#or if not lying then sadly mistaken

[randomshyperson]

Heal - Scarlet!Wanda x Vampire!Reader - Kinktober #08

Summary: By freeing an imprisoned immortal from the Darkhold Castle, the Scarlet Witch did not expect to gain a friend who would help her heal the woman she tried to bury in the temple's wreckage. In return, Wanda might help you face the demons from your past that were locked away with you.

Warnings: (+18), service!top reader, praising, intimate smut, blood-feeding, vampire and witchcraft lore, and a lot of plot, implied depression and self-harming tendencies, really soft smut with explicit consent, mutual pining, friends to lovers | Words: 9.671k

A/N-> My only vampire reference is TVD, so expect many similarities to the show’s lore. And I repeat again that there is a sinful lack of stories that deal with the status of wizarding royalty of which Wanda is part. Please, she literally has the title of Queen of Chaos, her family has inherited the magic of chaos for generations, we need to talk about this. I hope you guys like this one, this story ended up having more depth than I expected and it was quite fun to write it.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

After destroying a thousand-year-old castle and not getting out of the impact zone, Wanda definitely didn't expect comfort. In addition to the pain of recent events, from realizing that she had finally become a villain, and was closer to the people who had destroyed her life than to the friends she once lost, she also had to see the clear fear in the alternative versions of the children she missed. So she put an end to it all, more tired than anything, and waited for the pain to go away. The blackout from the impact put an end to it, of course, and just like years before when she turned to dust after losing the only person she still had left, she breathed a sigh of relief into the darkness.

But Wanda woke up. And to her complete surprise, comfort came in the softest sheets she had ever felt, perhaps even more comforting than the expensive cloth Tony Stark had once bought for the rooms in Avengers Tower. The bed she was lying on could easily have been mistaken for royalty, and Wanda barely had time to become alert before a slightly unfamiliar face entered her field of vision.

"You." She gasped in surprise, her voice a little hoarse. Now conscious, she was aware of the pain around her body, but she could also feel her magic doing the hard work and taking the sensation away. You smiled gently and, without leaving your sitting position on her bed, waited for her to adjust to the mattress. Wanda frowned. "But why?"

You sighed, shrugging slightly. Now sitting up, Wanda realized that your lap wasn't empty. A breakfast tray was waiting for her as if you were aware that she would wake up soon and had brought the food just in time. The item was leisurely placed next to her, but Wanda continued to look at you, waiting for an explanation as to why someone who had disappeared almost the second after the first meet, reappeared to save her from the wreckage of her mistakes.

"I know you're confused, but please eat. You've slept for days, miss." It's your comment, but the witch shakes her head.

"Don't worry about it. It's... nowhere near the longest I've gone without food." The quiet confession about the period of darkhold abuse makes you sigh sadly, and Wanda feels a curiosity rise in her chest. You don't know her, so why do you care? 

Your hands move to the toast you've prepared for her, and Wanda bites the inside of her cheek as she finally notices the tray with your movements. Your breakfast choices are just right - delicious foods stare back at her. And you busy yourself with adding some jam to the toast that makes Wanda's mouth water.

"Forgive me for taking so long to find you, I was a bit overwhelmed upon returning after so long." You then declare, handing back the now-filled toast to one of the smaller plates. You push the item towards her as an invitation, but Wanda glares at you.

"Why did you bother coming back?"

Your eyes are kind in her direction. "I owe you my freedom."

Wanda chuckles short and incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous, I didn't even know what I was doing." She retorts immediately. "I saved you by accident, you don't owe me anything."

But you gesture to the food, and Wanda sighs in defeat, finally giving in. At the first bite, she feels the delicious jam on her tongue and sighs in satisfaction. It's amazing, she lets you know. You smile.

"It doesn't matter if our meeting was accidental, Wanda Maximoff." You state. "Your magic broke me out of my prison. If the idea of a debt doesn't please you, we can act as if upon rescuing you, I made us even."

Wanda hums with her mouth full, slightly distracted by the food. You look away, waiting for a moment, and she finishes chewing before speaking again.

"I didn't want to be rescued."

"I know."

She looks at you again, but you continue to stare straight ahead into the room. "Do you?"

You smile briefly. "Nobody who wants to live knocks down a castle on their head, miss."

The chuckle that escapes her is short, but it's the first sincere one in a long time. It's so dark, to joke about something so serious, yet she feels completely at ease doing it with you.

Wanda finishes another piece of toast before speaking again. "Do you remember the sorcerer who was with me before, when I freed you?" You meet her gaze, nodding in agreement. Wanda looks at you curiously. "He nearly shit his pants when he saw you running away from the temple. He tried to lecture me about it, and I dragged him out of there for it. But the point is... what did you do? He only told me your name. What was so terrible that your escape scared him so much?"

You sigh, getting up. Wanda imagines that she has offended you by asking and that you will leave without telling her the whole truth, and considers spying on your mind to find that out, but you just walk to the nearest drawers on the other side of the bedroom. When you return with an object in hand, Wanda wipes away the toast crumbs before accepting the item you hand her.

The old photograph makes her eyes widen. "Holy shit." She sighs impressed, getting a short laugh out of you.  Your picture wasn't a surprise, but the date from over three hundred years ago faded by the bottom. Wanda flipped the item to see the back, but your name there didn’t really explain how you were standing in front of her, as if no time had passed.

"Humans call us Vampires, but I've always liked the sound of Immortal better. Of course, the term vampire beats being called a demon or a bloodsucker." Wanda doesn't laugh at the joke, as she raises wide eyes in surprise at you. She continues to hold up the photograph, and you swallow. "I promise I won't try to harm you." Finally, she chuckles softly. You sigh in reassurance, even though the witch has just mocked your strength.

"I can't believe vampires exist." 

"Said the witch who traveled through the multiverse a few days ago." Wanda smiles, handing the photograph back to you. 

"Fair point." She murmurs. Restless, you wonder what you can do to improve her mood. She seems so sad.

Perhaps your stories could distract her. 

"I was imprisoned in Darkhold Castle a few centuries ago." You tell her, attracting her curiosity again. Your hands go into your pockets so that you can regain some ground over the full attention of such beautiful and mesmerizing irises. "There are other mystical authorities, apart from Kamar-Taj and its mages. In particular, a council of vampires. I disagreed with some traditions and was sentenced to imprisonment, but my capture was not quiet. Let's just say I earned that tomb you rescued me from, Miss." Wanda nodded in understanding, offering a small smile that ensured she wasn't judging you. It would be comical to do so, after everything that had led up to this moment. Adding to the count of her own crimes, she apparently unleashed an immortal mass murderer.

Wanda looks around, sighing softly. "I presume this place is yours."

You nod but look away from her. "Many of my properties were lost with my imprisonment. Taken back by the Council, or even stolen by other creatures. I'll deal with these usurpers later." The comment made Wanda bite the corner of her mouth. She'd never seen a vampire fight, and you seemed so sure of your own strength over anyone who stood up to you. It was attractive somehow. She pushed the thought away faster than it came. "Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, even if I'm not around."

The statement makes Wanda chuckle in surprise, her cheeks slightly warm. "What? I can’t accept that. I will certainly not abuse hospitality-"

"Don't be ridiculous." You repeat her previous words with an easy smile, and the casual comment sounds different from your formal attitude so far that It's so charming that Wanda has to look away awkwardly, surprised by her own perceptions. "It's a pleasure to have you as a guest. And honestly, it's nice to have someone around after so long." The sincere confession makes her smile. Wanda understood loneliness well. You sigh. "There's enough room in this house. You can stay as long as you need."

Wanda nods. "How exactly did you get me here? And where is here exactly?"

"Northern Europe, but I'm not sure if the country's name remained the same as it was three centuries ago. And I didn't want to carry you so far from the castle, and I figured you didn't intend to return to Nepal and their Kamar Taj’s mages as well."

Wanda grimaces. "What do you mean with ‘carry me’?"

You chuckle slightly. "You were unconscious, Miss Maximoff. And buried under rubble when I found you. We don't have the same magical abilities,  so I can’t use the power of the mind to move objects or people. I picked you up, and brought you with me."

She needs to see this, and the invasion in your mind caught you off guard. Flashes of memories turn clear in your head, your figure pushing rocks out of the way until you find Wanda unconscious. You actually picked her up in your arms and started moving. At some point, you found a car, but good kilometers on the ice at high speed were walked.

Wanda leaves your mind with a sigh, and for the first time, you look upset.

"Please ask next time."

She's still coming to terms with the fact that you ran through the snow with her in your arms to apologize. "You walked half a continent for me?"

You shrug. "I ran, to be fair. Don't worry about that, it wasn't any trouble. My kind has enough strength and speed for a journey like that."

But the ease didn't detract from the significance of the attitude. Wanda could hardly remember the last time anyone had done anything for her - not even Vision, who was her partner, seemed to share any guilt when signing accords that wanted her in jail; And now a stranger was rescuing her at the end of the world just to bring her to safety, without expecting anything in return.

Her silence makes you clear your throat. "I'll give you some privacy. There's more food if you want it, and this is a suite, so the toilet is through that door. I've also taken the liberty of ordering clothes in your size while you’ve been asleep, they're all in the closet. The whole property can be explored, please feel free to do so. There’s a library and art rooms. And please, if you decide to leave, say farewell first."

Wanda smiles tenderly at your request, and you turn away. She finally realizes that you look very tidy, and calls out to you before you can leave the room.

"Are you going out?"

"Just for a few hours." You answer, frowning at the way her expression falls. "Is something wrong?"

Wanda sighs. "I just… don’t wanna be alone."

Despite the sympathy in your eyes, you hesitate. A hand on the doorframe. "Forgive me, miss, I promise I won't be long and that we can spend the rest of the day together." 

Wanda waves your concern away, starting to stand up. "Relax, I'll be fine, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your appointments. I'll explore the house while you're gone."

But despite her casual attitude, you call out to her with a certain seriousness that makes Wanda look at you again. There's something in your expression that makes it clear that you didn't buy Wanda's act at all, and that you can clearly see that she was being serious about her loneliness. Your eyes had a guilty aspect because you couldn't stay. 

You sigh, looking away as you explain: "I must feed myself, Miss Maximoff. Please don't think I'm avoiding your company."

She is slightly surprised by the confession and doesn't know exactly what to say about it. She decides to just nod, without the courage to question you further on the subject even though she's dying to know exactly in which way you're going to feed yourself.

And when you leave her alone, and she wanders around the huge rooms of that mansion, she can't help wondering where you are, if it's like in vampire stories, and you're in some alley cornering an unwary human, or if hunting animals is enough. She becomes so absorbed in her own doubts that when you return, she hasn't even finished seeing the whole place.

"Having fun?" Your question startles her slightly. She smiles, turning her attention away from the art paintings in the room and meeting your gaze again.

"You move silently."

"A talent we share."

Wanda chuckles and waits for you to approach her completely. Side by side, she is the first to speak.

"Everything here is very beautiful." She says softly. "And I may not be centuries old, but I'm no fool. It sounds too good to be true. Be honest, Y/N. What do you hope to get from me?"

You frown, taking one hand out of your pocket to gesture a little. "You have a suspicious nature, Miss Maximoff."

She snorts softly." Y/N..."

But you smile, and Wanda gasps softly because your hand moves to her face, a gentle touch to move a strand of hair out of the way of her eyes. "Not everyone wants to take something from you, Miss. Some people just want to give." Wanda ignores the intensity of your gaze, the quickening of her heartbeat, and raises her hand to grab your wrist and interrupt your intention to stroke her cheek straight away. Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion in your direction, although your smile never falters. "I could just force you to talk."

"There's no need for that, we can talk over dinner."

She hesitates, aware of the heat on her cheeks. You seem to have a personal victory and Wanda lets go of your hand immediately. 

"Wipe that smile off your face, it's not... that kind of dinner. We don't even know each other." She mutters embarrassedly. You return to your previous position, relaxed with your hands in the pockets of your dress pants and Wanda crosses her arms annoyed at the way her stupid brain keeps finding you more attractive every time she looks at you. 

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, miss." You retort humorously. "It's a strictly professional dinner."

She rolls her eyes, turning away to hide her smile from you.

"Just introduce me to the rest of the house."

"It's funny, all witches are always bossy." You comment, letting her gently pat your shoulder even though you could easily escape the gesture if you wanted to.

-&-

"I didn't know vampires cooked."

You chuckle, without taking your eyes off the knife cutting the vegetables. "Have you met many vampires?"

Wanda bites back a smile, rolling her eyes softly. "No, you're the first." She says, watching from the counter stool as you masterfully prepare dinner. "But I thought you guys didn't need to eat."

"We don't, not food at least." You retort gently, even though the implication makes Wanda's eyes sparkle with curiosity. You, despite being busy preparing the meal, notice the slight excitement and give a soft laugh. "If wished, my body can imitate all the biological functions it had before I died. This includes food." To illustrate, you take one of the cut pieces of carrot into your mouth, chewing and swallowing as you finish chopping the vegetables. Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, gathering the courage to ask you what she wishes to know.

When you pour the cut vegetables into a pot, she clears her throat. "Would it be insensitive if I asked how it happened?"

"Very." You smile back. Wanda sighs slightly, feeling like a little child trying to be liked. 

Please, please, notice me and talk to me.

The fire is lit, you wash off the excess vegetable stock and wipe your hands on a tea towel. You speak again.

"It's 2024, which means that in the winter it will be 320 years since my transformation." You begin a little nostalgically, your hands resting on the counter behind you. "Twenty was the age at which I died."

Wanda frowns. "You were so young."

"Yes, I was." You agree with a sad smile. "I used to work here, right in this mansion." Wanda adjusts herself, curiosity taking over completely. "I was raised by this family all my life, and when I fell ill, they decided there was no longer any place for me here."

The witch swallows dryly but doesn't interrupt your story. You look down, bringing your hands in front of your stomach to turn the larger ring you're wearing between your fingers.

"Sick servants would be sent away, so as not to spread the disease to the rest of the house. I died on the road."

Wanda frowns slightly. "Who bit you?"

"Bit me?" You retort in confusion. 

She chuckles awkwardly. "Yes, that's how it works, isn't it? Vampires bite humans and turn them."

It's your turn to laugh, a little impressed. "What? No, by the gods! Imagine how many of us there would be out there if every time a vampire fed, he turned someone? No, no, it's a bit more complicated." You comment casually. "You see, there's an immortality spell, created by the same author of the book that was with you when we met. Original vampires are made by ancient magic, and these can have bloodlines. Weaker vampires are transformed by their blood. And others can be created, even weaker by their descendants. The trick is to die with magical blood in your system so that your soul will be trapped by the magic and will not leave your body. It is then reanimated a few hours after we die. To complete the transformation, we must feed."

She absorbs your words for a moment. Until she finally asks: "Who transformed you?"

You lick your lips, shifting your eyes to the pot as if to confirm the cooking time, before turning away from the counter. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

She follows you around the mansion, way past the kitchen to another level. The entrance hall extends into a long corridor with many old paintings. Finally silver doors at the end.

"This is the main suite of the mansion." You clarify, fiddling with a bunch of keys kept in your pocket until now. Apparently, the only locked room was that one. "It's been adapted, moved from the upper floor to here on the lower level since, at the end of her life, the owner couldn't take the stairs."

Once unlocked, you push the doors open with both hands, exposing the immense royal suite inside. Wanda thinks it looks a lot like fantasy books and is busy admiring the decorations when she comes across a painting on the wall that knocks the air out of her lungs.

"What...?" She approached with uncertain steps until she was touching the painting with her fingers, groping for the drawing of a face that could easily be mistaken for her own. "How is that possible?" She demanded to know, turning to you.

You were still standing in the doorway, your hands in your pockets. "This is your ancestor."

"And why the hell does she have my face?"

"Heritage?" You retort good-humoredly, but Wanda snorts incredulously, advancing towards you angrily. You quickly raise your hands in surrender, a nervous laugh escaping as you see the fury in her eyes. “I’m joking, dear lord! I didn't mean to upset you. Let me tell you the whole story!."

"It better be a very good one." She retorts, watching you intently as if expecting a kidnap attempt.

You sigh, nodding before turning your face to the photo. "Her name was Elizabeth. She's gone if that's not obvious. This painting was done over four centuries years ago when your family was still known as the Maksymovs. They lived well, your ancestors, as you can see from the amount of gold in this manor. But sorcery and witchcraft were never very well-liked anywhere, and just like the rest of us, your family was hunted down." You say, stepping aside to open the curtains and light up the room. Still, on your back, you continued to talk. "I was just a little girl when Lady Maksymov took me in, Elizabeth’s mother. I cleaned and cooked, and I was lucky enough to be allowed inside the mansion. To share the room with the family. All due respect to their memories, but my Lady was not a decent person. She was cruel and harsh and preferred to die on the mountain of money than give a little to the children she watched depart for this place. I stayed here because I had no other choice in life, and when the neighbors began to question what she was doing in the basement, she was taken away just like her children.  And unlike her mother or any of her siblings, Elizabeth was not a very talented witch. Her magic was dormant. That poor woman, always so sad under the cruelties shouted at her by her relatives. She could never master chaos but it got better when she gave in to the darkhold's allure. Unfortunately for the servants, her gentle personality was gone once her magic control was improved. I remember her dark fingers chastising me every time I failed to fold the sheets correctly."

Wanda swallowed at the anger hidden. Your posture was enough for her to believe your words.

“Why did she turn you?”

You smile sadly. "I was just a means to an end." You reply. "Elizabeth was what they called a Siphoner. Although descended from a powerful witch lineage, she couldn't generate her own magic. She could only steal it from elsewhere, either from a magic book or from a vampire." 

Wanda sighs as she understands, and you chuckle in upset. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You weren't even close to existing back then."

She moves closer. "Still, on behalf of my family, I'm sorry." The witch says as gently as she can. "I can hardly imagine how painful that probably was."

You shrug, trying to be casual. "That was a long time ago, Miss Maximoff." You mumble before sighing. "And it didn't work out the way she wanted either. Elizabeth didn't intend to use me as her magical reservoir for so long. She wanted me to transform her. Make her a heretic, a vampire-witch hybrid so that she could steal magic from her own nature. And like a good servant, I did just that."

Wanda could feel the force of your painful memories with her telekinesis, flashes of vivid images in your mind begging to be relieved. A personal torture. 

"Let me guess, that was the rule you broke that put you in that tomb."

You lower your head, looking very upset all of a sudden. "No, Miss Maximoff. I was loyal until I wasn't anymore." Wanda frowns in confusion, but you sigh and stare at your own reflection in the window. "The abuse of the Darkhold destroyed Lady Elizabeth. Not even the spell of immortality could heal her, remove the rot from her soul. We traveled the world, searching for potions and creatures and anything we could find to help her, but I knew that the slaughter she was doing in the name of her own health had to be stopped. When our last trip ended, I told her I wouldn't help her anymore."

Wanda can see clearly now; the wrathful recollections of a witchy lady with an almost demonic appearance. The hold of the Darkhold on Elizabeth's soul. How you're only trying to defend yourself when you strike back.

You sniffle, turning your face away, and Wanda blocks your memories from her mind immediately.

"No greater dishonor than ingratitude." You mutter. "I shouldn't have turned my back on Elizabeth. She died alone in this empty mansion, taken by her illness. I returned to a rotten land wracked by dark magic. I restored every stone and raised the mansion to its original state. I lived as a vampire for a decade before I was captured. Elizabeth, in her last vengeful act, left a letter denouncing all her family's crimes to the magical authorities of the time. A lineage who survived the witch-hunts, chased by their own kind like animals. I wore the same coat of arms and slept in the family mansion, so they didn't care that my surname wasn't the same. But I wasn't a witch to die, and the darkhold refused to show the executors exactly how to kill me. The solution was a prison."

You're surprised that Wanda reaches for your hand, but you don't pull away. She also gives you a small smile.

"Three hundred years is too long to punish someone who had no choice." She says, the gesture of her thumb caressing your palm making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Definitely too long without touching someone was messing with your head. Little did you know, Wanda was going through something quite similar. Starved for physical touch. "Is that why you're being so generous? Do you think you owe this family a debt?" You swallow, nodding, and Wanda sighs. " Sweetheart..."

"Please let me serve you." Your tone is almost desperate, Wanda shakes her head. "Please-"

"This isn't the 1700s, Y/N. I won't be your lady." She assures you, her grip tighter. "You're a person, not a property."

"I'd be dead if it weren't for Elizabeth-"

"She was cruel and selfish, and she used you to your last breath. And beyond!" Wanda interrupts, not losing her composure when you huff impatiently and pull your hand away. "You can grumble all you want. I'm not going to honor the memory of some slave owner, family or not. You're free to go."

"But I don't want to leave, Wanda." You snap, almost pleading. "This is my home. Serving your family has always been... my purpose. Turning my back on it made me lose everything. And then you saved me, and for a second, I thought I could see Elizabeth again. I ran to this place, and I realized how much time had actually gone by." You sniffle, your hands going to Wanda's shoulders. "Please. Caring is the only thing I know how to do right."

Wanda sighs, her hands finding your wrists. "This isn't caring, Y/N, this is servitude. I would never ask this of you." Your expression falls as if you're being rejected. Wanda stops your hands from moving away. "But I could use a friend."

Your face lights up, and Wanda smiles too because she thinks you look so beautiful now. "Oh, that... is really very sweet. I'd be honored."

The witch chuckles. "You're adorable. Come, our lunch should be ready soon." She doesn't mention that you two walk into the kitchen hand in hand, and you don't mind, so you don't say anything either.

-&-

"I can't believe you don't know what McDonald's is."

"And I can't believe you've never been to the Opera, but here we are."

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief at your response. You're sitting on the living room floor, or rather on cushions on the carpet because you refused to sit so informally and she was still working on getting you to relax into the casual way of living life in that century. 

Weeks into a roommate routine, your activities consisted of having meals together and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. You'd spent 300 years imprisoned, and Wanda had a multitude of things to introduce you to, while you'd been raised by the ancient witch family of the ancestors of a woman who knew little about her origins. You had as much to tell as she did.

Most days when you two would leave the Mansion, you would experience things that you had never experienced before. Restaurants, food trucks, and even the invention of cars or electricity. The Mansion needed to be restored too, but Wanda was happy to know that it hadn't been abandoned.

It was magically hidden, and she had distant cousins from very old marriages in her distant line. It was one of the best pieces of news she'd ever received - to know that she wasn't the only Maximoff left.

The Manor had been cared for over the centuries by escape witches, some of whom, like Elizabeth, had their powers dormant and lived normal lives under that roof. Until the place was finally inherited by her great-aunt, Tatiana, who was living in New Orleans, and Wanda would visit once the work on the mansion was finished.

She had no idea where you got the money for a whole restoration team, and you laughed when she asked, offering as an answer only the information that vampires can persuade people.

That's how you ended up on the living room floor, finishing gathering old belongings that needed to be protected from the paint restoration and set-up of that chamber.

"It's nice that some things have been preserved so well." She comments, stealing a quick glance at your figure distracted by sorting letters. You look good in this century's clothes that Wanda helped you pick out. The barely buttoned plaid shirt makes Wanda hold her breath every time she catches herself letting her gaze fall to your collarbone. 

"Rich families often treasure stuff." You retort with an easy smile. You stack a few letters before opening the next box of items and gasp slightly when you find something very valuable inside. "Look, I think you'll want to keep this."

The small item is placed in her palm: A gold button with an "M" engraved on it. The family crest. Wanda doesn't know why, but it makes her eyes water, and she gives you a tearful smile as she thanks you.

But despite this balanced relationship and pleasant routine, there was still the elephant in the room.

Every evening, you went out to feed yourself. For almost two months, Wanda didn't ask any questions. Even though she was dying to know exactly how, or even who.

But she didn't want to be invasive or even sound like someone obsessed with your fangs.

She would wait for some casual moment to bring up the subject. Perhaps at the next dinner party, with a joke, and then she would ask if you could show her how it was done.

Luckily for her, another witch was even more interested in the story.

Tatiana was an expert enchantress. She lived in an apartment in the heart of New Orleans and had a very busy pub, and to no surprise, frequented mainly by mystical beings. It was Wanda's first time in a place of that kind.

She was so excited to meet another member of her family that she almost forgot her last worries. It was her aunt, in between many colorful drinks after an afternoon of introduction, who brought up the subject again.

"So tell me, sweetie, all this work to restore the Maximoff household. It must be exhausting even for a vampire." Tatiana began with a smile. Her curly hair fell in waves down her back, and for the third time that night, Wanda noticed that green eyes were probably the only physical feature that most of the Maximoff women shared. Her aunt has a dangerous smirk on her lips as she looks in your direction, and Wanda swallows dryly as she realizes that it's the flirtatious kind. "We allow feeding in these parts."

You're taken aback. You chuckle awkwardly, aware of the two witches' attention in your direction. The crowded bar seems to get even smaller.

"I'm fine, Tatiana, don't worry." Wanda thinks you're lying. You can never maintain eye contact when you do, and she also often finds it charming how a vampire can be so bad at telling lies. "I had some blood before I got here-"

"By Morgana, that was several hours ago!" Tatiana cuts in, gesturing excitedly to the waiters. She was very happy to meet Wanda too and had been drinking since early morning in celebration. "You know, I used to date a vampire back in the last century. He had a restricted diet of animals and always looked pale and hungry. Are you one of those vegetarian vampires too?"

The question is rhetorical, she doesn't even hear your confused mutter "I don't think vegetarianism works like that". She's busy with the waitress, whose irises redden as soon as Tatiana speaks to her. The girl is younger than everyone else there and is clearly bewitched.

"There you go, dear, you can have a taste." Offers the woman, to which you choke in surprise.

"What? H-here? But..."

"Now, don't you act like a good Samaritan, Miss L/N." Tatiana retorts in a provocative tone, resting her chin on one hand. "I know what you got up to before you were imprisoned. Feeding off a waitress is nothing."

You're immediately crestfallen, your face flushing with shame. Wanda looks at her aunt with irritation.

"Don't talk to her like that." The younger witch says sternly. "'She's already received enough of a punishment.

Tatiana chuckles wickedly, tilting her head gently. A very familiar gesture indeed. "Let's get a few things clear, Wanda. The only reason I didn't rip that usurper vampire's head off the moment she set foot in my town was because she brought my niece back to me. The fighting separated our families, I never knew I had nephews. Do you think you would have joined that group of dressed-up Americans if I'd known you were a genuine Maximoff? No, dear, I would have raised you. Restored our coven, taught you magic, as it should have been. As it would have been if this ungrateful little blood-sucker had fulfilled the role she was given. Every spell has a price, and she didn't pay for this one she so boldly displayed for a decade of fortune-raising."

"I regret it very deeply, miss-"

"No, you don't apologize for any of this." Wanda interrupts you with a gentle squeeze on your wrist under the table. With a serious expression, she faces her aunt. "Let's actually get things straight, Auntie. You don't talk to her like that. Ever. You're not going to use something that happened three centuries ago against someone who has spent all this time imprisoned in a tomb, paying for crimes she didn't commit alone. It seems that witches, especially from this family, have a habit of evading accountability. I know that well." Tatiana gives a little smile, clearly aware of Westview, or what came after. Wanda doesn't hesitate. "She's my friend. And she's been through enough. All she's done since she came back is look after me, and I'm not going to accept this kind of treatment from anyone, not even my blood. And considering history, especially my blood."

Without contradicting, Tatiana nods in understanding, busying herself with lighting one of the cigarettes on the corner of the table. The colorful smoke wafted upwards as she finished a long drag.

"As you please, Scarlet Witch." The elder woman finally replies, and you swallow dryly, stealing a glance at Wanda to see if she might lose her temper at the slight challenge in her aunt's tone.

Damn, you'd forgotten how the Maximoffs had a rather dangerously weak ego to offend, especially if challenged.

But luckily for you, Wanda forced a smile, and the tension at the table eased. Tatiana dismissed the waiter with a nod and went back to talking about business in the city as if nothing had happened.

For the rest of the evening, Wanda drew patterns on the palm of your hand under the table.

-&-

Around midnight, when the desserts were finished but the bar seemed livelier than ever, you felt really hungry.

The witches were engaged in animated conversation about the times in Sokovia, how Tatiana missed the opportunity to find out about the Maximoffs after the surname grew more common around the country for a few years before disappearing again, and you used the opportunity to escape for a few moments.

A quick snack, just to satisfy your hunger. After all, you always kept yourself full around Wanda; you'd never forgive yourself if you lost control around her.

You make your way through the crowded bar, taking one last look at the back table before making your way to the exit. You're almost at the door when someone purposely bumps into you.

"Hey, better watch where you're going." Warned the corpulent fellow; he was at least ten centimeters taller and had a strong distinctive smell that caused you an instant anxiety. 

Wolf scent.

"Sorry, I didn't see you." You mumble, ready to bypass him, but he steps in your way again. 

"We don't like strangers around here." He informs you with a small smile, showing off his canine fangs. "You're lucky we have our orders, miss."

You sigh slightly. "Who are you again?"

"The name's Victor Creed, but everyone calls me Sabertooth. You know, because of these little beauties here." He points to his fangs with conviction. "They grow much bigger during the transformation. I once ripped the head of one of your kind with them." The story is clearly told to intimidate you, but your unimpressed expression makes the man clear his throat. "Don't go wandering around, Tatiana can't protect you on the outside."

You force a smile. "I can take care of myself, wolf, don't worry." You move around him to finally leave, but even with his back turned, Sabertooth laughs.

"Alright then, go for a walk while I introduce myself to your little witch. Do you know if the Scarlet Witch is looking for better watchdogs? If she's as stuck-up as the rest of the family, maybe I'll write to Kamar Taj about where she's been hiding."

The thing is, maybe you've spent too much time with the Maximoffs all your life. And your temper is just as bad as theirs.

Victor has barely finished his teasing, and you've already grabbed him by the arm, mashing him into the ground like a lump of flour. The commotion immediately attracts the attention of everyone around, but until the crowd fully identifies what's going on, Victor has already used his wolf-like speed to get to his feet and advance on you.

He's so confident about his own strength that it takes him a whole moment to realize that your fist has already gone through his chest.

"Give me one good reason not to spread your guts on this floor, Mr. Creed." You say with an unwavering expression, your hand clenched around his barely beating heart.

Victor chokes on his own blood, his muscular hands try to push your shoulders back, but you don't move an inch. He grunts in pain.

"I-I take it back." He gasps, but you squeeze a little harder.

"That's not a reason."

The man breaks down in a sob. "P-please. I'm begging you. I wasn't thinking-"

It would be so easy, just to kill him. Rip the heart out of that arrogant wolf and let him drop. You never forgot the feeling, the predatory hunger for blood and violence burning in your veins. Nor Elizabeth's disappointed look every time you ended up covered in blood and it didn't do any good.

Letting go of the heart, and pulling your hand out, you saw Victor's wound heal immediately. A full moon must have been just around the corner for a wolf to heal so quickly.

His release drew your attention to the rest of the pub. All those people, watching the scene with mixed expressions of horror and disbelief on their faces. Some clearly recognized you, others seemed surprised to witness a werewolf of that size being beaten so easily.

Vitor's blood stained the blouse Wanda gifted you, and you swallowed down the urge to vomit.

While you were trying to recover from the interaction, a duo cut through the crowd, and Tatiana's short giggle made you wince.

"Keep her in line, Wanda. We don't make a mess this close to humans in this neighborhood." The witch warns but Wanda is staring at you in complete mesmerization. You shake your wrist gently, letting the excess blood drip onto the floor before you start to move.

The adrenaline of the confrontation has starved you.

-&-

You barely enter the first alley before Wanda catches up with you.

"Where are you going?"

But you don't answer the question, you just keep walking and retort: "Go back inside, I won't be long."

For a moment, you think she'll obey, but how foolish of you. Wanda was probably the most stubborn Maximoff you've ever met.

She almost gives you a heart attack when she appears in your path, making you jump backward.

"What the hell...?"

"You're shutting me out." She declares, frustrated. You swallow dry, shaking your head.

"No, I'm just going for a walk to clear my head. See you at the apartment-"

"Taking a walk is what you're calling it now? I'm not an idiot, I know you're going to feed." Wanda interrupted annoyed, getting in your way and stopping you from fleeing. "Why do you keep trying to hide this part of yourself? I don't care that you're a vampire."

"Wanda, please, just move."

"No."

"Wanda."

She crosses her arms. "I wanna watch." 

You choke, chuckling nervously. "Excuse me?" 

But she doesn't lose her cool, nodding. "I want to watch you feed on someone."

Wanda imagined some reactions to the suggestion: anger, indignation, mockery. She didn't think you'd turn so clumsy, with rosy cheeks and unable to look her in the eye.

"You're a very odd individual." You mumble shyly, and she has to giggle confusedly, losing her serious pose to adjust the collar of your blouse. 

"Pleaseee." She stretches out the word, liking the way a smile breaks across your lips or especially the way you stare at her mouth when she talks like that. "I'll behave. I'll just stay put and watch. I've never seen it happen before. Please, honey? Just once."

You sigh in defeat, and Wanda taps her hands before jumping on your neck, and hugging you excitedly. It's a very difficult struggle to keep your fangs away with her so close.

It doesn't even last half a minute, but it feels like an eternity because you want to feed and everything always moves slower if the vampire focuses on hunger. 

"It's not going to be anything special, I don't want to cause a scene in your aunt's neighborhood." You let her know, thinking you need to talk a bit to push the dizziness away.

Wanda smiles excitedly. "Anything will be great, darling. Come on, I'll be right behind you."

It's easy to find prey in a place like New Orleans. You end up deciding on a restaurant waiter, isolated in one of the alleys. He's a young adult, distracted by chores, and you almost give up because of the smell of garbage so close by. But it's a very good isolated opportunity to waste like this.

Your fangs are already out when there's a noise behind you.

Wanda has bumped into something, loud enough to attract the boy's attention, who is startled by the two figures in the alley. One glimpse of your vampiric appearance and he's stumbling frightened away before starting to run.

You sigh incredulously, and Wanda appears in your field of vision.

"Sorry, it was..." She falls silent, surprised that you haven't gathered your usual looks and absorbing every detail of your face now. From the fangs to the completely darkened eye sclera. When she speaks, her voice is much huskier. "An accident."

"It's okay, it actually tastes better when they're scared." You shrug. "The adrenaline and fear accelerates the heart which pumps fresh blood throughout the body. That's why so many vampires prefer to hunt at night. People are more afraid of the dark than they think."

Wanda chuckles, looking at you in a way that makes you forget about the boy's footsteps becoming too distant to distinguish from the other sounds of the city.

"You're kind of a vampire nerd." 

"I don't know what that word means." You give a confused laugh and Wanda moves closer.

"It means I think you're really cute." She retorts, making you gulp dryly. Her hands find your shoulders, and Wanda gets close enough for you to count her freckles. "And I'm dying to know how these little ones feel, darling. Do they hurt?”

She's too close for you to focus, but you make an effort. "Hm, just a little, when they come out. They usually only bother me when I'm really hungry."

Wanda's fists cross together behind your head, and she's definitely too close for you to think about anything other than her.

"And how hungry are you now?"

"Very, Miss Maximoff." You confess hoarsely. Wanda smiles mischievously, tilting her neck in your direction.

"Well, I think you should have a little taste."

"God, Wanda." Your eyes close on instinct, your face falling forward so that you sink into the gap in her collarbone. Wanda shudders, as affected as you are. Her hands-free themselves so that she can stroke your arm, as a reassurance that everything is all right, and also caress your hair because apparently everything so far hasn't been maddening enough for her.

Every cell of your spirit begs you to sink your fangs into the warm skin in front of you, to drink every drop until Wanda faints against you, but you fight nature itself with her help. Her soft sighs in your ear, assuring you that she trusts you.

"It'll only be a little bit, I promise." You assure her, licking the spot gently and drawing a deep sigh from the other girl. It's the sound you focus on before you take the first bite.

Wanda tenses at the slightest hint of pain, but another sensation takes over elsewhere. Her cheeks burn with the betrayal of her own body, and she finds herself unable to care about the mild pain while she's throbbing between her legs.

Her nails dig into your biceps, and she starts to squirm under you, surrendering to the sensation of your bodies so close together. You hum in satisfaction at the soothing of your hunger, and Wanda drops her hand to your waist.

"Enough, baby." She whispers the request, her nails scratching the hair on the back of your neck. "I'm starting to get dizzy."

You hold on a little tighter, and Wanda softens against your body. Her heart is pounding, and she is aware of her pathetic underwear situation. Your body heaved forward, and Wanda didn't have the strength to resist any pull. She feels her back hit the wall of the alley, and whimpers at the feel of your leg pressed between hers.

She doesn't think she has ever been so at someone's mercy as she is now. She just wants to tell you to help her relieve the pressure between her legs, but every time she tries to call you, what leaves her lips are needy moans.

And you kept feeding and the surroundings began to darken. Wanda only realized that she'd been grinding herself on your thigh all this time because her climax approached at high speed, and falling off the edge brought a momentary recovery of consciousness.

"Oh, God, detka!" She meows, spilling herself on your thigh. Her body spasms softly, and you tense up, stopping your feeding immediately. Wanda falls limp in your arms, trying to fuck herself stupidly even after the orgasm she's just achieved. Your arms are the only support keeping her upright. "Do that again."

You shake your head, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. "No, I took more than I should have." You retort softly, and Wanda has to blink a few times to realize that your appearance has returned to normal. "What a terrible idea that was, Wanda. So dangerous… I was starving."

She gives you a dreamy little smile. "How do I taste?"

"The best I've ever had." You assure her before adjusting her to hold her in your arms just in time for Wanda to lose consciousness.

She dreams of the same feeling of being carried but in a place much colder than New Orleans.

-&-

She wakes up just in time to see you putting her to bed, all the way to the borrowed room in her aunt's empty apartment.

Wanda grabs your wrist before you can pull away after putting the covers over her.

"Hey." Your voice and gaze are so sweet that she almost forgets everything that has happened so far. But Wanda actually remembers very well, and the lingering sensation of your body against hers makes her shiver. 

"Hey... sorry for blacking out on you." She murmurs, her free hand coming up to your face. You bite your lip, still hovering over her body and uncertain what you should do next. Should you pull away? Lean in and kiss Wanda like you've been dreaming of doing for weeks? She seems to be able to see all the hesitation in your eyes, and offers a reassuring smile, her hand caressing your cheek. "What's wrong?"

Wanda is definitely teasing you, but you don't mind, smiling too as you steady your hands next to her body on the mattress, face to face, the two of you waiting for the other to make a move first until the tension is almost unbearable. But you also remember what brought you there, and let out a small sigh.

"You shouldn't have baited me like that, Wanda. It's dangerous, I could have... lost control."

Her expression becomes almost mischievous, a smile threatening to break out on her lips. "I've survived much worse, darling."

You sigh in frustration. "Wanda..."

"It's the truth." She chuckles even though you move away to sit down properly. Wanda also mimics the gesture, looking for your hand on the bed so that you stop grimacing and look at her. "Hey, come on, don't be upset."

"I'm not."

"Then why the pout?" She leans in, kissing your cheek and you snort away, unable to stay angry with this adorably charming witch. "You have to trust me, sweetheart." She whispers, kissing your jaw. You sigh, squeezing her hand gently.

"I trust you with my life, Wanda." You let her know in the same tone, intertwining your fingers in her lap. Wanda smiles against your skin, chaste kisses trailing from your jaw to your collarbone. "I'm just scared... that one day, I'll lose control and hurt you. I'd never forgive myself."

She pulls away a little to look you in the eye. "I meant it what I said before." Starts the witch. "I've been through much worse. You weren't there to see... what I did to reach that little girl. You don't have to worry about hurting me, because it doesn't matter, I'll always heal." With your hesitation, she pulls further away to push the collar of her shirt aside and let you see the place where you fed on her a few minutes ago. "Look, it's gone. You have to trust me, darling. I know that the idea of anyone being stronger than an original is hard for you to accept, but believe me, I'll be fine. I'll always be fine, even if you are starving and out of your mind."

You grimace, adjusting yourself so that you can hold her by the waist and place her on your lap. "Just because you're going to heal doesn't mean I can hurt you. You deserve kindness, Wanda. I can give you my best." Your mouth meets hers, it's not a hungry kiss but it's a hot one and it takes Wanda out of her orbit. It's been a while since the last time, and well, it's never really been like this. She struggles a little to find her rhythm, for a short moment just panting against your experienced tongue, until she finally responds in an equally passionate way that makes you sigh and press your body to hers. 

Wanda likes the sound. Wanda likes you.

"Can I take off your shirt?" Your request comes between one kiss and another, she hardly answers because her mind is clouded with arousal, and if she could be honest, she would have been out of her clothes a long time ago. 

"Yes, please." She gasps back, anxious hands tracing your back. Wanda is restless under your touch, shy about your gaze once the clothes come off. But you do everything with an unbearable slowness that leaves her squeezing her thighs together in search of relief. 

She had sex before - For the first time in a war-torn adolescence, an experience that was forgettable and almost regretted. And then with a machine man who could pretend but never had the biological need to do so. 

This moment right now was like no other, being with someone who worshipped her body, who was as breathless as she was, who reacted to her touch and was practically at her mercy when she touched the right spot.

And Wanda finds that she loves it. Having you touch her and touch you back, and feeling your fangs scratch her skin every time she thrusts her hips into yours.

Pinned against the bed, naked as you are, your legs entwined together like your bodies. Sighs of pleasure mingle with the dance of your hips, and Wanda digs her nails into your back as your fangs press into her collarbone. 

You drink less than last time, but her legs still tingle. Or maybe it's the orgasm hitting her hard.

This is different from the first - the whole bed vibrates with the wave of magic that escapes the witch with her back arched. You hold Wanda, even though you're also shaking with the force of your own climax. She initiates the next kiss this time, moaning into your tongue as she spins your bodies around with ease. Your hands entwine together at the top of your head, but Wanda lets go, lowering herself and getting a confused sigh from you.

"What are you up to, little witch?"

Then it occurs to her with your expression that you are four centuries old and have spent much of this time as a prisoner and that perhaps you haven't been so confident because Wanda is your first lover.

She looks back up, sitting on your hips, breathing out of rhythm but now with a new excitement shining in her eyes.

"Babe, be honest... have you ever been with a woman before?"

Your face gains a deep color, and you turn your gaze away. Wanda falls hard, even if it doesn't occur to her yet.

She giggles softly and you're even more embarrassed, but she doesn't let you move away, her firm legs holding you in place.

"Don't make fun of me." You mutter, and Wanda snorts softly.

"Never." She assures you, even though she already has a new dozen antics memorized. Her mouth kisses your jaw and goes down like her body. The color in your cheeks is for another reason soon. "I love being your first. I want to make you feel good."

You hesitate to hold her when she's stimulating you, worried about losing control of your own strength. The sheets are destroyed when Wanda flicks her tongue over your breasts, smiling with delight at the sight of you squirming.

She goes lower and you gasp for air. "What... are you doing?" You ask mortified. It's not the 1700s anymore, you have to remember. Female pleasure is, well, taken into account. Wanda bites the inside of your thighs, watching the muscles twitch for a moment.

"You'll love it, I promise." It's the only thing she says before diving in, her hot mouth pulling all the air from your lungs. It's the most wonderful thing you've ever felt. Wanda's tongue works on your most intimate part, teasing your entrance before she starts to eat you out hungrily. You grip the headboard, your eyes closed tightly. Wanda holds your legs open, and the knot in your stomach starts to become impossible to contain. 

The witch seems to like it too. She moans for your taste on her tongue, and the new vibration pushes you over the edge. Wanda holds your spasming body without difficulty, you think she uses magic for that. And still calming down, it takes you a whole moment to stop seeing stars.

Wanda licks up every drop of your pleasure, moaning softly before meeting your gaze again. You can't hold it, and end up covering your reddened face with your arm while ignoring the smug giggle of the witch who begins to climb your body again.

"Don't be shy... you look so pretty when you moan my name." She praises you provocatively, and you can't help but smile, feeling completely relaxed. Wanda waits for you to look at her again, her arms resting on your shoulder so that she can look at you closely. "Hi."

Your hand finds her cheek. " Hi, yourself." She leans into your touch, her smile filling your chest with warm happiness. Wanda sighs.

"Can we stay like this? Just for a moment." She asks quietly, and something in her gaze tells her that the question isn't just for today. Wanda wants to know if you can be with her.

You would. Forever if she wished. "Of course, little witch. For as long as you want."

[joonsytip]

So It Goes || Wonwoo

Synopsis: Your acceptance of his rejection and attempt on moving on has been hurting Wonwoo to the bones, head and most significantly, his heart.

Word Count: 1.3k

Sequel to Say Don't Go and set in the Withering for You universe (can be read as a standalone drabble series).

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, mention of fucking once, making out

Next Part : All Too Well

[ SVT Masterlist ][ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

"Take me with you, please."

Wonwoo double takes at you, finding it hard to believe that such words could come out of your mouth and not be directed at him.

You are grinning ear to ear, something you haven't done in a while.

"Are you sure because all I do is work.", Jihoon tucks a lock of hair behind your ear and says, "You'd eventually get bored of me."

"I can fill in for all the interesting things", you tell him coyly.

Seungcheol and his wife are expecting their first baby so the group decided to throw a party to the soon to be parents. The ambience is cozy, the lights are dim. Soothing music is filling in the space and after long and fun conversations all together, now you all are scattered in groups chatting the night away.

Jihoon is a new addition to the group, the prodigal musician who was initially bagged by Seungcheol's wife to manage the new branch of the academy founded by her and Seungkwan but ended up playing an important part in the reunion of Seungcheol and his wife and hence was adopted by the group instantly. Especially you, you've grown fond of Jihoon. Seems the same for him as well.

It's a pleasing atmosphere, everything is eye pleasing but also, such an eyesore to Wonwoo. Because though no one has asked him to be standing so close to you, he at his own will, is leaning against a wall adjacent to where you're seated across Jihoon who has now his hand placed atop yours. Wonwoo's teeth are sinking onto an empty cup, eyes sharp and hands fisted with all his attention spanned on you.

"You're making it so obvious."

Wonwoo turns his head to Seungcheol's whispering, the later grabs his arm and takes him away to a more secluded area. Seungcheol takes a quick jog to his wife asking her to call him if she needs anything, kisses her forehead softly and walks back to where his friend is standing.

"So what are you gonna about it?", Seungcheol asks.

Wonwoo doesn't meet his eyes, "About what?"

Seungcheol sighs, he understands where his friend is coming from and also feels guilty about his family painting this horrendous picture of the rich and powerful that has scared the person infront of him so much that he believes almost everyone is sick and twisted.

"Everyone in this room knows that you like Y/N.", Seungcheol says sadly patting his shoulder, "And not every family is sick like mine.", he smiles sweeping a quick glance at his wife, "But look we're back together, after everything, we're in love, we're gonna have a family soon. It's the best of anything I could have ever asked for."

To be honest, when Seungcheol got back together with his wife, it would given Wonwoo a hope, he could see the silver linings but he is still afraid.

"I have already rejected her and...", Wonwoo's gaze falls on you, a sad smile ghosting on his lips, "She looks happier with him, she's moving on."

You haven't looked at him once and he's unable to take his eyes off you tonight.

"You're mistaken.", Seungcheol says and hands him a filled cup, "You don't need to hold back everytime. Try living for yourself from now on."

It's not easy he thinks, not when his brother is lying unconscious, getting treated in the hospital, not when you belong to the family of chaebols, several heirs lining up to get married to you while he's just a secretary, who's still trying to meet ends.

Wonwoo doesn't hold back, he finds a seat at one of the tables and resorts to drinking which he has never done before as an obligation to himself to be the one to drive all others to safety, though never been asked.

"He's worse than her.", Mingyu tells Seungkwan.

"Shouldn't we stop him?", Chan asks, "He's drowning in his sorrows."

"Damn, Jihoon turned out to be such a great actor, even I'd have believed that there's something going on between Y/N and him, if I hadn't known.", Seungkwan mutters eyes going back and forth between the three of you, "It's funny knowing Jihoon has a motive to make Wonwoo jealous but sad knowing Y/N wants him to think she's moving on just not to be a burden to him anymore."

It's the dawn hours when Seungcheol who is as sober as day just so he could attend his wife anytime is begging everyone to dismiss the party insisting his wife needs to maintain her sleep schedule and rest well but she won't leave until everyone does.

"Okay, so my driver's coming , anyone wants to come with me?", Chan asks.

Seungkwan and Mingyu immediately tags along.

"Jihoon, Y/N what about you both?", Seungcheol asks.

"Take Jihoon with you both.", you say sighing, "I am not drunk, haven't had drinks."

"Okay, we are gonna take Wonwoo also--"

You cut off Seungcheol, "I'll take Wonwoo with me, don't worry."

No one objects, one by one they leave. You go to Wonwoo who hasn't sobered up a bit despite of the efforts of Mingyu from before.

"Come on, let's go.", you tell him, helping him to get up.

Drunk Wonwoo is chatty, his honeydew voice is eating off your ears as you struggle to put his big frame inside the car.

He's talking about how he keeps loosing the games nowadays because he lacks concentration. He talks about how happy he was when the doctors said that his brother can have a full recovery. He's spilling out random facts, cracking lame jokes and whatnot.

He's so cute, you think. You wanna record this version of him, wanna stop driving and give your full attention to him, to look at him. Because you know once he sobers up he's not gonna remember any of this, going back to his stoic self.

Seungcheol has texted you the passcode of his house and somehow you've ended on sheets under Wonwoo.

"Be here, with me", he mumbles, his soft breaths grazing your neck.

"Wonwoo, move", you huff trying to get him off you but fail one more time as his arms lock you in place.

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, removes the hair off your face and says, "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So good at everything you do, have so many people admiring you.", he smiles through the slurry words, "You could have anyone, anyone would be willing to be with you but out of all people you choose me."

You go stiff when he rests his forehead against you. And your whole body gives up when he confesses, "I love you, Y/N. Love you so much that it hurts. I'm so sorry for hurting you."

After some moments of staring, your hands attempt to push him again, "You're just drunk, you don't mean anything you're saying. Please--"

The words remain stuck in your throat as Wonwoo kisses you. His lips move softly against yours, the aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth intoxication you as well, as you find yourself giving in, kissing him back.

He takes both of your hands and pins them above your head, deepening the kiss. You moan, gasping for breath, letting his tongue lick your whole mouth. Every ounce of rational thoughts leaves your body, just like the clothes those stay discarded on his bedroom floor.

Wonwoo is fast asleep beside you, hugging your naked body after fucking you hard because you surely wouldn't call it making love.

You slowly remove his hand and get up. After putting back your clothes on, you keep the medicine and water on the sidetable.

"You probably didn't mean for any of this to happen between us.", you whisper, trying to hold back the tears, "You won't even remember all of this."

You peck the side of his head and take your leave.

When Wonwoo wakes up later, he groans because of the killer headache but also sobers up straight, panicking when he finds no traces of you in the house.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[kaciebello]

One egg as the other

Masterlist Chris Rodriguez x Hades! reader (platonic) Luke Castellan x Hades! reader (implied, mentioned) Summary: Chris visits one of his favorite campers, purely just to annoy them. Warning: Insults( nothing mean, just banter), no use of y/n, fem, sibling relationship written by an only child author note: Since someone said I should write more of them, hope I did you justice my guy. English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) word count: 1,1k

Chris busts the door open, not even bothering to knock. Normally he would have, but he had seen Luke just seconds ago helping some kids with their swords. He knew there was no danger in the room. Expect the Hades girl, but she posed no real danger to him.

“WAKE UP!” He yelled and walked in like he owned the place. The girl, who was standing near her table, turned around and looked at him confused.

“It's noon, we've seen each other at breakfast.” She said, turning her whole body to him and leaning on the table. He takes long steps toward her. His remark is dead when he sees what is lying on the table. There, under a heating lamp, were half a dozen eggs.

“Aw did you lay all of those? I'm so proud of you.” He says and pats the girl on her shoulder. Making sure she knows she did a good job. She shrugs his hand off

“Choke.”

“I rather not.” He says leaning closer to the eggs. He sees some markings on them. Turning to her, with no words he just pointed to the eggs. She sighs and gets up, walking to her bed to look for something in her bag.

“Goose eggs, some aphrodite kids gave them to me as a thank you for giving them scar cream.” She says, setting the bag aside and walking to the door. Crish gave one last glance at the eggs before following her.

He walked downstairs and into the medic room where she was now making sure the bed was tidy. Fluffing up the pillows and straightening the blanket.

“So what's on the agenda today?” He asks and sneaks behind her. Narrowly avoiding her as she walked away to grab the clipboard.

“ I am supposed to find what medicine we're running low on and report to Chiron, you are supposed to be with Luke, and if I'm not mistaken you're not at archery practice.” She says turning to him, only to see the way lying on the bed she just made. She gave him a death stare and he just gave her a wide grin.

“I will cheat physics and slam you through the wall if you don't shut up.” She said. His smile did not drop as he sat on the bed.

“How do you know my schedule? Stalker much?” He says and slicks his hair back.

“I know Luke's schedule, considering you follow his like a lost puppy, i have a pretty good idea of yours.” Crash just huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He would say some remark. He should say some remark, but sadly nothing was coming to his mind.

“I didn't know you and Luke were like that.” He says at the end. The girl just gives him a pointer look. Just as he was about to defend himself, it was like the Bloody Mary or Beetlejuice came to life themselves.

 In walks Luke, his stride unbroken, with a smile that could be seen from miles away. Seems like they have said his name too many times.

Cris goes unnoticed by him, as his only goal is the Hades girl. When he reaches her, he grabs her by the shoulders, tips her back, and delivers the nastiest kiss Cris has ever seen. When he flips them back up again, Luke his face to him. He mumbles something to the girl. Before she could tell him they were not alone, Chris acts.

“EEEEEEWWWW.” Luke's eyes snap to him and he goes instantly red. Chris makes gagging sounds, almost making it sound like he is physically sick. Luke looks so startled he just smiles at the girl before bolting out.

“Why do you always do this stuff around me!” Chris cries out. She just turns to him with a death glare again.

“Why are you always around when we do this stuff?”

“Nah because, ya down bad!”

“You're down bad for Clarrise!” She argues back. Chris gives her an offended look.

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-uh!”

Their banter went back and forth. At some point, Percy showed up at the house but quickly turned around at the door when he heard them. 

“What do you even want here?” She asked, he had to be here for something. She very much believed that Luke would let him slack off of practice.

“Oh yeah! I was kinda stabbed.” He says, turning his arm to the girl. It was obvious that his stab wound was just a scratch that wasn't even bleeding. Scab already formed on in. Nothing that the Apollo kids would even look at. She tugged his arm hard to her. Inspecting the wound.

She clicks her tongue and lets it go. Before turning around and going to her box of band-aids. fishing out one with Hello Kitty she makes her way back to him and places it on the scratch.

“Hey, I wanted the one with Spiderman.” He says looking at the bright pink bandaid on his arm. Anyone could see it. He wanted nobody to see it. She made sure that everybody saw it.

“Get out.” She says to him. He didn't even argue, his eyes glued to the bainaid. When he tried to take it off, it was like it was glued to his skin.

“What have you done?” He asked her, still trying to scřratch it off. She just smiled and pointed to the door.

“Nothing princess, now get out.” She was now pushing him out. He made sure to dig his heel into the ground to make it harder for her. When he got to the door he stopped. He stepped over the threshold and she sighed out of relive. She celebrated her victory too early tho. 

“Don't worry, Clarisse will dig it.” Just like that, Chris jumped back and grabbed the girl in a headlock. She yelped and tried to wiggle herself out. He made sure to mess up her hair into a bird's nest. When he was done he let her go. She stairgtens and gasps for air. He glances at her.

“Look, the eggs have somewhere to sleep now.” With that, he sprints away. The furthest he can get from the girl that can cause sudden death just by thinking about it. He made sure to yell that one egg should be named after him. He was sure if she had one right now, it would end somewhere near his head, if not hitting it spot on.

[pjohoo-reclists]

30k+ Alternate Universe Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase Fic Recs

Request: Looking for a (preferably) long Percabeth story. Anything goes: something wholesome, smut, comfort story etc.

I tried to stick to wholesome/comfort stories, and ended up with an entire list of alternate universe fics. None of these are set in the PJO universe. They're all fairly long, over 30k each. Enjoy!

The Sweetest Sounds by timelesslords

G | 31k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Alternate Universe Fantasy, Protective Percy Jackson, Mistaken Identity

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Annabeth asked, looking up at him. He looked back at her innocently. It seemed genuine, which only confirmed Annabeth’s suspicions. “Why do you say that?” he asked. His eyes were really a distracting shade of green. “Most people from here know better than to show me kindness,” Annabeth said, beginning to walk down the road again. He started walking again too. “I think everyone deserves kindness." *** Or, a Cinderella AU (loosely) based on Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella (1997)

Merry Chrysler by ananbeth, blackjacktheboss

T | 32k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

It’s the twelfth of December and Annabeth is drunk. She’s not sure who’s apartment she’s in and she lost Piper about half an hour ago. She’s taken up residence on a very comfy couch and has resorted to people watching. Annabeth has been staring at the lights on a girl’s reindeer sweater for perhaps five minutes when a body slumps down next to her. She looks over to find her best friend, Percy, blinking at her sadly. She reaches over and pats his head. “What’s wrong, Pineapples?” “I’m gonna spend Christmas alone."

Game, Set, Match. by ananbeth, blackjacktheboss

M | 44k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Secret Relationship, Friends with Benefits, Athlete Percabeth

“We should probably make some rules.” Percy has regained control over his expression, he looks back with a raised eyebrow and a contemplative expression. “Rules?” “So this doesn’t get messy.” “Okay. So, we should be honest with each other, right? No lying or whatever.” “Right. That includes if we start feeling things.” “Things?” “You know, like, emotions and shit.” “Such a way with words.” “Fuck off.”   Or, that one where Percy and Annabeth are pro tennis players and decide to hook up. Annabeth wants rules, Percy gets too attached. What's new.

Sugar, Sugar by perseannabeth

T | 50k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace/Piper McLean

Chocolate Store AU, Fluff, Friends to Lovers

Annabeth Chase doesn't have a sweet tooth, she isn't a big fan of chocolates but there is a small chocolate store that might change her mind. Falling in love in a chocolate store was Piper's love story, not hers but things could change when a green-eyed chocolate maker enters her life. Piper McLean didn't expect to run into the (possibly) love of her life while she was buying chocolates still in her pajamas, but one smile from him and she was a goner. Between dating and working, she still finds time to hang out with her best friends and, even if Annabeth didn't want her to be, be a wingman for Annabeth.

and they were roommates by bipercabeth

T | 76k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Alternate Universe College/University, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

oh my god they were roommates It had been a throwaway comment, really, when Annabeth had suggested that she and Percy get an apartment together for college.

Spellbound by writergirl8

M | 91k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace/Piper McLean

Hogwarts AU, Domestic Bliss, Married!Percabeth, Teacher!Percy

Percy always thought the most bewitching thing he could discover at Hogwarts was magic. Then he met Annabeth Chase.

just practice by knuffled (bigscary)

T | 95k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Angst

“So I’m taking you on dates and stuff, but we’re not actually together?” “Yeah, exactly. It’s just practice,” Annabeth said, nodding. “Just practice,” Percy echoed. “Just practice,” Annabeth confirmed. Percy locked eyes with her silently for a few seconds before he took a long sip of his milkshake. “Do we have a deal?” Annabeth asked. “We have a deal,” Percy said.

I Got a Boy by flyingcrowbar

T | 137k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Alternate Universe High School, Secret Identity, Fluff and Humor

Bolt Academy has everything: prestige, affluence, renown. Almost every world leader, CEO, athlete, and have stepped through its doors. Problem is, it’s only for boys. But it’s the only school with the most challenging architecture program in the country. What else is Annabeth Chase supposed to do? Desperate to achieve her dream of becoming an esteemed architect, she cuts off her long curls, binds her chest, and goes by the name of Andy - the newest male student on campus. Now she must travel the dorms, the locker rooms, even the hallways with her secret. It’s smooth sailing, that is until Annabeth’s roommate Percy Jackson - a nationally ranked freestyle swimmer - starts to have feelings for Andy. Coming to understand his sexual orientation, Percy navigates a campus filled with homophobia and hate crimes, all while every day taking a step closer to competing in the Olympics. Around every corner lies an opportunity for sabotage, and Percy has a target on his back. But when Percy discovers the secret that Annabeth has been keeping, hard choices must be made and neither are willing to let the other give up on their dreams. An interpretation of “She’s the Man” and the Korean drama “To the Beautiful You.”

The Long Game by captainjackson

E | 293k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Annabeth Chase & Connor Stoll, Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Alternate Universe College/University, Mortal AU, Olympics AU

With the Summer Olympics less than four months away, Annabeth Chase and her beach volleyball teammate, Piper, are right on track to being invited to represent the United States in Athens. But that level of premiere athletic training doesn't come cheap and Annabeth is running out of options— so when a University administrator reaches out with an unexpected opportunity, she'd be a fool not to leap at it... right? Suddenly, Annabeth and Percy — a young hotshot swimmer — find themselves at the center of a media charade that dredges up secrets that were supposed to stay buried. With the world watching, Annabeth is forced to face her past and take control of her future as she learns that, sometimes, life is all about playing the long game.

[meowingshojofanatic]

Just thought up a Mage And Demon Queen DokJoong AU idea oh no ← has to reread MADQ now :) take some of the AU I've thought up in the spur of trying to sleep at an actually goos schedule (YooHanKim/Doksoo near the end)

Yoo Joonghyuk is an all-rounder hero, currently practicing in the Mage role

Kim Dokja is the Demon King Of Salvation, ruler of the monsters

YJH has been in love with The Demon King Of Salvation since he was 15-17

He doesn't remember much from his youth, most of it is blurry or non existent

But his first meeting with KDJ is very vivid to this day

Extremely powerful, with a fiery glint in his eye that could be mistaken for stars, yet lonely as well. At least until the Demon King looked at him

In which, KDJ just looked at him with some sort of... Sympathy? KDJ's troops asked if there was anything there

Clutching onto his sister with distress, YJH screwed his eyes shut. But, instead of exposing the siblings, KDJ let them go...?

Then, YJH was awfully offended. Was that arrogant bastard pitying him? He internally thanked him, but he still felt resentment

But eventually that resentment drifted away as he became stronger, becoming a famous All-Rounder that could fill any position

All he really wanted to do was meet the Demon King again, as he tried to brush away the crush he had as "admiration"

When he met him again, the only hero to get to him... He was in the form of a 17 year old...?

"Why are you... A child?" He asked, genuinely bemused. The Demon King's reply was, "Why? I thought you would think that those who claimed to have seen my appearance were lying. You know dead ones tell no tales."

Externally, Yoo Joonghyuk was glaring at him. Internally, he was thinking about how terrifying that line would be if he wasn't himself ← actually felt chills when KDJ said that line

"...hhh, fine you caught me. I'm not 17 or whatever." Standing up from his throne, he shifted into a form closely aged to YJH, perhaps a little older. With raven colored wings that reflect the stars, and horns that looked to be soaked with blood.

"Now, Yoo Joonghyuk, the all-rounder hero of the kingdom named 'Starstream'," he strided towards him, YJH couldn't help but gulp as he saw the Demon King lick his teeth. "Give me a taste of the hatred I've gained from your race. With. your. sword. ...Or wand."

YJH felt bloodlust coming from KDJ, and shivered involuntarily. "Why aren't you moving, Joonghyuk-ah?" The floor was gaining more and more cracks as the Demon King sped up.

YJH hoped he had masked his flinch when the other had called him so informally, "...I-"

"you know, It's your duty...To. Slay. Me." Punctuating each line, he was inches away from cutting off Yoo Joonghyuk's head... Until...

"I love you..." YJH blurted out, trying to act cool even while his mind was SCREAMING at him, Why'd he have to go and say that?!

When YJH didn't feel his head cut off, he cracked an eye open to see the Demon King's face. He looked very scrambled, his eyebrows furrowed sadly, and his eyes blown wide with his mouth open wide

He then realized that... KDJ had this look during the whole time he was about to slash him, just with a smile masking it.

"...eh?" Was the only noise that came out of the Demon King as he tried to search YJH's eyes, looking for any fallacy. "...are you joking with me right now?"

"...You're serious." He straightened up, moving his sword down at his side. YJH only nodded.

The Demon King just stared him down. Until he called his guard, "Heewon!!" And had her send YJH back to the temple. (By killing him)

YJH kept coming back though and KDJ was always super flustered when he showed up. But never tried to kill him? He always made Jung Heewon kill him or someone else

Didn't mean to make this a mini fic but oh well

some YooHanKim ideas that I cannot escape from ↓

Yoo Joonghyuk is the reincarnation of Han Sooyoung, and Kim Dokja sees a LOT of similarities between them

Han Sooyoung was Kim Dokja's first love, though he realized too late

She was human, and he, a half monster. They were forbidden but, Han Sooyoung never cared.

She wrote him stories about heros and he loved it. It distracted him from how the human village would abuse him.

...eventually, HSY became a pwerful mage and... She murdered the entire village. Making him the Demon King through her love for him and making him immortal.

Their final moments were like this:

HSY was chuckling through coughs of blood as she was held by the newly formed Demon King, KDJ, in the rain

"You... Why did you do this?!" Kim Dokja half shouted through a sob. "I... I didn't... I didn't need this, Sooyoung!"

"No... You did, Dokja. Your useless ass would have put up with this treatment until the day you died. Now, you have the power to fight back like you've always wanted." HSY stared at him with clouded eyes.

"Not like this!" KDJ's head lowered covering his eyes with his hair. "How am I... How am I supposed to live without you...? Forever...?"

Hsy lifted her arm gently to brush away Kim Dokja's hair and cradle his cheek, he leaned into the blood soaked hand, with tears falling.

"...I'll reincarnate," Kim Dokja just stared at her, trying to comprehend her nonsense in her final moments, "I'll reincarnate as a hero and find you."

Kim Dokja furrowed his brows, "...You'd have to kill me."

She just shook her head, "I'll change the story, and redeem you in the eyes of the people."

Han Sooyoung laughed, "Just like those stories I wrote when I was younger, when we were younger. You always loved those stories didn't you?"

He slowly nodded. "...I did."

She hummed, and lifted her other hand to his cheek, bringing him closer.

"...I love you." She whispered into his lips as she kissed him. Letting him taste the fruit of her love, the blood of those who abused him.

She went limp in his arms, just as the thunder from the rain made a loud crack. "...Sooyoung...!!!"

Ever since then, Kim Dokja was always wary of love. Especially human love. Specifically, love for him.

Those who did, did insane things.

God I love pain. And HSY reincarnates as YJH. WHERES THE FANFIC??? Wait is it even YooHanKim if YJH is the reincarnate of HSY? Is half of YooHanKim just selfcest in this case? Selfcest is fun so why not

Extra thoughts on KDJ ↓

KDJ was going into a HUGE bout of depression once and to distract himself he decided to read about the recent heros (for nostalgia) and he stumbled upon Yoo Joonghyuk's story. It intrigued him

He kept reading and listening to the stories and rumors about YJH until be basically knew what his deal was

When KDJ saw YJH when he was 15-17, it reminded him of HSY and himself so he let them go.

Funny how this turned out NOT to be a Mage And Demon Queen AU... Seems like it was just inspiration but it's fine. Now how to tag this monster of a post

[roamingtigress]

Dutch arrives in the afterlife as a broken man and gets his comeuppance, but he is broken in such a way where doesn't understand *why* people are upset with him.

How will his reunion with those whom he loved so dearly and yet hurt them go?

That Other Place by Roaming Tigress

There was smoke, dust, fog, a combination of the three being swirled among each other in the dark cave. A dimmed broad ray of light came through a hole in the roof that dramatically silhouetted the form of what appeared to be a huge serpentine creature with what seemed to be a thousand arms. The massive being was towering over some far smaller pitiful creature lying in an awkward heap the dirt; it eyed it hungrily. If one had mistaken the bloodied orange and brown enrobed figure for a discarded pile of clothing, they would be forgiven.

Then, the pile of laundry slowly stirred up into a sitting position, revealing the form of a pitiful man of average size, and short cropped greying hair, bloodied and matted. He almost innocently, stupidly stared at the menacing form before him. He wasn't scared, puzzled maybe, unaware where he was, but not scared. He was trying to recognize what this being was. Maybe, innocently, he was in wonder of it. Maybe the man thought he was looking up at a terrifying dragon from those storybooks he read as a boy.

This man? Dutch van der Linde.

A hollow, broken shell of Dutch van der Linde.

In life, Dutch van der Lnde was respected, hated, feared, and loved at some time. Some even loved to hate him. He had led a notorious gang that was chased across the lands when the 'Old Wild West' was dying. he was a complicated man who had killed, loved, and manipulated hundreds; his silver tongue was as much of a weapon as his trusted pair of Schofields. He thought he could charm his way through life. He dreamed ambitious dreams of achieving greatness against the force of modernity and a world that had no place for men like him, his gang. He sadly could not make those dreams of his come true.

Now in the afterlife, the land of the beyond, Dutch was getting his and facing the consequences of his actions.

Normally a full restoration of health -- the mind and body -- comes with the passageway into the afterlife. But for whatever reason -- some Powers That Be may have decided that Dutch had to atone for his sins in a particularly harsh way. Maybe there was a glitch in the process of coming into the afterlife. Whatever it was that was the cause or reasoning behind it, Dutch's brain had gone further into ruin.

When Dutch stepped back off that cliff to end his life, the massive head injury that killed him on those sharp rocks below had, for the most part, carried over into the afterlife. The damage to his face was by and large 'repaired' by some supernatural afterworld force, likely not for his sake but for the sake of those living in the afterlife; even here, nobody would want to see scrambled grey matter dripping out of a hole in the head. It was the inside of his head where the damage remained, however. It would reduce him to halted speech and uncoordinated movements, and most damaging of all, his mental state, his mental capacity, was torn asunder.

Dutch would be able to recognize the people in his life in varying levels of recognizability, many whom he had hurt, some he even killed, but he couldn't remember how he hurt them. Mentally, he was somewhere between a small child and a fragile senior citizen whose memories were starting to fade, who 'fought all his life' as he once had said in life. He had little fight left in him now.

Dutch's silver tongue also couldn't help him anymore; it might as well have been cut and thrown to the 'beast' before him.

The 'creature' before Dutch was an angry mob, consisting of the people whom he had hurt and killed in life, clustered tightly against each other and some even fighting among each other to get to the source of their anger. Some might have even been defending him, but this he couldn't make out. For a brief moment, Dutch thought he heard the voices of John and Arthur attempting to call the mob back before their voices were drowned out. He recognized the voice of Bill and Micah jeering at him but he was unable to recognize what they were saying, and maybe even couldn't recognize the jeer in their cruel voices.

Innocently, Dutch crawled over to the beast before him on his hands and knees, unaware that his curiosity and his confusion would get the better of him. Despite the scrambled state of his mind -- or maybe especially because of it -- he desired the company of someone in this strange land that he had seemingly awoken up into. Perhaps this creature too sought comfort and companionship. The surroundings looked much like they did in life, but . . . Different, somehow.

"W-what . . . What are you? W-where . . . W-where am I?" Dutch tilted his head like a confused dog hearing an unusual sound.

And then the 'creature' attacked the stammering man in reply.

Dutch was slammed to the hard floor of the cave, and it was then that he realized that this 'creature' wasn't some fabled dragon he had read about in a childhood fairy tale compilation, but what seemed to be an unpenetrable army of a thousand angry people descending upon him in rage. These were people he had memories of, both familiar, some vague; enemies, but some that he had loved and loved him.

Only Dutch didn't understand *why* these people were angry at him.

"Monster!"

"Traitor!"

"Murderer!"

"Coward!"

"Hosea's the leader now!"

These words at the moment were foreign to Dutch; he had some semblance of recognition that they were *negative* words, but not the meaning of them.

The man tried in vain to get away, his movements stifled and awkward. When he got up to run as instinct told him, he stumbled back down, his legs not quite connecting to his nervous system which was seemingly on strike. The expression on his face was one of confusion, and he felt as utterly lost as he looked. The once bold and cocky van der Linde was now terrified of the very people he once barked orders at and hunted ruthlessly. Briefly, he did fight back, pitifully, mind you. His efforts consisted of half-hearted pushes, maybe an ear was bitten that might have been Micah's, could have been Bronte's, could have been Milton's, the only semblance of any remainder of the fight that was left in him. In life, he was a good scrapper -- but he just ended up shoved back hard onto the ground, and was only kicked, and punched harder.

"I-I . . . " Dutch, trying to make himself as small as possible, held his hand up to the crowd in a distinct signal of surrender. "I-I . . . Don't . . . " His chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought each word out.

"G-got no . . . Fight . . . N-no more."

There was a distinct sneer in the tone of one of the mob. The voice was that of Edgar Ross, who seized Dutch by his hair. "What's the matter? Did you lose your silver tongue on the way out there, van der Linde?"

Dutch managed to break away briefly when Edgar suddenly let go of him when a scuffle broke out among the mob. Bill and Micah though, were onto him. They each grabbed a leg and pulled him back like a conjoined two-headed crocodile dragging its victim into murky waters. In an act of desperation, Dutch clawed at the rock floor of the cave with his gnawed-down fingernails in an attempt to crawl away, but it was no use. As he was pulled back into the crowd, Dutch clung to whoever's legs like a scared child, and he pressed his bruised and battered face against their leg. Bill and Micah let Dutch go then, but the terror Dutch felt hadn't waned. His dark eyes screwed tight as if to shut out the attack; if he can't see them they can't see him. Hot tears streamed down Dutch cheeks and onto the other man's pants, his body heaving with each breath he took, pitiful whimpering sounds escaping from his throat.

The legs belonged to that of Arthur Morgan, who Dutch rescued from the pits of hell, taught him to read -- and hurt him deeply as well. And yet, here he was defending him at the same time he was fighting his inner anger towards Dutch. The younger man couldn't quite push the renewed pain back, but . . . Something felt so *off* to him about the way Dutch was like in this strange after-world. Something told him the old man wasn't manipulating him. He seemed so . . . Vulnerable, submissive, even. Something inside Dutch was so broken that Arthur couldn't quite grasp it at first. And then, he remembered the vision he had of his passing, the vividness of it, and it ended right when his head hit that particular rock.

'He really hit his head hard on the way down there.'

Arthur couldn't let the mob torture Dutch further. Nor could he beat him. It wasn't right, it wasn't honourable. He wasn't even sure that Dutch, in the state he was in, recognized who he was just yet.

"STAY BACK!" Arthur barked, his tone not matching the gentle gesture of touching the older man's shoulder when Dutch flinched from the anger his voice, as if assuming his anger was directed at him.

"C'mon, Black Lung, let us have some fun!"

A sense of protectiveness was fighting back the anger and disappointment Arthur felt towards Dutch. He knew exactly whose taunting voice that belonged to and if he could, he would rip his head off with one pull.

"Fuck off, rat!"

Michah's voice sounded like it was echoing through some chamber in the cave, no longer part of the crowd now that his victim was unreachable. "We're all here in eternity, Black Lung. You won't be able to always protect him."

There was truth to Micah's words, as much as Arthur hated to admit it. He couldn't always protect his father. Micah and several others would be back for him when the timing was right or they were bored, but as long as Arthur was here with him, no force could hurt him now. No longer bogged down by the viciousness of tuberculosis, he had returned to being the big shire horse of a man he once was. He had a massive beard that draped past his collarbone now, a formidable figure standing guard. Maybe it was to do with the state he was in, but Arthur seemed even bigger and taller than what Dutch remembered him being. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was some omniscient being standing guard over him for whatever reason.

For Arthur, while Dutch was, well, a bit fatter now, he also seemed more fragile than he remembered. When he first met him on that fateful day, Dutch looked so tall and as intimidating as Arthur looks to Dutch now. But now he looked like a sad, broken old man.

In his feeble mind, the childish 'if you can't see them, they can't see you' trick seemed to work for Dutch; it seemed the attack was abating. There were no more blows -- none were thrown once Dutch clung onto Arthur -- and no more insults. If he dared open his eyes Dutch would have seen the fearsome shape of the mob drawing back into darkness, as if a force stronger than them, something fiercer, was pushing them back.

Then, it was as if a lightbulb had gone off in Dutch's battered head, a flickering light bulb, swinging violently in an office of a ship during a storm as the electricity flickers on and off. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes in wonder.

It really was Arthur. His beloved son, Arthur.

"A-Arthur . . .?" Dutch whimpered out his words, and then shrank, expecting to be hit, kicked, punched, as the others had done as some of the last moments of Arthur's life came into view.

Arthur instead let out a sharp breath, a sigh, and nodded. There was so much to say but there was only so much he could say to a man who didn't know what was going around him. "Yeah, it's me, you . . . " He sighed again as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, the other still resting on Dutch's shoulder as he was trying to find the right words and ended up thinking out loud.

"Something ain't right with you," Arthur paused, half to himself, half to Dutch. "Even more so now."

Dutch looked up at him with bewilderment, blinking rapidly. He didn't understand what Arthur was saying nor could he detect his tone, but he knew this man in another life, and that he loved him. And maybe that love still extended into the afterlife. After everything, Arthur was not among the men who attacked Dutch in that mob.

"Arthur."

With a cry, Dutch hugged him around the waist in realization, and Arthur let out the third sigh in less than five minutes. He patted his shoulder and returned the embrace as best as he could in his position.

"S-sorry . . . . Sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . " His voice was plaintive; not the loud baritone that he was all too familiar with.

"I know, I know . . . "

The source of the crowd's departure from the scene stood before Dutch and Arthur.

It was Hosea.

He stood grimly before them as if judging the situation. The shadows cast onto him made him look foreboding and to someone in the state of mind that Dutch was in, terrifying.

"Dutch."

Hosea's voice was firm and direct, his arms crossed over his chest.

Dutch hid his face against Arthur's leg and shrank down to the ground , trying to block out the sight of him. Maybe like the others, he'd go away, leave him be with Arthur.

Arthur looked over at Hosea with an expression of a silent plea, and after giving Dutch one more pat on the shoulder, he gently eased him out of the embrace. When Dutch tried to cling to him again, he firmly but carefully removed his hands from him once again.

This time Dutch didn't cling back, as if thinking it was futile, his fate was sealed.

"You better go with him, Dutch," Arthur's voice was firm as he saw the look of confusion, but there was an empathetic tone.

"It's Hosea. I know you've missed him."

Arthur's heart cracked when he saw Dutch's expression hadn't changed much. He helped him up onto his feet and steadied him when his legs weren't sure of what they were supposed to do. The larger man steadied him with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip -- something that spooked Dutch at first, who reacted perhaps as if he was being attacked. When he got Dutch settled back down with a pat on his shoulder, Arthur again started to carefully and slowly lead him toward Hosea. He was careful and slow with him, but also sensed that Dutch could make a run for it and did not let him go.

"Hosea, Dutch. The love of your life. Your soulmate. Your sweetheart."

As he predicted, Dutch did try to get away, but couldn't get far and nearly tripped over himself. Arthur caught him and firmly straightened him back up as best as he could. "Easy, Dutch, eaaaasy . . ." Arthur spoke in the tone he'd be calming a scared horse, instead of the frighted, confused, broken man before him. He even soothingly ran a hand through his hair as it was one of his steed's manes, partially out of comfort and partially in an attempt to make him look somewhat presentable.

Arthur's voice was clear again. Now free of tuberculosis, his lungs had healed here. Dutch though was too fractious to have noticed. "There's no sense in runnin', Dutch. Easy."

What Arthur didn't know is that Dutch was trying to bolt *to* Hosea and that holding him back was making him panic. He flailed helplessly in his hold, and then . . . Broke down, crumpling again.

Hosea then decided what the next course of action should be. His expression was hard to read, but his body language was one of authority. He braced himself, uncertain as to if Dutch was pulling some sort of trick, but this way, he'd know the truth.

"Let him go. See what he does."

Arthur did just what he was asked of, and with a nod, he let him go. The two men were so focused on each other that his quiet exit went unnoticed.

Dutch lurched awkwardly to Hosea, falling at feet in an awkward kowtowing gesture of submission. He was expecting that Hosea too would attack him, and thus he offered himself up for further punishment. There was some vague memory of a few words strung together in his sound beating, that Hosea was the leader now. He had some notion that he had done something or many things terrible, though he didn't know exactly what it was. He didn't want to face the wrath of Hosea as well. Some animalistic instinct told him to look as small, helpless, and submissive as possible and he likely wouldn't be harmed, or at least too badly. Or maybe he would and it would be brutal, but swift.

"H-Hosea . . ." Dutch's once strong voice sounded so . . . Weak and meek.

"S-sorry . . . "

Hosea for a moment clenched his fists as he felt anger towards this pathetic creature clinging to him and crying on his boots. He thought about all the wrongs he had done, having his part in undoing all they worked for. A part of him even wanted to kick him as he was down, literally, even; Dutch was right in the position where he could give a boot to him right in the jaw.

He felt Dutch's hold on his legs loosen and then, grasp one of those fists that he felt he could have knocked him out with. It was a soft, placating gesture. In life, he often squeezed Hosea's hand when he wanted to soothe him when he was worried and angered.

Hosea though, saw this as nothing but an attempt to manipulate. He tightened his fists, and heavily breathed in and out, his eyes focused on the darkness within the cave.

'I should punch him right here and then, I'll do it!'

And then, seconds before he was going to strike Dutch, Hosea felt his lips on the side of his hand in an awkward attempt to kiss. His mustached lips were unable to quite coordinate it, and he grew frantic to perfect the gesture. He was so good at kissing in life; how come here, in this strange life, can he not manage to do them? It was then that Hosea knew something was 'off' about Dutch; in life, he got his way by kissing his hands when a mere squeeze didn't' do the job. He was still *trying* to charm him, trying to soothe his anger. His fists clenched harder a moment later, though, as if willing himself to not let this pathetic shadow of Dutch butter him up.

Hosea then felt his teeth lightly nibble at the soft flesh from the side of his hand. Now, one would think this is when Hosea would give him a good hiding, but something from his memory stirred within him.

In life, whenever Dutch was feeling particularly cute, playful even (especially to distract Hosea away from being annoyed at him), he would sometimes take hold of one of his hands, squeeze it, and kiss it. Then he would softly bite it with a devilish grin. Hosea would 'boop' him on the nose, call him his naughty kitten and shower him with kisses, often by a campfire but sometimes on a fine hotel bed.

This time though, there was no cheeky grin. There were just big sad and confused eyes looking at Hosea, belonging to a man trying to understand what was going on, who sensed Hosea's anger and was trying to do something about it. Dutch gave another soft bite, this time a little more playful as if he was picking up on the memory that Hosea had from all those years ago.

In life, Hosea and Dutch were soulmates and . . . Maybe, despite everything, the ties that bind weren't broken in the afterlife.

Hosea felt himself soften. He tried to push it back, but he felt the leaks in the dam wall and he was out of corks to plug up the holes. Before he could stop himself, he tentatively touched the side of Dutch's head, the side which he landed on when he ended his life.

At first, Dutch shrank and whimpered at the touch, as if not expecting such a gentle touch. Another river of tears streamed down his eyes and onto Hosea's fingers as they shifted to his cheek. Hosea was encouraging him to look at him, and he obliged.

"You are broken, aren't you?"

There was pain and heartbreak in Hosea's voice as he slowly kneeled down to Dutch's level and slowly cupped his jaw in his hands. He cradled his head against his chest, positioning in such a way that he could hear his heartbeat. Dutch slowly rocked his head in his hold, against his heart, craving that contact fro him that he had gone a decade without.

Hosea had always loved how strong his jawline was; it was a bit softer since he had last seen him but, it was still Dutch.

"Hosea . . . " Dutch's voice was almost a whimper; his brown eyes still took on that lost, confused look but the expression was slowly melting away to one where he was trying to understand, but only briefly as sadness crept into them.

"I'm . . . Broken . . . " It was hard for Dutch to string together two words in a row, but he *tried*; he was always talkative in life (to everyone's annoyance it wasn't always something of substance) and now, as if it was the punishment he had received, every word was a battle.

"Please . . . " He wanted to say more, but couldn't.

Recognizing this really wasn't manipulation, a mere attempt to get back into his good graces, Hosea let out a cry and hugged him as tight as he could. It about broke him to see how shattered Dutch was. He wasn't sure if he was going to remain in this state for all eternity, but . . . He'd be there for him. He gently rocked Dutch in his arms, kissing him on the cheek. Dutch responded with a little sound that he wasn't sure was a sound of contentment or maybe a cry; his cheeks were already wet with tears and dirt and blood.

The cave floor was cold, and hard. Hosea knew where he wanted to go with him.

"Come with me, old friend, let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

At first, Dutch hesitated as Hosea eased him up into a standing position. He looked away, his expression of shame. He even stepped away from him, fearfully backing away into another tunnel within the cave. He seemed scared, not of Hosea, but maybe fearing what he thought, in his foggy state of mind, what he could do *to* Hosea. Dutch struggled inwardly again as if battling some inner force within him, simply for talking. His voice was halted, stuttering, as if he wanted to say more but the words wouldn't come out.

"N-no . . . Monster . . . I'm . . . I'm a . . .. Monster."

Hosea wasn't present at the time of the beating, but he was certain the gang and the others who he had hurt and done wrong with in life beat that notion into him. He had done some monstrous things in his life but it pained him to think that's all he viewed himself as now. What had been done had been done and Dutch had paid dearly for it (and he was sure that wasn't going to be the last they'd give him trouble), but what had been done could not be undone.

The afterlife is as much of a place to heal, to reconcile, to move forward as a whole person again as it was to be punished for what one had done in life. Indeed, we can say the afterlife is as complicated as several of the individuals residing in it.

Hosea swallowed hard again. He wasn't going to let Dutch disappear into the abyss.

"You are *my* monster, Dutch," Hosea spoke gently, with affection, stopping Dutch before he could disappear into that tunnel by hooking an arm around his waist and gave a firm but affectionate squeeze.

"And I'm afraid we'll be stuck with each other forever in this weird place."

Dutch felt comfort in the tone of Hosea's gentle and affectionate tone of voice, even if the latter part of his message was something he couldn't understand. He didn't resist Hosea's embrace and leaned against him as he was led through the cave. For a moment, he even almost caused Hosea to lose his footing with his weight against him. He held onto Hosea as he was doing to him, perhaps mimicking, but when he stumbled over his footing in his awkward movement, Hosea almost went down as well.

"It's okay . . ." Hosea spoke again softly, patting him on his back as if thinking Dutch would feel bad about accidentally tripping him up. With a grunt, he straightened him back up. Dutch was a good number of pounds heavier than him.

"We're almost there."

Both men blinked rapidly as the sun greeted them at the mouth of the cave, Dutch -- who had arrived in the afterlife only a moment ago -- especially so. He died on not the sunniest day of the week, in winter; and being that he had spent some of his last moments in a cave, the sun was almost a stranger to him. His eyes needed time to adjust and he shrank at the harshness of its rays, hiding his face against Hosea's shoulder. Sunglasses weren't dispensed back in the day when one came into the afterlife.

Outside the cave, the landscape looked much like it did in their lifetime, but somehow. . . Enhanced. The mountains and the trees were still there greeting them; and before them, a massive oak's branches gently arching over the stream that still ran its steady pace as it had always done. There were the sounds of various birds, maybe some that some of the gang even took down for food or to complete the decoration on a hat.

"Oh Dutch . . . It's beautiful . . . " There was a waver to Hosea's voice as he stopped leading to take in the scene, and gently encouraged Dutch to take in the surroundings as well; it never got old to him and he wanted so desperately to share it.

"Eyes . . . Eyes, head hurt . . . "

Dutch's struggle to speak was certainly not an issue he had in life. He looked as if he felt shame and his body posture was slumped, defeated. He blinked rapidly, still protecting his face against Hosea's shoulder.

Hosea rubbed his back, holding him close in case he attempted to retreat into the cave. "It'll take some time. You're not used to the light."

" . . . H-head broken . . . " He paused as if seeking the right word. "S-shattered, smashed . . . "

"I know . . . " Hosea's voice was pained, and he hugged him carefully as if hugging him any tighter would cause him to shatter. He knew he had to be honest. "It . . . It might always be like that, but . . . " He squeezed his hand, thinking that if it was meant for Dutch to come here healed he would have arrived healed. A more optimistic side of him didn't discount that maybe because he never thought he was worthy of true redemption, he arrived only partially healed but that the healing would take place over time now with them reunited.

Hosea decided the mood needed to be lightened and he brought one of Dutch's ragged and worn hands up to his lips to kiss. Once kept in near pristine condition, they now bore the marks of a rough outdoor life, scarred from fights, from the elements. And yet, the top of his hand still felt velvet soft against his lips. He had to smile when he heard some sort of sound of contentment from Dutch. It was an odd sound, but a recognizably *happy* sound. He decided he wanted to hear that sound again, and gave a knuckle a soft kiss again. Sure enough, Dutch made that little rough, sighing little sound again. It made his smile grow.

"You know, you have a whole eternity to bother me."

At this time Dutch knew nothing about what an eternity was. He was back in Hosea's arms and there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Hosea didn't kick him in the ribs, didn't grab his hair and pull him back into the fray.

Hosea wasn't even sure that Dutch knew that he was dead and that he was now in the afterlife. He knew he had to bring that news to Dutch eventually, to get him to further understand what had happened to him, and had to rip off the bandage and tell him why everyone had been so upset with him when he arrived, but . . . Not now.

After a moment, shoving aside that heavy discussion topic, Hosea led Dutch down a well-worn path out from the cave to the giant oak. "That tree? It'll be our spot. We both visited here a long, long time ago when we first met."

The camp where they first met in life, was right by that magnificent tree. It and any trace of it were now long gone, but by where the tent was, was a pile of well-worn books by a bonfire.. One of these books was a well-read copy of American Inferno, which was once one of Dutch's. Hosea assumed that John or maybe Arthur left them there and maybe even made the fire as well, and he was touched by the gestures, but he blinked back tears when he realized that perhaps Dutch *couldn't* read now. He remembered there was a time when Dutch was so obsessed with those damned books that he thought he was having an affair with Evelyn Miller. It ironically pained him that he likely now wouldn't hear Dutch's enthusiastic speeches about the virtues of his writings. The gang tended to tune out, much to his annoyance.

Hosea wanted to cry; he already felt a familiar sting in his eyes and fought it back. It had been some time since he had cried a good cry; the last time was when he was reunited with John and Arthur, Lenny and Jack and Tilly. He needed so badly for the release of a good cry, but he wanted to be strong for his broken soulmate, who might not understand why he was upset. And then, he got an idea. A *plan*, if you will.

Hosea wanted to read out loud to Dutch. He wouldn't read him Evelyn Miller right now -- that material would be too hard for him to digest right now. Then, thoughts of Jack's reunion made him remember the little fairytale stories he once read to him when he was a small boy. Those books were in among the stack by the bonfire; they contained charming stories, simple stories, but they were so wonderfully creatively detailed that he had often enjoyed reading them himself. He remembered Dutch teased him now and then about it, but he paid him no mind; he'd always retort back about Dutch's favoured reading material. Maybe he could help jog something in Dutch's poor addled state.

Hosea squeezed Dutch's hand as he watched him look around looked about fearfully as if he was expecting to be attacked from the trees. It was heartbreaking for Hosea to see such a formally cocky and confident, frustratingly pigheaded and often arrogant figure in such a pitiful state. Yet, there was a small hopeful smile in the corner of his lips.

"I'll read to you, Dutch. I'll read a nice story to you."

Dutch looked at him as if he was trying to understand someone speaking to him in a foreign language. The tone in which Hosea spoke in was so pleasant to him, so whatever it was he was talking about sounded like something pleasant to Dutch. He looked . . . Curious, for the first time since he first encountered the angry mob he mistakenly thought of as some strange animal who was just as inquisitive about him as he was of it.

"You loved to read, Dutch," Hosea spoke soothingly, stroking his cheek as he took in that sad, lost expressoin of his. He noted his cheekbones were more prominent than he had last known him. "Come and sit with me and I'll read you a fun story."

It had been many many moons since anyone read a story to Dutch. Now and then when they could, Hosea and Dutch would read a chapter of a book to each other in the evening. Before that . . . His mother who may or may not have been among those in that bloodthirsty crowd who mauled him. Their relationship was a complicated one but she did instill his love of books into him.

"Books . . . " Dutch plaintively whispered, staring at the tidy stack of books, but then a light spark formed in his sad, tired eyes as if something had clicked.

Hosea smiled, a smile that could have lit up a room as he carefully eased Dutch down onto the ground when he saw excitement spark in his eyes. If he hadn't eased him down he might have taken a tumble in his enthusiasm.

"Yes, books! You loved them, and drove us mad with them," Hosea added with a light laugh as he sat next to Dutch, and pulled him in close as he leaned back against the tree. "And we have all the time in the world here in Eternity to read them. We have a big library, with an endless supply of books. You'll love it."

Hosea's smile faded when Dutch held the book in his hands and the confounded expression told him he didn't know what was even the title. Yet, the twinkle never left Hosea's eyes. He'll spend hours reading to him if he needs to. Maybe he could even teach him to read again.

Dutch may yet grasp the concept of an afterlife, that he had died and was sent to Eternity to be punished, but perhaps also to reunite with the man who may have been able to keep him together had he not died. But he was now grasping the concept of books and love, and maybe, the love he had of books. He had loved Arthur and Hosea in life and so very much does so in this strange new world, and maybe . . . They still love him.

"Love . . ." Dutch whispered, almost timidly, as if afraid to say the word out loud. He curled himself up and laid his head on Hosea's lap, clutching the book against his chest for a moment as if to emphasize what he was saying.

"Love . . . Love . . . You."

"I know . . . I know . . . " Hosea blinked back tears as he gently brushed a hand through Dutch's silvering hair. He missed how it looked in their life together, those curls were so beautiful. He wondered if he could grow it back here.

"And I love you."

Hosea wanted to say that his love had broken him. He had seen how Dutch unravel while he watched helplessly from the afterlife; there were so many times he wished he could have intervened. However, he knew Dutch couldn't comprehend how his love had broken him. He knew he couldn't understand much beyond books that he couldn't read, and beyond the attachment he had to Hosea and Arthur. He knew that logically, his attachment would extend to John as well, who was the very last person he had seen before he took his life.

John was also not among those who laid a beating on Dutch. Like Arthur, he valiantly tried to push the mob back. The recognition that something just wasn't right with him -- even more so in the afterlife -- further fueled the urgency to end the violence. He ended up being pushed to the back of the bloodthirsty crowd, but it gave him the opportunity to seek out the one who could put an end to it all.

John had found Hosea alone with his thoughts by a pond, sitting on a log as he watched Silver Dollar graze nearby as the crickets and frogs sang an eternal song. The moon reflected so beautifully on the still water. When his moment of tranquillity was interrupted, Hosea had thoughts of confronting Dutch head-on, telling him what a fool he had been in his part of ruining what they had built together, among so much, but . . . All that was before he saw firsthand how damaged he was. He could yell and scream at Dutch for doing all those foolish and reckless things, essentially turning feral towards the end, but what come of it? He could picture it in his head, his face turning red with anger and Dutch would just respond with that pitiful, confused gaze as he looked up at him with his knees held close against his chest.

"John and Arthur love you, I'm sure of it . . . " Hosea spoke softly with a voice that took on a tone of uncertainty with it. He was also careful to word his message into something simple that Duth could even get an edge of understanding.

"Despite everything, Dutch . . . " He added quietly, mostly to himself, but with more confidence as he idly played with Dutch's hair, gently tugging out bits of dried blood, mud and matted strands.

"I think they still love you. Yes, I still love you."

Dutch shifted slightly so that his head and shoulders were right into Hosea's lap, and he looked up at him with an innocent, even hopeful expression. There was even a hint of a smile on Dutch's mustached lips, so blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil simmering under Hosea's surface as he was processing so many feelings simultaneously. Hosea was good at hiding it, mind you. He was always a fine actor who could sell water to a drowning man.

"You're still frustratingly cute, you know that?" Hosea laughed despite Dustch's drastic downturn in fashion sense, and that beautiful hair chopped down so short.

That smile of Dutch's grew when Hosea gently traced a finger along the softening jawline, to the point his eyes crinkled up into little slits. He leaned his head back with a little whimpering sigh, encouraging his touch. He couldn't quite understand what Hosea was talking about, but he *felt* it. He *felt* cute. Hosea wasn't mad at him anymore, he must have been doing something right. For as long as he continues to be cute, Hosea wouldn't be mad, he thought. Perhaps a new concept, or an old one unburied, which often got Hosea's anger turned away.

"Oh I've got a smile out of you . . ." Hosea cooed, slipping another hand to his side, the side in which he was shot shortly before his death.

After a moment of hesitation, Hosea gently pushed up that bloodied patch of his orange shirt, revealing bruised skin underneath. The wound from the gunshot was closed over, but a dark patch of bruised scarring remained there. Much like the wound to his head, that scar seemed as if it was a reminder, and was only patched up to prevent others from the sight of his organs slipping out of his body. To his surprise, though, the skin on that area was as satiny-soft to the touch as he remembered. Hosea's caress was gentle; how he moved his hands in a slow, rythmic pattern was as if he was telling Dutch it would be OK to let himself heal.

Perhaps that's why Dutch was in the state he was in the afterlife; he wasn't giving himself that chance to fully heal because he *didn't* think he deserved to heal. Let's go with that.

Hosea stopped when Dutch stiffened, and he wasn't sure if his touch caused him some pain that might have been residual. But then, his smile grew as he saw Dutch was trying to hold back a . . . . Laugh, probably the first genuine laugh, in oh . . . A decade! He remembered he had a particularly sensitive midsection in life which seemed to carry over into the afterlife, too.

"I think you're still a little ticklish too!" Hosea gently teased, his fingers dancing over his poor bruised and scarred belly, softer than he remembered it being, and eliciting more laughs. To him, Dutch's laughter was among the most beautiful sounds he had heard since arriving in the afterlife. That big hearty laugh of his was reduced to a silly squeaky sound as he submissively, lovingly offered himself up to him for more which Hose happily obliged.

After a moment, Hosea decided to leave Dutch wanting more. Predictably, Dutch gave him the pleading puppy eye expression that he still managed to pull off, after everything. His smile that came with it was almost sheepish, more lopsided than Hosea remembered, but still irresistible.

"Still trying to manipulate me are you?" Hosea gently teased. All the same, he gave in to that expression and scritched a little more before his fingers slowed into a massage. His eyes twinkled as Dutch offered that book to him. He gently took it from him and carefully repositioned himself in a way so that Dutch could follow the book as he read it out to him. He chuckled though as Dutch flopped back down. Maybe *he* was more comfortable but it forced Hosea to reposition himself a bit. Some things never change; in all their years together, Hosea was often forced to reposition in bed just because someone had to be more comfortable.

"Ah, this one . . . " Hosea's smile brightened, recognizing the title 'In The Land of Dragons.' "I read it to Jack before . . ." He paused, the smile fading. Among the last pleasurable moments he had of his life was reading that book to Jack.

Dutch picked up on the shift in the mood of his beloved and weakly squeezed his hand. It was a gesture that deeply touched Hosea; no matter how broken Dutch was right now, he still couldn't hide a thing from him.

"Well, we're all here together again," Hosea's smile returned as he gave Dutch's hand a light squeeze in return to emphasize. "Maybe I'll read it to him again if he so wants. He's all grown up now, though. Not sure if he wants a doddering old man to read to him again."

Dutch tilted his head to one side as he tried to understand what Hosea was saying. To him, it came together in a messy heap of words with no order to them. He did pick up on a few concepts; Jack, and reading. Yes, he wanted him to read to him like he remembered watching Hosea read to Jack. Despite the . . . Complicated relationship with the boy's parents, Dutch always had a soft spot for Jack. He'd often lean back and watch Hosea read to the boy by the campfire or a quieter location in the camp. Occasionally, as expected, Dutch would put his two cents but often just let the two have their quiet moment.

Jack was another who didn't join in on the mob's attack on Dutch. He tried to pull a few people back and got into a fight with some of them, but the mob grew too numerous. From there, he went on to find his father.

"Please . . . Read . . . ?" Dutch gave him the puppy dog eyes again.

"Still pushy after all these years, eh?" Hosea gently teased, leaning down to kiss Dutch on the top of his head as he gently eased into an easier position. Cute as he was to have him sprawled out on his lap like a puppy, he didn't think it'd be comfortable for him to follow along with him as he read.

Dutch's eyes had trouble focusing on the beautifully illustrated first page. He was growing frustrated with himself in this state, to have trouble even looking at a picture. The illustration featured a large and smug dragon looking down at a small boy who was bravely standing his ground, tiny sword and all. The colours were reminiscent of a watercolour painting and the thin lineart spared no detail. Dutch once made a speech to the gang that referred to the drawing, about the little man standing up to the federal government. The speech was one that Hosea tried to get people to get into but alas.

Hosea picked upon Dutch's frustration, and with a free hand, he traced a finger along his jawline. After a moment, his touch soothed him, to his delight.

"Can you see it, my pet?" Hosea brought up Dutch's old, old nickname softly and slowly traced a finger around the picture to help train Dutch's eyes on the page. He often pointed out the little details to Jack, and it reminded him of that.

"You liked this picture a lot for what you thought it meant to you."

Dutch still couldn't understand what he was speaking about per se, but he squinted, trying to focus on the picture. He was drawn to the colours that he felt were so pretty all those years ago. He even bought the book with his own money instead of stealing it for Jackie, as he used to call him. Hosea might have caught him reading it himself.

"In the Land of Dragons . . ." Hosea soothingly murmured out the title, running his hand over the title which was also lovingly detailed with the ends of dragon tails accenting the letters. "Written and illustrated by D. Houser."

Dutch blinked rapidly, slowly taking in the detail. And he got a gist of the details, the artistry, the detail, he was in awe. It was like all the horrors he had faced coming into the afterlife were far behind him now and he was dreaming. It was like he was transferred to some more innocent place.

Dutch's reaction did not go unnoticed by Hosea, and he was touched. He was reminded of when he first presented the book to Jack, all those years ago; how fascinated the boy was on each page, wondering what would happen next. It was a small book, only twenty-one pages but for Dutch, this would be the first step of a journey.

"Tommy was but a small boy, in a big world, and soon to meet even bigger dragons," there was almost a smile in Hosea's voice now he dragged a finger along the dialogue. "He didn't quake, didn't quiver as he walked through the spooky wood. Some of the trees themselves looked like dragons." He even added a bit of wonder to his voice as he worked a finger along the illustration of the twisted tree trunks and their branches. It was as if he was reading to that small boy again; this, he thought, turned out to be therapeutic for much for himself as it was to Dutch.

Hosea's tone might have elicited a certain spark in Dutch's eyes that threatened to errode the sadness and confusion in them. Maybe the concept of the story was seeping into his poor mind. Maybe he thought he was in the book.

"Are . . . W-here . . . Are we there?"

Hosea felt himself tear up again. He planned on telling Dutch at some point, when he's at a less vulnerable state, but . . . The question was asked.

"Well . . . " He set the book aside, leaving it open to continue after his explanation, and he took one of Dutch's hands in his own. He gently gazed into Dutch's curious eyes, his expression gentle, soft. He wasn't sure how much Dutch would get out of it, but it was worth a try and he would be patient.

"We . . . We died, Dutch."

Hosea paused, waiting for Dutch to absorb the news. He studied him carefully, waiting for any change in expression. Dutch still looked curious, almost innocently so. He hadn't quite processed it yet, but he was trying.

And then suddenly, Dutch's expression changed. The sad expression returned in his eyes, and the tears returned as if Hosea's ripping off the bandage opened up new wounds.

"When . . . When you . . . Went, I . . . I-I broke, shattered . . ."

"I know . . ." Hosea almost whispered, clutching onto Dutch as crawled up further into his lap. Tears that he fought hard to keep down to keep a strong front trickled down his face when he rested his chin on his shoulder. His hand moved over Dutch back in gentle, soothing circles.

"When we died . . . We got sent here there though so we could be together again. We all call it The Next Place. The afterlife."

Dutch buried his face against Hosea's chest as his fingers clasped on his blue jacket. "D-dont . . . Don't. . . " It was as if his brain's synapses were misfiring again, he couldn't say anything more though he so wanted to. He felt so vulnerable, so scared.

"Shhh . . . I'm not going anywhere. . ." Hosea cooed as he slipped a hand up underneath that ratty shirt, his hands gently gliding over his back. As he had spent some time sprawled out on Hosea, his skin still felt so warm there and less clammy than he did when he first reunited with him. Skin contact was what Hosea thought Dutch would feel connected to and reassured with; after all, they said so much through holding hands.

The touches soothed Dutch again, and he settled his head under Hosea's jaw. They would return to the book, but for the moment, he just wanted to cuddle up to HOsea as he had longed to do for far too long.

As if Hosea had absorbed what Dutch was feeling even if he couldn't articulate it, Hosea also just wanted to hold Dutch, and to do nothing else. He had almost forgotten how much he had missed him; he had seen the things he had done and was nearly blinded with anger, but now . . .

"We'll never be parted again."

*Never* be parted again.

Dutch felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time:

Relief.

"Never . . . ?" Dutch's voice wavered as he looked into Hosea's eyes with some sort of acknowledgement in his expression.

Hosea whispered and gently cupped his jaw in his palm. He has always loved how strong it felt in his hands, even in his condition. "Never . . . "

"We're . . . " Dutch struggled for a moment, but his eyes never left his as that expression got a bit stronger. He was piecing it together and it hadn't gone unnoticed by his soulmate. "O-other . . . Place . . . " He slowly eased his face closer to Hosea's. He wanted to kiss, oh he so wanted to kiss him but could not connect his lips up to his and tears welled in his eyes for his failure to do so.

"Y-yes . . . " Hosea found his voice wavering as he felt Dutch's breath on his lips. After steadying the back of Dutch's carefully, he eased him into the gentle kiss he was asking for. It was a slow kiss, a gentle kiss, a kiss that was ten years in the making.

Together again, in That Other Place.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“In The Lost World of the Kalahari, Laurens van der Post writes about living among the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert and describes how shocked they were that he couldn’t hear the stars.

At first they thought he must be joking or lying. When they realized he really couldn’t hear the stars, they concluded he must be very ill and expressed great sorrow. For the Bushmen knew anyone who can’t hear nature must have the gravest sickness of all.

For nearly all of the time humans have been on the planet, regular conversations across the species border were an everyday natural part of life.

Sadly, this seems like a strange invitation in our world today; most people have difficulty initiating such a conversation. Perhaps this is because we’ve been taught from a very young age to perceive nature as separate, a life-less object, a commodity. This mistaken perception seems to be at the foundation of our cultural ills.

Humanity’s ability to perceive the sentience of Earth is critical to our survival and to all life on earth.

Longing to be in conversation with nature can catalyze us. And perhaps the natural world longs for this relationship with us too...”

~ Rebecca Wildbear, the Animas Valley Institute

(Thx to Gill O’Sulliven)

[Màiri Standing Otter]

[linotte-miller]

Pen pal Suguru, continued. You’ve never met in person, but you write to him regularly and sometimes speak over the phone. Today, you’ve sent him some pictures from your class trip. His mind is… going places.

He wants to listen, honestly, he's trying his best. But these photographs are all very distracting. This sundress, for example, has him wondering if he could tear off your clothes as easily as he tears open your letters, and whether you'd forgive him for it. He could probably make you forgive him for it.

And what are you going on about—sea snails, of all things? It's absolutely criminal that you expect him to concentrate. God, these pictures… you must be torturing him on purpose. He ought to put them away before he gets himself into real trouble.

…He probably should, but he won't. The damage is already done.

He kicks off his slippers as he lifts his legs up onto the bed and reclines back against his pillow, taking up the full length of the mattress. He closes his eyes and listens—even if he can't follow your words, your voice envelops him like an embrace, like the tide—like the tide that rolls across your body in those pictures. He imagines watching from the shore until he can't take it, and he throws off his shirt to follow you into the water.

Alone in his room, Suguru feels himself flush. It isn't warm inside here, but he's heating up and the door is locked, so he may as well strip off his t-shirt. It makes this fantasy feel that much more real.

"Suguru?"

"I'm listening."

"You didn't hear a word I said,” you complain, in the confident tone of someone who understands just how much they are loved.

"I heard all the important ones."

“You’re so mean to me, Suguru—“

That’s right, just keep saying his name, over and over. He’ll revisit the same fantasy, the same image of you in the water—and write himself into it.

He imagines himself swimming, holding his breath as he moves beneath the surface so that he can sneak up behind you, and then comfort you when you cry out in surprise.

"You think I’m mean?” he murmurs. “How am I mean to you, tell me.”

Now he has you—at least, that's what he likes to imagine. Holding you in the warm water, murmuring as he kisses and nips at your neck. You taste like sunscreen and salt. Your hips press into his as you struggle and squirm—and this, of course, only encourages him.

"You're teasing me."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

Because you are sadly mistaken—this? This is bullshit, this is nothing.

But if you ask—and, more importantly, if you’re lucky—he can show you exactly what it means to tease.

"You know I would never do anything like that,” Suguru adds—feigning indignation, feigning innocence.

But Suguru is hardly innocent—not that you need to know that, but he hopes you do. He hopes you can hear it—how, in this moment, he is lying through his teeth, counting down all the ways he could tease you and worse, drive you wild and then deny you until you're forced to beg, to cry out and admit aloud everything you want from him, and where, and how much, and everything you are willing to give for that privilege.

[ladyvaderpixetc]

your top 15 favourite tv shows can say a lot about your personality

Tagged by the epically fab @lolahardy

this genuinely kept me awake a bit last night until I realised what was happening and stopped trying to recall every show that ever struck me right in the feels or shaped me lol and yes, I know no one asked for any reasoning behind it but when you've mulled it over all bloody day long, you feel like sharing :P

M*A*S*H - used to be on everyday at 7 and my mum had adored it when she was younger so brought me and my sister up on it, still makes me laugh and cry to this day.

Star Trek TNG (& Picard which might be cheating but really is just an extension all told) - loved all the Trek's, Honourable Mention goes to ToS because kid!me loved it so much, only to have TNG blow the roof off my head. Lt Cmdr Data was my first love and I am unashamed ;)

Red Dwarf - for many reasons but mainly Arnold Rimmer (more reliable than a garden Strimmer, he's never been mistaken for Yul Brynner - he's not bald and his head doesn't glimmer...) who my teenage self was certain could be redeemed with the power of love, or a very determined snogging if nowt else.

The Good Place - because I (and many of us) needed it as a concept, whether for personal growth, coping with grief or just cos 'forking shirtballs' never gets any less funnier for me.

Firefly - the best show to ever be cancelled before it's writer could ruin it. I adored the show and the ensuing film, mourned its early cancellation for YEARS until I heard about Whedon's general twattishness and what had been his intentions for the series and characters, now am happy it exists as it is, still problematic but so worthy in so many ways, and on that awkward note...

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - problematic on 800 gazillion levels in this day and age but still a forerunner of many awesome things to follow and I'd be lying if I said I hadnt been glued to it, obsessed with it, shipping folks, dling the soundtrack, buying the jewelry etc and even now if I see a reaction vid on YT for S5 I can't help myself but watch and weep along with them.

Merlin (BBC) - Umm'd and Ahh'd over this for bloody ages lol but it was my happy place (literally, had a run of bad years as have we all, so I'd watch an ep before bed every night to make me smile) and it got me through the difficulties I had right up to the finale where they took me and my happy place out back and shot it in the face in front of me lol. Despite my escapism route being put down in those heinous raw weeks immediately following a parents funeral, I'm still listing it here for being wonderful, silly, heartening and heartbreaking, whilst giving every last Fuck You to the writers for their surprise, abruptly canon-compliant ending.

Stargate SG1 - daft sci fi with it's heart trying hard to be in the right place plus eminently shippable characters in almost every combo going? Yes, please.

Heroes - because I was OBSESSED. It picked me up out of my OTP in a diff fandom (sorry drarry, I still love you honest) drained me of any and all urge to write for anything but them ever again until it got shat on by its own writers, breaking the spell.

Brooklyn 99 - NINE-NINE. *sadly doffs cap to Captain Holt*

King of the Hill - from a show I used to avoid when I was younger to one I ration myself viewswise so it won't lose it's impact. Superb.

Schitts Creek - only watched due to encountering a clip on tumblr of Moira's stonefaced manaical laughter and ended up crying with happiness over the finale, am an easy crier sure, but not normally because something is just so lovely.

Cheers - was only a kid when it finished but I bawled my face off when Sam said 'sorry, we're closed' (was too young to know it'd be repeated ad infinitum lol) and the opening theme still feels like coming home.

Golden Girls - sole reason D+ gets any money from me, the bastards, it was my only access for a bit there but it was worth it, lightyears ahead of it's time and just wonderful to boot.

Parks & Rec - somewhere my sister is elated with no clue why. Took her years to talk me into it, but having watched it on repeat a few times, I now can't live without Leslie, Ben & Ron.

Other honourable mentions (sorry I know, longpost, my bad) go to Quantum Leap for being a daily delight growing up, What We Do in the Shadows which would have made the list but I've only just got around to watching it and am only on S3 so have yet to find out if it's going to rip my heart out, Eerie Indiana for getting me started hyperfixationwise, Caroline in the City (S1-S3... S4? I don't know her - no seriously, I didnt realise for YEARS it didnt end at S3 and as this purported S4 fucked that up [supposedly] yeah I don't know her), The XFiles for my first actual foray into fandom & fanfic, and I know am missing another gazillion shows I'll remember later that seem much more worldshaping than these and I'll gnash my teeth lol so yeah *waves hand vaguely towards future me's frustrated rememberings* them too ;)

Tagging a) anyone who fancies a go should they feel like it, and b) [no pressure natch] @theangrykimchi @amazinmango @thesaltofcarthage @buckydunpun @kalika999 @gracerene @helaheim @dls-ao3 @emorgan5061 @bananaempanada

[pokemon-ash-aus]

Dumb idea

Do u think Seymour or any of the twos ever mistook King for a garbage bag lying/flying around?

Like when people think they see a cat in the distance and go "pspspsps" but once they get close they realize is just a plastic bag lol

Sadly no XD there isnt a Bag big enough for that

And the ones that "are" are too flat to properly look like a mew

I will say Origin gets mistaken a lot for the white plaatic bags. It freaks King out quiet a bit.

[bluewavesofchange]

The guardians of the Pharaoh.

I don't own Yugioh or it's characters.

Chapter 1

Many have lived their lives with the obvious delusion that life is a spectacular and mesmerising thing to wonder through. Brought into this world as a small, fragile, yet beautiful infant who has a warm hearted, loving and beyond beautiful mother. Whose eyes are bejewelled with a light that scare away any evil in your precious little heart. And don't forget her humble smile, her lips curved into a perfect crescent moon that gives passage to softly spoken words such as 'I love you' in a voice that's calm and subtle, like the gentle breeze of an Autumn morning. And beside her is a father. A powerful yet meek man whose firm yet welcoming grip brought you up over the many years, a man who guided you over the unpredictable, treacherous and hard road of life. Always there to catch you when you stumble and break down. His unforgettable words, spoken in a humble tone but still coated in love...if only that were true for me...

 

I had the misfortune of being brought into the cruel, withering and cold piece of hell screaming, alone and afraid. The woman, who sadly carried me in her doomed body for 9 long months, was released from her mortal existence mere moments before I was pulled out of the warm, protective womb where I was created, into the hell that is called the world. The man, who was supposedly married to the now empty and lifeless woman, a man whom I was supposed to call father, a coward who left behind a small, vulnerable baby girl...he left her lying in the incubator...alone...nameless...unwanted...afraid...a nothing with no one to hold her as her terrified and glass shattering broken screams and cries echoed throughout the chilling white halls of the hospital that stood short amongst the square giants that formed the brightly lit city. Its crowded streets and busy roads, the load hooting of taxi's, the busy and singled minded people shouting their lungs out, dulled out the heart broken cries of the abandoned and neglected little girl...the broken cries of a confused and trembling little me...

 

...learning at only an hour old...

 

...what loneliness and brokenness really was...

 

The doctors said I was born a tiny baby, small enough to fit into a handbag like those barking rats the celebrities prance around with. I was born with skin whiter than the first snowflake of winter and smoother than a porcelain doll. Dark wavy curls covered my scalp, each gentle curl facing a different direction like a bunch of waddling penguins. Born with a small mouth, it was hard to believe that something so tiny could produce such an ear bursting sound. And the eyes...the kind, small and skinny nurse who had taken care of me, said she had never seen such eyes before...a deep blue shade that could have been mistaken for sapphires. These two orbs of beauty that held such innocence and purity...also held so much hurt and agony at such a tender age...already knowing that the world was a cruel place...that the spiked claws of darkness and despair would always try to snuff out the light of happiness and goodness...dragging away everything you have...until you are completely alone...like me...

 

I was left at an orphanage a week after I was born and given the name Lillian. The place was cold like everything else on this retched planet. The walls were covered in scarlet red wallpaper that was already peeling from years of clinging to the hollow wooden walls. The floors were puzzled over by brown and grey tiles, several being missing or cracked or shattered. The ceiling had more mold and stains on it than an ancient tree in the rain forest. The smell was terrible due to the other orphans never cleaning properly and the smell of rotten eggs and urine was always around us. We were stuffed into any room that had even a crumb of space, sleeping on rotten old mattresses that were donated who knows when, some not even fitting on the rusted metal bed frames that cradled them...but that's not even the worst part...

 

The worst part was the other kids I had to stay with. I don't think some of them had a single good bone in their bodies. The oldest kid was always the one in charge. And that was Markiato. He was 13, never was considered for adoption, not once because of what a jerk he was to everyone. He had filthy blond hair that I don't think was ever washed. He carried around an old baseball bat that he used to install fear in everyone. He was tanned or should I rather say he was sun burned with dark brown eyes that dug out your soul and filled you with terror whenever he glared at you. Not to mention he was basically a giant, tallest kid in the orphanage and leader of the "B.O.B", that stood for "Bad Orphan Boys". Creative, I know. They were a group of boys that followed him around like he was a fricking king. They did whatever he said and beat up anyone they didn't like. I guess they must have really hated me, because ever since I got there, I had been their punching bag. And you would have thought that the caretakers of the orphanage would have done something about this. Maybe they could have stopped the older kids from beating the crap out of us but no. Whenever someone went to go complain about getting hurt or their stuff being taken away, the care takers would just shove them away and told them to go play or that it was just part of growing up. Yeah, it’s part of growing up to have someone hit you in the stomach with a bat and then beat you as you fall to the ground...

 

...the only time we were somewhat safe was when they sent us to school...

 

...but even that place had its list of problems and horrors...

 

...if it wasn't the kids at the orphanage beating us up...

 

...it would be the kids at school...

 

But there was a time when my life at that hell hole was actually good. I was 9 years old when I first really experienced happiness. The day was like any other day, winter was coming to an end, the snow had started to melt some time ago and the weather was still extremely cold. The paper thin blankets that had more holes than Swiss cheese and smelled worse than a public bathroom at a train station was the only source of warmth we got.

I was sitting on the bench by the window between two bare and leafless bushes, starring down at the dead and dusty ground, hugging my faded lavender sweater tightly to keep warm. It's not that I ever minded the cold, but it helped me feel less lonely somehow. The sound of the creaking gate that stood at the front of the orphanage was heard and the other kids rushed towards it. This could only mean one of two things...new arrivals had come or someone was coming to adopt. It wasn't odd that we got new kids arriving a few times a week; it was the fact that there were so little of us leaving this horrible place. I guessed nobody really wanted kids these days. Sighing, I got up from my seat and headed to the gate with the others to see what was going on. I had already given up hope of getting adopted. Too many times had families come looking for a child and they would just look me over. Maybe there was something wrong with me...I really was unwanted...even around the orphanage everyone called me "Lonely Lilly"...cause nobody wanted to come near me and I was always seen sitting by myself...

 

As I reached the gate, the other kids had started heading back to the playground already, clearly disappointed. I guess that meant that no one was here to adopt. I saw the two boys that had arrived. The tall one had brown chestnut hair and sweet blue eyes. He wore a yellow button-up shirt with a blue pullover, plain black jeans and a pair of white sneakers. The smaller boy that stood beside him had raven black long messy hair and soft grey eyes. He wore a green button-up shirt, grey shorts and a pair of purple trainers with knee high socks. They didn't talk to anyone as one of the caretakers led them into the building to show them around and assign them a room. I headed back to the lonely little bench by the window, thinking of the two boys that had arrived. They were most likely brothers considering they both arrived at together and looked, well a little alike I guess. Were they abandoned like me or did their parents pass away? Or did their parents do something bad and now they have to stay here? Why did I even care? Not like it really mattered to me what the story was with each kid that came and went from this place. Most of the time, the others left me alone and that was just fine with me. I didn't need anyone and didn't want anyone...I was fine with being alone...because that's all I would ever be.

 

A few hours passed and I was still sitting in my usually place when Markiato and his gang of mindless idiots came to pester me. Markiato stood in front of the others, holding that stupid bat under his right arm as he sneered down at me, making me shudder.

 

"Well, well...if it isn't little lonely Lilly."

 

He said with a chuckle, I hugged myself defensively, not wanting to aggravate him in case he tried to smash my skull in with his wooded beating stick.

 

"What do you want Markiato?"

 

I stuttered as I stared down at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with the mammoth in front of me.

 

"Just wanted to spend a little time with my favourite little loser..."

 

He kept grinning as he reached out to lift my chin, making me look right into those horrible eyes. I quickly hit his hand away and got up keeping my gaze away from the rest of the boys.

 

"Just go away Markiato..."

 

I spoke softly as I turned to quickly leave but found myself surrounded by the rest of his menacing gang. Looking around as fear started to build inside me as I could find no way out of the circle of boys surrounding me. Each one having a nasty smile on their unwashed faces. Markiato slowly approached me again, grabbing hold of my jersey collar and pulled me towards him. The smell of onion rings and fish leaked from his mouth as he smirked at me, his yellow teeth fitting precisely in the frame of his lips. Instantly I began to feel sick.

 

"Now why would I go away? We're just having some fun right? Besides you seemed so lonely sitting here all by yourself."

 

Snickering as he spoke, I tried to pull free from his iron grip but it was no use. He saw me struggle and the impending fear that was growing within me as I began to tremble. Shoving me hard onto the cold hard ground and dirtying my jersey in the process. My eyes filled with tears of pain and fear as I lifted myself up with my arms, shaking as I stared at the ground watching the shadows of the boys around me. Twirling the bat in his hand, I could see him looking around at the other boys...

 

"You know fellas...maybe we should put her out of her misery? Send her back to where she came from..."

 

He slowly circled me, still twirling the bat mockingly before reaching down, his empty crusty hand grabbing my hair and pulling me up. Letting out a cry of pain, I grabbed his wrist, trying to ease the sudden burst of pain on my scalp.

 

"Pl-please st-stop!"

 

I yelled at him before he threw me to the ground again, landing face first in the dirt and scrapping my cheek. I weakly tried to hold myself up again, my hair falling over my face as a tear ran down my cheek, listening to the other kids laughing and mock me...I wanted to die right there and then...I just couldn't take it anymore...I wanted it all to stop...I wanted it all to just...go...away...

 

Just as Markiato raised the bat over his head to strike me, I knew nobody would come help me...nobody cared about me...I closed my eyes...waiting for the pain to come...when...

 

..."Leave her alone!"...

 

I heard someone calling from a distance followed by the sound of someone running towards us. Slowly I opened my eyes, glancing up ever so slightly at who was coming. And I was astounded to see that the boy who had arrived a few hours ago, sprinting towards me with his brother not far behind him. Markiato and the other boys turned towards him as he stopped just a few feet in front of the circle of boys. The blond beast started chuckling,

 

"Well, well, what do we have here? Prince charming coming to save his pathetic excuse of a princess?"

 

The boys began to laugh as I just looked back down at the ground.

 

"I said leave her alone. Go back to playing king of the idiots you freak."

 

The yellow shirted boy said as he took another step forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The others went silent, their expressions becoming shocked. What was he doing? Did he want to get himself killed? Markiato tightened the grip on his bat.

 

"What did you just call me runt?" he growled through his teeth.

 

The kid didn't even flinch or look scared of the towering bully in front of him.

 

"I called you a big fat freak..."

 

…and with that said, he slammed his fist into Markiato's stomach, causing the taller boy to fall over like an old oak tree being cut down. And dropping the baseball bat that he held in the process. The boys standing around me looked at the kid slightly frighten as he had just taken down their so called mighty leader. Quickly they ran away like a flock of pigeons flying away after being chase by a small child, leaving behind their fallen comrade.

 

The boy slowly approached me; I kept my gaze down, not really knowing what to do...

 

..."Hey are you ok?"...

 

...I looked up to see him kneeling in front of me, with his hand stretched out to me, offering to help me up. Still scared, I took his hand, not really knowing why I trusted this kid. He got up helping me up as I muttered softly, "I-I'm fine..." He noticed the scrape on my cheek, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away the dirt surrounding the wound. I whimpered softly, pulling back slightly at the contact of the fabric on my raw skin.

 

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not going to hurt you."

 

He said in a soft spoken voice as he smiled at me. He reached out a second time and this time I didn't pull away, letting him clean my cheek...

 

"Th-thank you...for saving me...even though you didn't have to..." I spoke shyly as I kept my gaze away from his.

 

"It's ok. I just don't like seeing people pick on those weaker than themselves."

 

He said with a smile. Blushing at the comment, I looked up, glaring at him slightly, "Are you saying I'm weak?"

 

He chuckled and kept smiling that stupid smile,

 

"No. I'm just saying I don't like seeing people getting bullied. Especially if it's a cute girl."

 

I could have sworn I saw him blush too, making me giggle for a bit before going silent again, realizing his hand was still on my cheek. He must have noticed this too as he quickly retracted his hand away from my face. It felt weird...to have someone care about you...it felt good...almost enough to make me smile...

 

..."So what's your name?" he asked...

 

...not many of the other kids in the orphanage really knew my name...besides those who picked on me...

 

..."Um...I'm L-Lillian..." I answered shyly...

 

"Lillian? That's a pretty name."

 

The small boy that stood behind his brother answered with a sweet smile,

 

"I'm Mokuba and this is my big brother Seto. Hey wanna be friends with us? My big brother can keep you safe from the kids who bully you..."

 

...friends...

 

...nobody had ever wanted to be friends with me...let alone wants be around me...

 

Before I could even answer him, Mokuba grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the red and yellow swing set, Seto following close behind us. We spent the afternoon playing together and many days after that. We became close, Seto taught me how to play chess, while Mokuba taught me how to be a kid. I was never kid actually. I mostly spent my days lost in thought instead of playing. I had friends for the first time in my petty little life and for the first time I could actually truly smile and laugh. They had welcomed me into their lives without a second thought and they accepted me for who I was and they cared about me, and soon I came to care about them just the same.

 

For the first time in a very long time I felt something warm with in my heart...I felt...happy in some way...I felt like maybe...just maybe there was hope for me. That maybe I wasn't meant to be alone forever. Mokuba and Seto had given me something much more than just their friendship...they had given me hope, hope that I had long since been forgotten. Hope that my life would become better; a hope that someday I would get adopted and would find a family that loved me and that would take care of me.

[otdiaftg]

Neil learns the truth about his father and Riko's family.

"Explain something to me." Riko started across the room on slow steps. "Jean says Kevin did not know who you are. After seeing Kevin's reaction I am inclined to believe him. Perhaps I can understand, as I know how blind Kevin can be when it comes to Exy. I might even forgive him for sheltering you from me. But you must know who you are, so I am very, very curious to know what you think you are doing." "I'm just trying to get by," Neil said, squeezing his arms so tight across his chest he thought he'd crush his own lungs. "If I'd known our families were business partners I wouldn't have signed the contract." Riko stopped so close to him they were touching, and it took all Neil had in him to not lean away. "You're lying," Riko said. "I am not." Neil hated the thread of desperation that worked its way into his voice. "I don't want to cause any trouble for your family. I don't want youto cause any trouble for mine. I'm just here for a year and then I'm gone again, I promise." "You don't want to cause any trouble for my family," Riko echoed, as if hearing them a second time would make them easier to understand. "You have already cost my family a sizable fortune and eight years of trouble." "How?" Neil asked. "The money I took was my father's." "If you think acting stupid will save you, you are sadly mistaken." "I'm not acting," Neil said, finally giving in and taking a step back. "My mother said it was my father's money. She never even told me about you. If I'd known the money was yours—" "Nothing your father owned was his!" Riko snapped. Neil's words died in his throat.

Day: Saturday, September 9th Time: 10:16 PM EST

[tu-sugar-mami]

The things that could have been (3/3)

Part 2 here

Summary: You and Donna are in love, but thanks to a misunderstanding you both go on separate ways and move on.

Tags: angsty, unrequited love that was actually requited, sad ending, fluff, hurt, no comfort

_________________________________________

Time passed by oh so painfully slow. 

It was difficult at first but with Karl's help, and on a few occasions her niece's company, Donna dared to venture into the village and its surroundings more and more often. The strolls distracted her enough from the things that plagued her mind, and even though she liked to tell herself it was time to finally come out of her shell, she knew very well that the real reason for the sudden need to explore the village streets was that, instead of a warm smile and comforting touches, the only thing that awaited her back at the manor was the ghost of you and the broken fragments of the sunshine that once had brightened the dull rooms.

The manor without her carpenter felt asphyxiating.

It was simple, really, being in the same place you once grew to call home reminded her of the treasure she lost because of her stupidity. It didn't matter that she took extra care to avoid the splashes of yourself on the decor, the memories alone made her heart feel coated in lead. 

To the villagers, the Beneviento house became long ago the carpenter's home, and Donna knew this because in one of your afternoon reading sessions, the villagers' thoughts accidentally slipped from your lips. She would be lying if she said that listening to you referring to the estate as your shared home didn't make her heart pound in her chest with pure adoration.

It was clear to everyone who had access to the estate, that it was yours as much as it was Donna's, Alcina would gladly confirm. And if that fact had once made Donna proud, lately it just filled her with sorrow and guilt, to the point that only existing in the place felt like torture, and no amount of carefulness could ever shield her from your lingering presence. 

The heavy door at the end of the hall remained closed, and despite the layers of dust that accumulated over time, a small part of Donna's mind always expected you to come out from your workshop and catch her own gaze with a smile on your lips before taking her by the hand to lead her to your next small adventure as you had done many times before.

Sadly, that was never the case.

Whenever entering the estate, without fail Donna felt the prickling of unshed tears in her eyes as the first thing to greet her was your face…

In an attempt to redecorate the estate, you had convinced Donna to move her portrait on the stairs wall to another room and  replace it with a new piece (that Alcina had so kindly painted by your request) that was gifted to Donna as a birthday present last year. The portrait was exquisite, and it showed Donna sitting on a plush red chair with Angie on her lap. Behind the Beneviento matriarch you stood proudly, with one hand on her shoulder and a bouquet of yellow flowers in the other. The art could easily be mistaken for a family portrait, and Donna was certain she wouldn't have had any objections if that had been the case. Donna thought the broad smile on your face was Alcina's most beautiful work to this day…

Angie had suggested moving the portrait and bringing back the old one, but Donna couldn't do it. It'd be wrong to try and erase or hide what was meant to be displayed proudly. It'd be wrong to try and deny what you still had a place within her home. The manor was still both yours and hers. Despite the hurt she felt in her own home she refused to move a single thing out of the place you left them in, almost as if doing so would tarnish the memory of you.

Why did it have to hurt so much? She had always been alone, isolated by choice, and then you came along barreling into her life and showing her kindness and what she could become, only to leave again, to abandon her and forget about her as if nothing had happened, and the worst of it, you most likely had no idea of what you did to her. It was unfair.

After the first year, the Beneviento estate became a crystal snow globe; frozen in time and condemned to keep trapped within it the things that once made it full of life…

The days became dull and repetitive in a way that even if the time took too long to flow, made the days a little bit easier to pass. A simple routine is what kept the Lady going, that and the everyday nudging and nagging from her doll also prevented her from spiraling deeper into her depression. Still, the cold always seeped into her bones, and not even your knitted 'blankey' could warm her up.

Donna lost count of the days after the fourth year.

Despite the everyday circumstances, the townsfolk did their best to live their normal lives. The few children in the village ran free through the market (or as free as one can be in a village full of monsters) and the adults were hard at work, always worrying about how they would put food on their table and praying to Miranda for the chance to see another day.  

The walks over town did help to keep Donna distracted, at least for a while, but as the seasons kept flying by and Donna didn't bother to register it, everything became blurred in her eyes.

The sight of the once reclusive woman, one of the rulers of the land, became a common sight, and though at first the villagers were drowned in fear for what the unknown Lady could do to them, soon enough she was treated with respect and a devotion that could rival Miranda's own. And it was to be expected, honestly. Donna was never given the chance to prove it sooner, but in her rested a kind soul, and even herself didn't know until you showed her and made her see it. 

Donna had never been the villain. She had no fault, nothing to be blamed for, only an awful luck that stripped her from happy things since she had memory. You had helped her understand that her circumstances weren't her fault, that she didn't deserve such pain, and she had believed you. But now… with the empty space next to her bed and the hole in her heart, she wasn't so sure anymore.

At the village, the Lady passed from being a mere whisper in the people's mouths, to one of the most cherished people there thanks to her kindness. In a way, Donna's heart aches at that. Even if you weren't there, you still found a way to make her feel cared for.

With time, children became men, tree leaves fell and regrew, the skies were tinted by orange rays again and again, the smell on your clothes dulled, but to Donna, your face was as clear as the dew that sprinkled the flowers. 

Sometimes Donna would daydream. She would imagine warm mornings filled with freshly baked bread and longing gazes full of love. She liked to imagine the happy little family you, her and Angie would be, and her heart would clench at the thought. You had always been gentle with Angie, you had been patient with Donna, and the portrait on the stairs was a reminder of how lovely you three looked together. 

Some nights, when the guilt and regret were stronger, she would re-read your journal, sliding her fingers lightly over the sheets and tracing your messy handwriting in an attempt to soak the words that she had already memorized. Somehow it made them feel more real. Your words were so tender in the way they described how much you longed for her attention. How you had daydreams of your own, with her lips lingering over yours, and how often you wished to kiss her fingers in adoration.

Some other times, Donna would see you in her dreams. In places far, far away that no one would possibly find you both being happy. Her favorite one became a golden meadow bathed in the afternoon sun, with the grass tickling her exposed arms in a dress you had showed her so long ago. The breeze was as gentle as the touch of your fingers tracing her collarbones, and the light touch of your lips against her neck. You laid in her embrace as she was in yours, no words needed, only the intensity of your gazes being enough to speak for your love. And like that one, many other dreams became Donna's only consolation.

Until one bright day at noon when Donna's mind had wandered to happier places, blending with the birds chirping as she strolled through the village, she heard a familiar laugh. Her eyes widened and she turned, desperate to find the source of that sound she thought long lost, and indeed there was, in the baker's stand you were exchanging jokes with the old man. 

Donna felt the air leave her lungs. It was surreal,and for a second she feared that If she looked away, even for a moment, the person responsible for that wonderful sound would disappear…

You looked so beautiful, just as the last day she last saw you.

For the first time in Miranda knows how long, the numbness that enclosed her dissipated like smoke and left her body feeling light. Suddenly the world regained its colors in full brightness despite the thin layer of blurriness in her eye thanks to the forming tears.

Her heartbeat sped up at the sight; your hair loose in light waves, the dimples on your cheeks that her eyes always used to stray to, your eyes looking bright thanks to the sun shining onto them, all of you felt to her like finally being able to breathe after so long. 

But then, as you turned and your gaze met hers… your smile disappeared before a grim expression took over your features. The change was so sudden that shocked Donna. Before she had any chance to compose herself, you were already parting ways from the baker's stand and walking away in the opposite direction. 

Donna didn't think twice before her legs carried her towards you. She panicked, you weren't stopping or slowing down, and instead your steps became more hurried, to the point where you were running away from her and she barely could keep up.

When you looked over your shoulder to see if she was still following you, you clashed with someone, sending you and them tumbling to the floor. 

The person turned out to be a young man that carried a pile of leather scraps, which was most likely the reason he didn't see you, but as he saw the Lord approaching in a run, he didn't think twice before fleeing, leaving you there to stand up yourself. 

Donna reached you and did her best to keep her ragged breathing under control in order to assist you. She held her hand towards you, but to her shock you didn't take it, opting instead for standing on your own. The look of apprehension in your eyes didn't go unnoticed.

Before Donna could say anything, you spoke.

"I apologize, Lady Beneviento, I'm aware you forbid me to return but I assure you I'm only here for business and then I'll be out of your hair." You said as you dusted your clothes and fixed your jacket. "I beg of you, forgive me." With a small respectful bow, you tried to walk away again, but the Lady's hands clenching on her skirt made you rethink your decision, memories of that time she displayed her power coming back to you in full force.

Your head turned away from her. The expression in your face was mostly neutral, only a slight frown twisted your features, but your eyes told another story. Your eyes refused with all their will to look at the Lady, whose heart still pounded terribly. Your fingers fidgeted with the chain of a recently polished pocket watch. 

Nervousness wasn't a strange look on you, but Donna noticed this time that wasn't the case. She could see… fear. She could see the way your stance was stiff and your shoulders tense, as if preparing for a surprise blow. 

A pang of guilt pierced her heart. You looked so frail, scared but reluctant. And it's only then that she remembers the betrayal in your face the time she lost control and accidentally used her power on you.

Was it too late to apologize? To start anew and fix things up? 

Donna took the opportunity to take in every detail of the face she so long had given up on seeing again. Her frown didn't wait as she could see now up close how the start of gray hairs highlighted some locks here and there in your head. Your jaw had gained a roundness that made your face softer but much more mature along with spots earned by working under the sun, and in the corners of your eyes there were slight wrinkles that let Donna know the years had taken a toll on you. Her eyes widened when she realized just how much time had passed, her own perception already had been tampered and her body couldn't tell a day from a year. Donna cursed Miranda's gift for not letting her age with you. 

To Donna though, you looked every bit breathtaking as you did in your youth, gorgeous and ethereal. Oh how she longed to kiss you, to finally clash her lips against yours as she had fantasized so many times before, but of course she knew she didn't have the right to. Although, her fingers ached to feel your skin, to have reassurance that the person in front of her wasn't a mirage driven by her own mind. She needed the anchor.

Her hands hesitantly made a line to your cheeks, but the slight flinch from your part made her doubt even more. The fear and uncomfortableness came in waves from you and Donna wasn't sure if she should continue. But then again, all those years apart…

Donna knew it was now or never. 

"Please look at me." Her voice was gentle, hushed almost as the first time you heard her voice, and your eyes found anchor in her through the veil. How long had you longed to hear her words like that with calmness instead of a harsh remark. Your knees felt weak for a moment.

Trembling fingers made contact with your skin and slided oh so gently until her palms cupped your face firmly but with a tenderness that to you, after so long, felt foreign. Her thumbs gently drew lines over your cheekbones frozen by the chilly air. 

"I read it. I found it after you left and I…" Donna said hoarsely, but determined. She wanted nothing more than to take her veil off and let you see the seriousness and determination in her face, but the need to touch you was stronger, making it impossible for her to part her hands from your reddened cheeks.

 

It wasn't necessary for her to explain what she meant, and your eyes wide with surprise felt red and irritated. You hoped she didn't say it. You hoped that for whatever Miranda's will was, that Donna's confession didn't come to be. Not after all this time.

"I love you too…" She breathed, and with it you let out a pained whimper.

Donna desperately needed you to know, to realize that she had loved you all this time, that there hadn't been a single day where you were not in her mind. 

Your sight, though, became even blurrier, and you weren't sure if your tears now were because of hearing the words you had yearned to hear for so long, or because of the heavy pain in your chest knowing that the confession was now, unfortunately, pointless.

Your own hands came to rest on the Lady's own, but contrary to what she expected, you gently pried them away from your face, fighting the need to turn your head and kiss her palm.

"My Lad–"

"Mama!"

Your eyes closed in resignation at the sound, and only two tears escaped your eyes before drying with the cold air of autumn.

A toddler, not older than two years, crashed against your leg and tugged on your trousers. You quickly pushed the Lady back, almost as if you were a child being caught doing something they shouldn't, and quickly wiped your cheeks with your sleeve before putting on a new smile and bending to lift the little girl in your arms. 

"Hey there sweetie, what are you doing?" The kid's giggles were adorable to Donna, but there was a moment of confusion in her mind as her brain struggled to connect the dots.

A second later, a woman out of breath appeared by your side, hooking her arm with yours with a bright smile.

"There you are!" She said, "We saw you running earlier, are you alright?"

It was as if the time had stopped for Donna, when the woman leaned towards you and you met her halfway to receive a kiss to your lips, and the Lady felt her heart crumble into dust.

Alana, as you so lovingly called her, lifted her hand to your cheek, tenderly cupping your face before placing another peck to your lips. Why weren't you pushing her away? Why were you letting this… stranger, kiss you when you vowed your heart to her, to Donna? 

The Lady's eyes fell on Alana's hand on your cheek, noticing two rings on her finger.

The first one was made out of wood, carved in such a manner that resembled a flower braid, and Donna's heart stung in recognition. She would have known that carving anywhere.

The carving indeed was exquisite, it was clear every stroke had a purpose if the design was so rich. It was also clear to Donna that it was made by your own hand too, just as the bookmark she always carried with herself, only this time, the ring's quality had stepped up, and Donna knew the level of expertise needed was way more than you used to have. 

The second ring though, was a golden band, nothing too fancy but unmistakably a sign of marriage, and Donna briefly wondered; if you had stayed, would she now be wearing those pieces on her finger as well? 

How did all of this happen? Exactly how many years had passed by? And when, if it was even possible to know, had Donna lost you to this woman?

Donna's brain felt muddled, and the sound's around her turned muffled as the only thing she could focus on were the two women in front of her cooing at the little girl in your arms. 

"Aren't you going to introduce us, love?" Alana, your apparent wife, asked, and it was as if you suddenly remembered Donna's presence. It felt worse than Donna would have imagined, to be so easily forgotten by the person who still held her heart bare.

The toddler gestured with her hand, as if demanding the attention she rightfully deserved. You smiled softly at the kid with eyes full of love, and your hand tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "This is my daughter…" Lady Beneviento thought her heart couldn't hurt even more, but as always, it seemed she was mistaken when you continued. "...little Donna."

If Donna's world was already in ruins, with that last part, it slowly vanished in a cloud of dust. 

She thought herself selfish as she briefly imagined how the child bouncing with excitement in your arms could have been yours and hers in another life.

Alana had only been there for a moment, and Donna couldn't stand her presence, but it seemed the woman didn't catch on to it before nudging your shoulder teasingly with her own before adding her own information. 

"My love insisted on naming our baby like an old friend of hers, but i really can't be jealous, it's a lovely name." 

Donna noticed the way your jaw tensed, before nudging Alana back. The woman's eyes widened slightly in realization her expression left very clear that in her mind the words "Oh, it's her…" ran through.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to change the subject, and you were certain that the Lady's gaze was focused solely on you.

"I suppose it was… nice, seeing you again Lady Beneviento. I hope you continue your day as if this didn't happen." And with that, you led your wife the other way to continue your business and hopefully get out of the village as soon as possible.

You couldn't possibly know what ran through your ex-boss' mind, and your heart ached to explain, to tell her that after the incident, it was hard for you to find love again. Despite being so lovey-dovey with Alana, it took her a long time and a lot of effort to have you return her feelings. How could your Lady know that it had taken a lot from Alana to open your walls, and not to mention get close enough to you for you to accept her as a partner, and accept being the mother of Alana's kid.

Regardless, Donna would never know that.

Donna instead would spend the rest of that afternoon -and many more- back at her manor.

Alcina had already offered Donna years ago to erase the memories with the help of Miranda, to vanish the treacherous carpenter from her mind (the countess herself feeling betrayed by your departure as she grew to consider you something akin a friend) but Donna refused. Now she wasn't so sure.

Donna's eyes, swollen and irritated, kept themselves fixed on the leatherbound journal resting on the coffee table. After so much thinking and crying she… Well, she decided to let you go.

And why was that? Simple. Because to Donna, the fact that you were smiling again was more than enough. Because she knew that she'd die heartbroken a hundred times, thousands even, if it meant that you, her beloved carpenter, could have a chance at a happy and fulfilling life even if it wasn't with her. 

Because, despite everything, she still loved you…

[revolutionary-girl-erina]

More P5T Plot Details (feat. Satan and Sinister Politicians)

Gamescom has come and gone, and with it, the P5T demos available to attendees. There weren’t many plot details shown, but two outlets let slip that the game doesn’t begin in Leblanc, as advertised.

Like PQ and Q2, which had quotes by Seneca and Rousseau respectively, P5T opens “with a quote from Paradise Lost”. While the outlet (Shacknews) didn’t specify which one, this is a fascinating choice for a game about rebellion, especially considering Joker’s use of Satanael (who is obtainable in P5T and could be plot-relevant, per the leaked achievements). I’d speculate more and draw parallels to the poem, but not knowing the quote they used would make my ramblings too broad. It would be interesting if the final Kingdom/the evil deity’s lair ended up being inspired by the fallen angels’ uprising against God, rather than human history.

While an erudite quotation may evoke the Q games, which contained their plots to the Metaverse and surname-less characters trapped there for a long, abstract amount of time, both Shacknews and Persona Spain mention that P5T begins with a “short scene” in which a “pair of sinister politicians” converse in “the office of a National Diet member”, which, alongside Toshiro’s disappearance being shown on the news in older screenshots, tie the Kingdoms’ events to the real world.

Those two are likely Conspiracy members, akin to Strikers’ Owada or Shido’s nameless goons who try to keep his plans in motion after his brainwashing, but I wonder whether Toshiro is one of them, their ally, or their target for elimination.

After that, there’s the Leblanc scene, in which the Thieves discuss college and moving on with their lives. Shacknews claimed while discussing this section that P5T takes place after Strikers, but I think the writer was mistaken, since marketing materials and screenshots have shown Joker as a second year, and Haru and Makoto in Shujin attire. Furthermore, unlike RPYH and the final party members in P5R and S, what would be the motivation for lying about this? (I wish one of these writers had asked ATLUS representatives for clarification in this regard, but we did at least hear from them that the game’s duration will be around 40-50 hours, so there went another big question.)

Then comes the tutorial in the Marie’s plaza, featuring Joker, Skull and Mona.

After this stage, Skull and most of the PTs are brainwashed by Marie, leading to a stage where Joker and Mona must defeat all enemies but Skull, who attacks them with Captain Kidd.

Sadly, the demo abruptly skipped ahead to after Erina joined, so no one was able to get a strong sense of her personality and interactions with others. Then, it ended with Toshiro’s appearance in the dungeons.

That’s all I gathered, plot-wise. It feels like ATLUS is withholding more information about P5T’s plot than they did for the other spin-offs, which alongside the emphasis on how “emotional” it will be, intrigue me. By their PV02s, PQ2 had revealed 4 of its 5 dungeons, and P5S had shown Wolf and Valjean.

[timaeuslover001]

Polly Wilkins “The King’s Man” Headcanon (AU)

Polly was born to an Arab mother and a British soldier father

She was escaping her arranged marriage, and escaped to England but died in childbirth due to her being ill and her father died soon after of the same illness.

They named her Margaret Wilkins but Polly was a nickname and proffered that so always went as Polly.

She was raised as an orphan in an orphanage and hated ever moment. bullied and strict rules never suited her. Often got into fight with the girls. She left the orphanage at 12 and decided to go into a work House. Basically a prison for the homeless that was colder, stricter and meaner. You felt more like a prisoner than person. She only stayed there for 2 weeks before she left.

She was found by a man who owned a brothel and he was a slimeball and a creep but his. Girls were getting pregnant and having children and need help watching them. Polly agreed but little did she know he had ulterior motives for her being there but that would come later.

As crazy as Daryl (owner name) was he kept up the lols of the girls because he didn’t wan t his property sick. So he made sure they were clean, smelled good, hygiene good , and hair washed.

Polly met Emily at 14 one day while walking through the upper class shops in London. Emily was a counter girl at a department store. They made fast friends and close like sisters. She told Emily eventually where she worked and Emily was shocked and concerned but Polly reassured her she could handle herself. She met Emily friends but never said where she worked.

It almost costed her reputation once after someone claiming to have spotted her in that area once.

The girls loved her and she loved them. Polly got experience nursing the girls and taking care of children. She also worked spend the building sometimes as a waitress to which she was mistaken as a Sex worker. Sadly that only lasted until she was 16 years old. When Daryl finally wanted Polly to join the girls as a working girl but refused and after a struggle and a brutal fight between her and Daryl . She eventually relented.

She cried herself to sleep every night after that for a year.

One client who was a wealthy man led to the brothers by a few rumors decided to have Polly but at his place and paid a large sum to do so and even took photos of her. She never felt cheaper.

But her sex working days would be at an end sooner than later. Emily had noticed Polly wasn’t visiting her as much and went to see her. Deep in shame and embarrassment Polly tried avoiding her but Emily was persistent. After she told Emily , Emily demanded she leave and never turn back but she couldn’t leave due to the girls and their kids and repercussions from Daryl. But She insisted. Polly said her final goodbyes to the girls and left in a stormy night with Emily.

Emily had gotten engaged by Orlando since then

Emily took her to her parents barber shop not far from where she worked. She begged them to help her and they of course did. All Emily said was she was in trouble and need help. She stayed with them. She told Polly of her happy news of being engaged to Orlando , Duke of Oxford and told how kind and sweet and loving he was.

Since Emily would be an upper class lady now ,she would need a nurse maid and governess for the children. Polly would be perfect but she doubt Orlando would go for it without a resume. She has experience , not the best of places but real experience. So Emily sat him down and explained the situation vaguely but not lying because she didn’t think it was her story to tell. But she asked for him to trust her and if he had any reservation she should meet her. Cautious but agreed.

They met for lunch, and spend the afternoon together ,just them two and unintentionally by Polly fell in love. She couldn’t believe it. But as she gotten older know him she was everything Emily said he was kind, sweet, gentlemanly. Unlike men she is used to dealing with. He addressed his concerns for a woman with a mysterious past, potentially scandalous, caretaking his children and no resume to show for it. But he deduced she wasn’t a bad person and trusted Emily judgement and agreed to hire her.

The more she spent with him the more she fell for him. She hated herself for it, but as much as she tried she couldn’t shake the feelings but also loved Emily and Orlando love and supported Emily all the way 100%. She never once thought she’d have a chance anyway with her past, so she kept her feelings to herself.

Polly moved into the mansion after the wedding and Honeymoon. Her first job was a maid in the home and she had a lot to learn but picked up quickly she wanted to prove her worth in their lives so she learned quickly. She loved the country so peaceful and quiet and away from any one who would ever know her. She couldn’t believe it . She was finally free. She did fret how long it would last though, she would tell him eventually about her true origins and did wonder and fear the repercussions but loved being with everyone so much.

[guadalupehesus]

113 lost pearls of my princess

II hope the House of Windsor does not want to dispute its role in the Revolution of 1917. I would not even be surprised if the most valuable tiara of the last Empress Alex is secretly stored somewhere in the basements of English palaces. As you know, the title page of my blog is named after this tiara, which had 113 pearls on it.

Yes, I realize, Harry, that I write caustic things that many people know about, but everyone is silent. By this I want to introduce faith and truth into fashion. Faith in the God, morality, which is impossible to implement when everyone around is lying.

As for the banana photo in previous post, I spent a long time looking for which banana would be best for my post. Let me remind the reader that the previous banana in the photo was given by Megan to women for moral support of the profession that is gaining popularity in world show business now. Putting hand on my heart, I think you and Meghan should have supported women in challenging profession (sex-workers) in a different way, Harry: ex., to buy medications if required or pay for two months of kindergarten.

Harry, to be honest, I am against Meghan and what she did and is doing under democratic slogans, but not against prostitutes themselves. If you think I'm condemning prostitutes, Harry, you're sadly mistaken. Now I am in great need of money. I do not know what to do. Maybe in such moments of despair, women turn to prostitution, and men turn to theft. And in such difficult times, Harry, if someone sends 15 dollars to help, which you refused to do, it could save a person.

Being a prince and an aristocrat, it was cruel of you to condemn a woman of noble blood to beggary. This also applies to the Windsors. However, just like a hundred years ago. Think about it.

P.S. 🫀🍌