#thus severing their final ties/reminders to the world they once lived in

[clitchuck]

I can't put this well into words bc it's almost 2am and I'm SO sleepy but I think it would be cool if Shauna was the Antler Queen

[obae-me]

hi!! may i please request nsfw headcanons of the brothers (+ Diavolo and Barbatos, if you can) with an MC with a pastel aesthetic who usually wears skirts and thigh highs who loves plushies and is a brat in bed??

This is my first time writing NFSW headcanons so I hope you like them! 💜

NSFW Below The Line, Please note that even if these are suggestive I always write with equal consent in mind.

Lucifer

Oh no. When they came down from the human world in light pink clothes, looking innocent and naive, he knew he was going to have his hands full. Their stark contrast against the Devildom’s bold dark colors was just screaming for some lower demon to take them.

The more he got to know them, the more MC drove him wild, but in a good way. They pushed his buttons in all the right places, puffing up his pride and then tearing it down in a tease.

Whenever they wore thigh highs, which was often, he would get distracted, wondering what those thighs would look like tied up in his many ropes or ribbons.

When they finally got to bed together, their behavior was even worse.

“Is this all the Demon of Pride can do?”

They were a brat, and he needed to put them in their place. If they were going to act like a child, they would be punished like one.

He wouldn’t stop till they were obedient. Till the mouth that would dare mock him was singing his praises. Till they knew who to obey. And he wouldn’t give them any pleasure till they begged for it.

Mammon

Their bright and soft aesthetic reminded him of a child, and the last thing he wanted to do was be a human’s babysitter. However he would never have guessed how deep MC would have him wrapped around their finger.

He’d end up giving them anything they wanted to keep them happy. MC would abuse this just a bit. If he was going to be their sugar daddy without knowing it, they wouldn’t refuse. He’d pamper them with clothes, cute gifts, plushies, all because he couldn’t resist how they looked when they pouted their lips and asked him for it.

They teased him though, god, how they teased him. Not only how they looked but how they acted, especially with demons other than him. But push Mammon too far and he can be even more possessive than Lucifer. He’s the Demon of Greed, and if he wants something, he’ll take it by any means necessary.

If they’re already in bed with him, kissing and teasing, but being a brat? Denying him what he wants with a smile and a roll of the eyes and watching him get flustered over it? That’ll drive him wild. He’ll growl in their ears and take what’s his. Making sure to mark them in several places so everybody can know who MC belongs to.

Levi

They remind him of a kawaii anime character. He’ll fall in love with them immediately. None of the demons around here ever looked like that. Even the school uniforms RAD had were always dark and mature. He could barely look at them without blushing.

MC knew this and lived off it. They’d purposely get close to him, grabbing his arm and pushing their chest close against it. Wearing extra short skirts just to expose just enough skin to make him all red in the face. He’s a shy baby most of the time, until the demon comes out of him.

They would dare question his otaku reputation? They would dare talk about being with someone else just to make him jealous? They would dare snatching one of his prized figurines to hide it behind their back?

“If you want this back, you’ll have to go through me~”

He’s played so many dating games that he knows the only way they’ll be satisfied is through force. He’ll play them like a game and make sure he wins. With his fingers in all the right places till MC finally ends up the one red and flustered.

Satan

He couldn’t care less how MC decided to dress. Aside from a cultural perspective, fashion was never important to him, what someone looked like was insignificant next to how much they knew.

MC knew this and so they would act dumb around him, but for the life of him he couldn’t discover as to why. They did just fine in their studies, and surely they couldn’t be as dumb as they pretended to be.

Until they got a little more familiar, and MC would do things to him and act stupid as an excuse to get away with it. Surely they knew how he felt when they rubbed against him in sensitive areas. About how he felt being compared to Lucifer. Were they insulting him? Insulting his intelligence? Nothing made him angrier.

“But how am I supposed to know unless you teach me?”

Oh Satan would teach them a lesson alright. Class was about to be in session. They would know how to behave around him. They would be taught how to act if they wanted for him to please them so badly. If MC knew what they were doing, they would have to be prepared for his wrath to be unleashed so well bad they’d not be able to walk to school tomorrow.

Asmo

MC is so cute he can’t stand it. They’re both pink and bright and beautiful. The Devildom is so bland and drab, meaning MC is such a breath of fresh air. He knows all sorts of outfits that would look amazing on them.

Ooh, they’re going to be bratty? How cute, he can be bratty too, so who would win in the end? Anything MC said to him he just found endearing. He’s been in bed with everyone, honey, he knows how to handle them.

Ah but what he wasn’t expecting was for them to cut them off completely. To shun them and act like he doesn’t exist, on purpose. He had enjoyed the bratty game, because it was some form of attention, but now they’re not even giving him any of it? The shining Demon of Lust has to be the center of all their attention.

That outfit MC was wearing wasn’t cutting it. He’ll tear it off and give them something...better to wear. He has a separate closet full of clothes he wants to see MC in. Especially if it makes them turn that bratty attitude shy.

He’ll make sure they don’t forget him or ignore him again. He’ll have them memorize every inch of his body and sear it into their mind. He’ll have his moans be the only thing they hear all night. Ensuring it’s impossible to ignore him. He wants MC to know his body better than their own.

Beel

MC reminds him of something sweet like a marshmallow, he has to be held back not to eat them right off the bat. He only just needs to be patient...

He doesn’t really pick up on the behavior at first. They want something to eat? He’ll get it for them. If they throw a little tantrum if the food is wrong, they can have his, he’ll eat anything. He’s more of a protector, not a punisher, and so he doesn’t quite get why MC keeps acting like this around him.

So MC had to step up their game, and decided to eat the last of his special ice cream. When he found out, he was furious. MC knew it was his, and it was a limited flavor that won’t be back for another century. 

“What’re you going to do about it?”

If they ate his ice cream, he was going to have to eat something else. He’d just have to have MC as the appetizer, main course and dessert. He’ll take their clothes off with just his teeth. Leave them with faint bite marks as he nibbles on them. He’ll finally get to taste them through thoroughly, feasting off of them until he’s full.

Belphie

MC looked soft, like a pillow or a colorful cloud during sunsets he remembers seeing in the human realm. Even just looking at them made him sleepy. 

He’s Sloth, he doesn’t have the time or the energy to deal with MC’s taunts or advances. It exhausts him, and he’ll just sleep it off.

Or that’s what he’d like to do if MC would let him sleep. They’ll talk about anything to keep him awake. They’ll shake him. Bother him. Rattle him up. Even go so far as to sit on him and straddle his body, refusing to let him get rest. He gets cranky when he’s tired.

If that’s how they wanted it...he’ll stay awake, just to pin them to the bed. He’ll make sure MC’s noises are muffled by his pillow so they’re not too loud. He won’t stop until they’re so exhausted they’ll have no choice but to fall fast asleep, with him doing even more to them in their dreams. That night MC will be his pillow.

Diavolo

He liked how MC looked. It was different. It was human. He couldn’t get enough of amazing little humans. He especially was fond the way MC seemed to forget the fact he was a ruler. A Demon ruler. The brothers that MC had gotten to know so well were fallen, yes, but were angels originally. They weren’t Hell Breed demons. So no one had ever treated him the way MC did, and it drove Lucifer up the wall which he found so much more entertaining.

MC was trying so hard to get him riled up, but he’s been alive for ages, he’s had demons of all sorts out to get him mad, to lose his composure. To ruin his image. It wasn’t going to happen, adorable human, try as they so desperately may. He’d let them think it was working, just to humor them.

He thought it was so refreshing to be teased instead of worshiped for once. He wants to see how far they’re willing to go. How far they’re willing to push their luck. He’ll treat their boldness with rewards, but he also has an image to maintain, so there’s no way MC is getting out of this without ending up on their knees. He’ll just postpone it as long as he’s able.

He’ll have them discover how much power he has, how much people fear him, how much special treatment he’s given them thus far. They’ve never seen a demon like this before. His very presence emanates superiority. At the end of the day he’ll find out how much more satisfying it is to have MC at his feet than anyone else.

Barbatos

Barbados is Diavolo’s source of information. None other than him could be the one to directly serve the Lord himself. He knows everything about MC. Everything. Every MC from every timeline and possible outcome. Which means that the fact that this MC was here like this says he chose them. He chose to be here in this present with this MC.

He’s the most composed demon in the Devildom, even surpassing Lucifer and Diavolo himself. No one will ever know if they’ve pissed him off, his expression is unchanging and they’ll find themselves along the branch of time where they die their worst death.

So the fact that MC was purposefully trying to frustrate him up was amusing. Of course he’d never do anything to harm them since they were important to Diavolo and the program, and he was quite fond of them.

He’d show them possible bedroom events they could have together, but would never give them any until they asked for it. He was still a gentleman and a butler, and so he wouldn’t do anything until someone told him to. He’d be pleased watching MC spend ages trying to pry him out of his cool-headed nature so he could do as he would with them. But eventually they would succumb against his unwavering gaze and beg for Barbados to fulfill some of those futures that he taunted them with.

[raindancer2004]

A mate for Christmas? - Jane

Word Count: 1,901 Jane x Swan reader Oneshot Warnings: Fluff, Angst

Jane –

Demetri, Felix and the twins joined Aro and Marcus at the Cullen’s house for Christmas; Caius refusing to go as he knew the ‘Dog’ would be there. “Caius sends his apologies Carlisle, but he couldn’t join us for Christmas. He decided to stay back and keep things in order at the castle” “I understand Aro. We’re glad that you, Marcus and the guard would come” Carlisle replied.

Carlisle led them upstairs to where the rest of the family were waiting; including Y/N Swan, Bella’s sister.

Jane noticed her the moment he entered the room; Y/C hair, Y/C eyes and your scent hit her like no other had before ‘Blueberry and Vanilla’ She felt a pull towards her and a knowing smile from Marcus confirmed it; Y/N Swan was her mate.

The Cullens exchanged gifts and Y/N handed her a small gift neatly wrapped in blue wrapping paper with silver Stags “For you.” She took the gift and gave her a small smile; opening it revealed a quad of eyeshadows in various shades of blue and a second quad of eyeshadows in various shades of grey. “I know it’s not much, but I thought you may like them, especially as Alice mentioned you prefer darker colours to pastels” “Thank you Y/N” Jane thanked her and felt a warm feeling run through her although she was annoyed that fate had given her a human as a mate. She didn’t like humans.

Y/N tried talking to Jane, asking her about her life in Volterra, her gift, if she had a favourite time in history seeing as she had lived so long. Jane didn’t wish to talk to Y/N and she certainly didn’t want to get to know her. Y/N sensed Jane wasn’t in the mood for talking judging by the minimal / lack of responses she received and left the room.

Marcus was very disappointed in Jane and her behaviour and told her so once Y/N and Ness were out of earshot; he didn’t care who else heard him “You my dear are being rude and disrespectful to Y/N and I am extremely disappointed in you. She didn’t choose to be your mate any more than you chose to be hers. Fate made this decision long ago after you were turned. She was born to be with you and only you. She is the one to complete you and vice versa” Marcus paused to see if Jane would interject; she did nothing but look like a child being scolded so he continued “If you choose to walk away from her; from your bond, that is your decision and I will respect it but…know this you will have lost my respect. You are throwing something away; something that is precious and should be treasured because of your inability to let go of the past; a past Y/N had no part in. You are throwing away a bond that was taken from me many many centuries ago; a bond I would do anything to get back, to be given a second chance at a happy ending. I cannot and will not forgive you for this” Marcus left the room not caring that he left a room full of vampires staring open-mouthed at the dressing down the usually soft-spoken King had given Jane.

Jane didn’t change her mind. She decided she could live without Y/N in her life. She could live with being a disappointment to Marcus as long as she had Alec by her side and was still favoured by Aro. What more did she need?

Later that night Jane found Y/N in Edward’s old room; it had become a guest room now, something that amused Edward greatly. Jane knocked on the door and waited for Y/N to answer “Come in” Y/N’s soft voice called out and Jane entered the room “We need to talk” She said to Y/N getting straight to the point “Ok” Y/N replied as she sat on the bed and Jane did the same. “This isn’t going to work Y/N…the mate bond between us. It isn’t what I want. You are not what I want” “O-ok. So what happens now?” Y/N asked low, dread filling her as she knows she cannot remain human and know about their world. “Firstly, I want you to know that I won’t kill you, none of my family will. I trust you to keep our secret seeing as your sister is one of us” “Th-thank you Jane. I will take the secret to my grave. I promise” “Secondly, I am going to formally reject you and then we can move on with our lives as though this…little inconvenience never happened” Jane added turning to look at Y/N.

“I bet Y/N feels great being called an inconvenience” Felix said low “Imagine how she’ll feel in a few minutes once she’s been formally rejected” Demetri replied. Everyone could hear the conversation between Jane and Y/N due to their hearing and they all felt sorry for the human girl, including Alec.

“Look at me Y/N” Jane says coldly and Y/N lifts her head and meets Jane’s red eyes “I Jane Volturi do reject you Y/N Swan as my mate, from now until forever” Y/N felt something break inside her but didn’t tear her gaze away from Jane “You must now reject me in return for the bond to be severed completely” Y/N nodded and sat up a little straighter, taking a deep breath “I Y/N Swan do reject you Jane Volturi as my mate, from now until forever” Jane nodded and smiled at Y/N; happy she was no longer tied to the human girl.

Jasper felt everything during that conversation and his heart went out to Y/N “Hey you, do you want some company?” He asked softly entering the room “No, I would like to go home. Can you take please Jas?” “Of course I can, come on. Alice will bring your stuff by tomorrow” Jasper led her out of the house and over to his car. “I’m sorry you had to go through that” He said softly after a few moments “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry you have to deal with my feelings, that can’t be very nice for you” Y/N replied softly “Don’t worry about me, I’ve felt much worse over the years.” Y/N nodded and they sat in silence for the remainder of the journey.

When the Volturi left on Boxing Day Jane left the gift behind that Y/N had given her and didn’t bother going to say goodbye. Demetri took it upon himself to reach out and find Y/N’s tenor; committing it to memory, just in case Jane changed her mind and wanted to him to track her mate down in the future.

Jane surprised everyone as it had been two months since she rejected her mate and she showed no signs of being heartbroken or depressed at being away from Y/N. Jane continued with her life at the castle and didn’t give Y/N a second thought, the same couldn’t be said for Alec however. He felt sorry for the human girl that his sister so cruelly rejected and wondered if she was doing as well as his sister.

Y/N wasn’t doing as well as Jane but did her best to hide it; it felt like something was missing, like she was incomplete. Although she had rejected Jane at her request Y/N didn’t mean it; she wanted to be with Jane and figured that may be the reason she feels this way and cannot move on like Jane had said. Y/N had stopped spending time with Bella and the Cullens as it was just too much of a reminder of what she will never have so she made the decision to move to Florida to live with her mom and Phil. “I need a fresh start Bells. I need to get away from here and we can stay in touch” Y/N hugged her sister and boarded her plane ready to start her life away from Forks, away from the vampire world.

“Demetri can you track Y/N for me?” Alec asked one night on the way back from a mission the two of them had gone on “I can but can I ask why you want me to?” Demetri replied “I’m just curious I guess…I want to know if she is taking the rejection as well as Jane” “Alec you know that I can only tell you where she is, I can’t tell you how she is” “I know that, but I can find out how she is if I know where she is” Alec said looking at the tracker “You plan on checking up on your sister’s rejected mate? Why?” “I don’t know Demetri, maybe because I’m struggling to understand how Marcus can be the way he is thousands of years after losing his wife and Jane seems totally unaffected after rejecting and being rejected by her mate” “I think you’ve already answered your own question Alec. However, I will tell you Y/N is in Jacksonville, Florida” Demetri replied “Thank you Demetri. Please do not tell Jane” “I don’t have a death wish so I won’t tell Jane you’ve gone to Florida if you don’t tell her I helped you track down Y/N” Demetri offered “Deal” Alec said as he shook Demetri’s hand.

Y/N had been in Jacksonville for a month and felt better than she had in a long time, moving here was definitely the right thing to do. Y/N had met a boy and they flirted with one another but it didn’t feel right to her; she kept thinking about Jane. ‘Why do I keep thinking about her, she didn’t want me. I wasn’t good enough for her, at least Matt likes me; talks to me’ she thought to herself and decided to let Jane go completely “I Y/N Swan do reject you Jane Volturi as my mate, from now until forever” She said aloud and she instantly felt like a weight had been lifted off her.

At that very moment in Volterra Jane felt something break inside of her and all of a sudden she felt lost; incomplete, like something was missing from her life and couldn’t understand why. She let out a gasp at the feeling. Marcus sat there on his throne giving her with a knowing look. Alec, Demetri and Felix were in the throne room on duty with her and upon hearing her gasp they turned to look at her “Sister what is the matter?” “It would appear Y/N has rejected Jane and now she is feeling the pain and the hurt she caused Y/N many months ago” Marcus answered with a smile “But master Y/N rejected Jane at Christmas” Alec said looking confused “Indeed she did, but only because Jane asked her to. Y/N didn’t mean it then, she didn’t want to reject Jane so Y/N’s side of the bond remained in place. Therefore, allowing Jane to carry on with her life without a care in the world” Alec nodded in understanding “However, it would seem that Y/N is finally ready to give up on Jane and their bond and has rejected her of her own free will. Thus, causing this reaction in Jane. Welcome to a forever of heartbreak and depression child. It really couldn’t have happened to a nicer person” Marcus said smiling at her, enjoying seeing her experience the consequences of her actions.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Yet the Light Refused To Die

Whispers from the intersection between worlds are a strange thing. They are soft and enticing, yet alien, and quick to breed fear.

The fear of death.

The sun that mankind praises casts a long shadow. Most look to the bright light and the vibrant colors that it illuminates. And they turn their backs on the shadow, fearful of that which they cannot see. Like the air of a graveyard, and the dust that collects in abandoned places, such whispers are not death itself, but its quiet heralds.

Shouting and even thinking loudly works well enough to drown them out. To deny that creeping reminder of the inexorable cycle of life and death, the final destination of every mortal's road. The madness of life is filled with distractions, of fleeting moments that occupy human thought. As such, only rare individuals can hear whispers from beyond the grave. Among them, even fewer pause… and listen.

When most do hear the whispers, they question their sanity or close off their minds. Not so, a young girl aged merely fifteen winters. Magdalene heard those whispers and has always listened. Understood.

And sometimes, she even answered.

Connected to the essence of dust and shadow itself, death spoke only in those sibilant sighs.

Magdalene feared not death. Many she had known now gone, taken by age, disease, war, famine, and murder. From a young age on, the specters of death always haunted her.

So much so, that she never really questioned the strange or inexplicable. She never struggled to accept things that others would deny, even when only the implausible remained the alternative.

Where one might think they had displaced a trinket in an empty room that no other living soul had entered since, the girl already knew at a delicate age that something else had moved the trinket.

One year prior to the dire straits she now found herself in, a young man had threatened her life. With little understanding of such ephemeral forces as sorcery, she called upon the power of disembodied spirits that refused to move on. To help kill that man before he could kill her.

Not because she feared for her life. No, she had summoned those ghosts because she had feared that he would escape justice; the just desserts he should have faced for slaying so many before her. More importantly, because she felt guilty; she felt like his killings were her responsibility, as his obsession with her had led him to commit such atrocities.

As a wee girl, she had always found it confusing when others could not see those figures at which cats hissed, or hear their whispers where wind swept through cold and forgotten places. Sometimes, she would awaken, with blood lining her fingernails, and a shadow standing in the corner of her room, watching and looming.

Not all of them were evil. Not in the way most people meant it when they used that loaded word.

More than once, driven by a desire to punish the wicked and deserving, she had called upon the spirits of the lost. They always answered. As if they recognized and served anyone who could sense their presence—and pay them the proper amount of attention.

Undeterred by those chilling gasps that lingered like memories of lives lost, she would sometimes speak with them when not in the company of the living; when removed from the company of those who would question her sanity, if only they saw her speaking to empty corners and cold spots where common eyes could only perceive that dust and shadow.

She would ask them what they remembered.

Not all of them retained their memory. For some of them, the shreds of who they once were just made no sense; perhaps as misremembered identities bled into one another, leading to eternal confusion and endless, aimless wandering between the worlds.

Some of them got angry and blew out candles or slammed doors shut. One even cracked every mirror and window of a room after becoming enraged. Others bore dark obsession in their whispers, attempting to sway her with deception, hoping to merge with her and do unbelievable things if only they had a body once again.

Beyond death, they all shared one thing in common. All of them feared what lies beyond the thin veil between worlds. Though none of them ever answered:

Why?

Yes. Why, asked the necromancers of yore, were they so afraid of moving on?

A mystery that never concerned Magdalene. When it was finally her time to go there, she would find out herself. Exposure to death had inured her to the fears that it brought. She welcomed it, just like she did her best to warmly embrace the cold presence of the disembodied dead.

What curdled her blood now was something else entirely. A debilitating helplessness, spawned by her current predicament, and a crippling fear of failure.

More than that, though, Magdalene feared the absence of the whispers.

For the first time since she had noticed their presence, they were gone. Leaving only a deafening silence in their wake.

Rope chafed against her tied wrists, resting on the clothed tabletop in front of her. Her captors had made a mockery of setting the dinner table, haphazardly tossing cutlery and empty plates in front of them before going off to ransack Bennet mansion.

Her captors must have worked some sort of sorcery that she could no longer sense any phantoms. And likely, she feared, the things that dwelt in the intersection between worlds no longer heard her, either. Where her role model wielded sword and pistol to hunt and combat the evils of this world, Magdalene's communion with the spirits were her blade and bullet.

And as her frail body was weak, that absence rendered her more helpless and meeker than ever before.

Jenny Fisher's nostrils flared with a shuddering sigh. Her fellow captive—a thief and swindler, a grown woman she had met only this very day—sat to her left. Bound as she, mouth also crudely gagged with silk napkins from Lord Bennet's belongings.

Their eyes met.

Jenny's eyes glistened, wet and red, yet she had not succumbed to tears. Fear gripped her, perhaps, fears of fates worse than death, perhaps. A quiet despair, maybe. But no tears.

Their captors had left them alone. Not like there was much of anything they could do to get away with bound wrists and ankles and gagged thus.

The question of the absence occupied Magdalene most. A mystery that she wanted to solve. And its solution may yet prove key to their escape from this awful predicament. She would not leave Jenny Fisher alone or to any dread fate that may await her in the clutches of these scoundrels.

The whispers had told her that Jenny was important. The phantoms sometimes knew things that humans did not. Saw futures that had yet to unfold. Understanding why was never that interesting to Magdalene. Much more tantalizing was the lacking explanations as to why Jenny had a significant role to play in their conjoined fates. The spirits often would not—or could not—provide any conclusive answers.

Jenny's eyes now darted to and fro, the swindler's mind likely hatching one fruitless escape plan after another. Magdalene, on the other hand, harbored no hopes of escape. Not until she solved this mystery.

Boots thumped upstairs. The rogues searched, conversed, sometimes argued; always muffled through layers of carpet and floors and wallpaper and walls. Claws scraped against hardwood in Bennet's halls. Inhuman growls resounded from where those claws scratched and tore fabric, eerily twisting handles and opening doors with an intelligence that exceeded that of mere beasts.

Just like Magdalene conversed with spirits, the leader of these robbers consorted with unclean creatures. Fentin McLachlan, he had named himself. A name that sent chills running down Magdalene's spine, even just thinking about it.

Could he be her missing uncle? The one her mother had shied from ever speaking about after father's demise?

Did calling otherworldly powers simply run in their family's blood? More than anything, the prospect of damnation frightened Magdalene. She suspected dark things to be awaiting her at the end of her road, a balance for her meddling with these forces. And what might await one as this Fentin McLachlan, who summoned these awful creatures that manifested in flesh and blood, with bat wings and claws, and too many eyes, and slavering maws?

She had read of them in the book in Nora's cabin. Eerie sketches inked upon yellowed pages and documented in the occult writings of the Bestiarium Nox. As far as the long-dead authors were concerned, these things all shared a simple name.

Demons.

Jenny's breath shortened and she trained her eyes on the entrance to the opulent dining hall, past the chaos and disarray that the robbers had left in their hasty search.

Maggie followed her gaze. The thundering and thumping of boots neared. The men dragged something. Something that thudded against another something, cascading into something else—something ceramic, perhaps—shattering upon impact.

The three men entered. Two of them dragged the body of Lord Bennet. Blood stained the late lord's face, having flown from now emptied eye sockets. His corpse flopped against the end of the dinner table where they tossed him, breaking a wine glass under a lifeless arm smashing down.

Magdalene winced. The shrill sound of shattering rang almost as painfully as their blatant disregard for the dead.

Fentin grinned triumphantly, displaying a set of eerily white and perfect teeth. His eyes glinted with a fierce and cold air. Like staring into a shark's eyes.

He sauntered past the bound women, carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, and a large wheel of cheese in the other. The buckled boots on his feet, baggy pants, and dirty shirts underneath his wet long coat, altogether lent him the air of a pirate. A strange sight, so far inland, and so close to King Michael III's castle.

The other two men dressed in similar attires. A cutlass clattered on the table as one of them took a seat across from Magdalene, leering at her and Jenny until he cocked his head back, and chugged several greedy gulps from a bottle of hard liquor.

The third man slammed down a stack of old tomes, causing some of the nearby plates to bounce under the impact. The top books slid from the stack, fanning out. They all looked old and the leatherbound cover on one of them featured strange symbols.

Magick symbols.

Blood from Bennet's gouged eye sockets and other lacerations upon his person slowly seeped into the tablecloth. A deep crimson blot grew at a snail's pace, creeping down the length of the table as the dead lord's lifeblood drenched it.

When Magdalene met gazes with Jenny again, she read a mixture of despair and defiance in the woman's eyes. Her nostrils flared again, with a snort of frustration. And fury.

The pirate captain poured himself a glass of wine. Then he carved some cheese from the wheel, using a vicious-looking knife from his belt. Boots thumped again, glass clinked—he swung his feet up onto the table as he slouched into what was likely once Lord Bennet's chair, holding the wine glass in one hand, and a hunk of cheese in the other.

He sampled the creamy treat and shot Magdalene a smirk as he chewed, studying the faces of their two living captives, sloshing the wine around in his glass before taking a thirsty swig.

One of the other men guffawed, grabbing their attention.

"We keepin' them alive for some pleasure before the business?" the guffawing man asked. He sounded different from the leader. Like he had grown up in the city of Crimsonport.

"Keep it in yer pants," replied the captain in his thick northern accent. "These ladies are a little bit too interestin' to give them the usual rough treatment. Besides, Mister Witts. I don't like to damage the product, especially not when they can earn us some good coin overseas. Ya don't think very far do ya? S'that why they used ta call ya Witless Witts?"

Magdalene almost expected a retort. Even an angry glare. But "Witless" Mister Witts' face contorted to reflect the mien of a beaten dog.

The chair creaked underneath the pirate captain's weight as he shifted. He pointed the cheese in his hand at Maggie and said, "This one especially. You're a very interesting little lady, aren't ya?"

Magdalene offered no response. She just met his gaze. Studied his features. Every gesture carried an air of constant calculation. Everything he said aimed to provoke reactions, allowing him to probe the depths of the people in front of him.

And not a single trace of mercy or goodness lurked behind the mask of his eerily familiar visage. This she sensed.

He washed down the cheese with another sip of wine, then growled, "Remove their gags, Mister Hoskins. It's time for the ladies to talk."

The third pirate, Hoskins, had never sat down. He had been hovering behind Jenny and Magdalene, leaning against a cupboard in wait. First, he removed the cloth from Maggie's mouth, then from Jenny. Maggie made no sound, nor did she put up any fight. She simply welcomed the cool air upon her gums.

Jenny also displayed no resistance, but she rolled her jaw to stave off the ache of having the napkin stuffed in there for so long.

"Please, sir," Jenny immediately rattled away. "I'm sure we can work something out. I'm sure we—"

She stopped. The shark-eyed captain shushed her, tapping his lips with a finger.

"I'll admit," he said. "I didn't deem you very interesting at first, but you are a bit of an enigma, Miss—"

"Lady Amelia Hanbury," Jenny Fisher lied, correcting him. She spoke with such confidence and authority that Magdalene intuited how long she had been using this identity as a mask in front of Lord Bennet.

He asked her, "You don't really know what Bennet was up to, eh?"

This must have caught her off-guard. The fast-talking thief remained silent.

In lieu of any answer, the pirate captain's mouth twitched. His lips curled into a devious smile, and he pointed to the stack of books that Hoskins had dumped onto the table.

"Member of a little occult society that calls 'emselves the 'God's Hand'. Bunch o' mystics and mountebanks that dabble in the secret arts, practicing in the shadow of the aristocracy wherever the inquisition can't cast their prying gaze."

Nobody interrupted him when he paused, savoring his ruminations as much as the expensive import wine lingering on his tongue.

"Mighty close to the king's castle, don't ya think?"

He chuckled and sniffed his wine.

Witless Witts leaned over the table, closer to Magdalene. His lips smacked as he chewed on jerky, which took longer than usual, partly owed to some of his missing teeth. He radiated utter contempt.

Magdalene spoke, "So you sought Lord Bennet's library, for secrets it holds. Secrets common folk do not comprehend." She meant to ask, but it rolled out in her monotone. She, too, studied Fentin's face for a reaction.

He smirked again. Pointed two fingers at her. Kept his eyes locked onto hers. There was something magnetic about his gaze. Something unnatural. It slowly peeled away layers of the world around her and froze her into place. Some form of wicked sorcery.

"See, Miss Hanbury. That lass sittin' next to ya—she's a bright one. Quick on the uptake."

"Please, Mister McLachlan, I am begging you," Jenny-not-Hanbury said. "If you tell us what you want, I promise I will help you as long as you don't harm the girl—"

"Name," he said.

"What?"

He had never taken his eyes off Magdalene.

"Your name. Names hold power. And power is what I take. Give me your name."

Ignoring her bondage, Jenny leaned over and hissed at her, "You don't have to answer hi—"

"Magdalene," Magdalene said. "Magdalene McLachlan."

His lips parted and the air about him shifted. He masked a stronger reaction from surfacing.

"Little Maggie," the syllables playfully rolled out. He clicked his tongue. "You prolly don't remember me, but I remember seein' you as a wee lass."

He held out a hand flat by his side, low. Never breaking eye contact. Never blinking.

Shark eyes.

"About yea tall, you were. I knew I remembered your big brown doe eyes. Color me surprised that my useless fuck of a brother's loins produced such a clever girl. But you're not looking too healthy. All skin and bones. What is that prick been feedin' ya?"

He licked his lips, took his feet off the table, and downed the remaining contents of his wine glass in one shot.

"Father is dead," she said. The sentiment flashed in her eyes, finally eliciting a more tangible reaction from him: his eyes widened, even if only subtly so.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny interrupted them. "I do not mean to interrupt this, uh, touching family reunion of yours, but I would like to stress that there is no need to keep us helpless women tied up like this. It's barbaric, and I swear—upon all that is holy—that—"

"I don't give a rat's ass about anything holy. I commune with powers from beyond this world," Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan dismissed her, casting a sidelong glance at Jenny.

Witless Witts stifled an awkward giggle. It died in his throat, but he could barely contain his excitement. Hoskins also audibly shifted his weight again.

The rest of the mansion had fallen deathly silent. But the demons—the creatures they had seen earlier—they still lurked, somewhere out there, just out of sight. But far from being out of Magdalene's mind.

"I will not beat around the bush," Jenny said.

Hoskins repeated the last word and chortled behind them.

"We are at your mercy, and I don't care whom I have to swear any oaths to, I only vow to do as you tell me, as long as that guarantees that Maggie and I are not harmed."

She sighed deeply. Her words carved through the air with expertise, timed just before anybody could respond again.

"I will be absolutely honest with you," she said. The lies came so naturally from her mouth and felt like silk brushing softly over skin. The way she spoke transformed a bit more by the end of every sentence.

A different accent emerged. It sounded more like it stemmed from the fog-strangled streets of Crimsonport's lower city wards, blended with foreigners and sporting a hint of the northern accent to match Fentin McLachlan's own. For a split second, Maggie wondered if this was Jenny's real manner of speaking.

"My real name is Marie Cook. I am nobody of grand standing, I am merely someone who was lookin' to make some quick coin off o' Lord Bennet."

She shot a nervous glance in the round, met by arched brows and befuddlement all around, then she flashed an uncannily confident smile before she continued to keep the ball rolling.

"You gents seem to be working somethin'. Somethin' lucrative. I can smell good game seven miles 'gainst the wind, and I know that Lord Bennet's riches can't be the end-all be-all of it, yeah? It's gotta be a bigger score awaitin' you lot here in the Hold, innit?"

Witless Witts guffawed again and slapped the table.

"She's a smart one too, eh cap'n? Yeah, woman. We are gettin' mighty close to the king's—"

"Shut your stupid fuckin' hole," Shark-Eyes growled at Witts. He then sneered at Jenny. "And you must think I am balmy on the crumpet, ya thievin' strumpet. Fuck off."

Witts shrugged and shuddered, growing nervous, then he chugged more liquor.

"I am not stupid, woman. I know you're anglin' for somethin'. Your kind always does. No, we have no use for you and yer yappin'."

"I am also adept at forgin' papers and paintin's, and—oh, even blowin' glass," Jenny quipped, rounded off with a smirk and a playful wink that projected a growing air confidence, which stood in stark contrast with how they had bound her to a chair like Maggie.

The dread captain's lips were wet with wine and oozed a deviousness as they curled into a smirk of his own.

"Where we are headed, what we are doin'—you'd need a much stronger stomach than I fathom you've got, Miss Cook. If that's even your real name. You'd need to be willin' to pact with powers beyond ken. And I don't particularly sense a familiarity with the preternatural on you. How long have ya been here in Bennet's home, oblivious to the treasures he and his ilk are sittin' on?"

"I don't know, but I know enough to know that you are far more clever than you let on. You are far more educated than a man of your station ought to normally be. You are a man who defies conventions, and I am a woman who maneuvers outside of 'em."

The pirate captain awaited more.

He replied, "Unless you're willin' to sell your soul to strange powers, to commune with things from other worlds, Miss Cook, then I have no fuckin' use for ya."

Maggie's attention bounced back and forth between them, like watching a duel of wits. Jenny narrowed her eyes at Fentin.

"Aren't ya afraid of the wrath of God, toyin' with forces o' the devil like that?"

Another smirk from Shark-Eyes. Never blinking.

"In truth, there are no gods nor devils in this world. Those are words that small-minded men have used to make sense of things that resist definition."

A sweeping gesture between Witts and Hoskins segued to his next speech, "These fearless men here are willin' to do what it takes to grasp and embrace such power. They are not blinded by crusty old traditions."

"Hear hear," Witts said, raising his bottle in a crude toast.

"Which takes me to the most interestin' person sittin' at this very here table," Shark-Eyes concluded. Locking eyes with Maggie again. "My dear wee niece, hell forbid I would have expected to ever meet ya again, but here we are. And I want to know what you know. Where ya learned your sorcery from. You summoned a fuckin' psychopomp. I know some necromancy, but that shite is unheard of. Ripped ten sturdy men to pieces without so much as a fuckin' warnin'. If I hadn't had some sigil to deal with our fanged friends gettin' unruly, we would have had an even more serious problem on our hands."

Maggie took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat. Stayed calm. Nora had taught her to stay calm in the face of monsters. They always fed upon fear. No need to feed them. No need to lend them power.

"No need to share," she said. "You will kill me anyway—just sooner, if I tell you."

Fentin glowered at her. Struggled to conceal another sneer.

"I had a look at your bags, lass. Found some interestin' reagents in there. Satchels of dust, I'm guessin' from gravestone and bones and pig iron? No writin'. How long have you been practicing? You're so bloody young."

Maggie clenched her lips shut. They formed a thin white line upon her already pale face. Jenny's gaze burnt upon her, but she maintained eye contact with her evil uncle.

"Can't be too long that you're at it. I suspect you're a little bit more intuitive, aren't ya? Wouldn't be a surprise, it's gotta run in the family," he said.

Feeding the sinking feeling in Maggie's stomach, he might deduce more as time went on, even if she stayed silent.

"You and I are not that different, lass. People like us are like doorways. We are vessels for the darkness, as it slowly makes its way into this world. Takes root and grows. Now is the age of darkness, Maggie. The age for it to engulf the world—and transfigure it."

His gaze.

His gaze was truly paralyzing. Rooted in magick. Some power he worked; some demonic power, it suffused his gaze. Could he read surface thoughts? Could he corrupt minds and control weak minds? She dreaded all the possibilities.

"Things like vampyria, wolf-men, fiendish abominations—all real, as you well know if you're workin' necromancy. You should embrace it if you do have that preternatural awareness that so many people lack. Not resist."

Jenny scoffed. She interrupted him, earning a fiery glare from Shark-Eyes. "I know what I saw. Those—things. They were quite real, and if you had told me about 'em just a few days prior, I woulda laughed at ya and said you were out o' your bloody mind. But how much of this is superstition, how much is real?"

Everybody stared at the swindling thief. The confidence in her countenance crumbled.

"What?"

Shark-Eyes bared his teeth again in a hideous, wicked grin.

"All of it, woman. All of it. You're in the presence of experts, folk who have sliced through the shite of obliviousness with blades of knowin'."

Ignoring her again, he said to Maggie, "You and I could accomplish great things. You must hear whispers."

A shiver shook her spine and blood ran cold in her veins. Colder than Bennet's blood, still soaking the tablecloth beside them.

"I, too, hear whispers. They are probably different from the ones you heed. The ones you hear, they come from a place where our kind goes to rot and sleep forever."

Shark-Eyes lost his cool in that moment. The fervor gripped him; droplets of spittle sprayed from his mouth as he whipped himself up into a fevered frenzy with his own speech. He pointed to the ceiling, but all people present knew that he pointed to the stars.

"They are the opposite. The ones I hear, they come from a place between the celestial bodies in the heavens. They are not remembered by the livin', they are the forgotten ones. They have slept long enough, and they stir in their slumber. They ready to awaken. And we can be the heralds of the new age. God-kings that erect our own, new empires on top o' the ruins of an already forsaken world. Have you not felt how the nights grow longer each year? The winters colder? The fog thicker?"

The hairs upon Maggie's nape bristled. She knew what he said was true. Or at the very least, it was one of the few things he genuinely believed in.

"Yes," Maggie said. Nodding slowly. "I admit, our connection to such forces is not that different. But you and I are very different people. We may share blood, and perhaps even madness. Yet I would never join you in your pursuit. I have friends who hunt your kind—"

"My kind? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Monster."

Uncle and niece glared at each other. Murder in both their eyes.

His voice quaked with cold, seething anger, "And what fuckin' friends? Where are they now?"

She kept silent.

The glass in his hand cracked under the growing pressure of his fist clenching around it. Jenny gasped, and even as much as she pretended to stay calm, Maggie shuddered when the glass exploded into a rain of brilliant shards and wine. Fentin slammed his palm onto the tabletop, leaving a red handprint, where blood and wine admixed.

He spat, "It's those fuckin' hunters from the city, isn't it? It's that Merry fuckin' bandit ponce, Johnn Von Brandt. Isn't it?"

Then, with another, more violent slap that caused all cutlery and plates and glasses to rattle, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "I will kill 'em all!"

Jenny's nostrils flared again as she forced herself to display calm, and Maggie shared the same inner struggle.

"Mister McLachlan, sir," Jenny spoke up. Her voice trembled, likely more than she preferred to project. "I have a sudden and dire need to make use o' the restrooms. If you would be so kind to untie me now?"

He thrust out an index finger, pointing it at her face. Blood dripped from his hand.

"Aggressive mimicry, Miss Cook. I have sailed many seas and heard many tales of creatures strange and distant, from all around the world. I have heard of predators that pose as prey, of true wolves that don the sheep's wool and wait until the bigger wolf turns inattentive—then strikes."

"What?"

"I'm sayin' that you can soil your undergarments for all I care. Reckon I already told ya. I am not fuckin' stupid."

"Please, sir. I sense you are not that barbaric. Have one of your fuckin' men escort me, or both for all I care. Hell, I'll piss right in front of 'em, I swear. No funny business."

He began picking glass shards from his hand, not flinching even once. Displaying the same detached coldness that guised the fiery hot rage he had just displayed at his own mention of Johnn Von Brandt.

"Fine. You are right. I am no savage."

He smirked. Nodded at Hoskins.

The pirate standing behind Jenny stepped away from the wall and began working the knots to release her. He knelt to free her legs, then moved to release her hands from the simple bindings made of coarse rope.

"Thank you. Despite what you may be thinkin' right now, I believe we'll find a great way to cooperate in the future," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists as she rose.

She stifled a gasp as Hoskins forcefully grabbed her by the arm.

"Fuck off," Fentin said without looking up.

While Hoskins dragged Jenny out of the room, the captain continued plucking out piece by piece and dropping the bloodied little shards of glass onto the plate before him with soft little clinks.

Clink. Clink.

Several heartbeats after Jenny and Hoskins had left the dining room, and the muffled voices of them reached the chamber from a distance, Shark-Eyes said without looking up, "I have dabbled in necromancy myself, lass. I could learn a thing or two from ya. And you could learn a lot from me. We are not limited to crusty old traditions. We can walk as many roads as we please. How did you call upon a psychopomp, I wonder?"

Maggie squinted and refrained from admitting anything. Nor did she want to revisit the moments of desperation when she first called upon the messengers of death.

"The first necromancers spoke the language of the dead. And contrary to common misconception, they never commanded the dead directly. They bargained with 'em. Where man defies fear of death by embracing the illusion of life, the necromancers defy the illusion. They embrace their fears, and in doing so, understand."

Clink. Clink.

Maggie finally spoke up with a question of her own, "What have you done? Why can I not hear the whispers?"

Another cruel grin marked his face and rested there. He needed not even look up to instill dread upon Maggie in doing so, focused still on removing the last shards from his hand.

"Thorathoth. Zhaal," he hissed, maintaining that grin all the while.

Click. Scrape. Scratch. Click.

Things approached unseen, lurking in the corridors just outside the dining room. Witless Witts' face turned white as a sheet. Claws heralded the creatures nearing.

A set of sharp black talons slid around the corner of the doorway. A hideous head poked inside. Dozens of eyes, like those of an insect or a spider, stared empty into the chamber. The blood drained from Maggie's face as she saw herself reflected in those eyes—too many eyes—and not a shred of humanity, not an ounce of mercy in them.

As it prowled into the room, four bat-like wings furled closely around its lithe body, it made only few sounds. Even Witless Witts inhaled sharply, masking a gasp. Even the pirates in Shark-Eyes' company must have felt fear in the presence of these abominations.

Following the first, another crept inside, ducking through the doorway. Its two heads looked almost like pyramids, with no eyes to see but slavering maws. Its four equine legs stepped silently, and its claws rhythmically opened and closed, as if ready to slash necks and rend human flesh at the drop of a hat.

"I'm sure your moment of glory was born of desperation. My path was the same. I was willin' to sell my soul to survive in this dark world of man, this forsaken world. It is doomed, ya know? Whether we do anythin' about it or not. We can only choose to be the angels of its destruction and rebirth, or to perish alongside the rest of the apes. I chose to stand a cut above the rest of regular men. And they responded."

Clink. The last glass shard landed on the plate. Shark-Eyes folded his hands before him. His voice had fully calmed again.

"I believe not in God nor devil. The things here, the things I speak with—their whispers—I know they are not 'demons', but somethin' else entirely."

The creatures remained conspicuously silent.

Thumping. Footsteps neared. Witts arched a brow as they closed in on the dining room.

Hoskins shoved Jenny through the doorway. She stumbled, tripped, fell to the floor but caught herself. Looked up at the two creatures flanking the entrance as they studied her. One with too many eyes, the other somehow sensing her with no eyes whatsoever. Dark mucus dripped from its fangs and the lustful way it inhaled caused Maggie to shudder.

"The bitch was tryin' somethin' funny," Hoskins said.

"Funny what?" Shark-Eyes snarled.

Hoskins crouched down next to Jenny, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

"Talked me into closin' the door but a crack, then tried climbin' out the window. You are not as clever as ya think," he sneered into her ear. And with a wicked smile, looking up at Maggie to lock eyes with her. "And leavin' the girl to us, no less. What was it you were sayin', again?"

The creature with too many eyes hissed. Even though nothing about it looked even remotely serpentine, it emitted sounds like a rattlesnake. From where exactly on its horrendous form, Maggie could not discern.

"She might be cleverer yet than you think, ya dumb shit," Shark-Eyes said, tilting his head. The constant grins and smirks faded from his face, and he glowered at Hoskins with displeasure. "Zhaal here tells me that she set fire up there. And you are goin' to go right back up there and put it out now, aren't ya? Too many books in this fuckin' house that Bennet probably did not keep hidden in plain sight."

Everybody paused, frozen.

Eyes closed; Jenny smiled to herself. Maggie almost cracked a smile of her own.

"Go," Fentin growled at Hoskins.

His underling scrambled off.

The pirate captain sighed and nodded his head at the door, shooting Witts a glance.

"You too, help him. Prove to me you aren't as witless as the name, Witts. Earn your keep and earn that power ye've been promised."

Witts nodded slowly, then with more zest. He quickly got up and stormed out of the room. Leaving Jenny and Maggie alone with Shark-Eyes and the two demons.

Bound as her hands were in front of her, they allowed Maggie still to fold her hands. Like the legs of a spider, her thin fingers interlocked and clasped.

Like praying hands before her.

She focused and released the powers she had gathered in weeks past. Spells she had studied and meditated over for countless, sleepless hours, to the point of exhaustion. Unleashing forces that would fan the flames and feed them with pure essence.

Her own essence.

Maggie spoke, "Tell me, uncle dearest. You know as well as I that our kind can make fire—or make it grow. But do you know of any way for magick to put it out?"

She narrowed her eyes and could not help but smile at him like a cat. Like a cat playing with its food.

His face fell through various stages of frowning until it turned into a hideous grimace, contorting with boiling rage.

Maggie said, "Even if I cannot hear the whispers, I can still wield other forms of thaumaturgy."

"We truly are of the same blood," he snapped. "Are we not?"

The smile already gone, embracing the darkness she harbored in her heart, Maggie said, "Touched by shadow, and touching it." And in a whisper, "Always."

Shouts echoed from elsewhere in the mansion. Hoskins and Witts struggled to quench the growing fire. Jenny had started it, but Maggie's spell had rendered it unstoppable.

She almost jumped up in her chair—Fentin slammed the table with his bloodied fist, leaving another vermillion print. He thrust out another finger at her. Swallowed a remark.

The chair behind him went flying away as he flew into a rage, storming out of the dining room. His footsteps thudded, heavy with fury. He growled at the two demons.

"Watch them. If they run—kill 'em."

Maggie's chin crinkled. She refused to let him get away with this.

Undeterred by the looming threat, Jenny made her way to Maggie and started untying her.

The creatures did not leap. They started inching, creeping closer.

"I will distract them, and you make a run for it," Jenny whispered, so faint that a mouse would have sounded louder, so close that Maggie felt her breath upon her skin more than she heard her.

Her dainty and dexterous fingers trembled as they swiftly untied the knots binding Maggie's hands together—and froze in place.

"We hear you," said Zhaal. Its mouth did not move, but its voice sliced through the air, calm and menacing.

"We understand you," said Thorathoth. It had no eyes to watch, but Maggie felt watched by it.

Jenny started slipping the ropes out of the knots even faster. Clearly not her first time working with rope, but Maggie perished the thought.

The creatures crept closer, four clawed feet each that touched the ground and emitted only subtle little clicks and scraping sounds, drowned out by the rising cacophony outside, caused by three men struggling to put out a raging fire that now threatened to devour Bennet's mansion—and all his precious occult books.

"He is right, you know," said Zhaal. Its many eyes never blinked, like Fentin's. Cold, dark red. Evil.

"We are not so different," said Thorathoth. Its claws cut through the tablecloth as it took the long way round.

Maggie had no time to register the sensation of finally being released from her bonds. Jenny rose to her side and hugged the girl close to herself. More to comfort herself than protect her, probably, but a hint of selflessness hid beneath that cloak of self-preservation. The woman's head whipped back and forth, trying to keep eyes on both the creatures as they encircled them.

"The one you call God does not love you," said Zhaal.

Said Thorathoth, "He has abandoned you. Forsaken your world. But we—"

"We love you," whispered Zhaal.

"We love your world," breathed Thorathoth.

Maggie began whispering.

Incantations.

The occult words spilled out of her mouth. Jenny looked at her with growing dread.

Maggie knew the risks. If this went wrong, she would draw something far worse than these creatures into her world. Something ancient. Something beyond good and evil, something that could swallow thousands of souls in an instant and with little hesitation to annihilate another world in its wake.

But the monsters crept closer. And the whispers—they had told her that this Jenny was important. Even in their absence, she deigned to heed their warnings. Follow their prophetic call.

"We are but shadows of our true selves, stirring in our slumber," said Zhaal, having crept so close that the monster could pounce.

Its claws dug into the floor, like daggers piercing thick oriental carpets with ease and boring into the wooden boards underneath.

"We love your world so much, we wish to fully awaken in it," said Thorathoth, sounding raspier.

Hungrier.

The closer it got, the taller it looked. The greater the shadows it cast. As if it grew with each step, now towering over Jenny and Maggie.

"A valiant effort to banish us," said Zhaal.

"But we are not your enemy," said Thorathoth.

Their claws spread, poised to strike. Ready to slaughter.

"We are your salvation," said Zhaal.

The maws of its two heads opened wide, with spittle dripping from long, sharp fangs.

"We are the future," whispered Thorathoth.

"Inevitable," hissed both.

Inhuman, deafening shrieks left a ringing in Maggie's ears as both monstrosities lunged at them, then retreated several steps, hissing and snarling like feral beasts. The creatures reeled, as if having struck an invisible barrier.

All pretenses of playing nicely had dropped. The slavering beasts now growled and roared, staying just close enough that they could kill as soon as Maggie's spell even so much as waned.

She glowed. With an otherworldly light. Some would have called it a halo, but all definitions are cheap in the realm of the incomprehensible. Maggie could see her bright emanations in the reflections upon Zhaal's many horrid eyes.

"Stay close to me," she murmured, voice trembling.

She felt weak. It ate at away her very being. It taxed her so much. But it worked.

For now.

Jenny gripped the girl with great force, bracing her and keeping her from stumbling even as Maggie's knees buckled.

"Move," Maggie said. Then she shrieked at Zhaal, "Move!"

Jenny took the cue, stepping forward with Maggie, clutching the girl close to her bosom as they advanced. The creature retreated by the same measure. Defiant of abandoning its master's orders, but incapable of piercing that barrier, no matter how sharp its claws, no matter how deep it could cut into human flesh.

Jenny shuddered as Maggie uttered more words of power. They spilled forth from the girl's mouth—like pure instinct given sound. She did not even understand them, serving only as a conduit for something else.

The alien words stopped flowing from her mouth, followed by another shout, "Move!"

Jenny advanced with her, craning her neck to look behind them as Thorathoth followed, the two demonic predators staying as close as they could in defiance of whatever force kept them at bay.

The woman holding Maggie gritted her teeth and drew upon her final reserves of courage. Maggie felt it shining brightly, like a bonfire suddenly set ablaze. The light about her matched its incandescence.

They advanced more steps, and Zhaal shrieked again. Furiously.

Pained. It retreated more than an equal number of steps, suffering terrible agony. Its gnarled and blackened skin sizzled like drops of vitriolic acid landing on wood. The creature's form cringed, rearing back more and more and eventually—reluctantly—allowing them to pass.

The two backed out of the dining room, facing the two demons. The creatures followed every step. Both burned with malice.

"Whether or not you join us, we shall awaken," Zhaal snarled.

"Whether or not you live or perish, we shall outlast," Thorathoth growled.

"We shall rise," they hissed in unison.

Though fear still wracked her visage, Jenny barked at the creatures, "Fuck off!"

She backed away further with Maggie, cautious step by incredulous step, shoving the girl behind her but still holding her close, wary that the demons might tear them to shreds at any given moment. She understood not how any of this magick worked, acting purely on instinct.

Maggie clasped her hands together. Like praying hands. She had long stopped praying to the one the church called God, but now, more than ever, at the end of her wit, and possibly the end of their luck, they needed a miracle.

She needed the strength to work one last spell.

To break whatever kept the whispers at bay. The whispers—their only hope of egress from these monsters. And from the raging fire. The biting sting of smoke began to creep through the corridors, as Bennet mansion turned into a living hell, populated with monsters to match.

To escape from Shark-Eyes and his smoldering wrath.

"Every door your kind opens," said Zhaal, prowling after them like a wildcat.

"Every path your people pave," said Thorathoth, spreading its arms as if welcoming them for a deadly embrace.

"We come closer to our awakening," they said in unison.

And with that, the miracle happened. Coming from the most unlikely place. The creatures lent her the insight she needed.

Maggie imagined a corridor. A narrow, meandering hole. A place of fog and living darkness. Where the whispers reigned. Where the spirits swirled like mists. A place where the veil was weakest. A bridge between all worlds that ever were, and all worlds that ever would be.

Like these demons somehow entered the human world, so did the spirits somehow. And now, she needed to use that same road to escape.

"There," Maggie gasped.

She unclasped her hands and tugged at Jenny's arm. Pointed to a nearby door.

Jenny must have recognized it, confused over how such a useless room may grant them escape. But she trusted Maggie's directions, left with no other options in the face of such deadly horrors.

The woman ripped the door to the kitchen open but froze upon seeing what lay beyond it.

Went slack jawed.

There was no kitchen there, but a yawning darkness. A narrow corridor, roughly hewn into stone. Mists roiled in a deep and infinite, coiling passageway. Inhuman shrieks of spirits reached them from deep within.

And whispers.

The hair on Maggie's nape bristled once more. Not with fear, but an excited solace.

This—this was their salvation. A dark embrace that would grant them escape. Yet a pit of great peril itself.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat, worried more about Jenny than herself.

"We must enter," she told the woman.

"What? No. What is that?"

"We must enter," Maggie sighed, growing weak, slumping against Jenny's grip.

Darkness encroached from all sides upon the field of her vision. A deep sleep threatened to overwhelm her. And she dreaded the thought of losing consciousness, of this spell of hers ending, and exposing them to the mercy of the claws and fangs of Zhaal and Thorathoth, the demons that still followed, only two steps away at bay. Or worse: to the mercy of Fentin "Shark-Eyes" McLachlan.

The swindler propped her up and groaned, "No! Alright. Fuck!"

Jenny clamped her eyes shut and plunged the two of them into the depths of that corridor.

Light engulfed them.

The demons refused to follow. Consciousness slipped further and further away from Maggie. The deeper Jenny carried her—eventually truly carrying the anemic girl in her surprisingly strong arms—the mists of this impossible corridor swallowed all sounds. Jenny's shoes created no echoes, as if she walked upon thin air.

And perhaps she did.

Even as the whispers gave Maggie comfort, the spirits here were anything but benevolent. The terror in Jenny's face justified, for if the spell ended prematurely, the entities here would claim them. Swallow them whole. Sever their ghosts from their bodies, making them disappear from their world in an instant, never to be seen again.

Only the light that shone from Maggie, mysterious, and bright, and warm, guided the way. Allowed Jenny to carry her deeper and deeper down the corridor.

A speck of light appeared at the end of this infinite and reality-defying hallway. Bennet's mansion had long disappeared behind them, molten into the pool of darkness, taking with it the dread pirate and his demons—Maggie glimpsed as much as she fought to keep her eyelids open.

Spirits all around them yearned to feast on their life force.

To drink their memories and fool themselves into thinking these were the lives they had lost, distorted through the confusion that grew with each passing moment in the intersection between worlds. More afraid than living mortals of the afterlife, whatever it truly was.

A place that bled outwards, seeping, and soaking the fabric of what humanity considered to be… reality. A growing wound.

Only the faerie light that shone from Maggie kept all these hungry, angry, confused spirits at bay.

Eventually, the girl fully slipped from consciousness, long before Jenny even reached the end of the corridor.

Yet the light refused to die.

—Submitted by Wratts

[lovelikedestiny]

5. Andy: Your heart which was mine

I promise to give you love and more,

to worship this present of the divine.

Though Andy has been waiting for it ever since they knew what fucking Kozak did to Nicky, she doesn't feel armed in the slightest when Joe opens his mouth. She has sent Nile to get them coffee at the airport while they wait for their flight to be called. Next to her, only Joe, her right hand, her brother, her support, is leaning against the hood of the car. His presence is infinitely familiar to her and yet this familiarity is now frayed at the edges and peppered with splinters that don't let her forget what is at stake.

Everything.

More than Andy ever hoped. More than she ever wanted.

Even though she has to maintain her composure as their leader because her team is relying on Andy to lead them out of it, she feels nothing but fear as soon as Joe starts talking.

It is not the fear that sharpens the senses through adrenaline and enables you to do things that you wouldn't have expected of yourself before. That fear is on the other end of the spectrum. It is dull and hidden, digs deep into her guts, paralyzes her, weakens her. And Andy can't be weak.

Not now.

Not now, when it is more important than ever to keep her family together, with all her strength. It is almost the bitter irony of fate that Joe and Nicky, her oldest friends and companions, are now threatened with the same loss they helped her get through back then. When the ocean took her Quynh.

Quynh in exchange for Nicky.

The passionate flame for the soothing moonlight.

Her love for her baby brother.

Andy has never in her life hated fate as much as at this moment, because it is not fair that Nicky of all people - who always insists on destiny and their doing good - shall be so disappointed by his belief. And that she should lose him and Joe in exchange for Quynh.

She resigned herself to never seeing Quynh again, hoping that Quynh was dead because the idea was easier to bear than that of Quynh suffering never-ending agony in her wet grave. There is not a moment in her life when her heart did not bleed from loss and the painful lack of love. Quynh's necklace on her neck is a constant reminder of her failure. And now Quynh is out and it seems that Andy is not only on the verge of losing her forever, but also losing her hold on Joe and Nicky.

Andy can't stand the thought that her Quynh, the sharp-tongued, stubborn, bright, cheerful woman who fought at her side for centuries, was distorted by the salt and drowned by the dark water. That the person she fell in love with has changed so much through her terrible fate that they are even told to stay away from Quynh. Have to stay away. To protect their family.

But precisely because of the deep affection, the love for a person does not just disappear and is not tied to a single character trait, Andy finds it infinitely difficult not to look for Quynh. Even if Quynh is no longer who she once was, Andy has never stopped loving her and abandoning her soulmate after she is finally free, is like a splinter in a wound that could finally heal but is prevented by it.

I'll find you, Quynh, Andy has promised herself in her head every night since that discussion, swallowing the lump in her throat, blinking away the burning tears and continuing to do what she does best: survive.

Wait for me, my lost love.

But Andy knows Quynh's wild, unbridled temperament and even if she refuses to believe Nile's and Booker's words that Quynh could direct this anger against her family, Nicky's condition prevents her from taking that risk.

Nile, Booker and Copley would have no chance against Quynh. Nicky and Joe together for sure, but Nicky is so sick it's scary and Joe is just eager to protect him. The truth is that Andy could never forgive herself if Nicky was seriously hurt because Andy let her feelings blind her and misjudged the situation. Just as Joe would not forgive her if her wrong decision caused Nicky damage that could not be undone.

Usually, Joe is quick to forgive and cannot hold a grudge for long. There is not the slightest bit of this kind of forgiveness in Joe left, however, if anyone intentionally harms Nicky in any way, or if it could have been avoided.

Especially with this serum that makes Nicky's immortality go crazy and takes him in front of their eyes, Joe is more than ever like a wild animal that has been pushed into a corner and still wants to defend its partner at all costs.

And fuck, Andy herself is no different. She hardly dares to take her eyes off Nicky and thus also Joe and this fear, this restlessness when she cannot see or hear Nicky and Joe, is more than atypical for her.

She wants to take Nicky, sweet, kind Nicky, in her arms and protect him from all bad things, which chose Nicky to be its victim. She wants to elicit rumbling laughs from Joe and reassure Booker that his family is there for him. She wants to be a role model for Nile, and more than anything, she wants to taste Quynh's lips again.

Still, all she sees when she closes her eyes is the blood Nicky vomited in Copley's sink the first time, and Joe's panic when he begged her to tell him what to do. The same helplessness she felt then just leaves a bitter, gall-like taste in her mouth.

"If...If...If...” Joe starts several times, his tongue clumsily stumbling over the sounds to be formed and Andy feels every single letter like a small but no less painful cut in her skin. Joe never has any problems finding the right words and Andy wants to strangle the life out of Kozak's body with her bare hands. For giving her boys so much pain and letting them become ghosts of themselves.

"If it goes wrong and we can't find a cure and Kozak still has more of the serum, I'll take it too." His eyes are fixed on the small sketchbook in his hands, in which he is scribbling senselessly. In contrast to his uncertain looks, his voice sounds steady and Andy knows that Joe has already made this decision for himself. Just like Nicky knows.

Take care of him, Andy. A cold hand in hers, fingers that use bows and sniper rifles, wrapped around her wrist, weak as blades of grass. I know him. He will find a way to follow me should all hopes be lost. I want you to take care of him.

But how is she supposed to do that if she can't take care of Nicky too?

The premonition that the two of them could someday be doomed by their close bond was always there, and yet they continued to fight at Andy's side. For the good in the world, to do something good. Using their immortality to help others. Andy is not ready to let it end this way and let Kozak win. To let her take her boys because they only come in two.

“I know,” she says, suddenly feeling so tired. Tired of the constant struggle they wage because no one else can and the weight on their shoulders with everyone they cannot save. Tired of the pain and exertions to which they expose themselves to contribute a drop in the ocean and with which they burden their souls. Tired of getting nothing repaid except the greedy, profit-oriented intentions of selfish people who got them into this situation. Kozak should burn in hell with Merrick and Keane and all the other assholes in the world. And she will.

Andy herself will make sure of that.

"You're not going to talk me out of it?" Joe continues to look at his hands and suddenly Andy wants him to look at her with his soft, warm, deep eyes. Because she wants to make sure that he is still with her, in flesh and blood, no matter how much pain his gaze will show her.

"I doubt I could," she replies quietly, shifting her weight so that their arms touch. The cold morning air is crystal clear and makes her shiver, but Andy welcomes the cold, as well as the numbness it brings and dampens her emotions. "And I would never ask it of you." Never ask of you to fight without a heart.

She remembers the tearing feeling inside her when Quynh was dragged out of her cell very well. As if her heart had been torn from her chest and her voice, which was broken with screaming and screeching. If she had had the chance then to end her life without Quynh, she might even have done it. Who can say that now? It is not in her power to deny Joe what she longed for in the days after Quynh's disappearance. Not when the worst should happen.

She owes it to Joe and Nicky that she is where she is today. Her brothers helped her search for Quynh to the point of exhaustion, shared her torment, reminded her of the good in the world that is worth fighting for. However, the fact is that Andy cannot cope with such a loss again.

Lykon's death was a severe blow, the loss of Quynh brought her to her knees, but Nicky's death...no, Andy wouldn't be able to give Joe enough comfort and support, and she doubts that Booker's and Nile's would be enough.

Because Nicky and Joe have never been alone, have never known anything other than the presence of the other. I can't separate them.

"All I can think about is that when we found you after they got Quynh, there was a spark of relief in all the shock and horror. Because...Because it wasn't him. And I know it's unfair and selfish. But I was so grateful it wasn't Nicky. Because it was clear to me deep down that I couldn't live in any world in which he did not walk the earth.”

The feelings of guilt that she reads in his mirrors of soul are more cruel than any pain and she grips his neck and pulls him to her. She feels no judgment within herself, no anger at Joe's words, just deep understanding and sadness.

Joe lets himself be guided without resistance and puts his arms around her, his face safely hidden at the crook of her neck. His strong shoulders, which have to carry so much, tremble, but Andy knows that Joe doesn't cry.

That's why she took Joe with her and not Booker. Booker is without a doubt an extremely capable fighter alongside his gadgets and explosives skills. However, there is one thing he lacks: the firm, wild determination to win, evoked by the prospect of losing Nicky forever. Andy needs this ferocity, this frenzied strength of a desperate man, because they only have one try and cannot fail. She will do by any means to guarantee that.

"I know," she says again, closing her eyes and breathing with Joe. “And you don't have to feel guilty about it. If it had been the other way around, I would have felt the same way."

Joe clings to her and Andy makes no move to break the hug that is supposed to give both of them strength. "I don't want to let you down, but if Nicky d-dies..." The word sounds choked and rough. “...Booker will mourn, and Nile too, and you...too. But you will be able to cope with it and carry on and that is impossible for me.”

You're wrong, Andy wants to tell him. I can't. Not again.

But she swallows what is on her tongue and does what is expected of a leader. She keeps going even when she loses soldiers. “You won't let us down. You two don't, Joe. Neither will we let you down. Never.” She's glad Joe can't see her face. The tears in her eyes would have given her away.

“Whatever happens, we are with you. Until the end,” she assures him and briefly increases her grip. Maybe that's her punishment. Because she has stopped looking for Quynh and could finally get her back, Nicky slips through her fingers. She could never have made such an exchange.

"Until the end," Joe repeats and Andy releases him. It's the crooked little grin, painstakingly maintained, that almost breaks her. “Who would have thought you could give speeches like that, boss? I should make you emotional more often.”

"Don't you dare, idiot!" She punches him on the shoulders and sees Nile approaching them with three coffee cups.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

[leilajoon]

An Educational Leap

My name is Leila. I'm a lesbian from Iran. I migrated to Britain a few years ago. I was a teacher in my country and the story that follows happened in the summer of 1986 when I was in my twenties. In order to make my story understandable for a foreign reader, I should explain the situation of those years. Shortly after the 1979 revolution, a theocratic dictatorship began which harshly oppressed the women in Iran. In 1980, a war started between Iran and Iraq. Since the government couldn’t provide sufficient military hardware for its army, the army had to rely on human waves. Masses of humans had to be brainwashed into believing that they are fighting in a holy war and if they die they go straightly to Heaven. But what kind of place was this Heaven? According to Islamic clergy, Heaven is a paradise full of tasteful food, beautiful palaces and Houris – mindless sex slaves who always stay virgin and unconditionally offer themselves to faithful people! The government used propaganda to encourage martyrdom. Since it’s a little hard to brainwash a grown man with that promise, the propaganda mostly targeted children. Brainwashed child soldiers were suitable for human waves since they made submissive cannon fodders. There was even a lesson in school books about a 13 year old child soldier who tied grenades to himself and jumped under a tank! I'm ashamed to admit I had to teach such lessons at school without realizing their effects on my students. Back then, I had made a small safe world for myself which was separated from the rest of society. Nobody cared about me and I didn't care about anyone else either, except for my partner Faranak. She and I were friends since our childhood. We grew up together, went to school together, realized that we were lesbians together and became partners in secret. She was also a teacher and worked in the same school with me. We are still together after all these years. Our families were close too. Back then single women weren’t allowed to live alone and homosexual relationships were a cardinal sin which could lead to execution as well. So, Faranak and I found a solution; There were many people living in our families small homes, so we asked them for permission to rent a small unit just across the corridor from theirs. With us so close, our families felt as though we were just living in another room, and their homes had more space. Faranak's family was also okay with that for similar reasons. Thus, I managed to create a safe place for myself and my love to live freely and happily. The government of Iran enforced mandatory wearing of Hijab for women and was extremely harsh on women teachers. We had to cover all of our body except for face and hands with thick black clothes. On the outside, I was a strict Muslim woman who dressed in black and preached the governmental propaganda at school. On the inside, I was a sexy lesbian who listened to western music and went to bed with another woman every night. One summer I had to teach the students who had failed their exams. Unlike the educational year before the summer when classes were crowded, my class only had 10-12 students who had failed in their Mathematics exam. I tried very hard to educate them, but it was useless. I dressed in a thick black veil in an extremely hot summer, went to school, spent several hours teaching Mathematics and gave them a small booklet which was simplified as much as possible and contained anything they needed to know to fully answer every single question in the final exam. But all that was to no avail. They never listened. Their minds were not in the class. I had become well acquainted with them. They were good people. Some of them had jobs and were providing for their families. We were in a relatively poor neighbourhood and as a result of hard lives, their faces looked much older than their age. Some of them had really believed the governmental propaganda and expressed a desire for going to the war fronts. That saddened me. I felt that I couldn’t just hide in my little safe place with my love and ignore the outside world. Faranak – who didn't work during that summer – agreed with me as well. She encouraged me to motivate them. Failing could have meant no future for them. Most of them probably would have ended their education after that. They had all the material means for passing the exam. All they needed was to read my booklet thoroughly and carefully once or twice. But that was too much to ask. They had failed the previous exam, not because they were stupid or lazy, but because they felt that there was no point in schooling. The "heroic" lifestyle which was propagated back then for a student was abandoning education, becoming a religious zealot who sacrifices himself for the ruling government, goes to heaven and finds Houris waiting for him there! At the last session I tried one last time to educate them. I explained a simple question which I was planning to put on the final exam. But when I asked them to repeat my solution, there was no response, as if I had talked only for myself! So, I resorted to my final solution: a motivation. I knew they were close friends, so I said "If you all pass the exam I will buy you cookies and if you all get a high grade I will buy you ice cream". I meant to motivate them to work together and encourage each other for studying harder. But they started laughing. One of them said "How about giving us pacifiers? Those work better for us!" another one said "Get a lollipup for me!" and another one said "I want a bedtime story!" I realized my mistake. They were not little children. I couldn’t motivate them with candies. I felt stupid and embarrassed. How could I have made such a mistake? As I was processing my mistake in shame and regret, I heard another voice. "What if we all get the perfect score?" That was surely not a serious question. They wanted to mock me some more. I really don't know how it happened or what I was thinking; maybe I felt so belittled that I felt compelled to give a mind-blowing answer to put them in their place; Maybe after realizing how childish my original promise was, I decided to replace it with a grown up one; Maybe I meant to challenge their manly pride by offering them something they couldn't reject for fear of being belittled themselves; Or maybe it was a combination of all these reasons. But, in any case, I gave the following answer: "If that happens, I will get naked and do an Arabic dance for you all!" Suddenly the laughter and buzz stopped. They all stared at me with their eyes wide open and mouths half open. After a few seconds someone replied, "Seriously?", and I answered, "Of course! You think I'm a liar?" At that moment I felt powerful for silencing them and ending their mocking. Now it was them who needed to defend their manly pride. In their minds, turning down an offer like that would have meant that they are not interested in women! And since one person's failure would have meant no prize for the rest, that put extra pressure on them for working hard to get it! They made me swear that I would do it. When some of them objected that fulfilling my requirement was impossible, I assured them there will be no question they wouldn't be able to answer if they understand my booklet perfectly. I promised to dance for them and to make it more believable, I reduced my promise from dancing buck naked to dancing in bra and panties. They all agreed to study as hard as they could in order to get the highest grade possible, which wasn't very hard to achieve if they really tried. I went home laughing. I thought to myself: They are such simpletons! They actually believed me! When they realize I lied, it will be too late! By that time, they will all have graduated with good grades! That’s what's important, not their disappointment afterwards! I told the story to Faranak. She was shocked. We had talked before about how the governmental propaganda was harming the students. She asked how my promise was less corrupting for their minds than the promise of Houris in an afterlife paradise? I tried to convince her my intent was to motivate them toward something that would actually benefit them. She insisted that if I lie to them, I might motivate them once, but they would feel stupid and betrayed and will become untrusting for the rest of their lives. She said "If they graduate like this, they will fail next year, end their education there and you have merely wasted one year of their time." She was speaking the truth. I had made a hasty decision without considering the consequences. I was thinking of my own success and not their future. But what could I do after realizing that? That was the last session of our class. I couldn’t see them until the exam. I couldn't come to an acceptable solution. There was no acceptable excuse for not doing what I had promised. I could have made the exam harder than what I had promised. One mistake was a sufficient excuse. I could have been very strict when it came to correcting their papers. But that was a betrayal of their trust. Faranak asked me "Why don't you actually do it?" At first I thought she was joking, but she was serious. She reminded me that we danced at the secret parties we attended without our families knowing. She asked me, "What's the difference? Are those students less decent or more outsider than some of those weirdo guests who stare at your good parts at the parties? Besides, the school is almost empty when you go there. The only other person except the students is an old janitor who never visits your classroom in that hour and you can lock the door to make sure of that." I began to think for myself. I realized that I had become a tool in the hands of the government for preaching its nonsense ideology. Why can we promise the students that they will see some imaginary sex slaves waiting for them in heaven if they get themselves killed for some stupid cause, but they can't see a real woman who is not covered in suffocating black clothes? How was dancing for them as a present for accomplishing something beneficial immoral but promising Houris as a present for doing something criminal was moral? I thought if I left them like that, not accepting my responsibility in preaching that poisonous propaganda and never try to change what I've done, how can I justify my own lifestyle? What if someone like one of them discovered what I did in secret? Even if that never happened, I had to live the rest of my life feeling guilty as a hypocrite. I put myself in my students shoes for a minute. What was a woman in their imagination? What image had I created in their minds? A strict and sullen person who always covered herself in black in order to avoid provoking their sexual desire – that was the legacy which I left for them, whether I liked it or not. I labeled them perverts from whom women need protection from. But I didn't want that to be my legacy. I had one final chance to correct that. I could prove to them that women can be fun and sexy without being slutty. I could prove that they didn’t need to die for some stupid cause to receive sex machines as a present in the afterlife; They could have real women who had minds, cared about them, were honest with them and appreciated their good behavior. Faranak also argued that punishing all of them for a tiny mistake of a single student wasn't fair and would ruin their friendship with any person who failed to get the highest grade despite trying hard; and if I'm going to do what I had promised, I should ignore a few slips and do it if I become assured that they have really tried their best. So, I took Faranak's suggestion. I prepared a sexy set of black bra and panties which went well with my white skin. I got an Arabic music cassette tape and practiced some Arabic dancing. On the day of the exam I put on some makeup and did my hair. Faranak also accompanied me to encourage and support me, make sure I fulfill my promise and, perhaps more importantly, see me dance semi naked in front of the class! As we were expecting, none of the school staff except for the old janitor (who barely left his room or cared about anything) was in the school. Students were disappointed when they saw another teacher with me. One of them asked, "Miss, what about your promise?" I informed them that my promise stands and Faranak was there to make sure of it! I sat them away from each other to make sure no one cheated. The exam began. As I had promised, studying my simplified booklet was sufficient for answering all the questions. After the exam, Faranak helped me to correct the papers. And what do you know! There was not a single slip! They all got the perfect score! When I announced that, there was a hooray! I was somehow relieved that I prepared myself for keeping my end of the promise. Disappointing them at this level could have made them very angry. One of them asked, "So, will you do it?" and I replied "Of course, did you doubt me?" But I asked them to listen to me for few minutes before getting their reward. I explained the conclusions which I had arrived at and apologized for preaching the nonsense which I had taught during the year. I explained that being beautiful and sexy isn't equal to being a slut and they should see me as a person who is entertaining and rewarding them for their hard work, not a sex toy who wants to seduce them to having sex with her; and that they should respect women and value their personalities as well as their outer beauty. After that I locked the door and put the cassette player which Faranak had brought on my desk. I asked the students to sit in the front row. Faranak also sat there with a big smile on her face. I was still covered in the official black veil, scarf and gown but I was just wearing a sexy set of black bra and panties under them. I removed my veil and opened my scarf, revealing my black hair which the students were forbidden to see and had no idea how beautiful it was. I wanted to make the last part a surprise, so I turned away from them towards the black board and undid the buttons of my gown. Then I turned towards them while I was holding my gown from opening with my hands. I asked "Ready?" they simultaneously replied "Yes!" and Faranak replied the loudest! I dropped my gown and revealed perhaps the most astonishing sight they had seen in their lives (except for Faranak of course!). There was only silence and amazement for a few seconds, until Faranak broke it with whistling and clapping and soon everyone joined her! I laughed and realized that I wasn’t ashamed or afraid at all. I posed for them for a minute and let them get used to my body. Then I turned on the cassette player and started an Arabic dance. The viewers clapped with the rhythm of the music. I danced for about five minutes, until the end of the music. When I stopped, Faranak began chanting "Again! Again!" and not surprisingly, everyone joined her! I was just getting warmed up, so I met their demand. I felt that I was getting better and their whistling and clapping encouraged me further. After the second round, chanting started as before: "Again! Again!" by this time, you don't need me to say who started it! "Nope. It's over!", I said. "Ahhh! Please! We were having fun!", they pleaded with me, and I surprised them again: "No, don’t get me wrong. I meant that the prelude is over. I'm just getting warmed up. I'm not going to repeat the same dance for you until you get bored with it. Since you have been very hardworking and polite, you deserve a special reward." They asked what it is, but I didn't say a word. I just smiled, gently opened my bra and threw it on the desk! The class exploded with whistling and clapping! Especially Faranak was so excited that it was like she had never seen me naked! I began the third round. This time I did my best. I just wish we had a video camera back then to record it! That day I danced a total of five rounds which lasted about half an hour. I was topless during most of it. Despite all the sexual attraction my body and moves may had for my students, I felt that what excited them the most was my courage and honesty, not mere sexual attraction. My students could find pictures of naked women elsewhere, but finding a teacher who dared to risk her life in order to fulfill her promise, in a society which was polluted with hypocrisy and lies, was something to celebrate! At the end I thanked them for their hard work and politeness. I had danced almost naked for them for half an hour without hearing a single indecent word. That meant a lot for me and proved that they really listened when I asked them to be respectful towards women and not see them as sex toys. I knew that I couldn’t expect them to keep the whole affair a secret, but I wasn't afraid of any gossip. On the contrary, I preferred to publicize what I had done without confessing to doing it. I felt that I had nullified preaching those horrible ideas during the educational year by my final act, and I stand by my decision to this very day. That night Faranak returned my favor. We stayed up all night, tussling beneath the sheets, body to body. As a result, two of my best memories took shape in a single day!

[ajoy3fanfics]

Captive

  Prologue Here

Chapter 1

Bridal processions were known to be a spectacle- extravagant, ornate affairs that took months of preparation, each detail planned, purposeful; at least, that had been Kagome’s experience. She had witnessed the marriage of several high ranking officials as a young princess, and even a few of her grandfathers new wives being welcomed into his harem, though it had been some years since he sought after a new bedmate. The greater the status, the grander the affair; yet even those who could not afford such luxuries conducted their own versions with what they could spare. She had enjoyed watching the carriage stroll through the streets, decorated in gold, surrounded by well wishers, those in the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the beauty behind the screen.

It was different this time.

A political marriage did not usually include a love match, was not typically formed for romance or lust. No consideration is given to the looks of the soon to be husband, of his personality or manners. It was quite common for a man old enough to have sired his bride take her to bed, many husbands going bald or grey while the beauty beneath him radiated youth. It would be an unfair match, to be sure. There would be no common ground, no similar interests. If the gods blessed them, their coupling may produce a child; and if the gods truly smiled, a son and heir. Maybe then the couple would find something to talk about. The marriage would be cold and lonely, but that is the price of such a match, or so Kagome had been told. Having been schooled in more than just manners, she was aware of the duties of royal lineage, although her grandfather had often eased her fears. She would marry for love, he prophecies, she carried the aura of one lucky in love.

Instead, she carried with her responsibilities, the groom treaties, and together they would mend a politically torn hole. That was the idea, at least. Thus, bridal processions left the city more in mourning than celebration, few knowing that the counties prize rose was to be planted in foreign soil. None left their homes to watch the carriage proceed, the meager guard surrounding each side, ready to tackle the long journey ahead.

It was a bland vessel, not craved and painted with the Higurashi flowers that decorated every corner of their homes. There was purpose in doing so; the guard itself would attract attention, but beautifying the carriage would be shouting to the world of its finery inside- a risk, a call to every beggar and thief, tempting their fate with each turn of the wheels.

Her outfit, elegant silk, a light pink that reminded her of the delicate petals of the cherry blossoms clung to her bosom like a second skin, shoulders exposed and flaring at the waist. It was a finer fabric than she had worn in a long time- far too precious for daily palace life- but still, not the outfit of a bride.

The dress should be white, pristine. The train should be long and heavy, requiring several ladies to carry it so as not to let it drag on the ground. Such a dress would be impractical for the long journey ahead, and advisor Naraku had urged his attendants to find her a garment that accentuated her natural curves. Should trouble come her way, it would be an easier fate to be a common woman rather than a hostage princess. If the captors did not try and sell her for ransom, their men would take turns having their way, sating their carnal desires and hatred of royalty.

Kagome leaned her head against the velvet pillow of the carriage, trying to find a moment of peace. How long would it be until they reached the kingdom? The uncertainty was one thing, but the journey itself was long and arduous. From the back, she could hear the laughter of the men, hearty and joyful, going forward without a care. They seemed at ease on the road, and next to their brethren. The ones who marched by her side were quiet, having no one to talk to, and the general up ahead, proudly seated atop his fine horse, the only one in the troop. She had seen a few of them trying to catch glimpses of the maiden behind the screen. She couldn’t blame them; the beauty of the first princess was legendary, often commented on in the city, but rarely seen in person. It was unbefitting for someone of her station to mingle with commoners, so the princesses only had each other as company, and the few attendants close to their ages.

She turned away from the small window, trying instead to focus on the scenery as it passed by. She wished she knew what the soldiers were joking about; it was quiet lonely to sit by oneself for so long. Having had her sisters companionship the whole of her life, she was nervous to be in a strange land without her. She wondered if her sister was nervous, if she had the same hesitations. It was a foolish thought. Her sister was headstrong, brave; the sort that would never put up with this treatment.

The laughter ceased suddenly, the carriage stopped to a holt. Kagome was jostled in the process, hair falling out of its pins into a lopsided mess she was unsure how to fix. Nervously, she peaked out of the window, trying to determine the cause of such chaos. She called out to the men, eager to hear reassurance that all was well. They shouted, urging her to stay inside, not to worry, all would be handled, though their tones were not to be trusted. She could hear the panic, the confidence fleeting as their swords were met with the sound of growls. She did as she was told, gripping the handle for whatever attack may come. Kagome was fighting her own battle, wanting to leap out and assist, yet knowing full well she would be a hinderance. She was taught to attack if necessary, but only if there was no man left to defend her. Should a princess put herself in the line of danger, a soldiers natural instinct would be to protect his ruler, putting all parties in danger. Even knowing this, her conscience cried! She could help, she must defend her people! To hell with her grandfathers rules, with Narakus wise words; real people were in trouble and if she could help-

It was silent, no familiar sound, no rallying cry.

In her indecisiveness, the last of her guard had fallen, his cries overshadowed by the growing number of growls, hungry and dark, nearing her at an alarming pace. There was a voice among them, almost human to her ears, and she dainty heard him give an order before pulling the door wide open.

He looked wild, his brown fur pelts strapped across his chest in mock armor, hair knotted and twisted, leaves clinging to the strands as if he had emerged from the trees itself. Wolves surrounded him in either side- a pack larger than those she heard in tales- their eyes yellow, hungry. He grinned at her, lewd, unnerving, and reached inside to grasp at Kagome. Fearfully, she scuttled to the back, not wanting to be this mans conquest nor his clans dinner.

“Don’t be shy, missy. We were lookin’ for you.” His teeth were yellow, pointed in an inhuman way. He was a demon, and she was trapped. So hard was Her heart pounding in her ears, she did not notice the murmurs of the wolves down. It was only when one howled, chilling to the bone that caught her attention.

The beast turned, drawing away from Kagome and looking back towards his pack. He cursed at an invisible figure, soundless, skilled. Having abandoned the princess for a fight, Kagome knew that though her options were limited, she now had them. She could jump out of the carriage, fleeing for safety, taking her chances that the culprit would not hunt her down. On the other hand, she could barricade herself inside, hoping that whoever laid in wait would simply pass by.

In the end, the choice was not hers; Kagome realized in that moment how few choices she had had in the last 24 hours, how she had taken for granted the plethora of options she had before her only a day ago.

She heard the footsteps before she saw them, heavy black boots that came into view of her tiny window. They stopped, just in front, as if examining the carriage. There was nothing discerning- it was a simple cart that would fetch a small sum, but hardly worth the lives that had clearly been taken. In one swift movement, the door flung open, revealing an armored man, beautiful, frightening.

His silver hair, long and thick, was tied into a bun, red speckles of blood marring it’s fine color. Kagome fell backwards into the carriage, stumbling at the sight of such a being. He narrowed his eyes, golden, blazing against the light of the day, causing the trapped princess to shiver. He was no ordinary man; then again, she was no ordinary woman. She was a princess, and had a duty to uphold. She would not tremble as she had done with the wolf; She was raised with dignity, and if these were to be her final moments, she would go with pride. Kagome set her jaw, doing her best to stare him down. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him smirk.

The man reached in, grasping her arm and pulling her forward. He held her, considering her as if she were a piece of merchandise. He sniffed once, as if testing the air for her scent.

“Well, you ain’t a whore.” He rasped, tone flirting with the trace of amusement. His eyes took notice of her body, resting on the swell of her chest. His lips turned up in a teasing manner. “Then again, this look isn’t too bad”

With her free hand, Kagome readied herself you slap him, but his reflexes were too fast, the hit blocked with minimal effort. Kagome realized his claws, razor sharp, were not digging into her skin, but easily could.

“Do you always hit people who save your life?” He barked.

“Only the ones with vile mouths.” She spat.

The man cocked his head, considering her. “Feisty, eh?” The man seemed genuinely amused at the situation, although princess Kagome could not figure out why for the life of her. “So, what are you?” He sized her up, eyes raking over her state of dress. “A mistress? Lady to a small lord?”

“I am none of your concern.” Kagome met his eyes, steeled, refusing to break contact. She pulled, attempting to free herself. “Let. Me. Go.”

He smiled this time, his grin toothy, revealing a sharp, dangerous fang. “No, you’re none of that.” He leaned in closer, making Kagome realize how much larger his body was than hers. He was muscled, his armor heavy, but he wore it as if weightless. “You’ve got a defiant look in your eyes. Not used to answering to anyone, are you?” She twisted, the silk fabric falling off her shoulder, revealing more than intended; in a normal situation, she would have the good grace to blush, and he the manners to let her adjust her state of dress; but that was not now, and he was not that type of man. He wrinkled his nose, the smirk still plastered, lazy. “Feh, you reek of Higurashi roses.”

Kagome pulled once more, demanding he set her free. “I can pay you.” She promised. “Return me, and I can give you ransom.” It was a bargain, one she hoped he would take.

“And why would I want that?” He smirked again, a knot growing In Kagome’s stomach. “It’s not every day princess Kikyo makes an appearance in these woods.”

She froze, eyes wide at his realization.

He didn’t know.

This man- the wolves- all of them- thought she was Kikyo.

It was not a huge leap, anyone would assume that the carriage would belong to the first princess, on her way to be wed.

Except it was the second princess on the road. The second princess who was sent out as a place holder, buying time until Kikyo was located. She escaped in the night, always one step ahead of the court, refusing to wed a foreign man and forgo her future.

It should have been an easy trip. It should have been Kikyo, not her, staring down a solider with burning amber eyes.

“Word travels fast, princess. You’re not so secret engagement has been the worst kept secret I’ve ever heard, and because of that, those bastard wolves snuck through our land, slaughtering an entire village along the way, just trying to get to you.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand, a slight trace of stubble growing in as the daylight grew dim. “Lucky for you, I hunted them down before any real damage was done.”

Any real damage? Countless men laid on the cold ground, never to rise again, yet he talked of ‘real’ damage and casualties. Kagome knew this was a time to bite her tongue, not wanting to upset him further. When she said nothing in response, he sighed, as if unamused with her display of dissatisfaction.

“Can I trust you to walk, or do I have to tie you up? Your choice, princess.”

[rayshippouuchiha]

Merthur drabble

So this is the first time I’ve written something since I wrote a Gary Stue x Mary Sue kind of fic at age 11, so don’t judge it too hard ok?😅Also, it’s more a collection of ideas that spawned from the first one than a drabble, since I didn’t want to expand too much on it. Do tell me what you think please 😊

The idea was born over me wondering “since Merlin is immortal, even from physical wounds and poison, what would’ve happened if his magic was discovered by Uther and he’s taken to the pyre?”. Bonus points if you catch the reference to an episode in the later seasons of the show that I sneaked in there. This would take place right before Morgana goes to the druids the first time (meaning she is still mostly loyal to Uther, Arthur and Camelot). Maybe Myror doesn’t try to kill Arthur during the tournament but instead disguises himself as a servant and tries to do it when he finds himself alone with Arthur in a corridor, with Merlin coming from around the corner just in time to catch him.

Merlin is too far away and the knife was thrown from such close range that he can’t save Arthur subtly as usual, and is forced to conjure a magical barrier between Arthur and the assassin instead, while still in Arthur’s field of vision. Using the assassin’s moment of shock against him, Arthur is able to kill him but is then consumed by the feeling of betrayal and rage. He does what he always does when he wishes to see someone punished: he takes Merlin to Uther, initially expecting him to be merely banished from the kingdom on account of having used magic to save his life. Pretty soon, he realizes that Uther does not care in the slightest what the magic was used for, only that it existed, when he declares that Merlin will suffer the ultimate punishment for his treason: the pyre.

Arthur ardently tries to protest, of course he does, but it is already too late. There is no going back, and due to his strong feelings on the matter Uther confines him to his rooms, watched by half a dozen guards, so that he would be unable to help Merlin escape. He also decrees that he cares too much about a mere servant, and to teach him a lesson he will be forced to witness the execution himself

Merlin is taken to the dungeons, bound in cold iron shackles (or something similar), unable to access his magic to free himself, and is visited by Morgana.

She starts cursing out Arthur for his part in his fate, but he begs her to forgive him. “He’s an idiot”, he says, “but he didn’t mean for this to happen. He just thought that I had been lying to him all along, and he wanted me banished for it so he acted impulsively. We both know that if he had taken a moment to think he would have sent me away himself then changed his mind in a few days after speaking to you and Gaius. You didn’t see his face when Uther declared I was going to the pyre. Please don’t blame him”

Morgana then tries to tell him that she will get him out somehow, but he convinces her otherwise, since she already attempted to allow Tom to escape recently, and thus would be the main suspect. And besides, he is being too closely guarded for any escape attempt to succeed without the use of magic.

He explains that he knows she has magic, and begs her forgiveness for not helping her sooner. He suggests that she make up a reason for going on trips occasionally, and use that time to ask the Druids living nearby to teach her to control her powers. Finally, he grabs her hand, smiles sadly and says:

“You are the kindest, fairest lady I have ever known. Don’t let your fear and anger make you lose sight of that. I am honored to have called you my friend. And remember, never lose hope, because at the very least I will make sure my death reminds Arthur that magic is not always used for evil. He will change things once he is king, I know it. So have faith, milady. And protect that cabbagehead for me once I’m gone, will you? He gets into so much trouble, he’s gonna need someone at his back”

Morgana loses her composure and begins to cry, releasing heaving sobs while Merlin tries to comfort her. He tells her that it will be alright, and to stay with Gaius and Gwen the next day. He does not wish for them to see him die this way.

The next morning at dawn, he is taken before the stake where his “crimes” are read out loud. He is then tied to the stake and allowed to speak his last words. Merlin draws himself up as much as he can, and declares in a loud voice that he didn’t choose to learn magic, and was instead born with it, and in all his years he has never once used his abilities for evil. He proudly proclaims that he has only ever used his magic in service of Camelot and his lord, Prince Arthur. He killed the afanc and thus ended the plague upon the kingdom. He enchanted the blade that defeated the griffin. He defended Arthur from bandits and assassins from the shadows. He discovered the treachery of the sorcerer Edwin then used his own magic to reverse the spell that would have killed Uther. He killed the Sidhe Sophia and Aulfric before they could sacrifice Arthur’s life to return to Avalon. He took part in the forging of the blade that ultimately felled the wraith of Tristan de Bois. He convinced Anhora, guardian of the unicorns, to give Arthur another chance when he first failed his trials. He saved Arthur from the bite of the Questing Beast by offering his own life in return, then struck down the sorceress Nimueh when she attempted to take the life of an innocent person instead. He defeated the dark sorcerer Cornelius Sigan and his magical army, then sealed his soul away once more.

Once finished listing his deeds, he looks Arthur directly in the eye and says with a tremulous smile “Arthur may think of me as an underachiever but I’m quite proud of those accomplishments. I… I can die happy”

Incensed, Uther gives the order to light the pyre while a heartbroken Arthur is forced to watch, held back by two guards as he desperately tries to run over and free Merlin from his bonds. The fire ignites, and Merlin can’t help but scream. Arthur closes his eyes. Next to him, Leon turns away.

One hour passes. Then three. Then six. And yet, Merlin’s screams still ring out over the crowd. Many people, initially eager to witness the execution, now thoroughly regret coming. The screams, they reverberate in their minds, and those with family members around his age feel sick to their stomachs. No one in the world, not even the most heinous of criminals, deserves such a brutal, horrendous pain, and if his words before the pyre was lit are to be believed Merlin deserves this least of all. No one can understand. There is no wind to blow away the flames, no rain, and Merlin is clearly burning, yet he just won’t die.

Looking closely, it is apparent that something strange is afoot. Merlin has burns all over his body, his skin is red or blistered or charred black by turns. In some places, one can even see the white of his bone peek through his wounds. However, after a few seconds, the blackened skin seems to heal and turns pink once more, only to burn again.

Uther orders several of the guards to move forward, and use spears to end Merlin’s misery. They stab him in the gut, and Merlin’s blood dies the ground crimson. After a few minutes, Merlin’s screams cease and a sigh of relief sweeps through everyone present.

…

But it is not over. Soon, Merlin’s shrieks start anew, and one knight slits his throat in desperation. But to no avail. Suddenly, as the wound at his throat heals itself, Merlin’s cries restart. But they have changed. The ground shakes, and the sky turns black from countless dark clouds suddenly converging over Camelot as he loses control of his magic. And over the cacophony of noise from the thunder and the rumbling of the earth and the screams of the frightened public, Merlin can be heard…. Begging someone to please, please kill him.

Arthur weeps helplessly in the grasp of the guards. Uther is flabbergasted. He doesn’t understand what is going on, and thus is forced to call his resident magic expert to the scene. Gaius has to be dragged kicking and screaming before him, tears running down his face.

“What is it you want, your majesty? Isn’t it enough that you are killing the closest thing to a son to me, for the crime of saving your son’s life? Do I have to watch it happen as well?”

Uther forgives his insolence, just this once, and instead asks why it is taking Merlin so long to die. Gaius almost can’t believe what is happening, but ultimately explains that Merlin is called Emrys the Immortal by the druids, who say he is magic itself. He never believed this literally, having only thought they meant he is a being of unfathomable magical power, but it is now apparent that their words are nothing but the truth. Merlin can’t be killed, and continuing with this atrocity is only meaningless torture.

Uther agrees, and has Merlin taken into the castle. Arthur immediately frees himself from the stunned guards and goes after him, only to find him in the corner of one of the cells with his wounds slowly healing by themselves, crying silently while occasionally letting out heartbreaking whimpers. He is staring at the wall blankly, and doesn’t react at all when Arthur speaks to him. His mind wasn’t able to withstand the excruciatingly torturous experience, and has shattered.

Eventually, Arthur convinces Uther to allow him to keep Merlin with him, since he is clearly not a threat to anyone. After a while, Merlin stops making any sound and will only look ahead, unseeingly, only capable of following orders, completely unable to do anything by himself. Wracked with guilt, Arthur then does his best to take care of Merlin with the help of Morgana, Gwen and Gaius; feeding him, bathing him, dressing him, and comforting him when he wakes from night terrors in the middle of the night. Looking after someone who is essentially disabled eventually takes a toll on Gwen and Arthur’s relationship, and they agree they are better off as friends.

At some point, Arthur is attacked again and Merlin instinctively protects him with magic: this is the first action he has taken by himself since the pyre. Arthur breaks down into sobs, hugging Merlin close and begging him to say something, ANYTHING. Merlin doesn’t answer.

It takes many months, perhaps even years, but eventually with Arthur’s loving care Merlin does get better. His very first word after his ordeal is “Arthur”.

Arthur is so overwhelmingly relieved the first time Merlin makes a sassy comeback again that he falls to his knees in the middle of a council meeting. A panicked Merlin helps him to his feet, and Arthur uses his arm to pull him into a backbreaking hug. Merlin becomes Arthur’s most trusted advisor, and there is no threat they don’t face together.

In the meantime, his words before the pyre and the way he continues to protect Arthur, even in his current state, move the hearts of the people and obviously Arthur himself. Eventually, the protests in favor of repealing the ban on magic get so ridiculous, with so many people behind them, that even Uther has to concede defeat. Forced to face the truth about the nature of magic users and the reality of his actions against them, Uther health deteriorates from the stress and he confesses his mistakes to Arthur and Morgana, particularly in regards to what happened with Ygraine and Vivienne. It is a long time before either of them will speak to him again after that, and it takes almost until he is on his death bed. When he takes his very last breath, their forgiveness feels like absolution.

Morgana takes Merlin’s words to her that night to heart, and settles for being named an official princess once Arthur is king, and being given her very own stretch of land to lord over. She still spends much of her time in the castle, and once Merlin is back to his old self somewhat, she visits him often to practice magic, dote on Aithusa and share gossip. She eventually makes Morgause come around and she becomes Morgana’s most fearsome guard and protector. She is also given a place in court by Arthur.

Arthur names Merlin Court Sorcerer, and eventually their devotion for each other blossoms into a love so passionate, so fiercely protective on both parts that no one dares speak out against it. Gwen agrees to be their surrogate to create heirs to the throne, with loving support from her husband Lancelot. He and the other Knights of the Round Table accept Merlin as one of their own, and are almost as protective of him as their king. Soon, Uther’s supporters, magic haters and dissenters stop appearing.

With the entirety of Albion behind them, Merlin and Arthur bind their lives together in what is later called the wedding of the millennium.

As prophecy stated, together Merlin and Arthur usher in an era of peace the likes of which the world had never known, for both magical and non magical people. Once Arthur decides to retire, he leaves the kingdom in the capable hands of their first born, and then they leave to explore the world. They come back from time to time, of course, to check in, to share their wisdom, and they defend Albion with everything they have when called, but for the most part they just travel and revel in each other’s presence.

As their legend spreads throughout the world, people will sometime claim to have seen them in one place or another. Sometimes it’s true, sometimes it isn’t. And when Albion’s greatest time of need comes, they are there to face it. Together.

[stories-by-rie]

87 Rooftops

Glenn Finlay van der Meer had always dreamt of becoming the boss of a shady crime organization ever since he had been a young child. When everyone else was aspiring to become a veterinarian or astronaut, he had already committed to lay out plans and schemes to overthrow the economy, because – as he once explained on the school’s play ground to the nine friends he tried to recruit – the only true rule over the world would be through marketing and catching jingles.

One of those kids, Sibylle, had put her hands on her hips and yelled at him that he was a brat and that she would quit their friendship at that very moment if he didn’t stop speaking about it. At her brave words, the other eight kids felt infected with her heroism and joined her, as kids at such a young age often did.

Now, he hadn’t been successful in winning those friends over, but at the age of only seventeen he had managed to pitch the concept for several products that were especially designed to make people’s lives a living hell. The first was a dust wiper which looked useful, but you actually had to purchase new pads for it very frequently, and now it was popular all around the world. This had been his first step to world dominance and by the age of twenty four he had become some sort of urban legend.

Known as The Money’s Advocate, he did not like to make his hands dirty anymore. Seeing his rising, two of his old childhood friends had changed sides and were happy to place a deadly threat there, steal some scandalous information there and do his bidding ever so loyally.

The finest black suits designed were always sent to him first. The newest laws always lay on his desk before they were passed. He had every judge on speed dial.

The few who actually knew more than romanticized myths hated him more than they thought possible, more than refill pads for ugly dust wipers, more than a winter full of dirty muddy snow, more than the sound of forks and knives scratching over dinner plates. But there was one among them who had taken that hate to an entirely new level.

Sibylle had only to spare a glimpse to a new product to know if it had been designed by Glenn. She also had to find out very soon that the only way to overthrow his cruel rule, she had to become better than him. More cunning, faster, better, even more evil if that meant to beat him.

Without hesitation, but with grief that didn’t weigh any less, she gave up on her dream to become a tenure and land degradation specialist consultant and gave in to her true call.

After highly competitive years, it had now come to this very situation that no one could have seen coming, but which was inevitably bound to happen.

Her blond locks flew elegantly in the wind upon that skyscraper’s rooftop, her cape’s hood had long been blown down and gave away her masked face that sternly looked down to the man at her feet. His expensive suit was ripped at his shoulder from their fight, but he still upheld his composure.

  “You’ve changed for the worst.” Contempt dripped from her words as her face screwed up in a painful sneer. No matter how much time had passed, the years they had spent in deep friendship still felt too fresh.

  “Coming form you, that is the best compliment I have ever received.” He grinned back at her, ignoring the pain in his bound wrists.

She shook her head woefully and turned back to face the city’s lights.

  “You know,” Sibylle muttered, “I really thought back then that our friendship was worth more than this. Than being rich and having friends, power and glory.”

Muffled yells from Glenn’s accomplices sounded outraged and furious, but Sibylle ignored them nonetheless.

  “I have the need to remind you that it has been you who quitted our friendship first, Sibby.”

  “Don’t call me that name,” she hissed back at him, but he only laughed.

  “Oh, Sibby, Sibby, Sibby. You’re still so full of anger and – heroism? So much that you pretty much took the full curve back, didn’t you? That all those years, you have been my biggest competitor, I still can’t believe it!”

  “It was the only way to get close to you.” She turned back to him, had taken her mask off now and this only undermined the hurt she was struggling with. “And you’re right, I will never know if it was worth it, bringing all that doom to humanity.”

Glenn laughed again, though this time it was mixed with disbelief and maybe even hidden despair.

  “Doom indeed! I still can’t wrap my head around it. All those social media algorithms. Written by you? You put a veto on self cleaning glasses! Ingenious! And here I thought I had finally thought that I reached my goal to become the worst of the worst.” His smile faded a little and a reminiscent look appeared instead. “But I suppose, I have, in the end, only become the worst version of me. Not the worst of the worst. I’m still too-,” a silent sob tied his throat to a knot and his cheerful facade cracked finally. “I’m still too good.” When he looked up to her, tears were filling his eyes, and an apologetic deepness laid in them.

  “That’s not true, boss!”, one of his friends yelled in the back, he had managed to get rid of the handkerchief Sibylle had pushed in his mouth to silence him. At those self-shattering words, he could no longer stand to idly sit back. “To me, you are the actual worst! The worst of the worst! There had never been anyone more evil in both mind and heart!”

But Glenn might have been villainous, but not dumb. There was no other choice than to admit that he had lost. Sirens started to sound in the distance, coming closer and closer.

  “Please, Sibby, let at least my friends go. They have done nothing wrong, whatever they did in the past, it was only my bidding. They don’t deserve any of this.”

  “You know that I can’t. All of us will turn ourselves in, so evil won’t be any longer.”

  “But boss!,” the other man yelled now, “There’s still time left! We can do even worse than her! Just trust in our organization, we will surely be saved in any second. The Green Gloved Fixer and The Snaky Henchman will come to your aid. You just have to trust them!”

It was then that Glenn truly listened to their words. The realization struck him like a lightning.

  “Do… even worse? Composing more super annoying jingles? Paying more internet trolls?”

  “Yes!”, both of his friends chimed and finally, hope returned to him. Ultimately, his look fell back on Sibylle.

  “How about we join forces? This is your chance to get high class suits! We could follow my dream together just like I wanted back then!”

But she just shook her head.

  “No, how could I give up on my plan now? Ever since then I just wanted to be your friend, but for what price, Glenn?”

  “Be… my friend? But Sibylle, I thought you hated me all this time. I did dream of this life, but partly I just wanted to prove to you that it was possible. That I could do it!”

  “But you never had to prove yourself to me! I knew all along that you had the guts for this! That was the reason why I wanted to stop you!”

For a short moment there was silence until they both erupted in laughter.

  “You know, I guess even if you denied my request back then, you did join me in a way. Being my competitor has driven my creativity to find new places, broadened my horizon! And you were evil all this time. Who knows what else we could achieve together?”

Sibylle kept giggling and put back on her mask.

  “I would love to be your friend, Glenn. Let’s keep working together then!”

And thus, the two childhood friends became close once again, pushing the world into even more doom. Glenn did not keep it a secret that Sibylle was partially responsible for his success, and when he introduced her to others he proudly announced her as his partner in crime.

~20.07.2020~

Based on this prompt  by @givethispromptatry

[mbtiofwhys]

Futaba Sakura

INFP

Functional Order: Fi - Ne - Si - Te

Spoiler warning This article will cover Futaba’s analysis with references to both Persona 5 and Royal main plot and events from her confidant.

Premise We know that Futaba is considered INTP by the vast majority of the fandom, so in this article we’ll proceed a bit differently. First of all, we’ll discuss why in our opinion Futaba isn’t INTP and how to differentiate between cognitive patterns, behaviors, hobbies and traumas. We’ll also address the problem of consistent writing in a fictional work. The second part of the article will move past why we don’t think she’s INTP and instead will cover why we think the best suit for her is INFP. We’ll make sure to be meticulous in our work and we’ll provide source material if anyone wants to check type theory more in depth, so please stick with us until the end. Obviously, if someone wants to discuss this with us and has solid proofs towards INTP, we’ll gladly listen!

Futaba isn’t INTP

We browsed a broad number of discussions about Futaba on the net, because at first we thought that if INTP is what everyone agrees on, maybe there were reasons we weren’t seeing. But in reality, we couldn’t have been able to find a solid analysis of her character that arguments its point with functions and cognition - apparently, she tends to be considered INTP only based on the stereotype she conveys in the game: the quirky, nerdy hacker waifu who loves pc stuff and is socially inept. So, our first approach was: ok, regardless of the stereotypes, she might really be INTP. But what does INTP mean? INTP implies: dom Ti, aux Ne, tertiary Si and inferior Fe. The Ne/Si axis can be spotted pretty easily in the game, but we’ll address this more in-depth later. The problem has been the Ti/Fe axis. Dominant Ti means a person approaches reality through logical lens: they problem-solve, they analyse, they dissect everything reality provides them until they find a structure that makes sense for them. On the opposite side, there’s inferior Fe: the unconscious need for harmony, for being liked by others, the lowkey want of being of any help without precisely realising how. Looking at Futaba, in our opinion, there aren’t much signs of a Ti/Fe axis, neither in her normal state nor in stressful situation. Futaba can be snarky, she’s quick witted and a bit weird, but she isn’t strictly logical - and besides, it’s not that a love for hacking and witty comebacks are personality traits exclusive to high-Ti users. And speaking about her awkwardness, we think that there’s a key point that is often overlooked: in Futaba’s case, social ineptitude isn’t due to inferior Fe, it is due to a trauma. Futaba lost her mother in an accident, and that event affected her so much that she became a shut-in for a year - that’s not something one easily recovers from. We know from her confidant that she didn’t have any friends beside Kana when she was in school, but to be fair, this isn’t a vital thing to know when typing someone if we don’t know the details. All we’re told is that she was bullied/ignored for being quirky and surprisingly smart for a girl her age, but again, this isn’t a thing exclusive of dominant Ti. From a person who didn’t leave her room for such a long time, it’s to be expected that her social skills would be far below average, especially since she’s so young. What is interesting to look at, though, is how she dealt with her trauma, what has blocked her for so long and what moved her forward once she started recovering.

Futaba probably is INFP

We can’t say this with a 100% certainty because in her case, past the Pyramid arc, the writer(s) didn’t do a very great and comprehensive job of showing other sides of her personality that fall outside the “quirky, nerdy hacker waifu” stereotype, even in her confidant. Nonetheless, there are more than a few elements we deemed worth looking into more. First of all, there’s the time she spent as a shut-in. From what the game showed through scenes inside and outside her Palace, it’s safe to assume that Futaba suffers a severe Si-loop, with all the incapability of moving past a certain event that prevents one from looking out for other possibilities (healthy Ne) and instead brings one to close off the outside world. More specifically, we believe it’s a FiSi loop, more than a TiSi one: the difference lays in how the person revives said past events - do they over-analyse them? Or do they wallow in their own emotions? The problem Futaba had with the whole situation (and this is repeatedly pointed out by her shadow) it’s exactly that she developed a distorted vision of what happened, due to the fake suicide note and her own guilt, and she couldn’t think straight about the whole situation. But more than that, she didn’t even try to think about things logically - she went full on self-blame, seeing herself as the murderer who killed her mom with her tantrums and childish attitude. This is a delicate topic, because all her reactions are probably tied to survivor’s guilt as well, but the point is that she didn’t even try to rationalize her supposed fault, either. She simply lived with her feelings, judging herself as a horrible person who did something extremely wrong and, thus, has to die because this is what she deserves. So, yes, given how brooding and being very hard on oneself are two patterns that characterize high Fi, especially when hurt, we believe that a FiSi loop is what led Futaba to become a shut-in. Another very interesting thing to look at is what happened when an unexpected solution came up: the Phantom Thieves. Futaba finally reached for help, but she did so in a way that can easily remind of an inferior Te grip: she became controlling and contacted the group to blackmail them into helping her as a desperate measure to get out of the situation. But she acted hastily, with only the hint of a weak plan that in fact crumbled the moment a first obstacle came up - in order to proceed with the change of heart, she would have to show her face and expose her identity, a thing she absolutely didn’t account for, and thus she dismissed everyone and called it quits. The heavy imbalance in the dom/inferior axis gets progressively fixed over time: firstly, she reconnects with the outer world (aux Ne) and learns to appreciate again all the stimuli she can get from it. Secondly, she relearns how to behave with other people and how to live in the normal world (we’ll get to this later). And, lastly, she focuses on a goal again: finding the truth about what happened to her mother. As she admits herself, this is “a super personal reason to join the Phantom Thieves”, because it’s not tied to justice or changing society: she wants the truth and she wants the revenge, and joining the group it’s the first, most effective way to obtain what she’s after. This is how a balanced Fi/Te axis works: a personal goal to reach that is tied to one’s true self and feelings, towards which the person takes concrete steps in a (more or less) structured way. Furthermore, regarding her hacker’s skills: the love for computer and coding isn’t a trait bound to high Ti. The fact that many Ti users like it doesn’t mean that if someone like it, it must be a Ti user themselves. And looking at Futaba, she specifically founded Medjed as a way to bring justice (her justice) to the world, but discarded the name as soon as other people associated with it and started to use it for personal gain. She no longer recognized Medjed as something lined with her moral, and thus distanced herself from it and became Alibaba instead. This way of thinking is something more aligned with Fi than Ti.

Social ineptitude doesn’t mean inferior Fe

“Recall that Fe is about creating a positive social support system that opens one up to receiving love and expressing generosity. [...]Immature Ti doms often suffer from: stunted emotional development, lack of empathy or inability to understand people, antagonistic/antisocial behavior, misanthropy or cynicism, selfish or stingy mindset, very shallow or unhealthy relationships.” (via mbtinotes here on Tumblr) While we can see why all of this can be easily linked to Futaba, as we’ve stated above the fact that she doesn’t know how to deal with people comes from the time she spent as a shut-in after a traumatic experience, and it’s not tied to inferior Fe. Let’s focus on this topic: inferior Fe and how it may resemble social ineptitude and social anxiety. Futaba lived as a hikikomori for months, a self-imposed isolation where she only (and barely) interacted with Sojiro. There’s also another crucial factor to bare in mind: Futaba is still very young. As a teenager, she hasn’t developed a solid sense of self not because she has inferior Fe rather than dominant Fi, but simply because she still has to live her life, making mistakes and going through significant experiences to mold her identity. Saying that Futaba may resemble a Ti dom in her social interactions is true, what makes a difference, though, are the reasons behind those behaviors: Futaba finds difficult being in big crowds or talking to strangers not because she has an immature inferior Fe, but as a result of her past traumas and the absence of human interaction in her life for a year. As we remind often in our articles, we have two dogmas: to look at cognition rather than at behaviors, and to always remember how traumas aren’t related to one’s MBTI type. So, those behaviors are tied to her social anxiety and social ineptitude not because she has inferior Fe, but rather due to her traumas and a lack of social skills caused by her hikikomori life-style. We then need to look at how Futaba ‘normally’ behaves when she’s not stressed. She doesn’t speak unless the conversation interests her, she doesn’t like useless pleasantries, she often comes up with witty retorts or comments but never in an inappropriate way. We should have, let’s say, three main factors in her interactions if she really had inferior Fe: the awkwardness tied to the will to try that is met by a constant failure, the incapability of reading the mood despite the will of ‘being appropriate’ and the lowkey strive for being accepted.

In order:

Futaba doesn’t want to try, especially at first. She only tries when she’s invested. Her first, most genuine reaction when the group ask her questions or try to involve her in their conversation is to sit on protagonist’s bed facing a wall. Because, even if she’s grateful to these people, she doesn’t properly care for them - so, they’re not worth the effort of breaking old habits. When the effort is worth? When they start talking about something that she finds interesting, and when she grows a sort of affection towards them. So, when everything starts to feel personal;

Futaba isn’t interested in ‘being appropriate’. She hardly cares less, in fact. And all her snarky comments remark how she can be quite capable of placing them without resulting awkward or ruining the mood;

Futaba doesn’t want to fit in. We understand how it can be easy to think that she strives for acceptance, but in the end, this is simply not true. Futaba “marches to the beat of her own drum” and only because she feels safer with the group or empowered by their presence, this doesn’t mean she looks for acceptance in the way Fe does. On contrary, her whole ‘recovery week’ after Medjed’s defeat revolves around the search for balance: Futaba has to learn how to live in a functioning way, but at the same time the Thieves themselves must adjust to her personality. She has to grow, but she doesn’t have to change, and certainly she doesn’t want to smooth certain aspects of her personality only to please people.

In conclusion, her initial behaviors (wearing a mask in public, hiding behind protagonist, panicking in crowds) are all tied to a form of social phobia/anxiety rather than inferior Fe. 

The proofs of dominant Fi

If you want to say that there aren’t super strong evidences of dominant Fi in Futaba either in the story or her confidant, you have all the right to say so. Because it’s true. And, in our opinion, this is a case very similar to Ann’s extremely absent aux-Si: a problem that stems from writing and developing the character itself. We plan to talk more about P5 and writing in the future, but for now we’ll quickly address Futaba’s problem: as other members of the cast (especially female ones) she’s not given much opportunity to shine outside her stereotype. Her psyche and trauma are well addressed in her arc, and this is why we could gain sufficient elements to exclude TiSi loop and point towards FiSi loop. But the problem is that a character (and a person) isn’t only their traumas, and a personality cannot show only in circumstances of heavy stress. Unluckily, outside of her story arc, Futaba tends to stay in the domain of witty comebacks and nerd quotes/jokes - not that she ever gets OOC, but she doesn’t show a rounded and complete personality, either. One of the only things that stays constant throughout the story is her profound desire for truth and revenge for her mother: she joins the Phantom Thieves for that reason, she pushes through the Velvet Room confinement thanks to that, and she even mentions wanting to study cognitive psience in her future at the end of Royal. And all this is deeply tied to a personal aspect of herself and her life, namely the bond she had with her mother - this is why we think Fi dom suits her more than Ti dom, alongside with her not having inferior Fe. One could say it’s not much, but in cases like these, process of elimination also comes in hand: if she’s not INTP (which, in our opinion, she absolutely isn’t, despite having lot of stereotypical INTP traits), but still has aux Ne and tertiary Si and is an introvert (because all these three points are evident) the only other choice is INFP.

If you made it this far, thank you. We know ours is an unpopular opinion, but we hope we explained our reasons. If you still think she’s INTP and disagree with us, please let us know why, as we ourselves would like to know deeper reasons why people type her that way - and no, the fact that she’s nerd and is a hacker doesn’t count.

If you’re interested, these are the resources we’ve referred to in our analysis:

An entry from Funkymbti on loops: https://funkymbtifiction.tumblr.com/post/142527516660/can-you-describe-what-each-loop-looksacts-like

The part of Mbtinotes’ cognitive guide referring to inferior Te and Fe: https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/theory#inftefe

Mbtinotes entries regarding spotting Fe vs Fi and Te vs Ti: https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/post/137908467362/type-spotting-fe-v-fi https://mbti-notes.tumblr.com/post/142863816372/type-spotting-te-v-ti

[asarsgyan]

Chapter 9 - Extraditable Tits!

Catalina did not know it, because in her house television was destined for novels and they never watched the evening news, but in one of them and with a scoop quality, the United States Ambassador to Colombia appeared announcing that the DEA, In coordination with the Colombian state security agencies, a rigorous investigation had just completed that resulted in the names of the new drug lords responsible for shipping more than 200 tons of cocaine a year to the United States and Europe.    Among them were Morón, Cardona and "El Titi", in that order of importance.    The next day the newspapers headed their front pages with the names of Pablo Escobar's successors, the Rodríguez Orejuela, Carlos Ledher, Santacruz Londoño, the Ochoa and Gonzalo Rodríguez Gacha, emphasizing that these new bosses belonged to a more intelligent generation, in the sense of not showing off too much, more elusive, with greater capacity for bribery, more educated because some of them even studied at large universities, something that their relatives from whom they inherited the business had not done. In short, they were less visible.    Of course, the news that spread like wildfire and reached the ears of everyone, except Catalina and Yésica, put the members of the new Cartel into disarray.    Some said they were sheltering in guerrilla camps to evade the action of justice. Others said that they were negotiating with the paramilitaries who were negotiating peace with the Government at that time, so that they would pass them off as commanders and thus achieve a political status that could free them from an extradition request that the United States he did not deny any drug trafficker. Other sources claimed to have seen them fly to Venezuela, Panama and Cuba in their private planes. The truth is that when Catalina and Yésica arrived at the building where Cardona lived in order to ask for the money, they only found uniforms from the Police, the Prosecutor's Office, the DEA, the Army, the Interpol, the Sijin, the Dijin and the DAS and , at least a dozen journalists armed to their glasses.    They did not worry, because many characters of national life lived in the building and they thought it was their bodyguards, but they knew that something serious was happening at that moment when they were stopped at the door, by an officer, with the face of an inquisitor, who He asked them where they were going. Neither of them was able to answer and they were expelled from the place without explanation.    Catalina began to suspect that her luck was playing a new trick on her when Yésica asked one of the police officers, who was a friend of hers, about what was happening. The policeman who belonged to the cartel's payroll, told him in a code that the bosses had been taken by the whores and almost the police, so they had to leave before a DEA plane took them to the other side. He was referring to the fact that they were to be extradited to the United States. Catalina once again felt the world collapse at her feet and panicked when she learned that Cardona and his cronies had disappeared in disarray. Yésica marked them several times to their cell phones and found them turned off. Catalina was convinced of what the Policeman had just told her and felt, once again, the same desire to die that she felt the day that "El Titi" rejected her or the night that Albeiro told her that if she had bigger tits it would be the queen of Pereira.    —Parcera, we screwed up! —Yésica told him, very scared and she began to walk from one place to another, scared to death because this new situation was going to kill her with hunger and Catalina with sadness.    -And now? The petrified Catalina only managed to say while, inside, she vanished little by little. Yésica said nothing and went with her to find a list of her Mafia clients, but the only one who answered and with a changed voice was Mariño. Yésica asked him about Cardona, but he was scared, he told her very nervous that he did not know any Cardona and that, surely, she was wrong. Then he hung up on him. They dialed him again but his phone was already off. Without extenuating circumstances and painting the things the color they were, Yésica only managed to express with regret to her pale friend: "    Sister, we screwed up." Those guys left and left us sucking.    To capitalize on the anger she felt at this new disappointment, Catalina looked for Orlando Correa's phone number and made an appointment for him in the central park, under the statue of "Bolívar Desnudo" where "Caballo" had left her planted with the illusion in tow that afternoon rainy that never came. He congratulated him in code for having "made the return" as he was, that is, for having killed "Caballo" without being "caught" and summoned him at four in the afternoon, because he needed to see him to tell him how much he loved him and to ask her for the favor of making love to her.    Immersed in a fairy tale, knowing himself desired by a woman as beautiful as Catalina, Orlando Correa arrived at the meeting place at four o'clock and greeted her with effusiveness and enthusiasm. It was scented and wearing beige denim pants and brown suede shoes. The white shirt with green and brown stripes, which was already worn, looked very clean and neat. Catalina also looked beautiful and made enormous efforts so that the hatred she felt towards him or the sadness she felt for the rout of the drug traffickers, and especially Cardona's, was not noticed.    With anguish, Orlando wanted to finalize Catalina's main proposal during his call and invited her to a motel. The girl told him that she gladly accepted, but, weaving the web of her revenge, she exploited her billy goat weakness and asked if he would like to be with two women at the same time, because she had a friend who was also in need of a man and that she was sorry to leave her alone, in that state, being, as she was, his soul mate. Orlando responded with a lump in his throat that yes, of course, of course, of course, that there was no problem. I could not believe it. He was about to realize his sexual fantasy and even more so with the woman he was beginning to love. They then went to pick up Yésica,    At the generous request of Orlando, they settled in the most luxurious room they found in that place decorated with bad taste and a series of strange architectural expressions that combined columns full of channels and monumental pedestals copied from ancient Babylon, large postmodern windows to gardens with pots hanging from the windows of coffee farms. In the room they found a triple bed whose railing served as a support for two bedside tables without any grace, two lamps anchored to the wall and a car radio embedded in the main drawer of one of the nightclubs. Near the door was a comfortable striped fabric sofa and a table with three chairs and a thick, heavy glass vase. The curtains were red like the rug in the room and a television set against the wall, it projected the usual pornographic images: a woman sucking a man's penis. Before the incredulous and anxious look of the honoree, the two women began to remove their clothes with a high dose of premeditated sensuality, while the naive bodyguard only managed to undress with clumsiness and anguish, without taking his eyes off them.    According to plan, from one moment to the next the women stopped the show and asked Orlando to let himself be tied up to make the moment more exciting. Correa, as his colleagues and bosses called him, accepted the irresistible proposal without objection. The women proceeded to tie him hand and foot to the bed with ropes that they brought in his bag. Emotion did not make him suspect anything. The truth was that as soon as the innocent man was reduced to impotence, the women began to dress to his total amazement and they climbed on him with the desire to make him pay for everything he and his two friends had done and also everything he had not they had done. They beat him ruthlessly, in a kind of summary judgment, while reminding him of his crimes.    He was beaten to death, especially on the genitals, so that it would never occur to him to take advantage of a girl again. Catalina fiercely hit him on the penis and testicles with the vase that adorned the room. Orlando's screams competed with the radio, which Yésica turned the volume to its highest level. The hostage shouted for forgiveness, but his pleas were useless. The women were ready to take away forever the weapon with which he raped the girls and they did. Orlando lost a testicle, the sensitivity of the glans and the possibility of reproducing again.    Before fleeing the place, Catalina forced him to tell her the name of the third man who abused her that night and poor Orlando, beaten as he was and threatened with losing his penis and his remaining testicle forever, had no choice but to tell him that his name was Jorge Molina, while gave his phone number.    Jorge Molina was summoned in the same place. Catalina told him that she remembered him with desire, that of the three he was the one she liked the most, that if he had any problem making love to her and that if she was upset if she brought a friend to her love affair who was in need of a man Well, she was sorry to leave her wanting and even more after telling him that he was the best fuck in the world. Jorge Molina, the most lustful of the three, didn't bother. His omnipotent male ego soared through the roof.    He felt that the sky was not that set of white and gray clouds with blue backgrounds that he saw every morning from his window but rather the fact of making love with two beautiful girls like Catalina and Yésica. He took it so hard that before taking them to the Motel he went to a sex shop and spent a fortune buying Chinese stimulators, perverted thongs, ejaculation retardants and even a waitress apron that made them look more provocative than what they already looked.    On the way to the motel, he had all the illusions in the world. The most important was to propose that they both marry him. He was thinking of telling them that he loved them deeply and that the three of them go to live because wherever they saw him, in a borrowed car and everything, taking care of the bosses' backs, at all times, he was going to turn into a tough one in a short time. That he already knew the business, that he already knew how to make coca, that he already knew the routes by heart, that he already knew where to find the contacts in Mexico, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago and Madrid and that, very soon, When he reported his bosses to the DEA, he was going to have a lot of money to put both of them to live as they deserved, as the pair of queens they were.    She also thought that it was not a bad idea to spend the last of the fortnight taking them to a mall after leaving the motel and buying them a nice pint, with shoes included, so that they would become familiar with his broad and disinterested manner. to be. Entering the room he managed to tell them that they were going shopping when they left the motel. They thanked him with a simultaneous kiss on his cheeks and advised him, to calculate how much money he had, not to bother because they were very demanding, which is why the detail could be very expensive. Jorge Molina, who all his life had trachetal airs, told them not to worry because if he promised something it was because he could.    They did so before tying him up on the pretext of wanting more emotions and an hour later, poor Jorge Molina lay on the bed, bloody, about to lose consciousness, with his genitalia in a sorry state, his face bruised from blows and saying the code of the debit card that, along with 300 thousand pesos, was the only thing that supported his gossip. In an ATM in the center of Pereira they took out 860 thousand pesos, which was all that poor Molina had, and they went to get drunk twice. One to celebrate revenge against the three men who prevented him from selling the virgo to Mariño and another for the disbandment of his tracheo friends whom they missed with pain.    Orlando Correa and Jorge Molina found themselves in very similar situations during those days with broken faces and manhood, but they were ashamed to admit that they were in that sorry state thanks to the anger of two women, so one of them invented that a A taxi had run him over when he got out of the boss's truck; and the other, Jorge Molina, the most chicanero of all, that a man tried to kill him, probably because he did not want to pay extortion to the guerrilla group that blackmailed him. He said that because of his appearance, the cars in which he walked and how well dressed he kept, a front of the Farc often confused him with a rich man. Neither of us believed each other, but for the others,    But the drug stampede did not only affect Catalina's ego and dreams for the third time, nor Yésica's pocketbook, nor the occupation of the surgery room of the aesthetic clinic, nor Dr. Bermejo's plans to buy a BMW. It also affected the intra-family relationships of Ximena, Vanessa and Paola, whose mothers, accustomed to receiving large markets and money as a result of their daughters' work, dedicated themselves to singing them, day and night, until they made a desperate and denigrating determination: to work in a whorehouse where, for much less money, they would sleep up to three times a night with strangers of all kinds.    None of this was told to Catalina and Yésica who ended up filming in Bogotá, from aesthetic clinic to aesthetic clinic, and from friends 'houses, whom they bored in a week, at other friends' houses who did not know that they were going to them. to bore in a week.    The formerly listed Paola was assigned as the first client to a public official. Well scented and very well dressed, not so good lover. The bureaucrat agreed to an hour of pleasure with her for 200 thousand pesos. Once the deal was finished, he went to the bathroom, took a box of viagra from his jacket and took a pill with water taken from the sink and held between his juxtaposed hands.    Paola who was waiting for him in a damp room full of bad out of the six energies that the house had, all she did was think and think about "El Titi" and what he was going to say to her when he found out that because of her protective fault she had had to become a whore.    In those, the good-natured man with a corrupt face appeared and began to outline a nervous and stupid smile with which he asked for a kiss. She told him that the kisses were only for the boyfriend and he managed to upset him so much, to the point that, without a word, he got on the bed, got under the sheets, took off his pants and underwear, maniacally folded them, put them on on the nightstand and pulled her with his arms to make love to her later, in complete silence and without taking off his shirt or his black, thin, thin and knee-length stockings. Paola cried with rage, in silence and without perceiving any pleasure.    At that moment he did not feel his dizzying fall into the abyss of misfortune so much as when the smiling man with a corrupt face took out of his wallet two 50 and five 20 thousand bills and threw them at him slyly, on the rolled bed and wet, and then leave without saying goodbye.    It was worse for Ximena because she had to go to bed, the first night, with the owner of the establishment, with all his record of at least 500 women, most of them prostitutes, and without receiving a single peso for their services.    Vanessa didn't fare better than her two friends, either. Beginning because she had to fight with a client who refused to possess her using a condom. She said she didn't want to do it with a condom, that she didn't feel pleasure that way, and that she paid her double the rate if she allowed herself to be penetrated without that disgusting and uncomfortable rubber lining. Vanessa, who needed that money, was tempted to do so, but she began to think that if this guy did the same with all the prostitutes in the city, surely he was already a carrier of AIDS or at least venereal. That is why he resisted the urge to say yes and, in return, he suggested that he let himself do very tasty things without the need for penetration.    The guy reluctantly agreed and reluctantly undressed. He was even tempted to leave the room in search of another woman, but Vanessa asked him not to leave, to let her try something because she did not want him to leave with a bad image of the women of the place. The man who had the face of a serial killer, the look of a madman, bushy eyebrows, raised cheekbones, a pronounced jaw, and thick black-framed glasses, told him he had two minutes to show him why he didn't have to go.    But it only took Vanessa a minute to show that she was the best. In the end, the anonymous character in mourning was so pleased with the versatility and imagination of the little woman that he decided to pay her double for her services anyway. Simple, for meeting the rate and double for having taken it to the stars. He also asked her to become his concubine, but Vanessa, imagining that life next to a depraved like him was not going to be easy, took him out of the box with a very intelligent argument. He told her that he couldn't do that because she had to be very honest with him and she had to confess the reason for her reluctance to do it without a condom. He asked her why and Vanessa had no qualms about inventing that she was infected with the HIV virus.    The strange character laughed and pushed her affectionately and then told her not to worry, that there was no problem with them living together since he also had AIDS. An intense cold ran through Vanessa's body as the madman, dressed in black, explained the new functioning of his short life. He told her that he was infected by a boyfriend she had, without denying his bisexuality, and that when his partner died, he made up his mind to take revenge on the whole world by infecting everyone he could, women and men alike. That already a dozen prostitutes and another dozen youngsters in the city were infected by him and that his goal was to reach the fifty victims before he died.    Vanessa, who was about to become the twenty-fifth victim of the unbalanced, panicked and tried to get rid of him as soon as possible. He told her that all of this was wonderful. That it seemed good to him that others felt firsthand what they were feeling and that from now on he was going to suggest to his clients that they do it without a condom. The mentally deranged man even suggested that if the clients insisted with the condom that she sneakily pinch the end to make them "bitchy." They arranged to meet the next day to go shopping and the murderer disappeared with a happy face.    When she calculated that the depraved man was already far from the room, Vanessa began to tremble with fear, with the certainty that she had been on the verge of death and ran, in disgust, to bathe with a scrubber and then go out to ask everyone world if AIDS could be spread orally.    Vanessa, Paola and Ximena's mothers did better. The three of them did have their souls returned to their bodies, and also the market to the refrigerator. Happy with the return of the money to the house, none asked questions and all three began to scold their siblings for not letting them sleep during the day.    The truth is that with the arrival of the skinny cows, thanks to the rout of the drug traffickers, all the women who derived their livelihood and their ostentation from their unlimited checkbooks had to resort to different strategies so as not to deteriorate their standard of living and income. . Paola, Ximena and Vanessa became sex workers, Catalina and Yésica went to try their luck in Bogotá, many others who did not know, became they got into reigns of one thing and another and, the most beautiful and intelligent, entered television. Some of them, the least talented, slept with directors, librettists and producers to win a role, sparking a wave of outrage among actresses who burned themselves for years studying performing arts to deserve a second-rate role in a novel.

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Storm-Touched

(oh look, here I am with yet another WIP. This was inspired/descended of the HCs that ran away with me from a prompt called Star Wars dumb thought by @bunny-loverxiv​. Anywho, I made a comment about Obi-Sith fitting the prompt at which point @north-peach​ dropped in with muse fuel and the rest spiraled into out of control history. Thus- this in progress fic, which is no longer Obi-Sith but still severely AU in which I take thirteen year old Obi-Wan, have him run away from the Order because he hates the thought of Agricorps that much, and yeet him headfirst into rewriting destiny via the Force, Mandalorians, and Obi-Wan Luck. Also he has what is basically a Force Fae/Kitsune/Entity for a teacher. Because Why Not™. Tagging @wolfsrainrules​ and @ravensilversea​ because this was partly the fault of Wolf’s wife and ravensilversea was interested in the HC version of this when I was doing that.)

     The claw-tipped fingers stopped just short of his clothes and she considered him with a heavy gaze. She dropped her hands with a huff, “Well. I suppose. You are strong in the Force, you just have no idea what to do with that connection do you?” She refolded her lower arms into her drooping sleeves, “Minor precognition?”

     Obi-Wan swallowed hard, nodded, “Yes. The … the instructors reminded me often to keep my mind of the present rather than letting it wander to the changing future.” Her face twisted briefly and now he was certain her eyes could change color, going from soft blue to blazing molten gold as the Force around them shivered with her anger before her expression settled and it was gone, “Yes,” she growled softly, “that sounds like them.” She shook her head, circled him with small, rapid steps, came to a stop in front of him again and nodded shortly, “Alright. I will teach you.”

     Obi-Wan’s heart jumped at the long-desired words, then dropped with dread —he didn’t even know this woman’s name—. She wasn’t finished speaking either. With a click of her tongue, she held up two fingers, “Two years. I will train you for two years, everything I know and everything you are capable of learning. But,” she added before Obi-Wan could say yes or no, “there will be a test. By the end of those two years, you must be able to tell me my true name. Will that be acceptable?”

     Obi-Wan looked over at Stars, the Wookiee dithered for a moment before rumbling, “The choice is yours, Little Soot. If you are afraid, we can leave and I will find you another teacher. But … she is the best. You will learn more from her in two years than you will learn from anyone else in a lifetime.”

     Obi-Wan wavered, glanced from the ship to the strange, alien planet around them and the nameless stranger he didn’t even know —who planned to test him by speaking her name when that didn’t relate to Force training at all as far as Obi-Wan could see—. Fear said to leave. Fear said to turn away and look for another teacher. Curiosity said to stay, learn and test himself against this woman Stars had chosen first and foremost from whatever list of potential teachers she had.

     Hope already clutched the woman’s words close —that he had potential, that she would teach him even when she didn’t yet know his name either— and thought of potential. Of new beginnings and strength and the ability to be free, finally free of the shadow of failure and disappointment and heartbreak that had followed him since fleeing Bandomeer.

     The Force whispered in the shell of his ear, for once so clear he could almost hear it in words. A flash of precognition stronger than anything he’d ever had outside of nightmares and meditation sessions in the temple as a small child. He blinked and saw himself, strong and calm, an adult that didn’t cower from anyone, didn’t hunch his shoulders in shame but instead danced through battle like the wind was his wings. He inhaled and tasted contentment so deep it felt like sunshine inside his bones. He listened, and in the space between times and spaces and lives he heard-.

     “My name is Obi-Wan, and I am not afraid of you.”

     He exhaled and the world settled back into place. Blue eyes watched him in triumph, like she already knew his answer before he bowed low and said, “I would be honored to learn from you, for however long you see fit, Master.”

     In the corner of his eye, Stars slumped just a bit —from disappointment or relief he couldn’t tell—. The woman who was now his teacher smiled, all fangs and satisfaction and danger, “Good. You may call me Noht-Ty, small one, not ‘master’ or any other nonsense title. I will be interested to see how far you can progress in two years.”

     Obi-Wan was never sure, afterward, what happened next. He thought that Noht-Ty must have insisted Stars leave, just as Stars had feared, because he remembered being hauled off his feet by a tight Wookiee hug and hearing her promise to come back, two years to the day, but everything other than that hug was … vague. Distant and blurred in his memory until the ship was gone and Obi-Wan had been left on a planet with no name and a woman who was to be his teacher.

     It was night when his senses —memory— came back to him. Huddled in his sleeping bag, staring up at the sky and the twin moons shining down from it. Noht-Ty sensed his returned attention from where she sat meditating, heedless of the cold air and the strange animal calls —Obi-Wan had never slept in a wilderness before, had only ever been to Coruscant and port towns and populated places—, “Small one.”

     “Yes, m- Noht-Ty?”

     She opened her eyes again and under the light of the twin moons he could see their gold sheen, intense and unreadable, “Since I am to be your teacher, will you give me your name, small one?”

     Obi-Wan did not think on the odd phrasing of that request at the time, riding too high on adrenaline as he was.

     Years later, Obi-Wan never did give his name away when asked by others, no matter who they were.

     He only had to learn that lesson once.

     But that was a lesson not yet learned, and so he guilelessly opened his mouth and answered, “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

     Fangs gleamed white under the light of the moons as something in the Force jolted all around him, paralyzed him in place and ripped something clear of his very self in a way that he hadn’t known could be touched or taken. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she hummed, and somehow his name from her lips felt like someone taking possession of a new and rare prize rather than a greeting, “Interesting.”

     Obi-Wan sat up sharply, breathing ragged from the feeling, “W-what- what did you just do?”

     “I took what you gave to me,” she hummed easily, “if you did not want to give it away, you should have said so. But that is a moot point, I take the names of all my students. Should you pass my test at the end of two years and return to me my name, then I shall give you yours.”

     Obi-Wan gaped, closed his mouth, choked out, “Noht-Ty isn’t your name?”

     An officious tail-twitch, “No. I said that you may call me Noht-Ty, I never said it was my actual name. My name was lost to me long ago, and you will find it for me and give it back.”

     Suddenly very cold and hyper aware that he was alone with this stranger, Obi-Wan whispered, “What happens if I can’t find it for you?”

     Gold eyes watched him with something akin to amusement, “Then I keep your name, and the life that is tied to it.”

     Obi-Wan scrambled out of his sleeping bag altogether, stood braced to run even though there was nowhere to run to, “You’re going to kill me?”

     A calm ear flick, “Only if you fail. Was that not obvious when I first told you my terms?”

     “No! No, it wasn’t!”

     Her gaze cooled, “If you did not know my price, why did you agree to pay it?” Obi-Wan stood speechless and Noht-Ty shook her head, “Lesson one, Obi-Wan Kenobi, there is always a price. Every choice, every action, no matter how outwardly small or large, comes with a price. That price might be time, or energy, it might be as small as a good night’s sleep. Or it might be as heavy as your life, the life of a family, a city, a planet, a star-system.”

     She raised her gaze again and soft blue looked at him with something like pity in her eyes, “Always make sure that the price for your actions is something you are willing to pay before you make your choice.”

[demytasse]

[Shinzaya] Blindsight —Prologue

(Dullahan Izaya AU) A slice of life fic that starts at the point where Shinra and Izaya first meet and continues through the years. It’s rather wabisabi-esque, and really, it’s an outlet for my over-abundant fuwafuwa, dokidoki feelings for these two...and an excuse for me to gush over them...yet again. (  ´͈ ᵕ `͈) Inspired from a ‘what it...’ ask that @vanitasmisora sent.

—

   Izaya was aware of how unique he was.

If he couldn't gather that from centuries of experience then he was far unworthy of those years. Even if he were given leeway for his lost memories it’d still be a travesty of the high intellect he believed himself to have; because he had such a distinct weight of isolation without a discernible reason for it, which if he had one takeaway from that feeling it would be that he lacked comrades.

Izaya knew his rationale hadn’t fooled him. If it had then he wouldn’t be in his current place—laid out and tied down, upon an operating table that was likely the only one to ever hold one of his kind: a dullahan of Celtic myth. Indeed, if there were another like himself then there wouldn’t be such a fuss over his presence.

There wouldn’t be doctoral associates looming over his bare, vulnerable body.

Nor would there be murmured interest among them.

And most certainly there wouldn’t be an excitable kid boosted on the table edge to get a better view of a headless being; whose smile broke the boundary of his surgical mask with wonderment up to his eyes, his voiceless audible and better viewed than anything.

      "Wow…"

Out of those in the room, Izaya had an inkling that this child was the oddest one of the bunch—perhaps even more amongst people in the outside world.

   Which once again Izaya could relate, if not in the past at least in the present.

It was with his dismal self-awareness that the dullahan was immediately enamoured of his table-mate who remained ignorant of the hustle around him. Izaya and this boy; likely the sore-thumbs in every crowd they could find themselves in.

—

      "Time isn’t patient, Shinra. Especially with this particular patient."

From Izaya's vantage was an older man frigid in his smock that often presented himself with pep to counterbalance his off-putting vibe; he watched as he threw a glance to his carbon copy.

      "Any son of mine wouldn’t procrastinate under these circumstances. He would cut with his scalpel rather than corners."

For all intents and purposes, the son he unfairly chastised was too green for the laboratory in the first place, though Izaya knew the organization which hosted these experiments hardly cared.

Though that made the situation worse.

      "A-ah! R-right."

It was obvious that this kid wasn’t ready.

Perhaps it wasn’t due to his nerves, not fully, as inexperience seemed to only mildly affect him, but that wasn’t quite it.

No—in actuality it looked like he just wanted more time to gape. He was so young that a living corpse was something to revel like he’d already been and continued to.

It was clear that Izaya wasn’t just some experiment.

And maybe his father’s expert advice was correct, that time is of the essence or whatever idiomatic babble he’d used earlier. Still, it was harsh to sever innocence from his son, it being important to let a kid be a kid. That ripe curiosity was something to appreciate.

And Izaya did. Unexpectedly.

The kid nervously patted himself down, looking for a tool he seemed to have lost. 

His father as he shook his head in disapproval. “I’m going to overlook your shameful disregard of proper sanitary practices this time...it’s not that it matters given your patient.”

A scalpel was offered and suddenly excitement took over his frantic nerves. Shinra snatched it—like he did his unique opportunity to dissect a cryptid; a chance most wouldn’t even think to dream of.

Once he did, his attention snapped back to Izaya with a giddy expression, like his emotions spoke for him.

      ‘Look, look! We get to play with one another now!’

It was pure, innocent human fascination. As it would seem, Izaya shared fascination of his own, and if anything could dull the excruciating pain of his conscious-mind dissection it would be this miracle anaesthesia as not only traditional methods were proven ineffective, but this intrigue…

...it was far stronger on its own.

Izaya’s own curiosity could dissuade the pain. In awe, he could observe the sloppy method of his prosector—Shinra.

To use his name would give proper respect to whom he regarded a send from some god he may have known before his memories were stripped.

Shinra’s excitement made him quiver, the knife loose in his fingers almost dropped. Under his breath, he ran through steps, notes that he may have written out and studied until the paper was more like a napkin.

      “...use the drawn mark as a guide…

      “...place the tip at the top…

      “...adjust the angle of the blade…”

And then he paused—Izaya was left antsy for the incision. 

      "Dad...I’m not sure if I'm doing it right." Shinra tested the correct pressure as he shook more.

      "Trial and error. Figure it out as you go along, my boy. It’s not like he feels pain... at least not like any human I know." He chuckled.

Given who Shingen was, the humans he knew were probably more than the handful present, perhaps an entire surgical department’s worth and possibly more than the members exclusive to Nebula.

Izaya didn’t know the breadth of his connections, but he did know that the man probably didn’t know any of them.

Sadly, his son was among that lot.

      “Okay…”

Things picked up as Shinra caught his bearings. He lost some of his disruptive nerves, but never fully; he’d held back a fraction like he needed permission—rather—a reminder that what he was performing was a dissection akin to a dead animal so what he was doing wasn’t ethical abuse.

Which ethics, did he even have any?

If the boy was raised in another household then maybe he’d be instilled with a rational sense of right or wrong.

Given his circumstances, if a medical commentator interrupted to ask for his morals his response would be confusion, a cocked head, and an immediate return to his slice and dice, his palpation of useless organs.

Aside from morals, Izaya was reassured that it didn’t matter. Between squelches of intestines and kidneys, the squash of the liver and stomach, the mini surgeon would check in with his patient. Not to take note of his reactions as data points, but to actually check in with him. As if he began to connect subtle body movements to certain kinds of pain, pinpoint the times when he relaxed and what prompted them, astutely notice Izaya’s own fixation, thusly resonated with the reverb of his silent pain.

The boy offered his sympathy. Ethics and morals—even if they were held they wouldn’t hold up against Shinra’s conscience, untampered and untainted.

He was mature in his own way, adultlike when he shouldn’t have been and had more regard of life than everyone in the lab put together and that was a travesty of the supposedly intellectual human race.

But due to that innocent compassion, Izaya lost all sense of harsh reality as Shinra took care of him in a way that differed from a dissection.

Izaya was being examined bit-by-bloodless-bit, being accounted for internal pieces and their proper placement, yet only focused on Shinra. Later on, he’d discover that he saw the kid as ‘adorable’ while at the moment he hadn’t the term.

      Shinra nodded with a final glance, ‘don’t worry, I’m almost done.’

He moved on—right side of the chest cavity to the left—stopped at an organ beneath his fingertips and slipped them under to remove it. None of his other organs had been handled delicately, in fact, none of them had been removed.

Thus the importance was heavy.

Shinra took Izaya’s heart from his beatless chest into a cradle of his hands—he almost bowed in respect of its beauty.

      "...dad, what's his name…?"

Izaya was aware of how unique Shinra was.

      "Shinra! Just concentrate."

Inhuman or not, the dullahan would’ve been heartless not recognise Shinra’s unrivalled passion. Even with his heart absent from his chest, it was obvious.

Apart from drone adults, Shinra was an interesting specimen himself. He who gave Izaya hope that he wouldn't experience his rebooted lifetime from the reflection of dead-eyed, veteran surgeons; wisened men and women long disenchanted by their craft.

      "What's his name," Shinra demanded.

      "Where did this insubordination suddenly come from?”

Though Shinra kept to the scrutiny of his trophy organ.

      “Simply blasphemous.” Shingen blotted sweat with his sleeve, sighed. “It's... Isaiah…?”

Overhead light reflected off his goggles while he pretended to search his memories until he hazarded a glance down at his son.

      He exuded pride, his obstructed smile endearing. “Ah, right, I believe it’s...Izaya.”

As Shinra was given a name he perked up—to which Shingen nudged him to proceed after he noticed the returned vigour.

      “Now replace his heart before the incision closes."

Shinra fell into an obsession of Izaya’s entire being, heart and all. With a proven myth and supernatural existence; a specimen that appeared human yet uniquely dazzled.

An aberration, a head above the rest with one less above its neck. A dullahan, but far more a beauty to cherish.

Though the rest of Shinra remained a mystery to Izaya; at that particular place and time, all that was uncovered was fascination. The boy’s brain could’ve been splayed like Izaya on the table—his psyche could have been revealed for all to see and yet the details would still be undefined. 

All but one thing wouldn’t be a puzzle.

Shinra, with a heart at the level of his own, would make damn sure of what he paid explicit mind to for all his years...

      "Izaya…"

At that the two were ensnared. Shinra and Izaya were beholden of each other’s perception of love; taken on a ride through various versions of the concept in tow of an unreliable source of emotional intelligence. 

      "...it's nice to meet you."

All in a moment they saw the world eye to eye, if only by blindsight.

——

AN: Did I mention? I get a little romantically morbid...>w>; I absolutely adore lil Shinra, so I put extra care into writing him. This is the wordiest part of the fic, the rest of the chapters will be shorter, I just wanted to set up the story first. ♡

[kaibacxrps]

Introducing your partner

Discord thread with @kaibacorpbros / @indioragod ! CW: scandal.shipping.

It was one of his several returning trips since the first time he knocked down the doors to Atem's realm. They had gradually grown a little less arduous, but there were still plenty of bugs to work out with such a jump. Thus, a big reason why he brought along Diva. And besides, if he were getting the help of the ex-Plana member, he should probably at least know that the goal Seto had originally employed him for wasn't just some vague, unreachable dream.

But gods, it was nice to talk to Set again. He'd taken some time alone with the priest to update him on what had been going on in his and Mokuba's lives.

Except... one detail.

The detail they ran into at the end of their stroll. Wait, how long have we been talking? Diva must have gotten impatient and sought them out. It would have been hard to spot, for someone who hadn't grown to know him better, but Kaiba noticed how Diva's fingers were slightly curled and his posture a bit stiff. He was sure if he poked into the vitals the tech he was wearing was monitoring he'd find an increased pulse.

"I was looking for you. I ran into your rival, Seto."

Oh. That was it. Seto cleared his throat. "I see. Well, I'm sure he was glad to finally meet you." The CEO moved on from that point before Diva could say any more. Best to just introduce him, even though he didn't know the two had already run into each other.

"Erm, Set this is Diva, he--" 'Tried to kill me' probably wasn't the best way to introduce him. Or say he once turned into a big rage monster and did kill him, albeit briefly.

"He's a friend helping me improve the Dimension System and set up some way to communicate other than travelling all the way here each time." 

It was always a pleasure to receive Kaiba in the afterlife, at least for Set it has always been like that. How could he not? They have been through a lot, and have found a way to stay in touch - something that went against all the odds.

He felt so relieved to still be part of the brothers lives, albeit in a very restricted way. But it always felt nice hearing, what those two have been up to.

Meanwhile, he has been going through a lot lately as well. However, due to the nature of those things and out of fear of Kaiba's reaction, he would keep them a secret... For the time being. Thank the Gods, Seto never had any interest in his culture and costumes, otherwise he would be able to tell something at his first glance on him.

The priest slowed down his walking pace until he stopped, when Diva showed up. They didn't need any introductions, this was obvious in the way they exchanged glances.

The way Kaiba described Diva however, was humurous in the priest's eyes but at the same time pretty telling. Kaiba and friends?... Give him a break

"I see- oh don't worry about any formalities, Seto... Those aren't needed around here." A brief pause came in right afterwards what he had just said. "So... There won't be any trouble then? You'll be able to stay here for longer, right? It would be an honor, to have you for supper. I even went ahead, and have for it an animal I hunt earlier today."

As soon as the words left the priest's lips Diva shot a look at Kaiba. Do not.

But of couse, implication between humans was flawed, and even if it weren't Seto likely wouldn't have said no simply because he got to see Set so little.

"Correct, we should have..." the HUD glowed to life in front of Kaiba's eye, showing the status of the duel dimension machine. "A few more hours at least."

"Kaiba, what about that project?" Diva tried.

"Oh, it'll be fine. I got a lot done on it yesterday." With that dismission of Diva's concerns it was settled.

"We'd be greatful to stay for a meal." Seto gestured that they would follow the priest. "What did you catch by the way?" Not that Kaiba was much into the sport, but he knew Set took pride in it. And everything, seemed to ignore Diva's growing tension. One, if they got found out. Seto hadn't told the spirt yet--at least not that Diva knew of. Two, to add to the awkwardness he's pretty sure now that he met Atem, that some of the Pharaoh's attire was following a certain custom that Set's attire was also following.

Kaiba must not know what it meant.

But Diva just offers a polite smile, "I thank you for your hospitality then."

“Oh, you’ll definetely like it! This is something you most certainly, can’t find anywhere in Japan.” The priest pointed out with bright smile on his face, as he led the way and purposely ignored Diva’s obvious discomfort. Set couldn’t help but wonder, why that was the case. But he simply pushed those thoughts aside, so they wouldn’t waste anymore time around.

Every second counted, in these brief visits. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Atem had joined their reunion a few good hours into it, Mahad alongside with some other guards stood by as they simply followed with their tasks- duties. His bond with Kaiba was used as an excuse, for him to join them in it. “I simply wish to catch up on the news, straight from you Kaiba.” The man said, as he sat on the floor alongside them.

Set followed it with a slurred laughter, as he took another swing from his cup of beer. The priest laid sideways, in a very laid-back position as he kept smiling at his guests.“Anyway, as I was saying. I look back on my time at that boarding school with Kaiba, and what comes to my mind is those kids funny accent.”  Another laughter left him, as he sipped once more off his cup.

"It's just British English. I mean, I talk with one when using English by default unless I'm dealing with Americans." While it was true, it was obvious that there was no malice by Seto. Then, imitating a welsh accent, "Just be happy I didn't got to school with the Welsh or the Scottish," he joked in English.

Meanwhile, Diva's eyes discreetly glanced between the pharaoh and priest. Yes, he definitely wasn't seeing things. Of course, he knew it was a different set of customs back then, but he also highly doubted Seto knew.

More importantly though...

"You didn't tell me you went to boarding school," Diva said, keeping most of his attention on his food.

"It's in the past. And besides, it largely slips my mind." There was a shrug from the CEO as he adjusted how he was sitting. It had been a while since he'd eaten in such a way.

Diva decided to drop it for now, bringing his attention back to the priest. "Either way, that does sound like a wild time. It must have been a culture shock to be thrown into a new setting while you were still tied to Seto." 

“One day I found myself in some large and fancy looking mansion seemingly all by myself, and the following one I’m suddenly surrounded by kids about the same age as Seto. So I’d say, you’re right about that.” The priest responded in a slightly slurred tone, as a chuckle soon followed his words. The man fell silent so he coul take another swing off his drink.

So far, Atem was extremely quiet. It may not be the first time he heard most of those stories, but he pulled an act that gave off that impression. The pharaoh chewed on his food, as his gaze shifted from his lover priest to their living guests. “Set got to experience a lot more that your world had to offer than me, I only got to travel to America once and it was... Well...” His head shook to the sides, in an attempt to convey that things weren’t exactly what anyone would consider to be a vacation- without saying anything else.

However, he was soon interrupted by Set as he went ahead and named a few of the nations visited. “United Kingdom, France, Italy, America, Germany... Of course, Egypt! I was never truly sure, what to expect whenever we headed out.” Another chuckle left him.

While his spouse spoke, Atem shot a brief glance at Diva- and he noticed something felt off in the way he was staring at him. It didn’t take long for him to piece things together, as he was reminded of the fact that hailed from Egypt as well.

At this point, it was impossible to hide things from Diva... At least Kaiba, still seemed to be oblivious. Hopefully, he should be smart enough to not point out the obvious- between him and the priest.

“What else do you wish to know about Seto, Diva?” Set teased, while he poured some more alcohol for himself. 

There's an air of awkward silence from Kaiba at Atem's words. It had certainly been far from a pleasant time for him either--not that he'd ever admit it to the pharaoh. Though, the CEO was starting to slightly worry that Set was getting a little too tipsy for such discussions.

His suspicions were confirmed when the priest volunteered up information to Diva. Ugh, he never should have brought him along.

Diva, on the other hand, was brought out of his scrutinizing of the pharaoh at Set's question. "Well, if you're offering..." his voice was quiet and polite, but Seto knew that tone meant trouble.

"Then I suppose I'd like to know if it's even possible that he acted like he had a worse stick up his ass back then. For I was lucky enough to met him later and skipped most of that."

"Diva, I will poison your food and leave you here."

A chuckle left the ex-Plana. This dance was a repeated and well-practiced one. "Sure you will. And then it will simply be more awkward when you return again." 

There was a brief moment of silence between Atem and Set, as they exchanged brief looks with one another while the duo bantered with the other. Then, both men broke into a fit of laughter, which only served to sustain and confirm Diva’s statement.

Atem wanted to say something, but Set got ahead of him before he could even muster anything. “Oh, it’s very possible! After I introduced myself, and he became aware of me. It was nearly impossible to take over the body, I just couldn’t swap places with him!” The priest spoke while laughing, as he remembered those times so vividly.

“And the first time I met Kaiba... I had to rid him, from a bad influence that had clearly taken over him... And I’m not talking about Set.” The pharaoh added.

“All that did, was to get me an earful from him right after it.” The priest pointed out, as he sipped on his cup. “Well, I never said anything about what would happen afterwards, now did I?” The two followed it with another brief chuckle.

“Trust me, he has improved a lot since I got to know him... He changed a lot over the years, Diva. I’m happy for him.” Set added, then went ahead and emptied once more his cup. 

"Oh forgive me for  not wanting to just rent my body out on a whim," Seto shot back. Though the conversation quickly moved on, and he was unsure whether to feel insulted or touched by the end of it.

So instead, he did the totally socially acceptable thing and decided to stare at some odd fruit laid out before him that he didn't recognize.

"Really now? The great Seto Kaiba can change after all. I supose my timing was lucky then. Well except for when we first met--"

Seto cleared his thoat to cut that statement off. He didn't want Set to strangle someone today. Especially a live someone.

"You know Set, be careful. At that rate you're gonna pass out before the end of the meal," Kaiba said with a nod to the flavored gross liquid. 

“Seto, I’m no longer in your body,” A hiccup interrupted Set’s slurry words, as he covered his mouth for a moment before he resumed talking. “I know very well how much I can take of this.” The man even gestured with his hands, as he took another sip out of his cup in order to prove a point.

“There’s no need to be concerned about, he tends to drink a lot more whenever he is with the others...” Atem pointed out in a calm tone, he had more to say but his drunk spouse interrupted him once more. “By the way, I’ve got a question... What’re you two anyway? What’s Diva to you, Seto? You know I won’t buy the friendship answer.” Set asked, it was very easy to tell how intoxicated the man was.

The pharaoh quickly fell silent, as he shot a glance at him then back at the guests. Now that he put some thought into it, Kaiba didn’t really explain his ties to Diva. Sure, he may have informed him that he was simply giving the CEO a helping hand in his work... But it didn’t quite suit, what most expected from Kaiba. 

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, shooting a disbelieving glance. High tolerance or not,  drunk people weren't fun for Kaiba to deal with. Too much and it was hard to get intelligible conversation out of them even if they weren't flat out passed out.

But the gazes of the two immediately made Seto and Diva freeze before exchanging a glance. While Diva expected such a question to come up, he wouldn't have guessed it would have been asked so... directly. But Kaiba instantly responded with sarcasm."What, is it so hard to believe I have some friends nowadays? When you spend so many hours working together it's kind of impossible to not get along on some level."

For a moment Diva didn't respond. The plan had been for Seto to introduce him to the people here honestly, along with helping with the experiments side. But the ex-Plana could see Kaiba was most likely acting on instinct.

"It is true we are friends. It took a while, certainly after well... some difficulties over the past but we eventually got there. And..." he trailed off, carefully keeping his eyes off Seto. Best to leave it to him in his own time, if he wanted.

There was just the noise of Seto taking a sip of his own drink for several seconds. "And... weendedupgivingdatingatry." The words were spat out fast as Seto would read a monster's effect and his gaze snapped back down to his own food. Gods, why did he ever want to do this? Set and Atem would just laugh at him. 

Atem and Set quietly listened in to Kaiba’s words, the priest was still sipping on his drink and the pharaoh held onto his cup. At first the answer given to them sounded reasonable, and expected from him even. As such both men didn’t react to what they heard immediately.

Set broke his silence as he stopped drinking for a moment, so he could speak “Oh, I see. So a lot has changed after all...” His voice trailed off, while the lips approached his cup- it seemed like he didn’t care about what had just come out from Kaiba’s mouth.

However, those words finally hit him.

First, the priest’s eyes shot widely open as he spat- choked on his drink and put aside the cup. A coughing fit ensued, as Atem attempted to help him out by giving his back light taps. It was in that moment, Set proceeded to sit up as he tried to muster out any word.

“Excuse me? What did you just-- say, Seto?” The priest asked between his coughs, while he desperately tried to clear his throat. The pharaoh was at a loss for words, he didn’t feel like he was in a position to even say a word about the matter.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Set reassured his partner, as he waved off Atem once he could talk normally. “Come again? You? Him? What-- Since when?” The priest’s gaze shifted between Diva and Kaiba, he didn’t seem to be angry- rather shocked and appalled at the bombshell. 

For a moment, both Seto and Diva thought they had safely flown under the radar, or perhaps Set was being kind and trying to not make a big deal of it to scare them off. But it turned out to be a delayed reaction. The reaction could have been better, but they supposed it also could have been much worse. At least Set didn't die from the shock.

"Erm... well even that's a bit tricky. Kind of two months?" Kaiba wasn't sure the exact number of days though with the nature of all that had happened. "Though in the middle we kind of took a bit of a break er--"

"There was a small fight. But we sorted things out eventually," Diva added.

Kaiba was trying his best to not make eye contact with any of them. He wasn't even sure if he was embarrassed or stressed or both.

Diva still had a calm air about him outwardly, but a good part of him was wary of the uncertainty of what would happpen next. 

One of his hands ran along his throat, as he was still recovering from his coughing fit. Meanwhile, he took his time to process and put some thought into what had been shared with them.

Due to his young appearance (he somehow, seemed to be about the same age as Kaiba), it is easy to forget that he was an actual father in his lifetime, and despite everything it was obvious he and the CEO shared a bond of that nature. “Dating,” Set uttered out, while he was still thinking on anything to say.

Dating in his time period, didn’t come anywhere near to what is commonly found in the 21st century. Set learned that, very quickly.

“Uh...” Atem tried to fill in the awkward silence in their meal, as he also bought Set some more time to think before saying anything back to them. “Congratulations? Kaiba? I would have never-” Yet again, he was interrupted by his partner.

“Expected something like this out of you... That’s all, mostly.” Set responded in a calm tone, while his gaze landed on Kaiba. Anger is nowhere to be seen on him, it truly seemed like he meant what he had just said.

Either that or the alcohol was still doing it’s magic on the priest.

The priest completely disregarded Diva’s presence, his attention was full on Kaiba who was clearly fighting his own inner demons amidst it all. “Does anyone else knows about this? Or... Am I the first one, Seto?” 

"Wow, what are you trying to say?" But the side eye was directed at Atem. "Trust me, we didn't expect it either." But Kaiba did expect both of them to be knocked of guard at the mere thought. The word Kaiba and dating didn't exactly go together.

Diva remained silent, leaving it up to Seto on what to disclose and what not to.

"Mokuba, of course. I mean it's kind of impossible for him to not figure something was up. But we've kept it out of the news and gossip. But you're the first one outside of that."

He figured it was also best to be that way, given the nature of their relationship and Set's role in his life.

"You know, we just don't want people all up in our business just because we're dating." Because boy, woud that be a PR headache. 

Set remained in silence the entire time Seto talked, despite his intoxicated state he seemed to have an attentive look on his face. His gaze was fixated on him, and it remained there even for a little longer. However, he had little to no self-control while under the influence of alcohol.

The priest proceeded to pull Kaiba into a tight hug, then bursted into a laughing fit as he repeated the same words “You’re dating! You’ve found someone, Seto!”. It seemed like the man was pretty content, with the news.

Mahad had to look away, this was just pure humiliation - he was cringing at the sight (even though, he also found the scene to be hiliarious).

Atem on the other hand, had to hold back his laughter at the scene his spouse caused. Even though he has heard most of the stories, Set had to share about him in regards to Kaiba. Seeing something like this was still a first time to him. 

The next pause was tense, for a moment Seto was worried about the priest not approving of Diva, or perhaps the topic of his sexuality would come up with his seemingly lack of incantation in that area before.

But no, somehow it was worse. No, somehow Set had morphed perfectly into the embarrassing dad.

"Please gods, let me die." He struggled to worm out of the embrace, color rising to his cheeks as he shoved at Set to no avail. He never should have broken the news while the priest was drunk!

"Atem stop laughing! I'll kill you!" Though his glare at the king quickly switched over to his significant other. "Diva, don't just sit there, help me!"

The ex-Plana was barely hiding his laughter behind a hand. "Oh, come on Seto, I think he's taking it quite well. And I'd prefer to not get in the middle of family matters." 

“He’s right, especially when it comes to Set. He takes this matter, very seriously.” Atem pointed out with a cheeky grin on his face, as he couldn’t hold back another row of laughter from him.He joined Diva in simply watching over Seto try to handle Set, on his own.

The priest stayed like that- clinging onto Kaiba for just a little longer, until eventually his pharaoh went ahead and managed to free him from the drunk man’s embrace. He was still yelling- exclaiming, repeating the wonderful news as some of the guards and Atem managed to gingerly lay him on the floor.

“I believe he has had more than enough for the night...” His voice trailed off, as he removed his cape and threw it over his spouse’s body. Who laid there on the floor, the alcohol had finally hit him hard. A few more nonsensical words left the man, at least he seemed to be quite happy- cheerful in a way.

When he did that, it revealed he wore an almost identital outfit to what Set had on himself. This detail would likely go unnoticed by Kaiba, but it might be further evidence to what Diva had observed on them so far.

“Once again, congratulations Kaiba. I wish you both happiness together... But I feel like he’s done for the night, you two can take your leave if you’d like. I’ll let him know, you said goodbye.” 

"Oh you think?" More sarcasm spat from him once Atem finally pried the priest from him. He really should have been counting Set's drinks. A useful thing to keep in mind. But at least he finally stopped embarrassing him this way.

With a huff Kaiba stood. "When he wakes up with a headache, tell him that's karma." Despite how prickly he was acting he didn't mean any true misfortune, but gods Seto almost wished Set just didn't approve of Diva.

"Come now, don't kick someone while they're down," Diva said as he stood and gave a polite dip of his head to Atem. "Thank you for the... evening? If time works that way here. We're almost out of time anyway," he said, noting the data on his duel disk.

Kaiba gave a nod. "Until next time, I suppose." He didn't have much more to say to Atem, so simply started to walk out with Diva, who now took the CEO's hand.

"Did you see what they were wearing?" Aigami whispered.

"What? Is now really the time? Coordinate your duel disk first--"

And a moment later the duo vanished in a swarm of dark particles.

[thesilverdragoon]

Fae-cursed

Previous: Wicked White

Next: Tomorrow

The first color to fade back in was the color blue.

A peaceful, dark blue at that, with veining branches of lighter colors crawling up the walls between brass and gold trim that bordered the walls similar to windows.

And a humming sound.

A low, faint thrum.

Vesevont scrunched his nose up as he inevitably came to, sitting up slowly as he did so. His head hung forward as he waited for everything to stop wobbling back and forth. It did. He looked up and around at the strange circular room he was in.

“I see you’ve finally come back to us.” His ear twitched as a voice emerged from his peripheral. “A good thing, I didn’t know if you would make it through or not.”

The speaker was an odd looking fellow. And a very short one.

He wore dark robes, with a large cowl with ornate golden trim mysteriously draped over the upper portion of his face, along with a red and white sash each criss-crossed over his chest, all similarly colored and decorated as the room had been.

One arm bared the resemblance and same color of aetheryte, while the other seemed quite ordinary. The same crystalline features carried upwards towards the stranger’s neck, creeping ever closer towards his obscured face.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

The Ishgardian swallowed, his throat feeling dry and raw. “...Bad,” He croaked.

The man seemed rather unsurprised. “I see. The physical symptoms will most likely disappear as the day wears on.

You likely have many questions.” He continued, watching Vesevont closely as he patted around himself cautiously (though at this stage, one would have described it as ‘drunkenly’) as though he were looking for something. “But, should you require more rest then by all means, please, you are free to take all the time you need here-” “Here- here...where is here?” The elezen asked.

The robed man gazed at him for quite a long moment.

“Another world entire, my friend.” He answered slowly and quietly. Almost delicately.

“What?” Now Ves was sure he hadn’t heard him right. He thought he’d said another- “Wait- what do you mean??”

“There is quite a lot to explain, and I do not wish to exhaust  or stress you further, and needlessly.”

“Never mind me- tell me, please-” The knight begged.

The man paused, before nodding. “...Very well.

This place you have been brought to is called the Crystal Tower. An ancient Allagan device capable of quite much.”

Allagans?? It wasn’t a word Ves ever expected to hear. He knew nothing about the ancient empire that had once ruled Eorzea in the days of old, save for a few random tidbits often told by strangers headed to even stranger places.

“Around it lies a city of refugees from all parts of the world. A city that came to be known as the Crystarium.

Only, not from a world you might recall, meaning, our world.”

“Our world?”

“Indeed.” The robed man nodded. “Though this world bears resemblance to our own in some ways, it is not ours. This is the star known as the First, one of thirteen others, barring the one are hail from: the Source.”

Already Ves could feel his head pounding.

The Source… thirteen worlds-

Malarchy. Completely and utterly.

Yet with all that had been going on lately anyway… Who was he to say otherwise?

He decided to entertain it, for now.

“How did I...” Ves gulped audibly. “Get here then?”

“That, is what I am trying to figure out. There are hardly any beings that I could describe capable of breaking such barriers between worlds to begin with. And you don’t seem like any of the ones I am aware of.

Which… brings me to mention that I have several questions of my own. If you are willing.”

Ves’ gaze wavered as he looked away, only to notice a black and smokey figure standing nearby, staring at him.

He didn’t recognize it, and just the sight alone made the hairs on the back of his neck, and everywhere else, stand on end.

The man glanced over towards where he was looking at, frowning slightly. “...That was one of them, yes.”

“Y-you see it?”

“Yes.

Before I get too far ahead of myself, what might I call you, friend?”

Ves’ eyes darted back and forth between the two as he tried to focus on the prior. “V-...Vesevont,” He answered, unsure if even that much was still true.

“Vesevont.” The stranger nodded. “Many of the Crystarium over the years have oft referred to me as the Crystal Exarch, though, for our purposes, you may refer to me simply as the Exarch to save ourselves a breath.” He smiled towards the end.

“Exarch,”  Ves repeated. How strange.

This man reminded him so much of the miqo’te that had been traveling with them before-

The elezen’s breath hitched. “I was traveling- with a few companions- we were headed into the Twelveswood to do a job and we had run into a monster-”

“A monster?” “A black wyrm- with a large eye on top of its flat head, and many other smaller eyes along its body, and a long mouth like a river crocodile-”

The Exarch listened to him describe the strange creature, never uttering a word, much less a ‘hmm’ of thought of affirmation.

The trip to the Twelveswood to recover DeFleur’s papers.

The disaster it ended up being as the Garlean that hosted the strange eyeball-worm caught on and attacked them.

“I have not heard nor seen any animal or thing like this I’m afraid. I could not tell you what you saw.”

Ves’ expression fell.

He had to tell him about Puffy. None of it would make sense otherwise.

“...I… I have a companion with me- we- I had always thought maybe- maybe it was a voidsent but… now I’m not so sure,”

“The one with us currently I assume?”

“Y...Yes.”

The solid black shadow-figure (for lack of a better name. Maybe it was Puffy, maybe it wasn’t) paced back and forth behind the Exarch, almost as if entertained by their conversation. Or impatient about it.

“Tis no voidsent. I’ve had more than my fair share of run ins with them.

While appearing malevolent, I strangely feel as though it isn’t. And thus far, I have been correct, thankfully.” The Exarch turned to look back at the dark being. “Likewise, you, Vesevont, are quite peculiar as well.

You ran into a trusted and loyal friend of mine out on the road. She recounted to me the events that had occurred mere moments before I had arrived.”

Friend?

Immediately Ves saw the girl in his mind’s eye. The viera with the blue hair.

“I had sensed your arrival to the First initially, and it was only through various methods of scrying (in order to explain it simply) that I was able to even locate you. And even then, it was not you I had located.” The Exarch gestured towards the shadow. “Twas your… companion, here.

But please, continue. Tell me about your arrival, and what happened afterwards.”

Vesevont continued, describing his horrifying experience in the land of Il Mheg, as the Exarch soon explained to him the existence of pixies and their mischievous natures.

And then the trip down the road, where the sky overhead felt hotter than it should have been, and how Puffy had kept saying that it felt bad- and how he too felt horrendous the longer he remained out there.

And the white creatures… The terrible beasts…

“Sin eaters.” The Exarch named them. “Creatures that have been consumed by the overabundance of light aether. Animals, people, any living being with aether at its core. They’ve been corrupted into the twisted pale forms you witnessed outside of the city, and they search endlessly for others to corrupt, and feed off of.”

“Where did they come from?”

“A product of the Flood of Light. The calamity that befell this world nearly a century ago. Heroes in the name of Hydaleyn performing her deeds to the point where this world’s balance had tipped so far into the Light, that it had ultimately consumed it. Such a thing occurred on the world the voidsent hail from, only in the completely opposite way. You could say the sin eaters are quite similar to them in some ways.

Both parties seek aether to take into themselves.

But ah- forgive me. You were saying?”

“...Oh uh- yes…”

Vesevont continued, describing the appearance of the white maiden in heavy armor, with her weapons in hand, wings beating and staring down towards him, but never at him. “It was as though she...wasn’t able to see me. That or she was ignoring me entirely. It was so strange...”

And only when Puffy had emerged, did she react. And run him through.

“Everything turned white then- I couldn’t see- couldn’t hear either. And it felt like everything was burning. Almost like sticking your hand in an oven full of coals, only, it felt like that all over…”

Had he been in the process of turning into one of those marble beasts? What would have happened then? Would he even have remembered it? Would everything have gone??

“And then suddenly, everything turned black instead-”

Everything had gone dark. As though he’d fallen into the abyss. The abyss he’d seen many times in his dreams, where the shadow being he could only assume was Puffy had dwelled, deep within the confines of his psyche.

The experience had not been relatively peaceful like those times however.

The light hurt, the darkness hurt- everything translated to pain. Just different kinds. Whereas the white felt like fire, the black felt as though he were being torn apart.

And as soon as it had come, it had all come to an abrupt end.

Only for him to wake up here, in this Crystal Tower.

“I must tell you Vesevont that you are no ordinary…” The Exarch paused, wondering how to word what it was he wanted to say. “...That is, your aether, or lack of, is not ordinary by any means.”

The elezen cleared his throat a little, slouching just a little more. “So I’ve been told. When I had first met with...him,” He looked towards the pacing shadow figure. “And we had joined,” He mashed his hands together to illustrate. “A, er, well studied friend of mine had remarked that indeed, somehow I had been surviving without any aether at all. I’m not entirely sure what it means- but he told to me that every living thing has it inside them- like… a life force.

And to be without one- shouldn’t be possible normally.”

The bouts of exhaustion whenever he and Puffy were separated came to the forefront of his mind then.

“Your friend is correct. It is because of this that many are able to channel their aether into spells and the like in the first place. Save for pureblooded Garleans, as you are well aware. But you are no Garlean, clearly.

This being you speak of. Somehow it regulates your intake and output of aether, so that you remain in a stable state. This would explain why you experience debilitating symptoms when you are separated, so I assume.

When you were struck by the sin eater’s blade, had it not been for this system so to speak, then I’ve no doubt you would have turned. And there would have been nothing anyone could have done at that moment to aid you.”

He could have died.

Death was nothing knew to Vesevont. Not in the least.

But dying like that?

It made him nauseous, thinking about it.

“It was then, while you were ‘seeing white’, as you so described, that your vision turned to show you ‘black’ instead, correct? Which, is about the time that I was told that your body gained the likeness of our friend back there.”

“H...Had I?” Ves’ ears perked up.

“Yes.”

And thus the Exarch explained how he had turned into the shadow being, attacking the sin eater without hesitation, without any sort of mercy, inevitably skewering it in the same fashion it had attacked him, only with ink-like tendrils that had once been arms.

“Bear in mind these are all working theories I have been meditating on myself for the last several days now-” “Several days?!” Ves interrupted, looking around in a panic. “Yes- please! Be calm- you are safe here, and well. Or at least better than you were when you arrived.” The Exarch held his hands up to steady him. “But, as I was saying-

I theorize the sin eater’s attack overloaded your system, and that your companion used the enormous surge of aether in order to initiate the transformation to begin with, as, altering the physical body of anything takes quite a fair amount of energy to begin with, should it not prove impossible.”

Everything was starting to spin in the Ishgardian’s head.

Inevitably it manifested as a throbbing migraine. Ves let his head fall into his hands briefly as he sat there at the edge of the cot he’d woken up in. “What’s happening to me...”

The Exarch pursed his lips for a moment, before reaching out and putting a hand gently onto the elezen’s shoulder. “Forgive me, I did warn that it would be much. Did I not?” He said, with a light note of sympathetic humor in his voice. “...Nevertheless… You would have had to have been told eventually.

Let us come back to this again later, shall we? After you’ve recovered from this ordeal a bit more.”

Ves would have argued against it, were it not for the sheer amount of overwhelming everything he felt at that moment.

How would he get home?? Could he go back home? While those two questions were the most important ones he had had, he was sure he had about a hundred more buzzing around in his brain somewhere.

“Thank you, for having me brought here, and not left out there,” Still, he could thank the Exarch for that much. Living was much better than dying. Even if it was quite troublesome.

“I will deliver your thanks to Lyna, as she is the one who did most of the work in having you brought here.” The Exarch held a brighter smile then. “I will let you rest now.”

“Ah-” Ves raised a hand as the Exarch turned away. For a quick moment he glanced off to the side.

The shadow figure was gone.

“I uh… should I need to… have a walk around- am I free to leave?” As if he knew where the exit to the tower even was to begin with.

“You may. I will not keep you here like some prisoner.” The Exarch answered. “Though, with what the soldiers witnessed out on the road, I fear we need to come up with some sort of reasoning as to why you transformed into this terrifying shadow-creature that no one here has ever laid their eyes upon, that is capable of killing powerful sin eaters at that.”

The Ishgardian winced.

This man surely reminded him of the other hooded miqo’te in more ways than one.

“Seeing that you had stumbled out of Il Mheg, we could easily call it a curse, bestowed upon you by the fae.

A much more believable and easy-to-swallow account to the residents here, I wager.”

Fae-cursed?

Even Ves had heard stories of pixies and other dastardly creatures invoking curses on impolite or unlucky individuals. Though, they were usually tall-tales the elders would tell the children in order to get them to behave.

Still, it sounded better than saying he had a worm inside of him.

...Even thinking that sounded terrible.

“I take my leave, Vesevont. Thank you for sharing with me. Hopefully I was able to help you find answers, or at least begin to. If you’re in need of any assistance, please, let me know.”

The door creaked closed as Vesevont was left there in the small antechamber to think about…

Well… everything.

[laurasinele]

Aaaand it’s done. I missed some days and published some of the prompts out of deadline but I had them finished before the end of October, which makes me really really really happy given the creative draught that’s gotten over me since 2017. 

Here’s prompt 31 for this year’s fictober: “Scared, me?”. It begged to be a Drarry, thus it made the final chapter of the little fic inspired by previous prompts. I’m not as happy with chapters 3 and 4 as I am with 1 and 2, but I hope you like it.

Tags: sort of a reunion, drarry, ewe, consent

Warnings: can’t think of any

Agnes Appleworm arrived early that morning. She had been granted special permission to visit the Manor once a month after leaving Draco’s case and the Ministry. She came bearing homemade food and cleaning spells for the reading room, in which things were going to happen that afternoon. The Thing, actually. The formal procedure of lifting the house arrest and making Draco Malfoy a free man once again. 

After lunch, she wrapped Draco in a tight embrace. Despite Draco’s above average height, Agnes was still a good foot taller than him, this contributing to her tendency to mother every person she met, no matter their age or background. Draco had to admit he owed her his sanity because of that. 

“You’ve done great, love. I am very proud of you”

“It was all thanks to you, Agnes”

She made a conspiratory face.

“Well, I wouldn’t take the merit off Harry now, would I?”

Draco rolled his eyes and Mrs Appleworm burst out laughing good-humoredly.

“Potter’s been around for the last two years, you were the one who did the heavy lifting”

Mrs Appleworm looked at Draco with a tender smile, hands on his shoulders. She gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek and arranged his hair.

“I have to go now. Do come to visit, you’re always welcome”

“Thank you, Agnes. For everything, I mean it”

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and walked off, waving right before appareting away.

Draco was just turning his back to the open door of the reading room and vanishing the lunch dishes away when a series of whipping noises told him the Ministry officers had arrived. He turned around to greet them but he found himself freezed by the sight of several photographers, a wireless reporter, two writers, Minister Shacklebot, Hermione Granger with Martha O’Sea attached to her arm, four aurors, an unspeakable, a healer and a clerk from the Wizengamot. And no sign of Harry Potter. 

Hermione and Martha approached him first, used to the Manor after months of working with Draco in their magical mental health proposal, and eager to greet him in such an eventful date. Then the Minister, not before having the aurors position the journalist and warn them against any wrong-footed move towards their host. Draco was mildly shocked, since nobody told him there would be press, and somebody did tell him he was going to be there and wasn’t. Hermione stood on her toes to whisper in Draco’s ear:

“I know you don’t like this, but we need to make a good impression if we want the bill to be approved. Relax, it’ll be over in a minute”.

Draco exhaled and nodded, eyes closed in resignation. There was a speech about the war, and memory and reconstruction. Then Hermione and Martha talked about their work, emphasizing Draco’s help. Draco answered a few expectedly uncomfortable questions, but nobody was a prick to him, following the Minister’s demands. Hermione was wrong: it took way longer than a minute, and it felt forever. Finally, the healer gave him a quick check, the clerk produced the paperwork and many pictures were taken of him and the Minister signing his release and probation, shaking hands, and taking a copy of the magical mind healing project’s first draft with great ceremony. 

Draco felt all the wards and inhibition spells fall, and the Manor’s ancient magic stretch out and reach to the furthest corners of its grounds. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to contain all his magical energy pleading to shoot fireworks from his fingertips, to fly, to explode and set things on cold green fire, like a gigantic puppy after too much time locked in the kennel. 

The Minister shook his hand and gave him an earnest smile before asking if using his floo was okay. The press left on his wake, and so did the aurors, and Hermione and Martha after setting a work meeting at the Ministry. Just like that he was alone again, in his reading room, door closed, not a living soul in the house. The magical thrumming inside him was now just a pleasant vibration all over his body, and now that he wasn’t overwhelmed by it, he was free to wonder where on earth was Harry. 

He looked at his feet, sighed through his nose and told himself he should have seen it coming. There was nothing now that would make Harry come back. He wasn’t bound by his job anymore, and so he was able to avoid him. After all, they had never talked again about that Halloween night. Nothing else, not even a handshake, had happened between them. And yet Draco thought they at least were friends now.

This nine years had taught him nothing if not acceptance. You can’t make someone stay against their will, so be it. He shook the disappointment away and picked a book from his to read pile. A fantasy muggle novel, since Martha and Hermione had him overworking on the draft the weeks prior his release and he was done with medical and magical theory. He sat on his favourite armchair, by the window, trying to avoid the memory of all the Friday afternoons, and sometimes evenings, in which Harry sat opposite him. 

Not many pages in the world of a mysterious and undoubtedly hot witch-hunter, the window beside him rattled, making him jump. Outside, perched on the windowsill, a magpie held his gaze with human-like annoyance. Amused, Draco opened the window and the bird flew in, cawing impatiently at Draco from the seat in front of him, jumping on one leg, with a rolled note tied in the other. 

Wasn’t allowed to join the party. I’m at the front door. Wards won’t let me in. Guess they’re back to how they were before the war. Lift them for me? H. J. P.

Draco smiled softly and then he found he could not stop it. With his smile turned a wide grin, he flicked his wand to let Harry in and went to meet him at the entrance hall. When he got there, he was panting slightly, but the sight of a fidgeting Harry in civilian clothes, holding a bunch of books, a bouquet of white roses and a box of chocolates took his breath away. Still, he managed to play it aristocratically cool. He stopped on his tracks, straightened his pose and put his hands in his pockets. 

“Afternoon, Potter. May I ask what are all those for?”, he greeted calmly, pointing at the presents with his chin. 

“Well, I’ve been meaning to give the guy I like some sort of present, as in a first date, because we haven’t had one. One proper date, I mean. But I couldn’t decide between any of these books, because he loves to read, or the chocolates, because he does love chocolates, or the roses because I felt like an idiot passing by the florist every friday on my way to see him and thinking white roses remind me of him, but not getting the nerve to give him a bouquet just because. So here we are”. 

“Here we are”, repeated Draco with the stupid, unstoppable smile back on his face. 

Harry sighed and looked around, as if inspiration was going to appear there any minute. He was smiling too, albeit shyly, and kept changing his weight from one foot to the other. 

“So”, he mumbled, “I believe we’ve got a conversation on pause”.

Draco looked at his feet. When he looked up, Harry was a couple of steps closer, offering him the bouquet as if he was offering a token of peace to a dragon. Draco took them carefully, smelled them, and summoned a jar with water and a small side table where he set them. 

“Your hands are trembling”, pointed Draco taking the books and the chocolate and putting them next to the roses. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry laughed, fully aware this wasn’t the first time Draco had made that question. This time, though, the taunt in it wasn’t irritating. It felt like feathers up his breastbone. He closed the distance between them, his eyes set on Draco’s. He took Draco’s face between his hands and Draco, breathing heavily, put his arms around Harry, resting his hands in the middle of his back. 

“Scared, me?”, said Harry, voice trembling. “Go ahead, you were asking something”.

“I’m impressed by your good memory”, said Draco coolly. 

“I haven’t thought of anything else in the last two years”, he breathed. 

With a smirk, noses already touching, eyes hooded and brisk heartbeats, Draco whispered:

“Would it be wrong if I kissed you right now?”