#he can shapeshift his fingers between fingertips and claws

[angeart]

here, a harpy!grian for my au :3

#ange draws #maybe i'll stick to this design #not sure yet #harpy!grian #he can shapeshift his fingers between fingertips and claws #idk how to draw bird/talon feet sorry xkjbnj #i tried #there's a red tanktop #under that cape #i'll most likely do another picture #without the cape #we'll see #i gave him tail because tails are fun #he's got slight heterochromia #that was also a random impulsive decision #but here we are #grian

[ask-the-achs]

🔑 Endward Overhill

Report 'Eldritch Colombo. Not that I'd get that reference'

He's a roughly human-sized eldritch monster that can shapeshift and normally takes on a human form to disguise himself among humans.

In his human form, he is 6'1" tall, with fair pink skin, bright blue eyes and a full head of fairly short curly dark brown hair. He is moderately muscular. He has no visible scars or tattoos. (Visible?)

In his true form, he is 10'4" tall, has a slightly elongated torso, two human-like legs and two human-like arms, with sharp blade-like claws on his fingertips. He has five fingers on each hand. His head and face are human-like, and he has bright blue eyes with black sclera and round pupils. His ears are pointed, and he has two rows of sharp, pointed teeth in the front of his mouth, with fairly human-like teeth in the back of his mouth. He also has a full head of fairly short black curly hair. His skin is a dark purplish-blue color with dark blue symmetrical splotches on his torso and small dark blue spots on his arms. He is very muscular and strong. He has two very large bat-like wings that give him a 28 foot wingspan.

Endward Overhill is 49 years old. He is incredibly intelligent, and he speaks English as well as several eldritch tongues. He has a pronounced New York accent. He is a famous detective. He has a mysterious aura around him that caused people to be very honest around him.(angel of judgment Or demon of punishment? Nah Eldritch truthspeaker) Endward uses this power as a detective to cause convicts to confess to crimes. He also has the ability to warm (warp?) space and time around himself, and he also uses this ability to make criminals to confess to the crimes they have committed. He can also teleport and travel between dimensions with ease. Regardless of what form he is in, he will always be seen wearing a brown leather jacket, a grey dress shirt, black denim pants and black dress shoes, and he will often be seen smoking a cigar.(still not good for you.) In his true form, his jacket has holes for his wings. (Well duh?)

Dr.Sunblood

Threat level:HARMLESS

[whosjunglejim4322]

Warnings: werewolf!au if u couldn’t tell, size kink, fingering, hints towards switch xuxi, big wolf boy in luv, reader is on the pill theoretically, mentions of yukhei being insecure, yall in love btw it’s sappy, he cums inside you

Werewolf Yukhei never thought that a person, a human of all creatures, could make him feel so delicate. Your hands are indescribably soft as they cup his warm face, your mouth concise and rythmic with each brush of your lips against his.

It's shockingly easy to be this way with you, the two of you lying together on his couch like a pair of tangled roots, his head just slightly lower than yours as he wraps his strong arms around you further.

He's always been too big, in height and stature. His lumbering limbs have always carried him with a sort of saunter, and though his face may be pretty, once people found out he was part wolf their adoration always fizzled into condemnation.

But you, you.

As someone who had coexisted with shapeshifters nearly all of your life, with close family friends ranging from Werewolves- like him - to Vampires, and even some Fae, he shouldn't have been surprised when you treated him as though he was no different than anyone else you'd ever interacted with.

He still remembers the first time he kissed you, in his car after the sun had already decided to rest and give the stars a chance to say hello to the onyx sky. He had wanted to do it all night, the need becoming an overwhelming knot in the pit of his abdomen.

He and his wolf alike were struck with the immediate sensation of buzzing all throughout his veins, and when he pulled away, he could see the reflection of his topaz orbs in your eyes, glowing.

He almost immediately covered his face, head in hands as he began to furiously rub at his sockets, willing the fire to go out behind his irises. He had almost seemed angry at himself, borderline disgusted and then your hands were gripping his wrists with a softness he had never experienced- you said his name as if it were something to be admired.

Something in him had felt defenseless, like he couldn't bear to pull away from you and see the sad pout that would surely form on your pretty lips.

"It's okay, hey," you brought one hand to his sullen face, soft fingers tilting his his chin towards you. "Open your eyes, it's okay Xuxi."

And he believed you, wholeheartedly. He didn't know why but he didn't care to argue, not when you used such a fond nickname without even a second thought, not when he felt so safe to be himself with you.

So he opened his eyes, not having to see them to know they were still illuminated in the darkness of his car. And your expression, fuck, it made his chest ache.

You inclined yourself towards him as if your body had no other choice, like it was second nature to want to be close to him, to be so enraptured. Your thumbs ever so gently had swept the area underneath his eyes, moving to the highpoints of his cheeks as you sat in awe.

"They're so...they're so pretty, like fireflies in the summer. They remind me of home."

He doesn't think he'll ever forget that. The safety he feels in your arms, like right now, it makes it easy for him to pretend like the world doesn't see him as this illusive predator shifter. Like he's just Yukhei.

You kiss him like he's the only person you've ever wanted, which isn't far from the truth considering the way he never ceases to take your breath away. There is a reverence between you two, and you find yourself kissing him with a bit more fervour as you relish in the fact that you get to hold him so close.

He picks up on the slight change in pace as quickly and as naturally as expected, one of his long legs lifting before he drapes it over your waist. He just needs you closer.

His plush mouth falters for a second, as he pulls away just enough to look up into your half lidded eyes. "Too heavy?" He asks, the rough timber of his voice sending more jolts of heat than necessary, through your abdomen.

"N-no." You hope he can sense that your shakiness is due to the flurry of emotions coursing through you, and not because of uncertainty. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards in amusement and fondess, silently answering your question.

Your lips find each other again as your hand grips the meat of his thigh, absentmindedly rubbing the area and reveling in the way his muscles twitch underneath the fabric of his basketball shorts. 

This small action has him accidentally groaning into your mouth, long fingers finding the softness of your hips as he pulls you as close as the space will allow.

You don't miss the feel of his stiff erection against your belly, or the way his wet tongue has become more curious as to how your mouth tastes. When your hands wander further up the expanse his lithe body and discover a searing hot patch of skin that has been exposed due to his shirt lifting, your fingers are quick to explore further.

It's not like you did it on purpose, ever so slightly raking the blunt of your nails up his side before exploring the firm, lean surface of his abdomen- it's just as much of a natural urge as it is for him to be rutting against you, like he is now.

You're sure you heard a growl rumble in his throat, and you're elated to see that he's just as worked up as you are- enough to not even notice and have time to scold himself.

For a second, your eyes meet, noses still touching and kiss bitten lips only a few inches apart as you catch your breath.

This time, a ruby set of irises stare back at you, and you know enough about his kind to recognize that this is either due to hunger, lust, or anger. And since you're almost certain he's not angry, and also know that werewolves rarely ever get hungry for prey while they're in human form, the last option is as clear as the obvious lust that is decorating his bronze features.

And so you kiss him again, hard.

He isn't as controlled as he was before, not scared to give in to his hormones or the desires that have him struggling to remain fully here. He's just so captivated by you, the sweet yet ambrosial scent that clings to your skin, the way your body perfectly curls against his.

He can smell your intoxicating arousal as it leaks into your panties, cock jerking in his shorts as you both explore eachothers skin underneath your clothing. He feels the thunderous beat of your heart against his own broad chest, along with the hardening bud of your nipples through your shirt.

"I want you...want you to be mine." He's breathless, which is hard to believe given his supernatural state, but he can't seem to speak in complete sentences. The energy between you two feels as if it's about to burst and ignite a flame. You feel it all over your body.

His raven hair is mussed by this point, skin hotter than a furnace damn near, eyes glossy. Something in you knows that he's not just talking about sex, the way he's looking at you.

His dick is pulsing against you, massive, inviting hands wandering your body as yours are his - but he speaks like he can't bear to let you go.

You quickly wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, soft hair tickling your fingertips as you bring him back in for another passionate kiss, his body shifting as he finds himself crawling on top of you.

The position switch makes it even harder for him, you're so soft, so beautiful as you gaze up at him and paw at his broad shoulders.

Your thighs are open and wrapped around his trim middle, the feeling of his dick against your center all the more tantalizing this way. It doesn't help when he does that thing where he ever so slightly- but purposefully- grinds his hips into yours as if he knows exactly where you need it. You almost forget you're both still clothed.

"You can have me, you know...I want you too." And it's the truth, you've never felt like this, he's so rare, so beautifully unaware and you want him in every way there is to want someone.

His eyes are back to his natural deep shade of chocolate brown, earnest in their surprise and incredulity.

"You really mean it?" You almost laugh in disbelief, wondering how someone like him can be so oblivious to your wide eyes of astonishment everytime you so much as glance at him.

But you know it's not because of his appearance, no, he's aware of how people look at him, how they naturally seem to gawk and wonder how a person can be unnaturally exquisite.

Still, you remind him. "Yes, of course you silly, silly boy."

And you're breathless again, his deft fingers moving down between your bodies to slip underneath the waistband of your leggings, swiftly pulling them off in an inhumanly fast motion.

Your compliance is immediate, a whine slipping past your lips as cool air breezes against your center, your hands clawing at his loose tee shirt in a haphazard attempt to remove it.

He reluctantly pulls his mouth away from yours to sit back on his haunches, lifting his lithe arms behind his back to pull the garment off of his body.

You're not prepared for the way your belly swirls with a new, overwhelming sense of lust at the sight of him so bare. He's warm, and firm yet smooth and inviting- you almost don't register the fact that he's too distracted to notice your reaction.

Not until you feel the warm pad of his thumb rub your swollen clit, both of you realizing, together, that you decided to forgo underwear.

He's got his free hand grasping the inside of your left thigh, holding it open as he practically salivates at the sight of you.

It's too much, for the both of you. There's so many sensations sending your nerves haywire, every inch of your skin tingling with warmth and desire. He can't believe you're so pretty, and his, and the awestruck, hungry expression that's on his face is what prompts you to reach out and grasp his sturdy hips.

"Please fuck me, Yukhei," he's pulled out from a trance into a new one, his eyes catching sight of the agonizing need inside of yours. "want you really bad."

It's unfair, the way he slips two of his long, delicate fingers inside of your aching heat as he leans down to kiss you like a man starved.

You moan properly, and loudly this time, the compelling sound sending him into overdrive as you find yourself suddenly being fucked by his fingers at a near bruising pace.

Even so, he knows what he's doing, and you have to grip onto his daunting shoulders for dear life while he curls the dexterous digits inside of you, touching your cervix and nudging your sweet spot.

He revels in it, the way you look like you're falling apart. His skin blazes to a new temperature and you're leaking onto him like a sweet dessert, soaking his palms. He can't help but to groan.

"Gotta get you ready if you're gonna take my dick."

The words alone leave you clutching after his thick forearm as he pumps into you, slowing his minisrations out of fear that his words might send you over the edge. He doesn't even mean to sound so filthy, at first. Until he realizes how quickly it almost made you lose it.

"Please, please give it to me now."

He sees how badly you need it, can feel it in the form of slick between his knuckles, and if he's honest he's not sure how he's lasted this long either- so he bashfully slips his fingers out of you and pulls his shorts past his knees, not patient enough to get them all the way down.

You see now why he needed to insert his fingers first. He's big. Long, a girth that would be painful if it were any more than what it is. But nonetheless, it's pretty, like the rest of him. The tip is the same, deep muave of his lips, and you reach out for it, needing to touch him as intimately as he has touched you.

He shudders, entire body twitching in pleasure as you wrap your hand around him. Your hand is so much softer than his, and he whines, a sound that has you clenching around nothing. His expression is one that you wish you could photograph just to relive the memory over and over on days when you two aren't together.

"Want me to fuck you now, baby?" You nod fervently, cheeks blazing at the nickname and the softness in which he speaks it. His eyes seem to light up as he leans down to kiss you, allowing himself to absorb every detail of the moment, not wanting to miss even a second.

As soon as his tip passes your entrance, you both know you're fucked. It feels too good, too fast, the stretch is intense but seems to add to the stimulation since your wetness makes the insert easy.

When he bottoms out, he forces himself to stay still for a moment as he holds himself up by his forearms, his face shoved in the crook of your shoulder, lips on your throat.

You feel him pulsing inside of you, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his thick length, whimpering in his ear.

"Please, please move Xuxi."

He doesn't make you wait another minute, sliding himself almost all the way out before pistoning himself back in, jolting you in the process.

He starts his pace, and you're not sure how long you're going to last with the way he's moving, like his hips are speaking to you in some other language all together. He's magnetic, curling his pelvis upwards each time he thrusts back into your sopping entrance.

"Fuuuuck, I'm all the way up there baby." He groans in astonishment, though it's like everytime he speaks your body reacts automatically.

You wrap your arms around his familiar shoulders and hike your thighs up further, prompting him to slip his hands underneath your knees and hold you like this, the position allowing him to fuck you with a new depth.

He refuses to move his mouth away from you still, his messy hair tickling your forehead as your mouths move with fervour.

The sounds in the room are lewd, the collision of your hips and his thick cock slipping in and out of your entrance, along with the smacking of your lips. It's hard to believe that it's all really happening.

"You feel-oh fuck you feel s-so good."

He falters only for a moment as he pants, losing focus as the sound of your voice sends chillbumps to rise across his skin. He hates that he's so close, trying his best to hold on, but you wrap around him so perfectly. He swears you are made for him.

"Gonna cum soon, I can't hold it." His voice trembles this time, and you cling onto him just as desperately as he clings to you, legs locked around his hips. His cock throbs with the need to release, and the sound of your voice as you whimper doesn't help.

"You're so big, Xuxi." The words tumble freely from your mouth, your tongue not able to be held as you look down in between your bodies to see him dissapearing inside of you.

It's like nothing he's ever felt, its all consuming, and even the wolf inside of him is wondering where in the hell you came from, to swoop him up and dazzle him like you did. He's never felt this type of pleasure before, it romances every nerve in his body, turns him into jelly.

It's when he thrusts at a particular angle and your face contorts into an image of pure bliss, tears of ectasy brimming in your glossy eyes, that he feels the coil in his belly finally unravel.

He stills as his lips part, the tip of his dick nudged against your cervix as he fills you to the brim, twitching as he lets out soft, sporatic moans through each sloppy thrust.

"F-fuck- mmm- oh fuck."

His seed is more abundant than the average human male, spilling from you generously and soaking your thighs. The feeling of being so stuffed along with the realization that he's whole and in your arms and you're both connected like this- it has you spiraling down after him.

You feel a warm tear fall down your cheek, the pleasure taking your breath- and your words- away for what seems like the hundredth time in just a short hour. It courses through your entire body and has your hips bucking slightly, skin sensitive to the touch.

He holds you through it, allows you to rock yourself against his half hard cock as you ride your high, his lips suckling any expanse of skin they can find.

He doesn't dare pull out yet, he's too content like this, and you haven't complained about his weight atop of you yet, so he selfishly allows himself to lie his head against your shoulder - button nose nudging your jaw- as your fingers run through his hair.

His arms wrap around your body like a cocoon, and you've never been so comfortable with somebody like this, the contact making you drunk.

"I always knew, you know." His voice is low and sleepy, his lilt genuine. Your breathing begins to syncronize, your fingertips tracing halfhearted patterns against his warm, soft back.

"What's that, hmm?" You reply, curious and with heavy eyes, heart nearly bursting with the adoration you feel fluttering in the pit of your belly.

He kisses your skin once more, gently, almost featherlight.

"That you'd be the one I fall in love with."

#yukhei #wayv yukhei #wayv imagines #wayv lucas #nct lucas #wong yukhei imagines #yukhei imagines #wong yukhei #wayv smut #wayv fluff #wayv x reader #wong yukhei x reader #yukhei x reader #nct x reader #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct lucas imagines #yukhei blurb #yukhei imagine #werwolf au #yukhei werewolf au #lucas wong #lucas wong imagine #lucas wong x reader #xuxi #xuxi x reader #xuxi imagine #yukhei smut #yukhei fluff

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Drag Me to Hell

Louis Cyphre x Angel!Reader

No plot, just smut. Finishing Louis Cyphre week of with a... bang 😏

TW: smut, demon, angel, shape shifting, possibly some sacrilegious statements

Word Count: 2k

Due to a lengthy series of events and bad choices (a story for another time), you find yourself laid out on the silky sheets of Satan himself. He uses his body to hold you down: one hand gripping your wrists above your head, and his body weight pinning your body down, even your wings couldn’t help free you as you writhe beneath him. From his fingertips, a vine creeps out, tying your hands to his bed frame.

“Silly little angel... Nothing can help you now,” Louis starts, tracing his lips across your exposed chest, “You made a deal with the Devil, and there is no breaking that deal... You owe me your beautiful body.”

It was true that you’d made a deal with him, but he had come to you in another form... Sneaky shapeshifter he was! Despite your naivety, you would still pay the price.

While it's forbidden for an angel to desire a demon, Louis's lips on your neck and his fingernails scratching long marks into your sides only makes you want him. As his lips and teeth suck little bruises into the perfectly smooth skin at your neck, you can't help but lean into it... It's just feels so good.

Thank God your hands are tied up, because you find yourself wanting to put your hands on his hair, and if you did that, Louis would know you had given in to him. You do your best to just be still and stay quiet.

But apparently that method fails you as well.

"You're whining a lot less than you were before, my dear," Louis starts working his way down your chest with his kisses, "Could it be you're enjoying this?"

You look down at him with your eyebrows contorted into a worried look and lust-blown eyes... Not to mention how beautifully flushed your cheeks and chest are.

His lips latch onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it, as he stares up to you. "Answer me," he demands, giving your other breast a squeeze, "Are you enjoying this, little one?"

You gasp as his teeth find your nipple, "N-no..."

"Mmm... You don't like this?" he says making his way to your hips and giving one of them a sharp bite when he gets there. As he kisses the spot he just bit, you shake your head no to him, unable to take your eyes off of him, namely his hair and those big muscles.

He trails his lips and tongue along your lower belly area, clearly lining himself up to go down on you, "Angels are bad liars," he says in between smooches, "but in case you are telling the truth, and you really don't like it... I'll just have to try harder." He places a dirty open-mouthed kiss on your center, "After all, I've never had anyone leave my bed feeling anything less than completely satisfied."

He takes your thighs in his hands, lifting them off his bed and spreading them. He places some teasing nibbles to your sensitive skin on the inner parts of you legs, before his head sinks down and that tongue starts working on your clitoris. You fight back whatever noise tries to escape you, trying to lay there as silently as possible. However, when Louis’s flattened out tongue scrapes over that little bundle of nerves, your hips betray you, arching involuntarily.

“Hmm, I got a reaction out of you. Let me do that again and see if I can get my little angel to stir,” another lick, and your hips buck again, “Silly girl, your body always betrays you in the throws of passion, don’t you know that?”

His tongue teases at your entrance, sloooowly moving up and down as he stares up at you before pushing his tongue in, tasting you. He moans as if tasting a delicious plate at a five-star restaurant, and he moves a hand so that his fingers can work on your clit.

A shaky breath leaves your lips, you’re not sure how much longer you can deal with this. A few seconds later, Louis switches positions, landing his mouth on your sensitive bundle of nerves and a long finger deep inside you, suddenly. You let out a moan that sounds more like a whine when you try to choke it back, pulling at the straps tying you to the bed.

Louis chuckles deeply as he continues his actions, working that finger in and out of you, teasing you by lightly curling it, knowing you want him to use more pressure. His tongue doing ungodly things between your legs gets you squirming beneath him, unable to decide if you want more pressure because it feels good or less pressure because you really shouldn’t want this.

When the man sees you looking down at him with begging eyes, he asks, “What do you want? You have to tell me what you want, princess, or I won’t give it to you.”

You look at him silently, refusing to say anything, and so he goes back to pleasing you, but even lighter than he had been before.

“Mm! Please...” you let out in a frustrated grunt.

He gives you a mischievous smirk, “Please what, angel?”

“Please... more.”

He clicks his tongue in disappointment, “You’re not very good at begging, my dear, but I suppose angels don’t have to beg for anything, so I’ll let it slide—just this once.”

As Louis begins sucking on your clit and curling that finger inside you how you like, you finally allow yourself to let a few noises slip out of your mouth. You can tell the man beneath you gets very excited as you practically purr for him.

Right when you start to relax into him, he pops off of you entirely, saying, “I got you to moan for me,’ he crawls to hover over you, “now you’re gonna taste yourself on my tongue.”

Without even a second thought, his lips are on yours in a surprisingly delicate open-mouthed kiss. His hand grips your jaw, making sure he has access to your mouth as he makes you taste your own sex. With the feeling of his hard length trapped between you two, you know what has to happen next.

He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it and even giving it a little nip. When he breaks his kiss with you, he gently massages your swollen bottom lip with his thumb, “An angel's beauty is simply undeniable, but yours..." his knuckles stroke your cheek, "Otherworldly..."

He places a soft kiss to your lips, his words and the intimacy of the moment tugging at your heart strings. But Louis can never allow himself to be soft for too long, things quickly turn heated again and he lines himself up between your legs.

"Taking you is going to be like my own little slice of heaven, and you'll get to experience some of the few pleasures we have here in Hell," his voice rumbles as his cock teases at your entrance.

He takes in a breath as his tip enters you, feeling your wet warmth. "Oooh," he breathes as he gently rocks his hips back and forth, savoring every inch that he slides into you.

Whether you like it or not, you let out a low moan at the feeling of his hardness filling you up. You're wet enough that he slides against you easily, making it feel all the better. This man really knows how to turn you on.

He holds your soft thighs against his hips so you can feel his pelvis thrusting into you. His muscles look so good from this angle too: his built arms and toned abs; you could see them flex with his movements.

No! You're not supposed to be thinking about him like this.... But he's just so intoxicating. How could you blame anyone for succumbing to his charms?

Louis picks up the pace, really creating some friction between the two of you, properly fucking you. He leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly like how a snake strangles its victim, then he spreads his knees which forces your legs apart, giving him a great angle.

"You like how I feel inside you, don't you, sweet girl? You know you shouldn't, but you do," he pants in your ear. "If God didn't want you to make love, why would he give you such a lovely body, beautiful hair, supple breasts, cushiony thighs, and that sweet pussy?"

The Devil's dirty talk is almost... Romantic? But it's still dirty talk nonetheless.

His hips work quickly until Louis is moaning -no- growling next to your ear, attacking you with kisses and bites. You start to lose your composure; you just can't help the moans and whines coming from you as he fucks you into the mattress.

Both of your breathing starts to become heavy when suddenly Louis pulls out of you and cuts your hands free from the bed frame. Without a word, he flips you over and pulls you up on your hands and knees, instantly slamming back into you.

You let out a high-pitched squeal, which the demon behind you revels in. His hips and thighs clap loudly against your butt cheeks as he pounds into you.

You feel his claws move up your back and scratch at the base of your wings, which for you is a very sensitive spot. A loud noise comes out of you and your elbows go weak as you crumble under Louis's touch.

"Mmm, sensitive baby..." he growls before grabbing you by the wings pulling you back towards him. He uses your wings like a leash, using them to keep your thighs flush to his body as he continues to slam into you excitedly.

You hiss at the feeling of him pulling your wings so harshly, but pleasure mixed with a little pain feels better than you expected. Luckily though, he only holds you like that for a little while before he wraps his arms around you, pressing your back to his chest. One of his hands finds your breast and the other finds your neck, teasing at your airway.

"Are you enjoying yourself now, baby girl?" he questions.

"Hnnnnng... No-" you're still trying to fight him, just a little bit.

"Mmm, still no? That's a shame..." he whispers in a breathy voice.

"You're just- a de- deceptive- sh- shape shifter," you say between thrusts, "you- you- fooled me-"

He hums, "You're still stuck on that, sweetheart? Well... Maybe I can use my shape shifting for something else..."

On queue, you feel his member growing inside you, filling you as much as you can take. You nearly start screaming in pleasure as his girth touches all of your sweet spots. Louis moans, holding you by the throat and scratching at your wings again.

You're simply overwhelmed with pleasure, and within seconds, you're cumming. Your body shakes as an indecipherable string of sounds comes from you. Louis makes a series of grunts and groans as he feels your orgasm, and soon he finds his own deep inside you.

Afterwards you collapse on the bed, and Louis doesn't stray too far away, wanting to keep you close so you won't try to fly away.

"I told you no one leaves my bed feeling anything less than satisfied..." he repeats from earlier.

"Hmmm... Well, I wasn't satisfied, so I guess I'll just have to stay in your bed until I am," you say in a sassy voice, giving him a devilish look of your own.

Louis raises his eyebrows at this shift in personality from you, and in that moment, he finds you much more attractive than he already did. He gives you a playful snarl and pulls you on top of him for round two!

Art credit: @demon__artist on Instagram 😈✨

#louis cyphre x reader #louis cyphre #angel heart #angel reader #robert de niro #imagine #robert de niro x reader #robert de niro imagine #mob wives #angel #demon #devil

[crystalirises]

Of Spies and Electricity

The one-shot in which I proceed to have two breakdowns while writing.

I apologize to the prompter if this veered off to the darkside. I saw the words "spy" and "find out" and just had to make it about Fundy's spy arc.

TW: Abuse, Animal Abuse (sort of), Execution, Major Character Death, Electrical Shocks (Torture to Death, Violence, Villain Wilbur Soot (minor mention, and not the cause of the aforementioned trigger warnings), and Mentions of Blood

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/79168267

He felt a hand scratch the top of his head, the fingertips sticky with alcohol and stained with smoke dust. He shivered, forcing himself to purr and lean further into the touch. Schlatt chuckled, patting him in between the ears before returning his attention to the pile of papers on his desk.

He let out a small yawn, feigning sleep before jumping down the man’s lap before skittering out the open door. Schlatt wouldn’t chase after him, the man was too drunk to probably even stand. He ran past the darkening hallway, the moonlight filtering through the tall glass windows that lined the wall. Quackity and Tubbo were both stuck in their respective offices, so there would be no one to stop him from leaving the White House. He ran around, looking for an open window or an open door to the outside. He finally found an escape route in the kitchen, an open window left open to let in some fresh air. He sniffed at the air, stomach  grumbling at the scent of bread.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. Schlatt only fed him old sweet berries, and would try to make him drink alcohol when he was too lazy to get him actual water.

He shook his head, breaking himself from the stray thought of sneaking back to grab a loaf of bread. He couldn’t waste time, or risk getting caught. He jumped out the window, landing on a small flower bush that no one would really miss. He waited for a few seconds, nose sniffing at the air before racing out of his hiding spot. There were a few people milling the streets, but no one tried to stop him or give him a momentary glance. Some even darted out of his way the moment he appeared within view. Nausea curled up in his gut at the reaction, knowing that they probably recognized him as Schlatt’s pet fox. It didn’t help that the man had placed a collar around his neck, gold and easily seen underneath the shine of the sun. He wanted to burn it.

It was the first on his list of stuff to-do once Schlatt was dead and buried six feet under the ground, alongside giving his dad a hug, of course. He hurriedly made his way to the flag, growling at the dark flag that hung overhead like a shadow. He missed Niki’s flag, the real flag of L’Manburg. He sniffled, wiping his snout with his paw before racing behind the pole. He looked around, golden-flecked brown eyes scanning the area before he began to dig down.

He hoped nobody had found his little bunker. The earth seemed untouched… 

With one last sniff at the air, he quickly dropped down into the small hole that he had dug into the earth. His soft paws landed against the concrete platform below, his eyes adjusting to the dark. There were only two sources of light that lit up his path, the small beam that came from his entrance way and the glowstone at the bottom of the stairs. He backed away from the entrance, taking a deep breath before shifting. He heard the snap of bones, felt the sharp pain in his chest while his body morphed into a human form. He bit back a groan, fearful in the case that someone might accidentally hear him. He bit the inside of his cheek, bitter metal blooming on his tongue.

After seconds of burning agony racing through his entire body, he collapsed in an exhausted heap against the floor, gasping into his jacket sleeve. His throat felt like it was on fire, and his bones felt like someone had taken an axe to them. Fundy crawled towards the small beam of light, reaching into his inventory for a single piece of dirt. He needed to cover up his tracks. He couldn’t afford to be caught. His hand gripped at the block, forcing himself to stand and reach up towards the hole. He blocked it up, praying that nobody had noticed. His ears stood on alert, straining to hear a single noise that could mean that his cover was blown. All was silent. He sighed, reaching up to grasp the collar that was still wrapped around his neck. His claws scratched at the surface, a low growl escaping his throat. He wanted to get it off of him so badly, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk forgetting about the collar. Schlatt would find that suspicious.

He shook his head, heading down the stairs towards the room where he’d left the diary. Schlatt seems weaker today, nearly collapsing at one point if Quackity hadn’t caught him by the arm.

Fundy reached the bottom of the steps, reaching towards the button on the wall. This far down, nobody would be able to hear the clank of metal. The scent of stale air hit him, his nose twitching for a moment before he took step into the room. His bed was unmade, the same way he had left it that morning. He headed towards the small chest in the corner, opening it to reach for the diary. He sighed in relief, his fingers grazing the leather surface. It was in the same place he’d left it. No one had discovered him. He leaned back against the wall, flipping the diary open.

A glass shard fell out from one of the pages.

He heard the distinct sound of footsteps at the top of the stairs.

Fundy tossed the diary into the chest.

He didn’t have the time to shift.

Schlatt met him at the bottom of the stairs. The man smiled. “So. You’re Wilbur’s son, huh?”

 ---

  He sniffled, wincing when he felt a hand wrap around his ear and pull. Tubbo was doing his speech at the front of the podium while Schlatt held him tightly - enough to bruise - in his arms.

His fur bristled when he felt Schlatt stand up, a round of applause ringing through the air the moment Tubbo finished with his speech. He knew what was coming. Quackity followed after Schlatt, tossing Fundy a side-eye smirk that made him want to bite the man. With him trapped in Schlatt’s arms, the man began to make his own announcement about the festival, lacing his words with sincerity despite the clearly mocking tone in his voice. He wanted to growl, to bite down on the man’s arm and run away. But Schlatt had tampered with the collar, made it worse. Schlatt tapped on the mic, chuckling when it let out a high-pitched static noise. It was painful against Fundy’s ears “Before the festivities begin, I would like to make a very important announcement. A few weeks ago, we discovered a spy. Well we can’t have that now, can we?”

Without warning, Schlatt dropped him.

He whimpered, his head smacking against the wooden floor. His paws unable to catch him on time. A few people within the crowd cried out, the loudest being Niki. Fundy shivered, curling into himself when he saw Schlatt pull out a familiar remote. A little warning of what would happen if he tried to make a break for it. His tail curled around himself, ears pressed to the back of his head while he tried to put some semblance of distance between him and Schlatt. The man didn’t like that. Electricity coursed through his whole body, agony blooming everywhere. He let out a scream, bloodcurdling and downright terrifying to anyone who’s never heard a fox scream before. He whined, collapsing back against the ground. Schlatt had stopped the electric shock.

“Schlatt, what are you doing?!” He wanted to cry. Niki’s voice soothed him despite the pain. He forced himself to stand back up, casting Schlatt a hateful glare, which only caused the man to chuckle. The moment he got back up on all four feet, he felt a sharp kick against his side. He shrieked, falling back against the ground. The man’s shoe was pressed against him, keeping him down and unable to move. Schlatt was playing with the remote, fingers hovering mockingly over the dial. He bit back the low growl in his throat. Schlatt wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him again. He looked down, tamed. “This… This is outrageous! You can’t do that Schlatt! You’re hurting it!”

“Him,” Schlatt corrected, a sly grin on his face. “This isn’t an ordinary fox, Ms. Niki.”

Another stream of agony ran throughout his body, the pain worse than before. Schlatt had turned up the dial. He whimpered. Schlatt didn’t need to tell him what to do. He took a deep breath, shallow and tired. He wasn’t sure if he could even shift. His body was in too much pain, and the shift would be unbearable. But he had no choice. He trembled, willing himself to return back to his human form. His bones cracked, the noise breaking through the silence. He could hear screaming, or maybe that was him. He focused past the pain, trying to focus on his human form.

He finished shifting. He didn’t need to look at the audience to see their shocked gazes.

“Fundy Soot. Son of the currently exiled former president, Wilbur Soot.” Was that Quackity or Schlatt talking, Fundy wasn’t sure. His head felt heavy, like it could barely balance itself on his neck. There was a loud ringing in his ears, his whole body spasming. He was coughing, he thinks, warm blood spilling past his lips while he tried to force himself to remain lucid. Everything hurts. “He’s a fox shapeshifter and was probably sent to be a spy by his own father.”

That wasn’t true at all. He wrapped an arm around his stomach, the other grasping the bottom of the collar. He wished he was strong enough to rip it away from him. The pain would stop once he got the collar away from him. His gaze snapped towards the crowd, feeling slightly ashamed for getting caught. He thought… He thought he could do it. That he could be a spy for his dad, help save L’Manburg from Schlatt’s iron grip. He knew the last time people had seen was during his dad and Tommy’s exile. He wondered what people thought about his sudden disappearance. Did they think he ran away? He hoped they did. He didn’t want to think that they’d assume he’d… Fundy shuddered. It really didn’t matter anymore. He’d been caught. He looked up at Schlatt, shivering once the man’s golden eyes caught his stare. His fingers were on the dial. Fundy looked at the options. There were three. He had no doubt that the last option would be fatal.

“Shame, you were a great pet to have, Furball.”

Gods, that stupid pet name…

He looked up towards the sky, catching a glimpse of a familiar face on top of a nearby building.

He felt the sharp burn of pain around his neck.

Then all he saw was white.

 ---

There was a wet cloth pressed against his neck, phantom pain spasming through his body while he tried to push against the hand that kept the cloth in place. He heard someone shush him, a hand running gently through his hair before patting his ears. He whined, ears pressing themselves against the top of his head. A part of him was scared, terrified that those fingers would turn cruel and yank at his ears. The hand withdrew, a muttered curse following soon after. He would have laughed if it weren’t for the agony in his throat. It felt impossibly dry and like someone had raked burning coals against  the skin. Someone was talking to him, their words muffled and incomprehensible. He tried to latch onto them, groaning in frustration when he couldn’t seem to understand. He wanted to hear - wanted to answer - but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

He was lying on a bed, that much he can tell. It was hard, not quite comfortable but he wasn’t sure if he was in any place to complain. Someone had placed a pillow below his head, or maybe they’d placed his head on the pillow he wasn’t sure. He clung to the cushion, feeling his claws dig into the cotton. He could only hope that his caretakers wouldn’t be angered by that action.

Someone was trying to move him up, propping the pillow so that his back was resting against it. His eyelids fluttered open, a part of him sighing contentedly at the lack of light. He wasn’t sure if his head could handle any bright lights. The person next to him was still trying to talk to him, but he could barely understand anything. There were a few words here and there that he managed to pick up, but not enough to understand the person’s full meaning. He tried to roll over on his side, wincing when a pinch of pain rose from his neck. He shuddered, nearly collapsing if it weren’t for the arms that caught him. They gently placed him back on the bed, shushing him even when all he could do was whimper. His neck hurt. He didn’t know why it hurt. The hand was back in his hair again, this time he leaned into it. The person hesitated, but they began to scratch behind his ear, soothing him into a sense of calm. He purred, letting himself fall back into kind slumber.

Wilbur sighed, honestly glad to see his son go back to sleep. Fundy had clung to the pillow, like he used to do when he was a kid and he’d misplaced his plushie somewhere. He still felt nauseous, a part of him seething with anger while the other part of him just wanted to puke. It had been an awful display, watching an execution unravel before one’s eyes. His son’s execution. He hadn’t seen Fundy in so long, and he had been so terrified of what had happened to him. He didn’t know his son was a fox shapeshifter. Fundy had always been a fox hybrid, ever since he was a little boy. Wilbur didn’t know. He’d seen Schlatt pet fox and he hadn’t known. He felt sick.

He glanced down at his bloody and scratched fingers. When Fundy had been… killed at the festival, all hell broke loose. A few people - a lot, actually - had instigated a fight, causing complete and utter mayhem. He hadn’t had the time to press the button, too busy trying to find where his son’s respawn point was. Techno had aided him, which was a surprise since he thought he would want to partake in the chaos. They managed to track him down to a hidden bunker underneath the flagpole, that damned golden collar still around his neck. Wilbur had lost it.

He had clawed at the collar, desperate to get it off Fundy. Techno had been the one to get it off, the man keeping a level-head even while Wilbur was having a breakdown. They managed to get out of Manburg after that. Wilbur raced to get Fundy to safety while Techno guarded them from anyone who might decide to chase after them. He sighed, shaking while he rested his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe that he had thought that his son had run away, when all this time…

Wilbur held onto his son’s hand, thumb gently caressing the knuckles. His manic gaze settled on his son’s neck, gritting his teeth at the clear burn marks that marred his son’s pale skin. Gods…

Fundy whimpered the whole way back to Pogtopia and during unconsciousness, sometimes he would even call out for Wilbur. Those moments were the worst in his opinion. He couldn’t stand the thought of his son being in so much pain. He should have known. He should have fucking known that his son was a shapeshifter then none of this would be fucking happening. Wilbur clawed at his hair, tugging until the pain forced him to stop. That shithole of a country needed to go. This didn’t change anything. His hands curled into tight fists, nails biting into the palms of his hands, drawing bits of blood. Schlatt needed to pay. L’Manburg, Manburg, whatever that nation was, it needed to pay. Wilbur sat up a little straighter in his seat. The whole place was still rigged with TNT. All he needed to do was go back and push that damned button. Then boom!

“Bye L’Manburg.” He sing-songed himself, tone nearly giddy. Wilbur kept himself from racing to the button. His son needed him. Wilbur shook his head, pulling the chair closer to the bed. His whole being burned at the sight of his son. One part was still screaming that Fundy had betrayed him by running against him in the first place… but now his son was injured because of him.

“D-dad…? Dad, help me… please help me… I’m scared… Dad…”

He quickly reaches for his son, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders.

He holds him close, whispering words of comfort and assurance.

He still had a nation to destroy. But for now, he needed to care for his son, his little champion.

“I’m here, Fundy. I’m right here.”

He holds his injured son close, and swears, “He won’t hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

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

Clarification: So Fundy pretended to be a regular fox to get close to Schlatt and spy on him. So as far as people know, Fundy disappeared around the time of Schlatt's win of presidency. Some people assume he was jailed (like Niki) for being Wilbur's son, while others think he ran away. Wilbur thought of both scenarios, thinking that both are possible, but he honestly preferred that Fundy had run away cause then he'd at least be safe.

#fundy #schlatt #wilbur soot #dream smp #there is a lot of pain #and I am sorry

[rikalovesrice]

Douxie x Reader (#2) - About You!/Remarkable

Reader : Has a difficult home life. You live in the shadow of your popular, straight-A, athletic older sister and often go unnoticed by your parents. You wonder if there’s more to your life, if you’ll ever be more than a forgotten child. If you’ll ever be more than what your parents see you as, what your sister sees you as...what everyone seem to see you as : Unremarkable. 

Then....You meet Hisirdoux Casperan. And one night when you were particularly upset with things at home, you went for a late night stroll and saw him...You discovered that things definitely aren’t as they seem.

And, well....The rest is history!

You’re a pizza delivery girl part-time, often using your scooter after hours and not damaging it at all to assist Douxie, Archie, and Zoe in their late night hunts. You allowed Douxie to take it for a spin one night. Yea, never again. (Explaining all the damage to your manager was a nightmare like Douxie can’t drive anything except a magic ship)

You carry your dad’s old metal baseball bat for good measure (cause, you know, you’re not a freaking wizard).

And so.....

- After dropping off your last pizza, you check the time on your phone. It’s about an hour before Douxie’s shift as Benoit’s ends. You’ve made it a small tradition to hang out there until it’s time to roll. So you cruise over, park your scooter, and head inside, one server already starting to make your usual. You greet everyone kindly as you take a seat on the couch.

- Douxie backs out of the kitchen door with trays full of food and milkshakes. As always, he acknowledges you with a smile. And as always, your heart skips a beat.

- You pass the time by reading a novel you got from Arcane Books, sipping on your hazelnut latte made with almond milk. You feel a light tap on your head and look up from your book to see Douxie leaning his arms on the back of the couch. They’re about to start shutting it down so Doux is gonna start cleaning. You lend a hand, picking up trash wherever you see it.

- For good reason, Douxie allows himself to be the last to leave the cafe every night. You’re texting Zoe when one of Douxie’s co-workers, putting on his jacket to leave, speaks to you.

- “So how long have you guys been dating?”

- Your fingers freeze and you look up, confused. “Um...Dating? Who’s dating?”

- “Uh, you and Doux? You’re always comin’ in and waiting for him, aren’t ya?”

- You hope the co-worker can’t see the heat blossoming across your cheeks. You honestly hadn’t thought about how this looks, you coming in here every night for past week or so and staying until closing. Always leaving with Douxie like...

- “N-no! It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” You hope you sound convincing because it’s true. “Us and two other friends like hanging out after work, is all. Nothing else!”

- There’s a small pang in your heart but you quickly sweep it aside.

- “What are you talking about?” Douxie walks over, looking ready to head out for the night.

- “Uh, n-nothing!” you say, smiling through the awkwardness. Feeling and ignoring the co-worker’s suspicious gaze, you stand up and move to Douxie’s side. “Um, ready to go?”

- “Um...Yea.” Douxie’s a bit perturbed, noticing that you’re flustered as you brush past him and hurry out the door.

- Making the coast is clear, you two round the cafe and head into the near pitch darkness of the alley. Douxie secures his bracelet and wills a ball of blue light to form in his palm, bathing the alleyway in soft light. You retrieve your dad’s baseball bat from behind a trashcan. At the concrete back of various shops, where rows of alleyways converge, Zoe and Archie are waiting.

- You give Zoe a hug and Archie a couple scratches behind his ears.

- The typical arrangement : You drive, Zoe’s tiny self sits on the pizza box behind you, and Douxie rides on Archie, who’s shapeshifted into a horse.

- It’s quiet. Way too quiet. And then, before Zoe can finish yelling your name, something slams into the scooter. You nearly bang your head on the wall as you’re thrown out of your seat and onto the ground. Zoe’s already back on her feet, volts of pink lightning sparking between her fingers.

- You slowly but purposefully get back on your feet, groaning and your head spinning, and set the scooter back upright. Douxie and Archie, now a dragon, are in front of you, shielding you from the threat.

- You hear the bone-chilling sound of congested snarls, wheezing, and clicks. Under the glow of magic, you see the faint shape of white, cloudy, veiny eyes like the undead. Thick dribble oozing from a wide, crooked mouth crowded with rows of needle-like teeth. Claws like icicles for fingers. A tail thicker than your entire body thrashing against the ground so hard you feel your bones tremble. You wonder why the creatures seems to be getting louder. And then, to your horror as you look to the side, you realize there’s two of them.

- “Ghouls...,” Douxie says, the word shaking and breathy, laced with terror. The runes circling Douxie’s bracelet glow brighter. “(Name), you need to get out of here. Now.”

- “Wait, what? No, I’m not leaving you guys!” You take hold of your bat.

- “You don’t understand, (Name),” Zoe says, sounding just as grim. “These are ghouls. And all they want is human fle-”

- The ghouls lurch forward, bashing their disfigured faces into a blue barrier of Douxie’s magic. They rake violently at the barrier and their mouths snap wildly, spit flying, growling and gurgling.

- “Go, (Name)!!” The force and urgency of Douxie’s voice coupled with how hideous and frightening the ghouls really are have you mounting back on your scooter and taking off in the opposite direction. “Go with her, Arch! Keep her safe!”

- The barrier breaks and the ghouls begin to clamber after you. Douxie isn’t having any of that and he quickly subdues one with a rope of magic, engulfing the monster in blue flames for good measure. Zoe surges forward, pink electricity flaring around her, and zaps the second ghoul into submission. 

- Archie’s flying beside you. “What’s going on? What are those things?” You’d seen plenty of scary monsters now but those abominations were a whole other level of horrifying. 

- “Ghouls,” Archie says, anxiously looking back. “They consume and crave human flesh and only human flesh. We must get you to safety!”

- You felt your insides turn to ice. Two adults and one teenage boy had mysteriously and recently disappeared without a trace. Nothing left of them except splatters of their blood. And as the fear of being the next victim crawled under your skin, you screeched to a stop as something leapt from above, landing heavily in front of you. The terror spikes tenfold. A third one.

- Archie immediately goes on the offense, blasting the ghoul with fire before shapeshifting into a bear, tackling the foul creature. “You must go, (Name)!” Archie claws the ghoul in the face. It retaliates with its teeth, biting Archie in the shoulder.

- You speed your scooter past the scuffle. But hearing Archie’s pained cries, you heart clenches and you know you can’t leave him. The ghoul has Archie pinned to the ground, mouth still latched onto and claws raining down on him.

- “Stop it!” you screech, head pulsing wildly with adrenaline as you rush the ghoul with your bat, swinging as hard as you can into its head. It’s enough for the thing to reel back and let Archie go. And definitely enough to make it angrier. Your stomach plummets when it turns its attention to you, but you stand your ground, brandishing your bat. “Leave Archie alone! It’s me you want!!”

- The ghoul howls and goes for you. You don’t know what’s happening. Somehow, you manage to avoid the first couple of swings of its claws. The next things you know, you’re on your side on the ground, your right arm suddenly wet and warm. There’s horrible ringing in your ears. The world is spinning. In fact, you almost don’t even notice the ghoul above you opening its mouth wide, ready to finish you off. Then there’s fire. Fire and fire and fire. It just keeps going and the ghoul tumbles away from you, writhing and yowling. 

- An exhausted Archie shapeshifts back to his smaller dragon form and hovers over you. “(Name)...! Oh no...Oh no!” Archie nuzzles your face. You moan, trying to turn over but Archie carefully lays a paw on you. “Don’t move, (Name). You’re...You’re badly injured...”

- “So...are...you...M’sorry...” You can’t really hear yourself. Lacerations are evident by patches of wet, sticky fur. There’s a cut over one of Archie’s eyes. You black out for a second. And when you wake up again, you’re in someone’s arms. A black sweatshirt against your cheek. A skull necklace. The smell of old paper and cats and burnt cloves.

“(Name)...,” Douxie says, cupping your cheek, his golden eyes wide and swimming. “(Name), you’re going to be alright. I’ve got you...I’ve got you.”

- For some reason, as soon as you register Douxie’s face, your eyes burn with tears.

- “M’sorry....I’m sorry....I...I...” You couldn’t do anything. You got in the way. What were you even thinking? Idiot. Useless. Just...useless as always.

- “Shhh, love,” Douxie whispers, brushing hair out of your face. “It’s alright. Hold still for me.” His bracelet glows and magic swirls around his hand. Douxie murmurs an incantation, touching his fingertips to your head, then to your arm. You sigh in relief as the pain begins to lessen, relaxing further into Douxie’s arms, your head lolling against his chest. 

- Douxie grips you closer to himself. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry. I couldn’t...” Seeing you in this state, he’s reminded in one second centuries of loss. Of bloodshed and violence. Of people fading, drifting away right in front of him. And now you....

- “She’ll be fine, Doux,” Zoe says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “This...This isn’t anyone’s fault. It’s not your fault.”

- “I’m sorry,” Archie says. “I couldn’t protect her...”

- “No, Arch, you saved her,” Douxie says, finishing his healing spell. Douxie holds you closer still. He doesn’t quite understand the squeeze in his heart looking at your sleeping face. You’re so frail. So small in his arms. So, so vulnerable to the dangers lurking in Arcadia compared to himself and Zoe and Archie. And yet...

- “She just about gave her life for me,” Archie whispers, pressing his nose against your temple.

- “You’re so strong,” Douxie whispers above you. “So...remarkable. And you don’t even know it.” Douxie lifts you up, cradling you close. “Let’s get her home.”

Aaaaaaand you decide to take a break from the hunts. Because you’re feeling low and worthless, and also cause Douxie’s worried sick. But after getting into an argument with your materialistic, vain, and conceited sister, you rush out into the night, baseball bat in hand, and end up bashing a monster in the face. Because you don’t want to be like her, even if you feel worthless. 

- “(Name)?!” Douxie says, rushing over to you, already scared for your safety. “W-what are you doing? Are you sure you want to -”

- “It’s okay,” you say, meeting Douxie’s eyes. “I know...I know I can’t do much. But I can at least do this!” You swing at a monster just as it jumps at Douxie’s back, sending it sprawling. Huffing and puffing, you manage a smile. “I’ll do this... with you.”

And Douxie knows you will. He knows you can.

He knows, he sees, how remarkable you truly are.

#spellcasterdouxie's gifs are the BEST #okay yea this was really long #I may as well write a fic at this point lol #I hope this wasn't horrible #writing is haaaaard but i try #Douxie being a worried and protective boi #the best wizard boi #The idea was that ghouls would go for your flesh over Doux's or Zoe's since you're a human-human #So yea they zeroed in on ya #Archie's also the best boi #I have a headcanon that shapeshifting into a larger dragon is difficult for him #Hence why he doesn't do it right away #These are fun though #Love imagining Douxie being a precious oblivious boyfriend #what a sweetie #I wanted Douxie and Reader to share the hardships of feeling unappreciated and not good enough #It's cute cause they both see the greatness in each other #ahhhhh #BURNT CLOVES #tales of arcadia #douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan #toa zoe #toa archie #toa wizards #Whatever you do don't think about all the loss and pain and suffering Douxie's had to endure for the past 900 years #What its done to his mental health and how he had to learn how to cope with it but it's still so hard for him at times and - #Love how relatable Douxie is in so many ways #it's a slow burrrrrrnnnn #Douxie has Adrien Agreste levels of obliviousness I swear

[iamtaran]

For the prompt thing: 15 and 37-together or separate I don't mind either way

:D Thanks so much for this prompt!! My first ever!!

15: “Was that supposed to hurt?” and 37: “So lie to me then.”

*

Three months after Jaskier last saw him on the mountain, in an upscale tavern in Novigrad playing for a gathering of minor mages, successful merchants, and actors, Jaskier looks up and sees Geralt standing in the back of the common. He is so startled that he ends up ending his set rather abruptly and stumping down from the little raised stage in order to quickly pack his lute away. If he can just get between the two parties exiled to social exclusion in the back and up the stairs to his room-

“Jaskier.” A hand lands on his shoulder. “You-

Jaskier shrugs the hand off roughly, and his voice is a whip crack even over the din of the common: “No.”

Because of course it’s Geralt, and of course he is standing there looking dumbfounded– as dumbfounded as he can, at least, when half the muscles in his face seem permanently pressed into his neutral scowl. They slacken now in surprise. Jaskier feels a mean little curl of pleasure to have shifted even those. 

“No,” Geralt repeats, like dragging the word over gravel. Jaskier cannot bear to look at him. He slides the last of the leather ties shut on his lute case and slings it over his back with too much force. It barks off the table behind him with a twong. He fights the urge to wince. He is hot across his neck with a familiar anger (which is in no way masking hurt, thank you) and unwilling to withstand a second more of this than humanly possible, and so turns abruptly away.

“That’s right, Geralt. No. Forgotten what it means? I know you’ve heard it enough in your life,” Jaskier says cattily. As he walks away, he throws caustically over his shoulder with a jaunty wave, “but let me introduce you one more time.”

He takes the stairs two at a time, an uphill rock fall of flailing and banging limbs and boots too heavy on the wood so that the whole tavern must hear the racket. No matter how much noise he makes, however, it is not enough to mask the sound of heavier boots following behind him on the stair. Jaskier scowls.

He had locked the door to his room, specifically because he room was nice enough to come with a lock. He had been pleased that his belongings would be safe while he performed. Now, he regrets it immensely. Stubbornly, he yanks the key from the pouch on his belt and struggles to fit it into the door. Struggles, because his hands are trembling. He curses.

He feels Geralt stop just behind him. His presence seems to exude– something. It sets all the hair on Jaskier’s body standing in emotion so strong he feels it in his fingertips. He doesn’t look. He refuses. As if Geralt is not there, he finally gets the key in the door and bursts in, swearing profusely when his boot toe catches on an uneven board and he stumbles. He tosses his lute on the bed. Still ignoring the undeniable presence in his doorway, he begins picking in the hooks down the front of his doublet. One tears loose under his numb fingers. He snarls.

“Jaskier-”

He whirls around.

“Did you not hear me?” His voice cuts through the room like a lobbed spear. “I’m uninterested, thanks very much. Now get out.”

Geralt’s brows snap together in consternation. The look is so familiar, which somehow simply rockets him from angry to furious like nothing else. Three months he’d had to forget, or try. Why did Geralt have to, to ruin it?

“You won’t even let me speak?”

“You didn’t let me, before,” Jaskier spits. Geralt– flinches. The molasses-slow shift of guilt oozes across his stiff features as unwillingly as ever. Even so, its presence is enough to give Jaskier pause, just for a moment. Not too long ago Jaskier would have flogged himself to see that expression, to catch a hint of it. Now it makes him grind his teeth.

“You…” Geralt sighs hard enough his nostrils flare and opens his hands wide. “You’ve always been a better man than me,” he points out as if clawing the words out pains him. Jaskier doesn’t take the olive branch.

“Pretty words for someone who claims not to be a man at all. Are you a man, Geralt?” Geralt’s eyes flash up to meet his, shockingly vulnerable for a split second. A single arrow of shame cuts through the red haze for a moment. Jaskier scowls and thinks, guess I’m not the better man after all. He changes course. “What could you possibly want to say to me? You got what you wanted, after all.” He turns away to finish undoing his jacket. It’s easier if he doesn’t have to look at him. To not have to read him as clearly as a friend of decades. His mouth runs away with him. “I’m off your hands. What, have you further complaints you were not able to air? Perhaps some long-carried unhappiness to get off your chest? Because I admit to being wholly uninterested-”

“No,” Geralt interrupts in a tight-strung voice. “I’m not- I didn’t find you to yell at you, Jaskier, what the fuck?” His honest bemusement grates. Jaskier throws his jacket on the bed and shoves his sleeves up to the elbow if only to have something to do with his riotous hands.

“Oh, then we’re breaking with tradition, then,” Jaskier says meanly. He flutters about the room impotently, unable to stand still, unable to look at him, yet unable to leave. “How quaint. Except, again, not interested so will you please-”

“-I’m trying to,” Geralt cuts himself off with a curse. “I came all this way to talk to you, will you just-”

“-and I’ve said no! Multiple times! You stubborn-”

Geralt bulls across the space so suddenly that Jaskier freezes.

“Will you look at me?” Geralt demands. Jaskier’s head snaps around.

“FINE!” he shouts. It does what he wanted; Geralt jerks back at the volume, eyes flown wide. Jaskier follows him with a single, sharp stab to the chest from one string-hardened finger. “I’m looking at you. Is this what you wanted? Do you see what you came for? Because that’s all that matters, right, is what you want?”

Geralt swells up like a thunderhead in a rush of barely-withheld frustration. He has to visibly quell himself. “I… care. About what you want.” His tone comes out bitten-off at the ends. “It matters. And, I’ll,” he scowls, “I’ll leave if you want. If you’ll just let me-”

“Let you what?” Jaskier snips, just to be an asshole. Geralt breathes in and out one through his teeth and rumbles,

“Apologize.”

Jaskier stares at him hard, with that deep unhappy line between his brows and the ready-to-pop tension of his mouth like an over-tightened lute string. He sees all of it and wishes he couldn’t. Geralt’s jaw is ground so tight Jaskier feel a sympathy pain in his molars. He looks paler than Jaskier remembers, with deeper shadows under his eyes. His hair is the dark grey it goes when it hasn’t been washed in a while. He smells of horse, sweat, road dust, and fire smoke. 

Jaskier tamps down on the sympathy that wells up in his chest like vomit and curls a petty lip.

“I wouldn’t think you’d know how. Do you need pointers?”

Geralt frowns.

“Don’t be childish.”

“Oh,” Jaskier gasps, feeling at once like he had won and yet burning, uncomfortable, unquenchable, out of control, “oh, I’m the childish one? Shall we reflect on your little tantrum, Geralt, some three months past? Side of a mountain, dragon hunt– ringing a bell?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt grits out. Jaskier has to fight to keep his face from betraying his surprise. He doesn’t want to be surprised, or to feel anything stirring hopefully in his gut with the words, delivered however begrudgingly. Geralt steps closer so that he is all Jaskier can smell. His eyes catch the lamplight like copper coins. “You didn’t deserve that. I was…” He rakes a cruel hand through his hair, numb to how it yanks his disheveled queue further out of arrangement. It looks as if he has repeated the motion many times before he had arrived. “I was angry and I took it out on you because… because-”

“Because you’re an arse.” Geralt glares, mouth already open to argue. Jaskier raises his voice over him. “Admit it! I was an easy target for you to take out your upset over things ending between you and Yennefer. That’s how it always goes with her! She chews you up and spits you out, only this time it wasn’t temporary. So you took your hurt out on me, your obnoxious, worthless travel companion. Like an arse.” The bitterness curls directly off his tongue. He hopes Geralt can taste it.

“I…” Geralt chews on the words– like glass, if his expression is anything to go by. “You’re… right about Yennefer. But you, you’re not-” Jaskier is barely listening anymore. He feels righteous and vindictive, like draining an infected wound but it’s not a healing pain at all. He doesn’t realize he is trembling.

“I was an easy target,” he snarls. “Easy to cast aside. Like trash.” Geralt bristles.

“Don’t put words into my mouth,” he barks. Jaskier flares up at him.

“Am I? You threw away over two decades of friendship in a squalling fit! Only, of course,” Jaskier laughs sharply, “of course, we weren’t friends, were we? You couldn’t even stand the word. I’m amazed you made it so many years with my unbearable presence.”

Jaskier had been watching closely: the jumping of the muscle in his jaw, the clench of his fists at his sides. It’s the snapcord tight draw of the tendon in Geralt’s neck that marks the breaking of his composure. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid!” he snaps. His flashes teeth like a feral dog. “Of course we were fucking friends!”

An unholy vindication swells up in him when Geralt makes an aborted move forward as if to shove him.

“No,” Jaskier hisses, and then he is shouting. He can’t stop shouting. He shoves out with both hands. Geralt doesn’t budge and he shoves and shoves and he won’t fucking budge. “I was your friend! Me! For years! But you were never-”

“Never what?” Geralt pushes back. “Never saved your life from jealous husbands, thieves, shapeshifters?” Again. Jaskier staggers back a step. His heart is pounding rage in his throat. “Never saved you from your own stupidity?” 

Jaskier feels as if he’s been slapped.

“Thanks ever so!” he snarks over the pain. “If this is how you apologize-”

“I’M TRYING,” Geralt bellows, spittle flying. His eyes flash the color of gold in the sun. “But gods dammit, Jaskier, you can’t make this easy, can you? Nothing can ever be easy, not with you around to fuck it up.”

Jaskier slaps him.

In the sudden quiet, the sound seems inordinately loud. Three breaths pass with only their heavy breathing and the murmur of voices from below.

Ever so slowly, Geralt turns his head back, eyebrows drawn up into a little fist of hurt, before his forehead smooths. He lifts one eyebrow pointedly and sneers.

“Was that supposed to hurt?”

The room seems to drop away. Right, then. 

Which is when Jaskier reels back and punches him in the nose.

*

Afterwards, after Jaskier has bloodied Geralt’s nose and Geralt has broken the bed frame with tossing him back onto it– after they’ve wrestled like school boys, elbows flying and pinching and slapping and biting and pinning– after Jaskier had gotten the upper hand for all of a moment with an old move learned with the other noble boys destined for knighthood whereas Jaskier was, apparently, destined to end up on a shitty little palliase in Redania locking a witcher’s elbow behind his back– – 

After Geralt has, of course, come out on top and managed to pin Jaskier sweating and swearing and sputtering beneath him– and after he manages to haltingly, breathlessly, quietly press out his apology to a captive audience– and after Jaskier finds something inside him breaks open like a dropped wine bottle and, pinned, he has no choice but the let the ugly hurt and broken shards puke out–

Afterwards, they lay huffing and panting into silence. Geralt’s shoulder and elbow press into his own, exuding heat like a banked fire. His hair tickles Jaskier’s ear on that side. His chest rumbles on a hum, and it could be indistinguishable from any other such room. Any other such bed and night. If he closes his eyes and pretends that his chest has not been wrenched open, Jaskier can almost pretend. They had never parted and travel on instead. Hunts, and vodka passed beside the fire, shared strange and lonely sights in the wilderness, and two friends.

Jaskier swallows. His throat hurts from yelling.

“Don’t take this to mean you’re forgiven.”

“Hm.”

Jaskier scratches an itch, squirms.

“You look like shit. Have you been surviving without me?”

Geralt chuckles a dry sound like something catching fire.

“In a sense.” A pause stretches. “How have you been?” He clears his throat. “Without me?”

Jaskier stares at the far wall. This pause, by contrast, stretches more languidly than a stray cat on a fence. Whip-hard and starved. He feel Geralt turn to take in his sudden stillness.

“…I don’t want,” Jaskier says quietly, “to talk about how I’ve been, Geralt. I don’t want to open up to you. I don’t want to bear my soul, and I don’t want to be honest. Even if we’re…” Better. Closer to alright. “…It’s too soon.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums just as quietly. Jaskier hears the shift of fabric. When he turns his head, he finds cat eyes back at him from a bare foot away. He swallows– chest open, chest closed tight, chest flayed. Geralt presses his lips together and bumps their shoulders. “Lie to me, then.” 

Jaskier watches, just perceptible, as the corner of Geralt’s mouth curls uncertainly up. He breathes. Chest open, chest closed tight, chest flayed. 

He smiles.

“I’ve been fantastic. Smashing. All gay parties and glowing candlelit nights.”

If his voice chokes and cracks on the lie and his smile wobbles, Geralt does him the rare kindness of not noticing. Instead, he turns onto his side and curls up delicately, so carefully, until his forehead is just pressed to Jaskier’s shoulder through the thin material of his shirt. His breath rushes out, fluttering the sleeve.

“…Me, too.”

Jaskier swallows.

His chest is an open wound. But he thinks he feels it healing.

#taran writes #prompts #the-griffin-and-the-lost-boy #fanfic #geraskier

[thesolitarystripe]

Tindyl’s Origin

How I’ve not posted this is beyond me..

It was an especially bright night, the evening that Tindyl was born. The moon was high in the sky. Its shimmering image was crisp and untouched by clouds. It was taken as a good omen as the young night elf was birthed beneath the giant limbs of Teldrassil. She was born of parents; Bai’len Moonwillow and Laurêl Sagebloom.

Bai’len, a Druid of the Claw, came from a long line of druids that also followed the path of Urso and Ursol. When his daughter was born, he dreamed of a life for her where she might follow in her ancestor’s footsteps.  As the world turned and decades passed, it became an apparent reality that times were changing. Female Kaldorei were becoming druids and males taking up Priesthood. Though he was conservative in his beliefs, a faint flicker of hope welled within him—perhaps Tindyl Willowmoon could become a druid.

It was a silent wish he kept to himself for many years.

Much of Tindyl’s childhood passed as it did for all Kaldorei children. She ran through the forests, danced with the whispering wind, and lost herself amongst the fields of flowers. Bai’len saw her connection with nature at an early age; though all night elves bore the same deep love for the perseverance of nature and swore their lives to protect it, he was sure that when Tindyl spoke to the trees, they spoke back.

When the young night elf reached the age of 100, she had a general grasp of all the duties available to her within their society. Bai’len taught her without sway. Though the druid tried to remain unbiased in his teachings, he couldn’t help but spend a little extra time showing her how to sharpen her claws or learn how to knit her pelt so tightly together that it felt like iron.

On days when the sun was high and the forest lost some of its naturally dim hues, Bai’len would take Tindyl to the main continent of Kalimdor, into the trees of Darkshore, and spar with her. The little she-elf practiced shifting in and out of different forms and did so adeptly. Bai’len knew fully that not every elf born had the knack for nature magic and the fact that his daughter caught on at such a young age, surprised even him.

He chose to practice away from their home for fear that others might think ill of him. While it had become more commonplace for females to practice druidism, his old bones felt the uneasiness of thousands of years of tradition. Some still did not approve of the societal changes and Bai’len feared that Tindyl might be treated harshly for her interests.

So, they spent their mornings nestled in the cool forest of Darkshore. Tindyl would practice shifting until Bai’len saw no hesitation in the way her body morphed. This simple teaching left her too fatigued to carry out any other lessons but; as she grew, her body became resilient and she took on the form of a cat, doe, bear, and dolphin with relative ease.

When she had the energy, Bai’len challenged his daughter to a sparring match. At first the young one was shy and meek to fight her father. When she stood beside her father in his guardian form, her eyes would fall to the massive prints left in the damp dirt as he walked from her and she worried that her own paws might never grow to even half the size.

Despite the hesitant approach Tindyl took to swatting at her father with a thick paw, the elder did not relent. With the same ferocity he would take to battle, he dove at Tindyl; teeth bared, claws protruding, and a mighty roar shaking the trees around them. Day by day, she cowered less and fought back more.

There were not many matches that she won but every so often, her teeth would nip the right spot behind her father’s neck and the druid would howl. One paw might swipe above his massive head, but she was small and quick. With the distraction, Tindyl would seize her opportunity as Bai’len stood with only three feet upon the earth. Their bodies crashed together as she lunged fearlessly, and they toppled into the grass in a pile of silver fur.

Bai’len’s laugh was as loud and rumbling as his roar. In an unusual display of public affection; he’d scoop up Tindyl and press his forehead against hers and scold her playfully for picking on her old father. Tindyl would laugh, roll her glowing silver eyes, and push herself out of his grasp.

It wasn’t long into her adulthood that he watched Tindyl’s demeanor change. While she obeyed and trained in the shade of Darkshore, there was a heaviness upon her heart. Her laughter did not echo between trees like part of nature’s symphony. Bai’len found her one evening sitting in a large meadow, head back as she stared up at the moon.

“What troubles you?” He asked in his deep baritone.

Tindyl’s eyes shut and a long breath slipped through her lips slowly.

“You’ve always told me of my ancestors, of your father and mother, and of theirs, Druids of the Claw. Druids of the Talon.”

Bai’len stood with bated breath. This was the moment his heart had held onto from the moment Tindyl’s first cries were lifted upon the wind and into the branches of their home. Yet, he felt as if he hadn’t enough time to prepare over these last 105 years. The druid stood beside her now, eyes fixed upon her face as his daughter’s brow knit together.

“I do not think I was meant to follow in their stead,” her voice was almost fearful as she said it. Those bright eyes opened and watched for her father’s reaction.

Inwardly, Bai’len felt a piece of him shatter but his face remained smooth.

“You have always had a choice, daughter. It would be an honor to serve with The Sentinels or even one day, The Wardens.”

“An’da,” her hand waved in the air dismissively.

Thinking that his daughter meant to shy away from his suggestion of becoming a Warden, Bai’len continued. “It is a high honor Tindyl, you’ve trained extensively in many areas I do not doubt—” Bai’len was interrupted.

“I do not want to be a Sentinel or a Warden.” As if preparing for battle, Tindyl got to her feet noiselessly.

“Then, what is it you want?”

Their shadows were cast long against the lush green grass as the moon shined down upon them. A desperate prayer was lifted to Elune as Tindyl took another deep breath and clenched her fists.

“I want to be a Druid of the Wild, I want to learn more of what you’ve taught me all these years. You said when I was young that it was uncommon that someone should be able to shapeshift into more than one form. I think..I must have been born with this gift, given to me by Elune herself!”

It amused Bai’len slightly to see his daughter’s purple skin flush with a red undertone as she passionately delivered her reasoning.

“While I love spending time with you in the forest, I do not think that I was meant to follow the path of Urso and Ursol. Nor am I meant to follow Avianna.”

“What do you intend then?” Bai’len’s arms were crossed lightly over his wide chest.

“I’m going to use magic…nature magic…to…heal.”

A single thick, silver brow raised high as Tindyl delivered her intentions in full. Bai’len’s composure broke mildly as his lips parted and he gazed down at his child in bewilderment.

“I’ve not taught you anything of restoration, who has put this thought into your head?”

“I did.” Tindyl stared up at her An’da, voice firm and calm for the first time during their meeting beneath the moon. “I would gladly spill blood to protect our home, our kin, our ways but it does not feel right. I am a warrior only because you’ve taught me how to be one, but it is not who I am within my heart.”

Tindyl waited in agony as silence fell between them. It was not within her nature to fidget or show any signs of her true emotions, but her eyes did hold the vision of Bai’len’s face tensely. The elder rubbed his forefinger over his bearded chin. The white hair bristled beneath his fingers as he scraped at the dark purple skin below it.

“I will not allow this, Tindyl.”

“But you would allow me to strap a bow to my back and ride a nightsaber alongside my sisters who die in battle against those that encroach on our home?”

“Do not raise your voice to me,” Bai’len threatened, voice like the snarl of a bear.

“Traditions are important, father.” Tindyl composed herself in an effort at another attempt to persuade him. “I believe that fully. Our ways should be preserved, our beliefs upheld, but I ask if you would allow me to practice druidism—something once unheard of for a female not many moons ago, why do you baulk at the idea of my healing? I only want to serve our people, to heal the wounds that would not otherwise mend. I’ve seen the soft green glow of that magic flow through my veins in dreams sent to me by the moon goddess. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers when they graze the petals of flowers and trunks of our trees. I will not allow it to consume me, not like it did to mother.”

Bai’len’s head snapped upward from where his eyes had drifted to a single flower swaying in the breeze.

“You will release this foolish dream from your head.”

That was the last word. Bai’len left Tindyl standing under the comforting rays of the moon. Tindyl sunk to her knees where she stood. The small stalks of grass were light against her skin, wrapping around her fingers and wrists as if to console her. The earth beneath her fingertips sang to Tindyl in the chirp of insects and call of evening birds. She knew it in her heart that what she said was true.

A single tear dripped down her alabaster skin and fell into the dirt below. In a dizzying instant, a wisp of green light shot upward. It vanished as quickly as it came and, in its place, stood a fresh silver flower. Tindyl’s hands hesitantly cupped its petals. The faintest green hue emanated within her palms and caressed the smooth edges of the plant that had just come into existence. A somber smile graced the night elf’s lips. She kept her hands around the flower as she leaned back and looked up at the moon.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her words were carried away upon the wind, whisked up and away into the leaves of their mighty Teldrassil. She could only hope Elune heard her and continued to show her the path she was meant to tread.

#World of Warcraft #creative writing #writing #wow oc #OC #Author #writing prompt #creativewriting #my writing #thesolitarystripe

[anistarrose]

Entropy (The Owl House)

Summary: As a witch, Eda thrives on unpredictability and chaos. Unfortunately, so does her curse.

Word count: 1734

Warnings: mild violence, but it’s no darker than the show itself

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/22518526

The first of what I expect will eventually become many Owl House fics from me! This story is set a few months before Luz’s arrival to the demon realm, but also has some big spoilers for Episode 4, so beware!

***

Eda believes that unpredictability is a witch’s best friend. Magic should always be a little wild, a little feral, a little chaotic, a fickle force of nature that keeps its users on its toes. Predictable magic is weak magic, diluted magic, practically homeopathic magic that’s left with nary a spark of what once made it so fierce and formidable.

This is the philosophy that’s made Eda the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles. It’s the philosophy that’s helped her dodge imprisonment for decades. It’s even the reason why against her better judgement, she invited a scrawny little demon with an extreme superiority complex into her home — and as loathe as she is to admit it to King’s face, the little wannabe tyrant has brightened up more of her days than she’d ever expected.

Adherence to a status quo leads only to stagnant magic. Routine makes the bile in Eda’s heart run dry. Variety is the spice of life, and despite all the challenges she’s had to overcome — or perhaps even because of them — Eda is living.

But the most potent curses are always the most ironic ones. The ones that weave themselves not out of foreign magic, but out of the victim’s own nature, turning strengths into weaknesses and prides into secret shames.

In Eda the Owl Lady’s case, this means that her curse is very wild, very feral, very chaotic, and never predictable. When the feathers begin to sprout and she feels the telltale pinpricks of quills in her hair, when her fangs begin to elongate and her stomach makes its appetite known through bloodcurdling growls, she only has a matter of minutes at best before she loses herself — only a few minutes, at best, to find her elixir and stave off her transformation.

And if there’s no elixir in reach to be found, well… her last few moments of lucidity are best spent ensuring that no one will be around to see her in this state, both for her sake and theirs.

***

Eda is unceremoniously tossed into a Conformatorium cell, unable to get to her feet before the cold iron anti-magic gate slides down in front of her. The gaps between the rungs look plenty wide enough for King to slip through, which means either the guards haven’t noticed him shuddering and trying to hide in Eda’s arms, or they just don’t care enough about whether he escapes to bother securing him better.

“The Warden will be seeing you shortly, Owl Lady!” one guard barks from behind his beaked black mask. “I’m sure the two of you will have plenty to discuss!”

As their jailers leave, King wriggles out of Eda’s arms. “Are they gone?” he meekly asks, poking his snout out between the bars and peering down the hallway.

“Yes, but not for long,” Eda grunts as she attempts to draw a small spell circle in the air. A few sparks surround her fingertip, but fizzle out before the circle is complete. “Drat. They learned their lesson from the last time I broke out of this place.”

“Then looks like it’s the King of Demons’ turn to save the day!” King declares, raising a tiny fist. “And what better place to find recruits for my army of darkness than here, in this cesspool of sinister machinations and forbidden black magics!”

He pokes his head into the adjacent cell, in which a demon with foot-long pointed nails leans against a wall. “You there! You look like a foul, black-hearted creature if I’ve ever seen one! How about you join my prison riot?”

“Are you joking? There’s nothing foul or black-hearted about overthrowing an unjust government institution that misuses its authority,” the demon scoffs, continuing to polish their nails. “Come back and talk to me again if you think of something that’s really evil.”

Muttering to himself and shaking his head, King trots over to the prisoner on the opposite side of Eda’s cell. “How about you? You’ve got a lot of life left ahead of you — do you really want to spend it all in a prison?”

The baby in the cell ignores him, preoccupied with repeatedly stabbing a knife into the floor.

King trudges back to Eda’s side, head hanging. Very quietly, he asks: “Eda, what if I’m just not cut out for demonic tyranny?”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Eda rubs his head. “I’ve never seen a demon more power-hungry than you are, you evil little thing. And hey, it’s not all bad — now you know exactly what types of demons not to recruit for your army of darkness!”

King’s mood immediately lightens. “You’re right, I just need to look on the bright side of things! Like how at least you didn’t have your staff with you today, so it’s not going to end up locked away in the warden’s contraband pile!”

Eda tries to retort that if she’d had her staff, she never would’ve gotten captured in the first place — but her throat has gone dry. After all, she hasn’t had anything to drink in hours.

Why do the torches in the hallway suddenly hurt to look at?

“All they actually confiscated was that orange potion you were drinking,” King goes on, completely oblivious. “Good thing they didn’t take anything important, ha!”

Eda runs a hand through her hair. Her fingers graze quills, sprouting from her scalp.

No! Not here, not now! Not in front of —

“King, you have to leave,” she hisses, falling to her knees and clutching her chest. “Squirm through the bars and run. I’ll catch up later.”

“Are you serious? I’m not leaving you!” King exclaims. “I can’t fly back home unless you carry me!”

He’s so precious.

So stubborn.

such dumb, easy prey

“I know a way to break out of here, but it’s — it’s — you’ll just get caught in the crossfire if you stay.” Eda claps one hand over her mouth, hiding her extending fangs, and with her free hand, picks up King by the scruff of his neck and stuffs him through one of the holes in the iron grate. “The guards will all be distracted in just another minute or two, so don’t waste your chance! Run and meet me back at the Owl House!”

no, little demon

come back inside, little squirrel creature

Halfway across the Conformatorium’s main chamber, a door creaks open, and King finally takes it as his cue to bolt.

so bright

too bright

can’t see

kill the lights

“Eda the Owl Lady!” Warden Wrath’s voice echoes. “I’ve been waiting so long for this moment…”

new demon

bigger demon?

bigger meal

Warden Wrath is wholly unprepared for the explosion of claws and feathers that tears through iron like it’s parchment, then barrels out of the Owl Lady’s cell with a scream that would cause a banshee to lose their voice for a week. The monster rakes a clawed hand across the wall, shredding half a dozen torches into tinder with a single blow — then turns to face Wrath, baring her fangs and grinning.

Wrath has read of the bloodthirsty strixes, the owlishly metamorphosed victims of potent curses — but he’s never encountered one face-to-face, never stared into these black eyes that are simultaneously so empty and so cunning. A lesser warden might turn tail and flee, but Wrath knows his duty.

Strixes are unnatural. Improper. Unpredictable. Feral.

Unsuitable for society, but a worthy opponent for him.

He charges, swinging a scythe-hand, and Eda effortly catches it with her fangs. She swings Wrath around like a toy, sending him careening into the wall — but he has a trick up his sleeve, and he transforms his hand into a hammer that pries Eda’s jaws open before she can extricate her teeth from his flesh.

Wrath laughs as Eda recoils, as she spits out dark ichor and shards of shattered yellow fangs. The acidic ichor sizzles as it lands on the cobblestone floor, and its ghastly smell reaches Wrath even through the herb-stuffed beak of his mask.

Seeing their warden stagger backwards from the pool of acid, two guards rush Eda — a mistake, they realize a few seconds too late. They add a degree of entropy to the battle that the strix exploits, whirling around and delivering two powerful kicks from her rear legs — and before Wrath can even admonish his inferiors, they’ve been flung on top of him, their heavy metal armor pinning him to the ground.

Eda licks her lips, advancing slowly, savoring the moment. A tiny drop of icor dribbles down her chin from the corner of her mouth, and her batlike ears twitch with delight.

Wrath’s arms are pinned, and any sudden shapeshifting movement will surely provoke the strix to lunge before he can get an attack off. Unable to remove his mask, yet left with no other option, he points his head at Eda as best as he can, and opens his mouth.

As the spout of flame incinerates the likeliness of a raven beak and spills out to fill the hall, Eda screeches and extends her wings so quickly that a sonic boom tears though the Conformatorium. Cast-iron gates are shattered, cobblestone is pulverized into rubble, and leagues of demons and witches run free.

Nearly overwhelmed by the stampede, Wrath staggers to his feet just in time to see the strix take flight, and soar out the skylight at the top of the prison dome.

***

Eda awakens beneath a tree, scattered patches of feathers still present where the early-morning sunlight hasn’t yet crept through the leaves to dapple her skin. As she collects herself and steps out into the direct sunlight, her transformation fully reverts — though her stomach still grumbles for flesh and blood. She’ll just have to get home quickly and quell it with an elixir, instead.

When she walks into the Owl House, King almost immediately springs into her arms and breaks down sobbing. “I was so worried! I ran like you said but I heard so much screaming and I saw something get lit on fire and I wasn’t sure if that was what you meant to do or —”

“I never do exactly what I mean to do,” Eda tells him, forcing a smile. “It wouldn’t be very wild and unpredictable of me if I did, would it?”

She sets King down on the couch. “But you can always count on one thing — I’m never leaving home without my magic staff again.”

#the owl house #the owl house eda #the owl house king #eda the owl lady #warden wrath #the owl house spoilers #the owl house fanfiction #rosalia writes fic

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Unveiled Love

@smutember

Ao3

Chapter 23 – Clothes Stay On

Adrien sat on the ground with his back against the couch, just staring at the front door. The very act was becoming a daily occurrence. Every single day since the day she walked out, he would stare at it. Three weeks had gone by and she had yet to step one foot through this door. Just sitting. Just staring. Just willing for Marinette to walk back through it at any moment. 

But she never came.

He had tried to call her. Tried to explain what had happened. He left her dozens of text messages. Left countless voicemails. He called Alya, Sabine, Tom, even Nino, and yet no one would tell him anything more than, “she needs time.”

Tom and Sabine tried their best to stop the poor boy from fretting, but they knew it would be difficult to. They hugged him when he cried. They held him close, just like he was their own child needing a hug. But yet, they had to keep the knowledge of whatever Marinette had said or mentioned to themselves until she was ready to speak.

So he went home. He cried. He slept, or tried to sleep. He barely worked. He only did the bare minimum, then kept himself locked in his office until it was time to go home. He just didn’t want to see anyone or have anyone wonder why he looked so sullen all of a sudden. 

Truth be told, he was tired of crying, tired of calling, tired of being alone without her by his side. All he wanted was for her to come back so they could talk. Patrols were boring, and if he did see her galavanting around, she barely said a word to him. She wasn’t happy in those little slivers of moments; he could see how pale and worn down she looked. He just wished he could explain, then she could take that info and make her decision.

Akuma attacks were just as bad. They arrived, they fought, then they left. No hellos, no goodbyes, not even any pound-its, only what was absolutely necessary to get through the battle. The Ladyblog questioned what had happened between the couple, and TVi only speculated.

Adrien sighed as he slid down onto the floor, laying completely flat on his stomach. The cold tile kept him awake, the tingles of coldness trying to help him numb the pain. But it was all for naught. He continued to stare until his eyes blurred, but the idea of doing anything else just felt dull. He closed his eyes, and tried to stop the tears from falling, but they fell anyway. He just felt so guilty.

He hated himself. Hated himself for falling for that trap again. Hated himself for being a damn fool. 

Adrien rubbed his tired eyes. The splotches of skin were deep and purple. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours every night, the nightmares haunting him now. It was the same one, the same damn one, and it replayed on a loop almost every night. What he hated the most? Was that it was an exact repeat of what happened the day she left. Closing his eyes, he allowed the nightmare to take over, trying to puzzle the pieces that seemed to disintegrate the moment he touched them.

-----

Adrien was in the kitchen chopping up vegetables, whistling one of Jagged Stone’s newest songs. Plagg was sleeping on the back of the couch, cuddled up against the blanket Marinette had made especially for him. He was in the midst of making a casserole and a salad when Plagg lifted his head in confusion.

“Adrien?”

Not looking up from his cutting board, Adrien responded. “No it’s not done yet, Plagg. I’ll give you some as soon as it's done.”

“No, no, no.” Plagg started to say, causing Adrien to look up at him in confusion. Plagg never says no to cheese. “Why is Marinette out as Ladybug right now?”

Adrien dropped his knife and walked straight towards the windows. There she was, Ladybug whipping her yo-yo around and exploring the city.

“What is she doing out right now?” He looked down to his watch and noticed it was only three in the afternoon. “She’s supposed to be in class right now.”

Plagg licked his paw. “Beats me. I’m going to go back to sleep.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Last time she did this, she was drunk. Come on, Plagg. Claws out.”

Chat made his way out through the balcony and into the Paris skyline. He followed her closely, watching her strolling around as if it was the most normal thing to do. Curious, he followed closer, but noticed that she was soaring just fine. There weren't any slurred “woos!”, no sloppy landings, and she smiled and waved at the civilians as she passed them by.

Ladybug paused on the top of the rooftop, seductively eyeing Chat behind her. His ears perk up, noticing the way she summoned him to her with her index finger. He didn’t realize he had been spotted, normally being a secretive kitty during their little games gave him heightened control of his surroundings. He landed and walked up to her, and Ladybug cupped his cheek with her hand.

“Chat Noir.” Ladybug cooed out.

“Bug? What are you doing out? Don’t you have school?”

“Eh, school isn’t important right now. I came up with an idea on how we can fix this whole Multimouse situation.”

He tilted his head in confusion. Marinette’s morals on school attendance were important, yet even a plan wouldn’t cause her to leave. What also confused him was that she had mentioned a plan to him that morning before their civilian press conference. They would be handling the situation that weekend. Did she have another plan in mind?”

Curious as to what she had to say, he asked. “What’s that?”

“Tell the world that we’re together. Officially.”

Chat smiled, but then thought about her earlier plan. Nothing made sense. His face dropped as he thought about what she stated.

“What’s the matter, kitty? Don’t like the plan?” She whined in the most teasingly sad tone. 

Chat felt like something was off about Ladybug and decided to implement Code S. After the first sentimonster tricked Chat Noir into thinking she was Ladybug, Maribug had implemented Code S so he could differentiate between the two. It had worked the last two times a Ladybug Sentimonster and a shapeshifting akuma had come around, and once for Ladybug when there was a Chat Noir sentimonster threatening their partnership. The sentimonsters didn’t know the right words when they replied, squashing any plans they had to steal their miraculous. 

Watching her carefully, he shot her a smirk, playing it off like his usual kitty self.

“Alright, lovebug. But I want to know something first. Was the hamster fed with apples or carrots today?”

Ladybug looked at him and smiled, and gave him the answer. “Neither, silly. It was lettuce. What else would the hamster like?”

Chat smiled as she answered correctly. Hamsters can’t eat lettuce, but it was a trick question that they added in their rotation. 

This was his Ladybug and he was happy to hear what she wanted to do.

-----

He let out a strained groan that echoed throughout the small room. The tears started to fall, and the guilty feeling engulfed him once more. 

Plagg watched his chosen as he fell apart once again, and grumbled to himself at the guardian’s choice of self-isolation. He couldn’t stand seeing Adrien wither on the floor like a grown child, but he understood his feelings. Marinette was his soulmate, crafted from the very being of creation and destruction before life had ever been born. Being who they are today only solidified their partnership and relationship, but the torment that they were going through was becoming too painful to bear. 

Plagg had visited Tikki the night before and talked about their two wielders. Tikki had tried to talk to Marinette, explaining that it must have been a misunderstanding, but the words fell on deaf ears. She spent most nights crying herself to sleep, or sitting on her balcony until the sun peeked over the Paris skyline. The days she had seen him or glanced over his texts were the worst days for her, and even working on some commissions proved to be difficult, with mistakes, missing supplies, and everything going wrong that could possibly go wrong, happening beneath her fingertips.

Marinette had walked in on their conversation, her tears falling once again when she saw the black cat kwami sitting on the pillow. She had a heart to heart with the two kwamis, and mumbled that she was an idiot for letting it get too far. It was still her decision to forgive and forget, but the pain of being without him and dealing with this mishap was blurring her reasoning to move forward.

So Plagg continued to stare at his chosen as he curled himself into a ball on the floor, also willing the power of all the kwamis that Marinette would just come right in and stop this whole drama.

As if the beings granted a saving grace, three soft, but hesitant, knocks resonated against the door. Adrien stopped for a second and looked up, thinking that he had heard wrong. Three more determined knocks rang again, and Adrien shot to his feet and ran to the door. 

Looking through the keyhole, he noticed a mop of blue hair, half-hazardly placed in a ponytail. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then ran a hand through his own messy mop to make him look somewhat presentable, and finally palmed his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. He Let out a heavy sigh before opening the door.

Marinette was curled into herself, her gaze lowered to the floor. Adrien noticed how her clothes also looked misplaced, her usual look forgoed for leggings and a lounge T. Even seeing her like this made his heart race, in both nervousness and glee. She was still as beautiful to him no matter how she looked.

The silence became too much to handle, yet Adrien knew he needed to say something. Clearing his throat, he greeted her, his voice low and shaky.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Marinette responded with the same tone. 

“Want to- um,” Adrien looked around his apartment and noticed how terrible it looked. He rubbed his neck in embarrassment. “Want to come in?”

‘Sure.”

Adrien moved to the side and allowed her to step in. She looked around the room as if she was a timid doe, unsure of where she should walk to without making the tension worse than it already was. Adrien noticed her meekness, and offered her the couch, and when she took her seat, he sat on the opposite side, still keeping their space.

Unsure of where to begin, Marinette played with her fingers and let out a strangled sigh. She then huffed out a bitter chuckle, and that action caused Adrien to look down onto the floor.

“Why.” Adrien looked up and noticed she was staring at him. “W- no. How did this happen?” She whispered.

“Because I’m an idiot. That’s why.” He chuckled, his nervousness taking over. 

They stayed silent for a few heartbeats, Marinette’s glossy eyes gazing into his dull green ones. “I want you to tell me what happened.”

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, hating that his nightmare had to be re-lived. He hated how he had to recount the red flags that he blatantly ignored in favor of their code. As he explained this, Marinette watched him intently, her eyes closing as her head bowed down the moment he mentioned Code S. 

Seeing her cry over the situation shattered his already broken heart, and he wasn’t sure what she was planning to do now that she knew the information. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he was sorry for all of what he had caused them, but he was too afraid to reach out and touch her.

Marinette wiped her damp cheeks against the back of her hand, and she clenched her eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears from falling. She laughed, then looked up to the ceiling and bit her lip as the gears turned in her head.

“Hawkmoth is such an asshole.” She stated, startling Adrien. “Mayura too. Heartless, fucking assholes.”

Adrien watched her as she shook her head. He was momentarily confused.

“Hawkmoth or Mayura figured out our code. God. Everything is just falling apart in all our damn lives that even the fucking supervillains are out to destroy us.” 

Adrien could see the anger brimming her eyes. Her fingers were clenched into fists resting on her lap, and he could even state that if she held the power of destruction in her hands, all hell would be lifted up from beneath them.

“Adrien, you were tricked and I’ve been sitting here thinking you didn’t know me.” Adrien glanced to the side, really wanting to say ‘I tried to tell you’ but didn’t want to be petty and say it. “And I’m a jerk for not listening.”

Adrien looked up and saw the tears falling down her face again. He decided to get up, still afraid that she would pull away if he sat beside her and held her close, but he didn’t care. She needed comfort, and he knew he needed it for himself too. 

He took the spot next to Marinette and wrapped his arms around her, allowing her head to fall right onto his chest. The angry tears continued to fall, and he began to cry right beside her.

“Why.” She cried out. “Why is it that we try our best to save all of Paris, and yet, we’ve angered our friends, we’ve angered our families, we’ve managed to piss off half of Paris, and had been too far up our own issues to catch that the villains figured us out. They could have easily figured out our identities if you had mentioned my name at all while you were with her.”

Her eyes shot open and she pulled away from him. “Oh God, you didn’t, right?”

“No! No. I promise you, I never spoke out your civilian name.”

Relief flooded her eyes. She dropped her head down, letting out an exasperated sigh. Adrien softly took her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles, still giving her ample space to step away if she needed to.

“I’m sorry.” Adrien quietly stated. Marinette looked up at him as he continued to speak. “I should have tried harder to verify it was you. I should have seen the red flags. We had just talked that morning about the whole Multimouse situation, and I knew you wouldn’t have left school early unless there was a valid reason. Nothing she said made sense, and yet I took her words because our code was working just fine.”

“Adr-”

“No.” He interrupted her. “I should have known. You’re right.” He laughed bitterly, staring up at the ceiling. He still held onto her hands, afraid that it was the last time he would be able to hold her like this. “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten engaged or even moved in. Maybe we should have just started our relationship off slow and move it along like normal couples do.”

“We aren’t like normal couples.”

“No. We’re not. But maybe we should have? Was it a mistake to drop our transformations that day. Maybe we should have been more careful.”

Marinette looked sullen as he spoke his thoughts. “Do you regret it?”

Adrien pasted a sad smile. “No, princess. I could never regret our time together.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?”

Adrien shook his head. “Do you?”

“Never. Unorthodox, but never a regretful moment together. Just a hiccup, maybe.”

Adrien let out a nervous sigh as he held her hands tightly in his. “Do you- do you think maybe we can fix this? Fix us?”

Marinette looked away. She wanted to say yes, say yes and forget about the last three weeks like nothing had happened, but he was so close to undressing her on that rooftop, so close to detransforming himself on that rooftop and exposing his identity.

“We can’t fuck around anymore. At least not as Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Adrien frowned, but his eyes showed understandment. “We just can’t trust that Mayura and Hawkmoth won’t pull that stunt again… to either of us.”

Adrien looked down dejectedly, but nodded in agreement.

“But, I do want to work on us. Maybe take it slow again? Unless you don’t wan-”

“Yes!” Adrien blurted out, startling Marinette to a stop. She then smirked and held back a giggle, and ran her hand through the locks that were settled beside his temple.

“Oh, Kitty.” She cooed, then turned to look at the time. “I should probably go.”

“Stay. Please.”

Marinette stared into his pleading eyes, wishing that she could do more. 

“Clothes stay on.” He announced and Marinette tilted her head in confusion. “Stay with me tonight. I promise no fucking around. Our clothes stay on. We talk, maybe kiss?, but mostly, I miss you, Marinette. So damn much that its been so difficult for me to sleep. Stay with me tonight. You can decide if you want to move back in, and maybe be engaged again… your call. I fucked this up.”

“Okay, kitty.” She murmured as she brought her face to his. “I’ll stay with you tonight.”

#smutember #smutember 2020 #Unveiled Love #adrienette #ml angst #ml fanfiction #lemon

[arissayoo]

Neverland -> [Ateez AU]

Chapter 2

Genre: Thriller, Horror, Fantasy, Lostboys!Ateez

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence and dark/horror themes, fem!reader, cursing

Summary: As you work to gain the trust of the lost boys, you hear of the various magic powers that are found within the island, fueling your desire to return home. The horrors lurking within Neverland continue when you receive a cryptic note containing information on the lost boys’ dark secret, leaving you questioning if you sided up with your worst nightmare. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Seonghwa led me through the dark narrow cave, the smell of sulfur invading my nose.

“God, how do you guys live with this smell?” I covered my nose. This was also kind of a small place to be housing eight boys.

“Oh, yeah I forgot to mention that, sorry. It covers up our scent. Our base is not that far up.” He continued walking, stepping to the side to avoid the large body of water. We turned a corner, the darkness disappearing as sunlight poured in from the ceiling. 

“Woah.” I gasped, my mouth hanging open in awe.

“This is it, welcome to The Den,” Seonghwa announced, chuckling at my reaction.

The narrow walls of the cave opened into a large dome shape, the expanse of space occupied by a large house that had been built into the cave. My mouth was still gaping like a fish when I realized Seonghwa was already at the front door. I ran to catch up with him, admiring the detailing of the structure.

“I would offer to give you a tour but I’m worried about your injuries.” Seonghwa looked at me worriedly. The blood from my cuts had mixed with dirt and dried on my legs.

“Oh right.” My voice showed my disappointment. This place was so beautifully crafted, the cave walls serving as the basic structure of the house. “How did you guys find a place like this?”

“We didn’t. Yunho built it with some help from us of course.”

“WHAT? You mean to say you built this whole house out of a cave by yourselves?” I exclaimed, my voice echoing throughout the living room. Seonghwa stayed silent leading me into a room on the first floor.

“This is my room, it doubles as an infirmary.” He opened the door, gesturing for me to sit in the corner. “I need you to place your legs on this, and I'm just going to feel for any, uh .......swelling.”

I just watched as he placed his hand on my shin, not touching any of my cuts but barely grazing the messy blood-dirt that dripped down my leg. I couldn’t feel the pain earlier due to the adrenaline rush, but now I could feel a stinging sensation from the cuts on my legs. Seonghwa closed his eyes, breathing in slowly before opening them again, his irises glowing a bright green.

“What the?!” I shrieked, trying to squirm away. Seonghwa’s hand clamped around my leg holding it in place.

“Stay still.” It was more of a growl than the normal voice I was used to. I whimpered in fear, his hold too strong for me to even consider moving. With one blink, his eyes went back to normal and he let go, turning to gather supplies. “Thankfully you managed to not cut yourself on any Manchineel trees. There's just a little venom from the Khanin’s claws, that’s why you feel stinging.”

“Excuse me, care to explain what the fuck just happened?” I backed into the corner, suddenly much more defensive from earlier.

“I’ll explain but not until I finish cleaning up your leg. You need to hear this anyway.” He brought over disinfecting supplies and started cleaning my leg, with me flinching with every one of his movements.

Even though I was on edge and scared about what happened, I felt waves of calm wash over me. Seonghwa was wiping my leg with soft strokes to get all the dirt and blood off without hurting me. A large gash running from my knee to the middle of my shin was outlined in a dark red, small scrapes scattered around it. 

“This will help with any lingering venom in the cuts,” he spread a green mixture over my legs before wrapping them in white gauze. He gave me some in a jar for the cuts on my chest and packed the rest of the supplies up, locking them away.

“So, now can you explain the whole demon eye thing?” 

“It has nothing to do with demons. The island we are on now, Neverland, is....magical to put it lightly. Everyone here as far I can tell acquires unique powers shortly after arriving. That’s how we were able to build this house. My power is herbalist, I can essentially see and understand illnesses or injuries and know what herbs and plants will help. That's why my eyes were glowing.” 

“So all of you can do that?” I questioned, not really understanding what he said. 

“Like I said, everyone has their own powers that are different from each other. My eyes are the only ones that can glow.”

“You really expect me to believe that? And that I somehow woke up in a children’s fairy tale?”

“It’s not a fairy tale Y/N. How else would you explain any of this? You think we all abandoned our lives for some fairy tale.” He raised his voice. I was too stunned to speak. “You will eventually discover your powers, just as the rest of us did. Neverland has a weird way of incorporating your normal life outside of here into the powers you get.”

“How-” I cut myself short, not able to wrap my head around this information. 

“In the future, try to avoid the Khanins. They are shapeshifters that hunt the humans on this island. They will tear you to shreds if they get the chance. Also, you need to learn our rules if you are going to stay with us-”

Seonghwa paused when I abruptly stood up. “I-I’m sorry. This is just too much to comprehend right now. I need some air.” I ran out the door, trying to follow the route that Seonghwa had took when he brought me here.

Until I was on the beach. The beach that looked completely normal, so similar to the one close by my house. I realized it would be a while before I got to see that beach or go home for the matter. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the rush of emotions. Ever since I got here all I’ve been is confused and lost. I thought getting information would be helpful but it only ended up disorienting me more than I already was. Just the idea of being on Neverland, surrounded by magical creatures and man-eating monsters was enough to make a normal person go mad. It was enough to make the line between reality and fantasy in my mind a blurry mess, teetering on the unknown fear of why I was the one in this nightmare.

A rustle in the bushes snapped me out of the thoughts in my head, the hairs on the back of my neck doing handstands. Don’t walk towards it Y/N. Don’t go investigate. I took a step back, fearing the worst.

Another rustle. 

A high-pitched wail sounded, the birds in the surrounding trees flying out to escape whatever danger that was behind them. I covered my face, turning around to run the opposite direction and bumping into something.

“Watch it, Wendy, wouldn't want to get in our way,” A distorted voice rang into my ears. I looked up, the sun blocking their features. I lifted my hand to block the sunlight, seeing San’s face take an animalistic look, eyes wild as he pushed me aside. He twirled his blade in his fingers, devilishly licking his lips. 

Another rustle sounded before a large Khanin ran towards us at full speed. My heart stopped as I struggled to run away, tripping and landing on my back. The Khanin’s gaze focused on me, running up to attack. Before I could scream, San appeared in front of me, slashing its throat and covering me in blood. 

“Did you see that Yeosang?” San laughed, licking the blood off of his blade. The other boy pushed out from the trees, high-fiving the crazy blonde. I watched, still on the sand with my eyes wide. It wasn’t until I got up and reached up to my face, smearing the blood there that Yeosang noticed my presence. 

“You got a little blood on your face Y/N.” His hands gestured to his face.

“I almost got killed!” I screamed, facing a shocked Yeosang and a smug San. The sky became dark and I could hear thunder rolling close. My luck was officially gone.

“I told you to move. No one said to get in our way.” San walked over to the beast, pulling out an arrow from its back. I huffed, beyond pissed at him. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be out here,” Yeosang came up, offering me a rag. I took it, turning and walking away from them. I couldn't stay here with them much longer. Between San and the information Seonghwa told me I was so emotionally tired. I missed my life back home and unless I figured out a plan to get back I would be stuck here. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. I wiped my face, the wind picking up and causing me to cry harder. 

“It's always fucking raining on this island,” I sobbed, falling to my knees. The rag, loosely held in my hands flew away, falling against a gathering of rocks. Great. I wiped my eyes, standing up and walking over to them. I bent down to reach for the rag, my eyes catching on a piece of paper jammed between two of the rocks, fluttering in the wind. My eyebrows scrunched together, grabbing the paper carefully so it would not rip.

Playing with the enemy is not why you are here Wendy.

I turned the note over, looking for some sort of clue of its sender. There was nothing other than the small writing on the front, making me question whether this was a prank. Maybe it was and this was just a meaningless piece of paper. I went to toss it, before catching the black ink scrawled on the back. “Huh? I swear this was blank.”

They are hiding something from you.

I wiped the font, smearing the fresh ink against my fingertip. I gasped, dropping the paper as I stared at my fingers. My head whipped around checking for signs of anyone, scanning the bushes in the distance. I scrambled to my feet, running back to the only place I knew. 

*

The stench of sulfur stung my nose as I pounded on the front door. The sun was beginning to set, eliminating most of the light within the cave. My heart was pounding in my ears and I prayed that the door would open. 

“Y/N!” Hongjoong opened the door, hurrying me inside. “What’s wrong, did something happen?”

I looked around, trying to even my erratic breathing. “I-“

They are hiding something from you.

“I thought someone was following me.” I let out a nervous breath, “but it turns out it was just a bird.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either honestly, but I needed a moment alone to process everything.

“Yeah, I think I’m just paranoid after today.”

“It’s been a long day. Here I'll show you to the guest room.” He led the way up the stairs to the room at the end of the second floor. “Just let me know if you need anything, my room is right next door.”

I nodded, quickly entering the room and locking the door behind me. I needed to figure out what was happening and fast. Everything that has happened today and how the guys have treated me was all that I could think about. I didn’t know that much about them, making it harder to not be suspicious.

Playing with the enemy. Were they the enemy? I didn't find it hard to believe after how I saw them act today, especially San. 

But they were the enemy of who? And how was I supposed to trust this person when I couldn’t even trust the people I was currently living with?

I needed time alone from everyone and everything that would hinder me from forming a plan to escape this island. I was not certain I was safe here, for now choosing to leave this house. It would inconvenience me greatly but I couldn’t risk staying here with a group that was harboring a dark secret and unwilling to share the truth.

I waited for in my room for hours, until the house became silent. I opened my door, checking the hall before trying to walk down the stairs quietly. The lights were off, save for a dimly-lit lamp by the door, cloaking me as I tiptoed through the house. Hopefully, the boys wouldn’t care and I could leave quickly without having to outrun them. As I made my way to the front door, I noticed there was just a simple lock, making my escape that much easier.

I slowly turned the bolt, reaching for the handle when two knives landed an inch from both my hand and head. I screamed, turning around to face all eight boys staring at me coldly.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fantasy #ateez au #lostboys!ateez #choi san #choi jongho #song mingi #jung wooyoung #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #neverland #neverland au #kpop fanfiction #kpop writing #ateez neverland

[mirakwami]

Marichat May 2 - Greek AU

(Day 2 - 2400 words and too much effort put into writing a backstory. @marichatmay)

A long time ago, in the lands of ancient Greece, there was a God of Monsters with a kind soul – well, not kind in the truest sense of the word, but he used his powers to help people in the lands below Mount Olympus. He was honored for his deeds across the lands and, in return for his actions, enjoyed the bounty of plentiful tributes from the Grecians below.

One day, as he looked out from Mount Olympus over the lands of Greece, a beautiful lady caught his eye. Her hair was molten gold, her eyes polished emeralds. She was a young queen, recently crowned after the death of her father.

The God of Monsters found himself drawn to this bright spirit and disguised himself in the form of a young man. He quickly grew close to the Queen and fell in love, but dangerous happenings across Greece meant he had to leave her side.

But while he was gone, the young Queen fell deathly ill. She lived just long enough to give birth to a child – a golden-haired prince with the same emerald eyes as his beautiful mother. The child was hidden in the lowlands to be kept safe until he could inherit his throne while the Queen’s most trusted advisor attended to the kingdom.

The God did not know of his Son. The Son did not know of his father.

When the God of Monsters returned, he found his love dead. Somehow, while he had been gone, human scoundrels had allowed his beautiful Queen to slip into the Underworld.

His kindness slipped away as he discovered he could use his powers to get revenge – to make the humans suffer for failing his Queen, and to force Hades to return his Queen to the world of the living.

The monsters he created, the Akumas, destroyed Greece. Towns put up walls. Families armed themselves. There was no telling when the God of Monsters would unleash his next beast, no longer for them but at them.

Then, suddenly, fourteen years after the Queen died and her Son was born, a Hero stepped forwards. He shifted himself into the bodies of monsters, using his powers of destruction and misfortune to fight the Akumas.

Little did Greece know, it was their Prince protecting them.

Little did the God know, his Queen lived on in his Son, the Prince and the Hero.

              Outside the pristine summer estate of the Grecian royal family, a blond-haired man dueled with his dark-haired instructor. As strike and parry are exchanged, the blond-haired man feinted to the left, smoothly stepped to the right, and used his leg to sweep his instructor’s feet out from beneath him. He brandished his sword before him, the tip hovering an inch away from the befallen man.

              “You’ve learned well, Prince,” the man admitted, rapping one hand against the ground in surrender. “I’m not sure what else I have left to teach you at this point.”

              The prince’s lips quirked, forming a smile as he lowered his sword and reached out a hand to help his instructor to his feet. “There’s plenty left, I’m sure. And even then, there’s no harm in practice.”

              As the instructor brushed off his clothes, a young man in guard armor hurried through the gates of the estate toward them. “Prince Adrien, Sir D’Argencourt, an akuma has been unleashed outside the near town.”

              Sir D’Argencourt instantly reached for his sword. “We must protect the prince.”

              “I think I’m capable of protecting myself at this point,” Adrien remarked, gesturing with one hand towards his sword. “But-“ he added as Sir D’Argencourt and the guard opened their mouths to protest, “-I am the sole heir to Greece, I am aware.”

              Another guard, his armor pristine with the markings of the prince’s personal guard, led more men through the gate. “Prince Adrien!” he called. “What are your orders?”

              “Lahiffe, you’ll stay with me,” the prince decided, nodding to his guard. “D’Argencourt, take the other guards and head for the akuma. The village will need protecting until Chat Noir arrives.”

              Sir D’Argencourt saluted crisply. “Of course, your Majesty.”

              Prince Adrien watched as his instructor and respected guard led the others back out of the gates, waiting until they were out of earshot before turning to his personal guard. “Nino-“

              “I know what you’re going to say,” his friend responded, cutting him off. “You get out there and save those villagers, okay? Time’s a ticking.”

              The golden-haired prince smiled, closed his eyes, and slowly began to change.

              Even since he’d turn fourteen, he’d grown aware of his powers. He could shapeshift himself into a monstrous form, giving himself powers and abilities that he hadn’t had before. He could destroy anything with the touch of his fingers, though he tried not to use that whenever possible. When the newest akuma had attacked the village nearest him, Adrien had rushed to the rescue. Now he was Chat Noir, protector of Greece, as well as Prince Adrien, heir to the throne. Nino, his close friend and guard, was the only one who knew his secret and was always ready to help him hide any injuries to protect his identity.

              As Adrien focused, he could feel his body shifting, his skin stretching. And when he opened his eyes, he ran his eyes down his chosen form. It was a cross between a black cat and a human, with ears, a tail, and fur mixing with his human features.

              Like always, Nino’s expression was one of awe. Nevertheless, his friend shot him a thumbs up. “I’d wish you good luck, but you’ve got this. Go save those villagers.”

              Chat Noir grinned and took off.

              In this form, he was faster and more agile. His sense were stronger as well, allowing him to track the paths of his guards while still running fast. It was made easier by the fact that his guards had been in too much of a hurry to keep their trail hidden. But in this form, he was also freer. He could be himself without any tutors telling him that he was a prince. It was like hanging with Nino, but while being able to do something that mattered.

              He came to a halt in front of the village, drawing his sword as he spotted the akuma fighting with his guards outside the gates.

              “Chat Noir!” one of them shouted, relieved.

              Shooting the guards a brief smirk, he lunged forwards, catching the akuma in a strike down its side. The beast bellowed, nearly trampling a guard as it scrambled away.

              It turned, fixing is unnervingly purple gaze on him. Some akumas had special powers, and it was clear that this one was one of them considering how it opened its mouth and a gust of air blasted Chat Noir away.

              With the help of his tail, he maneuvered in the air, landing smoothly on four limbs before rising back onto his feet.

              “An interesting twist, Gabrius, but you’ll find I always land on my feet,” Chat Noir called.

              One of two of the guards faltered in their steps at the God of Monsters’ name. Few people dared to say it, and even Adrien only risked speaking it as Chat Noir. It was rumored that saying his name allowed him to create an akuma where you said it.

              Still, another guard – Bruel, he noticed – took the opportunity to attack the akuma. He got in a good blow before the akuma spun on its feet, blasting the guards away.

              Chat Noir winced as they flew through the air – without his powers, they would have nothing to cushion their fall. Some of them would sustain broken bones, or perhaps their swords would be blown into themselves.

              The akuma glanced back at him, as if challenging him.

              “Yeah, okay, they don’t do so well with being blasted away,” Chat Noir admitted. “But, come on. You have to give them some credit. Not everyone can be as mew-nstrous as you and I.”

              A weak pun, but he would make up for it later. Chat Noir bounded forwards, raising his sword. As the akuma opened its jaws once more, he grasped the branch of a tree and kicked off of the ground, using the momentum to swing him to the side. The akuma’s blast missed him and Chat Noir continued his charge.

              “I’m sorry, I think we’ve had a mew-sunderstanding, it seems,” he called to the akuma. “That attack was claw-ful. Maybe I didn’t cat-mew-nicate it very well, but I’m o-fur here.”

              See? More than made up for.

              The akuma changed tactics, instead using its powers to blow a boulder in Chat Noir’s direction. The mixed gusts combined with the impeding impact threw him to the side and he paused, flexing a stinging shoulder.

              Still, there was no time to waste. Chat Noir levelled his sword, took aim, and threw.

              He was close enough that the feat was easy enough. While his aim wasn’t the best, he still managed to strike the beast in the flank. It screeched an eerily human scream before starting into the woods, blasting a path in front of him.

              “Hey!” Chat Noir shouted after it, a frown and a smirk mixing on his lips. “That was my favorite sword!”

              Moans reminded him of the guards. He turned towards them, feeling slightly guilty that he had been the one to order them to fight the akuma. And they had, loyally following his orders- but still. It was his fault that they were hurt.

              But before Chat Noir could check in with them, a scream from the woods caught his attention. Someone else was out there, and the akuma had run right into them…

              Chat Noir sprinted in the direction of the noise, vaguely noting that he was unarmed. That was no problem, though – a thought had his fingertips shifting, sharpening themselves into claws.

              As he blazed into the scene, a blue-haired woman caught his eye. She was cornered by the akuma, who slowly prowled towards her, but she still reached down and pulled a shoe off of her foot.

              What in the name of Zeus is she thinking she can do with a shoe? he thought incredulously.

              Plenty, it seemed.

              The woman threw her shoe straight at the akuma despite the terror clearly plastered onto her features, hitting it right on the nose.

              Chat Noir, the akuma, and the woman all froze.

              “Yeah, that’s right, Gabrius! Not all of us are just going to let you destroy Greece!” the blue-haired, pulling off her second shoe and brandishing it like the weapon it apparently was.

              She’s beautiful, he thought, and noted that she had the beauty and confidence of a princess.

              The akuma growled, and Chat Noir promptly realized that he should probably do something. Lunging forwards, he swiped his claws down the side of the akuma before sliding between the girl and the beast, grabbing her hand and tugging her to the side, careful not to claw her.

              “Who… who are you?” she demanded, looking ready to throw her second shoe.

              He wasn’t surprised. It normally took villagers a few seconds to realize that the black, furry cat-human creature that had come to their rescue was really Chat Noir. Still, he grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the back of her hand.

              “It’s your knight in furry armor, Princess,” he teased. “Here to save you from the akuma.”

              “I think I’m capable of protecting myself,” the woman retorted. “No knight required, thank you very much.”

              “Ah, but alas, you are stuck with me anyways,” Chat Noir smirked in response. He let go of her hand as the akuma lunged, meeting it halfway.

              Her groan of frustration made it to his ears and he grinned. Suddenly, a shoe smacked only a few inches to the left of his head and on the akuma’s head. Chat Noir held in a laugh – he wasn’t sure whether the shoe was meant for him or the akuma, but he was rather fine with how things had turned out.

              It took no more than another minute of dodging blasts, bantering with the blue-haired woman, and clawing the akuma before he could finally use his powers to destroy the amulet around the akuma’s neck.

              Each akuma had an amulet – apparently, or so the rumors went, Zeus had banned Gabrius from creating his own monsters from dust, leaving him to use amulets to transform ordinary animals into his akumas. By breaking the, the akuma could revert to its original form – but it would retain all of its previous injuries, meaning Chat Noir always had to be careful to hurt it as little as possible.

              As black magic fizzled around the akuma, a young doe was revealed. It looked terrified and quickly hared off despite the wounds in its flank.

              Chat Noir smoothly plucked up a shoe, turned, and offered it to the woman with a grin. “Your esteemed slipper, my princess.”

              The woman snorted but accepted the shoe anyways, walking over to retrieve her second shoe by herself before, quick as a flash, throwing it at him. “Your esteemed ego, Chat Noir. I can’t recall ever hearing that you were so full of yourself.”

              “I like to call it confidence,” he grinned in return, catching the shoe and holding it back out to her. “As for thanks for saving your life and returning both shoes to you, I’ll accept you name.”

              She rolled her eyes but smirked back at him. “Why thank you, oh Chat Noir, for saving me from having to defeat the akuma with only my shoes. I shall now offer you a letter of my name in return for your dashing efforts – it starts with an M.”

              The woman promptly turned on her heels, dusted her hands off on her shirt, and started walking back towards the village.

              Chat Noir stared after her. M. Whoever this woman was… he knew he desperately wanted to see more of her.

#marichatmay2019 #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #greek au

[flashfictionforpittance]

Cirque De La catastrophe Itinérante

(Requested by Anon, who contributed ideas for most of the main characters, plus some ideas for scenes, some of which sadly couldn’t make it into the finished story.)

Valeria blinked. The inside of the crate currently passing as her coffin stared back, with its yellow sticker that marked fragile contents cutting through the dim light. Previously, it'd sat on the outside, but they'd flipped the lid so she'd have something to look at. Lyca's suggestion. Not one of his better ideas, but they couldn't all be winners. 

Val slid the lid off with her fingertips, and escaped in a fine mist into her room where she reformed like a shadow being restored after a flicker of light. She stretched up, her fingertips brushing against the shallow, tented ceiling, her joints cracking like glow-sticks. 

Her room left a lot to be desired these days. As Val stepped carefully around it, reminding her limbs and digits how to move like the living's, she absorbed the ramshackle boudoir that her family had tried their hardest to make cosy in their daylight hours. The drapes were moth-eaten and the rug was full of what Jaya called "schmutz,"- hairs and crumbs and dirt and the like. She had a suspicion one of the lycanthropes had donated it. The cobwebs on the wooden panels that served as walls weren't a problem. The termites were. Val's good coffin, permanently sequestered in a secure storage unit in the city until the infestation was dealt with, seemed awfully far away during these long days in the crate, spent tossing and turning and trying to keep the splinters out of her skin. 

But still. Val clicked her fingers and blue smoke broke out their tips like she'd used them to snuff out a match, billowing out first like a ribbon, then a cloud, then a river, winding around her curves, her bare shoulders with the textbook pin holes at the base of the neck, over the voluptuous hips, all the way to the ankles where it trailed off, then  hardened into a purple gown that clung to her as she slid her feet into her heels, pressed her day-hat over her curls, and strode out of her bedroom door. 

Beyond? Chaos. Hell. An utter travesty of a circus, new in town and fatally unprepared with half its acts still hungover from the bickering and fatigue so symptomatic of months on the road, and only two hours until their debut. 

Val stepped into the hall, and was met immediately with a small ocean of knee-high clowns that was crowding the tented hallway. She towered over row upon row of the pint-sized performers, each one wearing the same baggy trousers, wide-collared shirts, harlequin makeup, and the exact same expression, that being of absolute dread. 

"Gentlemen," said Val, her voice well exercised in careful diplomacy. "to what do I owe the pleasure on this fine morning?"

"Out," rumbled Iggy, their spokesman. Almost identical to his two scores of brothers, Iggy was notable for his open collar, which constantly displayed the deep scarring on his chest. This too was identical to the others, who kept theirs hidden. "Oleg's at it again."

"Oh my," Val pressed her fingertips to her forehead, pretending to nurse a migraine. "what's our lead harlequin done now?" She didn't have to guess. But who knew, maybe this time-

"Your senior clown has eaten another..." Iggy began and trailed off, the haughtiness that'd overcome his fear now subsiding as his brothers paled in unison. He beckoned Val to bend over. She bent, inhaling their collective smog of cologne and cigarette smoke. "another unattended."

Oh well. Maybe one day he'd surprise her. "Ugh," Val swept her hand back over her forehead, watching for the nods of approval from within the small crowd that'd amassed around her. "my stars. Don't worry, my faithful clowns. I'll see Oleg remanded for this," she straightened Iggy's bow tie for him, grazing a finger against the stark-white flesh beneath his collar, and those scars that so closely resembled letters. "I give you my word. Oleg has taken this too far. He'll be dealt with swiftly and without prejudice."

It wasn't that she'd be doing nothing. But that Iggy was more placatable than he let on. Which is why he didn't quite protest as she stepped over him, and headed down the hall. If she kept moving fast enough, by the time he caught up with her she might just have figured out how to keep him and his entourage around. She snapped her fingers again as she walked and pulled a thin purple thread out of nothing, which thickened into a long cigarette holder. She plucked a cigarette out from behind her ear and slotted it into the end, snapped again to light it, and took a long drag. She should already tell it would be a long day. 

The physical body of the circus was that of an octopus; the Big Top where they entertained guests was at the very centre, with its tented tendrils curling all over the rented field it was occupying, each limb branching into rooms for sleeping, eating, feeding, casting, summoning, sinning, and generally sharpening one's skills. It was a nightmare to put the whole thing up, she was told. 

Between Val's room and the Big Top there was just one other space- the mess hall, where all the acts came to share space, relax, and enjoy one another's company. In theory. If the mood of the circus could be emblemized in one location, it was here. And perhaps symbolically, it was empty and showed signs of recent chaos; the four long benches were overturned, bowls of stew spattered all over them, the ground, and the purple-pinstriped tenting that enclosed them. The table from which Kook, (the circus' former magician,) usually dished out whatever he could remember the recipe for, was split in two, the vat upturned and a waterfall of what resembled mutton making its slow, congealed journey to the floor. On the other side of the table, Kook was was trembling on the floor, hands raised above his head like he was deflecting projectiles. He'd disappeared into his own top hat a while back, was gone for a whole year, and didn't come out quite the same. He started at the sound of Val's voice, looking around like he didn't recognise where he was. 

"What's gone on, Mr Kook?" she asked. 

He blinked up at her, eyes bloodshot. "Oh, this? 'Tis strange, isn't it ma'am?" he looked furtively around, as if waking suddenly from a nightmare. "I can't rightly say I know. I-It's rather fuzzy, ma'am."

Val crouched beside him. "I see. Do you remember anything at all?" he hadn't been drinking- at least, Val couldn't smell it on him. Sadly. If he'd been the culprit this whole thing could've been over then and there. 

The magician's forehead creased with effort, the dark circles under his eyes deepening as a sigh escaped his gritted teeth. "I, well. I was here, dishing up as you do. Those Cat Creatures were griping about the food, though that's nothing new. Probably on the prowl for a fight, cos' Jaya and Eucaria made an e-exit when they came in- or was it just Eucaria? Could've just been her, though I'm sure Jaya left too-"

"Kook," said Val in her least impatient voice. "Please, try to focus on what happened in here."  

"S-sorry sir-Ma'am, I mean, Mrs Ma'am, Ms Ma'am Sir," he paused for a moment to collect himself. You could see the colour leave his face, draining out as if a valve had opened. "I think it all went funny when the Lycanthropes arrived. Yeah, I remember a lot of growling, lots of smashing. And gnashing. Then something hit my head, and t-then," he gestured loosely at the sky. "Fairies. But that's nothing new. They always show up after a disaster."

"Shit," hissed Val. "I thought all the shapeshifters had reached an understanding? Tonight's act has been months in the mati- making...I don't suppose you know what caused it?"

Kook shrugged. "Who knows with them. They're more beast than human on most days, aren't they? Giving me dirty looks, sharpenin' their claws on the furniture, leaving rabbit pelts all over the place. Filthy werewolves, were-cats, all of them," a frantic look overcame his eyes.

"Kook," snapped Val. "Enough. We don't speak of others in that way in my Circus. Do you know where they went?"

"Big Top," said Kook, suddenly sullen. "they're saying the act's off- all the couples have broken off too; Vinnie and Trisha, Ellie and Claire, even the two Johnny's. Saying they'll never perform together again."

Val stood up and adjusted her hat. "I'll be the one to make that assessment." She left Kook to his mumbling. The short walk between the mess hall and the Big Top was enough to send tonight's trajectory from bad to worse; long tears split the tent on both sides and above. Scraps of fur, some sleek, some shaggy, gathered in clumps among the grass underfoot, and as Val broke through the curtained doorway into the Big Top, a cacophony of yowls and howls pierced her eardrums. The wide circle of bleachers bordering the room served as the colosseum for the latest pandemonium, as two gangs of leather clad teenage heartthrobs, one half rough and ragged, the other sharp and deadly, stared each other down in the loudest way possible, jeering and spitting and hissing and growling and  holding each other back. The groups were about fifteen people strong apiece, and at the forefront of each, foreheads practically glued together, were two boys. Well, men. But everyone was a child when you had a couple of centuries under your belt. 

"You housecats aren't going anywhere till you tell me who went after Tycho," snarled  the shorter of the two, the leader of the scruffy lot who more than fit the model himself. Dark haired and what the young people would call 'dreamy,' his face was contorted with rage as he shouted, "you pussies want to pick a fight? I'm right here! Why fight a kid when you can face the whole pack? All you gotta do it tell me who did it!"

The other leader, a broad lion of a man maned with immaculately combed hair, rumbled back, "I don't respond to violence, or threats. You should know that by now, Lyca. Yourself and these mongrels should get out of here while you've still got some dignity left." 

"Then it's off," snapped Lyca. He pulled back and shook his head. "You can kiss the whole act goodbye. Nobody wants to see a bunch'a stuck up lions do ballet for an hour. You've got no skill, no perseverance, all you've got is your goddamn pride," he spat the word like it tasted foul, eyeing the rest of the Cat Creatures. He gestured at his grumbling posse " Come on, everyone. Lee the Lionheart can't even squeeze and apology out of his little harem. We've got better things to do than watch that travesty try to carry out a routine." Though he was less than half Lee's size, his effortless beauty and powerful voice made him quite the formidable leader. It was like watching a Jack Russell face off with a Great Dane. 

"Typical werewolf," said a woman at Lee's side. "time wasters. No patience. Full of bravado. It's not like we even needed you anyway, Lee's the one with all the ideas, you people are just hired muscle. In fact," she chuckled. "I'm pretty sure breaking it off is the only original idea you've had yet," some of the other Cat Creatures heckled their agreement. Lee nodded. 

"Fuck you," said Lyca. The rest of the pack echoed the sentiment. 

"Ahem," Val's voice  was like a shock wave. The tension snapped at once as they all turned on their heels to attention. Pack mentality. One of the rare pluses of employing shapeshifters. "Am I to understand that there's been a falling out?" Sometimes, Valeria wished she could just get to the point. But, that was unbecoming. 'Take your time when you speak,' her mother had once told her, 'too fast, and people will think you're trying to sell them something.'

"The Cat Creatures went too far this time, Ma'am," said Lyca, desperate to get the first word in. "they went after Tycho, they smashed his face in and robbed him. A kid, ma'am. They called him- what was it, Tycho?"he called over his shoulder. 

A thin boy of about eighteen stepped forward. His crimson nose wore his double-black eyes as a pair of wings, a butterfly of bruises resting on his face. He stared at his feet as he spoke, not really addressing anyone. "A leg-humpin' bitch. A mongrel. They said they were gonna neuter me, said they'd bury my..." He was turning crimson. Val averted her eyes, feeling her stomach growl. "my nuts in the woods, feed 'em to Oleg."

That damn clown again. "I see. And what was this about stolen property?"

"We didn't steal-" began one of the Cat Creatures- one of the two Johnny's so recently divorced. She quieted him with a look. Her nerves were getting twitchier by the minute, her cigarette burning closer to her skin.

"A jacket, three CD's, and a bat," said Lyca. "Personal items that they have no reason to take except to screw with him. And look at Tycho's nose. If he were human they could've killed him!"

"Please, Lyca," said Val, raising a palm. "be patient. Tell me Lee, you refute these claims?"

The Lionheart spoke slow and patient, but didn't take his eyes off Lyca. "You can't prove it was my people. There were no witnesses. I've asked everyone. I have no other evidence than the boy's word- and we all know that he and Sheila ended things recently. He has every motivation for wanting to start a war,``he cracked his knuckles. Val knew him well enough to understand his temper, but still. Next to everyone else he was a behemoth, a wall of a man who'd knock your bones out before you knew you'd been hit. "I won't be condemning anyone based on his testimony."

"I'm not lying!" yelled Tycho, his voice breaking. "look at my face, who the hell would do this except you?"

"Please!" yelled Val, bringing them back in line. "These accusations are disturbing. And I want everyone here to understand that as of tomorrow, I'll be aiding these two in finding out precisely what has happened, and putting an end to this childishness" she panned her gaze across the two crowds, watching for anxious faces. More than a few on each side couldn't hold it. Lyca and Lee were both getting a little red as well. "You two. I'll be speaking to you separately. I hope you all understand the severity of attacking another member of this troupe, or indeed lying in order to instigate it. However, we have a show to run, and precious little time to be at each other's throats. So in the meantime, tell me, couldn't the Cats simply reimburse the Wolves for-" she felt a tugging at her dress. It was about time. She looked down. 

"Ma'am," squeaked Iggy. The clowns in his congregation nodded politely.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I thought you'd be Eucaria. What is it that you need, sir?"

He frowned. "To be released from our contract. As we attempted to discuss this morning-" a loud clap broke the silence behind Val. Followed by a brief pause, bated breath, then a crescendo of thumping and yelling and hissing as the wolves and the cats started on each other. "Is now a good time?" asked Iggy, eyes widening at the discord behind her. 

It was not. And where on earth was Eucaria? Val scanned the circular room; people were coming in and out, sitting in little pockets watching the drama unfold, or conferring, or practising, or watching from the bleachers. Her daughter and second in command rarely failed to gravitate towards trouble, and Val had the feeling her input would be needed. "Excuse me," she said, once again stepping over the clowns. She counted back the hours since she'd last seen her daughter, then lost count as she bumped into Jaya, the Siren slash high-dive expert. A slip of a woman, only five feet tall, and always a little flushed. 

"Hiya Val," she smiled, before attempting to move on. 

Val very nearly let her go, before closing a vice-grip around her wrist as she remembered what Kook had said. "you haven't seen Euci, have you?" Val paused, remembered herself, released Jaya's arm, and cleared her throat. "S-sorry. She's rather late to the action this morning. Kook said he saw you with her?" 

"Hm. I saw her at dinner a few hours ago, I think," smiled Jaya. She was sometimes a little slow to recognise people's expressions. And too often she was too off in her own head to realise when a crisis was going on. "But then the Cat Creatures started getting pissy with each other and we left. They made us both pretty uncomfortable.  I Haven't seen her since," her eyes widened as the proverbial penny dropped. "Is everything ok?"

"Oh it's fine, I'm sure she's around somewhere," lied Val. "But I don't suppose I could ask Jacques?" the siren's boyfriend. He was more observant than her, though less than half as social. 

"Sure thing," Jaya opened her mouth, her lips stretching wider, her jaw clicking as it parted and opened into a hole as big as a dinner plate. Inside, her oesophagus was just as wide, smelling faintly of salt water, and far, far down inside, Val could see Jacques, curled up with a book in the pit of her empty stomach. He removed his glasses, looked up, and waved. 

"Evening ma'am," he said. His voice met Val's ears in what could only be described as a wet echo. "what's up?"

"Good evening Jacques," Val called back down. "Have you seen or heard of Eucaria recently? She's absent."

"'Fraid not," he called back. "I haven't heard her, anyway. Is everything ok?"

"Yes, thank you. See you at tonight's performance," Val closed Jaya's mouth quickly, just in case he had more bad news for her. "T-thank you, Jaya," she said, before pulling away and rushing into one of the nearby hallways, this one arterial to the rooms. Inside, streams of fairy lights sputtered and blinked in crossroads between the rooms, winking off and on again as Val passed under them. She was getting dizzy. She braced herself against the wall for a moment, waiting for it to pass. 

"You ok?" 

Val jumped. She looked around. Then down. Muriel's broad hat lifted for her eyes to blink back, the dark circles under them giving the constant impression that she was tired of everyone's shenanigans.

"Not quite," said Val. Her hand reached down to pat Muriel on the head and landed on her own knee, a mite colder than before. Muriel didn't point out the obvious- people had been trying to pat that little noggin for decades. Ghosts were, as it turns out, surprisingly hesitant to remind you they were dead. "Have you seen Euci?" No sense in putting on a show. Muriel had more years behind that tiny face than even you'd expect, though she possessed size, features, and appropriate cuteness to a seven year old. 

"She's probably with Ole-Spiderlegs," said Muriel. "She was having a meltdown this evening and wouldn't let anyone see her. If you're going in there,  I suggest telling her she's pretty. And a treasure to the troupe. And young, don't forget young," she counted off the necessary interactions on her fingers and rolled her eyes. Eternal rest was clearly nothing of the sort. 

"Thank you," said Val, feeling the strength return to her bones. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"Almost. I need to attune my wand and burn some sage to purify the ring, plus I need to summon a spirit. Not a strong one, just an assistant. . But you're not really listening. Dispense with the niceties and go find your daughter before you pass out, you sentimental bat."

"What did you just say?" Val blinked and Muriel was gone. "Darnit."

Eucaria didn't look up as Val entered the dressing room, ducking under a low-hanging stream of fairy lights that buzzed as she passed. The perpetual haze of smoke that encompassed her daughter's face simply muttered, "Tell her she's pretty." Nevertheless, Val still groped through the smog until her hands alighted on Euci's too-soft face. Just to make sure.

"Tiffany, my love, you're a vision," said Val, turning to look over her shoulder to speak to the older woman who was peering over the top of an ornamental screen. Behind it the gymnast's silhouette narrowed to a waspy waist, then expanded into a bulbous shadow from which eight legs protruded, each one busying itself with some unseen task below decks. "I should know. I've been performing for over a century and I haven't seen a treasure such as you. And no-one who didn't doubt themselves at one time or another, I might add." Val pulled a well-earned cigarette from thin air and pressed the tip against the end of Euci's cigar, then inhaled deeply. 

The woman peering over the screen was indeed beautiful. In her day, she was even breathtaking. But after a few decades of better healthcare and more diverse breeding, today's beauties were beginning to surpass even hers, fluoride toothpaste and moisturiser landing them a few rungs higher on that ladder. And Ole' Spiderlegs, IE Tiffany, wasn't the sharpest when it came to books, but she knew beauty and lack thereof like the back of her hand. 

"Don't say things just because," she quothed. In addition to her legs, she had a pair of normal human arms on her torso, one of which she used to tuck a scarlet lock of hair behind her ear while using the other to massage her forehead.  "I'm not feeling it today. Not at all," behind the screen, a spidery leg passed a garment into one of her hands, and she lobbed it over the top and onto the pandemonium that covered the floor. Clothes, empty bottles of hairspray, distressed makeup brushes, and more than a few dead flies. It wasn't any wonder nobody else used this room. "why am I still doing this? Flaunting myself in front of lookie-loos while my youth drains out of me like a submarine losing oxygen?"

"Thinking of unfreezing that egg sack again?" asked Val. "You were quite set on it last week."

"And two months before that," added Euci, her cloud of smoke sparking as she took another drag on her cigar. "maybe you should do it now?"

Tiffany sighed. "A little magnum opus, yes. Scuttering all over the lace, little balls of life, then, suddenly, away on the wind on a little stream of silk, scattered all over the earth. But still, you know they're out there. Part of you. Like one big web encompassing the world."

"It sounds positively nightmarish, dear," said Val. "and by all means, tomorrow we can discuss the affair in detail. But we have a show to do. And without our gymnast, it wouldn't be much of one. We've," she cleared her throat. "We've already lost the shapeshifter act."

"Shit," cussed Eucaria. "I knew something was wrong this morning. The Cat Creatures were all on edge. They were all bunched together in the mess hall, being all rotten with everyone. I should've seen this coming. Have you heard, mother?"

"Heard what, my love?"

"Lee and Lyca broke up. It happened last night, not sure exactly when, but it wasn't pretty. Lyca was getting jealous again, I think."

"I thought that might be the case," sighed Val. "that recent wolf, Tycho, has already had his face caved in for his leader's sake. Doubtless the Cat Creatures went for him to get under Lyca's skin. You see, Tiffany?" She pointed her attention back at the gymnast, who'd stopped to listen to the gossip, and now busied herself behind the screen. "We're in chaos. Without you, there is no show left to perform."

"I'm too old," insisted Spiderlegs, popping her head up. Her silhouette shrugged. "what's the use? It's not like anyone here's ever going to make the big time. We're just eye candy- no, eye horseradish, there to test what normal people can stomach to look at. Why not settle down for a few months, maybe even a few years, and raise some little spiders?"

"You know," said Euci, removing her cigar for a moment so she could look at Tiffany properly. "You could do both. Like mother did," Eucaria was all her father's child. From rotting toe to decaying tip, from ruddy nose and round face, to the raggedy dress-shirt she always wore,  she was Earnest. Her undead-ness was one of the few things she'd inherited from her mother. In a way. Albeit, hers was of a different, more zombie-like nature. "Aren't working mothers a thing now? It's not like you perform every day."

Tiffany bit her lip. Val smiled. "Why yes, Euci and I manage that lifestyle very well. Even before Euci's transformation, I nursed a human child in one arm and ran a successful circus with another. Surely you, with eight whole legs, could do the same?"

"Of course I could," said Tiffany. "But, I'm wary..."

"Of?" 

"Nothing. It can wait. I'll discuss it with you after tonight's performance." She ducked down again and sat haughtily on her abdomen. Val felt a crease of anxiety smooth itself out in her head. One of these days, they'd call Tiffany's bluff, and she'd actually go for it. But this profession taught you to take things one day at a time. Val cupped her daughter's face in her hands. It wasn't, by appearance, that much older than Muriel's. But while the latter had many centuries behind it, this one had barely reached its first. The sallow skin, pierced by a pair of sharp blue eyes that could cut glass with their wit, so like her father's. If anything could make Val's dead heart move, it was her. 

"How is everything? Did you meet with the Cuban?" She asked. 

Euci nodded, cigar waggling between her teeth. "Yup. Threw in a box of cigars, too. Hell of a guy. Can only hope his dynamite doesn't taste this good." The girl's childish voice was tinted with the chain-smoker's growl, and in their travels had picked up odds and ends of idioms and turns of phrase that Val could only sometimes understand. 

Val blew a smoke ring toward her daughter, which Euci broke apart with her own exhalation. "Good, good. Come, I need your help; the shapeshifters need sorting out, and Oleg's at it again- oh my," one of Eucaria's ears was sliding down the side of her head. Like a decaying snail exploring her face. It was already nearing her jawline. "your ear, darling."

"It's OK," Eucaria plucked it off, some hair-thin strings of what was still an unidentified goo pulling away with it. Beneath, the flesh was stark white and budded like cauliflower. "Darn thing keeps coming off. Hasn't been the same since Paris. I'm pretty sure there are still bits of me stuck to the Eiffel Tower."

"I don't know how many shows that's got left," mused Val. "Perhaps it's time to retire it?"

Euci sighed and kicked a brassier across the floor, where it dinged mutely against an ornamental vase, ornament ally filled with dead flowers as it had been for days. "Not like we have any spares lying around."

"Hold that thought."

Val wasn't proud of it. Oleg wasn't a colleague as much as he was a liability. She often wondered why she kept him in the act, but for some reason, that particular fire was one of the few that she never got around to putting out. Though it did, from time to time, consume an unaccompanied child. 

"Sure are a lot of bones around here," said Euci, picking a bit of cartilage from between her toes. They surrounded the area like a ring of chalk; the furthest out were bleached white by the sun, while the closest were still bloody and clinging to viscera. They were a good mile away from the circus, on the border of the woods that framed the massive field they'd managed to claim. This was Oleg's agreed distance, maintained all day every day, except for showtime. He'd taken up residence in the hollow of an oak tree, a hole in its base marking the entrance to what in theory should have only been a closet-sized space. That said, Val had never been tempted to see inside. Even with the sun directly above it, those with the courage to come and stare had assured her that no light could penetrate the darkness. 

"Indeed," she said, fiddling with a stray lock of hair that had escaped from her hat. "remember what I said, Euci. Don't look at him for too long."

"Mum," assured Eucaria, "we'll be fine. He wouldn't dare. Not like I'm fresh meat anyway. Plus, it'd be way more trouble than it's worth, plus he's probably still bloated from-" her head snapped to attention, pigtails whipping across her face, face frozen, alert, and trained on the yellow eyes that were cutting through the black pit of the hollow. Nothing else. Just two gold coins with a black slit down the middle. Watching. 

"Oh don't frrrrrett, dear," seethed a voice that pulled the hairs on Val's neck to stand to attention, that made her skin squirm beneath her clothes as if in retreat. The dusk felt duller, dimmer, and smelled of sour meat. "p-plenty of live meat d-d-down here. Wanna seee?" 

"We need an ear," said Val, stepping into the clown's line of sight. "Now. A fresh one."

"D-d-don't mama got better things ta' be doin? I h-hear the menagerie's havin' a domestic. L-little Lyca's L-l-little brother got roughed up by his abominable boyfriend, ay?"

"Mind your own business," piped up Eucaria, stepping around her mother and jutting out her chin. Her sallowness was that much paler, but her voice was even. "And quit eating unattended kids. This isn't the city. People don't just go missing without being noticed, and if they come for us, I'll make sure they come for you."

"We'll allow it this once, given it's convenient," agreed Val, "but once more and you're on your own. Remember America? One more missing child and you'll be back in that recycling plant where we found you. And stop scaring the other performers- it's hard enough to keep a show running without a cannibal on the premises."

"T-t-those clowns whining again?" the air around the hollow swam and the roots of the tree snapped and squealed, writhing beneath the ground in complaint. Oleg's voice rose. "pathetic little sorcerer. With his flesh puppets,  not a friend in the world, so why not be your own? You know, that's why the others-"

"Ear," said Val, raising her voice over his, feeling the breeze billow around her in support. "Now." her hair whipped over her shoulder. The sparks from her cigarette drifted in the air between her face and Oleg's, neither of them breaking their stare. 

"Aright mama V," groaned Oleg. "If only so's I can eat the little dead thing's old one. Howzabout it, cannonball corpse? Or did ya blow it off chewin' on a stick a dynamite?" he looked at Euci. 

Val's spine drew up and her teeth set on edge. Euci flicked her old ear into the hollow. "You'll perform tonight," she said, lowering her tone. "You'll act nice, too. Or I'll let mother down there with you."

"Indeed," Val held the clown's gaze, grinding her teeth. "we'll see what position you're in to make jokes then."

Without another word, the clown's eyes faded into the darkness. A few moments passed, then with a wet thump a disk flopped out of the hollow and landed in front of Eucaria, who turned it over in her hand. "Mostly intact," she said. "prolly from someone a lil older than me. But it'll do fine if we can stitch it good enough, though I guess it's a little pink. Might make it hard to-"

Everything went quiet. Eucaria kept speaking- or, rather, her mouth kept moving. But everything, from the wind in the trees to the churn of traffic from the not distant enough highway, was muted. Then, slowly, from the depths of Val's eardrum, came a ringing. And the sun rose behind them, its light screaming across the grass and overwhelming Val like a shadow disappearing with the lighting of a candle. 

"How?" she gasped voicelessly, dropping to her knees, stunned. Watching it, she saw a yellow ball of fire consume the sky above the Big Top, swirling like a whirlpool, streaks of light fanning out like tantruming arms. The great and horrifying sight that all vampires dreaded, the source of all life that turned against them when they turned undead, stared her down with its divine judgement. 

Something was off. She wasn't dead, for one thing. She hadn't been reduced to lilac ash and scattered in the breeze. She didn't even feel warm, actually. And though it'd been longer than most lifetimes since she'd seen it, she didn't recall the sun smelling quite so much like burning sage. 

The ringing in her ears had reached a kettle-like screech, only now subsiding as Euci helped her to her feet and held her limbs steady as the shock wore off. The ball of light dispersed into evening gloom, and from the Big Top a shock-wave blew out in all directions and hit them with a gale-force wind filled with screaming laughter. Then all was quiet. The highway's gentle purr rose and fell steadily and undisturbed. Looking back at the Big Top, a scorched hole in the roof glared at the sky as if to accuse it. And even from here, you could hear the shrieking of the people inside. 

Val sighed. "Bugger."

Arriving back at the Big Top was like stepping into the eye of a hurricane. For the whole walk back, screams and moans and complaints had echoed over the field, and now, in the middle of their source, Val felt strangely calm. Everything was so spectacularly broken, that there was no sense of urgency. The worst had happened; the middle of the ring was blackened and twinkling like the night with all the glass that'd been shattered when Muriel summoned her spirit, with which she was currently arguing amongst the ruins of her alchemy set. Almost the entire troupe had filed in and around the edges of the ring, keeping a wide perimeter around the discord. The whole place stank of sulphur, and the air above them was dense with flickering lights of every colour that squeaked and nipped in your ears as you walked through them. Fairies. They loved drama. Jaya and Jacques were putting out the still smouldering tent walls, and more than a few of the other performers, while Lyca and Lee were balancing two separate head counts at the same time, trying to make sure nobody had gone missing and be cross with each other at the same time. Tiffany was doing her best to apply first aid to Iggy's swarm of clowns, but she only had so many legs to spare. The resident strongwoman, Bhumika, was lifting shattered furniture out of the way while Ba'al, the lizard-skinned fire eater quicky sucked up whatever stray embers remained. 

"I'll get the ghost," said Euci. "you check the damages," she set off before Val could protest, elbowing her way through the forest of knees to the ring. Valeria looked about her for a wound to heal or fire to douse, but her attention pulled like a magnet back to her daughter as she walked over to Muriel, and the immense spirit above her. She felt that guttural pull, the maternal urge you get when a child falls over or cries out in pain, plucking at her nerves like a harp. But Euci was made of sterner stuff than other children. Which was good, because she certainly wasn't made of harder stuff. 

The spirit above Muriel flourished like a peacock's tail, furl upon furl of ethereal light in all the colours of the spectrum blossoming in a circular fan shape, and floating in the centre was a human body doused in emulsion, such an emaciated figure that its blue-white skin seemed too big for it. It blinked at its audience with eyes as black as a pond at midnight, and smiled toothily. It swam in the air like a jellyfish, undulating its fan as it drifted down to meet Eucaria, and outstretched its hands, clawed with black nails filed to a fine point. Euci declined the embrace with a quick step back, and addressed Muriel. 

"I told you this would happen. The spirits back in your tent are perfectly good, ya know."

"I know," the witch sounded exhausted. She reached out to lean against Euci, then stumbled as she fell through. "Dammit."

Eucaria sighed. "For someone who's already seen death you certainly like to dance with it a lot," she addressed the spirit. "name?"

The spirit tilted its bulbous head and twisted in ways that, while Valeria wasn't sure in her undead state, she was pretty certain most bone structures didn't allow. Its head turned back like an owl's, its elbows inverted. It hissed, baring its needly teeth. "SSSatisssfaction," it beckoned Euci with its nail. "Disssord."

Eucaria held up her hands. "No thanks. Enough of that on a regular day. Name?"

The spirit blinked. Then said in a death rattle, "Vivāda, the-"

"Vivāda, huh?" Euci interrupted. "Need a job?"

The spirit didn't answer. It tilted its head and pulled back, eyes fixed on her. Val felt a little tug. She couldn't stand the thing. If ever she'd felt compelled to crush something between her fingers until its life was eviscerated, this was it. 

"It's just, since you're here," said Eucaria, to the crushing silence that'd fallen over the room. "We didn't mean to get you, see? We wanted...?" She gestured at Muriel. 

The witch removed her hat and scratched the back of her head. "Samedi."

"Right, we wanted Samedi. Not you. But you're here and I don't think my friend," she gestured at Muriel. "has much left in her today. Would be a real shame to let you go to waste, though, so-" Euci didn't finish. The colours in the spirit's fan bled into red, and the edges quivered. The pale thing stretched a long fingernail out to Eucaria's face, close enough to shave the decaying skin from her forehead, while the other hand wafted through Muriel as if trying to clutch at something. Muriel looked mortified; the girl who'd seen death in all its forms, the girl with nothing left to fear, was doubting the validity of those statements for the very first time. Val's stomach was tying itself into a Devil's knot. 

Vivāda's voice cut through the crowd the way a slamming door cuts through a child eavesdropping on their parents' argument. The way gunfire splits the calm of a silent night. The way bad news breaks through the routine of your day, extending it by hours and withering your plans as they fall by the wayside. "You didn't call for dissssscord? For Vivāda, the Defiler?"

Val ran at the ring. She'd been so stupid. Eucaria didn't know a vengeful spirit from her best friend. She'd never seen an angry monster before, only the ones she'd known forever, and those claws weren't real to her, not yet. They wouldn't be, not until they cut her to ribbons. 

Like a child plucking a doll out of its house the spirit swept Euci into the air with its placid hand clasped around her throat, surging upwards and squealing like a kettle while its fan swirled and bubbled and smoked. Val couldn't see her daughter's expression, just her feet dangling limply as the thing pulled her face close to its own, and she felt her insides twist in fear. 

Val collided with a burning wall. For a moment, it was like she'd walked into a beam of sunlight, but when it threw her onto her back in the dirt with the force of a stubborn bull, she guessed otherwise. Lee pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing and pointed to the powdery line on the floor, then followed its path around the ring. Salt. A ring of protection to keep unholy things coming in or out. A rule that applied to about forty percent of the circus. Including herself. 

She looked on helplessly as Vivāda spiked her daughter, threw her to the floor like a damsel smashing a vase. Euci's bones applauded as she made contact, a cacophony of cracks and grinds as she skidded along the dirt, leaving one arm in her wake as she finally ground to a halt. Muriel looked at her, aghast. Then up at the spirit. She began to wave her wand so fast it blurred into a grey shimmer in front of her. Sparks and spears and balls of light flew up and encircled the ghost as it languished like a poisoned snake above them, spitting curses upon them in a language that sounded like chewing nails, singing its skin against the invisible barrier around the ring. It twisted one way and a gale blew in through the hole in the roof, driving the spells back to the ground where they crashed and flashed and crescendo-ed around Euci. It twisted the other and a blade of wind flashed in front of Muriel, knocking her wand out of the ring. 

Val couldn't hear her own voice. She only knew she'd said anything when Bhumika , bounded past her and punted the ground at the edge of the ring, salt flying up among clumps of dirt. Then she clasped her hands around her mouth, open and still crying for someone to do something, anything, and ran to Euci's side. 

The thing about your first and only child being undead, is that you have absolutely no idea whether they're properly dead; you can't sense a pulse, or time their breathing, or check for blood loss. You just wait. Next to the mortified ghost of her best friend, who despite her many, many years of seniority on both you and your child, has never been terrific in a crisis. 

"I...I, I thought she'd...be able to..." Muriel waved her hand in front of her face with closed eyes, trying to get her morse code of a sentence out. "you know, uh..." she shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know." She stood up and staggered away to stand beside Lee as he watched, who reached down to pat her head then thought better of it. He kneeled down to speak to her, offering low words of comfort. 

Tiffany's many hands were hard at work over Eucaria; two held her upright, two were picking through the dust to find scraps of her right arm, which for the sake of hysteria was currently protected from view by the next two that were holding up a sheet between it and Val. The last two were tidying Euci's face. Pulling hair out of the way, checking her position, tidying her up. Tiffany had seen a lot in her time, they'd been told. Enough to know how to...adjust a person for whom the worst might be on its way. She was a firm believer that if death were to come for you, the last thing you'd want is to look like a mess. 

Val slapped the leg currently fixing Euci's hair. "Stop it." Tiff didn't ask. She took her hands away and busied them in her useless first aid box. What could that do? Val scowled at it. "What can that thing do for her?" she felt like a cherry about to be crushed between a set of teeth. Set to burst. 

"Be patient," said Ba'al, who'd come over to help in what little way he could. He was only about two feet tall, with spiralling red horns protruding from a crimson forehead. The rest of him, though red, was perfectly normal looking. He knelt beside Euci, pursed his lips, and gently blew a warm breeze over her face. He continued, "remember Mexico? The crazy stuff they let us do there? You gave her those cigars, the real thick ones that smelled of chocolate? We didn't think she'd ever wake up."

"The cigars didn't hurl her around like a doll,"

"No," mumbled Euci. "But you do, like, every week."  While she didn't exactly spring up, the voice alone soothed every tense nerve in Val's body. Her daughter's eyes blinked open, and she moved her shoulders as if to push herself up, then stopped, and nodded up at Tiffany. "Cheers Tiff."

Spiderlegs stroked her cheek with her thumb. "No problem."

Val bent down and kissed her on the forehead, then rested her own against it. "One of these days you'll have to stop doing that to me."

"No deal. Did you cry?"

"Yes, my love."

"Was it ugly?"

"Yes."

"Great. Also, in other news, my right arm is...everywhere, right now? I feel like there are parts of me all over the place."

Muriel reappeared by Euci's side and fell to her knees. The brim of her hat hid most of the feelings shared, but her voice was mournful. "I'm so sorry, Euci. I should have just used one of my old spirits. I didn't even need Samedi. Now look at you, look what that thing's done-" she paused mid soliloquy. "Wait. Where...where is it?"

They all looked around. "I mean, don't ask me," said Euci. "I was taking a dirt nap."

Lee's shadow encompassed all four of them. "It escaped through that hole in the ceiling," he boomed. "as soon as the circle was broken."

"Did you see where it went?" asked Ba'al, suddenly alert.

Lee shook his head. "But I believe it's still here. Lyca's pack say they can hear its voice nearby, on the grounds. But they're struggling to pinpoint where, I'm afraid- excuse me," he parted from them as one of his posse drew him away by the arm, to where a flustered Lyca was still trying to figure out who was accounted for.

"I'll deal with it,"Val chucked Eucaria under the chin. "Are you alright darling?"

"As alright as you'd expect," reassured Euci. 

"Then, forgive me, but I must see someone about an unwelcome guest. Do me a favour, Tiffany, and give her a...assist her in getting everyone patched up, will you?" 

"Of course."

They all got to their feet. Needless to say, a small crowd had gathered. "Right!" yelled Euci at the top of her lungs. "I need all the injured over here, plus you, Ba'al. Everyone else, help clean up the glass. And you two!" she pointed at Lyca and Lee, who within moments had managed to distract one another with furious whispers. "Mother needs a word."

Val took a breath as they approached, already red faced and staring at their feet. She let it out in seeps at first, alleviating the pressure of her temper word by word. "I'll make this brief," she said, recalling Euci's plan of attack she'd outlined not ten minutes ago on their walk back from Oleg's. "You promised me an act. I expect you to deliver one."

"But ma'am, he-" began Lee. 

"I don't care," she said. The Lionheart blinked. "Pardon my curtness, but I refuse to entertain this in-fighting any longer. Boys," she softened her tone. Counted to ten. "Love has its ins and outs. Fall apart if you must, but do you really want to take us with you? Your friends? The whole circus?" she gestured around. Ba'al chose that moment to leap back in surprise as a small fire erupted from a pile of charred furniture, quickly doused with a slough of water from Jaya that flooded the ground under the bleachers. "We're already in disarray. Don't make it a disaster."

"But Val," implored Lyca. "I can't let them get away with hurting Tycho. I just can't. He's just a kid."

"My love," Val cupped her hand around his cheek, resting her other on Lee's forearm, "tomorrow morning I'll do everything I can to find out what happened. But if we don't salvage something," she cleared her throat. "he'll be homeless. And you," she wagged a finger in front of Lee, warranting a smile that was quickly suppressed. "your pride won't mean much out on the streets, will it? Please boys. For me. Just pretend to love each other for the night, and tomorrow you can hate each other to your heart's content." She pulled away before they could protest, heading to through the entrance into the courtyard.  

The evening was well upon them now. Night air breathed life into Val as she took in the carnage; the ticket stand sequestered by the entrance was demolished, flits of scarlet paper scattered all over the grass, with Boo trapped in the centre, plucking them up with her nails. Madame Zostra's weeping was providing a soft baseline to support the crickets singing in the nearby fields. The grass in the courtyard stank of smoke and incense, and the air above Val's head was positively swarming with fairies. Kook wasn't wrong. They loved a good disaster. Never spoke or helped or interacted with the world beneath them, but with every emotional crescendo or clash, they'd fill the air to feed on the tension, then disappear.

"Having fun, Val?" asked Boo, stepping out of the ticket ring to greet her. "don't suppose you've met the vengeful spirit with the funny name, have you?"

Val laughed, pressing her fingers against her forehead's crowing creases. "So, you've met our guest for the evening. Are you ok?" Within the context of the circus, Boo was quite unique. In that she had two arms, two legs, a head, and a torso with a bunch of wet things stuffed inside that were utterly and incurably human. She bruised easily, was the point. 

"No less than usual," she replied, tying her hair back. It was freshly dyed, dripping violet water onto her collar. Lesser vampires found the living's appropriation of gothic or dusky elements into human fashion offensive. Val just found it pleasantly strange, like seeing a child dressed up as your profession for halloween. "Muriel making new friends in the ethereal plane?" Boo pointed her thumb up at the hole in the Big Top. 

"More like the ninth circle of Dante," chimed in Madame Zostra. She gathered herself from the ground, heaving up her many layers of patchwork dress with great effort, and dried her eyes. Her tented booth, designed to draw in lookie-loos, was knocked onto its side, easily the least permanent issue of the night. "My setup is ruined, Val. My tarot was fully cleansed, ready for the night, now it's trampled into mud. Do you have any idea how much salt I'll need to re-purify..." the hinges on Zostra's jaw squeaked as she spoke, and one of her eyes was pointing in the wrong direction. She was quite literally falling apart and had been for some time. Val made a note to find a new vessel for the fortune teller's spirit- this mannequin was on its last legs. Really, it was; they only had so many spares. 

Val raised a palm, smiling as kindly as she could. "Zoe. Too much. Too much has happened in one day, my darling, for me to do anything about this. Oleg has eaten someone, the clowns are striking thanks to him, the shapeshifters are at war, Kook is back on his bigotry, Tiff's having her fourth confidence crisis this month, we have a spirit of discord on the loose, and my daughter's just been used to score a touchdown. Plus, this," she gestured about her. "So please understand. I wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't imperative. Use the ball."

If Zostra's nose could have wrinkled. "I told you not to open the show today. I told you it wasn't in the cards. Now look where it's landed us," she shook her head at the sky. "and that ball? It's defective. It predicts the future, but not the right one. Tell me," she turned to Boo. "Have you an aunt Phyllis?"

Boo shook her head. "Nope. My parents were only children."

"Well, if you'd had one, today she'd have fallen down some stairs and injured her hip. You'd have gone to care for her, and become close enough for her to show you her antique plate collection. She'd have become a great confidant for you."

"Uh, cool? Thanks?" Boo looked desperately at Val. "So it shows you stuff that isn't true?"

"Oh, it's true," said Zoe, "It's reality. Just not this one. So it's useless."

"Zoe," Val snapped. "We don't have time for this. We need to find that creature before it-"

"It's with Eris," said Zoe, turning on her heel in a huff. "Seeing as how you care so much about everything but me. Flitted off to her like a moth to one of those neon lights they have outside brothels. I'd think you'd be glad it didn't kill me, but there you go."

"Zoe-" began Boo.

"No! Off you go, go and find your precious monster. I'll just be here, wilting in the ruins of my livelihood, my spirit's sole purpose on this mortal plain. Go and plug the holes in the leaking bucket that, I, Zostra, told you long before was structurally unsound!" She was rather surprised when she turned around and found that they'd done exactly that. 

Jaya, Boo, Bhumika, and Val, observed the trailer from a distance. Well, it was really an abandoned camper van that'd been left in the field, unmentioned at the time it was rented. Ba'al had been the first to claim it, but the distance from the rest of the circus, while a small sigh of relief for everyone else, had weighed on the firedancer, so Eris had inherited it. 

A circus is just organised chaos. A dance of the unknown that pushes reality's boundaries with soft lighting and a warm smile to put you at ease while you marvel at the hidden peculiarities of the world. As such, the goddess of chaos had found a home with Val's troupe. She was less of an act than a resource. She choreographed the presentation itself; She timetabled the acts in such a way as to amaze but not unnerve. She fixed the lights to strike the right balance between a comfortable dim, and pressing darkness. She picked the songs, the colours, she designed the outfits, she laid out the beautiful chaos of her mind onto a board on a wall inside that caravan, and at the end of each show, she and Val would share a bottle of wine and tear it down in preparation for the next one. The circus spun like an ornate merry-go-round with her manning the controls. She breathed life into it. 

And she never left her trailer. 

"Must be pretty cramped in there with that thing," said Boo. "Think it's really in there? Looks pretty normal."

"You know Eris," said Bhumika. "doesn't like to make a fuss. For all we know she's sketching the damn thing." She furrowed her perfectly plucked brow. "Maybe we should leave her to it?"

Without answering, Val strode across the mud and rapped on the door. The trailer had been spruced up, draped with rainbow flags and fairy lights and painted a galactic purple, but they could never shift the smell of damp, or the rust that clustered around the door handle, that now dusted the marblesque skin of Val's fist. There was no answer. 

"Eris?" called Boo. "You ok?"

Still no answer. 

Val knocked again. "My love, it's nearly showtime. I hope you haven't forgotten our tradition?" She paused, chewing on the sickly sweetness of her words, then kissed her teeth and allowed herself to speak frankly. "Eris. Come out. Please. We know the things in there, and by God if I don't win against something today I might ship myself back to Paris while I still have what's left of my pride."

Still nothing. What little was left of Val's deceased heart stung a touch. 

Jaya pulled herself out of her perpetual daydream and frowned at the door. "How mean. How busy could she be not to answer that?" 

Bhumika cracked her knuckles and patted Val's shoulder, almost tilting her over. "No worries, ma'am. I can break it open."

Val focused her eyes on the door, took a break, and flicked her wrist. "Please," she said as it swung open. "We may be monsters, but we're not police."

It was always dusk inside that trailer, even in the middle of the night. Amber light glowed from sealed jars that sat growing dust on every surface. Val climbed the steps and ducked inside, Jaya, Boo, and Bhumika squeezing in behind her. 

"I'm handling it," said Eris hurriedly. She was reclining on her sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, tangled red hair unravelled all over the place, comfy. But tense enough that her glass was whining against the pressure of her grasp, threatening to shatter. She was sizing up an orb of furious red and black static that was suspended between herself and Val at head height, sweat beginning to drip from her forehead. Like she was undertaking some invisible but strenuous task. 

The interior of the trailer was full of throws and incense, with cluttered shelves and those innumerable jars, each one containing a fairy. And right now it felt like it was a reflection in a pond during a storm; it rippled furiously, each ray of light fractured and refracted and split into three after images, as if the real world was struggling to hold itself together. Val's ears, ever sensitive to these sounds no other person could hear, were full of the euphoric cries of each fairy, as they fed gratefully on the mania. 

"I always wondered," said Jaya, forever absent. "does she capture these things? Or control them?" the ball of static hissed, and one of the jars on the shelf beside Jaya's head winked out. "yikes. What the hell is that thing? Is that the spirit? Why does it look that way?"

Val nodded. "It's probably conserving energy until it gets its bearings. These things are weaker when they've just been summoned."

"It's an intruder, is what it is," said Eris. "little ball of hate that's screwed itself into an even littler ball of hate, thinking it can hide out here. The nerve," she sipped her wine. 

"Are you alright, darling?" asked Val, steeling herself against the ball's oppressive arua, which threatened to crush her into the ground and bury her among the other fossils. 

Eris nodded. Then said, "No. Actually, no. I was drinking to our success, when this unwelcome guest oozes through the window and throws a spanner in my chaos. Threatens to undermine my vision. Keeps demanding satisfaction," she gestured at the thing, a sour expression twisting her face. The ball hissed. "Yeah, yeah. Bite me."

"You can understand it?" asked Boo. 

"Chaos is its own language, dear," said Eris, standing up gingerly. The ball sputtered at her as she reached its height, and she grimaced. "Though this one only speaks in slurs."

"Muriel's summon went south," said Boo. "This is the result. it's already destroyed half the circus."

Eris shrugged. "Material things. They can be replaced. What about the children?"

"All intact," said Bhumika. "a bit singed." Eris said 'children' the way some old women referred to themselves as 'auntie.' Blood had nothing to do with it. They were her children because she'd decided so. 

"She must have come here for you," said Val, anxious of the time ticking down, and the rising sensation that she was standing on a sinking dinghy. "You're the most powerful chaotic force around here. If you can speak to it in this form, we might be able to coerce it back to where it came from,"

Eris shook her head. "It can't do much in this form other than float around and make garbled threats. It can barely even see, or hear. If we're going to try to talk to it we need to get it outside where it can unfold. And anyway, I'm curious as to what this rude thing really looks like."

"You ever see a pensioner who's been in the bath too long?" asked Boo. "Like, with a big-ass pinwheel behind it?"

"Focus," said Val. "Let me think. We can't keep it here, not for long anyway. It'll move on eventually and when it does it'll bring what's left of the circus down with it. I need it gone within the hour, or at least contained. That shouldn't be too difficult. But how to keep it in one place long enough without it..." She stamped a heel and kissed her teeth. "Well. Not an option I wanted to explore just yet, but we could-" the ball of static took this moment to slam against the ceiling. The sound alone made everyone's skin leap off, but the force of the collision pulled the trailer into the air a few inches, and everything else in the room flew into the air and smashed back down in a cacophony of fracturing glass and screaming fairies. The lights flickered on and off, Boo and Jaya fell on top of each other, and Eris' wine escaped over the couch. 

The ball whined. Like a squealing mosquito. 

"It's laughing at us,"

"I gathered," Val straightened her hat and pulled her cigarette holder out of thin air, lighting the end with a snap of her fingers. She took a long drag and exhaled over Vivāda's pissy spirit. "I have an idea."

"You don't sound terribly enthused," said Bhumika, lifting Jaya and Boo to their feet, one in each arm. 

"I'm not."

Outside the trailer was pitch black. Alone with Vivāda and Eris, Val felt the weight of the night beginning to flatten her. It'd been doing its best all evening, but it was finally securing its victory over her mood. She couldn't tell what time it was outside. Too late, probably. All she was doing now was damage control. 

"Ready?" asked Eris. She was towering at her full six feet beside Val, hair tied back loosely, her long dressing gown still spattered in wine. 

Val shrugged, then rested her head against Eris' shoulder for a moment. "No."

Eris patted her head. "All over soon. Then we can just go to bed and forget the whole evening."

"Forget. Chance would be a fine thing," she pulled away and stood up straight. "Let's get this done with."

Eris addressed Vivāda, who was hovering at the floor among the wreckage it'd caused earlier. "We wish to parlay with you. Would you like to step outside with us for a moment?" she opened the trailer door. "Come." When the ball didn't move, Eris beckoned Val. "Come on. It'll follow."

"Did it say that?"

"No," she said before leaving. Val let her take the lead and followed. The night outside was still and starless. The circus was dim, the road was empty. Like a school after hours, with all the lights shut off and the windows turned black, it felt antithetical to its purpose, inverted, perverse. Val felt her hat pulled from her head and turned on a dime to see Eris placing it gently over her own scarlet hair, patting it down with affectation. She tugged playfully at Val's black curls that now tumbled over her shoulders like the unmanageable ropes they were, all the way to her hips. "chin up young lady," Eris teased, adjusting the hat by its rim. "night's still young."

"Bite me," muttered Val. "how can you be laissez fai-" she broke off. Vivāda's ball had floated out of the trailer and was beginning to run laps around them, whining as it did so. It sped up, whirring closer to Eris then shooting back, then doing the same to Val, circling her head and hurling itself into the air as if to show off, before soaring into the air and slamming against the ground a little way in front of them, where it burst with a flash of light and there was Vivāda, floating before them with its fan in full bloom. 

"Dossssst thou wissssh to parlay?"

"That's what I said," Eris folded her arms and jutted out her chin. "though you hardly deserve such a courtesy after your display earlier. You were not wanted here. We only offer you parlay instead of demise out of respect. Do you understand?"

Vivāda ground the needles of its mouth together. They overlapped and crossed each other, but its voice remained a steady stage whisper. "Feh...you dare ssssspeak sssso freely, demon..." it spat at the ground, where a white glob of viscous began to smoke and bubble. "I do not take dissssresssspect lightly...." the smoke began to grow taller, thinner, harden into a long handle. The bubbles congregated at its head, burst and their residue solidified into a clear blade, a scythe of glass that glowed with inner light. 

Val frowned. "Excuse me!" Vivāda turned with her hand inches away from her weapon. It looked at Val like it hadn't even noticed she was there. Eris had already dug her heels in. Always ready for a fight. She seemed to have forgotten what they were doing this for. "Forgive me, Vivāda. We meant to parlay, not fight. Please, let us talk civilly."

Vivāda didn't answer, but didn't move any closer to her scythe. 

"We have inconvenienced you, have we not? Our witch intended to summon another, but in summoning you, one so powerful, such an asset, she didn't show much gratitude, did she? And," she bit the inside of her cheek. "my daughter's offer was perhaps too improper, yes?"

"Hm," Vivāda hummed throatily for a moment. "yesssss, the dead one, the decaying other...their insssolence could not be tolerateed...sssssuch talk frooom such lowly life..."

Val nodded, grinding her teeth down on her tongue. Swallowing, she said, "I can understand the frustration you must have felt, o great mother of discord," Eris shot her a look. "at being so crudely summoned, and so unfairly treated. Tell me, what service might we provide to our esteemed guests, so that we might part on amicable terms?"

"Kiss ass," uttered Eris. 

"Hothead," Val sniped back. 

Vivāda didn't respond for a moment. It listed in the air, hissing and humming like an engine with asthma as it drifted around. Eris cleared her throat, and Val delivered a quick slap to her arm, her fingers parting the chiffon to chastise the bare skin underneath. "No. We will wait to hear its response. It's just thinking, is all."

Eris was stunned. She rubbed the spot where her robe had torn, then stared at it. "Jesus Val."

Val turned back to Vivāda and nearly dropped to the floor. The spirit was right in front of her, just inches from her face, mouth agape and heaving damp breaths into it. "A decisssion hassss been made...." it drifted back and pointed a spidery finger at Val. "I want you."

"Excuse me?" 

"I will feed on thissss lowly life form, sssso married to order....her ancient life will rejuvenate Vivāda, and leave a  reminder off my power."

Val frowned. "You intend to...devour me?"

"In exchange for peace, and the sssafety of your kindred, yesss,"

"No," said Eris. "you're not eating Val. See what I mean? Why do you think someone like you deserves to take these kinds of-"

Vivāda fan turned black, its  teeth bared, and it grabbed its scythe. "I WILL TEAR THISSSS WORLD TO SSSSSSHREDSSSSS IF I AM NOT SSSSATISSSFIED!"

Val clicked her fingers. Blue smoke broke out from the tips, and  in a moment it solidified into a silver serpent, coiled in her hand with a black grip in the other, attached at the end. She dropped the coil. Like a chain it clanked to the ground, the snake hissing and seething at Vivāda. "When all is said and done, remember that we offered you the chance to leave peacefully."

Vivāda screeched and flew at her, scythe glowing blue as some power built up inside it. Val whipped her snake at the oncoming face, but missed, taking a chunk out of Vivāda's ethereal fan instead. The scythe tore down and missed her throat by a hair, instead cutting her shoulder and leaving a smoking gash in its wake, the lips of the wound already curling up as if with sepsis. Val rolled back, whipping again, this time finding purchase on Vivāda 's calve muscle, where the snake sank its teeth into the pallid skin and undulated. The spirit's leg began to blacken from the wound outwards, and Vivāda roared as it swung the scythe down at Val, this time a fierce yellow flame streaking off of it. She dodged left, but it turned at the last minute and slashed her cheek. 

"OOOOAAAGGH!" Val clutched her face with her free hand, trying not to lose focus. It burned. It bubbled, it stang, it bled down Val's neck and into her collarbone with something sticky. She released Vivāda, leaping back to gather herself while her adversary did the same, holding its leg and howling in pain. They must have looked ridiculous, two old creatures banging their heads together in the middle of nowhere. 

The dirt around Val's feet felt warm, and the stinging on her cheek subsided. Eris crouched beside her, pulling her face close to her own and scanning it like a book. "that's a sunlight burn," she placed two glowing fingertips against Val's forehead, sending her whole face into tingles. "I can't do much but stop it spreading."

"Thank you," said Val, standing up and bringing Eris with her. Vivāda was already recovering, growling as the scythe turned red. "I fear I'm out of practice these days."

"I noticed," said Eris not unkindly. "Either way, you know there's no chance of us killing this thing, right?"

"Naturally."

Aragoth flew in for a second assault. This time, it floated above them and aimed at Eris, scythe flashing through the air and sending down bolts of crimson lightning that cracked the ground where they landed, that being right where Eris had just been standing. She leapt left, once, twice, thrice, four times, and once more as the last bolt landed, then clapped her hands together. The ground around her bare feet rumbled, and from the fresh-made cracks leapt roots that changed midair into clasping hands, grasping for Vivāda's spindly limbs as the spirit flew this way and that, trying to dodge. Val whipped again, this time catching it on the wrist and grounding it. A root got it around the  other, then another on the throat, another on the leg, but it wasn't down just yet. With the groan of a wounded bear Vivāda heaved, pulling the roots out of the ground and sending Eris back a leap, then flinging Val towards her where they landed in a heap. 

Vivāda seethed, its scythe turning black. "THISSSSSS WORLD PERISH, IT WILL FESSSTER AND ROT UNDER THE UNFORGIVING SSSUN, AND ASSS IT DEVOURSSS ITSSEELF, I SHALL WATCH AND SSSUSSSTAIN MYSSSELF ON ITSSS DECAY!" It shot towards the circus, wielding its scythe above its  head as if about to land the killing blow-

As Vivāda was about to pass over Val and Eris, it rebounded, tumbling back and coming to a halt above the caravan, bewildered and scrabbling desperately at its own face. Assured that it wasn't burning, it screeched and went left, then right, then backwards, each time refused exit and flailing back to where it'd been. It fixed her sights on Val, and roared, "YOU DARE TO DECEIVE ME? TO IMPRISSSON ME WITH YOUR FEEBLE MAGICSSSS?"

Val nodded. "Yup."

Vivāda flew at her. Val and Eris leapt apart. Val's whip flew, the snake baring its fangs and driving them full-force into Vivāda throat. Even this didn't stop it; tethered to Val, Vivāda's scythe slashed again and again into her stomach, chest, face, arms, legs. Each wound felt like a nail being driven into the bone, and the sensations seemed to grow, eating up more skin with each second they lived. The snake held fast. Val held onto it with both hands, her heels cutting grooves into the mud as the spirit pulled back, left, right tried to unroot her. 

A flurry of lights spilled into the space between them, where the snake was taught and the two ancient women stared one another down, and suddenly there was no sight between them. Each one was trapped in a stormcloud of winking light, a pink-blue-yellow-white haze, and nothing else. No night, no Eris, no enemy. Val released the snake's grip and rolled backwards to where the air was clear. The fairies were swarming Vivāda's face, hundreds upon hundreds of them, and they were...Val couldn't quite describe the sound, but it was similar to when you cut through a thick piece of beef with a serrated knife. Tearing, she supposed. Lots of tiny tears. 

Eris was incandescent. From the other side of the ring of salt, Val could see her; hair floating upwards, loose clothes billowing with some invisible breeze, eyes too wide to blink. She waved an arm and a torrent of white drops fell from the swarm, smouldering on the grass. She jerked her chin and it moved with her, sending another sheet of white in that direction. Then she snapped her fingers, and just as quickly as they'd appeared, the fairies flew back into the trailer like a swarm of bees returning to their hive. Vivāda was suspended above them, looking like a glowstick someone had pierced; fluorescent white trickled from bitemarks and drizzled onto the grass, and soon the ground was dense with fog. It clutched at itself and drifted away, towards the trailer, backing up with its eyes fixed on Eris, who cracked her knuckles. "Let me remind you. You aren't welcome here."

"I suppose that answers one question," said Val. "they do work for you."

"Chaos isn't an easy resource to come by. They help me do so. Hell, why do you think I work for you?"

Vivāda said nothing. It was backing steadily towards the caravan, panting like its lungs were filled with water, eyes darting between the two of them. Then, about halfway there, it made a break for it, whipping like a flicked handkerchief across the sky, hands scrabbling for the door. 

It rebounded. I tried again. Again. It rebounded. The caravan rose in the air, and took two giant steps back. Then turned around. Bhumika, with her gargantuan arms beneath the thing, set it down and walked around the fray, eyeing up the spirit. "Is that far enough, Boss?" As if to answer her the moon broke from behind the clouds and touched the ring of salt, lighting it up like a ghostly bullseye with the caravan far outside its border. Again, only about forty percent of the circus could be considered "unholy." The rest could come in, out, even create one. Though in the middle of the night Val was sure it'd been no easy task. 

Vivāda roared in anguish and raised its scythe, the blade flashing violet. It pointed it at Eris, and screamed with a voice like a throat full of those needles of hers. "IF I'M TO PERISH HERE THEN YOU SHALL PERISH WITH ME!" 

"Lord, you were right," said Val. "No chance in hell are we killing her,"

Eris nodded, gripping Val's hand and staring down the flash of purple as it broke free from Vivāda scythe and flew at them. "Perhaps we should, as Eucaria says, bounce?"

"Certainly. Jaya!" the pair split and leapt back, the spell hitting the ground between them and erupting into violet gas that smelled like smoking tires, and on the other side of the ring of salt Jaya crossed the threshold, mouth agape. It was a desperate sprint, Val and Eris streaking down opposite sides of the ring to meet at the other end, and before they could reach her a streak of orange flew past and erupted into flames in the grass before Jaya, but she didn't move. Jacques stepped into the ring. At his full height he was only five ten, a bespectacled man with a five- o'clock shadow most times of the day. But when he spoke, with backwards words in a language nobody else understood, and the ground became slick with ankle-deep water, the earth seemed to shake with the weight of his speech. A second orange bolt came, and bounced off Jaya in a cloud of steam, leaving a rainbow in the air in front of her. She noticed it, and smiled-

Right as Eris was making the leap into her mouth. She got in-just, bringing a couple of incisors with her. Followed by Val, who tried her best to be gentle. The fall through the esophagus wasn't as damp as you'd expect, but it was certainly...ribbed. Unpleasantly so. Eris and Val were crushed against each other like they were going down a slide at the same time, and reached the pit of the stomach (overall spacious, with a small writing desk and a pile of books in the corner) almost as soon as they were hurled violently out again, and tumbled, as Boo sometimes said, "arse over tit" onto the grass. 

They were on the other side of the ring of salt. Inside, Vivāda was staying quite still. It hovered a metre above the ground, the grass still smoking white at its ankles. It dropped the scythe and before it hit the dirt it'd dispersed into bubbles. Everyone was so quiet you could hear them popping. 

Val was the first to say something. "You'll go back where you came from. You'll go quietly, and without resisting. You will stay where you came from and you won't think of us again until you're less than memory. Until the last remnant of your history has been crushed into the earth with the fossils and bones of people yet to come. Do you understand?"

Vivāda floated close to the ring's boundary and placed the two white spiders of its hands near the invisible wall with the tips just barely grazing it. They burst like matchsticks into smoke and sparks, but didn't move. "AND IF I REFUSSSE?" it tilted its head. 

"You'll spend the rest of time right there," said Eris. "Under every charm, every hex, every spell there is and will be invented from now until the end of time, that can be used to keep you here, and hidden."

Vivāda laughed. "YOUR FAITH IN HUMAN RESSSTRAINT IS ALMOSSST ADMIRABLE...HUMANS WILL FREE ME...THEY ALWAYSSS DO...THEY ARE THE BREATH THAT FILLSSS THE LUNGSSS OF DISCORD..."

"Come off it," said a small but certain voice. The congregation turned, and there was Muriel, glowing in the light of the trapped spirit, wand in hand. Euci was beside her with her arm in a sling, looking peaky but intact.  "I watched that clown of ours eat seventeen people in as many months in Paris and nobody as much as batted an eyelid. Euci's still got bits of her left on the Eiffel tower, but she made it through airport security all the same. People can ignore anything unless they benefit from not doing so," she approached the ring and pointed her want up at Vivāda. "tell me. Do you benefit anyone?"

"I AM THE GOD OF CHA-" 

"Chaos is over there," Muriel jerked her finger at Eris. "you're discord. You're Chaos' less talented younger brother who thinks being shitty to his friends is a personality trait. They won't find you," she brought her face right up close to the boundary, so close that her nose began to smoke. "they don't want to find you."

She stepped back. Vivāda said nothing. Muriel waved her wand, hummed something backwards, chattered her teeth and threw a handful of sage into the air, before rearing back and stabbing the tip of her wand into the salt boundary's wall. It erupted with light, the ground vibrated enough to drive worms to the surface in an instant, the shriek of a boiling kettle filled everyone's ears, and a thin fog flooded the air. It took a minute to clear, in which there was some very desperate hand grabbing, some improper and accidental fondling, and more than a reasonable amount of shouting. Val barely had time to reach out before the familiar weight of Euci was clamped over her leg, and hardly a second to react before she felt Eris' lips on hers. The fog cleared and the ring was empty. Vivāda was gone. But Val didn't need to see that to know it was all, for now, ok.  

Val patted her evening hat over her hair. It was an ornate affair; lush purple velvet with a wide brim, absolutely covered in presently unlit candles, the dried wax from which kept them all firmly in place. She snapped her fingers and they all burst into life, and she angled her cigarette up among them. Bringing it back down she took a drag, and slotted her feet into her boots, the last piece of her performance outfit, that being a pair of black leather trousers and your textbook red jacket with pointed coat-tails. Then she sat for a while at her desk, watching the mirror and her absent reflection, thinking about nothing at all. 

It was ten at night. Two hours after the show was meant to open. At first she'd been filled with dread as she made her way  back to the circus, and then with inescapable disappointment; nobody had even arrived. Though Euci had, typical to her impossible fortitude, pulled everyone together. Lyca and Lee were back in dress-rehearsals, the clowns were holding off their withdrawal for another day, Tiffany had received enough praise from her nursing to persuade her that she was, in fact, radiant. They were primed and ready, bloodied but unbound. But without an audience. Unsure of what to do with themselves, they'd spent the next hour or so patching up the Big Top, battening down the hatches, cleaning up the Mess Hall, and even cleared out the dressing room that Tiffany had made such a mess of. Nobody said much during this time, but they were all thinking the same thing; we've let ourselves down. It was all for nothing. We aren't fit to call ourselves performers. All they could do now was spend their energy on cleaning up their mess and trying again tomorrow. And what if tomorrow was just as bad? Or worse? The concept of waking up and doing this whole shtick again felt like an impossible obstacle. 

Until half nine. They were congregating in the Big Top, and Val was trying her best to manage a pep-talk that was as un-convincing as her forged smile. Then Boo, who'd been outside having a cigarette, poked her head around the curtain and bellowed, "VISITOOOORS!"

"How many?" Val stage-whispered, jumping to her feet. Boo held up ten fingers then disappeared behind the curtain. You could have set it to music; the lights went on, everyone scattered, the furniture was lifted and thrown and settled into place, and every dressing room was in pandemonium. The Big Top was emptied, primed, prepared, and not five minutes later the guests trailed in. Val watched from a corner, eyeing them as they looked uncertainly around the empty room, and felt queasy. Guests were guests, but this was embarrassing. She clapped herself on the cheek, focused, and retreated to her dressing room to prepare. Ten people can become hundreds if you play your cards right. 

Now she stood up, and listened to the drumroll from the Big Top as she snapped her fingers and broke into a fine mist. She flitted down the hallway, escaped through a partition in the curtain, and infiltrated the pitch-black Big Top, reforming in the middle of the ring. 

The lights came on, the guests clapped politely, and the music (operated by one of Muriel's less troublesome spirits,) celebrated as she bowed. She gave a winning smile and welcomed them all, gesturing with grandeur at the barren circle around her. Another five had trailed in now. Even better. "Good evening, my esteemed guests, to a performance unlike any other. Tonight you will be privy to secrets known only to us, secrets that push the boundaries of your very cognition, and which beg you to question the reality you've come to understand," after a little more teasing, she snapped her fingers. The lights flashed, and she was gone, replaced by an assault course of rings and hoops and trapeze and seesaws. There were some gasps. Good. People never believed her shpiel at the beginning, some even laughed. But that little trick was usually enough to get them wondering. She wafted into the shadows at the perimeter of the ring, and watched.

The drums began. A pack of mountain lions appeared from under the bleachers, snarling and roaring and growling at the guests, each one adorned with a glit collar that twinkled in the spotlights that followed them around the ring as they leapt through the assault course in single file and in perfect synchronicity, till they blurred into a shining gold lemniscate. The string instruments broke in, rising over the drums then falling in time with them as a mob of shadows flooded in from the empty darkness around the ring, forming ranks and running in the opposite direction on the lions' course, leaping over and under them, and suddenly each wolf was illuminated as the luminescent bandana around its neck caught the light. They twisted around each other, lights melding together in the darkness to form shapes, patterns, even words and phrases like 'resist,' and 'ACAB.' Their personal flair. 

The act went on for a while, complimented by the guests' hushed gasps and the palpable tension in the air, each spectator humbled and terrified by the collection of vicious beasts in front of them, close enough to hear their ragged breath beating out of their chests in growls and pants, yes mesmerised by the sheer style and synchronicity of their act. They climaxed with a handful of isolated spotlights on some smaller groups that did some artful flips and jumps with each other, and one particularly risky trapeze act that sent one of the larger cats hurtling towards the bleachers, only to be snatched out of the line of fire at the last minute by one of the narrower wolves, the two landing opposite ends of the seesaw and acting like it was all intended. Nobody dared clap when the lights dimmed. When they went back up, the clowns had materialised in their place with no sign of the assault course. Only then did they feel safe enough to applaud. 

Clowns were a hard act to get right these days. Too many had turned out to be murderers, and the overall look was rather intimidating. And while none of them, not even Oleg, consented to having their perpetual makeup removed, they did allow for it to be painted over in more subdued, human tones, with just a handful of glitter in there for flair. They appeared in rows wearing tight blue tuxedos with hair swept sideways, each one clutching a briefcase in his pudgy little hand and chattering angrily to his neighbour. Oleg was behind them with his enormous feet resting on an oversized desk as he read a newspaper. Then, as the music hit his que, he whipped it down with great force and the smaller clowns leapt in surprise, all screaming at once. The audience laughed, and Oleg leapt over the desk to start his 'Angry Businessman, Featuring Idiots' routine. For a good twenty minutes he had the other clowns running all over the place; he stuffed them into their own briefcases, chucked them across the ring into hastily erected basketball nets, he picked up their proferred drinks and cakes and spilled each and every one across him, as precisely clumsy as a real accident yet primed for maximum spillage. All the while the audience's laughter was constant, a rumbling engine of people's voices falling over each other, a waterfall of joy. 

They crescendoed in the classic, in which the smaller clowns squeezed themselves into an RC car, and with two outside manning (and fighting over) the controller. They drove it into Oleg's ankles, knocking him onto his own desk that collapsed under him. They flooded out of the car, the audience aghast at the feat of contortionism, and bound Oleg down Gulliver's Travels style, before the lights faded to black and the Big Top exploded in applause. The binding was more of a necessity for getting Oleg back to his abode, than anything else. But they always found a way to work it in. 

Tiff was next. The trapeze, lined with fairy lights and bejewelled to the point where anyone else's hands would be scraped to shreds after one swing, descended from the ceiling. She wasted no time, swooping across the audience's eyeline and turning a full three-sixty in the sky before grabbing the falling handle with her extra legs, the momentum as the rest of her body pulling her by faster and faster, each time sending her higher, her turns more complicated, leaving it later and later before she saved herself from the unforgiving ground below. The audience was on tenderhooks, each drop yielding louder gasps, each turn sending them closer to the edge of their seats. A third trapeze fell from the ceiling, then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and suddenly Tiff was flinging between each one, changing direction midair with a careful turn, a skillful nudge from an unseen leg, and the tension was almost too much to bear; Val could feel it in her lungs each time she inhaled, the oxygen felt thick as though no-one else were breathing. 

Then, Tiffany missed. The audience's gasps warped into screams, people stood up from their seats as she dropped dead through the air, a full foot away from the nearest trapeze that was falling further away by the second. Far below, the ground was illuminated with cat's eyes that rebounded the spotlight as it followed Tiff, showing just how far away from it she was, how treacherous the drop. What the audience then saw was the trapeze swinging quickly back towards her before she flipped and hooked her legs around it and flew across the air to do one last flip before landing, and the lights going out all at once. In reality, Tiff had just flung a bit of web out to nab it. Nevertheless, the darkness exploded with cheers. 

Next was Ba'al. The perimeter of the ring burst into flames. People screamed, but quickly quieted as two balls of fire swung in a mesmerizing pattern in front of them, moving so fast they could draw lines in the afterglow- and they did. Ba'al wrote a story in the light, bounding around the ring to keep up with each action, each subtle movement of the heroine's hand, every twitch of the antagonist's eye, so fast you'd expect him to have more hands than just the two. The audience was entrenched. Val had a simple way of testing whether they were interested or just bored, and it was this; she scattered a handful of loose change at the foot of the bleachers where they rang and tinged against the metal. Nobody looked, or moved an inch. They were too focused on the crimson painting Ba'al was bringing to life, with the wordless story he was writing with the aid of Muriel's drums, (musicians weren't nearly so cheap as magic.) The story reached its peak, Ba'al's movements became more subtle, and the music rose. He let them put the story together using the pieces he'd already given them. Then, suddenly, darkness. One, two, three, four, five seconds, long enough for people in the audience to start panicking that they'd never see the end. Then, with the roaring of a waking volcano, he exhaled a massive ball of fire into the air. It splayed out in front of the audience like a scroll unfurling, a landscape painting for them all to see, that moved and danced and closed the story for a few minutes more, until the cinders slowly faded and died. Never had you heard such applause, such happy tears. Ba'al had always wanted to write. 

The penultimate act was Jaya and Jacques. The former stood alone in the middle of the ring, in her evening down and little adornment. For a moment, the audience was confused. Then she opened her mouth. And they were in ecstasy. 

Jaya's voice, like the siren's of legend, drove people into a frenzy. If you wanted to hear sorrow she'd sing you the nursery rhyme your dead grandmother used to hush you to sleep with. If you needed to feel empowered, she'd sing the soundtrack of the movie that changed your life. If you needed courage, she'd sound just like you. But better, happier. And it wasn't that her song changed between people, no. With her abstracted ears, Val could hear each one, each contrary note falling out of her mouth at once. She was like a jukebox to the soul. She rose, her notes grew higher, climbing the spectrum and pulling the audience to their feet, moving left and right and bringing them with her, mouth opening wider and wider. The audience was positively screaming. 

She clung to a high note, and suddenly another spotlight appeared, way up in the air on a platform at the top of a twisting iron staircase. Jacques was standing there in a blue suit, dapper and tidy. Almost debonair. His head was practically grazing the tented ceiling as he nodded to the audience, who were agape, caught between his sudden appearance and Jaya's voice. A drumroll appeared out of nowhere, and they waited. One, two, three, four- there it was. One of the men in the audience fainted. As he slumped to his knees, the drums stopped, and Jacques dove over the platform into empty space, plummeting towards Jaya. Two more people fainted before they made contact. Jacques fell into Jaya's open mouth and disappeared inside her, bringing the note to its end and releasing the audience from its spell as the lights shut off. And they were silent. They looked at each other in the dim light as if waking up from a dream, and smiled. Silent smiled of indescribable joy, at a shared experience so intimate they may never feel it again. 

Finally. Val snapped her fingers and wafted back into one of the shadows in the ring, her hat reigniting as she stepped into the light. The audience barely reacted to her appearance now, as to be expected. After all that, a woman who could disappear into the shadows was hardly a miracle. She pulled her cigarette holder out of the air and brought it up to her hat, then pulled it back down and took a drag. "My esteemed guests. It is time for us to say goodbye. But please remember the secrets you saw here tonight," on what appeared to be its own volition, a pudgy little cannon wheeled across the ring to sit beside Val. It was purple and red pin-striped, with 'Kannonball Kid' printed on the side. She flicked her wrist and a hatch in its rear opened up. "you must keep them to yourselves and between each other. These experiences, these marvels that the earth had given life to, are for your eyes only," Nothing screamed 'free publicity' like implied secrecy. 

Eucaria appeared from behind the cannon, puffing on her cigar. She pointed her finger at the audience and made a clicking noise with her throat. Strange child. She pulled the cannon into position, and from the shadow that Val had used to reappear she produced a wheelbarrow absolutely loaded with bright-red sticks of dynamite, black orbs with long fuses sticking out, and crates labelled 'EXPLOSIVE.' It was hard to get people to recognise what they were otherwise. She loaded them into the back of the cannon as Val continued. 'We welcome you all to remember your night with us, and to keep the wonders of reality and nature in the forefront of your minds," Euci finished loading and closed the hatch. She swaggered to the front of the cannon and waved. Val clicked her fingers again, and grey smoke clouded Euci's head, forming an aviator's helmet and goggles, firmly fastened. "But for now, my friends," Val concluded as her daughter climbed in. "We bid you adieu, and say, 'until next time, stay strange.'" she bent down beside the cannon, touching the end of her cigarette to the fuse before stepping back. She waved, and the lights went up to reveal the rest of the acts behind her, taking their bow to the cacophony of cheers and claps and hoots. A drumroll began, and all eyes were on the cannon. 

The fuse hit its limit, and in a blast that threatened to bowl the bleachers over Euci was launched through the air, through the hole in the ceiling into the night sky where she disappeared like a star winking out of existence. The audience watched her go, her wake snowing with glitter and streamers from the cannon, and were speechless. They looked back down to where Val and the other acts had been, and saw it empty. As was the whole ring. And the ground, no leftover glitter or paper, not even a scrape in the dirt. Gingerly they escaped the bleachers, looking quizzically at the Big Top, devoid of all the glitz, just a circle of dirt in the dusky light of a few humming light bulbs. As if all the acts had been just shadow puppets that were now extinguished in the glaring light.

Boo tucked her head around the curtain, smiling. "Finished up already, ay? Ya'll have a good night?"

#tw:violence #fantasy #horror #comedy #lgbt+ writing #LGBT+ characters #werewolves #werewolf #cat creature #shapeshifter #magic #vampire #tw:gore #performance #writeblr #writing #writer #creative writing

[fanarchoslashivist]

RotG, Jackrabbit, spies/espionage

“Oh, this must be so embarrassing.”

“Bloody oath.” Aster screwed his eyes shut and concentrated,very very hard, on regaining control of himself. He couldn’t afford to lose his shift, not here, not in front of HIM.

A cold hand against his hip and he was being turned, lookingup, and how he hated looking up at anyone, at Jack Frost.

His ears pinned themselves to his head against his will, therunes carved into the maintenance shaft he dangled in doing their work to forcehim back to his true form. He clung to it, dug his claws into his palms likethey were all that kept him from plummeting, and met Jack eyeball to eyeball.

Jack just grinned at him. “This is the third time this yearcottontail. How many traps you gonna fall in?”

Aster felt his torso clench around the insult, felt itvibrate through his gut and into his chest like a muscle cramp. “I’m sorry,” hetried for banter, “are we supposed to know each other?”

Jack huffed out his stupid breathy giggle and gave himanother good nudge to the thigh, sending him slowly twirling on the line thathe hung from. “Aw, am I so forgettable? I know its been a few months but thatstill hurts.”

Aster tried to rotate the ankle caught in the trapline, ifhe could wiggle it down to catch on his heel he could slip in when he shifted,then he could kick Jack in the fucking face. “I don’t know what yer talkinabout.” He lied.

“Come ON Bunny,” Jack crouched so they really were eye tooeye cupping the sides of his face to keep him from spinning round again, “doyou really think I wouldn’t recognize you the MOMMENT I saw you?” He tapped hisice cold fingertip to Aster’s pointed human nose and grinned. “You can changethe shape and color of those pretty green eyes of yours, but you can’t changethe look in them,” Jack’s own eyes went dark, like a storm shadowing blueskies, Aster felt his pulse kick against his throat, “no one looks at me likeyou do.”

“Fine.” He croaked out, and let his shift go, felt bones andmuscle and organs move back to their proper place under the powerful guidanceof the complicated spellwork around him and the careful support of Jack’s handsunder his head. It was a good trap, he admitted, using the protective runesshapeshifters had perfected to assist their young in training, Bunny knew morethan a few of those carvings were Pookan in origin, and could only guess howtheir security had figured them out. “Happy now?” he demanded as he dangled,still by his ankle though considerably closer to the ground, he could feel theline biting harder into his skin.

“To look at you? Always.” Jack had knelt with his shifting, adjusting to the lengthening of his body so that Aster’s head and shoulders rested in his lap while the rest of him was still strung up like a hunter’s catch.

“Then hows`about untying my foot?” He snapped, “Kinda loosing feeling here mate.”

“Aww, but I thought you liked that kind of thing?” Jack smirked down at him, sliding his thumb over the markings on his forehead. “Or did you just like it when it was me?” He curled over Aster, sinking teeth sharply into his lower lip and making the Pooka jolt, sending his body swaying.“You were real interested when you had my hands pinned.”

“Yer mad,” Aster snarled, twisting and wriggling to try to get some inches between their mouths so he could speak, so he could breath without the taste of him.

“I’m not the one that keeps showing up here.” Jack leaned back, licking his lip in a dramatic fashion and Aster knew he was doing it to unnerve him, knew by that predatory grin.

“It’s me job ye fuck stick,” he snarled, “I’m not dangling from yer bogan trapline for fun.”

“Hmmm, but you could be.” Jack hummed sweetly, continuing to stroke Aster’s face from nose to just between the ears. “If you just stopped trying to sneak around, you and your other little shapeshifters, and knocked like a normal, non-crazy-paranoid person, you could get a nice little tour.”

“Did that the first time, remember?” Aster snapped, then shut his mouth with a clack because he knew that Jack remembered, they both very much remembered, and that sly dangerous smile only grew.

“How could I forget?” Jack flicked his nose, hard, and Aster knew there was as much threat as promise in his voice. “It was certainly a memorable way to lose my virginity.”

Which had not at all been in Aster’s plans, he admitted tothat readily enough, seducing his tour guide had been a quick, hurried last minute plan when he and the other Guardians had realized they would never be allowed close to their actual objective, but Jack being a virgin had not occurred to him in the least, not until an embarrassing amount of time later when his fertility magic had spiked and sent his herb garden to seed. He…hadn’t handled the discovery well. About as well as Jack had when North had tripped an alarm and Jack had woken to an empty bed and a full dungeon.

“But if you’re having memory troubles…” Jack’s long fingers carded through the thick fur across Aster’s chest.

“Don’t even think about it mate.” He growled, not liking how creaky his voice sounded at the offer. He snagged Jack’s hand and held it pointedly out to the side.

“Hmm, you know I actually don’t think I can STOP thinking about it.” Jack laughed, and oh his laugh did things to Aster’s guts he’d rather not investigate too closely. “Considering I never gave it much thought beforeyou…”

“Only so many times ye can use that guilt trip on me,” Aster warned, “cop a root one time and ye think ye own a fella.”

“You should come with a dictionary,” Jack laughed again and left off the distracting strokes of his fingers across Aster’s forehead, which he absolutely would not admit to enjoying, and picked his staff up beside them, arching it up and giving it a good swing at the trapline, nocking smartly against Aster’sankle in the process.

He hissed, then cursed as his lower body dropped down to join the rest of him against the floor but without the cushion of Jack’s thighs.

He probably should have been prepared for the drop, but the line of Jack’s throat when he reached up with the staff had been a bit of adistraction. Just a little. The cunt.

“You okay?” Jack asked, with real concern this time after Bunny laid there sprawled and aching for an swear filled half minute.

“No, ye sadistic bastard, I’m not. Ye couldn’t have warned a bloke? My whole body went numb and ye just smacked it against the bleeding ice.”

“Sorry,” Jack carefully shifted off his knees to stretch his legs out along Aster’s sides, bringing his neck into a more comfortable angle with the rest of his spine. “I didn’t think your body would have fallen asleep.”

“Was hanging upside down in a the bleeding arctic an ye didn’t think..” he hissed as he rotated his ankle and felt the needle sharp flare of nerves remembering how to function. “Next time just cut me loose instead of taking the opportunity to grope me.

“Hey! You could have been hanging a lot longer if I hadn’t been watching for you, you know.” Jack tugged on one of his ears and Bunny glared up at him. “And I was not groping.”

“Yer groping right now ye little -ow!” Jack gave his ear another sharp pull.

“You’re being awfully nasty to your rescuer.”

“Yer only helping me cuz ye want me to dick ya.”

“So?” Bunny blinked at that flat admission, giving Jack a slack-faced stare. “What’s wrong with that? You’re obviously not very good at sneaking around.” Jack’s voice sounded a bit sulky, and his eyes slid to the side, not meeting Bunny’s gaze for the fist time since he’s seduced the sprite into taking him beyond the guest areas, into the vulnerable interior of the winter palace, and his equally vulnerable body. It was such a soft, fragile look, this shy uncertainty, not something Aster had ever seen in a Winter Spirit before.

Not something he expected from Jack again.

“What are ye getting at Frost?” He took a breath and lifted his head out of Jack’s lap and turned so that they were both sitting face to face.

Jack tucked his legs closer, but didn’t look back at him. “Just…wouldn’t it be easier? If you had... you know, an inside man?” He shrugged his thin shoulders. “You guys keep trying to sneak in, and I don’t know why but I’m not so stupid I don’t know the Guardian’s wouldn’t be looking around if there wasn’t serious shit going on. I…”

“And… ye want to help?” Bunny prompted when Jack fell silent.

“I’m scared.” Jack admitted, quiet as a whisper. “Sometimes, when I’m out during winter, doing my job, or when I’m sent somewhere, I start thinking about you, and I start worrying that you’re… that you’ve come sneaking in again and gotten trapped and I’m not here to get you out of it.”  

That… what?

“Is that why ye keep pelting we with snowballs?” Hedemanded.

“Well yeah! That’s what you get, making me worry!” Jack looked back at him now and his blue eyes were blazing. “Do you even know how hard it is to find you to make sure you’re safe? And you’re just… just out picking flowers!”

“That’s-” Bunny felt his air back up in his throat, the way it did when he was forced to ride in North’s sleigh. “I’m… sorry.” He said slowly, and careful as if he was reaching out to a touch shy animal, curled his fingers around Jack’s hand. “I always thought it was just payback, for... ye’know, acting like a wombat.”

“A what?”

“Ah.. ye’know… a wombat.” Jack’s face scrunched up and Aster grinned a bit self-deprecating. “Ye’know… they… a wombat eats, roots, shoots, and leaves.”

“I know what a wombat is, but I don’t see.. you’re a bunny though aren’t you?”

“Pooka.” Aster corrected, and Jack only looked more confused. “Forget it, it’s a.. means I was acting like an ass, having a lend of ye to get past the guards, and giving ya the flick like that after we.. it wasn’t right, and then dismissing ye as just trying to get some of yer own back.” Aster stroked his thumb across the back of Jack’s knuckles. “Ye showing up when I’m in a bind, grinning like a shot fox, guess I preferred to think ye were just like the rest of ‘em.”

“We’re not bad people Bunny,” Jack looked so very sad, staring down at their joined hands, “we’re just Winter, same as the other seasons.”

“Maybe not, but ye lot are in it pretty thick with the Snow Queen.”

“Not by choice,” Jack muttered.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Right then.” That settled it didn’t it, strewth but he felt like a right bastard. How did it take him this long to-? No, not going to dwell on it, from here on they work together. He stood with an ooph, still feeling the ache of the cold on his old bones. He gave the ground beneath them a double tap to open an exit. If he got an ice pick in his back for this he’d reckon that’d be right, and deserved, but looking down at Jack, watching him without that cocky smile for the first time since this started, he didn’t think he had to worry. “Well?” he held his hand out again, smirking when Jack jolted, “ye coming?”

He really did like the feel of those cold fingers, he should probably tell Jack that, sometime soon maybe, but right there he just enjoyed the way they slid into his palm.

[thedeevirus]

Can you do a nygmob ficlet where Oswald is a witch and Ed his his familiar (shapeshifting companion that turns into a crow)?

What a specific request! I love it!This turned out slightly NSFW and it’s a long post so I’ve added a ‘keep reading’ tag. If anyone would like me to continue this, drop me an ask: I may add a smutty continuation ;)Enjoy!

**

‘I was getting worried about you’, Oswald said, opening the window.

 Ed hopped in through the pane, flapping his wings as he tried to shakethe raindrops from his feathers. He stood obediently, the object he had beensent to fetch secure in his beak. Raising his neck, he offered it to hismaster. Oswald took it and stroked Ed’s head with a single finger inappreciation. Ed, satisfied his job was complete, began to groom himself.As Oswald held the ring up to the light to admire it, he heard Ed’svoice reverberate in his head in its customary ghostly whisper.

 ‘Tabby took exception to me spying on her mistress. She swatted me good’.

 ‘Are you alright?’ Oswald asked, interest in his prize temporarilyforgotten.

 Ed opened one wing then the other, showing a few crooked feathers butnothing else.

 ‘Just a few ruffled feathers. You should see Tabby’.

 The crow chattered: a sound Oswald recognised as laughter.

 ‘Stupid cat chased me through quick dry cement’, Ed finished smugly.

 ‘Well done Ed’, Oswald chuckled, ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down’.

 Ed’s feathers rose in a visible swell of pride at Oswald’s praise.

 ‘It wasn’t much of a challenge’, Ed said, ‘I don’t think Barbara evenknew what it was. If you wanted a ring, I could have given you a much nicerone’.

 Ed flew towards Oswald’s desk. He landed and walked towards a box madeof carved bone and used his beak to flip the lid open. Inside were various bitsand pieces arranged with painstaking care despite the vast discrepancy betweenthe values of the objects within. Oswald approached the desk and looked fondlyat Ed’s treasure trove. Multicoloured candy bar wrappers (though Ed likedpurple and green the most), bottlecaps, strangely shaped pieces of bone, a silkribbon, a dozen rings from cans, individual pearls from a broken necklace, apolice officer’s golden badge and finally an assortment of actual jewellery. AsOswald fondly watched his familiar rifle through his pile of rings, he thoughtabout how Ed saw beauty in the strangest things.

Ed, finally having selected a suitable ring, held it up to Oswald.Oswald examined it with interest. It was a new one: silver with purple andgreen gems intertwined. He nodded approvingly but returned it to Ed.

 ‘This ring’s not for me’, Oswald explained, showing Ed the band, ‘It’sfor you’.

 He smiled knowingly at Ed’s tilted head. He could sense the confusionand Ed’s desire not to hurt his feelings. What use would a crow have for aplain, wooden band? It was little better than a stick.

‘I’m flattered but I have plenty here’, Ed eventually said, ‘It might mess up my filing system’.

 ‘No. I mean it’s for you to use. This is a ring of transformation’.

 Ed’s tail flicked and his claws tapped: Oswald could see the wonder inhis avian face. A ring of transformation was serious magic. A worthy prize forman or crow despite its unassuming appearance.

 ‘You don’t like me the way I am?’ Ed asked.

 ‘No! No, I like the way you are. I’d just like to maybe lessen thechances of you getting eaten by cats’.

 Oswald placed the ring on the desk. Ed walked over to it and poked ittentatively with a clawed toe.

 ‘What do you want to turn me into instead? Please don’t say a cat’.

 ‘I was going to leave that up to you’.

 Ed blinked and groomed himself to downplay his excitement.

 ‘Big decision’.

 ‘Don’t worry, the alternate form won’t be forever. You can switch backand forth. I don’t want you to think you’d be ‘grounded’’.

 Oswald had barely finished speaking before Ed answered.

 ‘I want to be a human’.

 This time it was Oswald’s turn to be surprised.

 ‘That was fast’.

 Ed began to pace, his head nodding along as he spoke.

 ‘It’s the most logical choice. You guys are the most adaptable predatorson the planet after all. It’d be easy for me to blend in when doing recon, fingers wouldbe far better for flipping through books to do research, I could do theshopping and I could clean the house rather than you relying on those derangedenchanted brooms’.

 He stopped pacing and looked up at his master expectantly.

 ‘Unless of course you don’t approve?’

 Oswald swallowed hard. Of course he approved. To be able to truly speakto Ed, to see his facial expressions, hear his voice, to touch him…

 ‘Human it is’, he said, ‘Male or female?’

 Ed laughed.

 ‘I think changing species is enough of a threshold for now. So, how wemake a man out of me?’

 **

Oswald opened the curtains and scanned the sky. It wouldn’t be long now.

Behind him, Ed sat on the bed, nestled within Oswald’s robe. When hetransformed into a human, he would be naked and, whilst Oswald had conjured upsome clothes, he was unsure what size Ed would be when the change was complete.The robe was too big for Oswald but hopefully it would serve as adequate coverfor Ed.

‘When the moon rises, the ring will activate automatically’, Oswald said, ‘It’ll bepainless. I promise’.

‘You’ve already researched this’.

 ‘Maybe’.

 ‘Did you know I would ask to be human?’

 Oswald fought down the automatic reply of ‘I hoped’ and said:-

‘No. I just wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t hurt, no matter whatform you chose. Nervous?’

 Excited’, Ed said, feathers erect and tail feathers wagging.

Oswald smiled and began to pointedly turn away until Ed’s voice haltedhim.

‘Will you watch?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I just…I want you to know it’s me, Even if I look different’.

Oswald came over to the bed and gently stroked Ed’s head. Ed leant intothe gesture, eyes half closed and crooned in his throat.

‘Ed, I’d always know you’, Oswald said gently, ‘No matter what you looklike’.

‘Good because I think it’s start-starting-’

Oswald winced as Ed’s voice vanished from his brain like a light switchbeing turned off. As he blinked in surprise at the sudden severance, a greenglow caught his eye. The ring he had carefully placed on one of Ed’s primaryfeathers was starting to shine. Ed had slumped forward onto the bed insensateand Oswald watched as the green aura spread and covered his familiar. Oswaldshivered as he felt a tingling sensation on his own skin and realised he was experiencingresonance from the ring. It made sense, after all he and Ed were magicallyconnected, and he breathed a sigh of relief that his pain nullifying spell hadbeen successful. 

He reached out to touch Ed’s wingtip and was startled to feelthe texture begin to change beneath his fingertips. He couldn’t see Ed anymore,just a dazzling green outline but he could see that the outline was changing, growinglarger. 

Oswald began to gather the robe, carefully sliding Ed’s developing armsinto the sleeves. His hands brushed over Ed’s swelling chest and as his feathersshrank away, Oswald’s palm glided over smooth skin. Ed’s legs kicked twice spasmodicallyas his knees realigned and Oswald saw his toes splay and shrink, his clawsretreating into his feet. Ed let out a dreamy sounding caw that segued into alow, almost longing, decidedly human, moan that made Oswald’s shiver. On a whim,he stroked Ed’s back and as his hand drifted down, he felt the remnants of Ed’stail feathers vanish between two pert ass cheeks. Blushing as he realised whathe was doing and that the glow was beginning to fade, Oswald tied the robeclosed and stepped back to a respectful distance as Ed began to stir.

Even though Ed had made the choice, waking up in such a strange body wasbound to be a shock. Oswald averted his eyes, allowing Ed the chance to examinehis body before he did. He could feel the magic retreating now that its taskwas complete and the room was once more bathed in a dim light as the green auravanished into gleaming pinpricks that blinked out one by one.

He heard Ed move into a sitting position and thrilled as there was anawed gasp of delight.

‘This is me then?’

Oswald finally looked up. Ed had risen into a sitting position and wasgazing in wonder at his hands. He turned his head towards Oswald and Oswald wasgrateful for the dim light in the room. That way Ed couldn’t see him blush. 

A pair of deep brown eyes set into a pale, flawless face with a sprinkling offreckles over his nose. Ed’s short brown hair was messy and unkempt but his innocentsmile was so warm it gave him the aura of a delighted schoolboy rather than adishevelled adult. Oswald marvelled at Ed’s lean, thin legs protruding from thebottom of the robe and his long, clever, fingers as he touched his own face. Ed was beautiful.

‘Oh wow, is that my voice?’ Ed wondered, clearing his throat, ‘It’s sosmooth. That’s odd’.

Oswald turned the lights up gradually. Ed blinked but rubbed his eyes.

‘My eyes are blurry. I don’t think it’s the light though’.

Oswald went to Ed’s treasure box and whispered a basic repair spell overa pair of glasses he had taken from it.

‘Here’, he said, ‘Try these’.

Ed accepted the glasses and placed them on his face.

‘These are from my nest’, he laughed.

‘With new lenses’, Oswald said, offering a hand, ‘Can you stand?’

Ed reached out hesitantly, flexing his fingers experimentally and tookhold of Oswald’s hand.

‘Fingers feel much stronger than feathers’, he observed, clenching his fist.

‘Please relax!’ Oswald said through gritted teeth, ‘You’re about tobreak mine!’

‘Oh! Sorry’, Ed said sheepishly, obeying instantly.

Oswald gently pulled back with his aching fingers and Ed rose to his new, flatter feet. Heseemed about to topple backwards but corrected himself. He stood pigeon toed,knees facing inward but Oswald waited patiently as Ed manoeuvred his legs intoa stance to match his. Once he was sure Ed was standing alright, Oswald let goof his hand.

‘Take a couple of steps for me’, he asked.

Ed took a deep breath and straightened, head held high. He took a step and collapsed onto the floor.Oswald moved forward automatically to help him but Ed waved a hand. He sat up and winced ashe began to stand again.

‘Mental note: my knees bend the other way now’, he grumbled to himself.

Seeking to distract Ed from the setback and to give him something to worktowards, Oswald waved a hand. A long mirror materialised out of thin air andfloated just above the floor.

‘Come take a look at the new you’, Oswald invited as he went to the pileof neatly folded clothes on the vanity he had prepared for Ed.

Ed eyed himself critically in the mirror. On instinct, he lowered hishead to his shoulder to groom self consciously only to find he had no beak or feathers. He beganto do what he had often seen Oswald do in the morning and used his fingers toadjust his hair, combing it into the shape he wanted. Fingers truly wereuseful. He noticed the ring had found its way onto the last long finger of hisleft hand. He rotated it thoughtfully and looked down at how the robe he hadwoken up in was hanging off his thin frame.

‘Oh dear. I expected more muscles’, Ed said quietly but then added jokingly,‘Then again, it’s not a ‘ring of miracles’ is it?’

‘You’re taller than I thought you’d be’, Oswald mused.

‘Does it bother you?’

‘No, it just means I’ll just have to let these clothes out a bit’.

‘They’re black’, Ed said, his disappointment obvious despite the qualityof the materials and flattering cut Oswald had chosen for him.

‘Oh, right! You must be a bit sick of wearing black. How’s thisinstead?’

Oswald made a complicated series of hand gestures and clicked hisfingers. The black of the suit instantly melted away into a vibrant green. Thesame colour as the magical aura of the ring. Ed’s eyes lit up at thetransformation.

‘Not every day a crow can dress as a peacock’, he said with a chuckle, ‘Speakingof which-‘

Ed sang a few, halting words which Oswald was surprised to identify asoriginating from a lullaby he enjoyed. He hadn’t realised that Ed had learnt it.

‘Your singing voice has definitely improved’, Oswald joked to cover uphis disappointment as Ed stopped singing, ‘I wonder if you’ll still snore’.

Ed rubbed his throat thoughtfully. The tune had been so different fromhis usual harsh cawing but at least Oswald had approved. As he watched Oswald begin to meticulously lay the clothes out on the bed (inwhat Ed assumed was ascending order), Ed was struck by a realization.

‘It’s strange’, he said, ‘I never noticed as a crow but you’re so…’

‘Weird looking?’ Oswald deadpanned, ‘Don’t worry, most humans notice that’.

‘No! Not at all actually’, Ed said, carefully walking towards Oswald fora closer look, ‘You look more like a bird than I do right now’.

‘Was that a compliment?’

‘It was supposed to be. Your hair looks like feathers’.

He reached out instinctively and ran his fingers through Oswald’s crestlike hair. Oswald flinched and looked at Ed in surprise. Ed withdrew his handimmediately, startled at the reaction.

‘Did I do something wrong?’

 Oswald shook his head vigorously.

‘No, no. I should have warned you. Humans have…different opinions onif they like to be touched. You just surprised me’.

‘Sorry’ Ed said again, feeling foolish, ‘I thought since you didn’t mind me groomingyou when I was a bird I-‘

Oswald held up a hand, cursing his automatic recoil. The last thing hewanted was to make Ed uncomfortable in his new skin. The sensation had justbeen too unfamiliar for him to process. The only other person who had evertouched him so gently had been his mother.

‘I don’t mind Ed! Really! Like I said you just surprised me. I neversaid it was unpleasant’.

‘Do you want to touch me in exchange?’

Oswald burst out laughing at the blunt invitation.

 ‘What’s so funny?!’ Ed bristled, ‘You pet me all the time! Just like this!’

Ed grabbed hold of Oswald’s hand and ran it through his own hair. Heshivered at the sensation and gave a compulsive soft moan. He sat on the bed,careful not to sit on the clothes or break contact with Oswald’s hand.

‘Are you alright?’ Oswald asked, intrigued by the reaction.

‘Yes’, Ed said, trying to ignore how nodding made him feel even warmerthanks to Oswald’s fingers still ruffling his hair, ‘it’s just…sensitive’.

He hadn’t expected the usual pleasure he received from Oswald’s strokes to be so amplified in his changed form. He had least expected to be able to hide it better!

Oswald, wanting to reassure Ed that they were still connected despitethe unfamiliar situation, stoked his head as he always had. Ed inclined hishead into the gesture and Oswald smiled as Ed subconsciously made a noise inhis throat akin to a crow’s caw. Oswald knew what the noise meant: More. Give me more.

‘Is it true that birds touch each other on the head when they want to-‘

‘Yes’, Ed interjected frankly.

Oswald swallowed hard but did not stop his ministrations. He thought ofall the times he had petted Ed absent mindedly and also of all the times Ed hadreturned the favour, nuzzling Oswald’s hair or pecking painlessly at roguehairs he had noticed.

Did this mean what Oswald thought it meant?

‘D-do you want me to stop?’ he asked haltingly.

‘No. No I don’t’, Ed sighed and bit his lip as he moved slightly.

Oswald noticed Ed’s knees grind together and realised what must behappening.

‘Ed, how do you feel right now?’

Ed’s half hooded eyes gazed into Oswald’s, pupils blown wide.

‘You’re my master. You can sense it, can’t you?’

He placed his hand over Oswald’s. Oswald loved how warm it felt overhis.

‘Please tell me you know how I feel?’ Ed asked, a  pleading undercurrent in both his voice and glistening eyes.

‘I do’, Oswald breathed.

 ‘I-I’ve dreamt about this before’, Ed said, ‘Being this close to you’.

 ‘I know’.

 ‘How?’

 ‘Because I’ve seen it. I-I’ve felt it’.

 Oswald could feel his own arousal pulse as memories swam to the surface ofhis mind. One of the side effects nobody ever warned you about was that havinga familiar often meant your dreams intertwined. The most recent glimpse Oswaldhad experienced of one of Ed’s dreams had been distinctly explicit. Even more sobecause Oswald had been in it but not in his own body.He remembered the softness of Ed’s feathers as Ed had mounted him, both oftheir wings flapping in a desperate flurry as Ed had made love to him. Hisclaws grinding into the dirt in ecstasy and the inhuman, savage yet ecstaticcry from his own feathered throat as Ed had mated him. Made him his. As helooked at Ed, Oswald could see that was what he had been thinking of too. He didn’tneed a magic connection to tell him that.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Ed asked shakily.

Oswald sank onto the bed, hands now clasped on his lap to keep them fromtrembling.

‘Because I knew I couldn’t transform myself into a crow to-to be withyou. No matter how badly I want you. My bad leg couldn’t handle the change in kneeposition. I can barely walk never mind fly. But I didn’t know how to ask youto…’

‘Be with you this way?’

Oswald nodded glumly. He quivered as he felt Ed’s hands take hold of hischeeks. Dark eyes met green and for a moment, Oswald thought he could see the inscrutablecrow within Ed’s dark pupils.

‘Oswald, did you think I was bringing you all those trinkets for fun?You never had to ask. I was asking.Practically begging as a matter of fact’.

Oswald lowered Ed’s hands but kept hold of them.

‘Ed’, he said sombrely, ‘Just before this goes any further, further thanwe can come back from, tell me the truth. Do you feel this way just because I’myour master?’

‘No. It’s because you’re you’.

‘Then why me? There are plenty of other birds in the sky. Why do youwant someone like me? Looking like this, you could have anyone you wanted’.

Ed laughed humourlessly but Oswald could tell it was not directed athim.

‘Who would ever want a raggedy, scrawny crow as a familiar instead of asleek black cat? I want you because we’re the same but different in all theright ways. I’ve learnt so much from you. Done things I’ve never dreamed of’.

‘What things?’

‘Well I’m about to do something very experimental. If you’ll let me?’

Oswald nodded, heart pounding.

Ed closed his eyes and concentrated. 

Oswald looked down to see Ed’s fingers beginning to lengthen and flatten. Helet go of Ed’s feathers as they continued to grow. Ed’s back arched and therobe fell from him, exposing his narrow pale chest even as it continued to protecthis modesty beneath. Ed sighed as he raised his arms up high as they completedtheir transformation back into wings. Oswald marvelled at Ed’s control of thering even as he admired the beauty of the ethereal change Ed had made. Apartfrom the wings, he remained human: a male harpy proudly displaying his plumage.As the feathers caught the light, undertones of purple and green shone throughtheir black veneer.Oswald was so enraptured with the sight that, before he knew it, Ed had enfoldedhim within his wings, his chin resting contentedly and protectively on top ofOswald’s head. Oswald embraced Ed with shaking hands, feeling Ed’s hurried heartbeatbeneath his cheek. He had never felt so safe. So loved.

Ed’s unseen voice drifted down from above, akin to the reassuring voice Oswald had alwaysheard within his mind.

‘I hope you know Oswald. I would do anything for you. You can alwayscount on me’.

‘I always could’, Oswald replied, smiling through his joyfultears.

#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot ficlet #nygmobblepotdaily #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot

[abirdandabeast]

BBRAE SPIDER-MAN KISS

Raven eyed Beast Boy’s…unusual getup with a healthy mixture of apprehension and amusement. The green-skinned boy donned a skin tight suit of a different variety than his typical uniform; this one was red and blue, with black lines creating a web-like look that accented the suit. It clashed heavily with his skin, but the changeling didn’t seem to care. Rather, he seemed content as he leaned across the counter and chattered with Starfire. 

She trailed her gaze across his lean form, admiring the…nice…view she had of his assets. Sure, Robin may have been known for his fine posterior, but Raven had to admit that Beast Boy was definitely not lacking in that department. His current getup proved as much. 

The costume was, as Raven understood, a part of the play he was in at the local theatre. He was playing the role of a superhero of some kind; fictional, of course. Raven had some quiet fears that they’d only cast him due to his celebrity status as an actual hero, but, he seemed happy with it, so she kept those concerns to herself. Why he was wearing the costume now, however, she didn’t know. 

Which was probably for the best. 

Beast Boy was always flitting from one idea to the next, and Raven always found it was just best to let him enjoy himself at his own whimsy. Besides, Raven didn’t mind the suit. He looked…good. 

Very good. 

She snuck another glance at the shapeshifter, her brows raising at the sight. Okay, he had looked good, when the weird mask was off. She suppressed a giggle and dropped her attention back to the book nestled in her lap. 

Full masks like the one he was wearing now tended to look a bit funny on Beast Boy, mostly because his ears stuck out a little. It was sorta cute, really, and Raven had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. It certainly didn’t help that everyone else in the room was painted with humor at the sight, either. 

It was then that the dreaded alarm went off. Raven tossed her book aside with a sigh and strode to the elevator, bracing herself for the inevitable. 

Raven muttered her mantra under her breath, her fingers twitching as her black energy danced across her fingertips. With the flick of her wrists, she launched some debris at their latest excuse of a villain, scowling as the idiot managed to dodge her blows. 

The Titans danced across Jump City’s rooftops, chasing a Red-X wannabe as they tried to break into a branch of Wayne Enterprises. It was annoying and increasingly becoming a waste of their time. 

This thief was hardly a threat, after all. She could feel the adrenaline-fueled fear pulsating from them, doing nothing more than giving her a headache. Raven urged herself onward, flying after the idiot as they leapt across another gap between buildings, nearly killing themself in the process. “Just stop,” she seethed. “You’re doing yourself no favours.” 

Their perpetrator said nothing, choosing instead to leap and dodge her every move, somehow managing to just dodge the grasp of her magic. Raven seethed, energy crackling from her fingers. This had to end soon; she was definitely getting a migraine.

 Raven launched another bolt of dark energy, only to hiss as the perp dodged it again. Stupid criminal. If they could just sit. Still.

It was then that Beast Boy rolled into her line of sight, that ridiculous costume still clothing him. She paused mid-fight, blinking as he charged at the thief. 

“Surrender, thief!” he shrieked, launching himself onto the perpetrator. All action ceased as the two tussled, throwing punches and grunts as each tried to better the other. At one point, the thief managed to push Beast Boy off, and Raven watched in what felt like a trance as they began to pull some sort of rope off of their utility belt. Beast Boy staggered on his feet and shook himself, charging at the suspect once again. “You aren’t gonna get away this time!” he yelled, right as he collided with them. 

A few things happened at once, then. The perp tripped, their rope flying from their grasp. Beast Boy and the thief then collapsed onto the roof, a fight erupting between them. They rolled around, the thief clawing to get free. Then somehow, someway, they broke free and scrambled to their feet, Beast Boy hot on their heels. 

Except neither of them seemed to realize the edge of the roof was right in front of them. The Titans let out a collective gasp of horror as both hero and villain disappeared over the ledge, the sight springing everyone back into action. 

Raven flew over the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to catch him, before he-

She halted mid-air, blinking in confusion. There, hanging in a tangled lump of rope, was the ridiculously clad changeling. “Beast Boy?” she said, flying closer. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric covering his face. Raven could feel pain dripping off of him, and she rolled her eyes. 

“You’re a horrible liar, you know,” she said with a small smile. “I can feel your pain.” Raven reached forward and snagged the fabric of his mask, gently tugging it off of his head. A rather ruffled looking Beast Boy grinned sheepishly at her, his face red, presumably from being upside down. Raven ignored his goofy expression and laid her hand on his chest, allowing her healing powers to ebb through his body. 

“Thanks, Rae,” he murmured softly. Raven smiled, her heart catching in her throat. 

“Of course.” 

Her gaze quickly became entangled in his, and Raven found herself lingering rather close. Her hand trailed down to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm almost instinctively. She could feel his breath tickling her lips, and Raven had a sudden desire to see what his lips tasted like. 

She kissed him softly, butterflies erupting within her stomach. 

The kiss was brief and innocent, yet still left her breathless. Raven bit her lip and peered down at Beast Boy, who seemed dazed. “Whoa,” he said. “That was, um, I mean…whoa.” 

“Hey, Grass Stain, you alright?” 

Cyborg’s call interrupted the two. Raven widened the gap between them, suddenly embarrassed. 

“Yeah, I’m good!” Beast Boy hollered back. “Just, someone get me outta here, please!” He flashed Raven a bashful grin. “I’ve got plans later, anyway.” 

Raven hid her smile, those damned butterflies growing stronger. Luckily for her, she was starting to get used to the sensation. It kind of felt…nice. 

Almost as nice as kissing him. 

Ah, this was fun! It took me a bit to figure out how to proceed, but hopefully it’s cute! :D Enjoy, anon! 

-mod vixensheart

#bbrae #bbrae fanfiction #Teen Titans #beast boy #raven #prompt me!! #anonymous