#like at one point i had to state i WASN'T attracted to corpses

[scorndotexe]

you never really want to be asking yourself "how was i THE EXCEPTION for necrophilia accusations" but here i am

[thepersonperson]

Thoughts on Sukuna and Kenjaku’s relationship as of JJK 258.

Before we start I want to clarify some things.

1) This analysis deals with topics of nonconsent and reproductive manipulation. 

2) I will be mainly using the TCB scans because of their accessibility. 

3) This analysis is based on Sukuna being aroace.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

On Sukuna being aroace...

There’s a strong case for this given how he responds to both sexual advances from Yorozu and romantic advances from Yorozu and Kashimo.

Rejecting Yorozu

Sukuna does not like Yorozu. This is rather obvious. His official updated character description states that he is "Turned off with Yorozu's excitement".

He dislikes her the most when she comes onto him romantically or sexually as shown by the panels below. Otherwise he regards her with a mild annoyance.

It should be noted that in the rules of Heian Era courtship, showing passive disinterest is how you properly turn someone down. Sukuna is someone who is a stickler for propriety when it comes to conduct associated with the upper class so this speaks volumes.

Rejecting Kashimo

Kashimo has much more tact when coming onto Sukuna but he's still pretty forward. He brings up love and laments how it's impossible for them to love people weaker than them. Sukuna is the first person Kashimo believes he is capable of loving. He even calls him beautiful.

Sukuna is not a fan of this. He straight up says he understands what love is, he simply does not care for it. Going onto express additional irritation at Yorozu while looking rather bored with the conversation.

Sukuna does go onto explain how the strong express love with their violence, but his entire demeanor mimics that of his one with Yorozu. If we go by the Heian Era courtship rules, this once again is Sukuna turning Kashimo down.

Sukuna also declares he does not need another person to satisfy himself directly to Kashimo. (And later internally.) This sounds rather silly given that he needs people to eat and fight, so we can infer he's speaking on relationships. Especially since this was a response to Kashimo talking about love.

What's fascinating about this declaration is that also notes most people do not understand him when it comes to love. Other people think he needs it, but he is content not having romantic or sexual relationships. This is a common problem aroace people experience.

His wording "never crossed my mind" also suggests he doesn't experience attraction outright instead of not having opportunities to act on it. (Yorozu has given him plenty of chances to do so.)

What's more is Gege stating Sukuna never had a wife or children via the official fanbook. Sukuna is strong enough to do whatever he wants and that includes forcing people to be with him. The fact he has no direct descendants and is not a rapist despite seeing humans as playthings really shows how uninterested in sex Sukuna is.

In conclusion? Sukuna is probably aroace.

Wait what about Gojo?

As an aside, I want to emphasize that out of the “fighting for love trio” Gojo is the only one who did not try to force love on Sukuna. (Which aligns with this character pretty well. He consistently respects boundaries when it comes to love.) These panels here are not Gojo. This is Sukuna recalling what Yorozu said to him and is projecting that onto Gojo. At no point did Gojo bring up love to Sukuna.

I think this is important to note because Gojo winds up being the only person Sukuna deeply respects by the end of the battle. He is also the only person who Sukuna consistently smiled at during the fight. There wasn't a single panel where Sukuna gave Gojo the passively irritated look. (Good job Gojo you did right by an aroace.)

What does this have to do with Kenjaku and Sukuna's relationship?

Bear with me this is going to be a lot.

On Kenjaku...

We know that Kenjaku has achieved semi-immortality with a Cursed Technique (CT) that involves corpse desecration. Though it’s a bit more severe than that. The brain transplant just doesn’t steal the body, it also steals their memories and their privacy. When most people die, they take their most personal secrets with them. Kenjaku’s CT takes away that last remaining bit of dignity. 

Kenjaku exists and survives by violating others physically and emotionally. The search for entertainment to relieve boredom comes at the cost of empathy for all other living things. Everyone is just a toy for Kenjaku to play with. (Not unlike Sukuna.)

We also know that Kenjaku wants to evolve humanity through cursed energy no matter what. Mainly for the lolz. It’s an interesting idea to Kenjaku so it’s being pursued to sate that curiosity. No more and no less.

Kenjaku is crafty and wise enough to have backup plans. The culling games can bring about this evolution, but so can Sukuna by merely existing. 

When Tengen is forcibly evolved because of these plans through cursed energy, they start looking more like Sukuna. Kenjaku explicitly makes this parallel. 

Kenjaku also raped a poor woman 9 times with a cursed spirit to experiment on how cursed energy could evolve humans. Though all her pregnancies were aborted, it is heavily implied she died from them.

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

We know that Sukuna’s body is perfect sorcery and cursed energy. He has 2 mouths and 4 arms. On top of that he learns and adapts to all things sorcery with scary speed. Sukuna is the pinnacle of human evolution through cursed energy. Tengen's evolution via cursed energy making them resemble Sukuna also indicates this.

In other words, Sukuna is Kenjaku’s ideal specimen for evolution via cursed energy. There’s just one problem. Sukuna is aroace and very fudging strong. Unlike Tengen or Choso’s mother, Kenjaku can’t force Sukuna to go along with these plans. Sukuna will simply kill whoever doesn’t respect his boundaries. So how do you work around this? You build a cage.

Yuji is the perfect cage for Sukuna and I’m pretty sure Kenjaku did that on purpose. As Sukuna stated, Kenjaku would not have a child for no reason. He also says that Jin is basically a fragment of himself. In JJK twin’s souls are treated as the same person. So in a way that makes Sukuna both Yuji’s uncle and his father. But that’s not the problem here.

(Please note that there are a lot of translations floating around because of how confusing this lore is. In every variation Sukuna seems to consider Jin a piece of himself.)

We know for a fact Kenjaku has been genetically manipulating people for a very long time and has found ways to capture souls and stuff them into an unwilling host. What this implies to me is that Kenjaku has been selectively breeding the Itadori family to get the perfect cage for Sukuna. (This could be as simple as manipulating who the Itadoris pair with or as gross as Kenjaku being the “mother” every step of the way. Which would make this particular panel insane foreshadowing.)

Wasuke says something a bit weird here when Kenjaku is in Kaori’s body that might make this the case.

How does he already know this? It feels like he has fallen victim to Kenjaku’s manipulations before and is trying to warn his son.

Now it’s not clear if Jin got turned into a cursed object and was reincarnated forcefully or if he naturally reincarnated. I lean towards the former because of how meticulous Kenjaku is with planning. The end result is the same though—Kenjaku created a version of Sukuna that was willing to have sex and children, despite Sukuna’s clear wishes not to.

Kenjaku has been a very rapey character from the start, but this takes it to another level for me. There are so many asexual individuals who are the targets of unwanted sexual desire. When discomfort is expressed, people take it as a challenge. There’s this kind of entitlement to our bodies and sometimes our refusal to bear children. 

As of chapter 257, people have started to read Kenjaku as someone in love/obsessed with Sukuna and not willing to give up on it. Those implications make me deeply uncomfortable, but they have merit to them.

(The link may die because Twitter but hopefully this credit is enough.)

Kenjaku seems to have spent centuries coming up with the perfect plan to trap Sukuna and keep him as a lab rat forever. Even going as far as to force a pregnancy on Sukuna after death with a binding vow.

Sukuna’s unyielding hatred of Yuji becomes something a little more than opposed ideals with Kenjaku’s involvement. Yuji is essentially a constant reminder that someone else has control over him and might force him to engage in things he really does not want to do. (And under this interpretation, Sukuna has been forced to coexist with what is his unwanted child. Which is honestly pretty fudged up.)

Sukuna seems to be rather neutral to disinterested in Kenjaku despite sharing similar ideas about other people, loneliness, and a desire for entertainment. But when he realizes how Yuji was made, he refers to the action as gross/twisted. Since Sukuna is ok with murder, cannibalism, and stealing people’s bodies, you can infer he’s referring to the sex and pregnancy.  (This might also explain why Sukuna tries to speak to Kenjaku as little as possible. Someone getting with your twin after you turn them down is weird behavior.)

I think Uraume’s hostility towards Kenjaku should also be noted because they’re the only person who seems to understand and respect Sukuna’s boundaries at all times. Sukuna likes keeping Uraume around for a reason. They have a knack for telling people to piss off when they’re encroaching on his space (See naked Yorozu and trying to shoo away Kenjaku when the yapping starts.)

Whatever the case, Kenjaku is someone who causes others to relive their traumas and violates their autonomy for entertainment. I think Sukuna is a victim of this too.

As for Yuji having Sukuna’s actual power? Maybe he inherited it. Maybe Jin was turned into a cursed object and fed to Yuji as a baby. We don’t know yet and I’m sure whatever it is will probably be gross.

[wildwoof]

Feli's dissecting shit again --

It's a WEE BIT difficult to tell the exact time frame that the Backdoor Pamphlet takes place. It occurs over a timespan from before Koga's time in Yumenosaki to some point before the main story of !. Koga's first meeting with Rei occurs at least 2 years prior. His first time TALKING to Rei is 2 years prior to DEADMANZ & the War, but he could've been watching Rei from a distance for a bit longer than that.

The ending of the pamphlet had to take place after the War ended, but is it some time during the ! era or is it RIGHT before that time? A bit vague on that point. Considering Kaoru's words of

The only logical explanation is that is happens right after the war. Either at the end of his first year or beginning of the second. This line as well

Can be taken 2 different ways. Either it does occur at the end of the first year, so Rei hasn't fully returned from all his traveling OR it's beginning of his second year, Rei's "corpse" is in the "coffin" so he's reaching for wherever "Rei" went, which fits with his actions all throughout the second year. He mentions his blindly copying Rei. Even at first using shallower speech patterns puts him on edge.

So this has to be when he first began USING the harsher delinquent style of speech-pattern in comparison to the keigo he'd swap between constantly when first interacting with Rei. This is the beginning of when Koga starts to cling onto what was left of the old Rei. When he was trying to BE "Rei" aka become that "God" everyone thought he was ( including Koga himself ).

As he literally states himself. Why would he decide to try to take that burden on himself when he watched that dead look in Rei's eyes as well?

Way later on he also explains ( it's to Tatsumi ) how he knew exactly what Rei went through. So again, why would he want to put himself through that as well?

Because he wanted to take what was once a "burden" & show the full power. He took what he learned from watching Rei & finally being close to him to try to make that a new blade into the new "era". He didn't want to let what gave him new life & saved him completely die away. But also he slowly molded it into his OWN image. IT became Koga Ogami, who had no idea what he was doing like an idiot & blindly followed the one person he looked up to extensively.

What he witnessed Rei saying during the DEADMANZ live:

What Koga says himself later on by the second year:

Like it's never exactly what Rei said, but something of his own twist & rendition to it. Thus, why he still had a LONG WAY to go in trying to be exactly like Rei. Thus, why it never ultimately worked out for him, considering in-game logic considers him & Adonis not quite as equals to Rei & Kaoru. Rei & Kaoru are still seen as UNDEAD's main 2 attractions. But he was trying to pull what was once heavy on Rei's shoulders into himself.

Ahem -- pulling up the Repayment Festival --

Even here he mentions that he copied Rei

But he also mentions that he SULKED since it wasn't the "Sakuma-senpai" he admired anymore. How was Koga's sulking, aside from calling Rei "vampire bastard" all the time??? ( i'VE TALKED ENOUGH ABOUT KOGA STILL CALLING REI VAMPIRE BASTARD EVEN IN !! ERA, SO I'M NOT GONNA GO OFF ON A TANGENT.. NO I AM NOT... )

By trying to copy Rei, taking on that "burder", & trying his best to become that "God" as well that Rei was. But somewhere along the way he warped it around to slowly become his own "image". His rough delinquent speech was still taken from "Rei", but his ultimate demeanor became its own.

So I truly feel like the Backdoor Pamphlet takes place RIGHT before the start of his second school year. His slow progression & turmoil to seeing who he looked up to so strongly & who he felt saved him. That eventually he realized becoming "Rei" wasn't going to solve anything. Sure, he ultimately gets that chance to challenge Rei at last & tie up their loose ends they needed doing during the Repayment Festival.

But, he goes through that acceptance phase. He doesn't change his manner of speech at all, but he becomes his own. Actually -- I don't remember where I was going with this anymore. I just started rambling and was trying to wrap this up. But I don't remember WHY I started dissecting shit again.

Oh right it was supposed to be about how Koga was trying to copy & take Rei's place as well as when it occurred that he STARTED to attempt to do this even though like... it makes no sense he'd WANT to do this, considering how he knew exactly what Rei went through. He was right there in front of Rei the entire time. But I do still speculate it was because he wanted everyone to angle their emotions toward him who hasn't had to deal with that stuff prior like Rei did. So that the Rei he once knew who was happy & wild on stage would return.

The closest he got was during the Repayment Festival, but by Operetta, it's clear that he accepted Rei for who he was in comparison to continue to try to sulk & get Rei back to how he used to be. He must've won his battle with Rei to some degree on the Repayment Festival stage. He still wishes to be number one, but he's not trying to become some "God". So he spent from the end of his first year until the end of his second year in this "rough patch", which would have been the same for Rei roughly after the war.

Their coping mechanisms were unparallel & unmatched tbh dhglkdffg. Yet will always give props to Koga for being stubborn & continuing to stay unlike all the others who simply looked up to Rei. Even the "guy" from the Climax event who was trying to ruin them didn't even stick around like Koga did, yet wanted to weasel his way in like an asshole. Ok, I'm getting off topic now. Well have I ever truly been on topic? Not rly.

Translation credits be unto ye: Backdoor Pamphlet - CROSSROADS - Main Story Chapter - repayment festival just came from wiki archive

[cyberghost-scout]

For braveggg-HQ aka making the mun cry with angst

I want to reconsider how Ghostwire got a job in the Brave- GGG. Sure, the thread on how she got her job was okay. But it could have done better, looking back. 

Ghostwire used to work at Wolf's Arrow Inc as a guard. It could have been better- again, everyone there was not the nicest. And the girl was desperate to get some cash, so Ghostwire doesn't go above and beyond. Just a wave, and that's how far she socializes with them; that's not about the job. She was lucky when helping in the shadows to stop the zonderfied- corpses of her loved ones that happened on her day off. Not the best mental state, clearly.

So when a meeting was happening between all companies and the braves, she went along, naturally, as security. Of course, with high-ranking people doing a session, some rotten eggs will try to cause trouble, especially when Aconite is involved. So after one disgruntled person somehow passed security, they would try to confront the wolf-bitch unjustly about to cause a problem for everyone else. Wolfbitch wasn't pressured by the nutcase and snapped her fingers, calling in Suni.

No one noticed her until Aconite sounded the alarm. This intimidating woman stood before the man, pinning their arms back, and spoke quietly. "This is a final warning; leave quietly. That is all." The room fell silent as Suni could turn away a very aggressive person without breaking professionalism. Many people just thought that the disgruntled person was not that stupid, and it was like she had just appeared in thin air and was ready to take him out. It was better not to test one waning luck.

However, she was quiet, mainly kept to herself, and polite to whoever came while the bosses did their meetings.

After the worse kind of meeting (a monster/villain attack) and Ghostwire doing her job keeping people safe, our tired goth had enough with shitty boss Aconite, and she was making things worse... Ghostwire quit, removing the hat and jacket with the logos and storming off. After walking away from the shocked faces and rare thumbs up on the outside, our girl feels dejected.

Aconite would most likely get back the ex-employee, making finding a new job much more difficult. And our girl already had a tough time finding interviews, and people were not too scared of her alone. She was leaning toward the disguised real self, feeling like she set herself a death penalty, until Taiga and Seajima approached her. And after getting to thank her for the excellent work today and a small chit chat, they'd scheduled a job interview at the earliest time for Ghost. So, yeah, she got herself a new, much better job as night security.

Ghostwire, in her human disguise, is assigned to work with Volfogg due to the nature of her job. A nightshift security guard is patrolling near some sensitive material. Volfogg is mostly there to keep an eye on the new human work- for other reasons, to ensure she's not a threat. Ghostwire doesn't want to attract too much to herself.

Yet, she does attract the attention of the main cast for a few reasons. The first reason, primarily innocent, is she's the newbie. They wanted to make her feel more welcomed, even teasing each other because she's just an average human who excelled greatly in the job.

Ghostwire has gained the moniker "Nightshift's Ghost." During her time as nighttime security at brave-triple-G. Thanks partly to her Goth aesthetic and being so quiet-- until she made her presence known. Since she's one of the tallest women, the others would have thought they would quickly notice her more. They were repeatedly proven wrong, startled when Ghostwire gently spoke up a hello. Ghostwire (Suni) feels neutral with the nickname, silly but not harmful. However, she draws the line with ANYONE if they call her "Ghosty," as the last person to call her that was Flow. But she could not tell them why, so everyone just assumed that 'Ghosty' was a bad connotation. Not from the fact it still hurts that Flow's not here.

The second point is she looks a little intimidating-- sure, they did a background check, and Suni is not a delinquent or anything among the rumors. But she is still an impressively tall and muscular woman with nasty scars on her neck and drives a cool American car.

'What are the stories she keeps to herself? How many closes calls in her life on the rugged roads of America? Did she fight off a biker gang?' Imagine a group of kids or children of heart gathering around and watching her with curiosity.

Then how does she handle the AI units? They are usually a make-it-or-break-it for a newbie to stay at the job. No one wants to be harassed by some units or the clashing personalities with enormous metal bodies that will do damage. Or for the newbie side- maybe their true colors show, and it's not going to be pretty or just a creepy stalker moment. So everyone waited with bated breath to see how she'll react or ask to resign.

Ghostwire was pretty okay. Just treating them like regular employees- equals. Heck, she pranks some of them back if she can. It's borderline suspicious for her AI handler, Volfogg, that Suni is okay with the AIs right off the bat, despite the pleasant feeling of being treated like an equal.

She is friendly and kind to the others, but they can tell theirs a big wall between herself, and it makes sense. The humans and the brave AI thought because of her background of being a passed-around foster child till her adopted father and then she lost him, the only thing left of him was the mustang. There is some truth. Ghost's starting to come to terms with her trauma. Her real past is that of an ex-Decepticon. She survived and escaped the fear of the death penalty many times. After losing Fedelis and Flow- trying to find a life and get comfortable with not being depressed and moving around all the time. But that truth was hidden and fitted the mindset of a human.

The earthlings will eventually notice something weird about Suni, the subtle things. She has fangs whenever she has a toothy smile. How a brief moment, her eye color is a smidge redder than usual. No one notices immediately because they're also not expected: a super genius toddler, a little fairy boy alien, two cyborgs, Super A.I. that are sentient, and some said sentient AI is dating/banging some humans. Taiga and Saejima- it's just Taiga and Saejima. Normalcy for them is inaccurate to a degree.

But Ghostwire made one mistake that may get Volfogg to zone in on her. When she accidentally saw Flow and Fedelis again, in the worst way possible. Off-lined, destroyed from the explosion, lying on the slabs- she was not prepared to see them again. It was too soon; she was not equipped for this event. Her form almost glitched out, leaving her eye color her original red with white pupils with pink tears and her black hair with a green tint. She was lucky to get out of there before anyone noticed that she noticed and entered the room-- except one aforementioned purple little man ninja.

[hannya-writes]

Your Kind

Title: Your kind

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader, Peter Hale x Vampire!reader?

Other Characters: Kate Argent (mentioned), Laura Hale, Cora Hale and Talia Hale (Mentioned)

Category: friendship, platonic love.

Warning: Reader is a Vampire! Young Derek, and Young Peter because that's dangerous! This all happened after Paige's Dead. Violence, hypnotism or mind control (not sure but hey!) Peter being wild, I guess this is kind of sad.

Author's note: I didn't wanted to use the common powers of vampires because cliche! And I ended up with a mix of a striga, a bat and kind of werewolf powers, If I write a part 2, maybe I'll explain what's up with my version of vampires. And no! Vampire reader is not killing anyone... Yet. Also gifs are not mine, I found them on google!

• • •

In the moment you had stepped in Beacon Hills you had know that you shouldn't stay there for a long time. You weren't welcome. There was a Werewolf pack in town and werewolves didn't like your type. Maybe because of legends, since they told that your races were supposed to be enemies. Maybe because of a bad experience with someone of your race, maybe because it was engrained in their DNA. You didn't know. You never asked.

You just stayed as far away of the Hale family as possible. It was a problem that you got stuck in classes with no one else but Derek Hale. A teenager that had smell death and blood on you. He was cautious and curious about you, sneaking on you, expecting you to blow your cover. But you didn't. You had smelled him too, he smelled like a wolf, a mix of the animal itself and the smell of forest that came with them and made normal people get scared: the smell of the unknown, of danger.

You played it cool. You were a good student, middly attractive, you spoke when others spoke to you, you were kind and relaxed, you even helped some students in what was possible. When some students decided to pick on you, you didn't reacted. Never lost the patience that had been taught to you.

Then, there was Kate. Kate loved to pick on you, mock you, call you "the new library mouse". It was her insistance on you that had made Derek pay more attention to you. He smelled your murderous instinct every time Kate was close. An truth be told, he was amazed by your self-control.

After being put in a science work with him, you finally got the chance to know each other. You two had speak to each other like civilized human beings. You had joked together, you even became friends.

He wanted, no. He needed to know. He deserved to know, you were his friend now, he wanted to tell you what he was and needed to know more about you.

— Y/n, what are you? — he directly asked you one evening after the end of school, you were the last two people in the library, the question made you uneasy. If he discovered you, his family would kill you.

— excuse me? — was your simple answer, play dumb was your way out. Your parents have told you to do that, and act as a victim if necesary.

— you are not human, I can smell you — he confronted you walking in your direction.

— I'm a human, duh — you rolled your eyes faking amusement — Smell me? — you added with a perfect tone of confusion you had rehersed — do I smell good? — that last question was pure curiousness, you had recognized every part of his scent, you knew what every change in it mean so... Had he, maybe, done the same? Was it disgusting to him because of what you were?

— what? — he was surprised by your last words and you wished earth could swallow you whole, maybe your head first since you were blushing.

— there you are, I've been look for you — just in time, Peter Hale entered the library. And if Derek smelled of danger, Peter reak of wildness and blood. That was the first time you met, and unlike Derek, Peter took the opportunity to attack like the animal he was. Probably because he knew what you were.

Peter snarled at you, showing his fangs and blue glowing eyes, his fingernails turned to claws and suddenly the whole library smelled like wolf. His transformation triggered yours, he was challenging you in the little space that was yours. So, yes. You turned, but unlike him your fingers turned longer, your fingernails became long white claws. Your skin became paler, to the point of looking like a corpse. Your usually y/e/c eyes became red like those of an Alpha werewolf but unlike them your sclera turned black. Your 4 fangs grew in an instant and a high pitch sound inaudible for humans came out of your throat.

Derek covered his ears in pain at the sound that came from you. He couldn't believe his eyes, a wave of fear made him step away from you and Peter, his instinct told him to either fight by peter side or runaway. However his body wasn't able to move.

In a complete opposite reaction Peter jumped over you, hands extended, face contorted in an angry, animalistic expression. You saw him get closer but you didn't back off, you took a stride and with your longer hands throwed him away towards one of the book shelves. He didn't expected it, he had never fought a being like you.

— Leave — you warned him standing over him, but he wasn't afraid, he was angry. He jumped to his feet and charged again at you. You stepped away from his path, making him more furious. You were faster, you got more range with your claws. He was going to loose. That's why werewolves attacked your kind in packs. They trusted in their numbers, the organization. A lonely wolf, was a dead wolf.

Peter roared at you as he once again attacked. You knew what to do to kill him, one single slash of your claws and his lower jaw would be flying in the air. He would bleed out. You could almost see it.

However, instead of killing the menace you used one of the tricks the werewolves hated the most.

— calm down — you said in a soft voice keeping the eye contact and all of his attention on you— I'm not your enemy — you got closer to the werewolf, your hand lightly touched his face.

Peter would never be able of describe the sensation that over took him at your words, it had been as if suddenly he was in heaven, and the person speaking was an angel, better! a Goddess! He loved you, he would do everything in his hands to just hear you a little more. He will kill for you, he'll ask you to order him to kill in your name. Just for that sensation of fullness, happiness. You weren't his enemy, how could you? You were everything he wanted and more.

Your scent, your voice, your light touch, even your face had Peter hypnotized. You fully wrapped the violent werewolf with your presence, and he looked at you with big warm eyes. Even you hated using that trick. It was an induced state of bliss that made people easy to manipulate.

— everything is fine — Derek heard you said softly almost in a loving way, that made him feeling somehow nervous. He knew there was something wrong and he had to do something.

— who are you? — Peter asked in a soft tone that made you feel guilty of using your power over him. You took a breathe to aswer and then froze as you felt claws against the soft skin of your neck.

Peter saw the menace, felt your hand leave his face and fury rose from his chest, he growled warning Derek. He was aware of Derek speaking to you but the words didn't make sense why was Derek telling his goddess to let him go?

— Derek, please wait — hear you say his name made him see red. You had say Derek's name but not his? How could you? How dare Derek try to take you away?

Horrified you saw the werewolf extend his hand to attack Derek, you felt Derek's claws cutting your neck as you moved to avoid that the other werewolf claws hurt Derek. You had pushed Derek to your right. As you felt the spell over Peter was broken. Blood spilled from your wound, the strong taste of iron hit your tongue as you fought to breathe. But you couldn't, not with your throat slashed, not even when you tried to stop the bleeding with your hands.

Peter saw you confused, he didn't know if he had done that. He wanted to think that he had cut your throat, but he couldn't believe it.

— no, no Y/n — Derek spoke with panic as he crawled to you horrified by what he had done. He had kill you. It was like Paige all over again. His hands pressed over your hands trying to stop the bleeding.

— that won't kill her, she is a vampire — Peter said coldly, his eyes greedily watched how you struggled, how your red eyes slowly smother. He was amazed but disappointed, you a mythical creatures, a vampire non the less were dying like a common human being. You weren't as powerful as he expected. Why weren't you healing?

— I'm sorry — derek muttered ashamed, and Peter noticed that his own hands weren't tainted with blood. Derek hands were stained in red.

— no — peter voice was filled with hate, that vampire was his prey. That little vampire was his. You were his. Derek wasn't going to be your killer. His body moved and pushed Derek away from you with a kick, his hands took yours with the intent of taking them away from your wound, but he stopped. A sensation of coldness overtook him, his eyes slowly closed with a sudden desire to sleep.

On your end, the moment his hands touched you it felt like fire, the blood stopped flowing and the wound closed in a matter of seconds. You coughed a blood and the werewolf felt by your side asleep. The tears felt from your eyes freely and after a moment you hugged yourself to get a hold of your panic. The sound of someone else crying made you sit and look at Derek sniffing, with tears in his cheeks.

— D, D... Derek? — you called him out with a gruff voice, thanks to your recently healed vocal chords. — Der, der, derek — you repeated afraid of him being hurt, the worry made you stand up and walk towards him. — did he hurt you? Derek, are you ok? —

Derek looked at you with surprise and relieve, in his face the path of tears was pretty obvious.

— y/n, you are a vampire — he wasn't asking, of course not! the other werewolf had said it as you were almost dying.

— and you a werewolf — was the only thing that crossed your mind as you saw him.

— did you... Kill my uncle? — somehow Derek didn't sound worried, you denied with your head.

— Vampires... Can heal with the help of a werewolf — you said looking down, ashamed.

— but I, I... I tried to help you and.. — He was clearly confused and you sighed, feeling the need to explain yourself

— I charmed him, that makes a bond like the one of a master and a servant. You are not my servant... You can't heal me — you hated that stupid explanation but it was the truth.

Vampires had slaved werewolves to be closer to immortality. But not all of you did that. You had never had to charm someone, it could make people go crazy. It made a big unbalance in nature, made you get closer to the beast inside.

— I don't think Uncle Peter wanted to heal you — the comment made you giggle, but it soon died out.

— I know — you looked at Derek eyes for a moment — I won't charm you Derek, you are the closer to a friend I have and I have only speak to you for like... Two weeks — you smiled with sadness, knowing that this was a goodbye — but I have to go and your uncle has to forget about me —

— you are leaving? — he asked worried and a bit angry after all he had just found out what kind of creature you were — why? —

— Derek, your family is going to kill me if they discover that I charmed your uncle — you admitted scratching your neck nervously.

— My mom wouldn't... — Derek was trying to convince you, he made you feel bad, made you want to stay.

— she's going to do it — you stood up and went to his uncle, placidly asleep, Derek followed you. — I'm a problem to solve, a burden to destroy — you kneeled by Peter's side and reached to the back of his neck with a hand.

— no, you are not — he stated as serious as a heart stroke. — you are my friend — that made you smile.

— remember that if I make your uncle become a psycho — was the last thing you said before sinking your claws in Peter.

— maybe he already is one — he joked and the funny thing: that was the last thing he remembered of that day. He couldn't remember saying goodbye to you or how he got home. His memories started again with him being home, Laura and Cora were laughing and his mother got closer with a smile and a question: "Everything ok? You seem distracted"

And he had lied to her.

• • •

So, are you Team Peter or Team Derek?

[lanzhanlanzhan]

Wei Wuxian - On Loving Lan Wangji

(Or 'I was supposed to be writing fanfiction but my character notes got ahead of me and now I have another meta')

One of the most charming things about CQL!Wei Wuxian is this: up to the end, I don't think he has realized that he is in love with Lan Wangji.

I mean, we know. The world around them knows. Heck, I think even Lan Wangji knows, because bless this boy, I think he resolved his own 'I am in love with Wei Wuxian' arc even before the show's half-way point.

Wei Wuxian, though? I don't think so. Funny enough, in CQL-verse, there were already hints of something promising between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji even before Wei Wuxian's death, unlike in the novel where Wei Wuxian was completely in the dark and only developed feelings for Lan Wangji in his second life. CQL-verse though gave them that foundation of them being two people who were drawn to one another from the start, who became friends and even established a bond so close they can consider themselves as soulmates. Again, all these before Wei Wuxian even died.

I would like to once again send my heartfelt gratitude to Xiao Zhan for all those interviews that gave us a glimpse of his headspace as Wei Wuxian. In a few of these interviews, Xiao Zhan mentioned how part of Wei Wuxian's next life involved having to resolve things in the last one, and this actually included his learning to trust Lan Wangji again. 

In his old life, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had to struggle with a beautiful relationship on the verge of collapse, brought by Wei Wuxian's seeming refusal to let go of his ghost cultivation path, and Lan Wangji's conviction that Wei Wuxian had to return to sword cultivation because any other path would harm him. The tragedy of it all was that they were both in the right—Wei Wuxian required an alternative path to fight for what he believed was right despite having lost his golden core, and Lan Wangji (who did not yet know about Wei Wuxian's core) was also correct in that ghost cultivation was affecting Wei Wuxian's psyche. All these came to a head at Nightless City, with Wei Wuxian, heartbroken over having lost the people he fought so hard for, went against the whole cultivation world. In that state, he also saw that Lan Wangji was still against him, tried to stop him, even though Lan Wangji himself was still conflicted though his heart was still with Wei Wuxian in the end. 

Now, this time it would be Wei Wuxian's character song that makes things interesting. His character song seems to be set while he was in that space between his two lives, looking back at a life that strayed so far away from where his good intentions would have wanted it to go. He recounts his life, but interestingly and heartbreakingly, when we reach the chorus, although the words are actually never the same, the lines are nonetheless about the same single thing:

Chorus 1:

I have tried to take a jar of liquor with a smile

And once fought with the most beautiful person in Gusu

Chorus 2 (here, the lines dedicated to the subject are even longer):

I was once stunned by someone

And teased the cloud patterns with my fingertips

The sudden vibrations of a zither

I wonder why I am remembering these deep in my dream

Chorus 3:

I also once had someone in the mortal world

To love and to long for

The chorus always starts talking about Lan Wangji—and yet, it doesn't really sound like Wei Wuxian fully realizes how much this person means to him. He looks at it from a distance, perhaps because it was a life that was already over and he was regretful about how things had ended. The feelings are bittersweet—and just wow, those lines where Wei Wuxian calls Lan Wangji as "the most beautiful person in Gusu" are just too powerful for my poor, weak heart. Note though that with Wei Wuxian, this could mean either he did think of Lan Wangji as the most beautiful person in Gusu, or he just took it for granted that Lan Wangji was known as the most beautiful person in Gusu. Or it could be a bit of both, with not a lot of overthinking because... ah, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.

Fast forward now to after Wei Wuxian's resurrection. We know he and Lan Wangji were not in a good place because Wei Wuxian hid from him at first. He got anxious when he heard the juniors talking about Hanguang-jun, and actually discouraged them from calling him over. This was the man he once called his soulmate! How bad of a fall-out had theirs been for things to change so drastically. It definitely took some time for Wei Wuxian to feel comfortable around Lan Wangji again. 

Two things, I think, softened Wei Wuxian. First, Lan Wangji's drunken confession in CQL-verse was that he regretted the events leading to Wei Wuxian's death. It made Wei Wuxian realize why Lan Wangji was looking for him in the first place, all this time. He sought to comfort Lan Wangji and explained that he was not to blame. We can see Wei Wuxian was moved by how gently he took care of Lan Wangji that night, drunk as he was. 

Second was Lan Xichen telling Wei Wuxian about the events after his death, what punishments Lan Wangji endured and how he retained his faith and conviction about Wei Wuxian even after all of that. Even the story about their mother was telling; it was a glimpse of how strongly and stubbornly Lan Wangji loves someone, and how deeply that love goes, even if he does not say anything in words. Lan Xichen reminded Wei Wuxian of how adamant and persistent Lan Wangji had been about saving Wei Wuxian in his past life. Wei Wuxian said that it was unnecessary for Lan Wangji to have done these things, to suffer through his loyalty to Wei Wuxian especially when Wei Wuxian was already dead. But somehow it must have proven something to him, too, and gave him a sense of security with Lan Wangji.

After these things, love (or at the very least, trust and attachment) just seemed to develop naturally from there. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are good together especially as "partners-in-crime", so to speak. They are a very effective team, and while this goes to show how naturally compatible they are, the adventures they go through just also strengthen the bond between them. What finally cemented their relationship in this second life, resolving any other doubts Wei Wuxian might have had with Lan Wangji, was that face-off at Lanling, where Lan Wangji had the opportunity to deny Wei Wuxian again in order to retain his respected status in the cultivation world. Lan Wangji refused, announced that he knew it was Wei Wuxian from the start, and told Wei Wuxian that it wasn't so bad, walking in this path of his. 

They were noticeably inseparable from there. What makes my heart sing about this is that this time, Wei Wuxian is more actively sticking to Lan Wangji. He needs no one else other than Lan Wangji, has complete faith in him. Back in Yi City, we saw how confident he was that Lan Wangji would win against Xue Yang, he was not even worried when he took the kids to safety. Then at the Burial Mounds, when he drew the spirit attraction enchantment on himself to drive away the corpses, he refused any other help, saying Lan Wangji was enough to protect him. 

There were many other instances. In Lotus Pier, he was constantly with Lan Wangji, and even presented him to his family. He accepted insults about himself from Jiang Cheng, but not even his guilt towards Jiang Cheng would allow him to let his brother insult Lan Wangji. Even his asking Lan Wangji to take him away from Lotus Pier after the confrontation with Jiang Cheng was telling, because Wei Wuxian used to be self-sufficient and was uncomfortable asking for help. But he was doing so freely with Lan Wangji. 

Even before entering the Guanyin Temple, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had a conversation about Wen Ning—another staple in Wei Wuxian's life—needing to find a life for himself. Interestingly, the thought that Lan Wangji (who was about as attached to him as Wen Ning was) similarly needed a life free from him did not even occur to Wei Wuxian. He would let Wen Ning go, but Lan Wangji stays.

Then, at the Guanyin Temple, when he found out that everyone seemed to know about his losing his golden core, Wei Wuxian checked with Lan Wangji first, asking, "So do you also know?" By this point, Lan Wangji had become a far first in his mind, far from everyone else. Wei Wuxian looks to him first, and before facing anything else that remained against him, he has to check first that things between him and Lan Wangji were okay.

This is also why the last episode is so heartbreaking. After the events at the temple, Wei Wuxian whisks Lan Wangji away and makes a run for it. Escaping did seem to be his intention, too, because when Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui—the most harmless, loyal people to them both—caught up to them, Wei Wuxian looked disappointed that they were caught.

Of course, he then learned that Lan Sizhui was none other than their beloved A-Yuan, and that was a heart-warming reunion all around. Eventually though, Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning said their goodbyes, and Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Wangji, wondering where they would go. He never thought to even ask Lan Wangji where he would go, never thought it would be anywhere Wei Wuxian wouldn't be, because already he learned to be secure that Lan Wangji would never leave his side. In a way, he took it for granted that Lan Wangji would no longer leave him, but to be fair to Wei Wuxian, after everything that had happened and given his own feelings towards Lan Wangji, it was an easy assumption and mistake to make, to have that sense of security towards someone to whom one's heart was so drawn to.  

Somehow though, I do think their parting might have done Wei Wuxian some good. Again, Wei Wuxian is a dense motherf*cker not the type who digs deeply at his own mind and feelings (heck, the boy falls asleep during meditation, and never forget the 'Do you like Mianmian?' incident), doesn't label things and just rides those feelings out openly and freely. Time apart from Lan Wangji could have given him more space to assess what he was feeling for the guy, what it meant to miss him, how badly he was missing him, and so on. And we know he missed him badly, because who in their right mind would play their theme song atop a mountain, looking like they were about to cry? How afraid he was to look behind him and find that maybe Lan Wangji wasn't really there, that it was all in his head… oh, Wei Ying. 

So, yes. We did not get the "I love you's" (nor "that night, I really wanted to sleep with you!" lmao) in the drama, but this also makes sense because Wei Wuxian probably also did not even know, or did not know what to call it, or whatever the heck they were. But spending those days (perhaps even months or years) away from Lan Wangji were clearly difficult for him, enough for us to know that their reunion would bring Wei Wuxian such relief, he likely would never let Lan Wangji go again. And maybe, just maybe, when they meet again, that's when it all comes to Wei Wuxian, the feelings he isn't able to keep anymore, and he would just burst out, "I miss you! I love you!"

[sophi-s]

Cost of Kindness

Chapter I: Chance encounter

By: sophi-s

Fandom: Darksiders video games

Words: 6,471

Characters: Original female character (OC), Raphael

Warnings: Graphic description of corpses, blood and injuries, disturbing imagery, swearing

Summary:

Life of a human after the apocalypse is difficult. The world seems to always be against them. Still, they keep on living. But one day something unexpected happens to one of the inhabitants of Haven. A woman named Nicola discovered something... or rather someone... who seemed to be in equally as sorry state as her entire race put together. Nothing was the same ever since. It's curious how one seemingly random event can change everything...

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

Nicola got lost again. All the promises she made to both Ulthane and Jones have gone into trash when with a pang of worry she's suddenly realised she does not know where Haven is. It was supposed to be a short supply run, a little trip to some ruined store in search of food and maybe some medicine if luck wished to be on her side and it turned into a whole day long journey. She hadn't been careful enough and ended up getting spotted. She was too fast for that Trauma to get to her before she disappeared into a narrow alley but she successfully lost her orientation.

Navigating through the city used to be so easy before all this apocalypse nonsense. Nicola knew her way around better than anyone honestly. Now everything looked different. What once was her home now seemed sinister and the animosity could be felt in every, even the tiniest speck of dust. All streets, previously so familiar to her, looked exactly the same, often cut in half by obsidian spikes and pits of boiling magma which made moving around even more troubling. In short words, the entire place was a wreckage. With each moment of aimless wandering, her panic was growing. Inwardly cursing, thinking about all the reprimanding she would get after she somehow finds her way back and the fact that she's most likely going to get grounded forever, she tried to move through the street as quietly as possible, without causing any unnecessary noises. Becoming an evening snack for a pack of Goreclaws or a Trauma wasn't a very attractive fate. The latter could still be around here somewhere and the blood spilling from a cut on her forehead she got when she accidentally ran into a wooden beam protruding from a wall wasn't going to make it harder for it to eventually find her again.. It was very unlikely that the Trauma could've gotten stuck in that alley after it tried to get to her. They are dumb. But not that dumb. Though the mental image alone was quite hilarious now that she thinks about it.. To some extent imagining a Trauma helplessly shuffling to try and unstuck itself from a narrow pathway made her feel a tad better, even crack a little smile. Still, she had to think of something. She'd already lived through too much to just die at this point.

Evening? Clutching a shotgun in her shaking hands, Nicola looks out at the amber sky and her heart hastens when she realises that it really is getting late. The last rays of sun were slowly sinking behind the horizon, slowly turning the sky from warm orange to indigo as the tall buildings bathed the city in deep shadows stretching over the ground like dark omens. Just perfect. There was no other choice for her than to hide somewhere and wait until dawn and resume her search tomorrow, hoping someone will start looking for her. Going anywhere after the dusk was an equivalent of a  suicide. Demons and the Wicked tend to be especially active after the nightfall.. Nicola would rather not bump into one of the Suffering either, those things are especially nasty. Hulking, four-armed abominations melded with bodies of the dead, bringing back all those poor souls who weren't lucky enough to get away… she shudders at the thought and hastens her pace.

Most of the houses were already destroyed and usually infested with all kinds of detestable creatures she'd rather avoid - from Wicked, through all kinds of demons and Duskwings, to enormous spiders ready to cocoon any unfortunate passerby for a snack - unfit to be a shelter. But honestly, what wasn't crawling with Hellspawn these days? They were everywhere, as far as the sight can reach. Heaving out a long suffering sigh, Nicola decided to hide underneath the city, hoping she won't find any monsters there.

That was not one of her most brilliant ideas but in truth whatever she chose, it would be just as bad and she hardly cared at this point. Her legs felt as though they went a couple of inches up her arse from all day of walking and running and her empty stomach growled hungrily as she didn't get a chance to stop and eat a sandwich hidden in her backpack. It didn't take long to find a lid of a well leading to the sewers below. Just in case, Nicola dug some new shells out from her backpack and shoved them into her pocket to have easy access to them before pulling the lid out and uncovering a stinking hole in the pavement. The strong "aroma" that drifted out hit her like a brick to the face.

"Ugh.."

Nicola groaned, pinching her nose. Even after the literal armageddon, she still found sewers to be one of the grossest things ever. Like, come on, that's where all the piss and shit goes and a person who enters the sewers for even a minute comes out coated in this stench. Oh well.. It can't be worse than getting torn to shreds by a Goreclaw, can it? Up here was definitely worse than below. Everything she'd met so far - except for Ulthane, Yarin and Elanya - was trying to kill her lately. At least there was no sign of the Big Bad anywhere… Nicola had seen the so-called Destroyer only once and it was enough to last her a lifetime, considering how close she'd been back then. The fact that he didn't spot her, she probably owed the fact that she was somewhere to his right and from what she'd seen his right eye wasn't exactly in good condition. Though, she couldn't deny that the dragon did look sick as Hell - she cringed inwardly at the bad joke her mind produced - and if she wasn't scared shittless and in danger of getting eaten or burned alive, she probably would've taken out her notebook and tried to sketch him. Not often does one see a dragon up this close and Nicola had a habit of drawing anything even remotely interesting she sees. And the more challenging the thing is, the better. In her sketchbook, she already had Ulthane and his younger companions, Vulgrim, some other demons and a Fallen. The last thing she did see pretty damn close. Too close for her liking.

Pulling her stained, dark-blue neckerchief up to her nose as a mostly useless mask against the foul smell, she crouches down and with a loose piece of a brick scratches out a message on the ground, hoping either Jones or some other survivor will find it.

I'M IN THE SEWER

NIKA <3

Just to make it clear, she tears a piece of her already ragged sleeve off and places it under the aforementioned brick next to the message. It's not much but it has to be enough… Without further ado, Nicola slid inside the dark hole and closed the lid above her head. Utter blackness immediately closed around her like a thick coverlet. A quiet sound of dripping, echoing through the tunnel was all that she could hear.

Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.

Should've thought about taking out a flashlight before cutting off the only source of light.

Grumbling under her breath, Nicola jumped down from a small ladder. But instead of landing on the hard and straight ground, her feet connected with something soft and uneven. With a small yelp, she lost her balance and fell flat onto the actual floor with a wet "Thwack!". Please just be regular water… She begged the puddle underneath her as she scrambled to her feet and pulled the backpack from her shoulders. For a few minutes, she blindly searched through her things, probing for the light source. When her fingers found the flashlight and she turned it on however, she nearly screamed.

That thing she landed on wasn't a mound of garbage like she previously assumed but a body. Body of a dead Phantom General. Its skin was in an unhealthy pallid shade, misty eyes were bulging out of their sockets. And the squishy bit she landed on was its face. Nicola nervously laughs to herself

"Maybe the stench killed him?"

The thought of a large demon dying in a sewer just because it smells bad was kind of amusing and a little comforting. But then she realised that if that was the case, then there's nothing to laugh at. What if there are some poisonous gases in here? Hydrogen sulfide, for example? If it killed a demon, undoubtedly much more hearty, then why shouldn't it do so with a human?

"Shit.. I hope not…"

Nicola curses and immediately presses the neckerchief closer to her face like it would do her any good. Well, no point in wondering about it now. If she were to get poisoned then she probably already was so… Father would be so disappointed if he found out she died in a sewer by inhaling toxic gas. I should've paid more attention to chemistry lessons…  Anyway.. Standing here will not make it any better. She might as well find herself a place to rest for a while or forever. Unless healing shards work on that stuff, she had nothing on her to help should she get poisoned. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, Nicola turns away from the corpse and peers into the dark pathway which opened before her like a gullet of a gargantuan monster waiting to swallow her whole. Having absolutely no idea that this choice would change her miserable life forever, she takes a breath and bravely moves onward.

The Phantom General wasn't the only one. As Nicola walked deeper into the dark, stinking corridor, she noticed more bodies. Goreclaws, Wicked, Phantom Guards, even a couple of Duskwings and - this was the most unsettling discovery - the serpentine Shadowcaster… all of them pale and wizened. An unnerving feeling grew in her stomach. Nicola had seen much death as of late but this… this was horrifying. It was like walking through a tomb or a mass grave. Up close she could see something she hadn't noticed before. Something that made her mouth turn sandpaper. All of the bodies seemed… dried for the lack of a better word. As though something had drained them of their blood, leaving only shriveled husks behind. But there were no wounds, no markings. Nicola gulps at the thought that whatever killed them might still be down here with her.

Backing away, she takes a turn into another section and curls up in a corner by a metal grate blocking the way ahead. Nicola turns the flashlight off and hugs her knees to her chest, trying to control her fearful breathing. Climbing down into the sewers wasn't such a good idea after all. What if… what if there are things far worse down here than the demons she'd already seen? Her parents often scared her with stories of monsters lurking in the dark pipes and winding tunnels when she was a child but those were only supposed to keep her away from the sewers. The true reason was always the toxic miasma drifting through them. Or so she thought as she grew older. Now it seems that the former turned out to be true… And if it murdered a Shadowcaster just like that, then it was a creature to be reckoned with, no doubt.

Whatever it is that hides in here, Nicola didn't want to meet it. Whether it was a classic sewer monster, grotesque, with teeth and tentacles, or something else it didn't matter. Looking down at her left wrist, where her blessedly still working electrical watch with sun batteries was, she squinted at the numbers it showed.

7:48 P.M.

This was going to be a long night… If she survives this, she would get out and return to the Tree, and tell Ulthane she will never leave again. Essentially, she'd ground herself for him. If she could find her way back, that is.. And this might prove rather tricky. Maybe if she could find a Serpent Hole and bribe Vulgrim to take her to Haven, it would be much easier. But then again, she will have to give him something. Aside from her soul, she had nothing he would be interested in and that she could still make use of. Damn it, why is it so cold in here? Pulling the zip of her vest up to her chin, she curls up even more and hides her hands in her pockets to seek any warmth she could find. The stench wasn't even phasing her anymore. Nicola got used to it after the first few minutes. Besides, her fear was what she was mostly focused on. At least she didn't feel anything that would hint at being poisoned.. Whatever deadly stuff was down here before must've dispersed some time after the apocalypse after the disuse of the sewers. And thank God for that..

Meow…

Her head snapped up at the echo coming from the tunnel she backed out from. It was very weak and quiet but she definitely heard something that sounded vaguely like a cat. A very small and very scared cat.

Meow…

There it was again. This time accompanied by a barely visible flash of light coming from the tunnel further down. Cursing her innate curiosity, she pulled herself up to her feet and snuck towards the entrance to her little hidey-hole. The light appeared again before slowly fading. It looked a little like… like someone was coming here with a broken flashlight. Could it… could it be someone from the Tree? Maybe another survivor lost their way in the sewers? Picking up her shotgun, she decides to check it out, the thoughts of a monster not forgotten per se, but definitely pushed to the back of her mind. Wary of every step she makes, she follows the light and the sounds of a distressed animal. Sleep was never an option anyway..

As she walked onwards, the lights were getting brighter, the meowing louder and the pounding of her heart faster. There were more corpses in various states of decay and skeletons strewn about the further she headed but she decided to stay brave. Should anything attack her, she has the shotgun at the ready. Something in her head laughed at her hysterically. How can she be so naive to think that if there's a monster down here her pathetic shotgun can do it much harm? It didn't have a problem with killing all those things. Why would it have a problem with Nicola and her weak human weapon? Besides, even if she did manage to defend herself, one shot from that thing would bring half of the city down on her head. And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.

Meow!

Another flash. Her surroundings were slowly starting to change. The bodies were left behind and she started to notice wooden crates lying here and there as though someone meant to hide the passage further down. Was this a hide out if some sort? Flash again.

Meow!

And then…

"Hush, little one… I won't let them hurt you again…"

Nicola's heart hastened when a shaky voice reached her. There really was someone down here! However, she doesn't let her ecstasy control her. They don't necessarily have to be friendly. Everyone is permanently scared and paranoid since the apocalypse and if she jumped out from a dark sewer without a warning she's more likely to receive a bullet to the face than a warm welcome. A flash, very bright this time. Before, she didn't notice it but the light was actually… green? Soft, soothing shade of green. Who uses a green flashlight? Someone who didn't have any other. We're in an apocalypse, for God's sake. Shrugging, she sneaks up towards the turn and carefully peeks into the new corridor, unable to take the anticipation any longer. And she freezes.

There were many things Nicola expected to find. Even the sewer monster was higher on her list of possibilities. But not this. Before her, approximately fifteen feet or so, in a makeshift shelter made out of ratty curtains and wooden boxes sat a humanoid figure. They were wearing some sort of metal shoulder pads on their ragged, dark green clothing, worn and stained, once undoubtedly fine knee-high boots, and a tattered and dirty hood. The gilded edges of their pauldrons were smudged and tarnished, as were the clips of the belts on their hips and across their chest. A pair of disheveled, dusted grey, feathery wings was closed around them like two shields protecting their sides and keeping the warmth in the resulting heat cave. Through a gap between the feathers, she noticed strands of long, white hair in the similar state as the wings spilling from under the hood.

This was one of those… those angels who came as the apocalypse began. Only… This one didn't seem like the rest. They didn't look like one of the warriors. And were unarmed at that, she realises once she doesn't catch a sight of any sort of weapon nearby. 

Meow!

Nicola heard it clearly now, and trying to track down the source of the sound, her eyes wandered to a hand of the angel, one which they held close to their chest. And there, on their large palm rested a tiny ball of fluff with its fur clogged with blood. The angel was hunched over a wounded kitten, and from time to time they brought up the other hand and gently ran their trembling fingers wrapped in stained bandages over the jagged claw mark along its spine. The green light flared up from angel's fingertips as gradually the wound was stitching itself. A sorcerer then. If meeting Shadowcasters was any indicator, then it would be better not to mess with this one.

Meow!

The kitten cried again and the angel, now she was pretty sure it was a male, spoke with a soft and calming, but shaking voice that reached to the depth of her soul.

"Fret not… it will be over. Soon enough."

In honesty, Nicola really had to stop herself from making a loud "awww" noise as she watched this angel treat a tiny injured kitten. How did he get here in the first place? Shouldn't he be with the rest of his buddies? She honestly never thought one of them would ever fall so low as to hide in a sewer of all places. Unless there was no other option. He must've gotten lost or something.. She thinks, almost snickering at how similar to hers this situation was.

To make no mistake, she didn't want to approach the angel, especially after what she'd seen during the apocalypse - most of them didn't give two shits about what happen to her race - and so Nicola decided, even if slightly disappointed that it wasn't another human survivor or someone looking for her like she previously assumed, to go away and leave him be with his kitten. The angels the apocalypse has shown to her were hardly the kind and thoroughly good creatures the image of she grew up with.. But then, nature decided to play a cruel prank on her and a horrifyingly loud sound of her stomach rumbling was carried over the immediate vicinity.

Nicola cursed inwardly at her stupid stomach - really, she would've eaten that sandwich but the smell of the server was very unappetizing - when the angel quickly looked up before gently placing the cat down on a piece of folded cloth and snapping his fingers to produce a small wisp of normal, white light. Now, his face wasn't obscured by the shadow of his hood. It was just like a face of a human, especially with all the grime smeared over it, just more… how to describe it? Features were more apparent, simultaneously sharp and smooth. Like those of a sculpture. Almost overly perfect. However, he looked ill, emaciated with his cheeks collapsed like this and sunken eyes, seemingly too large for his head. His eyes… brilliant white with faint silvery pupils, glowing like two wisps, opened wide in an absolutely blank, emotionless stare, not unlike that of a man in feverish delirium. How long had he been down here?

"Who.. who's there..?"

His lips barely moved as he spoke, his wide eyes darted around in panic as he searched for intruders. Not that she could blame him. Her stomach sounded like a starving demon and as far as she's concerned, his kind isn't really fond of those.. The angel looked a little like a terrified, wounded animal that had been cornered by predators with no apparent way out. It was… sad somehow. Since she'd already been heard, Nicola carefully stepped out of her hiding spot. The reaction she got however, was far different from what she's been expecting. The angel gasped, his wings shot up like two enormous flags as he lifted his hands. Green magic crackled along his slender fingers with most of the nails broken and bloodied as she froze where she stood.

"G- get away! Back off, foul creature!"

He stuttered but didn't attack just yet. Swallowing a lump of fear Nicola forced herself to very, very slowly and carefully take a few steps closer to enter the illuminated area around the scared angel to make him realise this is a misunderstanding and she means no harm. She even left her gun on the floor not to make him feel threatened and kept her hands up, palms forward where he could see them. He squinted but this hollow look in his eyes remained. Disturbing… Even more so when he started to mutter nervously to himself, rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb.

"No… not a demon, nor an angel, a human perhaps…? Yes, yes… has to be… But that's not possible.. They're… they're all gone. Dead, killed, stone dead… Who is this and what do you want? Your tricks won't work on me.."

"I- I'm not trying to trick you, I swear! I am a human. I'm Nicola.."

She assures the angel, hoping that giving him her name will make him feel a little less threatened. A quiet sigh of relief slipped past Nicola's lips when the magic in his hands faded as he curiously - a little like a small, inquisitive puppy - tilted his head to the left.

"Nic… ola…"

He breathed, mulling over her name, testing it on his tongue but his wings still remained aggressively flared above his head. The kitten meowed again, too weak to stand up from the bedding the angel made for it. He seemed to calm down a bit as he glanced down at it and with a flick of his finger made the animal lazily blink before it curled into a ball and immediately fell asleep. The wound on its back wasn't so large anymore and it wasn't bleeding so the black fluff with white feet and collar wasn't in any immediate danger. Angel's attention shifted back to her. But Nicola was the first one to speak.

"Who are you? How'd you get down here?

"Don't know… Human… a human. How did you get in my study? You really shouldn't be here. What is it you want from me? I'm working on improving my shards…"

"I-... Wait, your what ?"

Nicola's face scrunched up in confusion. Get in where? Working on improving his what??

"No, this isn't right… they need more energy…"

At this point she had absolutely no idea what the angel was rambling on about but she could clearly see he was completely out of his mind. Frankly speaking, she wasn't actually sure if he knows what he's babbling either.. There was only one thing that came to her mind when he spoke of shards and so she dug into her pocket, trying to find the one she'd been carrying with her just in case as he clutched at his head, tangling his fingers into his hair under his hood…

"It worked… I did it, I can… but it hurts… Creator, how it hurts… Cold.. so cold…"

His voice was starting to break as his unsteady breathing turned into something akin to sobbing but no tears were shed and he started to rock back and forth, still muttering something unintelligible. Something in Nicola's gut squirmed - or maybe it was the hunger again - as she looked at the scrawny angel mercifully. Whatever happened to him, it must've been horrible. It takes a very traumatic experience to bring a human to such a state but an angel is a different story. Seeing anyone like this saddened her. Finally, her fingers found what they were searching for and she extracted a small healing shard from her vest.

"You mean like…"

At the gentle, green glow the shard was emitting, the angel looked up astonished and let his mouth fall open. He stopped shaking and grasping his head.

"Yes… yes, my shard. I need… My blade. Where's my blade? Who…? My name? My name… I remember, I swear."

This talk of a blade was mildly unsettling to say the least but something in her chest twisted with pity and all fear left her. A little more bravely, Nicola approached the murmuring angel who attempted to scratch something out on the floor beside his knee but only successfully broke one of his nails again and hissed quietly. What happened to you, you poor thing? When she crouched next to him, he stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost when she realised he isn't looking into her eyes anymore. But at her forehead.

"You're… injured…"

He stated as matter of factly. Oh. Right. That was true. It barely hurt anymore though… and wasn't even bleeding. She's certainly had much worse. It will heal on its own in no time.

"Let me just-"

Suddenly he leaned forward to grab at her, making her heart leap up to her throat as she cried out in fear and jumped away from him. Instinctively, Nicola booked it for the tunnel she came from when she heard a heavy thud and a pained groan behind her.. It was her good hearted nature what ultimately made her stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder. To see the angel on the floor, weakly propping himself on his elbows and breathing heavily. He was very weakened. It's unclear how long he'd been down here but it certainly has taken its toll. Nicola looked out into the dark tunnel. Whatever awaited her in this darkness and out in the city surely isn't nicer than this poor sod behind her. She wasn't even sure if he actually meant to hurt her or not. It was a reflex. Then she turned to look back at the angel shivering on the wet floor.. Her throat tightened. God, she couldn't just leave it like this, could she?

"H- hey… are- are you okay?"

Nicola approaches the angel warily and squats before him as he lifts his head to look at her. And in his eyes she sees pain. Horrible, unimaginable pain, somewhere deep within, that made his crusted lips tremble. Such a sight would be enough to break even the coldest hearts. And definitely more than enough to break hers. He eyes her hands when she hesitantly takes him by the arm - careful when she notices a rag stained with fresh blood above his left elbow - and tries to pull him up to his feet or at least to a sitting position but he doesn't recoil. He simply kept staring at her hands in bewilderment. To her surprise, he was much lighter than he looked, probably because of how thin he was, and she managed to do what she intended but she could see that his legs won't uphold his weight as meager as it is. The angel glanced at the cut on her head and once again, albeit far more cautiously, reached out towards it.

"I can… I can heal it. Just hold still.. It will take a second.."

And in spite of herself, Nicola gives him a chance this time. He extended two fingers and as their tips started to glow with green, he gently tapped against her damaged skin. It felt… odd. It wasn't painful but still strange. The edges of the wound grew numb and prickly as the patch of comforting warmth fell over her forehead. And what was even odder, the angel smiled slightly, whispering

"There… It is done.. I.. remember. Was it…? It was, wasn't it… Raphael?"

"Wh- what? What are you talking about, who's Raphael?"

Nicola asks, probing the new, thin scar that was now formed in place of the cut. He really did heal her. Curious. And it did take a second.. For a moment, his face scrunched up in confusion but only for this second before he brightened and some of the strange mist fell from his white eyes as he brought both of his hands up and repeatedly poked his chest with all of his fingers.

"Me.. Raphael is… it's me! And you…"

He extended one finger and aimed it at her head.

"You are Nicola. "

"Y- yeah. Nice to meet you, I guess…"

She hesitantly replies as the circumstances of this meeting weren't exactly "nice". In a dark, damp sewer filled with stench and corpses with a possible monster lurking nearby? Far from nice if someone would ask her.

"What.. huh. What is this place?"

Raphael unexpectedly asked, looking around with his large, white eyes, blinking in confusion. Nicola pulls a face, unsure how to tackle the odd angel.

"You… don't know? You've been living here."

"Have I? Hmmm.. Strange…"

He murmured thoughtfully, scratching at his white goatee also painted with blood that surely spilled from the cut on his lower lip. Then his face shifted into concern as he tried to pull himself up with a strained grunt, clutching at an old, but not healed yet, gash over his ribs.

"I… I have to get back.. they need me in the White City…"

As she was expecting, he collapsed back onto the floor with a tired sigh not even a second later. Where and what was the "White City" he spoke of, she had no idea. What she did know however, was that in his condition Raphael isn't going anywhere. Even if he managed to get up, she could bet her right hand that he would make ten steps at most before collapsing again. Nicola winces and tilts her head to the side.

"Pal, I don't think you're in shape for walking or flying right now.."

"No, I suppose not… they cannot see me like this. I cannot return.."

At this point she wasn't surprised that Raphael kept muttering to himself about things her human brain couldn't hope to comprehend. Nicola got long used to this however. Ever since the armageddon there were very few things she could understand. It wasn't a normal day if something new and weird didn't happen to her or one of her remaining friends. Any hostility the angel showed before has faded now, his wings folded back around him as he leaned over the sleeping kitten to continue treating it. The gentleness he did it with, the uncertain smile on his face were making Nicola's heart melt. Raphael didn't seem like his friends indeed. He was different somehow. Kinder, softer. Less aggressive. More fitting the image of a stereotypical angel. But also definitely not quite… right. Up in the head.

Oh, well. Who is totally normal these days, honestly?

She wants to chuckle to herself when something gives her a pause. A horrifyingly familiar sound coming from the tunnel behind her. Panting, scraping and growling. Inevitably getting closer and closer. Her heart plummets to her heels. This sound… she would recognise it everywhere. The sound that haunted her dreams ever since the demon tore her twin brother, Nicholas, to shreds. This demon.. a Goreclaw, as Ulthane called it. Whipping around, she just managed to spot the quadrupedal monster - the size of your average Caucasian Shepherd (which was still awfully large for its kind), with long, lashing tail and sharp fangs constantly bared in a disturbing grin - appear in the entrance, cutting off the only escape route.

It must've heard Nicola's startled scream and followed it all the way here, hoping for an easy prey. Her breath caught in her throat as she stands paralyzed by the blood-hungry glare of multiple red eyes. This ugly mug, covered in blood of her sibling was still fresh in her mind, keeping her absolutely petrified. Unable to do anything, she kicks herself for leaving her shotgun behind. Now it was resting between the clawed paws of the demon who screeched in excitement as it prepared to pounce at her. Though honestly, with how rigid her body turned, she doubts she'd be able to aim, not to mention pulling the trigger.

This is it. She thinks, feeling blood leave her face. I'm gonna die. After all she's been through.. Killed by a single Goreclaw, ripped apart in a stinking sewer like an ungrateful little shite. Ulthane did so much to rescue her from the claws of that Fallen and now all his efforts are going to go to waste.. Crying out in dismay, she shields herself from the oncoming attack with her arms and shuts her eyes.

Something shifted behind her as the demon jumped at her and… nothing happened. Opening her eyes, horrified and shocked, Nicola almost gags when she sees the Goreclaw standing before her and just… gawking with its jaw slack as though it got hit on the head with something heavy. Faint golden light running around its body like tiny veins didn't escape her attention. That's when she noticed that the demon was trying to move, straining with its own stiff muscles and growling. But couldn't. It was completely paralyzed. A quiet, barely audible thrumming filled the air around Nicola and she began to feel something strange. Something she could only describe as magic. The arcane static began to nip and the bite at her skin like miniscule locusts when a green haze enveloped the Goreclaw before her. The same light fell onto her back, laying her quivering shadow out at her feet. A realisation hit her.

Raphael. He's still there.

After the apocalypse, Nicola had no delusions that angels, even the kindest ones, are ever defenseless. Before she could turn to face the angel, her would-be killer suddenly let out a soul-rending shriek that yet again almost made her drop dead or simply puke out of pure fear. Freed from the paralysis, it fell to the floor, writhing, clawing at its own chest and screeching the most ungodly noise Nicola had ever heard. What's happening?! Absolutely petrified, she watched as the demon's skin seemed to dry and wrinkle as its eyes were nearly popping out of its skull. Life - and color - was frighteningly quickly seeping out of the demon as it squirmed in agony, wailing, unable to fight the power that got a hold of it.

All this looked like taken straight out of a horror movie. And Nicola, on the contrary to Nicholas, was never a fan of those… It all took merely a few seconds of unimaginable torment before the unfortunate Goreclaw wheezed and eventually fell still with its jaws opened and tongue lolled out, wide eyes dull and unblinking, and didn't move ever again. Dead. The memory of all those corpses she has found passed through her head. The Goreclaw looked just like them… Afraid to move a muscle, she stared at the light that moved away from the dead demon, following its movement to the sight that made her back up aghast.

Raphael. The same seemingly gentle angel who healed a small, hurt animal - who healed her - was suspended in midair, tattered robes and disheveled hair billowing, with his wings flared and bristled. This soft smile was replaced by an absolute lack of any expression whatsoever as his wide eyes burned with the whitest white of unbridled anger she'd ever seen. Green streaks of magic - the same green she found so soothing before, now ominous and frightening - bathing the surroundings in brightness, were swirling around his arms, hands with fingers curled into vicious claws. For this moment he looked much stronger, a little younger… and far more dangerous than he seemed before.

"As long as I live.. I shall not stand suffering !"

Raphael bellowed at the corpse at her feet even though it was long dead and already turning cold, caring very little about how horrified she was. He didn't even seem to care how much suffering the demon had experienced before it blessedly lost its hold on life. Not that Nicola thought it didn't deserve that but still it was… pretty gruesome.. Raphael's wounded and weakened body absorbed the life-force drained from the demon and only then did he slowly descend onto the floor and landed on his feet, breathing out with relief. The magic gradually dissipated along with the sharp prickling sensation until only the tiny golden wisp hovering next to Raphael's head remained. His wings fell into their place against his back, this furious light faded out of his bright eyes before he turned to Nicola to shoot her a disarming, awkward smile as though nothing had happened at all. This tiny smile was hardly comforting.. Quite the opposite in fact. It chilled her to the bone like the coldest winter wind.

Oh fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Nicola looked up at Raphael, now standing on his own legs, clearly revitalized by the stolen energy, and felt a little fearful tear roll down her face. Then she shifted her gaze to the demon. Then back to Raphael, who seemed so small and weak before but stood at least two, maybe three feet taller than Nicola - her head reached the bottom of his sternum. I was wrong. She realises with a pang of panic, feeling a little sick in the stomach at the mere thought that this kind healer was as capable of killing her where she stood as any demon up above her head. All he had to do was flick his wrist and look at her and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing to defend herself. It suddenly made sense. There was no sewer monster down here. No beast that would threaten her. No foul creature that could suck the blood from her body and leave ber as a mummified corpse. All this death, all these bodies… The horrifying monster Nicola was expecting to find...

It was him.

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

So yeah. That was the chapter I. I'll try to make more but I don't promise anything XD

The moral of this story? Don't piss off/spook angel sorcerers. Especially the crazy ones.

Also, the art at the end was once again inspired by @coloredgravity 's rendition of Raphael (I drew this mostly out of memory 😂). In addition I gave him a symbol of virtue from Darkest Dungeon over his head. He's mad, true. But he still tries to hold it together :3

[theangrypokemaniac]

Since I rant enough about the wizening Ma and Pa received in Sinnoh it's only right to wreak bloody rhetorical vengeance elsewhere:

However harsh it may be, I'm glad Takeshi Shudo isn't alive to witness the hateful desecration of his legacy.

...

In a universe where no one's allowed to age, why are the modern Jessie and James so withered and decrepit?

Dragon Ball has been on for more than three decades. Its stars were permitted to grow up, because the head can cope with the opportunities this offers.

Yet Goku, Krillin, Bulma et al bear a greater similarity to their younger selves than these gurning invertebrates do to Team Rocket, wearing a papery approximation of their skin.

Akira Toriyama is actually concerned about his life's work, still coming up with interesting concepts, brand-new characters, and most importantly, values his audience by keeping to the established canon.

If a Dragon Ball fan reads this, I am so jealous of you.

Consider yourselves fortunate not to have seen the thing you loved the most pulverised and the resulting glutinous mass moulded back into makeshift sloppy cadavers.

Look at the state of that man! That's a good picture these days!

Why have the eyelid lines turned into upside down bags?

And why has she collected her lashes for this particular screen shot?

On eyes with a strangely feline slant...

Has she had a face lift?

Get yer money back on that one, love.

And why has he marks under his eyes and round his flapping gob to add the hint of exhaustion?

And why don't her lips reach the edge of her mouth anymore?

And why must he display Beaver Toof, as if he's only got six pegs left?

Giving it to him but not her implies she's lost the lot, needing to gum objects for a result.

And why do her low-slung ears consist only of lobe?

And why can you see his featureless lugs? Why does his barnet stand outwards in tentacles like he's taken to wearing a floppy Starmie?

What's that's meant to be, purple dreadlocks?

And why is her hairline curved and absolutely straight, like a bad wig, apart from the perfunctory bits to the side, which I guarantee won't alter their position throughout the run?

Hair used to move about, now by law there's a set pattern which cannot change. Stamp that life out immediately.

And what's that flaccid growth between his weary peepers? Is that meant to be fringe?

PFFFT!!!

And why are her digits just as thick and oblong as his?

It ain't fingers. It's trotters.

And why's he got a back to his throat, but she hasn't?

And why are we forced to witness it? You can see all the way to his dangler!

The great gaping pink cave looks like the end of Looney Tunes when Porky Pig pops up and stammers: "That's all folks!"

Remember a lack of Beaver Toof? And triangular mouths?

Remember when Meowth was a cheeky, spirited little cat, not a middle-aged human midget, an emaciated wreck bored of it all?

Remember when it wasn't deemed necessary to expose us to internal organs?

And when James was a handsome, hysterically camp dandy, not a creepy, snot-ridden science dweeb?

And when Jessie was a beautiful, stylish young girl, hot-tempered but loyal, not a sullen, cold, reptilian, Botoxed-to-the-gills gorgon?

Remember when Team Rocket were fun? And attractive?

Remember when they had joy in their hearts in spite of their poverty? And vim? And hope?

Remember them acting with flair and imagination?

Remember when their schemes had variety?

Remember when they had more than a single disguise per era?

Remember when they had many occupations? And were good at them?

Remember when they'd have a go at everything and weren't reduced to flipping condemned meat in a grotty burger van FOR THREE YEARS?!

Remember when those in charge didn't despise them, when they got happy endings?

Remember split screens? And face faults? And background tones? And purple streaks down your cheeks?

Remember big, bright open eyes, not shrunken, sagging and empty holes afflicted by glaucoma?

Remember when Jessie had eyelashes?

Remember when Pokémon was an anime?

And when James had a fringe, not a bent swelling like a balloon animal?

And when the artist could be arsed to draw Meowth's Charm properly?

Remember when the voices weren't nails down a blackboard?

When Meowth didn't sound like a wedge of coal grinding beneath an oil-deprived door?

When Jessie's dulcet tones had a wider range that just screechy, and weren't reminiscent of a cacophonous banshee clawing her way from a bog, using her own mug as a shovel?

When James speaking didn't suggest he was at best, suffering sinus difficulties, and at worst, constantly battling to swallow his own sick from looking at her?

Mind you, I'm grateful the 4Kids cast are no longer here. They deserve better, and their presence would only validate the crude bastardisations.

Every time the guttural howls reach my poor ears a chill runs through my system, and reminds me of The Pokémon Company sacking the real dub crew in preference for a job done on the cheap.

Remember speed lines? And Pokéball-throwing animation?

Remember a new motto performance in each installment, not the same stock footage reused again and again?

Remember when it rhymed?

It shows.

Remember remembering it?

Remember when Team Rocket would walk down the street in their uniforms and no one took a blind bit of notice despite the organisation operating there?

And they didn't fanny about in one scabby polyester costume every minute they were travelling, even when NO ONE KNOWS WHO THEY ARE?

Since Unova, whilst confronting Ash and this era's soon-to-be-forgotten companions, you get this exchange:

Moron-Of-The-Week: "Who are Team Rocket?"

Ash: "They're bad guys who steal other people's Pokémon."

EVERY SINGLE BLOODY TIME!!!

WORD-FOR-WORD IDENTICAL!!!

The writers have such deep appreciation for their work they're sending in cut-and-paste scripts.

Remember blasting off when something blew up, not an explosion from nowhere, or giving it the slip with a jet pack, or abduction by a Care Bear?

Remember when the eyebrows matched the hair?

Remember when he wore it long?

Remember blue shock? And sweat drop? And hammerspace? And comedy violence?

Remember her jagged hairline? And it being RED!!!

Remember proper highlights to it, rather than the odd white lump now and again, as if sweating like a pig, or their heads are infested with giant space ticks?

Remember when they were in all the episodes? And were main characters? And on the introduction sequence?

Remember when Jessie and James used to hug? And hold hands?

And bicker as only a couple can, but you knew they'd never cope alone?

Remember when they'd fly into each other's arms under the flimsiest pretext?

Remember when they meant more to one another than just being a pair of unconnected and disembodied wraiths coincidentally walking down the same road?

And they had more than civil interactions?

Remember when she loved him as much as he loved her?

And no one else could ever take his place?

And canon wasn't infected with the ruinous depiction of her as a hard, heartless bitch barely tolerating him until someone 'better' came along, at which point she'd fuck off without a backwards glance?

'Better', as in a scabby, satchel-mouthed, gormless cretin, just to add surly insult to merciless injury.

Never has such a life-long and hardcore defender of the faith flipped into an ardent Rumishipper as I did after that episode, once I'd swept up the fragments of my soul.

Remember when they were sympathetic?

Remember when they showed human warmth?

Remember when they cared about each other?

Remember when they weren't just a jangling, distorted mess of half-recollected traits?

Remember when they weren't really evil?

Remember Rocketshipping? That was a thing once, believe it or not.

Remember when they had a conscience?

Remember when actually wicked characters turned up, and Team Rocket ALWAYS sided with Ash, rather than the nauseating spectacle of suddenly being best buds with the Boss?

Remember when they had contact with the Twerps?

Remember when Team Rocket and the Twerps loved each other in secret and would endanger themselves to save their 'enemies'?

Everything that was once good and winning about them was sucked out, degree by degree, to leave the corpse, hollow and dead, strung up on wires as a grim marionette.

I'm sure most who see this will vehemently disagree, that I'm completely wrong, that THEY like them.

Yes, you like this three, but you don't like Team Rocket. This is not them. You have yours, and I have mine, but let's not pretend they are the same.

Why, if there is no difference, would I be so hostile, when they meant so much too me?

Did you ever wonder where the original fans went, why they all departed en masse? It's not because they 'moved on' or 'matured'.

They didn't leave Pokémon. Pokémon left them.

As the makers rely so heavily on repetition (sorry, nostalgia) they arrogantly expect us to still be here, having blithely welcomed our memories minced and our canon ripped up or ripped off, apparently.

We're intended to put up with watching them lay waste to ťhe series's body, clinging on for when a rotting bone is pulled up now and again and waved at us, before they chuck it aside to continue the dismemberment.

It's been eaten from the inside out, explaining the facial collapse. Behold the beauty on show:

You see what I mean, don't you?

Don't you? No, because otherwise you'd say the same.

How anyone feels able to describe three deformed freaks as 'hot' or 'cute' I will never comprehend.

The uniform collar protrudes like a solid pipe, emphasising the pencil necks.

It gives the impression of wrinkled, leathery tortoises peering out of their shells to secure a tasty lettuce treat.

Is that pretty? No.

Is it so surprising I don't care for my favourites to resemble melted waxwork skeletons of their own dæmonic counterparts?

S&M is a most fitting name, for this is torture.

In the film Death Becomes Her, Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn vie for the attention of Bruce Willis, both taking a serum giving everlasting youth and slimness.

The catch is it confers immortality, but not invulnerability, so when pushed down the stairs Meryl survives but is dead, her neck broken, thus she's zipped up in the morgue fridge.

When Goldie is shot with a canon she too rises, internal organs blown out.

The rest of the adventure involves the pair losing the war against time, patching up and painting over peeling grey skin, holding onto loose limbs as their bodies fall apart.

This obviously is the case here. The trio lapped the potion up at the close of Sinnoh, experienced a fatal accident and are now steadily crumbling to mush before us.

According to grave-diggers the head always goes first, so there you are then.

I have a suspicion that Giovanni lured all three to his crypt, experimenting on them to engineer his ultimate super soldier, which explains their flat, plastic appearance. Those since Unova began are the cyborgs, the real ones locked in his cellar.

You may notice I have about the lowest opinion possible of the current writing team, as they deserve.

Why should I have any respect for vindictive halfwits like this, who hate Team Rocket so much they're going out of their way to distort and uglify them, expressing the resentment in celluloid?

Jessie, James and Meowth lost their only defender in Takeshi Shudo. From that point they descended from loveable, hapless tragic figures to self-parodies (Hoenn) whiney, irritating divs dumping one another at every interval (Sinnoh), robotic, amoral scum (Unova and Kalos) and now physically repulsive minor additions (Alola and Galar). Is that trajectory all accidental?

It not that it's a new 'style' (for want of a better word), as were that the case, this hideousness would apply to the entire cast, but it's only done to Team Rocket. How could that be unless motivated by malice?

Given the sub thesps are obliged to prostrate themselves in the dust, begging fans to make their appreciation known, it smacks of desperation.

They wouldn't need to ask that were the trio treated as an integral component. They must sense the objections and are thus drumming up support to avoid the dole queue.

Are those in charge so resentful of their presence it manifests in mutilating them, keen to do anything that may alienate the fanbase, so at the first sign of a dip in popularity they can leap upon it as the perfect excuse to write Team Rocket out?

Why be surprised? These are imbeciles who reject their own canon at the close of every generation, so why care about someone else's?

If people have to harangue the writers with grovelling praise of their retcons, rehashes and all-round twatting about, butter 'em up sufficiently, with the implied threat of deserting the franchise should Team Rocket be ejected, taking their purses too, all so the smug, avaricious berks deign to put the trio in the next generation, that proves they don't want them, so how can what they write for their characters be objectively of any worth?

Team Rocket would've departed by now, were there not a palpable worry their absence might ring the death knell of the whole thing, turning off the financial tap, which is what matters.

Therefore they are retained, grudgingly, and only so long as the clamour continues at its current decibel level. If that drops it's over, and don't expect a romantic resolution. Why should pleasing you be a concern when you're to leave with them?

Ask yourself: how much of your devotion is based on what they are right now, and how much is from who they used to be?

How long can they live off past glories?

The offences done in Unova and Kalos were bad enough, but remarkably Game Freak found further depths to plumb, therefore it can only get worse.

I have of course retained the loveliest for last:

Be still, my beating heart.

No, really, be still. Stop infact. 

Planet of the Apes.

[crimsonrae]

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Eight

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst.

Rating: Mature

Small Avoidances

"Is there a reason why we're traipsing through the woods?" Jaskier questioned for the thousandth time, "I thought you killed whatever was tracking us."

"I did." Geralt grunted as he retraced his path to the fleder's corpses.

The bard frowned as he barely sidestepped a mess of brambles, "Then why are we out here?"

"You didn't have to come." The witcher rumbled in response as he eyed the ground. His steps were still very much present in the dirt, even after almost a week and it made him wonder just how out of it, he had been from the attack. He knew better than to leave a trail.

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well." Jaskier drawled as he narrowly dodged a branch swinging back in his face, "All I need is for you to suddenly be attacked out here and try and crawl your way back. It was a debacle getting you into the cottage the first time and you were merely down the lane then. Can only imagine what carting your heavy ass from the woods would be like."

Geralt glared wearily at him over his shoulder, "And here I thought you were going to pester me about your girlfriend."

The bard went unusually silent as he stared at Geralt's back before uttering a faint, "She's not my girlfriend."

The look of disbelief he received in return was almost galling, "She's not... she's... I don't know what she is."

Geralt snorted as he listened to the bard flounder. He'd have to be blind not to see the way the couple danced around each other, not to mention the air grew heavy with the scents of their attraction whenever they spent more than a few minutes talking to each other. It was getting annoying.

"She's been avoiding me." Jaskier murmured woefully.

That made Geralt pause as he sent the younger man an incredulous stare. Avoiding? They hadn't been more than a handful of steps away from each other since he had returned to consciousness. Hell, he had been surprised when Jaskier had decided to come with him instead of staying back with Lyrra. What the fuck was the bard talking about?

Jaskier sighed under that look, "Lyrra has this smile. It's the one she gives to the tavern's patrons she doesn't particularly know. Polite enough, but doesn't invite for more. She's been giving it to me the past couple days... It feels like she's building a wall - I don't know what I've done wrong."

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to continue his trek. He didn't have time for this nonsense. The brush grew thicker, but a few paces ahead a small clearing lay. The bodies of the two fleders resided within if they hadn't been dragged off by the wildlife. By the faint smell of rot in the warm summer air, the witcher knew he would still find the corpses.

"Perhaps I've been too clingy." Jaskier continued thoughtfully, "I just... I like being near her. I thought she liked it too."

Geralt refrained from sighing, he knew Jaskier could go on like this for hours if he let him. Instead, he tunneled through the rest of the brush as he commented, "She does."

The bard perked up curiously at this, a hopeful tinge in his voice as he cautiously asked, "Really?"

It was such an insecure question that Geralt nearly scoffed at his companion. It wasn't like Jaskier to be so...well insecure. The bard exuded optimistic confidence no matter the situation he found himself in, uncertainty usually didn't set in until after he barreled into trouble... or in this case, he had broken things off with his lover. The witcher glanced back at Jaskier to see a nervous edge tightening his visage. It was then that Geralt remembered how young Jaskier really was, barely a man of twenty, "You're not the reason she's being distant."

He stepped abruptly into the clearing and the sight of dark mangled flesh met his gaze, behind him Jaskier audibly heaved as the smell and sight finally hit his senses.

"Gods that's disgusting." The bard moaned piteously, "Please tell me, we didn't come out here to bring those back with us."

"No." Geralt growled as he knelt next to one of the corpses, "It's unusual to find a fleder so far away from civilization. They like crypts and sewers, not woods and vineyards."

"Which means what exactly?"

He reached for the clawed hand of one of the fleders, uncertain of what he was looking for, as several bugs flew into the air. Jaskier choked in disgust and backed himself toward the edge of the clearing. Geralt paid him no mind as he looked over the wounds he'd made – his strikes had been clean to the bodies. Their size, Geralt realized now, was smaller than the fleders he had encountered in the past, but not by much. These were the same height as him, most towered another foot above. The claws were long thick tapers, but otherwise ordinary. He scowled as he continued to scan the hairless, warted body. Already muscle and skin had shriveled, the summer heat had done little to preserve the remains. It was then he smelled it.

A sickly-sweet scent. Like rotting roses, coming from the creature's mouth. His golden gaze zeroed in on the creature's fangs as he stuck a finger along the back edge of the sharp canine.

"Oh Geralt, no!" Jaskier groaned as a black seeping liquid sledged down Geralt's arm, "I should've stayed with Lyrra."

Poison.

Geralt eyed the substance curiously as he sniffed deeply at his hand. The sweetness was worse, but he recognized a few of the underlying scents. He now understood why he had been so fatigued; the toxin would act as an anesthetic on a normal human in small doses, but what the fleder secreted would kill its prey. Geralt wasn't normal by any means and he was suddenly thankful his mutated anatomy had allowed him to make it a few miles away before succumbing. However, fleder's typically weren't poisonous either, "Fuck."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he dryly stated, "Good news I take it."

Geralt glanced at him with a frown as he wiped his hand in the grass, "They've been altered – purposefully mutated."

The bard's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why? What would be the point?"

"I don't know." Geralt murmured lowly as he gave the corpses a leery glance. He would leave the remains here and check back in a few more days. If he were lucky whoever had made these beasts would be looking for them. It wouldn't do to have someone running around creating new monsters for the world, "We should get back."

»»————-　　————-««

The sharp shink of metal was the only sound that disturbed the quiet air of the cottage yard and how Lyrra was able to find one of her guests as she came back from the markets.

"You know I've had my little panic problem for a while now." Lyrra stated softly as she stopped before Geralt sharpening his swords, "I don't think it's something that will go away from a few training drills."

Geralt barely paused in his actions as he settled a firm glance on her, "I don't intend to make it go away."

It wasn't just the panic she went into when she was touched, but the coil of anticipatory tension that began to wind whenever someone was behind her. She had been trained to expect an attack from behind, trained to feel vulnerable and helpless in the wake of that attack. Her reactions were enough to tell Geralt that her abuse had gone on for longer than he wanted to imagine and the lessons that her abuser had taught her would never be forgotten.

She seemed only mildly surprised at his words as she quirked a brow at him, "And what do you intend to do?"

"I intend to make you use it." He grumbled as he slid a rag over his blade and began to polish, "Acknowledge it, control it, use it, and then put it away."

Lyrra smothered a sigh as she looked almost bemused at him, "I don't understand. Why are you going through all this trouble?"

"I repay my debts."

She stared at him for a long moment, "And what debt could you possibly owe me that would incur this sort of payment?"

Geralt barely stifled a sigh as he set his sword and cloth to the side and met her stare head-on. Neither he nor Jaskier had mentioned what they had discovered in the woods to her. He didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone until he had more answers. Yet, even this was only a small reason to stay and he wasn't about to elaborate further. He didn't have to – she could very well make the connections on her own.

"It wouldn't be for playing nursemaid. This is all too much trouble for a simple act of kindness." She smirked bitterly and he saw shades of her sister shine through, "Renfri, then. I find it particularly curious that a woman you met briefly years ago has this much impact. Granted, yes, you did kill her, but you've killed plenty. Monsters and men. What made my sister so special?"

Geralt frowned disapprovingly at her words, but he recognized the provocation for what it was, wounded pride and desperate defense, "Why? Afraid you don't measure up to her?"

"I know I don't." Lyrra answered wearily, "She was strong. She took her pain and let it fuel her – she thrived from it... I'm not her, Sir Witcher. You've been looking for her since you woke."

That was true... to an extent. There was no denying the resemblance, but Lyrra's temperament was much different from her sister. Renfri, he understood. He understood her pain, her rage, and her desire for justice. He even understood her need to demolish all who stood in her path, even if he didn't agree with it. Lyrra was quieter than her sister however, he sensed that her pain went deeper. Her fear and rage simmered below a well-crafted surface, waiting for the opportunity to overwhelm. He had seen glimpses as she sparred with him. Had watched as she expended more of her energy battling herself and her instincts than she had him.

"I know you're not Renfri, Lyrra." Geralt uttered softly, "And she's only a small part of why I'm doing this. Though I do wonder, why you've indulged me so far."

Lyrra seemed to falter at his words, a faint sadness lined her stormy eyes before she grimaced and looked away, "Because... when I look at you, I see her too."

He cocked a brow and waited.

"Most people remember my sister as a monster." Lyrra explained softly, "You remember a person. I can see it in your eyes when I mention her name or I do something similar to her. You reinforce her memory and it's hard to walk away from that."

"I killed her, why aren't you angry with me?"Geralt finally demanded, "The memories I evoked cannot be pleasant. I took her from you."

"Aridea took her from me." Lyrra whispered, her eyes glazed as she fell into distant memories, "As did the mage. My Renfri died long before you ever arrived."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He sighed heavily and he waited for her attention to come back to him, "I will stay only as long as it takes for my wounds to finish healing." He stood and Lyrra watched after him curiously as he moved for the cottage, "You shouldn't underestimate simple acts of kindness. You help heal me, I help heal you. It's that simple, Lyrra."

"How?"

Geralt didn't look back, "Come and find out.”

»»————-　　————-««

Jaskier hated this.

To her credit, Lyrra was doing an admirable job at being brave, aside from the tense set to her jaw, her mien remained expressionless. However, there were still signs that she wasn't handling the current situation well. She had turned that stark white color again and it was only very faint, but he could make out the tremor spilling through her hands. He itched to go to her, but her recent reticence with him weighed heavily on his mind. Geralt had said her reserve had nothing to do with him, but still, he was uncertain.

The witcher stood behind her, hovering just inside her personal space and not touching, merely observing, but she seemed to be anticipating some action from the larger man. What though, Jaskier wasn't sure. He knew that sometimes Geralt would press a hand to her shoulder or hip, but never in the same area. He also knew that he wanted this exercise to be over. This was the third day of them playing some variation of this little game after going through defensive stances and he was tired of it. Despite the impassivity on both Lyrra's and Geralt's face, he could sense her distress and it was making him anxious.

Logically, he knew that Geralt would never hurt her, but logic was hard to hold onto when all he wanted to do was to step in between them. When he knew that when they finally finished for the day, she would disappear for an hour and come back with tear tracks staining her cheeks.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, "Is there a point to this? I didn't think defense had anything to do with standing like statues."

A small smile quirked at Lyrra's lips at his words, but no further reaction or explanation came forth from either of his companions. Instead, Geralt tilted his head in thought as his studious gaze suddenly landed on Jaskier. He always found it rather dangerous when Geralt looked at him like that – it usually meant he was about to be used as bait for some horrific creature.

He gave the witcher a leery look and nearly missed the amused glint that entered Lyrra's grey orbs as she watched him.

"Jaskier, come here."

The bard jerked his attention back to his friend and tried not to frown as Lyrra tensed again. He hated this. Geralt stared at him expectantly and Jaskier sighed as he slipped from his perch on the woodpile. His journal and quill laid forgotten on the ground as he approached, writing was something of a chore currently anyway. Lyrra's eyes followed him curiously as he neared and he couldn't help but send her a flirtatious smile as he stood next to her. He did so love when she blushed from that grin and as expected a faint coral red rose to her cheeks, "How can I be of service?"

Geralt rolled his eyes as he watched the bard's antics, but backed up a few steps as he ordered, "Stand where I am."

Jaskier huffed and stepped into the space that had been vacated, "So, am I just supposed to stand here? What is this accomplishing anyway? Is this some secret witcher technique to make people aware of their surroundings?"

The last bit was more of a taunt than an actual question. He wasn't a complete idiot – he had seen the way Lyrra tensed whenever someone stood behind her and he knew that Geralt was trying to stop that tension from turning into something more... dramatic. He bit back a smirk as he heard Lyrra and Geralt sigh at the same time.

Geralt moved to stand in front of them both, making sure that Lyrra kept her gaze forward as he gave his next set of instructions. There was almost a look of forewarning that the witcher sent to their hostess and by the way, she suddenly stilled, Jaskier was hesitant to do anything he was asked. As if he could hear his thoughts, Geralt levied a heavy glare in his direction, "Jask, place your hand on the small of her back."

He didn't move, a sense of foreboding filling his being as he stared at his friend, "Wh -"

Lyrra sighed again and rolled her shoulders, "It's okay, Jaskier...go on."

Her assurances weren't good enough and Jaskier found himself scowling as he asked, "Can one of you please fill me in on the importance of this exercise?"

"No." Geralt answered soundly and lifted a brow at him, "The small of her back."

Stubbornly, he crossed his arms, not in the least intimidated by the witcher's glare. He was going to get a bloody answer out of one of them for this continued nonsense. Lyrra was the one to break as she kept her gaze forward and her voice unreasonably light as she said, "He's trying to keep me from falling into some bad memories. I was hurt repeatedly as a child and when someone touches my back, I remember that pain. It makes me rather useless when being attacked, apparently."

"You're not useless." While her words were unsurprising, the dark twist through his gut was as he tried to quell the urge to demand further explanation. Despite, what Lyrra may think he had ascertained some form of abuse to her person from their night at the inn. She had spoken during her nightmare, quietly whispered pleas that had fair broken his heart – he couldn't bring himself to ask after those cries when her gaze had alighted on him that night, he was beginning to wish he had. Fuck, he didn't want to cause her pain, "Lyrra, we don't need to do this."

She peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled gently as if he were the one who was being tested, "It's fine."

It really wasn't.

She turned back before he had a chance to protest.

"You've both lost your damn minds." He scoffed quietly and glared almost petulantly at Geralt as the witcher merely crossed his arms and patiently waited. He had a feeling if he didn't do it then his friend would and somehow that seemed much worse.

Nervously, he shook his hand out before hesitantly reaching up and pressing his fingers into the hollow of her back. She went positively rigid, but as he moved to yank his hand back Geralt froze him with a look.

An expectant look.

It was as if he were expecting the bard to suddenly know what to do to make this all better. He wasn't a bloody mind healer for Melitele's sake, "Tell me to stop, Lyrra."

"It's fine." Her voice was tight as if she were gritting her teeth.

Jaskier swore, he fucking hated this – desperately, he fell back into the one tool he knew how to use better than anything, "Close your eyes, Lyrra and listen to my voice."

She must have sent Geralt a look as the witcher nodded at her to follow his directions. She crossed her arms and Jaskier bit back a sigh as Geralt sent him another expectant glance. He kept his touch light as he asked softly "When you blew that dandelion into my face, what did you wish for?"

"What?" Lyrra asked somewhat bewildered.

"I know it's been a few days, but after we decided we were unfit to marry. I handed you a dandelion and you blew it into my face." He ignored the raised eyebrow from Geralt at his words and pushed on, "What did you wish for?"

"Um... nothing. I just wanted to see your reaction." Lyrra murmured.

"Oh?" Instead of pulling away as his instincts were screaming at him to do, he slid his hand around to grab her hip. A touch of humor and curiosity entered his voice as he asked, "And did I give you the reaction you wanted?"

She snorted quietly, "You were surprised... but delighted, like I had just given you a grand gift instead of a face full of seedlings."

Jaskier felt a small grin tug at his lips and he gradually began to press his body closer to her, "You did give me a gift. You trusted me to be your friend." She began to stiffen again as his warmth started to settle against her back, "Trust me now, Lyrra. Trust that it's me behind you. Trust that I will never hurt you... What happens when someone touches your back?"

"I panic." She whispered tightly.

Jaskier grimaced, "No, start smaller. What's the first thing you feel?"

There was a long drawn out pause and for a horrible minute, the bard was sure he had made a mistake, had drawn her further into her fears instead of away. Then a shuddering breath stole through her as she answered, "Ice. It feels like ice has been poured into my veins. I hate the cold."

"What else?"

She swallowed, "My heart beats so hard that I'm sure it will pound through my chest. My throat tightens and I can't seem to scream, no matter how hard I try... and I feel weak as a babe, my arms heavy and my feet slow...and I can feel him. I can feel his hands and his breath."

A nauseous roil climbed Jaskier's stomach as he began to work out just how exactly she had been hurt. Her reserve around him suddenly made more sense... By the Gods, how he hated this. He clamped down on the need to rebuke both his friend and Lyrra for making her relive these horrific memories day after day. His grip on her tightened ever so slightly as if he could drag those memories from her skin, "You're not weak. You're still here. Still breathing, still speaking, and warm, and kind. I have watched you. You take the time to chat with every customer, you take the handsy ones away from the other barmaid."

"I don't-"

"– don't deny it, I've seen you do it." He rubbed faint circles into her hips as his chest met her back, "You always greet the barkeep with a smile. You help that man – Nigel – find safe shelter when he's too deep in his cups. You speak only kindly of Madam Hatchet."

"Madam Tyssa."

He smiled at her exasperated correction, "You gave Geralt your bed and your home. You listen to me ramble. You let us try to help."

Her hands slipped down to meet his. He could feel a faint tremor through her chilled fingers and gently trapped them under his on her hips. It was an odd reverse hug they stood in, but Jaskier didn't dare move now. Instead, he buried his face into her hair and continued to whisper to her, gentle questions and even kinder observations.

The couple had forgotten Geralt as he watched her trembling subside and her pallor lessened, "Lyrra."

Her grey eyes wearily lifted for the first time since Jaskier had begun speaking and the witcher found himself softening under her wary look. He silently asked her if she would be okay to try the next part of their exercise. The part they hadn't been able to get to before. She sighed inaudibly and nodded as she unconsciously tensed in Jaskier's arms.

The bard turned an irate stare on his friend, already sure he didn't want to hear the next set of instructions, "No. Whatever you're about to say, Geralt, just no. We've done enough for today."

There must have been something in his gaze that gave Geralt pause as normally the witcher had no compunctions about overruling him. Hesitantly, he nodded in agreement, "We'll try again tomorrow."

A faint murmur of protest left Lyrra's lips and it was all Jaskier could do not to shake the woman. Was she so intent on torturing herself? His lips brushed the rim of her ear, "Tomorrow Lyrrana. I will touch you until your heart's content tomorrow."

"How do you make everything sound like an innuendo?" Lyrra asked quietly as she tilted her head back to meet his stare. A faint twinkle of amusement shined in her grey orbs and he nearly smiled in relief.

He basked in that look, in her nearness as she leaned willing against him. For what felt like the first time in millennia, though it had only been a couple of days, she wasn't staying just out of his reach, wasn't presenting her mask of polite tolerance at him. He brushed a light kiss to her brow, "Just talented that way."

Her faint blush returned under his scrutiny and he bit back the urge to taste her lips when she didn't pull away. Slowly, he linked his fingers with hers and tugged her around to face him, "You don't have to hide from me, you know? I may talk utter nonsense, but I do make a rather good listener too, my lovely Lyrra."

She stilled in surprise and a sheepish smile quirked at her lips as she realized her attempt at distance hadn't gone unnoticed, "Jaskier..."

He didn't particularly want to hear her excuses or apologies just then. He shook his head at her with an amused huff before gesturing for the cottage, "Come on. We'll talk later."

Lyrra said nothing as she let him guide her inside.

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[excusemysaltiness]

Warriors

Loki x Valkyrie! Reader || Part 1 

Summary: Months have passed since the events of Ragnarök and the Asgardians have made an island in Norway their new kingdom. Thor, the new ruler of Asgard, is struggling to keep the Nine Realms intact. He needs more warriors to protect the Realms and Brunnhilde knows exactly where to find them.

(Infinity War doesn’t happen... yet)

A/N: Here’s a fic that absolutely no one asked for. Hope you like it. Comment below if you want to be tagged for this series :))

The King of Asgard sets down into his throne and lets out an exasperated sigh. The past few months have been very rough for him and his people. His father had passed away making him the new ruler, the prophecy of Ragnaörk had been fulfilled, destroying Asgard in the process, and the Nine Realms were currently defenceless. Majority of Asgards warriors had been slaughtered by the merciless goddess of death and now only six troops remain. Although many young boys and girls are currently in training, there are simply not enough soldiers to protect their vast population. And now that they reside in another realm, they are at even more risk of danger.

"King Thor, Lady Brunnhilde wishes to speak with you."

The god of thunder groggily lifts his head from the headrest of the throne and nods at the guard.

"Send her in." He answers.

Within a few moments, the large golden doors of the throne room open revealing the Valkyrie, the Gatekeeper and the God of Mischief. They approach the king of Asgard with a sense of urgency in their pace. Intrigued by their unexpected visit, Thor rises from his throne and meets them halfway.

"I hope you've come here to tell me good news. I am in desperate need of it."

Loki chuckles as he takes in his brothers worn out appearance. Clearly, his responsibilities as king are depriving him of rest.

"It's not as easy as it seems now is it, brother?" He chides.

Thor glares at his younger brother before turning to Brunnhilde, ignoring his presence.

"What is it you all wish to tell me?" He asks them hopefully.

The Valkryie's eyes rise from the ground and she reluctantly speaks.

"I know some people who might be able to help us. They should be able to restore the Realms back to its natural state."

"And who might these people be?" Questions the king. "If you had known of a solution to our crisis, why had you not shared it sooner?"

"She wasn't sure at the time," Explains Heimdall. "We're still not entirely sure if they will assist us though, my king."

"They will assist us. It is their duty to serve the throne until their dying breath."

Brunnhilde turns to Loki, swiftly unsheathes her Dragonfang sword and holds it dangerously close to his throat.

"I've told you already," She growls through gritted teeth. "Their service was terminated millennia ago by Odin. They serve no one now. Not even me."

The king quickly separates the two before their argument can escalate. Yet, he is still confused as to who they are referring to.

"Would someone tell me already of who it is we are talking about!" Booms Thor's voice. He is very tired, in desperate need of sleep, and frustrated. His brother and his friends are keeping him in the dark which he does not appreciate. He looks to Brunnhilde once again but she is hesitant to speak. Something very unusual of her.

"Well then, who is it that you speak of?"

"The Valkyrior."

The waves crash into the cliffside metres below you, splashing water onto your bare feet. The feeling of the cool water on your skin is refreshing and soothes your thoughts as you watch the sun disappear over the horizon. The evening sky is a pinkish orange hue and in parts where it is darker, stars reveal themselves one by one. The sight is captivating. Moving. But at the same time, it makes you feel miserable.

"Thrúd informed me of your absence at training this morning."

Your eyes remain forward, trained on the setting sun. Yet your body grows stiff.

"Did she tell you anything else?"

Your mother looks at you disappointedly and you feel her gaze bore into the back of your head.

"She also told me that you haven't been attending for the last two weeks."

Sigrún waits for a reply but ultimately receives nothing but silence. She can sense that something is wrong. She sits beside you on the edge of the cliff and looks to you benevolently, even though you continue to stare at the horizon.

"Dóttir, what is troubling you?" She tucks away some loose strands of hair behind your ear. "This behaviour of yours isn't like you, Y/N. I thought you loved to train."

"I do. I love fighting... "

"But?"

"There is no point in training. I may train each and every day, from dawn until dusk, but nothing but muscle will be gained. Our purpose is to protect the Realms and fight their battles."

"Protecting the Realms was our purpose. But now, that responsibility is in the hands of the Asgardians. Now, we-"

"Now all we do is collect the souls of the ill-fated, mother! They are fighting our battles and they are losing them! They are in desperate need of our help!"

Although your mother didn't want to admit it, she knew that you were right. A few months ago, many Asgardian warriors were slain. The horrifying sight of the mass of lifeless bodies laying on the grounds of Asgard still haunts your mind. You remember the putrid stench of the corpses but most of all, you remember the lost look on the warriors' faces. Their souls hung over their bodies awaiting their transcendence to the next life. Your sisters had quickly worked their way through the crowds, granting each fallen warrior their entry into Valhalla. While the unfortunate few, whose souls were deranged with sin, were sent to Hel.

You reach your hand out to an Asgardian soldier, resting it lightly on his shoulder. Your hand immediately glows a warm bright yellow and flashes of his life play in your mind. He is a very caring man, driven not only by his sword but also by his heart.

"Hadwin Geirson, the halls of Valhalla await your presence."

You smile at the soldier but he has still not yet faced you. He is hunched over his dead body, holding its left hand. You peek over his shoulder, curious as to why he is still afflicted, and your smile disappears. On the fourth finger of his corpses' hand is a golden ring. You kneel beside the spirit and look to him sympathetically as he continues to cry.

"I can't leave," He weeps. "My wife... She is carrying a child. Our child. I can't leave them all alone. I can't indulge in the riches of Valhalla knowing that they're in danger."

The soldier cries uncontrollably, begging you and the Norns for a second chance at life. You dismally tell him that you are unable to revive him from death and that he may only ascend to Valhalla or diminish into nothing. His wailing attracts the attention of other spirits and Valkyries. You avert your gaze from the downhearted soldier to the ocean of deceased bodies. How many of them have loved ones waiting for them? You think of the poor mothers, fathers, lovers and children that will mourn them.

"Valkryie," You turn to face the spirit. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, he looks miserable. "Are my family safe?"

"Yes, the Gatekeeper has led them and the people of Asgard to safety. A place where Hela shall not find them."

"What of the princes? Are they on their way?"

You look despondently at the soldier and his optimism quickly fades.

"I... I don't know where they are. They were last seen on Midgard but they disappeared shortly after."

The spirit looks up to the golden palace. The sight no longer enchants him. He glares at the grand structure, clenching his fists tightly. A great evil is upon them but their leader, their so-called protector, has abandoned them.

"Valkyrie,"

"Yes."

"Please, protect my family. Watch over them for me."

You look at him unsteadily, unsure if how to answer his final wish.

"I will." You lie. "No matter what happens, they will remain safe."

The soldier smiles at your response and you feel a pang of guilt. The spirit slowly shifts into ethereal specks of golden lights and rises upwards, destined for Valhalla.

You look up to the mountains in the distance where the people of Asgard take refuge. Where the soldiers' family waits. You hopelessly watch Hela's undead soldiers round up the remaining Asgardians, the unfortunate few who couldn't escape. You turn away from the disturbing scene and continue to assess the spirits. All that you can do now is hope that the soldiers' family remain unharmed.

"You wish to fight for the Nine Realms?"

"Yes, I do."

"Spilling blood will not give you purpose, Y/N. Besides, you are already a warrior."

You scoff at your mothers' words and shake your head dejectedly. She doesn't understand the emptiness you feel. You pull your hand away from hers and make your leave.

"Don't you see, mother? I am a warrior without a war, I have no meaning."

[texasthegreatdestroyer]

One Heart, Two Souls: FFX Fan fic

Chapter 1: Part 1.

Cold… That was just one of the things I felt. It was certainly an improvement from five minutes ago.

Then, my lungs had filled with salt water. I remember vomiting it up with what I presumed to be blood, as it left an iron flavor in my mouth.

What a fabulous combination. Blood and seawater. At some point, I must have hit my stomach really hard, that would probably explain the mix of blood and bile.

But what did I have in me to care? My feelings had been washed with a majority of my blood in the sea. The same blood that poured out of my wounds.

The wounds that reminded me of my poor decisions, my failures, and of course, my death. Dying came to me fast, but ended so slowly. I can still feel the sick irony, as the god of the corrupt religion laughs in my face. Waiting, regenerating, plotting which of it's followers to kill next. I felt bitter, but that bitterness turned to sweet salvation and sugar coated numbness, well mentally that was.

The right side of me hurt like hell. Something around the wounds made me hurt. Seawater maybe? No, this felt grainy. My wounds stung and my body ached.

It seemed like every time I tried to move a muscle, it felt like the limb attached to it was being severed from the rest of my body.

I wasn't sure what was worse, my increasing body aches? My inability to open my eyes? Or the the slight but selfish contempt I had for two people I called my best friends?

My eyes, I need to open them. I can hate myself later. I did eventually tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my right one wouldn't open.

The blood on my eye started to clot and eventually scabbed up enough to keep me from forcing it open.

I did manage to get my left eye open though. What I saw was… sort of dark. My good eye and bad eye stung. Using what I knew so far, it was sand that was irritating my eye and wounds.

Somehow, I had face planted into sand. When I figured this out, I lifted my head up quickly. I had finally made it to shore.

I wasn't sure how I ended up here, or in the middle of the ocean for that matter.

I found myself on the beach of a coastal city. It was a big city, but it couldn't have been Bevelle.

I had been all over that city, and knew every landmark, but none of the knees around me looked familiar.

It didn't take me long to figure out where I was, as I noticed that it was busy with machina.

Could this be what I think this could be? Is this Jecht's Zanarkand?

This meant I was able to fulfill my promise to Jecht, but worth how I was feeling, I spat at the idea of fulfilling the promise, as I still felt contempt him and Braska leaving me behind.  Leaving me alone.

As I looked around, I noticed somehow staring at me. It was a child. He looked to be six or seven, but that was not the key thing that stood out about him. He looked like Jecht.

The only thing I could mutter out to him was, “Who… are you?”

The boy looked at me horrified before he ran screaming. “Maaaaa!”. Instinctively, I got up quickly and grabbed his wrist, but that just made him scream more.

“LET GO OF ME!”

“Wait! I think I know your father!”

At hearing this, the boy kept quiet.

“Is your name Tidus?”

The boy was about to answer, but someone came out of their home. An elder looking woman she was. She shouted at us from afar.

The whole beach was made up from boat houses, and she lived in one.

“What's going on over there!?”

We made the mistake of looking over there, it just her yell at us.

“Are you alright young boy?”

She stared at me, then decided it was fit to yell at me next. I didn't really appreciate the attention.

“You! You leave that poor little boy alone! I'll call the police!”

I had no idea what she was talking about. What was a police, or the police? I didn't stay to find out. With the little energy I had, I got up and ran.

To my surprise, the boy followed. We eventually made it somewhere where we'd be safe to talk in private.

“You're Jecht's son, are you not?”

The boy flinched at my question. I could tell that just his father's name made him sick.

“Everyone knows my stupid old man, what makes you special?”

“I knew him on a personal level. I spent three months traveling with him. We were friends. He asked me to find you and your mother.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I'm only here to bear news off your father to you and your mother, and to help out with you as needed.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Look, it's hard to explain. I just need you to trust me.”

There was silence among us. The boy did finally reply after a couple minutes. All though it was monotone, out was the answer I hoped for.

“Fine.”

I followed him as he guided me to his home. He lived in a fancy little boat house, perfect for a small family of three.

Despite it being a nice, sunny day, there seemed to be something dark and unbecoming of the bright, little house.

The sound of the child's voice snapped me out of my daze.

“I'm going to go get my mom, wait here.”

He opened the door, the inside looked unwelcoming. The boy continued into the dark pit of despair called a doorway. I had to advert my attention to something else to keep myself from running in after him, as I was terrified of what may have been lurking in abyss.

I caught the eyes of the neighbors next door. They were a young, attractive couple. Looks of terror formed on their faces, so like Tidus.

Was my condition really that revolting? As I continued to think about it, the smell of rotten flesh wafted from my body.

I looked down at my decomposing wounds to see that I was squirting blood everywhere as that people next door were watching and reacting. It had occurred to me that my condition was that bad.

My focus was interrupted with Tidus’s return. He walked over to me, but I kept my eyes glued to the dark corridor, waiting, expecting a beautiful woman to illuminate the dark vibes I was getting from interior. Besides, Jecht was supposedly the best blitzer in Zanarkand, and maybe even the world, he would have to have a wife prettier than any of the gorgeous women who flocked to him at the end of the game, or anywhere he was seen.

Finally, a wisp appeared in the doorway. What I saw left me in shock and aww. It was a woman, she would have been beautiful if it wasn't for a couple issues.

Unlike a normal person who emerges in order of a silhouette to a full human body. She starred as a wisp and came out a silhouette.

She was freakishly skinny, her skin stretched across her body like tight clothing. From a literal standpoint, she looked like flesh and bones.

You could see every curve of her skeletal system. The woman was as pale as a ghost. She looked very sickly, almost as if you even slightly touched her, she would shatter.

However, what stood out about her the most was her eyes. They were a shiny, bright, blue, yet appeared to be incredibly dull.

She had darkly outlined bags under her eyes as if she never slept. She looked like the creation made by a depressed artist who felt like spilling their feelings onto the paper.

Her eyes were glazed over like freshly cut glass. She looked like someone who would smile a lot, but not as of now. The one thing the glimmer in her eyes and her smile had in common other than being beautiful. Gone.

Disappeared with Jecht himself, kept in the pocket of his chaos torn pants, as he walked to his demise in the hands of the culprit himself, as he would turn a small family of three into a smaller family of two, leaving it in shambles.

It was very clear she herself was lying on a deathbed, created by her husband's absence and her inability to go on. Her death would be by her own weak, trembling hands. The woman in her frail state spoke.

“I'm sorry, I can't help you. We don't have any medical supplies to take care of you with.”

“That's not why I'm here ma’am.”

“Oh? My son said differently.”

We both stared at the boy. He replied to his unwanted attention.

“Hey, someone had to say it. You look like a walking corpse.”

His mother of course didn't approve of his comment.

“Tidus! That's impolite, apologize.”

He hung his head low in reaction to the unwanted reaction before he spoke again.

“... Sorry.”

“It's not a problem.”

His mother's focus shifted back towards me now.

“Why are you here then?”

My heart dropped. I wasn't  ready to make things worse, but I made a promise.

“I've come bearing unfortunate news… I'm here to inform you that your husband's death has been confirmed… I'm sorry for your

loss.”

She fell to the ground shrieking.

“I knew he was gone, but no one ever found his body! Knowing this, I believed he wasn't dead, that he'd come back to us, my sweet, sweet Jecht! That's been my only hope for months!”

I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't sure what I could do for her. She had just lost her husband. Although I was also grieving his death, I didn't have it in me to cry.

Looking down at Jecht's wife, I could tell deep down, her heart bleed sorrow, rage, and love. Love that was clearly not reserved for her son.

He tried to go comfort his mother, but when bee did, she just about snapped his head off clean.

“Mommy, it'll be alright-”

“DON'T TOUCH ME!”

She harshly ripped her hands from her son's gentle grasp. I was stunned to see how she treated him. Tidus began to cry, but it only managed to make matters worse for him. She replied with venomous words.

“Grow up and stop crying! You're being pathetic! You HATE him! You said son yourself, so why are you crying!?”

She clearly had a short fuse. The boy cowered. He wiped his tears at his mother's command. He stayed long enough to glare at me, then stomped into the house and slammed the door behind him.

I wanted to tell her the way she was treating her son was wrong, but I couldn't risk her taking offence to what I would say and not let me see him again, so I kept quiet.

Yet again, I kept my eyes attached to the door, while recognizing the so called fruits of my labor.

They were rotten and stunk of failure. A sad and emotionally abused son and a distant mother, that's what was gained.

His mother whispered random words, they sounded of suicide. I looked to find het skin even more tightly stretched across her skull as her eyes got big.

Suddenly the air begun to fill with a bad smell, something other than rotten flesh. It was urine.

I looked below the woman to find a dark yellow puddle under her feet, and a wet spot on her jeans. You could tell she didn't drink much by the discoloration of her… nevermind, too much detail.

I was shocked at the site, and also disgusted. I've had to bear news of fallen comrades to their families numerous times in the past, but I've never gotten this kind of reaction before.

I didn't think grief pissing one's self was anything more than a tale the higher ups told the cadets to disturb them in the warrior monks, but she did so.

I find it funny that this had to happen with the wife of my goner of a best friend. I guess life decided since it was a special occasion, that the reaction had to be equally special. Simply put, a godly, almighty, “Fuck you” from the world to me.

I'm horrible with emotions, I always have been. I watched as wet comps of years ran down her face powerless.

Not too long afterwards, she had passed out. I hadn't noticed, but when I looked away earlier, Tidus had pulled up a stool and watched us from the window of the door.

It took him awhile to move the stool and come outside, but he finally did. He came at me, pushing, hitting, and screaming.

“GET AWAY FROM MOMMY!”

Hee growled at me as I restrained him. I got him inside and locked him in his room long enough to get his mother inside.

I couldn't just leave her to lay in a puddle of her own filth, so I picked her up and took her to the bathroom.

I let Tidus out, asked him if he could help me get his mother cleaned up. After enough fussing, he agreed to help.

There were many weird contraption in the bathroom, but I got her unclothed, and put her in the one that looked closer to a bath.

I wasn't surprised to see that she loomed entirely like a skeleton. However, I couldn't help but stare at her bony structure.

Of course, when Tidus came in, he took my intentions to be impure.

“Stop staring at mommies chest, you creep.”

“That wasn't what I was looking at, I swear!”

“Uh Huh… sure.”

“I promise! She's just… really skinny.”

“Mommy doesn't eat like she used to. She doesn't really eat at all. The doctor told her she needed to start eating more, or she would get sicker, but she never listened. I try to get her to eat, but she won't eat for me!”

He sounds like a mother himself, complaining about trying to get the children to eat right. He stared at me quietly as if he was waiting for something. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me.

“Aren't you going to turn the water on?” He said snarkily.

I wasn't sure how this thing worked, I turned the left knob hesitantly. His mother began to shiver uncontrollably. The boy put his hand in the water.

“It's cold genius! No wonder she's freezing!”

I turn the left knob back to its starting point, turning the water off, then I turn the right knob. I saw steam coming up, so I automatically thought a win for me, but then she flinched in discomfort.

He sticks his hand in a second time, but pulls back immediately.

“Ow!”

He looked up at me and scowled.

“Are you trying to cook her?! You're hurting Mommy!”

“I'm really sorry!”

“No! Just get out!”

I fulfill his wishes and go out to look around for a fresh towel and a set of clothing. It doesn't take Tidus long to call me back in there. He has me watch over her long enough to go grab some things. Tidus comes back with some rubbing alcohol, duct tape and some napkins.

“Stay still!”

“Why?”

“Well, I have to patch you up! I can't just have you bleeding everywhere! You're cleaning the blood up by the way, especially on the carpet, if you don't, mom will be maaaad!”

“That's noted, but are you sure using duct tape and napkins is a good idea?”

“Are you being ungrateful?”

I kept quiet. Duct tape and napkins were at least something. That and probably a better alternative than the local hospitals. Them trying to get my medical records would have been one giant headache all together.

I watch him and cringe at the sting of him stumping a lot of rubbing alcohol on my wounds. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from cursing up a storm. Seriously? Did this kid have no restraint? No idea how painful rubbing alcohol is?

He eventually moved on to putting the fanfic napkins on me and tapping the wounds up.

“You're very lucky mom was talking about throwing these out, or else I would have used paper napkins... But still, keep those hidden just in case.”

“Duly noted.”

He finally did finish, and to my surprise, his method wasn't all that shabby. The bleeding stopped, and the wounds were cleaned. My only issue is that he taped my bread entirely to keep the napkin concealed, this is going to hurt to pull off later.

I continued looking around for what I needed. I didn't take me long, I found her clothes in her dresser, I avoided the panty and bra drawer entirely, I already had taken her out of her clothes and had to put her back in them, I wasn't about to be the guy to look through her potentially sexually arousing undergarments.

I was making my way down the hall to the bathroom when Tidus comes running my direction. I knew something had to be wrong.

“Quick! Help me! Mommies head went under the water and I can't get het up!”

I run into the bathroom quickly and pull her up from the water. If I'd waited any longer, she would have drown. I sit her up long enough to put the towel and clothes down, then hold onto her and kept her head above the water long enough for Tidus to finish cleaning her up.

Afterwards, Tidus grabbed her forty clothes and stuck them in one of the two matching machina. I would later find out that they were a clothe washer and dryer.

I drained the automatic bath and took my time drying her off properly, then put her clothes back on her and carried her to her bed, then I tucked her in.

By the end of this, I stunk of not only rancid flesh and body odor, but a touch of urine. I considered using the bath, but it wasn't my place to do so without permission, so I just left it alone.

Tidus and I sat on the deck quietly. It was an hour before he went in to check on his mother. I could tell he was worried.

When he came back out, we spoke briefly, but the awkwardness turned to silence after the following conversation.

“Is your mother alright?”

“Why do you care?”

His words were cold and untrustworthy. What I said next probably didn't help matters any.

“I wouldn't know what to do if she dies.”

“Don't say she's going to die!”

After a while, we went back inside. There, he spoke to me for a second time. I wasn't off the hook just yet. I was to be thoroughly investigated by a seven-year old. First a doctor, next a detective. This kid has quite the future ahead of him.

“Why were you sent here by my father?”

“I was sent here to bear news off your father's passing, also to help out with you if necessary, in other words, your father's will.”

“... How did he die?”

“He died a hero's death-”

“Don't call my father a hero! He's not!”

There was a pause of silence between us. A few seconds later, I heard shuffling coming down the hallway. I watched as the thin lining of his mother appeared from within the shadows. Instantly, I got up, my first instinct being to guide her back to her room.

When we got back to her room, she said she wanted to talk to me in private, so I shut the door. That was a big mistake.

- To be continued.