red circle around Alix and then put a ’#1’ next to it. “She’ll be one of the easiest,” Alya went on. “She’s so hot-headed. All we have to do is challenge her to a dare and get her to bet her soul on it, then win!”

“Winning might be tough,” Juleka noted. “Alix is pretty competitive.”

“Fortunately, being a demon, I’m allowed to cheat.” Alya winked. “And that’s what you’re for. You’ll help me rig things so that I can’t help but win. Then her soul will be mine!” She grinned and summoned a small ball of Hellfire, which she began to toss up and down in one hand. “And then I–”

The Hellfire slammed into the ceiling light and blew it out, shrouding both of them in darkness–except for the light emanating from Aurore’s soul, which was quietly glowing on a shelf. Alya shrugged, then picked up the soul and began using it as a flashlight to see the corkboard. Juleka snorted. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use souls like that.”

Alya waved this off. “Now let’s see… ah. I’ve got the perfect way we can trap Alix in a bet she can’t win.”

###

“A race around the city?” Alix’s eyes gleamed. “That sounds awesome! The news station really asked you to help them plan it?”

“They know I go around the city to film Ladybug, so I guess I was the natural choice.” Juleka smiled slightly as Alya tossed her hair back, then gestured at the map she had set down on the cafe table where she had asked Alix to meet her. “I just need to get from checkpoint to checkpoint and then report back if there were any problems with the route–you know, road under construction, 'no pedestrian’ signs, zombie outbreak, things like that. I won’t even need to tell them how long it took, since the checkpoints are set up so that they’ll register when peoples’ phones get near them; that’s how they’ll make sure nobody tries to cheat by skipping a checkpoint, and that’s how they’ll record my time. So it seems really easy, right? But I was thinking, it’d be really boring to do it by myself, so… why not make it a race?” She gestured to her bike. “Me  versus you? You can use your skates, of course.”

Alix cracked her knuckles. “Sounds like a blast. But if we’re racing, we should have stakes. Winner gets the losers’ wheels?”

“Can’t do that.” Alya shook her head. “Mom will kill me if I lose my bike.”

“Hmph,” said Alix. “Well, we have to bet something, and it should be high stakes. None of this 'winner gets a cookie from Marinette’s bakery’ stuff. Something worth racing around the city for.”

“I agree, but what?” Alya glanced at Juleka. “Any ideas?”

The goth chuckled to herself, then said her lines. “I’m sure you guys’ll probably just bet ten bucks or something,” she said in a dry, slightly smug voice that she’d rehearsed with Alya. “I mean, I’ve seen weirder bets, but mostly just from some pagans I met online.”

“What kinds of bets do they make?” Alix asked.

“Well, I saw one group where they gambled blood,” lied Juleka. “Winner got a pint of blood from the loser.”

Alix wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“What? It’s high stakes betting, right?” Juleka smiled slightly. “And that wasn’t even the weirdest one. I saw one bet where the winner got the loser’s soul.”

Alix actually laughed. “Goth much, Juleka? Souls don’t exist.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem betting it,” said Alya. “That sounds fun! Winner gets the loser’s soul… and two hundred bucks.”

Alix snorted. “Soul shmoul, but I could use the money. Deal. Count of three?”

“Sure!” Alya beamed. “One, two… three!”

Alix took off at a blast, immediately turning a corner and rushing towards the first checkpoint on Alya’s map–the Eiffel Tower. Alya waited until she was out of sight, then darted into the alley behind the cafe with Juleka. “Perfect!” said Alya as she sketched out a pentagram in chalk on the ground. “Let’s go!”

“And this will still count?” Juleka asked. 

“Of course it will. Alix made the deal: whoever gets to all the checkpoints first and then returns here wins the loser’s soul. Sure, it might not be fair for me to use my demon powers to teleport, but I didn’t explicitly say I was going to use my bike to get around–I just implied it–and besides, like I said, demons get to cheat.” Alya grinned. “It’s part of our style. Now come on; Alix is fast and we’ve got to get going.”

Juleka followed her into the pentagram. “Why am I being teleported too, again?”

“Because if anything goes wrong I’ll need your help to fix things,” Alya said. “And besides, part of being my high priestess is accompanying me on my adventures and giving me support.”

Juleka blinked. “Okay. Rah rah rah, Alya is great, rah rah.”

Alya giggled. “I meant magical support, in case I need it.” She took Juleka’s hand. “Let’s go!”

And then they vanished in a flash of brimstone and sulfur.

###

For a moment, Juleka thought she had the impressions of fire–massive flames higher and hotter than had ever existed on Earth–but they didn’t seem to touch her. And a moment later she was back on the ground, having arrived with Alya in the pentagram they had secretly sketched beforehand in a small janitor’s closet next to the Eiffel Tower.

They then disappeared and reappeared several times in quick succession, all over the city, hitting each checkpoint in succession. Finally they reached the last one, landing in a dingy basement under Montparnasse Tower, and Alya grinned. “Now just to get back to the cafe and wait for her!”

But when she tried to teleport, nothing happened, and Alya frowned. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “This always worked when I practiced it!”

“Maybe somebody disturbed the pentagram in the alley,” Juleka offered. “So we can’t use it to get back.”

“Agh!” Alya groaned. “Then–then we’ll have to get back the old-fashioned way. But we should still be way ahead of Alix, so–OW!”

Juleka blinked as Alya held up a small ball of Hellfire to illuminate the area, and they both winced as they saw that Alya had stepped into what looked like an animal trap. “Guess they have rats or something down here,” said Juleka as she helped Alya to pry it off.

“Stupid rats,” grunted Alya. “Ow, that really hurts…”

They got the trap off, but when Alya put her foot down she yelped and had to lift it again. “Will you be okay?” Juleka said at once. “Are you–”

“I’m fine. Demons heal fast… but not fast enough to win the race on foot.” Alya grit her teeth and leaned on Juleka. “We have to get as close to the cafe as we can before Alix catches us.’

"Then what?” Juleka asked. “You need to beat Alix, so is there any way I can slow her down while you go ahead?”

Alya nodded. “Yeah. I can… I can lend you some powers. Technically I’m supposed to demand you give me blood and swear more loyalty and so on, but whatever. I’m desperate. Here.”

She grabbed Juleka’s hand, the one that she’d cut to get Juleka into her cult, and chanted a few words in Latin. Juleka gasped as another surge of power flowed into her, this one deeper and more powerful than the first. Her hair stood on end for just a moment and she stumbled away from Alya as the surge faded. “What was that?”

“Just a couple basic powers,” Alya said. “Standard high priestess starter pack: Hellfire summoning, and a few passive spells related to magical strength, toughness, and so on. It should be pretty instinctive.”

Juleka blinked, then focused on her hand–and to her amazement, a surge of energy ran through her and a little flame appeared at her fingertips. “Woah!” she gasped. “That is so cool!”

“Yeah, yeah, demons are awesome, I get it,” said Alya. “Can we focus on the race right now?”

“Right, right. Here.” Juleka got Alya’s arm around her shoulder and began helping her limp back towards the cafe.

###

They almost made it back by the time Alya said, “Okay, Alix just hit Montparnasse. She’ll catch up to us in a couple minutes.”

“How can you–”

“I can sense when people I know go near my pentagrams.” Alya winced. “The cafe’s not that far. You just need to stall her for a couple minutes. But nothing too flashy in public, okay? If someone videotapes you summoning balls of Hellfire–”

Juleka nodded. “I know, I know. You’ll be very upset that they’ll have scooped you before you could get it on the Ladyblog.”

Alya snorted. “And, you know, you could be seen and then hunted down by angels and paladins. But other than that, yes, the blog is the most important thing.”

They got to a corner and Juleka let Alya limp on ahead towards the cafe. Then Juleka ducked into another alley and kept watch, soon seeing Alix furiously skating down the sidewalk. She thought for a moment about what she could do with her powers. Something very subtle, she thought, would probably be best. Something subtle and sneaky and…

Then she shrugged. She had Hellfire now. What was the point of that if she couldn’t have a little fun with it? 

So she focused, summoned up a big ball of Hellfire, and then–from the safety of the alley, where nobody was watching–lobbed it at a fire hydrant in Alix’s path.

The fireball blasted the hydrant to pieces, and jets of water began shooting in all directions. Alix yelped as a water blast hit her and destabilized her. She almost fell, but Juleka darted out from the alley and caught her. Before she wouldn’t have been able to do so, but Alya had given her just a taste of demonic strength and she was easily able to arrest Alix’s fall. “Careful!” she said as she helped Alix slow and then stop. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” said Alix. “Stupid hydrant just exploded!” She quickly shook herself off. “But no worries. I’ll still beat Alya back.”

Juleka stepped out of Alix’s way, but just as the skater began to take off again Juleka fired a very tiny bit of Hellfire down at her skates and melted one of the wheels. Alix tried to roll and almost tripped. “Oh, come on, what now?” she growled as she looked down.

“Looks like a piece of the hydrant may have smashed the wheel,” Juleka offered.

Alix kicked off her skates and shoved then into Juleka’s arms. “Hold these,” she said. “Don’t lose them.” And then she took off at a run.

Juleka frowned, not knowing how to further slow Alix, and began running after her. The girl was fast and even Juleka’s demonic-enhanced energy wasn’t enough to enable the goth to overtake her friend. But she was able to keep pace, just barely, and she chased after Alix as they rounded the final corner–

Just in time to see Alya stagger into the cafe and then turn. “I win!” Alya called as Alix groaned. “Hah!”

“Hmph.” Alix slowly approached Alya. “Only because a fire hydrant blew up.”

Alya glanced at Juleka, who smiled slightly. Alya returned the look with a grin of her own. “Guess you owe me.”

“Yeah, I’ll grab the money from my room and drop it off at your place. Oh yeah, and my 'soul.’” Alix chuckled. “Love to see you collect that, Cesaire.”

###

“You JERKS!”

Alya, now back in her room and in her demonic form, beamed triumphantly as she held Alix’s soul up in the air. Alix jumped for it, but she was so short she couldn’t even reach Alya’s hand. “I thought you said you wanted to see me collect it.”

“I wasn’t being literal!” Alix jumped again. If Alya’s demonic form phased her, she didn’t show it. “Juleka! Make her give it back! It's… it’s my soul!”

“Sorry.” Juleka shrugged. “I"m her high priestess. I’m on her side.” She paused. “Wow, Alix, your soul is really pink and red.”

Alya nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of cute." 

"My soul is not cute!” Alix wailed. “It’s rough and tough! Like me!”

“No, it’s cute.” Alya poked it, and Alix suddenly stepped back and giggled. Alya blinked. “Wait, are you ticklish?”

“Uh–no! No way!” Alix insisted.

Alya and Juleka exchanged knowing glances, and then Alya began to tickle Alix’s soul, causing the redhead to collapse in hysterical laughter. “Stop!” Alix begged as she laughed wildly. “Stop please!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling,” Alya said primly. And after a little more tickling, Alix had to give in.

Alya set Alix’s soul next to Aurore’s, and Alix tried to grab it but found she couldn’t touch it. “Seriously, what the Hell?” she demanded. “Look, Alya being a demon from Hell, fine, whatever, but taking my soul–”

“Another demon’s in town,” said Juleka. “Lila Rossi. She’s really good at collecting souls, and she’s coming after the class. We’re trying to get everyone’s souls first so she can’t actually send your souls to Hell.”

Alix hesitated. “Couldn’t you just warn us so we wouldn’t fall for her tricks?”

“Lila could get your soul even if you knew she was coming–I looked up her record after we learned about her, and she’s a validictorian-level tempter,” Alya said. “But don’t worry. As long as your soul’s safe with me, she can’t grab it!” She beamed. “You’re welcome.”

“I… agh.” Alix threw her head back. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Juleka smiled. “You could join the cult. Hang out with other people who’s soul got yeeted out of their bodies by Paris’s best demon.” Alya grinned. “See some really cool powers.” And she summoned a bit of Hellfire, causing Alix’s eyes to widen. “And watch some really, really ridiculous anime.”

“That's… that doesn’t sound like much of a cult,” Alix noted.

“Maybe for a lame demon who just wants to hear people talk about how great she is,” said Alya, “but my cult is very big on having everyone eat snacks and watch fun tv shows.” She paused. “Look, I–I get this is a big deal for you. I wasn’t planning on going after the souls of anyone at Francois Dupont, honest. But there was no other way to keep you safe from Lila. And if you’re in the cult, you can check in on your soul whenever we meet… we can watch out for each other, make sure Lila doesn’t attack…”

Alix slowly nodded. “Okay. I’m in. But I want your word that once Lila is gone you’re giving my soul back.”

“Sure,” said Alya. “I don’t need it for my quota anyways.”

They all looked at each other in silence for a moment before Alix said, “And can my soul at least get a blanket or something? It’s chilly in here.”

“It doesn’t need a blanket. It’s a soul; it can’t catch cold,” protested Alya.

“So? It’s still nippy!”

Juleka grinned and settled back as the two continued to argue. She’d helped protect someone today, she thought. She’d made it so Lila could not damn Alix. She’d done good. Nothing could ruin her mood.

###

Ten minutes after leaving Alya’s, she took a shortcut through an alley to get back to the Liberty, and then she almost bumped right into Lila Rossi.

“I know what you’re doing,” said Lila without preamble. “And it annoys me. I’ll give you one chance. Forswear Alya and take my side. I’ll give you more power and wealth, and–”

Juleka snorted. “Not a chance.”

“Fine.” Lila whistled, and something growled at Juleka from within the shadows. “Then you’ll get eaten by my pet Hellhound. See you never, Juleka.” She vanished in a puff of smoke as a gigantic wolf-like dog, drooling saliva that burned into the alley floor and breathing smoke and flame from its nostrils, approached.

Juleka gulped. Then she threw a blast of Hellfire at it, but it had no effect. Then it leapt at her and she cringed back–

Only for a blur to swoop in and knock it aside. 

Juleka stared as a short girl with blond hair, wings full of white feathers, and an actual halo raised a sword. “Begone, beast!” she roared in a very familiar voice. “And bother not the innocent, lest you taste divine wrath!”

“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”

Then the angel–whom Juleka knew very well as Rose Lavillant–turned back. “Juleka!” she said in a slightly nervous voice. “I, um… I have some things to tell you!”

Chapter 6

“Uh,” said Juleka. “Um.”

Her heart was beating very fast, and she quickly clenched her hand–the one that Alya had marked–into a tight fist so Rose couldn’t see her palm. “You’re an, um.”

“Angel,” said Rose. “And–hey! I said stop!” She pointed her sword at the Hellhound, which was still slavering. “The power of–”

The Hellhound leapt at Rose, who sighed, then quickly swung her sword up and decapitated the beast.

Juleka boggled as Rose wiped her sword clean on the alley wall. The Hellhound’s body shuddered, then both its head and the rest of it burst into flames and crumbled to ash. “As I was saying,” Rose said. “I’m an angel. I’ve been sent here to look out for the souls of Paris.”

“…a guardian angel is dating me?” Juleka asked.

And then Rose blushed. “Well, angels are allowed to love!” she said a little too quickly. “We’re not like the other guys. And–and you’re very lovable! I can see souls, and your soul is as bright and lovely as the sun!”

Despite everything, Juleka blushed. “Um.”

“You are! You’re kind, and loyal, and… oh!” Rose swiveled on her foot. “More Hellhounds!” Juleka turned to see four more darting in from the shadows deeper in the alley. “Stay back!”

Juleka cringed against the wall as Rose rushed forwards and dueled the Hellhounds, slashing and thrusting to keep them away. However, the sheer weight of numbers began forcing her back. “Begone!” Rose yelled again, but the Hellhounds didn’t listen. “Uh… begone, I said!”

“I don’t think they’re listening,” said Juleka.

Rose gave her a tiny frowned, then blinked. “Oh, I know! I can make you my paladin. Then I can give you powers to help!”

————

I LOVE IT YES ITS AWESOME

I’d love to see more but no stress, this was just so enjoyable

[altairtalisman]

I decided to rush out a story while I still have time and motivation, most likely this will be my final fluff/angst war content...

Anyways, the story continues from @thenicestnonbinary's story here, and includes the fire ghost of @weirdbutdecentart, who is miraculously still around

"Heh, how long has it been since I felt genuine pain...?" Alshain muttered to themselves, figure slumped against a tree as a mesmerisingly shiny liquid oozed out from where their arms once were. "Damn that bird monster..."

"You look absolutely like shit. What, did you decide to clean your up after finding nothing else to clean?" Alshain groaned in pain, glaring directly at Altair, who was strolling up to them with a seething flaming entity following behind them. "Seriously, where the fuck were you? I had to use my new... hmm, pet is a bit too much for me... I suppose we'll call her my new servant slash plaything?"

"Mark my words, I'll find a way to break free from these chains-" The entity was silenced by a sharp tug of her chains, forcing her to the ground. Alshain managed a hint of a smile become grimacing, their wounds was causing their vessel to fall apart and while they would survive, the pain was starting to gnaw at them.

"Y'know something? There's this grey bird monster, saying that I was connected to you- well, I'm assuming 'fire demon' means you and guess what's the worst part?"

"You got your ass cleaned by them." The entity snidely replied, letting out a strangled gasp as Altair tightened their grip on the chains that bound the entity. Alshain squinted their eyes at the entity that was before them, she was so familiar... yet they couldn't remember who she was.

"You got your arms ripped off, yeah I'm not blind Captain Obvious." Altair sneered, making a show of gesturing to Alshain's lack of arms. "Oh wait, did the poor celestial baby also get their legs torn off? Oh, you poor dear."

"Shut the fuck up, I'm being serious here."

"Hey, between the two of us, I'm the serious one."

"You two are both monsters."

"Gale, shut the fuck up already." Alshain felt like Altair was more of a parent than an owner, but their body was crumbling and in all honesty, the sheer pain felt left them no room for joking. "So?"

"That bird monster whatever is a fucking deity. Drew some shitty symbol while all my life liquid was leaving out of my arms, surprised that I didn't die of... what's that thing mortals call when their red life liquid pours out of their body and they die because they lost a lot of it?"

"...Did you seriously forget what blood is?"

"To be fair to us Gale, we don't have blood like what you mortals have. Hell, our true forms aren't what you see. But hey, I'm sure someone here would love to explain our physiology later once they stop bleeding out of their arms." Altair defended, for once not making Gale's life miserable apart from being permanently chained. "It'll take too long for you to wait until you regenerate... and the last thing we want is for you to clean this plane of existence up before we had our fun cleaning up..."

"Yeah... yeah... Just... Just seal up my arms already. I think I lost like, a gazillion atoms already." Alshain would've snapped at the infernal had they not be the only one strong enough to cast the seal needed to stop the bleeding. While Altair was busy preparing the seal, the celestial glanced up at the sky, feeling a disconcerting smile from somewhere in the vast emptiness planes away from them grinning back. "...Hey you two, what makes something a god?"

"Complete control over something." Gale muttered, flinching a second later out of fear that Altair would yet again, yank her chains and send her sprawling to the ground or worst, choke her until she wished for her permanent end and then some more. To her complete surprise, the infernal gave a subtle nod of agreement.

"I feel like I should be concerned that you're asking such a philosophical question."

"Ha! I wish it was philosophical... but no, stupid bird monster turns out to be a stupid bird monster deity who so happens to claim that they're the god of the void... who also misnamed me."

"...I'm getting the impression that you're more pissed about being called the wrong name then... this." Gale gestured to Alshain's crumbling body, specks of light falling to the ground as though they were shooting stars who decided to plummet to their earthy death. Altair conjured two glowing seals on the remnants of Alshain's shoulders, beaming as they slapped the seals as hard as they could.

"Navigator's Nightmare, activate!" Alshain howled in pain, while Gale started to reconsider her opinion that Alshain was the more deranged being of the two. Altair grinned, clearly aware that they didn't have to yell out the seal's name in order for the seal to work. Eventually, the seals stopped glowing. Instead, they were on two stumps where Alshain's arms once were, as though they were branded on by a hot branding iron. "Anyways, is Gale right about the name thing?"

"Hey, you try being called as Ashlain! That's like, a lameass name! Who the fuck names their kid Ashlain?! Might as well call me Ashleigh!" With the pain subsiding, Alshain had the strength to argue with the infernal. Altair rolled their eyes, shaking their head mockingly. "Okay fine! You try lying on the floor while that bastard mons-"

"Can we please skip to the good bit? It's getting late, and even infernals need some quality sleep."

"That bastard gave me this... this... pitying look like I'm some fool! Dust to dust, collect dust, eating inedible fear, all while calling me some fucking lameass name!"

"Putting aside how you, and by extension me, should be concerned about this deity you speak of, I find it insanely hilarious that someone as powerful as you is getting so worked up over being misnamed."

"You're so lucky that I don't go Virgo's Prayer on your ass right now, because you're this close to getting a prayer shoved up your asshole-" The two immortals started to bicker, with both sides threatening to cast spells at each other in hopes of erasing each other's existence.

'I wish you had that self-restraint before you left me to bleed to my death.' Gale thought to herself, hoping that while Altair can control her body, they cannot read her thoughts. Eventually, Altair let out a huge sigh and stared upwards at the night sky hidden by the forest's dense foliage.

"God of the void huh? I'm guessing Avery's not exactly who we knew... though... is Avery a who, or a what?"

"Heh~ So that bird monster's Avery? Good, I finally have a reason to wipe that cocky face off their face."

"What the hell did Avery even do to you back when you were with the Angst side?"

"...Honestly? Nothing, just didn't like the way they look y'know?"

"No, I absolutely don't know." Altair responded, with Gale reaffirming her original opinion that Alshain was the crazier one among the two and someone far too whimsical for her to depend her survival on.

'I don't care if Altair says it's impossible, I will find a way to break free... and then I'll take my revenge...' Altair glanced over their shoulder, prompting Gale to resume her default scowl. They were tempted to mention that while mindreading was something that they couldn't do, they could sense the shift in emotions in the entity and was able to guess that Gale wanted to take revenge.

'Whatever, I'll crush her soul at some point...' Altair then turned to Alshain, who was still grumbling about being called something else. “So what do you want to do now?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Alshain simply asked, glancing up at the night sky once more. The celestial smiled peacefully, a promise made as the leaves rustled against a mysterious breeze.

“We clean them all up.”

[mordoriscalling]

Life (of) Surprise (3/5)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). Warnings: Jaskier and Geralt have a serious argument in this one.

(Part 1) (Part 2) 

III - A Surprise Realisation 

Geralt never thought he’d get married again, much less to a man. Leave alone a man like Jaskier, who is loud, bright, and charismatic; unlike Geralt in so many aspects that by all means, their relationship shouldn’t work as well as it does.  

He’s a divorcee. His previous relationships didn’t last. Rationally, he knows he should’ve been more cautious, yet when Jaskier got down on one knee that April morning, Geralt found himself unable to say no. He was so tired that day, but that wasn’t the reason he said yes. He agreed to marry Jaskier because back then – as he looked into Jaskier’s eyes, blue like the cloudless sky above them – he realised that it seemed right.

Jaskier’s always accepted Geralt the way he is, with all his problems and mistakes. Jaskier is both safety and adventure. He’s trustworthy and unpredictable; a fascinating contradiction that Geralt could see himself exploring for the rest of his life.

Or so he thought.

“Eight months,” Geralt grits out, his emotions balancing at the edge of fury.

Jaskier says nothing, his eyes cast downwards, standing in the middle of the room with the air of a puppy about to be kicked.

“We’ve been engaged for eight fucking months,” Geralt growls, “and you’re only telling me this now?”

“I wanted to come clean,” Jaskier answers weakly. His voice doesn’t waver.

The steadiness of his voice shouldn’t be surprising, though. Jaskier’s a singer. A performer. A very good one. Geralt didn’t have an issue with that before. The only problem with Jaskier that Geralt’s ever truly had it that Jaskier can be extremely inconsiderate at times.

Now, the former and the latter seem to have merged into something that Geralt isn’t sure he can forgive.

“You didn’t think about doing that earlier?” he asks.

It’s New Year’s Eve. They’re in Jaskier’s childhood bedroom, where they’re to sleep for the night. Downstairs, a party is about to begin, with both Jaskier’s and Geralt’s family and closest friends in attendance. Jaskier’s parents, Wanda and Alfred. Rozalia and Silvio, Amelia with Nasir and their daughter. Triss, Essi and Eskel. Aiden and Lambert. Vesemir, Yennefer, Ciri, Dara.

Geralt suspects that everyone is waiting in the dining room already. Yet, this is the moment that Jaskier chose to tell him about the circumstances of their engagement.

“I didn’t have the courage,” Jaskier replies, “I was afraid you’d take it the wrong way.”

“Have the fuck am I supposed to take it any other way?!” Geralt barks, making Jaskier flinch. “You told your family that we’d marry before you asked me to marry you.”

It’s dark outside the tall windows. The only source of light in the room is the chandelier above Jaskier’s head, hanging down from the high ceiling. The lamps cast Jaskier in a warm glow, and to Geralt, it seems as if he saw his fiancé for the first time. There’s a stubborn set to Jaskier’s jaw as he still refuses to look at nowhere but the wooden floor.

“You did that for what?” Geralt demands, “So that you look good in front of your family? Is... us some kind of fucking performance for you? Have you been pretending from the –”

“No,” Jaskier cuts in. His gaze is finally on Geralt, and he appears genuinely aghast at the notion. “The only pretending I’ve ever done is lying to myself that our engagement was for real the whole time! I told everyone that we’d marry because I wished it so badly to be true! I wanted it to happen, so I said something that would force me to make it happen.”

The confession would be heart-warming if not for the last sentence, which makes Geralt’s blood run cold. He walks up to Jaskier slowly, staring him down, trying to see through the (distracting, deceptive) blue of his eyes.

“You would’ve made it happen?” he murmurs, his emotions treading the dangerous line again, “If I’d said no, would you have persisted? Manipulated me, as you did with the spring wedding?”

A broken noise escapes Jaskier’s lips. “That wasn’t my intention! I’m so sorry that I made you feel this way. Please forgive me, I never meant it like that–”

“I’m starting to doubt every word you say,” Geralt interrupts, because now their nearly three years together feel fake.

Jaskier takes a step back, hurt written all over his features. Tears well up in his eyes as he exclaims, “I’m not lying! I’m not lying when I say that you’re the only one that I want to marry.”

Geralt doesn’t want to hear it. He moves to walk away but Jaskier grabs him by the arm. “Dammit Jaskier,” he growls, “don’t–”

“Listen to me,” Jaskier says, insistent.

 Geralt tries not to, looks away to distance himself, but Jaskier’s voice is that of a siren – arresting and irresistible, powerful even when hushed.

“I never thought that I’d settle down. I fell in love too easily. One day a woman from the bar would have my heart, and then next it would be a guy at the bus stop. Commitment wasn’t my thing.”

Geralt scowls, about to ask how that information is supposed to help in the current situation, but Jaskier speaks first.

“But then, then I met someone who’s so deeply fascinating that I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s been through so much and yet he’s nothing but kind and considerate. He has so much presence but he rarely uses it to his advantage. He feels so much and yet he shows nothing. He...” Jaskier chuckles, the sound somehow both warm and sad. “He’s honest with me and calls me out on my mistakes, challenging me to be better. Thanks to him, I don’t stop learning. With him, it seems like... like we’re writing a gripping book. A... a story I want to go on and on.”

A story without an ending may not be a happy one, Geralt muses. He says nothing, though, still looking away, and Jaskier speaks up again.

“From the moment I met you, I’ve wanted you to stay, but perhaps–” he cuts himself off, releasing out a shaky sigh. He lets go of Geralt’s arm at least and then utters, “Perhaps I love you too much. Maybe it’s not healthy, after all.”

Pain seeps through every syllable as Jaskier says this. Geralt has to swallow hard because that, that seems so wrong. How can it not be healthy when the only time they truly breathe – truly relax and let go – is as they are around each other?

Geralt stands frozen, listening to Jaskier’s sniffs, and tries to process all that he’s heard. He has to fight his fervent want to believe Jaskier’s loving words. He wishes it to be true, yet the recent revelation’s stained all they’ve been through with the ugly thought that Geralt’s feelings – his love – have just been a fucking box to tick.

The sheer hurt of it settles somewhere deep within him, clawing a hole in his chest, wrenching, pulling all the air out of his lungs. He can’t stand being next to Jaskier anymore and escapes to the bathroom, which is adjacent to the bedroom.

The water is cool as Geralt splashes it all over his face. He tries to take his emotions under control, especially that anger raises within him once more. He’s a moment away from doing some real damage to the furniture.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to calm down. He assumes that enough time passes for Jaskier to decide to go downstairs without him, which is the only wish he has right now. Yet, as he emerges from the bathroom, it (unsurprisingly) turns out that he can't have what he wants – Jaskier sits there, at the edge of the large bed, his face hidden in his hands. As he hears Geralt approach, he raises his head revealing his dishevelled hair and red-rimmed eyes.

He’s a picture of misery and Geralt heart lurches in sympathy, in a ridiculous need to comfort his fiancé, despite his anger.

They stay like that, staring at each other for a few unbearable moments of heavy, choking silence, until Geralt finally breaks it.

“Dinner must’ve started by now,” he says, “We should go.”

 A rasped “okay” is all the answer Jaskier gives.

They don’t pretend that everything is all right. Everybody quickly notices the tension between them and the dinner is a painful affair at the beginning. It’s a miracle that everyone’s managed to gather here today, though. The two families seem determined to make the best of it and the initial awkwardness soon passes. Conversations start flowing and after some time, everyone is getting along well enough for the party not to be torturous.

When dinner is finished, Jaskier’s parents invite them to the living room. There, a piano awaits, and Jaskier launches into a short performance that leaves everyone spell-bound, including Geralt, even though it hurts.

It hurts to watch Jaskier’s fingers dance over the keys, knowing the way in which those beautiful hands touch his body. It hurts to see the tempting curve of Jaskier’s neck, knowing how Jaskier always gasps when he kisses it. It hurts to watch Jaskier shine because he believed that he had a part of Jaskier’s light to himself.

And yet. Now, there’s the ugly thought at the back of his head that it wasn’t true. Jaskier did claim it was.

And yet.

The moment the performance ends, Geralt decides to survive by sticking with Silvio. Rozalia’s husband is talkative but what he loves chattering about the most is the cats and dogs he’s fostering with his wife. He shows Geralt pictures and videos, which improves Geralt’s mood slightly.

After Triss and Nasir steal Silvio away, Geralt is left alone, sitting in the corner of the room with his glass of wine. On instinct, his eyes search for his daughter. He finds her talking to Jaskier’s sister and frowns.

He loves Ciri more than life itself but he’s aware that she’s can be a right brat. He’s also familiar with Amelia and Rozalia enough to know that they’re very likely to be charmed by Cirilla’s vicious streak. Jaskier seems to know it too, and he appears genuinely terrified as he watches his sisters chat with Ciri, the three smiling mysteriously.

Then, Yennefer joins them, and Geralt is... apprehensive.

The party goes on. Some people, like his brothers, leave Geralt in peace. Others, such as Jaskier’s parents, insist on speaking to him. He picks his way through the, admittedly polite and pleasant, conversations, until no one wants to talk to him.

All the while, his gaze strays to Jaskier. Geralt watches him joke with Essi and Vesemir, laugh at something Lambert and Eskel are saying, take his niece into his arms and coo at her with Aiden by his side.

As Geralt observes Jaskier hold little Zofia and smile at her lovingly while Aiden makes funny faces at her, he suddenly comes to understand how tightly Jaskier has managed to weave himself in between all the threads that make Geralt’s life. All his family know Jaskier and accept him. Most of them are fond of him, or downright adore him. Geralt’s thoughts and memories of the sea are mingled with Jaskier’s songs. He doesn’t miss being at sea as much as he feared in large part due to Jaskier engaging him in his own life. Jaskier knows him, like a true friend does.

Removing him from the tapestry would leave a jagged hole, and Geralt realises that it’s not something he’d ever want. After all, he doesn’t have a particular place where he belongs. His home is where his loved ones are.

And he loves Jaskier so.

It’s ten minutes to midnight when Jaskier approaches him for the first time since the argument. Geralt still sits on the couch without any company as Jaskier stands before him, clearly putting up a happy face.

“I love the way you just... sit in the corner and brood,” he remarks, his cheerfulness falling flat,

Geralt rolls his eyes, irritated. “I’m here to drink alone,” he grunts.  

Jaskier, of course, refuses to take the hint and sits down beside him. Before Geralt can protest it, though, loud giggles catch his attention. He looks at the source of the sound and sees Ciri and Dara laughing at something on their phones (a meme, Geralt assumes). Joy at seeing his daughter’s happiness fill him but then Jaskier’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“If you say that you don’t believe me,” he says, “what must Dara think?”

Geralt looks at him sharply and immediately understands the sadness in his eyes. He’s aware of how much Jaskier wants Dara to know that all he’s done to help the boy – putting his career on hold to care for him, providing for him, going to therapy with him – are driven by genuine willingness to help, not pity or charity.

“Maybe I’m not good at...” Jaskier goes on, a wry smile twisting his lips, “Well. This whole... guardian thing.”

“You are,” Geralt replies.

It is true. Dara agreed to say with Jaskier eight months ago. The boy is still grieving and struggling but Jaskier has been supporting him through it with surprisingly few missteps.

“Thank you,” Jaskier answers, uncharismatically timid.“I... Geralt,” he begins, his tone sombre.

Geralt tenses and waits. His free hand, the one not holding the wine glass, clenches into a fist.  

“I’m sorry for withholding the truth from you for so long, I was...” Jaskier swallows. “Stupid. It was wrong of me, and I... I promise it won’t happen again.”

He looks away and considers, even though there isn’t much to wonder about. There’s no coming back from how important Jaskier is to him, for better or for worse. His hurt is far from mended but Geralt nods. Jaskier heaves a sigh and lays his hand atop Geralt clenched fist.

“Will you stay?” Jaskier murmurs.

A memory strikes him – of how Jaskier asked him the same thing almost three years ago as they stood outside this very house.

In the background, the countdown begins. Geralt unclenches his fist and takes Jaskier’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. Jaskier squeezes back and the New Year starts.

***

A/N: the chapter count went up to 5 because I wanted to split ch3 into two smaller parts. Also, you can also read this fic on AO3. 

[hitbythunder]

Chandrilan Moons -3

A Kylo Ren x Reader story with much angst, possessiveness and dark themes (warnings will be updated as the story progresses) –> Read also on AO3

Summary: Growing up under the loving care of your foster-mother, Leia Organa, there had been nothing for you and Rey to want for. Though not of kin, you loved Rey as your sister and spent a happy childhood with her on Chandrila. But when the boiling galactic politics demanded for Leia to take action, for the Resistance to rise and fight, the girls could no longer evade the cruelty of the world. Kylo Ren sought a map as a key to revenge, to freedom, and had no use for a force-unsensitive young girl like you. You were simply a means to an end. Until his darkness latched onto you, drawn in by your light as you were by the demon that is Kylo Ren - inevitably gravitating towards each other, bound to be one. Like the Chandrilan moons.

**** WARNING: description of violence, mentions of rape

____________________________xXx____________________________

3- A disturbance in the Force

+Takodana - neutral territory+

 Flying through space was amazing and although two experienced and trusted Resistance pilots had accompanied us girls on our mission, the glistening stars as far as one could see was worth it all. While Rey remained slightly pouting for most of the flight, I was glued to one of the side-windows of the ship. It was a small but bulky transport ship, for a star-fighter couldn't hold that many people and would have attracted too much attention once we landed on Takodana. Albeit its neutrality in the war, one should never act foolishly, especially since neutrality itself depended heavily on the benefits of a foregone alliance. But with Maz Kanata, the owner of the famous castle that granted sanctuary to everyone for one night, and proved friend of the Resistance, nothing could go wrong today and the whole mission seemed as good as done.

Leia had sent us there to retrieve the Jedi texts Maz had bought from a smuggler who had passed through weeks ago, hoping that they might help Rey's training in the Force. Or so I assumed as I curiously scanned the texts before Rey put the few scrolls and loose pages in a safety-box inside her back-pack.

 "There's one more thing." Maz rummaged in a small chest among the sheer endless heaps of stuff in the castle's vault, leaving me to wonder how she could possibly remain an overview of what was down here. But perhaps that was why it was such a good hiding-place for forbidden artifacts such as Jedi-texts - as well as the light-sabre Maz now held solemnly in her wrinkled hands.

"Oh my stars, Luke Skywalker's light-sabre!" Rey was beyond herself with joy, her hands trembling slightly as she took the legendary weapon and gingerly inspected it from all sides. Ever the technician, Rey simply had to understand how that thing worked exactly and probably would disassemble the sabre if it hadn't been Luke's.

While I shared my sister's excitement, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as I watched Rey posing with the sabre. As so often, I found myself lacking as compared to my sister and Maz's talk about destiny and great deeds to be done with that sabre didn't make it any better. So I zoned out, sulking quietly in the background, until the three of us left the stuffy vault via seemingly endless stairs. We reemerged back into the dining hall of the castle's ground-floor where the canteen was, without drawing attention of the guests there. In one corner of the hall, a band played jolly tunes, which echoed off the thick castle walls and arched ceiling in a cacophony with the chatter of people. Because of many nooks and columns, the canteen could house many guests without seeming stuffed and a social-introvert like me could feel quite overwhelmed by all the noises, smells and visuals. I had never seen such variety of alien races, humans and droids gathered peacefully in one place.

 With our mission virtually accomplished, the Jedi texts secured, it was time for us to return to the base and thus I scanned the canteen for our two escorts. But fate had other plans, for suddenly three very familiar faces appeared at the entrance of the dingy dining hall.

"Han Solo!" Maz cried out, shifting everyone's attention to the smuggler and his companions Chewie, a startled guy in Poe's jacket and Poe himself, his loyal droid BB-8 at his heels.

 What in the galaxy are they doing here? I wondered while they approached us, an uneasy tingling overcoming my nerves. In hindsight, to give in and investigate this strange feeling more closely would have spared me so much trouble. But instead I pushed it down and greeted the guys as friendly as ever and soon later we found ourselves seated at the last available table. After getting us some food and beverages, Maz joined us at the round table, listening intently to the quiet conversation. We informed Han about our mission before he could get any wrong ideas (e.g. that we stole a ship and went against Leia's orders) and it felt nice that he cared about our well-being.

 "Kriff, that is amazing!" Rey nearly burst with excitement as Poe, with interruptions of Han and Fin (the new guy), told us about what had happened on his mission. To sum it up, Poe had been on Jakku to get a map leading to Luke Skywalker but had been caught by the First Order and tortured by Kylo Ren himself. I shuddered at that part, because everybody knew not to cross paths with this merciless demon. Ren's cruelty and thirst for blood-shed seemed endless, his hatred for the Resistance only fueling his powers, and I could not fathom to imagine what Ren had done to squeeze every ounce of information out of Poe.

Luckily, Poe had entrusted the map to BB-8, who had remained hidden on Jakku the whole time, until Poe had managed to escape by the help of Fin, a renegade stormtrooper. Well, and as if fate had decided to stir things up even more, they had bumped into Han and Chewie on the way - something concerning smugglers and gross aliens, I didn't listen too carefully then - and due to low fuel and necessary repairs they had to make a stop here on Takodana.

"Wow, what a ride..." I said with awe and respect for their courage and luck, which had at least Fin and Poe smile proudly.

"Yeah, didn't exactly go to plan-" Poe replied between sips of his beer, Han scoffing beside him and mumbling something to Chewie about the recklessness of youth. "-but here we are, map in hand."

 "And as soon as the Falcon's refueled we're leavin'!" Han declared as soon as Poe finished, his tone harsh but one could tell he only meant well for all of us. "Gonna make sure y'all get back in one piece." Obviously, Leia would have Han's head should anything happen to her girls, her best pilot and the map under his watch. And although I sensed his reluctance to face Leia, I was looking forward to the resemblance of a family. Hopefully they wouldn't quarrel from the start on.

 Somewhat lost in my fantasies of a happy family life, I hadn't registered the growing debate between Finn, Rey and Poe.

"... you don't know them as I do! There's no fighting the First Order because they'll slaughter us for even trying. I've seen enough of their horrors and I want nothing to do with them!" Finn declared heatedly and barely kept his voice low as Poe repeatedly urged him to, also keeping the renegade in his chair.

"But that's the point! You have so much detailed insider-information which we could use to fight them! Why would you waste that and cling to the illusion of outrunning them?" Rey retorted with unabashedly directness and not less heatedly, the spirit of the Resistance burning fiercely in her hazel eyes. "Fleeing like a coward."

Finn rose then, anger and shame written across his face, though he didn't come up with a response and after a few seconds gave in to Poe tucking at his sleeve, sat back down and glared into his cup. A tensed silence hung over the table, until Maz subtly changed the subject by engaging Han in a conversation about a mutual smuggler-friend of theirs. With a fuming Rey beside me, I shot Poe a questioning glance, but he looked as helpless beside Finn as I felt and began to talk some sense into Finn in a calm manner. That he should come with us to the base, at least for a little while.

 Next to Han, Chewie was eager to get out of here, groaning impatiently beside his friend and rubbing his bandaged arm.

"All right, Chewie, go on and check on our baby." Han said between Maz's babbling and quickly grabbed his beer before Chewie would knock it over as the giant jumped to his feet.

"I'm coming with you." on impulse I rose too, dismissing everyone's questioning looks as I added: "I need some air anyways."

 Let them cool their heads while I'm gone, I thought and jogged after Chewie.

   Since Maz's castle was built on a cliff surrounded by the ocean on one side and dense forest on the other, the landing-places were spread to a few clearings nearby. So we had to walk a little and although Chewie wasn't particularly chatty, I didn't mind either and enjoyed the beautiful landscape. At the bottom of the weathered castle's stairs, we turned right and followed a lovely path between lush grassy hills at the border of the forest, the rush of the nearby sea accompanying our steps. Suddenly Chewie halted, his hairy arm on my shoulder stopping me too, and pointed towards the thicket. There, half-hidden by the greenery, two humans were carrying a seemingly shut-down BB-8 further away from the castle.

 Hasn't BB-8 been with Poe and us the whole time? I wondered briefly. But then, BB-8 was a small droid and many people had squeezed themselves past our table in the brimming canteen. Perhaps we had all been too distracted by the heated conversation between Rey and Finn to notice BB-8's absence.

"I'll follow them and stop them from leaving. You go use that long legs of yours and get the others, Chewie! Rey'll find me through the Force!" I declared in a split-second-decision, already dashing away into the dense forest and leaving a groaning wookiee behind.

  Deeper and deeper I ventured in my pursuit, steadily closing the distance between myself and the thieves without alerting them of my presence. As children, Rey and I had often played hide and seek in the forests of Chandrila and I had to develop some pretty decent sneaking-skills to diminish her advantage with the Force. Rey had only once admitted that she wouldn't have won all those times if she hadn't used the Force to sense my approach. Thus, even if my sneaking skills should fail me I trusted that Rey would be able to find me. I just had to stall some time, delay those thugs from leaving, until Rey and the others would arrive. At one point, the two thieves halted to catch their breaths and looked around. I quickly ducked behind a tree, easing my nerves. Suddenly I noticed a bright red stroke on the otherwise blue sky above, far away yet ominous to watch. Though I had no clue what it was, I instantly had a bad feeling about it. But more pressing matters were at hand, and after another deep breath I dared to peek around the trunk. There was only one thief beside BB-8 then.

 Kriff, where did the other go?!

  Maybe Chewie should have chased them, not me, I admitted to myself as I was hauled by a pair of large hands and thrown very harshly on the forest floor next to the motionless droid.

"Look what followed us, mate!" said the gruff guy to his companion, who looked terribly scrawny in comparison. Both reeked of ale and whatnot, their ugly visages distorted by sinister smiles.

"A pretty thing like that will make a good price, I wager. Not as high as for the droid though." the scrawny one snickered as he mustered me, while the bear-like guy's eyes roamed over my body with a different kind of greed.

"How 'bout a taste..."

 "No!" I screamed as he grabbed me, trashing against his hold, and somehow I managed to draw my small combat-knife from its holster at my hips. I thrust without much consideration, nor proper aim, stabbing bear-guy right above the knee. The blade sunk hilt-deep into his thigh-muscle. He howled in pain and repaid me with a hearty slap across my face, sending me flying back against BB-8 and onto the mossy ground. The impact caused the droid to reawaken and a small safety compartment at its front jumped open, the object within landing a few feet ahead of me.

 The map! my dizzy mind concluded with horror.

 Ignoring the rising pain in my body, I crept on all fours and frantically scanned the forest floor with my hands in a panicked search for the map. Scrawny guy was still laughing at his companion. Knowing that the guys and Poe in particular, had risked their lives for this map and that finding Luke was vital for the future of the Resistance, I simply couldn't loose it nor let it be taken by those thugs. It was my chance to prove my value as part of the Resistance and failing wasn't an option.

 What would Leia think if I screw this up? Or Poe?

 Then, finally, my right palm touched a metallic longish object and instantly I closed my fingers tightly around it. The very moment I did so, a flash of energy shot through me, momentarily blinding all my senses in its immense light and suddenly the outline of a star-constellation appeared before my inner eye. Planets and stars twinkled in a blueish hue, in between a red dotted line that led to a particular oceanic planet. Though somehow familiar, I could not place this constellation and this strange vision lasted only a few seconds, before a sudden sharp pain in my hand brought me back to my present predicament.

  +++

  In front of Takodana castle, the fight between stormtroopers and Resistance had just begun by the time Kylo arrived there. His ship landed like a looming black bird among the First Order transports and agitation spread in his muscles upon the pending blood-shed, especially since he had sensed another force-user inside the castle. By far not as strong as him, but hopefully they would do for some entertainment compared to the other scum-bags that died like flies at his hand. Kylo was marching determinedly towards the building, when he felt it.

A disturbance in the Force within the forest to his right, faintly but clear as a lightning-bolt at distance and vanished just as quickly. Kylo paused, scanned the area with his powers and concluded that the other Force-user was up ahead at the bottom of the castle - not in the direction of the disturbance. Weighing his options, Kylo dismissed the distraction for being just that and walked on to find his opponent. The Force, however, tickled his senses again, rippling with distinct restlessly as if to tempt him and now it seemed foolish not to inquire further.

 "Find that droid at all costs! And take no prisoners!" Kylo barked towards a nearby officer, before he stormed off into the forest.

 The lightning-bolt had pinned down the exact location and the closer he got, the stronger the Force seemed to pull him there, becoming more insistent with each step. Faster, it seemed to whisper and spurned his steps beyond the capacity of men, neither rocks nor tree-stumps posing a real obstacle in his path. Kylo felt some human presence long before they came into view, two men beating and kicking a woman cowering at their feet. Judging by their appearance, they were either smugglers or Resistance-fighters and either was good enough reason to kill them.

Silent in his approach, Kylo descended upon them like a dark shadow from behind, the hiss of igniting his light-sabre the only foretelling sound of their demise. Effortlessly, the red crackling blade cut through cloth, flesh and bone, drenching the nearby greenery and earth with blood.

[evermorehaikyuu]

Day 7

Title: The Downfall of Bliss

Note: There is a character death and a mention of blood. The amount of times I changed this, I won’t lie to you. Anyways, here it is, enjoy.

˜”*°•.˜”*°•.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

Only the tears gave me a path to see.

All those years together. Gone. Blown away in the wind. He thought it was his fault and as part of survivor’s guilt, he was bound to think that in the first place. 

How could something so simple end up to her demise? Was he not paying attention? Was it his fault? So many questions and not enough time. He didn’t even know what he was doing at his job if it just made him recall the memories he had with her. 

So many of his old teammates came over to check on him ever since her passing and he put up the mask of both melancholy and trying to move on. But he couldn’t move on. Not when she was the only one that saw him as he truly was. To look for someone else, he felt, would be a disgrace to her memory. Y/N would probably say to move on, that nothing was immortal, his teammates said. Even he believed it, but to move on so quickly or move on at all seemed impossible. The idea of looking for someone else harmed him and he stayed shut up in his house, only going out to go to work. 

Matsukawa never got to say goodbye. 

~ 

Losing to Karasuno hurt him more than anything. At least, up until that point, the loss injured him. None of the third years would ever go to Nationals and they lost their chance. 

The look on Matsukawa’s face was something he himself didn’t want to see. But when he saw Oikawa receiving the ball and the ball didn’t go where he wanted it to go, leading to Seijoh’s defeat, his face went from persistent to sheer horror.

They wouldn’t go to Nationals. All of their training, all of the things that they had done, only to be stopped by the Wingless Crows. 

The aftermath was terrible, none of the third years crying but all of them could see that the first and second years were holding back their tears. Yahaba would be the next captain, but seeing Oikawa’s face made him desperate because he didn’t think he was ready to lead Seijoh. 

Y/N raced out of the stands to meet up with the third years, as she was a third year herself and the pain in her face was all too real. She, however, hid it as she said, “You guys did great.” That was it. She didn’t elaborate because she didn’t want them to explode by saying that it was a lie.

“We lost, Y/N.” Oikawa muttered.

“So? Does that mean you’re going to stop playing volleyball? No! This is one loss--” Y/N started before being cut off by Matsukawa.

“It was our last chance before going to Nationals, Y/N.” Matsukawa said, staring at his best friend for any trace of her armor breaking.

They locked eyes and she replied, “Nationals? Nationals are overrated, it doesn’t determine if you’re good enough or not, I know you’re good enough! Hell, you’re one of the powerhouse schools, this loss is something you can get over. You’ll probably train to be better, this doesn’t mean that you’re to give up now.” 

She had locked eyes with Matsukawa but the rest of the team could feel the power behind her words. It didn’t stop them from mourning; even so, Y/N went with them to the ramen shop and tried to pay, only to have Oikawa say, “I made a bet that if we lost, I would pay, Y/N.”

They all started practicing after eating and it was all going great, fantastic even, until Oikawa said something that immediately caused all of the third years to cry and Y/N brought out her tissues, making the third years smile through the tears. Even if she wasn’t the official manager, she still treated all of them as if she was their manager and Irihata never had anything against it. 

Matsukawa, Hanamaki and Y/N started heading home together, Hanamaki walking off to head to his own house. Matsukawa turned to Y/N and said, “You’re coming over?”

“Well, duh, I don’t want you to cry.” She looked up at him, smiling softly. 

“You don’t need to take care of me, I’m okay.” Both of them knew he was lying. She took his hand while looking ahead and didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to say anything and neither did he. Those words passed through them silently. 

It was amazing how Matsukawa tried to push her away from him for years, thinking that he wasn’t good enough when all this time, she kept going past the walls he put up to go to him. It was something that he hated and admired before coming to love it. He loved how well she knew him and how he could let down his guard around her.

Matsukawa wished they could stay like that forever, even if nothing lasts forever.

And he would find that out later on in his life.

~

“A funeral home? I mean, as long as you don’t bring any spirits back home, I guess you’re fine.” Y/N joked as she set the table for them both. 

Matsukawa was splayed on the couch, not bothering to change out of his work clothes from exhaustion and one arm over his eyes as he sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry about that, babe, one of them is in the kitchen right now and he says hi.”

Y/N let out a laugh that made him smile. It didn’t matter how many times he heard her laugh, he’d do anything for that laugh. She walked over and lied down on top of him, her head on his chest. His arm immediately went around her waist, pulling her closer. It was the warmth and love from her that made him look forward to the nighttime. The gentle touches, the laughs they shared, the quick but meaningful kisses before work, all of this was part of their normal lifestyle. 

Even then he had never popped the question of marriage. They lived comfortably, it was as if they were already married but he wanted to make it official.

He just needed a plan.

~

Currently driving across the highway, Matsukawa could not help but glance over at his fiancee, having already asked her to marry him about a half hour before and her saying yes. Both of them were extremely happy as they drove in silence.

“Why are you looking at me, love?” Y/N said, smiling at him.

“What? I can’t admire my--”

“ISSEI!” Y/N screamed as she quickly extended her arm to protect him. Even in a life or death situation, she thought of him first.

The car crashed head on with a truck, making the glass shatter and the car started spinning out of control, whirling off of the highway into the forest. Smashing into a tree, the airbags appeared and both of them were unconscious. Everything was quiet.

Matsukawa woke up to darkness all around him and a white airbag in front of him. He groaned as he touched his head, blood appearing on his finger. “Y-Y/N?” No answer. “Y/N?!” He strained against his seatbelt and tried to look over at her and saw that she was knocked out. 

So many things happened afterwards. He ended up at the hospital, questions being asked of him but he answered without care and only asked, “Where’s Y/N? WHERE’S MY FIANCEE?”

“Sir, please calm down--”

“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice broke at the last word but he tried to get off of his bed in search for her, only to be pushed back. “Please….just let me go to her, please, I just want to see her.”

“Sir...your fiancee didn’t make it. She got blunt force to the head, she died while in the ambulance. We did everything we could but--”

No. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. They only had a few years together, she couldn’t have died. No, they were lying to him.

“Don;t lie to me, where is she?” He craned his head as if expecting for her to walk in with a bright smile and saying that she was fine. Nothing. No one came in. His instincts told him to run, to go find her, but even he knew, deep down, she was gone.

He just didn’t want to accept it.

Matsukawa broke down sobbing and wailed for her to come back to him, incoherently prattling that they were supposed to live longer together; this accident was not part of the plan.

Accidents were never part of any plan. 

~ 

He had cleared anything of them both together and stored it in the attic. Everyday, he was told to lie down, to rest and sleep and not think about it. How could he not think about the fact that he basically killed the woman he planned to marry?

As he walked past their shared bedroom, now only his, he saw a picture hanging beside the door. Matsukawa had never noticed it until now. It was a picture of Y/N jumping onto Matsukawa’s back, both of them grinning, his smile lopsided. It was the only picture he had not put away for the sole reason that he didn’t know it existed. Perhaps she had put it there and he never paid attention.

He carefully took it off of its nail and stared at it for two minutes before tears started welling up in his eyes. He fell to the floor, hugging the little frame to his chest as choked bawls came out of him, praying that somehow Y/N would enter through the door and tell him that she was okay, she just went somewhere. 

Even as Matsukawa turned towards the door, no one came in. The woman he loved was gone and he believed it was his fault for not paying attention. His heart was held together by her, she was the reason he looked forward to coming back home. All he wanted to do now was stay at work to avoid the empty house, devoid of her. 

He couldn’t do anything anymore. She was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

Death takes anyone it can. No matter who it is, it’ll always come. Sometimes, it takes the ones that deserve it least and that causes more pain to their loved ones.

~

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