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zazzander · 1 year

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The Traits of Slytherin, based on etymology.

I want to do a deep-dive into the traits of Slytherin and how the ideals of the Founder may have been obscured over Hogwarts’ 1000 year history.

So the Sorting Hat speaks in Modern English in the books – but that’s obviously not the language the Founders used. What it’s trying to convey are concepts from a thousand years ago. Almost inevitably, certain ideas will be lost in translation. So, let’s look at the words the Hat uses:

"Or perhaps in Slytherin, You'll make your real friends. Those cunning folk use any means, To achieve their ends."

A lot of people hear “any means to achieve their ends” and make judgements based on that – however, look at the earlier section: “you’ll make your real friends”. That doesn’t sound like the back-stabbing, self-serving House we’re told Slytherin is.

Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.

And power-hungry Slytherin / Loved those of great ambition.

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those / whose ancestry's purest."

For instance, Slytherin / Took only pure-blood wizards / Of great cunning just like him.

So we can assume all of these are traits important for Slytherin house. Since Slytherin wanted students “just like him” we can assume that Shrewdness was also on the list. We also learn from Dumbledore, who might or may not be a useful source, that Slytherin valued “cleverness, resourcefulness, determination, and ‘a certain disregard for the rules’”.

In this post I want to consider what words Slytherin may have originally used to convey these ideas – and if certain messages have been mistranslated or corrupted over time.

So what language did Slytherin speak? Well, let’s look at his name: Salazar Slytherin.

Basque and/or Arabic

The name Salazar is actually a surname seen in what was Castille. It means Old Hall, combining Castilian: sala “hall” and Basque: zahar “old”. In the 10th century there was actually a noble family called Salazar in Northern Burgos, Castille. If he was a relative of that noble family, then he likely spoke Basque. Considering the character of Salazar, it’s highly likely that – in this HP world – Salazar was a nobleman from Spain. Or, at least, his family was. The Sorting Hat says he’s “from fen” but that might be where he or his family settled after leaving Castille.

I wanted to investigate if this cultural context might have given use clues for his world view – as if canonically differed from those of the other three Founders. However, looking into Castilian virtues – such as early Spanish chivalry and religious orders, I find little overlap between them and Salazar’s ideal traits. It seems unlikely that he drew from that cultural context when recruiting his students.

I have seen people online argue the possibility of him being Moorish (i.e. Muslim). Castle building technically was very limited in Scotland / England in the 10th century. Their designs nothing like what we might expect from the origin Hogwarts. Furthermore, the architectural technology implied by Salazar’s Chamber of Secrets and its entrance, point to someone from a castle building region. The Moors of Spain were at the cutting edge of technology at this time, building both castles and sewage systems.

Much like with Castilian virtues, I don’t find much in the way of a correlation between Salazar’s ethos and Islamic virtues.

That being said, I did come across the concept of zaneem. “In the Arabic language zaneem is a person who is adopted among a group of people (i.e. he is not truly of them). […] this word is used for a person who is notorious among the people for his evil doing”. It’s possible that this attitude was adopted by Moorish wizards. They may have seen muggleborns as people who were not born to wizardkind and thus, intruders, inherently untrustworthy. So if Salazar was Moorish, or perhaps part-Moorish, he might have been raised in this belief – unlike the other three Founders, hence their famous disagreement.

Old English

This all brings up to the second element of Salazar’s name: Slytherin. A name with clear origins in Old English. This would have been the lingua franca of the Four Founders. Both Rowena and Godric probably spoke Old English natively (based on their name), with Salazar and Helga learning it at some point before or during their settlement in Hogwarts. It’s possible the founders spoke Latin, of course, but if that was their common language, I think Salazar’s nickname would have been Latin derived. A name such as Colubrinus “snake-liked one, cunning one” or Volvotor “one who moves like a snake”.

And Slytherin is almost certainly a nickname. As we established, Salazar would have been his surname – so we can guess Salazar Slytherin means Salazar the Slitherer.

In Old English, this would be either: Slidriend, Slideriend, Slidoriend, or Slidriend, eventually becoming: Slytherin(d). The “y” alternative spelling became common in Middle English, as did the use of the “th” sound. Why Salazar’s original first name was lost, who’s to say, it’s possible that his early departure is the cause.

When the Sorting Hat was created, the thoughts and ideas of Slytherin would have been rendered in Old English. Here are the traits I think Slytherin once called for:

Cunning / Shrewdness(by extension: cleverness, good judgement, cautiousness, wisdom). This is perhaps the easiest idea to translate of all. There are words in Old English that link cunning with deceit, but personally, I don’t think Slytherin wanted that (see “real friends” above). Here are possible words that Slytherin may have used in his lifetime:

Aberd, “crafty, cunning, callidus, sagacious” – further elaborated as “wise, expert, skilful, clever, experienced, ingenious, wise, shrewd, showing keen mental discernment and good judgement”.

Orþanc, “cunning, skilful”

Searuþancol, “cunning, shrewd, wise”

Gæp, “cautious, shrewd, subtle”

We see this in play when Slytherin are often slow to act. They consider the terrain fully before launching into battle. According to the wiki, they “weigh all possible outcomes before deciding exactly what should be done.”

Ambition / Power-Hungriness / Determination. The primary issue with this trait is that Old English simply did not have a word for ambition as we know it. Nor, really, the concept of being “hungry for power”. The word ‘ambition’ comes in Middle English from Old French between the 13th & 14th centuries. When it did come into use, it was always pejorative, referring to inordinate or overreaching desire. The neutral / positive sense of the word is a modern concept.

So that begs the question, what word did Salazar use back in the 10th century? I believe it could have been “riceter”. This seems to align, in part, with the traits we see in many Slytherins.

Riceter, in a positive sense this meant, “power, dominion, rule, greatness, glory; ambition”. It did have a negative side, “power improperly used, violence, force, tyranny, oppression; arrogance”. We know well enough that Slytherins are susceptible to that negative side of this trait. It might as well be a summary of Voldemort. The wiki also says that Pride is a known attribute of Slytherins, and I would say that also falls under this concept (pride = arrogance).

Geornfulnes / geornnes, this is another term I think could fit. It means “eagerness, zeal, diligence, desire, industry, endeavour”. This would certainly match the ideal of determination that Dumbledore mentioned.

There are a couple other words in Old English that mean determined which I think would still match up with Slytherin: stíþhygd “determined, resolute, constant”, ánstræc “resolute, determined”, áræd “prepared, resolute, determined”.

Okay, now we address the elephant in the room: purity.

Much like ambition, the word pure comes from Old French. So that means the word “pureblood” had to a later translation of Salazar’s origin wording. In fact, while “blood” is of Germanic origin, it wasn’t used to refer to one’s family until the 12th / 13th century. Hundreds of years after Salazar.

So what did Salazar actually say? Old English has a lot of words that have the translation “pure”. For example, bilehwit, this means “pure, sincere, honest” or héore “pleasant, secure, gentle, mild, pure”. These don’t fit at all, so I’m ignoring them. Instead, I think he either used:

Hlutor, “clean, pure, bright, sincere; free of impurities; clear intellect, free from obscurity; splendid, glorious, illustrious; clear from evil, guilt or deceit”

Or Mære, “famous, renowned, illustrious, pure, sterling”

With, Gebyrd, “birth; parentage, lineage; nature, condition”, as the original second element. This lines up with the phrase “whose ancestry is purest”.

Therefore, I think Salazar was actually calling for students from noble families (noble in both senses). Which does beg the question – why is blood purity ascribed to Salazar?

Descended From Gods

In this era and region, it was pretty common for nobles to claim descent from gods (or, when not calling them gods, powerful sorcerers). We know that wizarding families adopted this practice as well, with the Irish Sayre’s claiming to come from the powerful Animagus, The Morrigan. The Gaunts as well, may credit their origin to Gontia, another Celtic goddess (or “witch” as the wizarding world would view her), since that’s the origin of their name. We know that the Peverell family had ties with a being known as Death (in the Tale of Three Brothers).

Such heritages may have inclined Slytherin to believe his students would be more powerful than others. Based on the idea of riceter, we know Slytherin wanted his students to be powerful in magic. At the time, it wouldn’t have been so strange to assume that someone from a powerful magical lineage would also be powerful. So, we can guess that at least one of the prospective student’s parents needed to come from one of these lineages.

However, if we are to believe the 20th century pureblood supremacists, the requirement would be your entire family much come from such lineages to join Slytherin. We know this is simply not the case since the Sorting Hat admits half-bloods into the House.

So when did “of noble heritage” become “of only wizarding heritage”? And why?

Slytherin’s Trade & Goals

I came across a really insightful series of essays here: https://wellingtongoose.livejournal.com/32705.html

The author argues that, by the virtue of their time, the Founders would likely have been master-sorcerers who took on apprentices. There was mutual aid between all four Founders (and they were no doubt friends) but like with all apprenticeships of this era, they taught their students in the manner they saw fit without influencing each other’s teaching. Each Founder likely had a specific craft that they practiced and prospective students would apply for an apprenticeship in that magical trade.

WellingtonGoose (WG) guesses the trades of the three other Founders as:

Gryffindor: beast tamer or monster hunter. Such a profession requires bravery, boldness (and more than likely, a desire for fame). His sword is another clue.

Ravenclaw: scholar, healer, record-keeper. She prized wit and learning for this reason.

Hufflepuff: physical work such as farming or blacksmithing. She required apprentices who were hard-working and unafraid of toil.

WG suggests in their essay that Slytherin was a master architect, but this is where I disagree. I believe he trained magical advisors for royal and noble courts. If you’ve ever watched the Witcher, think along the lines of Yennefer & the sorcerers who are paired up with kings and queens. They position themselves in a place where they can quietly manipulate rulers.

You might be asking: where’s the evidence?

Merlin. This ancient and powerful wizard is – mistakenly – believed to have been Slytherin. Now, Merlin was alive long before Slytherin, so why would the wizarding world believe he was a Slytherin? Well, his profession. He was the magical advisor to the legendary King Arthur. (* btw, I’m aware that harry potter lore says he actually was a student at Hogwarts but Merlin was most likely alive in the 6th century – not the 10th!)

Lucius Malfoy (of the 16th century). This man served in the court of Queen Elizabeth. He was powerful and noble enough to offer his hand in marriage to the Queen (though she rejected him).

Purebloods in the Ministry. Purebloods, especially those from very notable families such as the Malfoys, Gaunts and the Blacks have never made themselves Ministers of Magic. Instead, these families influence policy from a distance – much in the way their ancestors would have influenced kings and queens of England.

By my reckoning, Slytherin required a prestigious lineage from his students because they would struggle to gain admittance into royal courts and noble hosts without it. They needed to be able to rub elbows with high society. This is why I think it’s likely that Salazar himself was Castilian nobility. Furthermore, shrewdness, cunning, ingenuity, guile and – yes – manipulativeness would be ideal traits for such a profession.

Salazar, being a shrewd man, knew as well that his apprentices would be tempted by the power offered by the muggles around them. If they were in anyway disloyal towards wizarding society, they could very well jump ship and help their king rather than their fellow wizards, resulting in potential disaster. After all, wealth and advancement would be there for the taking. Why not?

Thus, I think Salazar had one final requirement: a lack of loyalty towards muggles. Perhaps even strong distrust. This would have been most easily sourced from the population of wizards who had two magical parents. If they did have a muggle parent, they would need to fully and completely rejected their muggle heritage before becoming one of Salazar’s students. We see examples of this Snape & Voldemort, both of whom hated muggles by the time they arrived at Hogwarts.

We know that, at some point, likely around the 13th century, the term “pureblood” came to be used. This concept would have been influenced by Slytherin’s legacy. However, I don’t think it would have matched up with what we see in the 20th century. Instead, it probably worked like this:

Pureblood (either pur-burde or pur-blood): two magical parents

Pur, meaning “real, true, genuine; spiritually pure or perfect; total, completely, absolute; excellent, perfect, unblemished; unmixed, uncontaminated”. This word displaced Hlutor in the Middle English period.

Burde meaning “nobleman / noblewoman”. OE: gebyrd, displaced by ON: byrthr, becomes burde. Replaced in this context with blood sometime after the Middle English period, but retained the meaning of a term applied to a person.

Half-blood: one magical parent, one muggle parent

This one is obvious, I think.

Magbob: two muggle parents

Magik, Middle English “magic, sorcery” (from Old French)

Bobbe, Middle English “cluster of fruit; a twig with its leaves”, possibly from Goedelic, pobb, “shoot, tendril”.

Meaning: Magic-Shoot

I think there’s evidence for this as well with the Lucius Malfoy I mentioned earlier. If pureblood supremacy was the same as in the 20th century, then such a man would never have considered marrying a muggle queen. However, if the terms were a little looser, then this would be a very strategic move. With one magical parent, the next king or queen would be a half-blood. Have them marry another wizard and boom, pure-blood monarch.

I suspect the terminology didn’t change until after the Statute of Secrecy. Before wizards isolated themselves, they would freely intermarry with muggles. It would have been near impossible and, honestly, implausible to keep a track of every single ancestor of every single marriageable wizard.

However, after isolation, especially in the early years before the laws were relaxed, it would be evident that a lot of wizards would have two magical parents. Suddenly the word “pureblood” has very little weight at all. So the meaning shifted. The noble families, who already had anti-muggle sentiments, would have significantly less muggle ancestors. They could claim that “pureblood” meant having only magical ancestors. By the time we reach the 20th century, this idea is deeply rooted into wizarding society.

WG has a theory for why – genetics. See here: https://wellingtongoose.livejournal.com/31909.html

Magic is not a skill one can learn. It’s inherent. It’s genetic. In the time before seclusion, this wouldn’t have mattered so much. If wizarding parents had a child without magic, they could apprentice them in a different trade. Easy. However, in the age of isolation, having a squib is a disaster. Squibs are doomed to live half a life, never quite in the world of magic or muggle.

Using WG’s model of wizarding genetics, we can see why purebloods may have a decreased chance of having a squib child. And while wizards most certainly don’t understand genetics, they would doubtless have noticed this as well. I think the fear of having a squib, of having their own child condemned to the tragic existence that all squibs endure, would push along this new ideology.

It is odd to me that, in canon, the purebloods / Slytherins are the ones who want to remove the Statute. Or even that they supported it to begin with. You’d think that those against pureblood supremacy would support a return to the old ways. Though, if we consider that Slytherins are almost completely unable to practice their original craft under this new system, I can begin to understand why. Furthermore, I can see why many Slytherin talk about being “overlords” since, without a monarch to influence, their traditional craft is defunct. Thus, they must take matters into their own hands and reinstall absolute rule.

TLDR: Salazar Slytherin was master sorcerer whose primary profession had been as a royal advisor. He took on apprentices who wished to follow the same path. Salazar needed students who were cunning and shrewd and ambitious – the kind who could manipulate the kingdom from behind the scenes. He also wanted students who would never think to sell-out their own kind (wizards) in exchange for power, thus desired apprentices who were loyal to wizarding society and distrusted muggles. A thousand years later, this mentality has grown and corrupted, resulting in the infamy of the House.

#slytherin #salazar slytherin #hogwarts #hogwarts founders

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thoughts-of-a-social-worker · 2 years

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Language and Reading – The Privileges We Don’t Think About

On the whole, many internet readers would consider the ability to speak a language and to read text on a page as something that “just is”. It makes sense that we might take these things for granted in a technological age where many folks have near instantaneous access to information at their fingertips – including instructions for how to make the latest Starbucks secret menu item and the ability to play and replay at will the latest viral TikTok dance. But, without the ability to understand language or to read, we would not be able to engage in these activities, nor the many others that allow us to be connected to and participate in our larger world. Language and the ability to read help us to better communicate with one another. But, it is important to remember that – depending on where we live and who we are – we all learn how to “do” language a bit differently. Not everyone will agree with our own self-assessments of proficiency or even mastery of a language, even when we share the same one.

I have lived in Iowa my entire life, and it wasn’t until I met with a group of Wisconsin and New York students that I had any awareness of how different my language was from theirs. Yes, we all spoke American English, but each group spoke its own dialect. We were traveling together as student ambassadors to Japan, and I remember one student from New York asking me to say the word “coffee” again because “It was just so funny.” Don’t even get me started on what happened when I said “ope” for the first time. For those existing outside of the Midwest region of the United States, “ope” is generally thought to be a combination of the words “oh” and “whoops” and is usually said as an exclamation of surprise or as a way to signal that the speaker has made a small mistake or accident. For instance, I may say “ope” if I drop a piece of paper while trying to hand it to someone. Regardless of its quirks, Midwestern American English is still English language, and is recognized as such by other Americans (though some may look down upon the dialect as being a bit “country” and associate it with “uneducated” farm folk – that is a can of worms I may dive into later).

Guardian writer David Shariatmadari wrote about a similar issue in his article “The Limits of Standard English” in January 2020. He spoke on the stigma tied to the dialect of American English spoken by Black individuals and how many people still deemed it as “bad” English, not unlike the word “ope”. Perhaps strangest of all, however, was when Shariatmadari wrote about the paradox of the treatment of African American Vernacular English (AAVE) where most people know what it is – and can recognize and even appreciate it when used in popular culture, such as hip hop music and movies– but at the same time dismiss it as slang that has less value than more accepted dialects of English. The funny thing is, Shariatmadari laid out a compelling argument for why AAVE makes sense, not only as a geographic dialect – due to the historic and continued segregation of Black individuals from white individuals in our country – but also as a “rule-bound and systematic” language. The things that most people take issue with in AAVE, including the use of double-negatives, may not be common in American English but they are common in other respected languages like French and Italian. Why, if we view the latter as romantic and sophisticated languages, can’t we view AAVE the same way? Part of the answer to that question is stigma. When we think about who makes the decisions, past and present, in the U.S. about what is “acceptable” and “normal,” the picture becomes more clear. This leads me to address the issue of learning to read English.

In an article written by Jaime Saavedra about learning poverty, he wrote about reading as a milestone in every child’s life that would set the course for them to be active participants in larger society. Learning to read is the first step to learning about all sorts of other subjects, and it allows us to express ourselves and communicate with others. He stated that all children have the ability to learn to read (though I would argue they may not, depending on where they live in the world and whether or not they have the capacity or resources to do so), but Saavedra also addressed the particular difficulty of learning to read in English due to its complex system of rules. Let’s look at the sound “f”. Saavedra mentions how the letter “f” can signal this sound, but that combinations of letters such as “gh” in the word “cough” or “ph” in the word “phone” make the same sound – even though none of these letters individually make anything close to the “f” sound. What about words like “there,” “their,” and “they’re”? I know very well-educated, native English-speaking adults who still struggle with using these words correctly 100% of the time. It’s no wonder that English is one of the hardest languages in the world to master. And how is mastery of this language decided? You guessed it: by those who have historically decided what is “right” and “wrong” – the same people who decided which way of speaking English was the “correct” one.

So, if it is those with privilege and power who get to set the standard for what qualifies as “good” English and “bad” English, we have to consider which groups may have been historically favored as speaking English well. Looking at those who have long held positions of power in the United States throughout history, it is easy to see a common theme: white, male, affluent, and older (when taking into account the average life expectancy for each time period). These individuals often had easy access to quality education and generally moved in social circles with people who looked like themselves. That is not to say that those individuals did not accomplish great things, nor is it to say that they weren’t capable of recognizing their privilege – to a degree. But, when we realize that the norms and standards for our language are rooted in power and privilege, it should cause us to pause. We know more now, and we can do better. If a Midwestern “ope” can be accepted as a dialect of English and can be popularized by a internet personality (check out comedian Charlie Berens, if you aren’t familiar with him), if AAVE can be accepted as an edgy part of pop culture, what’s to stop those things from being accepted as normative – as a different way of doing English well? When we view our abilities to read text on a page and to speak a language through a lens of privilege, the world can start to look a lot different – and space for change can be made.

#Language #Reading #Privilege #SocialWork #AAVE #English #SocialJustice #JaimeSaavedra #DavidShariatmadari

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baffling-bisexual-quack · 3 years

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Thor: English is a difficult language. It can be understood through tough thorough thought, though.

Bruce: You need to stop.

#thorbruce #thruce #thunderscience #gammahammer #thor #bruce banner #incorrect avnegers quotes #incorrect revengers quotes #english #english language #THIS FUCKED ME UP SO MUCH WHEN I FIRST READ IT THO LIKE #ITS TRUE #ITS LIKE PEOPLE WHO SPOKE ENGLISH WERE TRYING TO MAKE A SECRET LANGUAGE #wAIT

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wqlfstqr · 3 years

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◟𖥻 ♡⃕ ៹ ·˚ ༘ ◡̈ she wasn't you ཿ remus lupin

▰▰▰ pairing(s): young!remus lupin x fem!reader, young!james potter x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: remus realizes that he was looking for y/n in other people

warning: a little jealousy ig, probably some grammar mistakes since english is not my first language :)

a/n: this is my first post and is honestly such a mess, I didn't even know what I was writing half of the time but I really liked the result so here ya go!!

words count: 1868

slightly inspired by this scene from secret admirer

ㅤㅤㅤy/n had always loved hogsmeade, especially in snowy times, there was something about the town that used to made her very happy and excited about the days they were allowed to visit the place. However, that saturday morning she wasn't as thrilled about the trip as always, and she was even willing to stay at bed all day while her friends went to have fun.

“cmon, you never miss an oportunity to go to hogsmeade” pleaded james while the girl covered herself with blankets up to the neck

“y'know what they say, there's always a first time for everything” she shrugged.

“is this about remus?” potter ventured to ask, making the girl freeze in her spot.

“what about remus?” she asked back, trying to act nonchalantly, the boy raised his eyebrowns at her in pure disbelief.

“I know that you know that he has a date, y/n/n” he said cautiously, waiting to see the reaction of his best friend, who hid further under the sheets as a response

"really? didn't know, guess people find out new things every day huh” she kept acting like she didn't know, like that wasn't the reason she was in bed at two in the afternoon, but she was a pretty bad liar and the way james knew her, probably better than anyone, didn't help at all

“listen to me y/n, I know that you fancy him and I know it's been like this for a while but this is probably for the better” james sighned, sitting on the edge of his bed, where she was laying with the covers covering most of her face “I love moony, and i'm very happy for him, but you deserve more than being sad in bed for someone that doesn't see how amazing you are”

y/n poked her head out of the covers, a very little smile crossing her face as she extended her arms towards james who quickly understood and took her in his own arms, hugging her and stroking her tousled hair with a smile. she felt safe, she always felt safe being with james, as if her worries were silly and there was nothing in the world that could hurt her.

“I still don't want to go to hogsmeade” she mumbled, her face hiding in the crook of his neck “I appreciate what you're doing for me, really, but I just want to sleep and forget about all this, just for today”

“then I'll stay with you” james replied, laying down and dragging y/n with him, determined not to let her go.

“but you should go, you deserve some fun and peter and sirius are waiting for you, you guys probably had a lot of plans for today.” she babbled, shoking her head.

“I'm pretty sure they can survive a few hours without me” james insisted and y/n knew he wasn't going to give up.

“can they? 'cause I bet sirius would die after fifteen minutes without you” she said jokingly, closing her eyes with a smile peeking out of her face as she heard james laughing

“he can figure how to survive just for today, I'm not gonna leave you alone drowning in your own misery” he joked, but the determination was clear in his voice.

y/n didn't bother to reply, knowing he would keep insisting, James Potter was for sure stubborn as hell and once he had proposed something, it was impossible to get the idea out of his head. So she sighned and, without talking more, she made herself comfortable in his arms, her eyes still closed as the world began to disappear around her and a feeling of peace started settling in her chest as the minutes passed slowly.

“shut up, you're gonna wake them up" sirius' voice flooded y/n's ears, followed by the sound of a door being opened

"no need, you already did" replied peter watching at the bed where his two friends were laying.

indeed, y/n began to slowly open her eyes while letting out a small yawn but remus was too frozen in his place to even react to that, a very strange feeling hitting his stomach as his head replayed over and over the scene his own eyes had witnessed seconds before; y/n laying on top of James, her face hidden in his chest while the boy hugged her around the waist, both of them fast asleep over the messy sheets.

“hey guys, how was hogsmeade?” she said, releasing herself from james's grasp to sit next to him, a tired smile crossing her face as she watched the other three marauders.

“it was pretty boring withou-” peter's sentence was left unfinished and the words lost in the air as remus spoke above him.

“we spend the whole afternoon looking for you two” he looked angry and y/n's tiredness disappeared quickly, being remplaced with surprise at the actitude of the boy.

“the hell's happening?” muttered james, his voice sounding sleepy as he narrowed his eyes at his friends

“we can ask you the same question" replied remus bitterly “did you even think how bloody worried we were?”

“moony what the fuck, It wasn't a big deal, we just fell asleep.” james was still half asleep, maybe too much to deal with the situation.

“you know what, prongs? I just remembered we bought a bunch of stuff from zonko's” sirius was fast to intervene, walking towards potter's bed “why don't we go watch it? I thought we could think of some way to use them”

before james could even respond, sirius lifted him completely out of bed and dragged him to the door, james tripping over his own feet while trying to walk on his own as peter didn't waste time following them. y/n got up too, with the intention of following them but sirius quickly closed the door before she could even get to it.

she understood the message very clear, exhaling before she turned to look at the only boy left; remus put his hands to his own face to hide behind them, letting out an exasperated sigh. the girl approached him quietly without saying anything, the two of them falling in a silence for some very long minutes.

“what happened to you?” she hesitated before asking, eyeing him with discretion.

“do you like him?” the answer was obviusly not expected by y/n, who seemed to have been taken by surprise “I mean james, do you like him?”

“what are you talking about?” she laugned with disbelief, but when she saw how serious remus was, she sighed “of course not”

“it's you who I like, prat” she wanted to tell him, but she bit her tongue just in time not to let go of anything that she would regret later, falling silent as she watched remus nooding slowly with his head.

“why do you care anyway” she questioned instead, crossing her arms under her chest.

“you two are my best friends, of course I care” y/n felt the disappointment roll her stomach at the answer. That was not the answer she was expecting.

“how was your date?” she quickly changed the subject, even though a part of her didn't want to know the answer.

“oh great, yeah, she's great” He rambled on, glancing at y / n sideways before speaking again “but...”

“but...” she encouraged, biting her lower lip while looking at the floor.

“but...” remus hesitated, scratching the back of his neck as a million thoughts ran through his head “she was great but she wasn't you”

she quickly raised her head, allowing remus a view of her tear-filled eyes but she didn't care about that, her biggest concern was the way her heart was starting to beat fast, almost as if it was treatening to jump off her chest in any moment.

“what do you mean?” she gulped, feeling a lump in her throat that didn't allow her to fully form the words.

“she was talking about all those things and she was really interesting you know? or so I thought, because I wasn't really paying attention” he admitted, shutting his eyes for a minute “I wasn't paying attention 'cause the only thing I could think about was that she wasn't you”

y/n had always liked remus, and she really didn't think anyone could blame her for it, was there really something not to like? Remus was pretty, kind and incredibly charming, he was a great friend, extremely smart and responsible when it was necessary but at the same time he could be so much fun when he was around the people he felt comfortable with. if anyone thought about the perfect human prototype, then the closest thing to that would have to be remus lupin.

so being there in that exact moment, standing in front of him after hearing what he had to say, she felt all the words get stuck in her throat as she locked eyes with him.

“it just wasn't what I thought it was supposed to be” he continued, feeling nervous as the time passed and there was no response from her “I expected her to be like... you.”

she had dreamed of situations similar to that for so long, she had waited for something like that for years and now that she had remus telling her all that, looking completely serious, she didn't know how to respond and that made her feel slightly frustrated, because she could see the desperation growing in lupin's eyes as time passed.

“I just want you to know that I don't expect you to feel the same, but I just can't keep it all to myself anymore” he kept babbling and was only interrumpted when y/n finally reacted.

and she did the only thing that crossed her mind, approaching him and pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring their lips together in a kiss that caught remus off guard and he only reacted seconds later, realizing that everything was real and not just a product of his imagination; his shoulders relaxing as he raised one of his hands to her chin, the other hand resting on her waist. Their lips danced together for a few seconds, fitting perfectly, almost as if they were made for each other and everything around them disappeared, the world stopping its course during that moment.

“I don't like james” she repeated, as she had done minutes before, her breathing was agitated as she rested her forehead on his “I don't like him because I like you, you idiot”

remus smile grew while he leaned to give her a little peek on the lips, only to be interrumpted by a sniff coming from the entry of the room, the two of them quickly pulling apart to put their glances towards the place, only to find three people standing right there, each one with the same smile on their faces.

“well aren't you two adorable?” teased sirius, with a grin on his face.

“you guys seriously don't know boundaries, do you?" y/n asked, only realizing her mistake once she saw sirius smiling even more.

“we siriusly don't”

#remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #james potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin one shot

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

And Dusk

A/N: It's family dinner time, babes!!

Warnings: none that I'm aware of

Word Count: 3629

—————————————

Chapter 12: Team Zero

Striding into the steam-clouded sauna where the two remaining Swedish assassins now silently relaxed, The Handler began an unprompted conversation in their language. “All the new age remedies out there, but nothing beats a good schvitz when it comes to stress,” As she sat on the bench, the two men carefully watched her. “My job can be stressful, sure. But I can’t imagine what it must be like for you boys.” She batted her eyelashes.

“Do we know you?” The Swede, who appeared to be the leader, questioned. The Handler kept her head turned forward as she stared down.

“No. But I know all about you,” Standing from the bench, she quietly chuckled and walked to the center of the sauna, the steam crawling its way up to her neck. “However, seems you’ve run into some problems on this job.”

“Just a snag.” He tilted his head.

“You lost your brother. I’d call that more than a snag.”

Snapping, the second Swede pushed off the wall and marched up to The Handler. Before he could get too close, he grunted when she grabbed hold of his manhood, freezing his steps. She watched as his mouth fell open in pain. “What if I can give you the location of the knife-hurling dolt responsible for blowing up your beloved brother?”

The first Swede tilted his head. “Who are you?”

“Somebody you’re going to want to know.” Her eyes never left the man she was assaulting. The second Swede finally found the breath within him to speak.

“Unharm my weiner.” He wheezed in English, The Handler kindly doing as he asked, a smile on her face. He sighed and stepped away as his brother held up the hand that had been twirling a knife the entire time.

“Go on.”

At his words, she turned to him. “I’ll give you the exact location of the one you’re looking for. Diego. The rest… I’ll leave up to your imaginations.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Let’s just say that his little game of ‘Hide the Sausage’ with my daughter needs a swift end. I just have one request,” The Handler approached the first Swede, the two in close proximity now. He watched her every move. “Don’t hurt the little one with the cute socks… and the other with the face scars.”

Lifting his chin, he furrowed his brows. “We’ve already killed her.” He mumbled. She only chuckled in amusement, the two men stiffening at the realization that their target may not have been executed like they thought.

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

The clicking of Reginald and (Y/N)’s shoes against the marble floor echoed throughout the hallway they walked down. The young girl was desperately trying to keep up with her father’s long strides, her puppy in her arms and her heart beating out of her chest. If they had actually complied, she was going to reveal her true whereabouts for the past two years to her family. They were going to know that the entire time they had been looking for Reginald, she was living under the same roof as him. No matter how many times she swallowed the lump in her throat, it always swelled right back up. “D-Dad, who are these people we’re having dinner with?”

“These people have been nothing but a nuisance to me.”

Her mind flashed back to the night of the gala. Diego had been there with Five. They were there for Reginald, to find out his intentions with the president. To find out what he was doing in Dallas in the first place. Reginald was a secretive man, he didn’t even let Grace or (Y/N) into his office unless he was present as well. Her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety the closer they approached the door to the tiki lounge. When Reginald stopped just before the doors, he turned to his daughter and lowered his voice. “When we enter, you are to sit and remain silent. Do not speak to them, do not interact with them. Sit and shut your mouth unless I tell you otherwise. And your pet remains on the floor or in your lap. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered and held Mr Pennycrumb close to her chest, the pup quietly panting and licking her cheek. That seemed to be enough for Reginald, for he nodded and turned forward, slamming the door open and marching into the lounge.

The Hargreeves stood dumbfounded at their father as he headed straight to the table they surrounded, not a word leaving his mouth. None of them had expected to see him ever again, especially not after the funeral they had attended back in 2019. But what they really didn’t expect to see was (Y/N) right behind him, her eyes avoiding them as she absentmindedly pat Mr Pennycrumb under his chin. She especially avoided looking at Five, whose jaw was dropped upon her appearance. The real kick was when Reginald pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit. Without even a peep, she sat down and allowed him to scoot her closer to the table before taking his own seat. The five blinked once before taking their own seats at the table.

“Not only have you burglarized my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked not only me, but my daughter as well, but you have, on numerous occasions, called me-”

Klaus joined the table with a grunt, a martini in his hand. “Hey, Pop. How’s it hangin’?”

“-‘Dad’,” Reginald gave everyone a once over as (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably under the stares of her family. “My reconnaissance tells me you’re not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so… who are you?”

(Y/N) watched as they all glanced at each other, opening their mouths to answer, but quickly closing them instead. This went on for a few seconds before Five decided to do it, “We’re your children. We’re from the future. In 1989, you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy.”

Reginald turned his head from left to right, frowning at each individual. “Why on earth would I adopt six-”

“Eight. One of us isn’t here.” Allison clasped her hands together on the table.

“Dead,” Diego muttered, his head bowed down. “One of us is dead.”

“And the eighth?” Reginald questioned. (Y/N) cleared her throat and began to speak, but stopped when he sent a cold glare her way. “What did we talk about?”

She quickly shook her head. “No, I… I’m the eighth. I’m also your child from the future. You just… got me very early this time-”

“(Y/N), it is not the time for your games-”

“It’s not a game! W-Why do you think I’ve been leaving my dates with Preston to be with them?” At the words ‘dates’ and ‘Preston’, Five leaned forward, eyes narrowed at his love. She glanced at him apologetically and shook her head. Reginald was just about to scold her yet again, but she rolled the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal the umbrella tattoo on her left arm. “Did you forget about this?”

“Yeah, ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. Enough of that now.” Klaus hissed and turned behind him. Everyone froze and stared at him in confusion. Turning forward again, he simply motioned for Reginald to continue. Uneasy, he did just that.

“Regardless,” His gaze turned back to Five. “What would possess me to adopt… seven ill-mannered malcontents?”

“We all have special abilities.” The boy answered.

“Special? In what sense?”

(Y/N) set her pet on the ground and sat up in her seat. “In the superpowered sense.” She raised her brows. Reginald sighed and clenched his jaw.

“My child, if you do not stay out of this as we agreed, I am going to have to send you to the car with your mother-”

“Dad! I am being so serious when I tell you I am one of them!”

“Well, call me old-fashioned, but I’m a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence,” He turned back to the table. “Show me. All of you.”

Allison scoffed and adjusted the straw in her drink. “Everybody wants to see powers all of a sudden…”

“We’re not circus animals, okay?” Luther spoke. “We’re not gonna bounce balls on our noses and clap our hands like seals for your amusement-”

As if on cue, Diego launched a knife across the table, zipping around Reginald’s head and pinning itself into the pillar behind him. The seven leaned in and watched as the man clicked his pen and began writing in his journal. “What are you writing?” Diego asked. Reginald glanced up at him.

“You are zero for two, young man.” He quipped, Allison sputtering her drink before Diego jumped up from his seat in anger. To prevent anything disastrous from occurring, Five stood and blinked in front of his brother, halting his movement and whispering a ‘stop!’ to him. “Now, that is interesting.” Reginald muttered.

Five sighed and headed back towards his seat. “Alright, uh, quick rundown. Luther: super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead. Allison can rumor anyone to do anything.”

“Except she never uses it.” Diego muttered. Allison removed her lips from her straw and sent a tight-lipped smile towards her brother.

“I heard a rumor… you punched yourself in the face.”

Against his will, Diego rammed his fist into his face, crying out and groaning in pain immediately after. Klaus reached over and tried to comfort him as (Y/N) and Vanya ducked their heads down to hide their smiles. Reginald glanced over at the latter. “And you?”

Luther placed a hand on his sister’s arm with a smile. “Uh, maybe we don’t take Vanya for a test run.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s probably not a good idea.” Klaus sat back in his chair.

“It’s fine,” Vanya shrugged, reaching for a fork. “I can handle it.” And despite her siblings’ protests, she tapped the fork against her glass. A high-pitched tone rang and shook the table. (Y/N) held her breath as she waited for the worst. A beat later, the bowl of fruit in the center of the table exploded, chunks of fruit splattering against everyone’s clothes and faces. (Y/N) tried to dodge as Mr Pennycrumb jumped into her lap, happily licking the food from her scarred cheeks and chin.

Reginald sighed along with his future children as he handed his only actual daughter a napkin to clean herself. Adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, he side-eyed her. “Alright, my child, show me.”

Not even hesitating, (Y/N) stood and placed her pup in her father’s lap, despite his clear distaste, and straightened her clothes. “Alright. So, I can clone myself. To both summon and dismiss these clones, I have to sing two distinct three-note tunes.” To prove her point, she ‘ooh’ed her first tune, her clone appearing from her shadow, standing with a blank stare. Reginald raised his brows and began writing in his journal. “These clones not only share a conscience with me, but function as muscle and spies.”

“Spies?” Reginald frowned.

“They’re able to record their memories for me to look over in my own mind. Over the past year, I’ve come to learn that I can view these memories in real time. They also function to fulfill any task I command them.” Turning to her clone, she placed her hands on her hips. “Pick up Pennycrumb’s leash,” She commanded, the clone immediately doing as it was told. “I’ve also recently learned that I can give them the ability to talk. But if I wanted to… oh, I don’t know… attend a date with a certain boy without actually being there, I can project my consciousness into its body.”

After taking a seat, (Y/N) immediately slumped in her chair, unconscious. The clone beside her perked up and blinked twice before turning to Reginald. The man leaned forward to inspect it, but jumped back when it spoke. “But if something prevents my clones from fulfilling their task, they will start to self-destruct after twelve hours if said task isn’t completed. This is done by tearing into its own flesh and ripping itself apart.”

At this, everyone shivered.

“Right. It’s terrifying,” The clone returned to its blank and empty shell before (Y/N) raised her head. “And to dismiss, I hum the tune from earlier in its descending order.” She demonstrated said tune, the clone disappearing into her shadow. Mr Pennycrumb excitedly jumped from Reginald to her lap, nuzzling into her arm. “Any questions, Dad?”

Reginald was hastily scribbling into his journal. “Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary… And even more so that you’ve managed to keep this power from me for over a year.” He whispered. Turning her head, she caught Five’s proud smile. She winked at him as Diego stood from his seat.

“Look, we know that you’re involved in a plot to assassinate the president.”

“You were recently hospitalized, isn’t that correct? You still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia.”

“Am I?” Diego reached into his back pocket and slid a picture over to his father. “Explain this. That’s you. That’s two days from now on the grassy knoll at the exact spot the president’s gonna get shot.”

Reginald picked up the photo and scanned it before his eyes moved to his daughter, the girl slightly shrinking under his gaze. Receiving his answer to the question he was to ask her, he turned back to Diego and set the photo down. “Well… I suppose you’ve solved it. You’ve single-handedly unearth my nefarious plot,” The smile Diego wore slowly faded. “Is that what you want to hear? You fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last good man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion.” The more Reginald tore into him, the lower Diego sat himself into his chair until his lips were quivering and a tear slid down his cheek. “The sad reality is that you’re a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.”

“Y-Y-You’re wr… wrong.” Diego stuttered. (Y/N) shakily inhaled and slammed her hand onto the table, alerting the rest of her siblings.

“Don’t you ever talk to him like that!”

“And you!” Reginald whirled to his daughter, the girl flinching a bit. “You have done nothing but deceive me! I half expect you to tell me that the man you chose over Preston sits among us!”

(Y/N)’s gaze instantly found Five’s. His green orbs were pleading, begging her to say it.

Tell him. Tell him you love me. Shout it from the rooftops, promise that you’ll always believe in us. Tell him.

But she couldn’t. Not when her doubts sealed her lips shut and casted her eyes away from him. The siblings stared between the two, heartbroken for their situation. Seeing that she chose to be ashamed, Five nodded and cleared his throat to speak. “Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.”

“War?” Reginald looked away from his daughter and to the boy across from him. “Men will always be at war with each other.”

“No, this isn’t just some war. I’m talking about a doomsday. The end of the world.”

“Well,” Reginald muttered after a beat of silence. “You’re the special ones, aren’t you? Why don’t you band together and do something about it?”

Expecting much, much more than that, all seven of them frowned. This was what Reginald wanted from the start, for them to come together as the Umbrella Academy and prevent the end of the world. But it had been almost two weeks and two apocalypses managed to form due to their actions. That was why they couldn’t.

Grunting, Klaus suddenly raised both his arms in the air and shook uncontrollably, choking out gasps and jerking his body. (Y/N) gasped and slowly reached out to him.

“Is he having a seizure?”

“Overdosing, probably…”

“Should we do something?”

Whipping her head to Luther, (Y/N) widened her eyes. “Yes!” She shouted before turning back to Klaus as he shuddered. “Shit, what if he is overdosing?!”

“Klaus,” Five leaned over and whispered. “Now is not the time. What are you doing?”

Gurgling, Klaus turned his body to Reginald, face contorted in discomfort. “I’m… Ben!” He gasped out before falling to the ground, panting and groaning. (Y/N) rushed to his side and placed a hand on his forehead.

“Klaus? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” She whispered as he reached up and weakly wrapped a hand around her wrist. Reginald looked from Klaus, to (Y/N), then to his journal before he gathered his things.

“Well… thank you for coming,” He stood from his chair and began to walk away, stepping over Klaus’s body. “I’ve seen about enough. Come along, (Y/N), your mother is waiting for us.”

A loud slam sounded, causing everyone in the room to turn to Luther, who stood and ripped his buttoned shirt open. (Y/N) covered her mouth when he revealed his discolored bare chest and abdomen. “Look at what you did to me! Look at it!”

As the siblings groaned and gawked, Reginald simply turned his attention to Five. “You in the culottes. A word, in private? (Y/N), to the car. This instant.”

“Yes, sir.” She whispered before giving Klaus a kiss on the forehead and standing to her feet. Five walked by her side in silence until they had to split ways. Reginald turned to the both of them, and just when (Y/N) was going to turn out of the lounge, Five grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a kiss to her lips. Gasping, the girl brushed her fingertips over her lips as her face burned. She watched Reginald for a reaction, but he only motioned for her to leave. “Bye, Five.” She grinned behind her hand and hurried away.

“This way, boy.” Reginald brought Five’s attention back to him, leading the two of them to the bar. After they took their seats and he ordered their drinks, Reginald turned to his future son. “You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch.”

“That’s because I’m the oldest,” Five nodded, Reginald tilting his head. “You know, technically, I’m older than you right now.”

Reginald turned forward when the bartender set down a bottle in front of him. “Cognac?”

“Just a smidge.” Five slightly smiled. As he poured their drinks, Reginald started their subject of conversation.

“The other night, you quoted Homer at me. Why?”

Five shifted in his seat and straightened his blaser. “You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original Greek, no less.” He raised his brows before a glass was passed to him. He and his father did a silent cheer before he took a gulp of it. The entire situation was so jarring to the boy, but as he said before, he didn’t choose this life. He’s just living it. For the next few days, anyway. “This world ends in five days if we don’t get out of the timeline.”

“Worlds end. Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on.”

“We can do something about this one.”

“Man’s greatest flaw: the illusion of control.”

The boy frowned. “I need your help. Alright? You’re my last sane option. Otherwise, I gotta make a deal that I really don’t wanna make. What do you know about time travel?”

“In theory?”

“In practice.”

Reginald hummed. “I know it’s akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing waters and reappearing-”

“-as an acorn. Yeah.” Five finished with a sigh.

“What transpired when you tried traveling before?”

The boy blinked and shook his head as he looked away. “I botched it…”

“How?”

“I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the future for forty-five years in an apocalypse. Then I jumped too far backwards… except this time, I brought my entire family with me.”

Reginald tapped his fingers against the bar as he clicked his tongue. “Including (Y/N)?” He questioned, receiving a nod in answer. “Well, maybe your appetite is disproportionate to the size of your abilities. Start small. Seconds, not decades.”

“Seconds?” Five widened his eyes. “Look, no offense, but I need a bit more time for what I’m trying to accomplish here.”

“So much can change in a matter of seconds. One can overthrow an empire,” His eyes moved from Five to the doorway (Y/N) had been standing in seconds ago unbeknownst to Five. “One could fall in love. An acorn doesn’t become an oak overnight.”

Five swallowed, his expression that of defeat. “I was really hoping you had more than that.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help…”

Five shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, too. I gave you such a hard time as a kid… I didn’t know any better.”

Humming, Reginald glanced down before raising his glass. “No skin off my teeth, old man.” He smiled before drinking. Five sighed and downed the rest of his drink before standing from his seat. “One more thing.”

“What is it?” Five turned back to his father, freezing at the cold look he had been giving him.

“It would be best… if you refrained from courting (Y/N).”

A pang going through his chest, Five rapidly blinked and stepped back. “W-What…?”

“Your relationship is not healthy,” Reginald stood from his stool and began walking past the boy. “And besides…”

Five clenched his fists as his father walked towards the exit of the tiki lounge.

“I have plans for her.”

—————————————

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#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua five #tua x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight #and dusk

107 notes · View notes

raibebe · 4 years

Text

Invoke

Genre: Mystery? Thriller? Slightly gore? With some fluff? And eventual smut? Words: 13.315 Prompt: Warlock Yuta, familiar Ten, female reader Warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, mentions of religion, blasphemy (our warlock doesn’t like the church and made a deal with the devil), blood, devil summoning, murder with magic, actual murder

A/N: This has a couple of darker themes, if you’re sensitive to any of them, please be careful or just sit this fic out and don’t read it. The abuse is only implied and is not happening to any of the main characters. This seriously went out of hand and holy fuck I love warlock Yuta?? Thank you so much for requesting this @def-sol! Ruby I loved this idea so much, I hope you enjoyed this. The beautiful moodboard is by @min-inu as always, thank you darling! Another big thank you to @burtonized, Jo you’re the real MVP for listening to me whine all day long.

Warlock: A male practitioner of witchcraft. The word comes from the Old English word wǣrloga meaning “oathbreaker” or “deceiver”. The terms were associated with witches and warlocks as they were seen as someone who made a pact with the devil and thus had betrayed the Christian faith and broke their baptismal vows.

It was a rainy autumn afternoon, the clouds had sunken into the valley your hometown was located in and covered everything in a layer of grey fog, washing away every color. You adjusted the hood of your cloak to shield yourself from the moisture after you stepped out of the little bakery you worked at when you heard the hooves of multiple horses on the beat up street that lead to the little town. Knowing that nothing good ever came from those horseman, you quickly hid the loaf of bread in your ratty coat and headed to the town square. A small crowd had already gathered when one of the knights pulled loose what seemed to be a lump rolled into a cloth from his horse that fell to the ground with a low thud. Only when it started to move, you felt the horror creep up your back. A couple of people quickly scrambled to see what was inside the cloth, even though you all already knew it. Beneath the thick linen, a girl’s face was revealed. You hadn’t known her when the knights had taken her with them just a couple of weeks prior but you could feel nothing but sincere pity for the girl. Her face was unnaturally swollen, her skin more the color of violets than her actual skin tone, blood clinging to her features and she was shivering in the arms of one of the women, completely silent. You turned your back towards her, not wanting to see the state the rest of her body must be in. The last girl that had come back from the royal court had only lasted a week before she had died due to the multiple injuries she had. She also hadn’t spoken a single word. But everyone had known what that men of the court must have done to her in the castle that overlooked the little valley, sitting high up on a nearby hill.

The knights just kept sitting in their saddles, completely unfazed. How could a person be this cold? How could they just follow the orders from their sires to keep taking girls away from their families to bring them back broken and beat, unable to continue to live a normal life? And how was no one doing anything against this? Why were the lords of these lands above the law? Why didn’t the priests do anything with all the power they had? The sight made you sick to the stomach and you couldn’t stand to look at the scene even a second longer, walking back to your home, trying to ignore the screams of the girl the knights must have picked out to take with them. You grabbed the cross hanging around your neck tightly and spoke a prayer to protect the girl from the worst.

That night you couldn’t fall asleep, your thoughts twisting and turning inside your head. Your anger towards the royals only grew more and more with each girl they took with them and you were sick of everyone just accepting their fate. The girls lived in fear that they would be the next one taken and the fathers and mothers were desperate to keep their daughters safe, praying every evening inside the small church. But with every day that passed you lost faith in your god. How could a just god let all of this happen? And the people of the town alone couldn’t do anything to stop this abuse. If they would speak up, they wouldn’t even be able to finish their words because their head would be rolling from their shoulders as soon as they opened their mouths.

Sighing, you rolled onto your back, staring at the holes in the ceiling. You refused to accept that you should patiently wait until the knights unfortunately picked you to take you to the castle where the royals would completely break you, shattering your being to the core. There must be a way to stop all of this. To put an end to the injustice that was happening. When the new lord had been initiated, he had sworn with his hand on the Sacred Scriptures that he would protect the people caring for his lands. If this was what him caring looked like, you didn’t even want to know what it would be like if he was turning a blind eye. It really seemed like you and your town needed some supernatural help or otherwise the royals would just keep playing with the lives of their subjects like they meant nothing.

That was when an idea shot into your head, making you sit up in your bed. After the last girl had come back and the healers of your village hadn’t been able to arrest her bleeding and the prayers of the priests hadn’t helped either, her mother had sneaked away to find a man that lived alone in the woods who was rumored to be gifted with certain powers that allowed him to give and take life. Of course the mother had to do it in secret; if the priests ever found out about that man, he would be burned on the town’s square just like the red haired woman who had wanted to travel through the town. Sometimes you could still hear her screams when the flames ate away her flesh. The next night you had seen a figure wearing a dark cloak sneaking into the home of the family. Curious as to what was going to happen you had sneaked over as well, watching the scene through a crack in the back door: The man had sat down on the bed of the girl and took off his hood to reveal long unruly strands of a red brighter than you had ever seen. He had spoken a couple of words in a language unfamiliar to you, keeping his voice level and his gaze down towards the girl. After a while, the girl had begun to shake and thrash only to suddenly stop mid movement before deflating back onto the mattress. The man then had let out a deep sigh before he put the hood of his cloak over his head again. He only said four words to the parents on his way out: “Her struggle is over.” When the parents ran to the body of their daughter, he had picked up a bundle the father had set up on the desk and left without looking back. That night you could hear the mother cry until the sun crawled over the trees of the forest again and the nature came back to life to cover her pain with beautiful symphonies.

That man had liberated the girl from her injuries and pain by taking her life just from talking to her. He must have some special powers people attributed to witches and warlocks. He must be powerful enough to help you. And if the family of that girl was able to pay him to use his abilities in their favor (even if it hadn’t turned out how they wanted to), he must also have a price for killing the royals. Or at least send them a warning. You had to find this man and at least try to win him over. As far as you were concerned he might be your only chance to put an end to this.

After a rough night of twisting and turning in your scratchy sheets, you got up more determined than ever to find the mysterious warlock. You quickly got dressed in your warmest cloak and left the house you had rented your room in, sneaking past your snoring landlord who smelled like he had spent his night in the tavern yet again, drinking too much and then lusting after the skirts of women that were way too young for him. You couldn’t help but feel relieved when you left the house and could breathe in the fresh air of the morning. Once your lungs were filled with air smelling like a mixture of freshly cut grass and baked bread, you turned to leave the town. You had no idea where exactly you could find the man. But rumors about him had traveled around the town since the day you were born. Coming to think of it, he seemed to have been around for as long as you could think which didn’t match with how young he had seemed to be when you got that glimpse of him a couple of weeks prior. But the priests always preached that those who had broken their vows and abandoned the right path had many different wicked tricks to disguise their true form.

Mindlessly you followed a trail that lead deeper into the woods and away from the fields where the workers were cultivating different plants both for themselves and for the damned royals. If the priests had never bothered to pay the man a visit, he must live in a place they couldn’t reach, up higher the hill where the paths were narrow and steep. So those were the paths you were taking, paying attention to never lose your footing and keeping your eyes open for anything suspicious.

You were about to give up when the underbrush became thicker and thicker, clearly untouched when you heard the jingle of what seemed to be a little bell. Why would there be a bell ringing in the middle of the forest? Cautiously you listened and crept closer to what seemed to be the source of the noise. It wasn’t long until you found the cause: A small black cat was rubbing its head against a branch in what seemed to be an attempt to get the collar off but it was wrapped too tightly around its throat. “Do you need some help, little one?” You softly asked as to not startle the feline. The cat immediately stopped whatever it was trying to do and stared up at you from big, amber eyes. You carefully approached it and kneeled down, slowly extending your hand towards it so it could see that you meant no harm. After it carefully eyed you up and down, the cat crawled over to first sniff your fingers before it pressed its head into your palm. Giggling you scratched it behind its ears which earned you a loud purr. “Let me get that collar off of you,” you murmured, carefully tipping the cat’s head so you could examine the leather band the bell was fastened onto. With nimble fingers you undid the intricate knot and the cat could slip out of it. Once it was free, it curved its back and hissed loudly at the little object resting in your palm. “You really didn’t like that bell, huh?” You smiled. “Who do you belong to, little one? I’m looking for a man with red hair. I was hoping he could help me with a problem.” Why were you talking to a cat? It wasn’t like it could understand and lead you to the warlock.

Strangely enough the cat crooked its head as if it was listening to your words and thinking about what it should do. “Do you know him and can take me to him?” You asked carefully, eyeing the cat carefully. It meowed loudly before it got up to disappear deeper into the underbrush. You sighed deeply. Of course the cat had neither understood you nor would it be able to help you. Whether you liked it or not, you might had to ask the family who had lost their daughter where you could find the warlock. It was useless to stray through the forest like this, hoping to stumble upon a house or the man himself. You were about to turn around when another rather annoyed sounding meow tore through the sounds of the forest and a pair of amber eyes looked at you from the bush the cat had jumped into. “Are you trying to help me find him?” You disbelievingly asked the cat who actually rolled its eyes at you. When did a normal cat ever roll its eyes? Could cats even roll their eyes? What was happening? Before your thoughts could spiral any further, the cat made its way through the underbrush again, and you scrambled to follow the black creature, not taking chances of losing it between the bushes and trees.

Soon you reached a clearing the cat eagerly crossed, climbing onto a big stone surface in the grass where it curled up in the sun. Further back between a couple of big oak trees sat a small hut that surely had seen better times. “Where have you taken me?” You quietly asked the cat. Of course it didn’t respond, it just lazily turned its head towards the house where a figure clad in black clothes just emerged, their red hair reflecting the light of the sun that was peeking through the trees. “You little shit!” The person called, clearly a male voice, “How did you manage to get it off?” The cat didn’t even react to the screaming, just stretching its lithe body in the sun. “And who are you?” The man asked when he came closer, his green eyes so piercing it made you shiver. “I- Your cat showed me the way,” you stuttered. “That’s not what I asked, woman.” The warlock angrily crossed his arms in front of his chest and arched one of his eyebrows, waiting for an actual answer to his question. Taking a deep breath, you explained your situation to the man: Beginning with the story of how the knights kept kidnapping girls from your town and in which state they brought them back, if they brought them back at all. Then you told him how helpless the people were, how everyone with a daughter lived in constant fear that she would be next. You told him that you had seen him all those nights ago when he took the girl’s life to rid her from her suffering. Through all of it his face remained blank just the cat got up from where it was curled up, walking around its owner’s feet. “I need your help. We all do,” you ended your speech, “I know it’s within your powers to take lives. We need help getting rid of these royals. We can’t keep living like this, they will keep taking girls until there are no more left and I can’t just watch and wait until they take me. Please, we have no means of doing anything against them.”

“No.” “What do you mean no?” You asked the warlock who had scooped up his lithe cat into his arms and turned to walk back into his house. “I’m not doing it. It’s no use to interfere with royals, they never change.” “But you could help the whole town. We are being terrorized, every week the guards come and take another girl with them and they either never come back or they are so traumatized they can’t even speak about whatever has happened to them and we can only tend to their wounds. I am begging you,” you pleaded but the warlock didn’t turn back around, only his cat seemed to listen who had climbed onto his shoulder, looking at you from its big amber eyes. “I’ll do anything. Take me, take my body, I don’t care. I just don’t want them to break me.” “Anything you say?” The man asked, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t want them to have control over my body,” you whispered, “You can’t do anything worse to me than what the royals are doing to those girls.”

After a beat of silence, the cat meowed loudly, jumping down from the man’s shoulder to walk over to you again, cocking its head as if it was evaluating you. “I’m not going to do it,” the warlock repeated but before you could protest, he turned around again, locking his piercing green eyes with yours, “But I am going to teach you so you can do it yourself.” “It’s not going to be nice or easy,” he continued, looking you up and down once, then twice, “Take that thing off, we won’t need it where we are headed.” He motioned to the cross you had dangling around your neck; your only possession of any worth. “It has protected me from evil up until now,” you protested, closing your fist around it. “Woman. What did the priests tell you where me and my brothers and sisters have gotten our powers from?” The warlock asked, his green eyes almost glowing. You had never heard a man saying the word ‘priest’ with so much hatred and disgust. “They say you’ve made a deal with the... With the devil,” you stuttered. “For once that is a piece of truth that those fat men are speaking,” he snarled, “We are not born with these powers, we have to offer Satan a piece of ourselves in exchange for the powers he grants us with and he won’t be pleased to see that symbol of lies and oppression around your neck.”

For a while you stood still in front of the warlock who had come so close to you that you could count every single chain link on the chain that was hanging from the cartilage of his ear. “How badly do you want to make those good-for-nothing-royals to pay for what they have done?” He spoke lowly, lifting his hand to slowly caress your jaw. You took a shaky breath and met his eyes again. “More than anything in my life.” “Then this shouldn’t be a problem,” he rasped before he grabbed your necklace and ripped it straight off, throwing it into the woods. Shaking off the shock, you quickly followed him and his cat into the little house that seemed to burst from its seams: Herbs, candles and different bones hanging from the ceiling and sitting on almost every available surface.

“Just sit on the sofa and don’t distract me,” the warlock said, starting to rummage through drawers. “Are you going to tell me your name?” You carefully asked after you had sat down on the only free space of the sofa, the cat quickly joining you, “In the town they just call you ‘the outcast’ if they speak about you.” The man snorted loudly. “I like that title but you can call me Yuta.” Yuta. You had never heard that name before. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” “I am not. Not that it is any of your business. I am just going to help you to get your revenge on those royals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You nodded, idly stroking the black cat in your lap who had started purring loudly. You hadn’t expected the warlock to act like he did. You had come here expecting to bribe him with either money or even your body. It hadn’t fully sunken in that Yuta would turn you into a witch by making a deal with the devil. But you had a mission. You couldn’t just watch another girl getting taken by the knights to become a toy for some royal asshole that would throw her away like a broken shield. You really hoped that the whole process wouldn’t take long. The longer you needed to wait with your revenge, the more girls would get taken and never be the same again.

“What’s its name?” You asked curiously after you had been stroking the cat’s fur for a while. “He’s called Ten,” Yuta answered while grabbing different stones and skulls from the drawers of his giant cupboard that was covering the length of a whole wall. “Like the number?” “He’s the tenth child of a tenth child. Don’t underestimate him just because he looks like a cat.” “But what could he do?” You were confused. “A lot more than your mortal brain could imagine,” a smooth voice answered instead of Yuta’s and it took you a second before you realized it had been the cat who had spoken. “Did the cat just speak?” You squeaked. “I didn’t hear anything,” the warlock grinned and left the room to search for more ingredients. “He did just tell you my name, don’t go around calling me ‘the cat’ now,” the voice spoke again. You looked down to the cat that was curled up in your lap to find him looking right back at you with a stare that should have been way too intense for a mere cat. “How do you do that?” You whispered. “Does he know you can talk?” “You think he would survive out here on his own for years on end if he didn’t have me to talk to?” “But he said he doesn’t hear you.” “Because I am talking to you right now and not to him,” Ten stated as if this was the most normal thing in the world while he was cleaning his fur.

“Don’t believe anything he is telling you. Everything he’s telling you about me is made up,” Yuta said when he came back to the room, a dagger in his hands. “I sincerely hope you aren’t scared of blood because otherwise this is going to be difficult.” You swallowed dryly, looking at the size of that dagger, but slowly shook your head. Yuta’s green eyes fixated on yours for a couple of moments before he nodded, wrapping the dagger in a cloth with multiple questionable stains. “I’m assuming you have saved your virtue?” You felt the heat rise to your face at his question, never had you met such a man who would ask questions like that so directly and unashamed. “I- I have,” you stuttered, feeling the need to cover your burning cheeks. “That saves us a lot of trouble,” Yuta nodded, grabbing some more things that he had scattered around the house.

“We need to walk for a bit, I am not opening a gate to hell in my garden again. The smell is horrible to get rid of,” the warlock called after he had found everything he needed and had rolled it into a cloth for transportation. “The smell?” “Have you ever been present at a burning of a supposed witch? That’s the smell. But amplified,” Ten provided from his space on the sofa cushions. “Already scared?” Yuta asked with a smirk on his plush lips when he saw your scandalized expression. “No,” you answered, squaring your shoulders, “I’ll do whatever it takes.” “You better,” he grinned and opened the door of his home, leading you into the forest, further up the hill.

Soon you reached a little clearing where the soil seemed oddly burned where Yuta dropped his bundle of supplies. “You do this here often?” You asked curiously, looking around the area. “Opening a gate to hell? No. But sometimes it is fun to mess with demons,” he answered, winking mischievously, making your heart skip a beat. “Demons are a thing?” “Of course they are,” the warlock giggled, wiggling his eyebrows while pulling a smaller sachet from his makeshift bag, “Just stand in the middle of the burned area and don’t move.”

Nodding you followed his orders and watched him paint a perfect circle around you with the white powder from the sachet. After he had finished the circle, he painted lines through it, creating a pentagram. Satisfied with his work he pulled candles and crystals from his bag next, placing them at the edges of the pentagram and lighting the candles with a mere flick of his wrist. Next he grabbed a skull from his bag, placing it at your feet. “Now to the less comfortable part,” Yuta mumbled, pulling the dagger from its wrappings, “Hold out your arms and don’t move whatever happens. Your innocence is what keeps this whole thing from falling apart.” Slowly you held up your arms and he rolled up your sleeves. You prayed that he wouldn’t notice how you were trying to fight the way your arms were shaking but of course it didn’t slip his sharp eyes. “Nervous?” He grinned. “You are about to summon the literal devil, telling me I am what makes or breaks this ritual. Of course I am nervous,” you stammered, balling your hands to control the shaking. “Cute. Nervous about the ritual and not about losing your humanity for a petty revenge,” the warlock laughed. Before you could reply, he had quickly pulled the dagger across his palm without even batting an eye. “Now brace yourself.” He walked along the perimeter of the circle again, speaking in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice carrying a different weight than before, like he was speaking with multiple voices at once. When he had completed the circle, he closed off his wound with another flick of his wrist before walking towards you, still chanting the foreign words. Once he stood in front of you, he slowly raised the blade, locking eyes with you once before he dragged it over your exposed arms, making your blood seep from the cut.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep the whimper inside that was trying to fight its way past your lips. You were not showing the warlock any more weaknesses than you already had; you could do this. Yuta kept his eyes to where more and more blood was coming to the surface, watching the droplets come together to drip off your arm. As soon as the first droplet hit the ground, the atmosphere around you changed: There were no more birds singing or wind ruffling through the leaves of the trees and it seemed to have gotten darker, almost unnaturally so, the candles supplying the only light on the clearing. A heartbeat later, the flames shot up high into the air, causing you to flinch. You fought your instinct to turn on the spot to run away. You needed to do this. Needed to do this for the sake of your town’s people. “Relax,” Yuta whispered into your ear, slowly turning your arms so the cuts were facing down, making more blood drop, “The devil is a lot nicer than the priests make him out to be.” You took a deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart which turned out to be a mistake: Your lungs were filled with the smell of burning air and sulfur, the smell so overbearing that you felt like you were suffocating. “Even breaths, in the mouth and out the nose,” Yuta whispered when he sensed your panic, gripping your arms tightly from where he was standing behind you. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to even out your breathing while the scent of fire and burnt flesh got stronger with each breath you took. “Yuta, I can’t”, you heaved. “You can and you will,” he replied, voice stern, his nails digging into your skin. You tried to focus on the pain he was inflicting on you, the way the cuts stung and the way the blood was seeping from your flesh. You had no idea how much blood you had lost but your head was getting dizzy and your legs weak. “Don’t quit on me now,” you heard Yuta hiss through the fog that started to cloud your brain, “We’re almost there.” His grip on you tightened significantly when a loud crack resonated in the air not unlike to when a strike of lightning had hit its target. If it was possible, the smell only became more potent and the heat the candles gave off intensified tenfold. When you heard a deep rumbling laugh, Yuta turned your arms back around so the wounds on your forearms were facing upward again.

“My lord,” you heard the warlock speak, addressing whoever he had just summoned with the help of your blood. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, it was all too much: the heat, the smell and the stinging in your arms. If you were to see whatever was happening right in front of you, you were sure your brain would either forget how to breathe or how to keep holding your body up. You were already resting most of your weight on the warlock. “You brought me a new lamb,” a deep voice filled the space around you that seemed to come from every direction at once, covering you like a cloud. “Her cause is a noble one.” The voice chuckled. “Ready to give yourself over to me?” When you didn’t reply, Yuta pinched you again and you managed to squeeze out an affirmation even though your throat felt as if it was made out of sandpaper, your voice sounding gravely and foreign to your ears. “It’s over soon, my little lamb,” the voice rumbled, “I take good care of what is mine.” Whatever who you assumed to be the devil did next, filled your body with excruciating pain. It began from the cut in your arms and it felt like he had filled your veins with liquid fire that burned its way through your every fiber, taking over every thought in your brain. A silent scream left your lips and all you could remember before passing out were a pair of piercing green eyes and the smell of sulfur.

When you regained consciousness it was in the comfort of a soft mattress beneath a thick blanket. You carefully blinked your eyes open a couple of times, trying to get the herbs hanging from the ceiling into focus. Once you could make out the little flowers on the branch of lavender, you let your gaze wander. Opposite of you stood a big mirror in front of what you assumed was a closet made out of mismatched wood with intricate carvings. Yuta must have brought you back to his cabin. Which meant that you were currently laying in his bed. The thought made blood rush to your head and you instinctively hid yourself in the softness of the blanket even though no one was around to see you. Like this his smell invaded your senses. It was earthy yet spicy. Dangerous. You sighed and let the smell comfort you, closing your eyes again.

Your limbs still felt heavy but after checking quickly, the wounds on your arms were gone, not even the smallest scar left. How long had you been unconscious for? With how tired you still felt, it couldn’t have been for long, but the sun that was shining through the curtains told a different story. Outside you could hear birds chirping and if you focused just enough you could hear a cat meowing, probably Ten. Smiling you let your mind wander, letting the sounds of the animals relax you. But while you were counting your breaths to empty your mind, you couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. With every breath you took, you mind didn’t become more empty, instead you were feeling more and more: First it was just the way the blanket was scratching your bare arms and legs. Then you thought you were able to feel the herbs that were strung up to dry above your head. And somehow you could tell that Ten was no longer meowing in the garden, probably talking to Yuta but that he was walking towards the window of the bedroom.

You quickly opened your eyes and sat up straight in the bed just as his paws met the windowsill. “You’re awake,” his voice filled your head. You could just nod, staring at the cat in disbelief. How had you been able to predict that he was jumping into the room the exact moment that he did? “Feeling different yet?” Ten asked on, smoothly jumping onto the mattress. “Not really but you do,” you confessed. From up close he still looked the same but something was different. He felt bigger? Older? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But what you knew for sure now was that he wasn’t just a talking cat. Yuta had been right, Ten was much more than his body made it seem. “I’m still the same,” he chuckled, neatly folding his tail around his sitting form, “But you certainly are different.” “How can you tell?” “Just take a look at yourself.” Both scared and curious you looked up and met your reflection in the mirror but the eyes that were looking back at you, weren’t your own. Your image in the mirror eyed you with deep emerald green eyes and if the light was not tricking your eyes, your hair had changed color as well. It wasn’t as vibrant as Yuta’s but it was definitely red. “So it is true that witches have red hair,” you mumbled under your breath, raking your hands through your hair to feel the strands. “Most witches have red hair but not all with red hair are witches and warlocks,” Ten confirmed.

Just with Ten before, you had a feeling that Yuta would enter the room before the door moved to reveal his body. “It’s about time you wake up, little witch,” the warlock grumbled. Today he had his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, strands of his unruly hair escaping it and curling at his nape. His piercing eyes scanned over your body quickly before he met yours. “Do you feel them yet?” “Feel whom?” “The energies around you,” Yuta replied as if it was a self-explanatory thing. When you kept quiet and just looked at him from big, unknowing eyes, he groaned and ran a hand over his face. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.” “It would probably be easier, if you didn’t speak in riddles,” you mumbled under your breath but he must have caught it anyways. “Don’t give me this attitude or you won’t learn anything at all. I might be responsible for you now but I won’t feed you your lessons with silver spoon, you have to work for it. Starting now. Get dressed and meet me outside,” Yuta clarified and turned to left the room but halted in his steps. “And you won’t help her either, Ten. She needs to do this on her own.” Ten just meowed loudly and for some reason you could tell that he did not agree with how Yuta planned on training you. Were this the energies Yuta was talking about?

Once both the warlock and his companion had left the room, you quickly got dressed and headed outside only to find out that you were alone on the clearing. “Come on, this isn’t funny,” you groaned, looking around the house, “I didn’t come here to almost bleed out in a stupid ritual and then to be mocked.” But no one answered you. Yuta and Ten kept hiding. Wait, hiding? Why would they be hiding? Where did that thought come from? You let out a frustrated groan again and sat down on a patch of grass right in the middle of the clearing. “This is stupid, Yuta. I don’t know what to do,” you grumbled, picking at the grass and ripping out little pieces. But that did nothing to calm you down, it only got you more worked up for some reason.

“Take a deep breath and listen to your gut,” you heard Ten’s gentle voice resound inside your head. When you didn’t react and kept ripping out grass, he added: “Yuta is just as stubborn as you, he’ll not come out and I don’t fancy sleeping out here.” “This is so stupid!” You groaned again, letting your body fall back into the grass. When Ten didn’t answer, you took a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself back down. Why were you so irritated anyways? It really wasn’t like you. Closing your eyes, you started to count your breaths to calm your temper. That was when you felt it. Like a flame burning inside you: Bright and flickering wildly. Carefully you reached out to the flame and strangely enough it didn’t burn you, it felt welcome. Like coming home and you couldn’t help but smile. “Are you going to help me find Yuta and Ten?” You whispered. As if the flame was answering, it twitched slightly and calmed down a little. In turn you also felt calmer than you had been seconds ago. Taking another breath, you kept your eyes closed, focusing on the light your little flame shone and from your peripheral vision it seemed like there was another flame. It was a different color and seemed bigger than yours from what you could tell. Opening your eyes again, you quickly got up and walked over into the treeline where you had felt the flame.

“Are you going to throw a temper tantrum every lesson?” Yuta called you out when you had found him, lounging high in a tree eating an apple. You couldn’t fight the heat that crept up your neck, it had been rather childish in retro sight. “You gave me zero instructions,” you tried to rationalize it. “I didn’t have much more to go off from either when I gained my powers,” he argued and jumped down, “So lesson number one.” He patted down his pants once which did exactly nothing for the stains in the fabric before he placed his palm flat on your chest, making your breath hitch. “That in there is your energy. Get to know it. Learn how to read it. It’s where we draw our powers from, where every living being draws their energy from, they’re just not aware of it. If you concentrate and learn how to utilize it to your advantage, you’ll be able to feel other’s energies much more clearly and you will be able to manipulate them.” You nodded along with Yuta’s words even though you couldn’t quite grasp what it all would mean for you. “It’s overwhelming at first,” the warlock smiled, patting your chest before dropping his arm, “But I am here to help as long as you are willing to work with me and not throw a temper tantrum.” “Thank you,” you mumbled, smiling back at Yuta. “It’s thank you, master now,” he grinned. “Now go find Ten, I can tell he’s getting irritated.”

Nodding, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. “His hiding spot is a bit far away, I’ll guide you,” Yuta promised, taking one of your hands in his and you felt warmth spread through your body, comforting you. Smiling, you took another breath. You could do this, if Yuta was there to guide you, you could learn to use your powers.

Over the course of the next days and weeks, you stayed with Yuta and Ten. The warlock taught you how to handle all the new things you were able to feel and how to manipulate the different energies around you. At night while you were lying on the little old mattress Yuta had dug up somewhere, Ten often joined you for some ear scratches and told you stories about old witches and warlocks who had become mad in their hunt for power or about incredible pioneers that had written the big spell books Yuta had yet to show you. You had gotten somewhat close with your master as well but you never quite understood him completely. One moment he seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else when you were struggling with molding the energies like he had both explained and showed you and the next moment he told you the most shocking made-up stories only to laugh at your face when you had actually believed him. But since he was the only other human you had contact with in a while, you grew attached to him quickly, always gravitating towards him even when he was doing mandatory tasks like cooking or cleaning (which admittedly wasn’t very often).

One rainy afternoon though, the warlock seemed more grim than usual. He had yet to teach you anything today; he had just asked you to grab a few herbs he was running low on. When you had asked Ten what was going on with Yuta, he had only given you a very cryptic answer before he had disappeared. “Something is different today,” you tried to initiate a conversation when the warlock wouldn’t talk to you while he was stirring something in a small cauldron over the fire. “What makes you think that?” “You haven’t taught me anything yet and refuse to talk to me. Ten is also nowhere to be found and he hates the rain.” “Wrong answer,” Yuta cut you off, “You’re still thinking like a regular human.” “I am still human,” you argued. At that your master just snorted, closing the lid on the copper cauldron louder than he needed to. “You’re so much more than just a human; you just need to finally acknowledge it. You came here seeking revenge on those who wronged your people and who abused their powers.” “And I still want them to pay for what they did to those girls.” “You want them gone.” It wasn’t a question. Yuta locked eyes with you: Piercing green meeting yours that were a little more muted. “They don’t deserve to keep living their lives like that. They need to be taught a lesson.” The warlock slowly nodded before he lowered the heat of the fire with a flick of his hand. “Get your cloak.” “Where are we going?” You asked, slipping on the thick fabric and following Yuta outside.

“You tell me,” he answered, motioning for the forest. “Stop toying with me.” “Use your senses, woman,” he spat, “Figure it out.” Huffing in annoyance, you closed your eyes, concentrating on your own energy that swirled inside your chest, feeling it like a small flame before you turned your eyes outward, feeling Yuta’s energy right next to you. His flame was bigger and seemingly less controlled than your own, a little deeper in color and burning hotter than yours. “Stop spying on me,” he spoke lowly, sounding almost amused. Slowly you expanded your sight, feeling the animals hiding from the rain beneath the leaves of the trees and in little caves, feeling the power of the stream that lead into the valley, feeling... Feeling something that was not right. “What is that?” You asked, trying to pinpoint where this energy was coming from. “You tell me,” Yuta spoke lowly, careful to not break your concentration. “Something isn’t right. Near the stream.” The warlock hummed, slowly approaching you to place a hand on your shoulder. Bit by bit you could feel the warmth of his powers mingle with your own, sharpening your senses, his energy guiding yours in the right direction. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only intensified but the comforting warmth of your master made you push further, looking for the source. “See it now?” “It’s a man,” you gasped, your senses almost recoiling when you found him. He was unlike any energy you had ever felt before. His energy felt off, you couldn’t quite describe it. “How does he feel?” Yuta’s low voice calmed you down again, encouraging you to look closer. “Wrong. Something is not right about him. His energy is small but it feels like it’s too warm. Like he’s about to burst.” “Do you know where he is?” “Near the bridge that leads to my town.”

“Alright,” Yuta spoke, sounding content with your analysis and you could feel his energy leave you, signalizing you to come back to the little house as well. Slowly you blinked your eyes open. “What is wrong with the man?” “He is not a good man,” your master spoke, “We’re going to kill him.” You wanted to protest, to tell him that you couldn’t just kill a man. But something, maybe a voice in the back of your head, told you that you could. And more importantly that you should. Wordlessly you followed Yuta to the path that would lead you towards the bridge.

“Remember what I told you about energies when you first felt them?” “We can neither create energy out of nowhere nor can we just make it disappear. We can just change the nature of the energy,” you recited dutifully. “And what does that tell you?” “We can’t rule over life and death.” “Not exactly,” Yuta agreed. “But you took that girl’s life when you came to heal her,” you argued. “I used up all the energy her body had left in it to heal the wounds that were hidden beneath her skin. I killed by healing her. After all her energy was used up, her heart stopped beating just like that.” “Is that what you’re going to teach me?” “No. that man’s body is healthy as far as I could tell,” Yuta shook his head, halting in his steps so you could meet his eyes again. “You might recognize him when we meet him. I need you to keep a level head and do exactly as I say or you might never get the revenge you want to get so badly.” You throat suddenly felt dryer than it had ever been and you tried to swallow down the feeling of fear that had begun to crawl up your spine.

“Swear that you’re going to do as I say,” Yuta pushed, holding out one of his arms. From what Ten had told you, Yuta was asking you to make an oath and those were not to be taken lightly. But you trusted Yuta. You trusted your master. He might have questionable methods to teach you certain things but he was a capable and strong warlock. Nodding, you held out your hand as well and he forcefully grabbed your forearm which you quickly copied. You could feel energy coming off of him, weaving around where you two were connected. “Say it.” “I swear I will do as you say as soon as we meet this man,” you said, your voice sounding deeper than it usually did, carrying a weight it only did when you tried to cast a spell. “And I will in turn swear to protect you and guide you through what we’re about to do,” Yuta promised, squeezing your arm tightly before his energy recoiled and he loosened the grip. “You’re going to make me kill him,” you breathed into the silence that stretched on. “I will,” he confirmed and turned around to keep making your way towards the strange man.

To say you were absolutely terrified was an understatement, your heart was hammering wildly inside your chest and you were sure Yuta must feel how unruly your energy was becoming. “Calm down,” he spoke, “Once you see him, you will feel differently.” “Can’t we start with something a little less drastic?” You pleaded. You weren’t ready for this. “What use does it have? You have learned everything you need to know about manipulating energies. The energy in humans is no different than the energy in a fire or in a plant and you’re doing well manipulating those. You’re ready for the next step.” “Yuta, I can’t,” you begged, swallowing down the taste of bile you suddenly had in your mouth. “You can and you’re going to,” he replied, a tone of finality in his voice, “Now be quiet, we’re almost there.” You had half a mind to scream so the man would run away when there wouldn’t be this voice in your head telling you that this man was no good. Taking a deep breath, you quickly followed your master until you arrived at the bridge, hiding between the bushes.

“He’s not far,” Yuta promised, “I’ll explain it once, listen closely: You will wait for him on the bridge. Make him stop so it’s easier for you to get a grasp on his energy. Just like you do it when you’re putting out a fire, you’re going to tug. Expect resistance because while every energy has the will to exist, human energy usually resists a little harder than just fire.” “What am I going to do with his energy?” You asked, proud that your voice wasn’t breaking. “It’s going to be a lot more energy than you can hold unlike with fires. You need to release it. Find something you can direct it to.” You bit your lip and nodded shakily. Sensing your discomfort, Yuta reached out and grabbed your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. “I’m right behind you. I swore to protect you. If you fail to redirect it, I’ll do it before it eats you alive. But I do not want you to not try. Keep a level head.” Taking a couple of beep breaths, you tried to calm down. Yuta must have his reasons he wanted you to kill this man. He wasn’t unjust. You trusted your master. “Now go out there and wait for him. Maybe stretch your senses to find something to redirect the energy to,” he smiled, making your heart flutter for completely different reasons.

Following your masters orders, you stepped out onto the bridge, pulling your hood further into your face so it would be obscured to the man and briefly stretched out your senses like Yuta had suggested. You could feel the weird energy of the man approach, accompanied by another energy that might belong to his horse. Other than that you couldn’t feel much. The safest way was probably to redirect the energy to the water flowing in the stream. You couldn’t think about any other possibilities because the sounds of hooves approached quickly, revealing the horseman. He abruptly stopped his horse when he saw you blocking his path. “Move!” He yelled but you didn’t budge. In fact you were frozen in place when you recognized the man.

He was one of the knights of the king. But not just any knight. Images from summer flashed your mind: The man had stayed at the inn when it was too late to make the travel back to the castle after he had laughed at the girl he had brought back. In the inn he had drunk enough for three men and boasted about what a great lover he was and that the women could never get enough of him. You felt rage rise inside you. This man was rotten to the core. Yuta had been right, he had no rights to live a comfortable life after he had destroyed the life of so many girls and women. “Move!” He called again but you stayed right where you were, slowly lowering your hood so he could see the dark red color of your hair. “A little witch bitch,” the knight spat, dismounting his horse, a big grin on his face, “The lord will be delighted when I bring you to him.” “You disgust me,” you growled, feeling your energy burn brighter inside you, itching to rip the rotten flame from this poor excuse of a man. Behind you, you could feel Yuta’s own energy shift but you paid it no mind. He wouldn’t interfere. This was your test.

The knight slowly approached you, step after step and you could already smell that he reeked of alcohol. “Stop right there,” you demanded, focusing on his energy. Against your expectation he actually halted in his steps before he started to laugh at you. That was it. You wouldn’t allow him to harm another person anymore. Determined, you reached out with your own energy, gripping his firmly and tugging just like you had learned it. The man promptly choked on his laugh, clutching his chest tightly, looking at you with wide eyes. His lips moved with silent pleas and it only made you feel more disgusted than you already were. How did he have the audacity to beg for forgiveness after all he had done? “You disgust me,” you spat before you tugged for a last time, feeling how the energy separated from his body that limply fell to the ground. A great sense of satisfaction filled you and you couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled from your chest. You could feel his energy course through and around you, seemingly growing now that it wasn’t trapped anymore, latching onto your body as it was the closest living thing. The feeling was indescribable. To feel this much energy coursing through you was incredible but after a moment you knew that you couldn’t hold it, the foreign energy trying to force itself inside you alongside your own energy.

Redirect. You had to redirect it before it ate you alive. Your eyes flickered from the trees to the end of the bridge to the sky above you, covered by dark storm clouds. Without thinking too much, you balled up your own energy, giving the foreign one a firm push upwards, forcing it out of your body and towards the clouds instead. Like a thread that suddenly snapped, the energy left you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

A loud rumbling noise could be heard from above and you knew that you hadn’t made the smartest decision with where you had redirected the energy to. The next thing you felt was a firm chest that you were pressed against and the smell of burning wood and static filling the air. “My little apprentice,” Yuta whispered fondly, gently cupping your cheek. His green eyes were sparkling and if you didn’t know better, you would say that he looked proud of what you had done. “Did I do good?” You asked, looking around his shoulder to see the damage on the bridge. A flash of lightning must have hit it exactly where you and the man’s corpse had been just moments prior, the wood now black and burning. “You did better than I had ever whished for,” Yuta answered, pressing your shivering body tightly against his chest, whispering words of praise into your hair as the reality of what you had just done came crushing down to you, making your body shake with the sobs you let out. You hated yourself for crying. But you weren’t crying for the man. He had deserved what had happened to him. You were crying because it was you who had done it. You weren’t just a human anymore and Yuta had forced you to accept it. You weren’t what was considered normal. You had special powers now, dangerous powers and the only other person that could ever understand and shared the weight that came with those powers was holding you in his arms right now.

“Let’s go home,” Yuta gently spoke, pressing a kiss to your hair and you could only nod and try to not get lost in his eyes when he loosened his grip on you.

“You’re ready.” Puzzled you looked up from where you were reading in one of the big spellbooks in the armchair in front of the fire, Ten curled up in your lap. “You’re ready to get your revenge. You know all you need to know,” Yuta explained himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest where he was leaning against his kitchen counter. When you still couldn’t find the words to tell your master how you were feeling, he continued: “It’s not far to the castle from here. The lord is having a banquet in the evening; all of the royals will be gathered. It’s a great opportunity. You shouldn’t miss it. Ten can show you the way.” “You’re not coming with me?” You asked in a small voice. As much as you still wanted the royals to pay, you had thought that Yuta would help you when it came down to get your revenge. The castle was filled with guards and knights after all. How were you supposed to get in and out of there without being seen? Especially when your plan was to kill the rotten men in charge. “I told you I wouldn’t kill anyone for you. I promised to teach you everything you needed to know so you can get your revenge. And I have done that. There is much more to our powers than just this but I did what I promised and now it’s time for you to do what you need to do.” Before you could argue or voice your concerns, Ten stretched his body in your lap so he could glare at Yuta, a disapproving sound leaving his throat. “Shut up, cat,” Yuta just growled when Ten wouldn’t stop complaining, angrily hissing by now. “I don’t care what you think,” the warlock exclaimed, throwing on his cloak, “Take her to the castle.” After taking a deep breath, he turned to lock eyes with you, a sad smile playing on his lips and added: “Make me proud my little apprentice.”

With that you were left alone in Yuta’s house that had become your home as well. You couldn’t understand the words he had just said. He was throwing you out. Had it all just been this to him and nothing more? Was he just trying to fulfill his promise all these weeks? Did you mean nothing to him? “He is a headstrong idiot,” Ten sighed, his smooth voice like honey for your soul, “You belong here with us and he will realize that eventually.” “Thank you,” you whispered, scratching Ten behind his ears until his purring filled the silence of the room. “And I am not just saying that because Yuta can’t seem to get that spot right there,” he added. You couldn’t hold your giggle, fondly smiling at the cat that you had gotten so close with. “He is right about you being ready though. We should leave soon.” “I have no idea how I should get in and out though. The place must be bursting with guards,” you voiced your concerns. “You would be surprised by how careless the royals are sometimes, they think they’re invincible.” Taking a deep breath, you felt out your own energy, feeling your fire burn brighter with excitement that you could finally give the royals what they deserved. “I’ll show them just how vulnerable they still are,” you said, your voice sounding more determined than you could have wished for. “That’s my girl,” Ten cheered you on, jumping from your lap onto the floor. “I’ll bring you to the castle but I won’t be a big help in this body.” You just nodded, gathering some things you had wanted to take with you: A couple of charged gems and the little dagger Yuta had given you a while back with a slender blade but sharpened to perfection. Lastly you got your cloak to conceal your red hair and green eyes that were a dead giveaway of your true nature. “Ready?” Ten asked, waiting for you outside. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answered, following the creature inside the forest.

When the castle came in sight, you said your farewell to Ten, squeezing his lithe body against your chest to his great dismay. Many people were bringing different things through the big gates and carriage after carriage brought in more supposedly rich and important people. For a while you just leaned against the big walls that surrounded the castle, feeling out the different energies. Of course there were the ordinary energies from the servants and most of the guards that were patrolling mostly on the high walls but the deeper you felt inside the castle, the more rotten energies you could feel, making you sick to the stomach. Your rage was only fueled when you carefully made your way into the courtyard and you could feel distressed and terrified energies further into the castle as well, some of their flames so terrifyingly small that they must belong to some kidnapped girls who were barely holding on to their life.

Waiting for a chance to slip into the more private rooms of the castle, you watched the servants scrambling around behind their masters who for the most time either ignored or scolded them and when a lady screamed at a little boy who had tripped and let some of the stuff he had been carrying drop to the floor, you couldn’t help yourself but to give her energy a quick push only enough to make her heart stutter once before she lost her footing and fell herself. The secret smile the boy quickly hid behind a blank expression was enough thanks for you.

“When is this fortune teller coming around?” One of the guards suddenly asked another one who had just come out of the castle. “She should have been here since the morning and the lord is getting restless, he is snapping at every servant who is coming into his chambers.” A fortune teller? That seemed almost too perfect to be true. Pulling your hood further into your face, you slipped from the shadows and made your way towards the guards. “Good afternoon,” you greeted the guards, honey dripping from your voice, “The lord of this castle sent for me, he wished to know about his future.” The older of the guards slowly let his gaze wander over your form before he reached out a hand to lower your hood. “Don’t,” you hissed, taking a step back. “Come on, leave her alone,” the younger groaned, “I can’t take the lord’s bad mood anymore.” The older one gave you one last once-over before he deemed you no threat and shrugged his shoulders. “You bring her to him, I’m going to the kitchens.”

If you had known how easy it would be to see the lord, you wouldn’t have been this nervous before entering the castle. “Wait in here for him,” the guard told you after he had dropped you off in a small saloon that was just filled with a big sofa and a vanity that displayed big jewels. In the middle of the room stood a small table with a crystal ball on top and you could only barely hold in your laughter. The only problem with this room was that there was nothing you could redirect the lord’s energy to once you had killed him. No fire or plants. This was anything but ideal. Hastily you sat down in front of the crystal ball when you felt the lord approach. You needed a different plan. Either you needed to let this perfect opportunity pass and try to kill him later or you had to do it without your powers. Suddenly the dagger in your pocket felt like it was as heavy as a bag of stones, the handle digging into your hand. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass. You had to take it. Even if it meant that you had to kill him like this. You could do this. This was no different than the guard you had killed.

When you felt the energy of the lord approach, you took another deep breath, searching out your energy for comfort. “Leave us alone,” the lord’s voice commanded the guard who had lead him inside and just like that you were alone with him in the room. You had never seen the lord in person and you didn’t know what you had expected but you thought that his appearance suited his energy: He was a rather small man with greasy black hair. His stomach was rounded and he smelled like he had bathed in perfume to gloss over how bad he smelled. “Finally you are here,” he spoke and even his voice was unattractive, his tone nasally and off pitch, likely from too much alcohol. You just wordlessly nodded your head, not deeming him worthy for words of greetings either. “Sit down so we can get started.” “I don’t like your attitude woman,” he snarled, looking down at you from his reddened eyes, “You are different than the last one that came.” “I have my special ways to see what the future holds for you,” you simply answered, dragging your dagger from your pocket and placing it onto the table. At that the unruly eyebrows of the man shot up. “Are you threatening me?” “I would never dare to,” you gritted, fighting the sarcasm from creeping into your tone, “But nothing is purer than what your blood could tell me.”

The lord seemed to think about your words for a while, if he was even capable of that. But his energy seemed to calm down after a while when he sat down opposite of you. “Very well,” you smiled, pulling out a couple of the gems you had and placed them on the table, “Please hold your palms up.” When the lord did as you asked, you took a deep breath and willed your hands to not shake when you were grabbing for the dagger. It was rather small in comparison to Yuta’s favorite ones but it should do its job just as good as any other dagger he had in his collection. You really hadn’t thought all of this through. But you needed to do this. For all the girls living on this lord’s lands. You weren’t close enough to him to hurt him much with the dagger and if you weren’t quick enough and he’d sense your true intentions, he would call for the guards. And when you had nowhere to redirect their energy to, you were basically helpless.

“I don’t have all day,” the lord complained when you hadn’t moved after a while. “I was concentrating on your energy, you disgusting piece of shit,” you spat out, making an on-the-spot decision to stop the charade. Quickly, before he could even completely fathom your words, you gave his energy a push to render him breathless for a while which gave you just enough time to leap over the table to ram your dagger into the fat of his neck. With a furiously beating heart, you watched his eyes widen and his throat gurgle with the blood that was flowing into his lungs and seeping from the wound when you pulled your dagger back out. Unable to move your body, you watched him convulse in pain until he stopped moving altogether, his eyes open wide and unseeing. Slowly you could feel his flame getting smaller and smaller until you couldn’t detect it anymore. You had done it. The lord was dead.

Just like the last time when you had killed, the reality came crashing back down to you after the adrenaline had seeped from your body and you felt your hand shaking that still clutched the dagger tightly. When you looked down and saw it covered in the lord’s blood, you instinctively let the dagger fall, the noise unnaturally loud in the silent room. Your breathing picked up and you felt panic rise in your chest. How were you going to get back out of here? You were drenched in blood and people would surely start to miss the lord soon. Yuta had been wrong, you weren’t ready for this. Bile rose too your mouth and tears were collecting in your eyes. You were done for; they would burn you in the courtyard while laughing at you for your foolish plan to take all the rotten royals out.

“My little apprentice,” a voice said behind you and through your tears you looked up into Yuta’s familiar face. “What are you doing here?” You sobbed, balling your blood smeared hands to fists, your nails digging into your palms. “I thought you had left me.” “Watching out for you, what else?” He smiled, pulling you away from the lord’s corpse and against his chest, not minding that you were staining his cloak with blood. His calming energy engulfed you like a cloud and slowly evened out your own untamed energy and eventually helped you to even out your breathing. “There are a lot more people here than I expected,” you mumbled when your tears had stopped falling, growing basically boneless in Yuta’s hold. “We’re going to take care of them together,” Yuta promised, pressing a kiss to your hair before he loosened his hold on you and took a look around the lord’s room, picking up some of the expensive looking jewelry that was laying around.

“The banquet has already begun,” you spoke after you had felt out the remaining rotten energies, all bundled up in the big hall, “They will become suspicious if he’s not coming down soon.” “I have always had a thing for dramatic entrances,” the warlock grinned, loosening his cloak so it fell to the ground, “How about we interrupt this boring dinner they are having right now and heat this place up a little? There is this nice little fire in the fireplace to keep them warm but I feel like it could use a little more energy.” His words made you mirror the wicked grin that had started to spread on his lips. “Lead the way,” you spoke, ready to teach all the rotten royals a lesson. With Yuta by your side, you knew that you couldn’t fail.

Together you stood in front of the burning castle, a little further up the hill and hidden by trees, listening to the people screaming in agony. When you turned your head to look at Yuta, the orange flames of the fire beautifully illuminated his features despite the ashes that were clinging to his cheeks and the fact that he was missing half an eyebrow that must have gotten burned off, his lips crooked into a cocky grin. “Nothing more beautiful than the chaos some little flames can cause,” he spoke before he tore his gaze from the castle and looked at you instead. Tenderly he reached out to wipe the splatters of blood on your cheeks away, just smearing them further onto your skin in the process. “You look beautiful like this,” he whispered, his green eyes sparkling dangerously. “I’m a mess,” you argued, feeling how the blood on your hands was slowly drying. “The most beautiful mess I have ever seen.” Before you could argue any further, the warlock connected your lips in a bruising kiss, pressing your body close to his. He tasted of smoke, blood and danger but to you it tasted like the most intoxicating drink you ever had the pleasure of tasting.

“What are you doing, Yuta?” You breathed against his lips when his hands had slipped beneath your shirt, nails raking over the skin of your stomach. “Unleashing your full powers,” he groaned, all but ripping the garment over your head before roughly connecting your lips again. “What do you mean?” “Stop asking so many questions,” the warlock growled, sucking harshly on the skin of your neck, obviously not bothered by the blood clinging to your skin. You could just mewl and desperately clutch onto him, afraid your legs would give out. Once Yuta was satisfied with how dark the mark on your neck had turned he gripped your hair to yank your head back so he could kiss you again. Still high on the adrenaline from before, you shamelessly moaned into his mouth when he kept your strands of hair in a firm grip to angle your head just how he wanted. Grinning against your lips, he used his chance to slip his tongue between your parted lips, turning the kiss downright filthy. “Yuta,” you sighed when he parted from you, both of you panting heavily while staring into each other’s green eyes. Blood was smeared onto both of your faces now and you had stained his shirt with the blood clinging to our hands. “Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his hands wandering to where the wrappings around your chest were fastened, “Tell me to unleash your full potential, my little witch.” Before you could answer, he leaned in to steal another kiss while he tugged on the cloth that had kept your breasts covered. “You don’t even know how fucking hot you are like this,” he groaned against your lips, roughly grabbing your boobs to massage the soft flesh, sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Do it,” you moaned, arching your back towards the warlock, “Do it, Yuta.”

A deep growl came from his chest and with quick movements he rid himself of his singed shirt and stepped out of his pants to stand before you completely naked safe for the ashes and blood clinging to his skin. His cock was already hard and hanging heavy between his legs. With a dangerous smile on his spit slicked lips, he crowded you against the trunk of a tree, the bark digging roughly into your back. With only so much as a flick of his wrist, the warlock had you naked as well and raked his widely blown eyes over the exposed skin. “My little witch, so beautiful,” he rasped, pressing his lips to the mark he had created on your neck, making you hiss in both pain and pleasure. Chuckling he grabbed one of your thighs to wrap it around his waist, exposing your most private part to him. But before you even had time to think about what you were about to do and how improper it was, Yuta had snaked a hand between your bodies to cup your sex, slowly grinding the heel of his palm in your clit which tore a loud moan from your lips that mingled with the screams you could still hear in the distance.

A grin spread on Yuta’s lips when you threw your head back and moaned unashamed when one of his fingers played around your entrance, teasing but never slipping inside, making more and more wetness seep from your core. “You want it?” He asked, pinching the skin of your thigh that he still held tightly to get your attention. “I already told you to do it,” you whined, grinding your hips in an attempt to finally make his finger slip inside you. “When will my little apprentice finally learn to answer my questions properly?” He sighed, bringing his hand down on your wet folds, creating a wet slapping noise that brought blood to your face. The mixture of pain and pleasure made your head swim even more than the adrenaline had minutes ago. “Answer your master,” Yuta growled, bringing his hand down a second time, causing you to jolt in his hold. “Do it already,” you groaned, burying your hands in his unruly red hair to kiss him again, wasting no time to lick into his mouth. If anything you were a fast learner and tried to match Yuta in the kiss. While you were distracted with kissing the life out of him, he finally slipped one of his fingers inside you, making you gasp and break the kiss. “Feels good?” He grinned as he began to move his finger at a steady pace before quickly adding a second one, stretching you out. “Yeah, feels good, master,” you breathed. You could feel Yuta’s breath hitch against your lips before he let out a row of colorful curses, speeding up the motion of his fingers. “Say it again,” he growled. “Say what again?” You hiccupped, holding onto his shoulders tightly, the pleasure making your head swim. “Call me your master,” the warlock growled, crooking his fingers inside you so you saw stars behind your eyes, punching all air from your lungs. “Master, please,” you choked out, burying your nails in his shoulder to drag them down his back, leaving angry red lines and a trail of smeared blood.

Cursing, Yuta pulled his fingers from your core, making a distressed mewls leave your lips. He just chuckled breathlessly at your reaction but before you had the time to even feel ashamed, you felt the blunt head of his cock slip inside you, the feeling so foreign and overwhelming that you had to close your eyes. Yuta slowly pushed inside deeper and deeper until your bodies were as flush together as the position was allowing you to. “Fuck you’re squeezing me so tightly,” Yuta cursed and breathed heavily into your ear. You could only mewl instead of answering properly; you had never felt like this in your entire life. You felt your energy bounce around wildly in your chest, slowly expanding and turning deeper in shade. But before you had any chance to take a closer took, Yuta pulled his hips back and thrust right back into you, pulling loud moans from both of you. “You feel it?” He groaned, slowly picking up his pace, “Feel how your powers grow?”

“I couldn’t care less about any of my powers right now,” you whined, yanking Yuta close by the hair on his nape to crash your lips together to stop yourself from moaning out loudly. “So feisty,” he breathlessly chuckled against your lips, “Hold on tightly.” In a heartbeat he had twirled you around to lay you down into the grass instead. Watching your expression closely, he thrust back inside you, causing you to moan loudly with how deep he was inside you now. The feeling was so overwhelming that you clamped your thighs tightly around his frame and threw your head back with a loud moan. “That’s it, let me hear you,” the warlock moaned, caging you between his arms before he started to move his hips in quick thrusts that made stars spark behind your closed eyelids. You didn’t have any brainpower left to even remotely feel embarrassed by how loud you were being, instead digging your fingers into Yuta’s shoulders to pull him back down into a messy kiss that was more tongue and panting into each other’s mouths than anything else.

“Look at me my little witch,” Yuta panted when his trusts were getting erratic and you felt like the energy inside you was ready to burst and explode in thousand little stars. Just when your emerald eyes met his piercing gaze and you saw how his eyes were filled with so much more than just lust, you couldn’t help yourself anymore and let go of the coil inside your stomach, letting the pleasure overwhelm your body while moaning your master’s name. Seconds after you heard Yuta moan your own name while he pressed inside you for one last time, his back arched and lips parted. Around you, the air was buzzing with energy, almost singing with how potent it was. For a while you just looked at each other, breathing heavily, silly smiles on both of your lips before Yuta leaned down to connect them in a tender kiss.

“You two disgust me,” a familiar voice suddenly broke the delicate silence but this time it wasn’t inside your head. When both Yuta and you looked to the side, you saw a slender man with jet black hair sitting in the grass not far from you, looking back at you with familiar amber eyes. “But I can’t say I hate what you managed to do,” Ten added, looking at his delicate hands. “Go stare at some other people fucking, you creep,” Yuta growled, covering your body with his. “But I finally had something different to see than you sadly beating your meat or trying out questionable spells,” Ten teased, poking out his tongue. “If you don’t leave right now, I will find a way to trap you inside a frog next time.” “I’d love to see you try, honey,” Ten laughed before he actually left to give you some privacy.

“This is so embarrassing,” you mumbled into Yuta’s chest where you had hidden your face that must have the same color as his hair at this point. “Don’t mind him,” Yuta smiled, kissing your forehead, then your nose and both of your cheeks before pecking your lips. “I can’t look Ten in the eyes anymore,” you groaned, making the warlock laugh. “Let’s not talk about him when I’m still inside you,” Yuta whispered, grinding your hips together to prove his point. “Let’s make him wait for a bit longer.”

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spotofimagines · 3 years

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Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text.

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman, feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

#jadon sancho #lucas hernandez #theo hernandez #jadon sancho imagine #jadon sancho x reader #football #football imagine #oneshot #my fic #my og post

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years

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WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - Prologue (Vergil x Nero's Mother)

Summary: Turmoil has engulfed the small Island of Fortuna, shaken now more than ever by a never-ending civil war opposing the religious Order of the Sword to a group of rebels named the Guard of Sparda. As he tries to unveil his father's secret past and achieve some hidden dark purpose, Vergil crosses path with Elissa, a young lady whose thirst for vengeance and blood is as red as the dress she's wearing. He doesn't want to care and he especially doesn't want to get involved but you don't choose your fate in Fortuna. That's the story Nero is about to discover.

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda's past

Author’s note: This is one hell of an ambitious project I put myself into, but I hope you will follow me in this journey which is basically another fan fiction about Vergil and Nero's mother. Probably not the best (I've read some prreeety good ones) but one that should be (hopefully) different from what was previously posted.I worked a lot on this story, made a lot of research and used many artistic references that I catalogued at the end of each chapter for the curious ones among you. Since English is not my mother tongue, feel free to let me know if there's any grammar mistake or if some sentences don't make any sense. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

In twenty-five years, Aifric’s Alehouse hadn’t changed even just a tiny bit. Same hefty old furniture. Same mucky walls and filthy floor covered in layers of dry alcohol that stick your shoes to the wooden slats each time you take a step. Same lamentable drunkards in search of more alcohol to drown their sorrows in, their arms around women that would pretend to adore them for a night in exchange for a bit of money. And, now that Vergil dared breathe a little, same foul stench of humidity, staleness and sweat, typical of this kind of underground bars from the no-go areas of the Castle Town of Fortuna. And the music … Don’t let him think about the music. Never thought he would come back here one day. His firm gloved hand grabbed the backrest of a wobbly stool that scratched the old wooden floor with an unpleasant creak as he pulled it to sit on it, revealing his presence to the brown-skinned man sipping his beer in silence next to him, his defeated pockmarked face hidden under a thick dirty white cloak that hadn’t been washed in probably years and that had lost almost all its glorious golden embroideries. Vergil eyed at him for a second, the same way the Moor had eyed at him when, more than two decades ago, he had sit on this very same stool, his then young frame hidden under a cloak similar to his and yet less odorous, a young wanderer looking for stories and answers. Strange how things seems to move in circle. “You’re too late. You know that?” The man’s voice was thickly and hoarse, due to the long years of alcohol abuse and contempt towards the world, towards that silver-haired ghost back from a distant past but especially towards himself. “Twenty-five fucking years too late to be more precise.” He got no answer to that reproach, not a word, just a nod and a pregnant silence that made him scoff. But his laugh, once so hearty and alive, held today nothing but melancholy and despise. “But at least she was right. You did come back.” Vergil peeped at the man again from the corner of his icy blue eyes, longer this time, but still with that eternal impassibility he was known for, hiding his slight surprise and his judgemental thoughts he knew deep down he shouldn’t have. But the barfly next to him was nothing like the man he had met years ago. This man was just the broken shadow of the one everyone in Fortuna once called Adel the Honourable¹ , Captain of the Guard of Sparda. “What the fuck are you doing here … Vergil?” He spat on his name, literally, not caring about what the solemn Son of Sparda would think of him, would do to him. He spat to show him his disgust, his hatred, even though he knew that a bit of saliva wasn’t enough to show the extent of his feelings. “Where is she?” Vergil asked with a calm voice that made Adel grimace (that voice was as nasally and annoying as he remembered) and finally glare at him, allowing Vergil to see how the years and the pain had marked and scared his once-handsome face. “You got some nerve to ask that now.” “ I need to see her.”Adel firmly hit the counter with his empty glass before turning around to stare at Vergil, giving him a long disdainful look he thought he could only give himself. “Sure, I’ll bring you to her. But you might want to give me that damn sword of yours so that I shove it deep in your stone-cold heart first.” Vergil smirked. This was way too reminiscent of old foolish squabbles he once found very amusing … though quite pathetic and most of the time one-sided. “Why don’t you use that crossbow² of yours instead?” The taunt wasn’t meant to defy him if one could read through Vergil’s phlegmatic voice. But the Moor³ interpreted it that way and yet refused to react to it, knowing how vain it would be. “I don’t have it anymore.” Adel opened his cloak to reveal a leather sling with no weapon attached to it. “I don’t have anything anymore. And we know full well that it wouldn’t have done shit to you.” “Trust me, Adel. I know what it’s like to lose everything.” Was it an attempt at sounding

sympathetic? Probably. After all, Vergil still felt somewhat confused by the occasional waves of humanity surging up from inside of him. “Do you?” He laughed with bitterness, not believing him for one second. “Bullshit! And you know why? Cause you never had anything!” If Vergil took this as a personal attack he didn’t let his body show it, but he nevertheless let out one simple sentence, a boast he knew would displease the brown-skinned man, a display of his pride and superiority he always thought he had over that mere human. “I had her.” Quite expectedly, Adel jumped from his stool and before falling back against the bar, tried to grab Vergil by his blue collar. But it looked too pathetic and clumsy to be considered menacing or dangerous. “Fucking stop talking about her!” He pointed his finger at him in defiance while tears formed in his dull black eyes that had long lost their charming spark. “She fucking loved you! She loved you so damn much and you never cared, not a damn second. So don’t come to me with all your ceremony and shit, pretending you care now?” He sobbed loudly and wiped his eyes with his fists, a gesture that only made Vergil frown. How low had that man sunk! And how wrong he was. “Nero needs to know.” The silver-haired man finally said, not very willing to continue this conversation due to a growing lack of patience. “He needs to know about his mother.”There was a new brief silence that could only be filled with glasses clinking, noisy hubbub and prostitutes giggles. Both men gauged each other, wondering who should talk first and what to say after the name of the boy the woman they both loved had given birth to was brought into the discussion. “So you finally know.” The Moor finally said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How does it feel?” Vergil didn’t want to talk about his feelings, especially not with a man he hadn’t seen in years and that would be too eager to judge him. His feelings were his to ponder and only his. “My feelings are none of your concern.” The brevity of Vergil’s sentences was annoying to Adel who had almost forgotten how it was to have a conversation with the stoic Son of Sparda. And when some people would call it introversion he would call it self-importance, despicable self-importance. “Do you ever think of her?” New intended silence. But yes, there were times when Vergil did think of her because that’s what happens when someone as special as her shares even just a tiny bit of his life. He thought of her when he was at his best and when he was at his lowest. And he had been thinking of her even more lately, each time he would look at Nero or think of him, each time he would remember his journey in Fortuna. She was a part of his past he would never be able to cast away. But again, none of Adel’s business. “Look, you don’t need to talk to me about her. Just tell Nero. I bet you know how to find him.”Glad to finally leave, Vergil stood up and dusted his long dark coat he felt had been soiled by such a dirty place. But right after he turned around to walk away, his old acquaintance spoke again with disarming heartfelt honesty. “It feels like hell to me.” Vergil stopped and slightly looked back at him from the corner of his eyes, at his defeated look staring deep in his empty glass again. “Like fucking hell actually. Seeing that kid of yours growing up to be just like her but at the same time just like you right under my nose. That smug smirk he got from you on the lips he inherited from her. Everything about that child makes me want to vomit or plug my eyes out because that makes me realise all I lost, all I could have had if you had never stepped a foot in Fortuna. You took her away from me, away from everyone, and when you finally got out from my life, you dared leave behind you a living reminder of your victory over me to torture me for the rest of my miserable days.” Vergil stood still, withstanding the man’s rancour without batting an eyelash. “The fact you considered her love a victory maybe is the reason why you

never had her.” Vergil replied and before pushing the double-leaf door of the bar, waited for an instant as if he was expecting something to come in, but Adel was stubborn and not keen on accepting defeat. “You took her away from your son!” He shouted and smiled when Vergil froze again on his way out. “ If that’s true, go tell him that then.”

***

Nico was pissed. Nero could tell it by the way she was furiously trying to fix the neon blue sign of their van. But what could he do about it? It wasn’t his fault if a starving empusa had decided to snack on the E while Nico was parked waiting for her friend to come back from his demon ass kicking routine. “D vil May Cry” Nero read out loud with a pout. “I don’t know, Nico. Works for me.” And yet, he had a feeling being angry because of a damn light was just a pretext to let out some pent up frustration due to god knew what. “Really? Is that how you gonna treat your family heritage now?” The black-haired woman harrumphed, threatening to hit her friend with a monkey wrench. “Is that how you gonna treat my precious Minotaurus after all he did for ya? After he followed you right into that hellish ficus?” “Qliphoth.” He corrected with a smile. “Yeah whatever.” Nero had a brief laugh but eventually shrugged, not seeing the problem as he read the neon sign on the van again. “The E doesn’t light up anymore. So what? We still know it’s Devil May Cry.” “When your deadbeat dad tore your arm out from its socket, didn’t I give ya a new one?” Nero grumbled, not finding the comparison funny or admissible. “That’s not the same! You can’t compare my arm to a damn neon letter. I needed my arm!” “And Devil May Cry needs its E! So stop complainin’ and pass me the stillson.” She ordered as she kept on adjusting the colourful wires hidden in the dented bodywork of the van. Nero sighed but handed her the tool anyway. “I thought you were tired of being my pet mechanic.” “ I am but like I said, I can’t let you treat my baby like that.” And then, he dared say it. “Seriously. I thought you would be busy reading those new files you found in your father’s old stuff? You didn’t say anything about what they were.” And, as Nico dropped the wrench on the hood, he immediately knew he maybe shouldn’t have asked that. “Cause they were not interesting. Just pieces of diaries he wrote when he was young, explainin’ how he started working for the Order and why he didn’t want me or my mother in his life anymore.” Nero frowned, not believing Nico for an instant. Her sentence didn’t make any sense to him cause he was sure any child who had grown up without a parent would be even just a tiny bit interested in knowing who they were or what they did. He knew he was. God! What he would give to know even a just of small piece of information about his mother, about who she was, how she looked like. But unfortunately for him, the only person who had all the answers to his questions was never prompt to give them, acting more like a vault than a chatterbox. “And that doesn’t interest you? Raaah come on, Nico!” He clicked his tongue. “I’m interested in his work. Nothing else. I couldn’t care less about his adventure with that other chick which is FYI apparently one of the reason why that asshole left my mother and me.” “ You father left your mother for someone else?” Nico glared at Nero, catching a judgment in his voice that never was there. “ Well I least I know why my father left my mother… No, actually, I know my mum, period.” Nero hadn’t heard that kind of words in years but the burn was as painful as he remembered. How many times he had heard the kids in Fortuna disrespecting him, disrespecting his mother, claiming she was a prostitute⁴ from the ill repute places of Fortuna. How many horrors he had to listen to. And how many punches he had received, and given, because of them. “Damn! I’m sorry, Nero. I didn’t mean.” Nico declared, horrified by her unusual behaviour and by the sudden sadness Nero tried to conceal in his blue eyes. “Forget it. I’m used to it.” He gestured her to let go and went rummaging in the toolbox for no particular reason but to occupy his mind with something else. But Nico wasn’t willing to end their conversation like that, the feeling of guilt eating at her. “I’m sure your mother was someone fantastic, Nero.” She had a soft comforting smile.

“I mean, she had to be, you know … to stand your father.” Nero chuckled but there was still that hint of misery, that very particular misery he only felt when thinking of his mother. A mix of bitterness, void and love. “Maybe she never really had to stand him. Maybe she was … a prostitute like everybody said.” Nico frowned; refusing to believe Nero would go for such bullshit. Didn’t he know how close-minded and rumour-hungry the people in Fortuna were? “Nah, I don’t think so.” She declared as she funnily wrinkled her nose. “No money in the world would be enough to accept to spend a night with your dad. Your mother had to veeeery nice and patient and ooooh so in love with him.” Nero spared a glance at Nico, deeply moved by her attempt at comforting him and hoping she was right. “Damn, I beg that poor woman was a saint, ‘cause Vergil might look yummy to most people’s standards but he ain’t fun.” Her lips pinched together, she had a sort of deep serious frown that wrinkled her entire forehead, a somewhat amusing grimace Nero was sure was meant to emulate his father characteristic impenetrability. She kinda nailed it but … “ Did you just say my father looks yummy?” Nero asked, quite disgusted. A crush on Lady, that he could get, but on his father … It made him shiver and want to throw up. “Huh, to most people standards!” She repeating, clapping her hands between each syllables. “I’m not most people.” Nero’s eyes widened when he heard familiar slow and steady footsteps coming from behind the door of the garage. “I mean, do you really think I could feel even just a tiny bit attracted to ‘Power! I need more power!’?” She imitated with a cavernous voice and Nero tried not to laugh. But it wasn’t Nico’s new impersonation of Vergil that was making him want to do so. It was actually his father standing on top of the stairs, stoic and still like a marble statue staring impassibly at Nico making a fool of him. Maybe he should warn her of his presence. Yes, maybe he should. He timidly pointed at his father standing right behind her; still unsure he wanted this scene to stop. But he couldn’t wait to see Nico’s face when she would notice Vergil. And oh god, how priceless it was. Nico was an intrepid, loud and lovely person but when her dark eyes took a small glance of Vergil, she froze and cleared her throat, definitely uncomfortable and … yeah a tiny bit scared. “But it has its charm. You’ve got some charm. That’s undeniable.” She rectified, looking at Vergil who eventually nodded, a faint smile on his face that meant more ‘yeah right’ than ‘how funny’ in Vergil language. He didn’t find this funny at all. “Good evening to you too, Nicoletta. Nero.” He nodded once again, casting his aura of solemnity all over the garage. “Nico. Just Nico … nevermind.” Nico mumbled in a whisper that Vergil heard but chose to ignore. Nicknames were not his thing… They had never been his thing.He went down the stairs, his hand resting on the hilt of his precious Yamato as always and looked at the van with a new frown. “You two are busy working on some repairs, perhaps.” He asked in an effort to be as familial as possible, something that wasn’t his forte at all. It made the two friends exchange a curious glance. “ Yes … I mean, no, we were done.” Nero replied, wondering what his father was doing here. After all, unexpected visits were not in Vergil’s habits. “ No, we were not. Gotta fix that E, remember?” Nico tapped at the letter with insistence. “ That again?” The young man sighed. “Is Dante here?” That could explain Vergil’s presence in Fortuna. But as 90% of the time – or more – the Son of Sparda evicted an answer, changing the subject – or ignoring it – with a destabilizing yet infuriating indifference. “ Miss Goldstein is right, a E is important.” He spoke, his icy blue eyes looking towards a distant past, towards memories he held in his heart he was rediscovering more and more with each day spent with his family, with his son. “ Thank you! See, I told you!” Nico

shouted, proud to be right. “ What are you doing here?” Nero finally questioned, impatient to finally know the truth behind his father’s presence. “I was in Fortuna visiting an old acquaintance.” Vergil weighed his words with smoothness as he paced in the garage looking at his surroundings without no real interest in them. “ You … got acquaintances?” The slight frown of disbelief on Nero’s face made him suddenly look so much like his father but Vergil didn’t notice, too busy staring at the extinguished E that looked so dull surrounded by such neon blue lights when it should have shone as brightly as them if not more. “Hopefully, he should visit you soon.” “ Wait! What? Why?” Nero always saw his father as an impenetrable mystery, even when he was just V, but right now he couldn’t tolerate him being so evasive. “To give you the answers you want.” And he couldn’t not tolerate him being a stolid piece of shit either. “About my mother?” Or a mute one. But with Vergil, silence often meant a lot. “Hey! You can’t just leave me like that!” Nero caught his father’s right arm with a violent strength, a vision that stirred a new one, an old one, one Vergil regretted. “Plus, why would you send a stranger in my house to talk to me about my mother? Why don’t you do it yourself?” God! If she knew what he had done to their son. What would she say? What would she do? “Silence. I thought so. You don’t even have the courage to tell me her name so why should I expect more from you.” In his lifetime, only a few persons had been able to defeat Vergil, one of them being his son. So, after looking down at his boots for a second, he walked away, not keen on riling up Nero even more, not today.“Elissa.⁵” The name, left unpronounced for so many years, burnt Vergil's tongue when each blazing letter, probably angry to have been reduced to dormant embers for so long, managed to escape the barrier of his tight lips. But Vergil welcomed this fiery pain without blinking and even dared say it again, embracing the ignition once more with a soft melancholic smile. He was part demon. Fire couldn't hurt him. So why being afraid of it? “Your mother’s name was Elissa.” Plus there was no danger in saying her name, just liberation. It was a beautiful name, after all. And for a second, he felt like his young self again. “Now fix it, would you?” That E meant a lot to Vergil.

REFERENCES: ¹ Adel The Honourable: Adel is a Persian name derived from the Arabic عَدَلَ meaning "to act justly". I added the title "the Honourable" to reinforce the idea his character was made to be fair, honest and just. Adel also belongs to the House of Montefeltro, a name you will discover later. ² crossbow: I intended to give Adel a simple bow as it is the weapon of righteousness (ndlr: Robin Hood) but then I chose to give him a crossbow because I thought the addition of the word "cross" was giving a religious connotation that suited his character. The fact that he lost the weapon is of course meaningful. ³ The Moor: reference to Shakespeare's Othello. ⁴ claiming she was a prostitute: This idea of Nero's mother being a prostitute was directly taken from Devil May Cry: Deadly Fortune. In the novel, we learn that Nero was often bullied by the other kids claiming his mother was a whore. ⁵ Elissa: Elissa is the other name that was given to Dido, first queen of Carthage and lover of the demi-god Aeneas, in Virgil's Aeneid. Her name is composed of the Punic reflex of "El-" meaning "god", and "‐issa" that means "fire", hence why her name burns Vergil's lips when he says it. Her name carrying the word "fire" also echoes the red colour of her dress and her hair as well as her affiliation to the House of Minos you will read about later. In a nutshell, this girl is on fire! ;-)

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil #nero's mother #vergil x nero's mother #vergil fanfiction

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 3 years

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ILLICITUS: CHAPTER 2 Prompt: Y/N is a respectful narcotics agent, she worked hard to have her work recognized in a prominently male work field. She‘s assigned to the most important case of her whole career, investigate and apprehend the biggest drug dealer of U.S.A, the only thing she didn’t count on, was for the bastard to be so damn charming. Word count: It is kinda short, sorry Pairing: Mob!Roman Reigns x Reader Warnings: +18, cursing, small flirting and some secrets...(that’s all for now)

Tagging: @ziasaph, @mindofasagittaruis, @akiko-tanaka, @reigns-5sos and some of the lovely people who’ve encouraged me to continue with this @gamergirl929fan , @bayley-no-friends, @lilred91, @anyahsinc Notes: Sorry that it was too short, but if I didn't stopped, Lord knows how long it would have been. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

"Good. At what time is your shift over?" He asks, fingers still caressing my neck "7 pm" I breath out "Should we schedule for 8:30, then?" His eyes glued to mine "Fine" I freed myself from his hypnotic spell "I'll see you at 8:30 then agent Y/L/N" He smirks .................................................................................................. "What the fuck did you just did Y/N? Are you insane, kid?" Jeff tries to silently whisper "Jeff...I need to know how much does he knows about this operation" "You must have a death wish, girl! If I knew you would be this reckless I wouldn't have designated you for this case!" He itches his beard, something he would often do, whenever he was frustrated or irritated. "Jeff, you gotta trust me on this ok?" "How the fuck am I supposed to trust you after this? The last thing you should have done kid, was freely walk into that man's house!" "And how am I supposed to extract information then? We both know how high level his informers can be, so you can't be naive Jeff, and tell me that you truly believe a judge would have signed a warrant!" I raise my eyebrows He sighed "I know kid...I know...Look, you're like a daughter to me ok? So yeah, I get a little nervous to know that you're going to be trapped inside that fucker's house for a 'dinner'. I assume you know what he will want for dessert?" "Oh please! I'm not gonna fuck him, if that's what you're implying" I scoffed "I know you won't kid, but he on the other hand..." "Jeffrey, I'm a big girl ok? I can take care of myself, thank you very much!" I huffed "Right...just be careful Y/N, please? I mean it" He looks at me with nothing but worry and compassion upon his brown eyes "He won't hurt me Jeff, I promise you that" He gave a sigh of relief, right after realising "Wait! That was not what I asked, kid" But it was too late, since I was already on my way to the elevator to meet my dinner partner ............................................................................................................................ I debated whether I should change my work close (Which were a pair of skinny jeans, black tank top and some adidas sneakers) or not. But I figured that would make him feel like I was trying to impress him, so I didn't bother. I rang the doorbell, and imagine my surprise, when he was the one who opened the door. "Oh good evening agent Y/L/N, you look stunning" He lazily smiled I rolled my eyes "It's the same outfit from this morning Mr.Reigns. But thank you, regardless" He step aside for me to enter his house "Please, this way" He offers me his arm, and I just ignored, passing through him and going to the dining room. I can hear him lightly chuckling behind me. "I didn't knew what you would like to eat so, I chose to wait until you arrived here" He says My eyes widened in shock "Does that mean I'll have to wait for dinner to get ready, with you?" My voice filled with scorn "Ouch, that hurt agent Y/L/N. I'm not that despicable, you know?" He tries to disguise, but I can see the amusement printed all over his smug face *Fuck! Maybe this WAS a bad idea, like Jeff said. I shouldn't have done this! Damn it, I need a fucking cigarette!* I thought "Do you have a place where I can smoke?" I quickly ask He crooks one eyebrow "You don't seem like the smoking type, agent Y/L/N" "Don't judge a book by its cover Mr.Reigns, you might fool yourself" "Indeed....Here" "Here what?" I asked "You can smoke here" He smiles "In the dining room?" I sarcastically say "It's my house, isn't it?" He smirks *Fuck it* I thought as I light up a cigarette, the familiar smell of burning tobacco, filled my nostrils and eased my rushed mind "If may I suggest, the chef does a marvelous steak, agent Y/L/N. Unless of course, you don't eat meat" He says as he slides me an ashtray I just nod in agreement "Great. I'll be right back" *Goddamn Y/N! What the fuck are you doing? You just look like a dumb bitch, who thinks she can fool this man! Maybe you're whole carreer was a mistake! You should've been a lovely prostitute, like your dear old mother! That tramp! It runs in your veins you know? The cheap whore DNA...* I could hear my father's voice in my head, telling me all the worst things he could think of... I was pulled off of my memorie zone, by my cigarette being yanked off my lips. Roman was sitting on the dining table, in between my legs, staring at me. "Whatcha thinking about?" He asks, as he places my cigarette on his mouth giving it a long drag *Fuck, he looks hot...* "Nothing" I whipered He lightly blows the smoke on my face "Bullshit" He put out the cigarette on the ashtray "Wine?" He crook his eyebrow as he takes two glasses of red wine from the table "Sure" I respond. As he offers me one glass, I take the other and he gives me a questioning look "I'm not going to accept the glass YOU want to give me Mr. Reigns. I'm not that stupid" He chuckles "Do you thing I roofied your wine?" I shrugged my shoulders "Oh baby, trust me, I don't need to roffie you...I want you to be as conscious as ever when you moan my name" He smirks and takes a sip of what should've been my glass of wine "Why did you wanted to have this dinner, Mr. Reigns?" I ask, ignoring his previous comment "Well, because I want to get to know you better, agent Y/L/N! I think it is only fair, since you're going to be digging through out my whole life, don't you think?" I sighed "I'm gonna recall you Mr. Reigns, that you are a target of an investigation. I'm not doing this because I want to and yes because I was assigned for it, sir. So I'm not here to flirt with you or to play hard to get, I'm just doing my job" He smirks "Please, call me Roman" "I'm afraid that's not very professional, Mr.Reigns" "And this dinner is?" He raises his eyebrows "I beg your pardon?" I gasped He leans in, his face mere inches from mine "Let's be honest here Y/N, you know what I meant by this dinner, don't pretend to be so naive. It doesn't suits you, baby" Something clicked on my mind "How do you know my name?" "What?" He asks confused "How do you know my name? I never told you my name" "C'mon now Y/N , you're not the only one who can do some research. The only thing that I don't get it, is" He leans closer, lips brushing mine with each word he spoke "How come can I only find records and documents on one Y/N and L/N from only 5 years ago? There's nothing before that, is like...she didn't existed 5 years ago, in anywhere in the world! Would you mind explaining to me why, baby?"

I could only stare at him in disbelief. Everything was so perfectly hidden back then, so how could he have found out about it?

To Be Continued.....

Please let me know what do you think? Your feedback is always important and welcomed

#roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe smut #wwe x reader #masochist writes #illicitus series

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bl597 · 4 years

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Hello! I just found your blog and I loved your writing 💜 Idk if I can request something? Like the reader forgot her clothes or ruin them, wanted to lend some from Ginny but she is smaller so ends up using Fred's, he is shooked, flustered, and happy. All fluffy and stuff. Thanks 💜💜💜

hello, sweetie! thank you sooooooo much 💞💞 of course you can, feel free to request as many imagines as you want to! I hope you enjoy it, sorry it took me so long to post it! 💖

warnings: fluff yay, kind of gender neutral!reader (?), it got a little small (sorry), english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes! requests are open!!

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Ginny, your best friend, had invited you to stay at the Burrow during your summer break, and you, of course, accepted it. You loved the family of redheads as if it was your own, and loved to stay at the Burrow. It had been almost two weeks since you arrived and you and the 'kids' were having lots of fun together.

You, Ginny, Ron, the twins, Harry, Bill and Charlie were playing quidditch, and Molly (as she told you to call her), Hermione and Arthur (as he also told you to call him) were cheering for you all. It was funny to play with them, since you were competitive little shits and didn't want to lose, so you all made a bet: the team that loses has to degnome the garden, and no one wanted to do it.

Your team lost and you had to degnome the garden right after the game because the twins wouldn't let you guys live if you didn't do it as soon as possible. After about an hour or so, Molly told you all to take a shower so you could eat something. You and Ginny went first and the boys went after.

You were with Ginny in her room, looking for something comfortable to wear. Frowning, you turned to her “Hey, Ginny, could you borrow me a shirt? Mine are dirty.”

“Sure” she said, looking for a shirt in her wardrobe. She then handed you a white shirt and you thanked her, putting it on but pouting when you realised it was too small and too tight for you “Do you want me to look for some other?” she asked.

“Yes, please” you nodded, smiling at her and folding the shirt, putting it where it was again.

She then left the room and you sat down on the bed, waiting for her to return. After a few minutes she came back with a bigger shirt, handing it to you with a small smirk. You thanked her, finding her a little suspicious but just ignoring it.

The shirt was big and really comfortable, it smelt like the Burrow and a weirdly familiar cologne, but you couldn't identify where you had smelt it before. When you turned to her, she was smiling widely at you, practically beaming with pride. You opened your mouth to ask why she was like this, but Mrs Weasley's voice interrupted you, calling you two to tell you dinner is ready. Ginny then dragged you downstairs with her, the smile as big as always.

The first person you saw was Ron, who looked at the shirt you were wearing and then at Ginny, mouthing something like 'is that his shirt?', to which Ginny nodded excitedly. Ron then left, smirking at your confused face. You turned to Ginny, ready to ask her what the hell was that when you were interrupted once again, this time by George.

“Look what we have here.” he said smirking while placing an arm around your shoulder. “So you liked Freddie's shirt, uh, (Y/n)?”

“What?” you asked, already feeling your face getting hot.

“Hey, Fred! I've found your shit!” he yelled to his twin, who just entered the room. When he locked eyes with you, his face became as hot and red as his hair, just like your face was and he lowered his head to avoid your curious eyes, with what looked like a shy smile on his lips.

“Ginny!” you exclaimed, blushing furiously.

But when you turned around to face her, she was smirking. She then cupped her ear, as if she heard something “Oh, sorry, mom just called me and George to help her. Have fun, you two” she said, pulling George by his arm so he could follow her, they both giggling.

You and Fred stayed quiet, too embarrassed to say something or look at each other. You glanced at him, noticing he was shirtless, but then you quickly looked away, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable, focusing on the roof instead. “So,” you shyly spoke “why are you shirtless?"

“Because you're with my shirt” he said, chuckling.

“Oh.” you looked at his face, an apologetic half smile on your face. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was yours. I can ta-”

“No, it's okay” he cut you off “It's okay, you can stay with it. I'll just find another one.”

“Okay, then.” you smiled at him “Now, if you excuse me, I'll kill your sister right now.”

“I'll put some clothes on before mom catches me and then I can help you” he winked, climbing the stairs to go to his room, leaving you a blushing mess.

After that day, you and Fred were kind of awkward with each other, and whenever you two were alone, there was this uncomfortable silence. Like, he made a few jokes but it just felt weird. Ginny and George didn't stop teasing the shit out of you two ever since then, always nudging you when he entered the room or vice versa.

It was kind of boring, actually. You really liked spending time with the twins, especially Fred, but now you couldn't say anything without making the situation awkward. The fact that you always remembered that moment also didn't really help, since all you could think about was Fred's face when he saw you in his shirt. His face was as red as his hair and he was looking down, but there was still that small smile on his face that made you wonder a lot. Was he trying to hide his laugh? Or was he actually smiling?

The thought that he probably was smiling made the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. You didn't really want to admit it to yourself, but you may or may not have feelings for the redhead). It was obvious to anyone who looked at you whenever Fred was around; you were a blushing and stuttering mess, and could barely function like a normal human being. Ginny – and honestly the whole castle – knew about your 'secret' feelings for her old brother, she noticed the not-so subtle stares you sent Fred's way everytime you were in the same room and she was sick of watching her brother doing the exact same thing with you, so that was why she and George came up with the 'shirt plan'.

You were now sitting with Ginny and Hermione on the Burrow's garden, just admiring the beautiful sunset in front of you. Hermione then nudged Ginny with her elbow, raising her brow at the redhead with a look that you didn't really understand, which made you furrow. Ginny then nodded, the same diabolic smile on both their faces.

“Mione, I just remembered something! We have to do that... thing! Yeah, that thing! Remember?” she exclaimed, already getting up. “Let's go!”

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, the thing!” Hermione said, quite awkwardly, getting ready to leave with Ginny.

“Can I go too?” you asked, looking at them whilst pouting.

“No, sorry” Ginny said “It's..”

“A thing for only two people! Sorry, (Y/n/n)” Hermione quickly cut her off, giving you an apologetic smile before dragging Ginny with her, whispering something you couldn't hear.

You sighed, enjoying the view anyway. You stayed like that for a few minutes, the sunlight kissing your skin, its warmth making you feel a little less cold. Despite being summer now, the night breeze was really cold, and you cursed yourself for not bringing a jacket or a jumper like Hermione told you to.

After a minute or two you heard footsteps quietly approaching you, then the person sat down next to you without saying anything, just enjoying the beautiful view. You saw the messy red hair sitting beside you, his blue sweater with a large yellow 'F' on it made you realise who it was.

“Aren't you cold?” his deep voice brought you back to reality and you blinked at him, shaking your head slowly. “Are you sure?”

“I'm fine, Fred” you answered shyly, still not looking directly at him.

He didn't say anything and you two fell in an almost comfortable silence for the first time ever since the 'shirt plan'. You then felt something on your shoulders, something soft and that made you warm up. Looking down, you saw a jacket that you recognized as his and it smelt exactly like that shirt, Fred's scent was intoxicating and you swore you could never get enough of it.

“Nice view, don't you think?” he asks whilst turning to face you and smiling.

“Yeah.” you nodded “The sun is amazing, especially at this time of the day.”

“The sun is beautiful too, but I prefer another view” he said quietly, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

“And what is that?” you asked shyly, seeing his face lit up and a smirk replace his smile.

“You.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you never found the right words. What were you supposed to do at this moment? You didn't even need to see yourself in a mirror to know that your face is just as hot and red as fire now, and you were pretty sure he definitely noticed it, the playful smirk on his face confirming your suspicions.

“Oh” was all you managed to say. You mentally face palmed yourself, embarrassed by your lack of coherent answers. “Thank you?”

He laughed quite loudly, throwing his head back. You confusedly looked at him, silently asking what was so funny and he just shook his head, still giggling. “You're weird.” he replied between giggles, giving you a big smile.

“That's really rude of you, did you know that?” you asked, furrowing your brows.

“I meant it in a good way, love”

You crossed your arms, huffing, and turned to watch the sunset that was now almost gone. The sky was a beautiful mix of orange and pink shades and it looked like a real life painting. You were too focused on the beautiful sky in front of you that you didn't even notice Fred's silly smile, looking at you in awe.

“So, someone told me you have feelings for me. Is that true, (Y/l/n)?” he asked in a playful tone, slowly inching closer to you.

“Who told you that?!” you exclaimed, looking at him with wide eyes “It was Ginny or George, wasn't it? Oh, I'll kill them!”

“Maybe” he quietly spoke before smirking again “Well, I might return these feelings.”

“What?!”

“You heard me the first time” he playfully rolled his eyes “Can you confirm if the rumors are true?”

“Which rumors?” you stuttered, blushing.

“That we have a date next week”

“What?!”

“You're not as smart as I thought you were” he joked “I was asking if you wanted to go on a date next week? With me?”

You only nodded, not trusting your own voice to say anything at the moment. He smiled widely at you before turning back to the sky in front of you two, you both watching it silently, just enjoying each other's company.

You smirked when you heard whispers a few feet behind you, whose voices you recognized as Ginny, Hermione and George's excitedly cheering that their little 'plan' worked.

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aesthbaby · 4 years

Text

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event.

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that.

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her. He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips. You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward, “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage.

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425 @fanfictionfangirl04 @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby

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septembriseur · 3 years

Text

Snippet of Zemo fic I’m working on as a change of scenery.

The Pashtuns have a story they tell, dating back to the nineteenth century— to the time of the Second Anglo-Afghan War. A girl walks onto a battlefield: not just any battlefield, but a small pass in the mountains. It is distinguished by no notable history, this pass, and with no notable history yet to come. Amidst this breach in the wall of individually-named mountains— Tabal Koh, Torah Shah, and Shah Maksud— two armies mingle. On one side, the turban-hatted tribesmen, barefoot perhaps in their shalwar kameez; and on the other, the empire in their red coats and khaki.

(He has always enjoyed the way that the English say khaki, inventing an implicit r and in the process rendering it less a color than a state of being. In the Persian it was a color; to be khak-e was to be earth-genitive, dirt-affiliated. But the British: oh, they are so very much feeling khaki.)

The battle, as you might expect, is not exactly even-sided. The turban-wearers are being massacred. And yet onto the field this girl comes— this girl called Malala, this water-bearer, daughter of shepherds, and when she sees that the flag has fallen, she takes the scarf from about her head and waves it to her countrymen as a battle standard. In her own language, she sings a poem of war, a landay, saying: I will take the blood from my lover, who has died for our homeland, and I will wear it upon my forehead as a beauty-mark.

And, as you might then expect, the Pashtuns won the battle.

Today the story is told with different morals, which we need not delve too deep into: the strength of women, the glory of Afghanistan. Ask a Pashtun, however, and he may tell you that you have misunderstood the story entirely. Only in Pashtu could Malala have made such a cry, and it was by the secret power of this language that she rallied the people of Maiwand. That power remains within the words now, though quiescent. You can feel it with each pronunciation, in the bones of your teeth. Try.

***

These days, Zemo speaks English, although he reads in French and German— sometimes Russian, if he’s feeling particularly full of vim. When James Barnes visited him in the prison, it had been four hundred and eighty-five days since he spoke the Sokovian language. He was surprised, following his escape from the prison, by how naturally it came to his lips, and then disturbed to find it recurring without his permission. He would search for a Russian word, and find the Sokovian word there instead. Phrases disarticulated themselves and reassembled in podge-hodge chunks of polyglottism. Dayte mi le knigu. Hast du li videl’ mokh ami?

He feels out of control, no longer practiced at wrangling the storm of undercurrents that run seething, awaiting the moment to reassert themselves again.

***

It’s easier reassuming the role of baron. And when Zemo welcomes his new companions into his automotive collection, his personal jet, the Avenger (Wilson) looks at him with intermingled disgust and envy. Zemo wonders what Wilson knows about growing up in a place synonymous with war zone, a place that can be, with such indifference, wiped from the map. Perhaps: a bit. Perhaps he knows the precarity of the rat that strains against the limits of its rat-world; the alacrity with which it will climb atop the backs of other rats. Perhaps he knows enough to have some measure of admiration for the nimble and swift acrobatics involved in becoming the king rat.

His family’s title has been meaningless since 1939. His grandparents and great-grandparents were shiftless and malcontent exiles before that, drifting about the upscale resorts of Europe, racking up some truly aristocratic bills on credit and mysteriously vanishing as part of their exotic-Ottoman act. Only after they’d been stripped of their status did they settle down to make some money: who better to sell you some exceptionally dodgy artifacts than an exceptionally dodgy artifact? He wonders sometimes how many of Sokovia’s Thracian tombs and medieval churches had their treasures pried loose at his grandfather’s hand.

Better, perhaps, that the art survived, he supposes. Given—

See, a man can justify anything. This is his great skill. Imagine the elaborate artifices, or perhaps edifices is the word he intended to have chosen, the high structures he constructs for himself to pretend that he has escaped the land of rats at last.

***

He likes Barnes, and not just with the noblesse oblige that his family, fantastically gifted at speaking in one way and acting in another, took care to drill into him. He likes Barnes because it’s instructive to observe his struggle: here is a man who was a men among men, and now he is not a man any longer, and he thinks this means he can no longer live in the land of men. You can see it on his face, a haunted look, as though the world has invented a new kind of pain just for him.

Zemo knows him better, perhaps, than anyone has ever known him. Better than he perhaps knows himself. Every video, where video footage exists: Zemo has seen it. Every audio recording of a sound that the Winter Soldier made.

(What Zemo would confess to an interviewer, if one asked: in all honesty, it becomes rather boring, consuming repeated acts of violence. One person dying looks much like another, and any honest soldier will say so. After a time, you find yourself skipping past the screams and gurgling. You are irritated with how long it takes them to die. With torture, the same: how many times can Barnes’s face achieve the same contortions? Must they use the electricity over and over? Haven’t they a creative bone between them? Zemo knows, of course, that the monotony itself is an aspect of the torture. And, too, it’s useful for the torturers: past a certain point, not only habit but an exhaustion of the empathy sets in. Still, something in him rebels, perhaps his last moral instinct. Yes, it’s true, his boredom is moral! He would like to believe so. Do what you’re going to do, he thinks, but for fuck’s sake don’t make it commonplace.)

He’s even watched the tapes of Barnes’s earliest therapy sessions— not his deprogramming, in Wakanda, where Zemo had failed, to his frustration, to find an in from his prison, but the psychotherapy that followed his return to the United States. The sessions made for quite compelling viewing; in his earliest days of isolation, they obsessed him. Barnes was a ragged, still-feral creature in them. He was prone to prolonged and uncomfortable bouts of silence. It took him a long time to find language. When asked to reflect on this, he sat for a long time without speaking. Zemo can picture him now: oddly soft-edged where he hunched in the oversized armchair, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his fingers. He had lost a dramatic amount of weight, and his face looked haunted, but he had not yet cut his hair.

“Maybe there are words for what I want to say,” Barnes said, “but don’t know ’em. I don’t know how you would learn ’em. So everything has to be translated. You know? Or— not even translated. It’s like I’m the first person who’s ever had to say it. I’ve got to find the right shape cookie cutter to show you. The right…sharpness.” His metal fingers twitched. Zemo liked to think that he was looking for a knife.

A knife was a cookie cutter that was always the right shape cookie cutter.

In that moment, watching, Zemo had wished too for a knife. Not because he did not know the borders or form of his response, his reminiscence, but out of outrage at the very authenticity of Barnes’s speechlessness. How, Zemo thought, do you not know the words?

He had thought that everyone possessed this secret language, though you did not reveal your fluency in it, at least not in polite company. No wonder Barnes is so unmade. He has passed the age when one acquires such skill through sudden immersion.

(He himself experienced, perhaps, the opposite form of immersion. His childhood between the wars was sheltered by privilege, he knew only that any persons could vanish without warning, and that you would hear, later, hushed whispers when their bodies were found: exegesis of the marks from a which a saga of pain could be inferred. Then came age nine, and the daring, unprecedented separatist attack on his prestigious lycée. The wet red flesh of a classmate; the smeared trajectory of a body sketched out where a child had collapsed against a wall. His parents said, This Is No Place For a Child. In a month’s time he was living comfortably in Switzerland, Hong Kong, Madripoor, places that were For a Child. He spoke French, German, and English. In time, he came to associate the Sokovian language with that other language of his childhood: fear and grief. He thought less of his classmates because they were ignorant of these languages, acquired a kind of hauteur about it— at the same time as he understood, on some childish level that resisted penetration, how his expertise was the source of a morbid, drenching shame. )

Perhaps there is a kinship that comes between two men who speak the same language. In Madripoor, he feels it, as he caresses Barnes’s body and detects no flinch. An almost sexual pull there, maybe. Dangerous; electric.

Does Barnes know that Zemo plans to kill him at the conclusion of this escapade?

Difficult to guess.

#tfatws #my fic

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pl-panda · 4 years

Text

Damienette Arranged Marriage: Part 1

Okay. I fell into the Maribat AU/Damienette ship hole and I find it quite comfortable down here. But too many fics are the same and I decided to try something else. I am awful at writing romance and prefer action, but alas I will practice on this. It might be awful, but that’s only one more reason to continue writing. I want to evolve.

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from and me for the plot.

Damiennete arranged marriage: Part 1

Marinette slowly opened her eyes. She was confused. Last thing she remembered before blacking out was a sting on the back of her neck. She was just returning from school. It hasn’t been even a week since the ‘Miracle Queen’ incident. For now, the miracle box (now in its new form) and hidden in old phonograph in her room. It was one of parting gifts from Master Fu. He wanted to make sure that she was not in any more trouble.

Oh kwami! What if Hawkmoth figured I am the new guardian. And then he would know I am by extension Ladybug. And then he could get my miraculous. And if he got my miraculous nobody would be able to stop Akuma and he would eventually overpower Chat Noir and then he would get the wish and probably he would wish to conquer the world or even the universe and it would be all my fault.

Her train of thoughts was running several hundred miles per hour until it finally crashed. She moaned. Only then, she finally got the idea to look around. She was in some dark cell. There was only small window, but it was too high for her to reach. The walls were made from large stones that were perfectly polished. There was no way to break them. She turned to the other side and noticed stairs leading to large and heavy metal doors. They were reinforced enough that she doubted anyone could smash them. There was no way out as far as she could figure out.

“I don’t know what to do Tikki… Tikki? Tikki!” Only then it dawned on her that she had no idea where her Kwami was. The sedatives were slowly wearing off, but there was still a lingering dizziness. She had hard time thinking.

There was no answer. She moved her hand to check if her earrings were in place and she was glad to find them still there. But her Kwami was gone. She had no idea what was going on. If they didn’t take her miraculous, it meant that either they didn’t know she was wearing one or they were after her for some other reason. And for the love of Tikki she could not figure out any other reason why she would find herself in such place except for her being Ladybug. Okay, she might know some celebrities and design for them, but nobody would really bat an eye if someone captured her. Okay, her parents would, but they were not important. They are important to her, but they could never pay a ransom. Now if someone captured Adrien it was another story. He was in fact captured several times, but she wasn’t a famous model…

Her thoughts started to drift into several directions. After her initial panic attack passed, she started to look around her cell more closely. The place looked old, like a dungeon in some castle. There might have been a secret exit like in one of Video Games she liked so much. Or maybe there was some loose screw in the doors… She walked to the large block of metal and tried to analyze its structure. After good fifteen minutes, she gave up. It was impossible to dismantle this from the inside. She turned and noticed that from this height, she could actually look through the window. But what she saw was not really conforming.

The snow-storm was raging outside. And there were only rocky mountain sides visible. No houses whatsoever. the idea of Akuma attack flashed through her mind, but she dismissed it. There would be some more traces even if she was only some side victim. But at the same time it meant she was no longer in Paris. Someone not only kidnapped her, but also moved her away from her home city. She was in some snowy mountains with no idea how she got there or why was she there. The feeling of powerlessness caught up with her. She curled on her small, uncomfortable bed and started to cry.

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Marinette was awaken by someone turning the key in the doors. She opened her eyes and quickly sat up. Previously, she cried herself to sleep, but now she wanted to be ready. When you spend most of your time as a superhero running over rooftops, even if the skill is magical, you still tend to retain muscle memory after three years of constant training. Every day. For at least an hour. Maybe she was not in peak physical condition, but Marinette was definitely not weak.

A woman walked inside. She was wearing tight black suit with upper part unzipped, revealing some of her skin. She had a sword attached to her back. Her silky brown hair was loose and curly. Her face was flawless. Marinette would call her epitome of beauty. When the woman walked into the light, the girl noticed she carried a holster that probably housed a gun.

A sword and a gun!? What is going on here…

Luckily, before she could start to panic, the woman sat moved and allowed another person to enter. Marinette used this as an opportunity to try and focus on something else. The man who entered was wearing a loose yellow robes with blue sash. He had typical asian complexion and face, together with mustache and pointy beard like that of Master Fu, except he was actually tall. The man was about three inches taller than the woman.

What really calmed Marinette was that he bowed to her.

“Greetings, Great Guardian. I am sorry we must meet in such circumstances, but the time is of the essence.” The man spoke to her in flawless French.

Okay. So I am in the Temple of the Order of the Guardians. Marinette calmed herself, but then she started to panic again. Oh my Kwami! I am in the Temple. Temple is in Tibet. I am in Tibet. I am in Tibet! That’s not in France! She took three deep breath before looking at them again. She bowed to the man.

“Uh… Hi?”

“I know this is confusing, but we are in dire need of your help Great Guardian.” The man spoke again. Marinette turned to the woman who was with him, but she had expression so emotionless that one could mistake her for wax statue.

“What do you need of me? And why do you call me the ‘Great Guardia’? I am still just learning…”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Wang Fu did not reveal to you who he was?” The man in robes was confused.

“No…?”

“Before the temple fell, he was training to one day lead the Order of the Guardians. He would become the next Master. We awaited his return after the Temple was restored, but only thing we received was a message stating that he named you his successor, losing memory in the process.”

“But… I thought he never finished his training…” Marinette was slowly feeling overwhelmed with this situation.

“Yes, but sadly during the attack the previous Great Guardian surrendered his position so that Wang Fu could restart our Order. Now you inherited this position.”

“Enough chit-chat.” The woman finally spoke. She sounded irritated.

“Yes. We need to proceed with the Ceremony.” The man agreed.

“What Ceremony? What’s going on?” The girl stiffened and took defensive stance.

“I am sorry, Great Guardian, but for Order to survive, we must take drastic steps.”

The woman snapped her finger and two man dressed all black with masks covering everything but eyes entered the room. They were holding ropes.

“Wait! What are you doing!?”

“The order has fallen. Since the Temple was restored, we’ve been under constant attack. For the greater good, I had to make a deal. An alliance that will allow us to still guard the Miraculi. The League of Assassins would eventually win the siege. We did not have resources… I am sorry Great Guardian. I have failed.”

“Wha…!” Marinette had no idea what was going on. But when the two masked men approached her closer, she didn’t stand there passively. With a roundhouse kick she knocked one of them instantly and then a quick punch in solar plexus took the other one. She dashed between the two remaining opponents and tried to lunge for the doors, only to be stopped by more assassins. Behind her walked the woman and aimed her gun at her.

“Sorry girl, but it’s too important. You will do as commanded. It’s for the best anyway.” Marinette wanted to fight, but then something hit the back of her head. She saw black spots before passing away.

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This time, Marinette woke up tied in a large hall in front of stone stairs. She was kneeling and couldn’t move. This habit of blacking out was really annoying. She noticed a golden cage next to her with Tikki inside. The parisian hero wanted to call to her friend, but a sound to her left got her attention. She spotted a boy with ruffy black hair and deep green eyes. He was also tied and kneeling. He wore black armor with golden ornaments and red cape. He did have a sword at his belt, but there was no way to reach it with hands behind his back. If only she could move closer to him…

“Oh great! The sleeping princess has awaken. Now maybe my mother will finally tell me what is going on!” He snarled at her in English before looking up. Marinette followed his gaze and saw two people appearing at the top of the stairs. One of the Guardians in his robes and the woman with gun and sword. She was holding a richly decorated cup.

“For centuries, the league of Assassins battled with the Order of the Guardians.” The woman was speaking in some strange language that Marinette didn’t know how she understood. “Neither side could get any advantage. But then, the Order fell. They were wiped out by their own creation. And now, after almost two hundred years, a great magic restored them, but in weaken state. They knew that they would not be able to hold us without their strongest warriors, so they suggested peace. A unification. Under common leadership, two organizations will thrive once more!”

“To ensure that neither side will exploit the other, “The Guardian continued where Assassin dropped. “Following the old tradition we shall bind the ruling dynasties. For now, through this union we ensure alliance and truce, but once they fully assume their roles, they shall together lead a new organization, stronger and more powerful than any before.”

Marinette looked in the eyes of the Guardian. Her emotions were bubbling and she felt betrayed. Her mentor lost his memories not so long ago, leaving her with all the burden by herself. The only one with who she could now talk about it was her Kwami. Now, for a small moment she hoped that the Order would help her. That with their assistance they could defeat Hawkmoth, but they instead kidnapped her and now they want to marry her to complete stranger. She took one more look at the boy. he was frowning and trying to get out of the bonds, but there was no way. Tikki next to her was also tied and there were some runes on the cage. She was not sure, but her instincts told her this was designed to keep Kwami bound at least for some time.

“Don’t worry Marinette.It will be alright.” Tikki tried to conform the girl, but she didn’t sound really all that convincing. Instead, the sadness, anger and much more different negative emotions overcame her. She zoomed out and closed herself in. Tears were flowing down her cheeks.

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Damian really did not like this day. He woke up in this mess, tied, dressed in the official armor that he used to wear as an Heir to the position of Demon’s Head. The feeling of dizziness quickly passed, but only after his mother started talking the pieces clicked. He remembered the tales about the Order of the Guardians. He heard on how they disappeared long ago. Looks like they returned. He gave a side-glance to the girl. She was his age, dressed in a dark gray blazer with rolled-up sleeves; the inside of the blazer was lined in white with pink polka dots and it had black trimming. Underneath, she wore a white t-shirt with black stitching and a flower design below the collar. The design itself had pink flowers and black leaves. She wore pink rolled up jeans and pink ballet flats with dark red soles. She had eyeliner around her eyes and sports black earrings. It was miracle her makeup did not smear around her face. He then took a closer look at her. If he was to guess, she was slightly smaller than him. She had hair in color of midnight blue which worked well with her bluebell eyes. Her hair was pulled back into two pigtails, but they were messed and unruly, probably because of conditions she was kept in. Internally he growled. She was just a girl, tossed into it. The small cage next to her did not escape her attention. The small creature that looked a bit like some ladybug was trying to give the girl some comfort. She looked unimpressive for someone who would one day lead organization that could rival the League of Assassins. Or be my wife… The idea sounded ridiculous in his head, but he didn’t voice it. As strange as it may be, if he didn’t hurry it would happen. The tie was strong and tight. Strong rope was locking his hand in place in such position that even if he dislocated his thumb, it would still not help. He was completely immobilized.

Marriage ceremony in the League was always short. Thalia spoke some words, then the Guardian added some more and she walked downstairs with the cup. Damian noticed green substance in it. Instantly, his stomach rumbled. It was water from Lazarus Pit. It could only mean that some dark magic was involved this time. Usually it was just a wine, with occasional dose of poison if his grandfather demanded it, either to test them or straight up terminate. They had to drink it all between the two of them.

“May this union prosper between you, your families and friends. In this, we take the first step in uniting the two powers, for you and your descendants to lead.” Talia spoke in the language of the League. Damian was actually surprised when the Guardian was also speaking in this language during the ceremony, but he had no idea who else was there. He couldn’t really turn around to look at the audience.

“By the power vested in me by the Order of Guardians, I bless the union and hope that you will find peace and happiness with each other.” Marinette was sobbing quietly, long since drained of all tears. Damian scowled. She seemed weak. He felt the need to protect her and yet he could do nothing. It irritated him almost as much as when Drake painted his outfit black and replaced the Robin symbol with Coffee Bean. For someone constantly on caffeine he could run surprisingly well.

First, the two adults walked to Marinette. She was in too much shock to respond. Her whole life, her whole future, everything she knew was right now crumbling. She would never marry Adrien. She would never even confess her love to him. Her mind kept creating different scenarios about what would happen after the ceremony. Would she be shipped to the Guardian Temple. Was this the Temple? Would she have to live with the League of Assassins? Maybe in addition to marriage they would make the boy live with Guardians while she lived here. Or there. She had no idea where she was. How would they treat her. She was their leader, but yet she felt more like a slave, forced to do what he is told. She didn’t even notice when they put the chalice to her lips and make her drink some of the substance. She swallowed the green liquid and felt it spread warm through her, revitalizing each bone in her body. She felt a tingle of pain, in every part of her body, but it was only momentary.

Damian planned on resisting to the best of his abilities. Maybe spill the Lazarus Water from the Chalice or headbutt his mother into unconsciousness. He was mildly surprised when she handled the cup to the Guardian and leaned to him, whispering in Arabic. “If you try anything funny, we will kill this girl and then murder every single guardian in existence. for once just do as you are told.” He stiffened, quickly looking at the girl who was now sitting a bit more calm, but still anxious. He did not want her to die because of him, but allowing the League of Assassins to get even more power was also bad. He had to make a choice quick. The guardian approached him with the chalice and slowly lifted it to his lips. Damian looked at the girl once more and felt some pain in his heart. She didn’t deserve any of this. She looked so… normal. With a sight, he accepted the other half of the liquid, allowing it to travel through him and revitalize his body into the peak condition, fixing any damage he might have had.

With that, the ceremony ended. there were no more words, no more nothing. Some of the mooks untied him and Marinette. Talia walked to the scared girl.

“Now. I hope you will be good for my son. And neither of you ever think of breaking this.” She threatened them. “If you do, the League will return to war with the Order of the Guardians. And you will both be killed.” She let the threat hang in the air before walking away. The Guardian left already, leaving Marinetter alone with Damian.

“I am so sorry they dragged you into this!” She started to apologize to him and trying to hug him. His instincts told him to push her away, but he was too stunned to follow on it. This girl was actually apologizing him for her life being ruined? Just where did his mother find her?

#fanfic #fanfiction #crossover #maribat #maribat au #damienette #marinette x damian #arranged marriage au #maridami #order of the guardians #league of assassins #guardian!marinette

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