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livingalifeofasimp · 3 years

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Yandere genshin impact boys with gn s/o who is now also an adventure like aether. Not to mention they were in relationship with him. So.....headcannon? Like I don't want where they will make aether and s/o break up. I want they to suffer! 😌 Have a great day and night!

This request really is interesting!. I hope you like ~

Warning : Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, it's purely for entertainment purpose and nothing else. It must not be romanticized in real life. Arts are not mine only the content is.

🧡ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖🧡

➳You were just an enemy, not a strong opponent but strong enough to surprise him and is constantly improving. Your presence was a mere amusement to him or a stranger who crossed his paths one or two times. You meet Childe when he challenges you and Aether in one of your adventures.

➳You thought he was a guy full of himself but unfortunately you and Aether got forced to work with Childe in a case, unwillingly you supported Aether's decision. Honestly you never expected to see how much he cares for the people he loves and protects them, there was so much more than he shows.

➳It changed your attitude and perspective of him. Sometimes he can be a jerk . Still, you let your guards down since you both will be working partners even if it's for a limited amount of time.

***

➥Never have Childe lost a battle so miserably in a battlefield of love. It feels way far worse than losing a battle almost like he lost his heart and himself.

➥He wasn't able to understand how his hobby of teasing and testing you turned into a habit of being near you all the time, making him addicted to your presence next to him. Everytime when you were in danger, Childe jumped in the scene to protect you, even after knowing you could handle it, without caring about his situation.

➥He should have observed how protective and lovingly Aether looks at you and what's more worst to him is that you look at Aether the same way. Not a single detail went past his observation yet, this? Maybe he never wanted to observe or know such a thing between you both.

➥He saved you, why did you run to save Aether risking your life again?, everything became clear when he saw you both hugging and holding hands. Friends ain't like that. No longer, Childe was a cheerful, determined guy like he was before. Shutting himself away from the world falling into abyss, no tears were left to cry. People who knew him got concerned about his health.

➥What a great despair he is it? His situation is so laughable not even he knew how crazy his love for you is making him. He wants to make you feel the same pain, will you be able to take it?. But how can he hurt you, he loves you so much. How can he fall in love with his friend's girl? Knowing how happy they are together and he is just an extra.

❤️𝔻𝕚𝕝𝕦𝕔❤️

➳As a foreigner in Mondstadt, you searched for a job and luckily found a vacant seat in Dawn winery, since it's only for a few months you got along with the fate, it's better than nothing, besides payment was quite high and could cover up your expenditures.

➳You discovered that it was owned by a young man which was quite surprising to you. At first you did not have a good option on Diluc, your boss who you never actually interacted with but everyone's past eventually finds their way to other's ears and it was the same in your case.

➳What a miserable past he had gone through, not that it's your business nevertheless it changed the way you saw him. You felt bad for him when he had to work alone on holidays so sometimes you volunteered. One of the reasons was extra pay, he was a good boss to you.

***

➥Diluc didn't knew what he was feeling for you is. Is it friendship? companionship? or love?. It was for sure that his heart fluttered every time he saw you, you made him dress nice for you and behave differently in a way you don't think bad of him, so he tried and tried, sometimes made jokes to make you laugh.

➥It was so frustrating for him to see you sad. And now after all this when he saw you with a blonde guy who came to pick you after your shift made him lose his sanity. Who is he to you? Why are you so happy to see him? You never smiled like that at him.

➥It was exactly what he thought, you had a lover before he came into the scene. Again he was left alone in the darkness, alone, he is so afraid of being alone. Tears continually rolled down his cheeks, hitting floor . Why is everything so cruel to him? What did he ever do wrong? Why can't he live happily even if just for once?

➥When his heart finally fluttered for someone and he had a reason to wake up the next morning, you disappear, making his life far more miserable than it was. But does it matter? He is as miserable as he was before, did anything even changed? Diluc falled on his knees he was a fool to think he could ever be loved.

➥What is he supposed to do with these immense feelings for you?. Diluc is aware of how destructive it is, if he loses control then he will hurt you, you will never smile again. He couldn't bear it and he doesn't want to live in a world where he can't have you, so he destroys himself before he can destroy you, taking his breath away himself.

💙𝕂𝕒𝕖𝕪𝕒💙

➳Certainly you got dragged by your friends, after all you came back to your hometown from a long adventure. They wanted to catch up with you so how could you reject them? At the end you accepted their invitation. That's where you meet Kaeya, friend of your friends though you didn't pay him any attention because your friends kept on questioning you.

➳It was a sunny day when you decided to run errands, buying all the stuffs that was mentioned in your list, you got tired and visted the same place, you went few days ago with your friends. You liked the cocktail, it was of your favorite flavor. The drink was fresh so you thought of ordering it again, coincidentally meeting Kaeya and slowly you both became friends, helping and making fun of eachother.

***

➥This is not what he thought would happen! This is not how it was supposed to be! Kaeya's heart broke so bad, every moment it became harder to breathe, panic rose, he couldn't help but cover his mouth. A chuckle escapes his mouth.

➥For a minute how can he even think he deserves someone like you, look at you how happy you are, you are someone else's, so pure and perfect. Why didn't he realize it earlier? Why did he misunderstood your kindness for love?.

➥Kaeya wanted to purpose you, he was willing to be loyal to only you and keep eyes only for you. So when he heard from his friends who are your friends as well that you already had a lover for years and that you love him very much, it made him depressed.

➥Kaeya sat dissolved in own his sadness, a hand slides through his chest to his jaw, turning his face towards herself attempting to kiss him. As Kaeya's vision shifts on her, he realizes she is not you. Oh how good would it be, if you were the one he was holding, kissing and hugging.

➥He can't believe he became so miserable, constantly wanting to have you to himself. Kaeya pushes her hand away, his hands holded another glass of wine as he takes it down in one gulp imagining your smiling face towards him and hearing your sweet voice which are music to him.

➥Another woman leaned towards him, Kaeya chuckled to himself how dare he dreamed about you, you deserve so much better, not someone who is as dirty as him.

➥He knows it isn't possible to forget about you so he tries to find comfort in some other women and this time he pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply, tears falled down his eyes. Oh how good it would be if she was you.

🖤ℤ𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕚🖤

➳By the time you went back to meet your grandma, everything around the corner changed. You were happy to be able to meet her and see all those places you used to go when you was a kid, reminiscing and meeting all your old neighbors and childhood friends. They are still as fun as they were before.

➳When you got home you saw a handsome stranger in the living room and was shocked, he didn't seem to be a guy who could harm you or your grandma, by the way where is she?. Zhongli decides to introduce himself to free you from any discomfort.

➳Then suddenly your Grandma came in with a tray of food and started complimenting Zhongli saying that he is kind enough to help her with everything when no one is here with her. You thanked Zhongli for being so nice to your Grandma. You didn't knew that your Grandma was rooting for you both because she thought Zhongli is a good guy who can keep you happy all your life.

➳Strangely you always found yourself alone with Zhongli most of the time, and when you knew why these coincidences happened, you explained to your Grandma that you already had someone and humbly rejected Zhongli.

***

➥Zhongli holded his head with his hands so hard, hoping to stop his thoughts about you. It was not his plan to love because they are gonna die anyways like his friends did. So why isn't he able to think you are dead for him. Your face, laugh, smiles and everything, even a smallest detail constantly hovers over his mind.

➥This is not what he is expected to do, but he just can't stop thinking about you and the more he thinks about you, the more sinful it becomes, desiring to tear down your perfect picture with your loved one and pull you to him. He can easily take you to himself, you will eventually love him, if you get to know him, his love, you surely will love him, right?.

➥Zhongli notices that his thoughts are becoming so corrupt, he must stop it. Zhongli threw all the expensive objects placed on the table with a shout losing his composure. Does she know how much he is going through? Tears threatened to fall down from his eyes, so Zhongli raised his head to prevent them from falling.

➥He never experienced such feelings, so much pain for not getting a chance to be with the person he wants the most. He is supposed to happily accept your decision and wish a good life for you and Aether but his heart wants to take you for himself and make you love only him; however, he must do what is right. Perhaps what's best for him is to think you are dead and grieve. Since he hardly believes he can ever stop feeling what he feels for you. He is such a fool for you.

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dracowars · 4 years

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forbidden | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,6k

summary: where y/n and draco have to endure a very special type of detention

a/n: welcome to my first ever one shot. i hope you enjoy it! please let me know if there are any mistakes.

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

Honestly you weren't really surprised that Professor Snape gave Draco, Harry and Ron detention for nearly blowing up the whole potions classroom when fighting over the ground unicorn horn, an important ingredient for The Antidote to Common Poisons.

But what you weren't expecting was that Snape gave you detention as well, just because you sat in the center of it. Any attempt to convince him otherwise was useless.

And now here you were, in front of Hagrid's hut, the moon shining bright, the only light coming from the hut and your dim lanterns. You'd rather be in any other place you can think of. Everywhere except here. The sooner it ends, the better.

Yet the three idiots next to you still yelled at each other for what already feels like hours. Not even Filch nor Mrs Norris, who escorted you here after curfew, could bear their stupidity any longer, so Mr Filch knocks against Hagrid's door and runs off with a malicious giggle, but not before wishing y'all good luck, of course. You, for your part, could really need it.

"Can't believe I have to spend detention with you again, Potter", Draco spat, his voice full of disgust. The whole day he'd told you about how Harry and him already had detention in their first year at Hogwarts. That time they were lead into the Forbidden Forest and since you are now at Hagrid's hut in the middle of the night, you can already imagine exactly what your detention consists of this time.

Goosebumps spread all over your skin when you only think of the Dark Forest. Yes, you were sorted into Slytherin but that doesn't mean that you can't be afraid. You were, in fact, scared of many things but going into the Forbidden Forest was definetely very high on that list.

Draco noticed your change of behavior while listening to his story of his 11 year old brave self and suddenly had fun frightening you. Not that you were already scared enough of only the thought to go into that damned forest.

Even though he promised to protect you all the way, you were sure that when they were in first year Draco was the first to run and leave the others for death. But he would never admit that and maybe, just maybe, he actually grew up a little bit since then.

You've actually known him since you can remember. Your families, both pureblood, are very close, they even went to Hogwarts together in their time, which let to you and Draco being childhood friends. So when you went to Hogwarts yourself, you were happy to have your best friend by your side and when you got sorted into the same house, Slytherin, you couldn't have been any happier.

Eventually these long years of friendship turned into something more in your fourth year. (Maybe already earlier, you weren't quite sure.) Neither of you wanted to admit it at first but you were meant to be. Anyone could see it from a far. Everyone shipped you since first year and now, in sixth year, you are a happy couple for nearly three years with just a few minor disagreements here and there.

"Ah. The usual suspects", Hagrid mumbles as soon as he spots you after opening the heavy door, Fang, his over-sized Boarhound dog, directly running in Harry's direction. "I don't know why I thought it would be someone else. Feels just like yesterday that we went into the Forbidden Forest, right?"

Hagrid's mention of the Forbidden Forest makes shivers run down your spine right away. This reaction of your body didn't go unnoticed though and you feel the warmth of Draco's body as he scoots closer to you.

Despite Draco's cold demeanor outward, he has a very pleasent warm body temperature. You found out about this feature when you started becoming 'more than just friends' over the years. And now it is hard to imagine life without this warmth.

"I thought getting into sixth year would finally safe us these kind of detentions", Ron whines which Hagrid only response to with a laugh. "No matter what year you are in, Ron, there is nothing more beautiful like an adventurous walk through the forest in the middle of the night. Trust me", Hagrid smiles proudly. "What do we have to do this time?", Harry asks, also not very fond of the idea to go into that forest again.

Even though you were friends with Draco for so long, you actually liked the golden trio. You don't have much to do with them, only a few courses together, but you don't hate them at all. In your opinion they are actually very kind, which Draco, obviously, doesn't approve of.

"Not much, in fact. A creature was hurt last night and I really don't know which one it is. All we have to do is to find the injured creature", Hagrid explains while taking a huge crossbow, leading you right to the entrance of the forest. "Not very challenging, is it?"

"But you do know that there are werwolves in there, don't you? Besides all the other.. dangerous animals that thirst for our blood", Ron complains, while Draco seems to have laid eyes on the crossbow.

"What weapon do we get to defend ourselves?", he interupts Ron's expressed thoughts and points to the weapon, which Hagrid answers to with a sigh.

"You're a wizard. I don't think you need any other weapon than your wand, Malfoy", Hagrid scoffs and goes past him. "Now. Since I'm able to learn from my mistakes, not like others..", he mumbles the last part. "Harry and Ron, you will go this way. Draco and Y/N take the other direction. Please make sure to not hurt anyone or anything."

"A-Anything?", is the last word you hear Ron mumble as you started walking in the different direction. Or more like Draco pulling you behind him into the Dark Forest.

You tighten your black cloak around yourself as you shiver. The Forbidden Forest seems to be even scarier in the night. Even scarier than you expected it to be in general. The only sounds you can hear are your footsteps on the mud, caused by the rainy weather these days, and here and there something that sounds like a very aggressive raven.

"Snape should have just deducted our houses points and not let us go into this dumb forest again", Draco mumbles in front of you while leading the way, not really knowing where to search either. The dim warm light of the lantern he holds up makes his hair shine bright and is the only thing that makes you feel at ease a little bit. Something familiar.

A sudden crack behind you, sounding like a branch that has been stepped on, makes you stop in your tracks abruptly. "What was that, Draco?", you ask, the fear in your shaking voice clearly audible.

"Don't worry about it, love. I'm sure it was just a stupid animal. Let's go on", your boyfriend responds and takes your cold hand in his again.

As you kept going through the tall trees for a few minutes you realize that you've gotten very far into the Forbidden Forest already. All you can see now are trees and not even the moon shines through the dense leaves over your heads anymore. The thick layer of fog around you doesn't make the weird feeling in your stomach better either.

Draco keeps strolling around, searching for any evidence for an injured creature and you turn around, still feeling anxious of someone - or something - following you two.

Your heart stops as the lantern, that Draco held up seconds ago, falls to the ground with a loud crash. Your whole vision goes black and darkness surrounds you. A few bats, startled by the noise, fly away.

"Draco?!", you shout and don't dare to move a single muscle. Your breath is so slow, you don't even know if you're still breathing at all. Another sound is heard from your right and you turn around, only to face more darkness.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! This is not funny at all! Do you hear me?!", you yell again while getting your wand out of your pocket. Pointing it forward, you quietly say: "Lumos."

As soon as the light erupts from the tip of your wand, blinding you for a brief moment, a white, light-lit face appears right in front of you.

"BOO!", the face shouts directly at you.

You let out a scream, stumble back a few steps in shock and rest your hand against your fast beating heart. The next thing you hear are the echoing laughters of your boyfriend.

"You should've seen your face!", Draco laughs and throws his head back. You swallow heavily and take a few moments to calm yourself down, a tear on the edge of falling. "I hate you so much!", you yell at him and hit his shoulder a few times as anger replaces your fear. "You know exactly how scared I am, dumbass!"

"I could not not take this opportunity, love", he giggles, making the blood in your veins boil. But before you can scold him any further, he stops laughing all of a sudden and his suddenly widend eyes are locked on a point directly behind you. "Y/N.. Don't turn around, okay? Don't move", he whispers and points behind you with a slight head movement.

"I'm not that pathetic, Draco. I'm not gonna fall for that again", you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest while turning around. As soon as you did, it feels like all life left your body at once.

Two round yellow eyes, emerging from the sinister undergrowth, are directly fixed on you. A small cone of moonlight falls through the rustling leaves as a slight breeze passes and the creature in front of you turns out to be a werewolf.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as the wild creature comes closer, snarling. "RUN, Y/N!", Draco's loud shout makes you flinch and he grabs your hand, knowing that it is too late to not make any noise, pulling you closely behind him. You nearly stumble over all the sticking out, large roots on the ground but the adrenaline that rushes through your body makes you run as fast as you can.

"Stupefy!", Draco casts the Stunning Spell and shoots it at the creature while running. A jet of red light emerges from his wand but misses the werewolf by a few centimeters. It is now catching up with you even faster than before. "Damn it!", Draco curses.

Your legs already start hurting from how fast you were running. You see a dim light between the trees in front of you and a glimmer of hope runs through you. As you get closer by every second you realize that it's not Hagrid, as you hoped, but none other than Ron and Harry. The confusion is clearly written on their faces.

"RUN!", you tell them, grabbing their hands as you pass them to pull both of them with you. It doesn't take them long to realize what you were running away from.

"Bloody hell!", Ron whimpers beside you and lets the lantern fall to the ground. By now the four of you lost every sense of direction and the only thing that keeps you from giving up is to not get torn into pieces.

Again you take a look back over your shoulder to see how close the wolf has come and in this exact moment of unwariness, you trip over and fall to the ground with a cry. Immediately you try to straighten up but a sharp pain runs through your body and leaves you whimpering in pain.

"Stupefy!", Harry now attacks the beast and actually hits it this time. The wolf falls back a few meters through the air and lands on the ground with a thump, motionless.

"Y/N! Stand up, come on!", Draco helps you up and notices your pained expression. From that moment on your fear is reflected in his eyes. He bends down and frantically picks you up in his arms. Unfortunately, the werewolf has recovered from the spell quickly and is running towards you again, growling and barking dangerously.

But before you can escape this time, another creature that you can't really make out because of the darkness at first, suddenly throws itself on the wolf, fighting a bitter fight with it. You can only stand there and watch in shock.

"Buckbeak!", you can hear Hagrid's voice from the distance and the majestic hippogriff lets go of the much smaller animal, which is now also winzing in pain and then finally leaves you alone.

"What did you do?! How did this happen?", Hagrid scolds you as soon as he arrives, his eyes fixed on Draco immediately. You bite your lower lip to hold back tears as you let yourself sink down from Draco's arms and onto the ground with his help.

"The werewolf attacked us out of nowhere", you explain with a quiet voice and touch your ankle, regretting it right away as you hiss in pain. "It was noone's fault, Hagrid."

"This is exactly the reason why students shouldn't go into the Forbidden Forest, you-", Draco aggressivly starts but you pull on his sleeve, making him look at you. His facial expression softens at your action.

Buckbeak stands close behind Hagrid and observes the situation curiously. Hagrid sighs loudly, his breath becoming visible in the cold air of the night, and pets Buckbeak gently.

"Fine. Let's get you out of here first and then we will look at the damage", Hagrid suggests and Draco and Harry help you stand up again. "I c-can't walk", you hiss after placing your injured foot on the ground, withdrawing it straight away.

"Come here, Y/N. Buckbeak will help", Hagrid waves you over to him and before any second thoughts could cross your mind, you were already seated on the hippogriff's back. While you're still busy with getting comfortable on the creature you unexpectedly feel a pair of hands sneak around your waist closly from behind. Draco had jumped onto Buckbeak as well, with Hagrid's permission of course, and whispers an apology in your ear.

Finally you are able to relax a little while you feel Draco's chest against your back. A cozy warmth emanates from him that has always made you feel at ease and the cold air surrounding you makes it even more comfortable.

With a whistle from Hagrid Buckbeak sets itself in motion and leads you out of the forest, directly back to Hagrid's hut. You had completely lost every sense of time while you were in there. While to you it seems like several hours have passed, it was probably just one.

Draco jumps off in front of the hut and helps you get down, his grip very strong on your hip. You gently stroke over the soft head of the hippogriff and smile weakly at it.

Draco doesn't waste any time and takes you to the warm hut, where he seats you down on one of the chairs and carefully places your leg on his thigh. While watching your boyfriend take care of you so caringly and gently - a side not everyone knows of him - you don't even notice that a few tears finally found their way over your cheeks, which you were able to hold back before. Everything that happened tonight hits you all at once in this moment.

Eventually, Draco's gaze meets yours and he immediately pulls you into a warm, firm and loving hug. "I am so so sorry, love. I shouldn't have scared you. If I hadn't been this stupid, then we wouldn-", he stumbles over his words but you place your index finger on his lips softly. "I'm okay, Draco", you smile at him, even though your ankle doesn't feel anywhere near okay.

"I told Madam Pomfrey what happened and she will be able to heal it quickly, and even though she wasn't very happy that I asked for her help at this hour, she would like to see you at the Hospital Wing", Hagrid tells you as he comes back into his hut, Ron and Harry curiously looking past Hagrid and at you. The guilt is clearly written on Hagrid's face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help but somehow I just couldn't come up with the right spell!", Ron rants while he and Harry approach you. "How about we help you get into that hospital wing?", Harry offers their help with a smile, which you gladly agree to. Draco on the other hand throws a disapproving look at him, his protective boyfriend instincts very active after what happened today.

Still, he lets Harry help him get you out. Your arms are each wrapped around their shoulders so that you can at least hobble and not have to be carried.

"I will talk to Professor Dumbledore about getting rid of these kind of detentions", Hagrid utters, looking to the ground in shame. Buckbeak senses Hagrid's sadness and lays his head on his arm. Releasing your arm from Draco purposely to tap Hagrid's shoulder soothingly, Draco holds you tightly at your waist in an instant, still afraid that you could lose balance any second and fall again.

"Please don't worry, Hagrid. It's not your fault", you try to cheer him up. "Thank you and also you, Buckbeak." At the mention of his name, Buckbeak turns to you and it almost looks like he actually understood what you said, lowering his head a little as if he would bow.

"I hate to admit it but I guess I have to thank that.. chicken of yours as well, Hagrid", Draco clears his throat. "Thank you for rescuing us."

You know exactly how difficult it is for Draco to thank someone. He rarely does, only because he never really learned how. However, the few times he actually does, you can't help but feel warmer inside. This is what distinguishs him from the evil guys.

With these last words and a nod from Hagrid's side, Draco leads the way into the building and they help you to the first floor, Ron opening the doors for you. You arrive at the Hospital Wing, where Harry and Ron seperate from you and go back to their common room.

Madam Pomfrey treats your sprained ankle and only half an hour later you are dismissed from the Hospital Wing. It feels like you've never hurt yourself in the first place, but Madam Pomfrey still wants you to rest and take care of yourself. Your boyfriend clearly agreed to that and insisted on carrying you back to the Slytherin common room, where you arrived only seconds ago.

It is already so late in the night that not a single soul is in the faint green room, everyone fast asleep for hours in their comfortable beds. You feel exhausted after this eventful night and tiredness is slowly overcoming you.

"Where do you think you are going?", Draco's determining voice asks you with a hint of reproach when you were just about to make your way to the girls' dormitories. "To sleep?", you deadpenned.

"You won't go anywhere except my prefect room. Oh, and you will most certainly not go", he commands and before you know it, you're in his strong arms again and on the way to his room. If the way wasn't so short though, you could have fallen asleep right there in his arms, your cheek on his shoulder and one hand against his warm chest.

Despite telling him that you are fine for the tenth time now, he still insists on taking care of you. He borrows you your favorite sweater of his - although you don't quite understand how it found its way back into his closet because the last time you checked it has been in your room - and softly puts you to bed under the thick dark green covers out of silk.

What you don't know, however, is how much he actually blames himself for what happend tonight. He feels guilty because it should have hit him and not you. After all, he accidentally lured the werewolf into your direction by frightening you. He knew you were scared, you told him before. Nevertheless he thought it was funny to scare you. And now you got hurt because of him.

He climbs in beside you and pulls you closely to him, your arm wrapped over his waist and your head on his chest. He gently runs his fingertips over your delicate skin and through your hair. You feel his steady heartbeat beneath you, softly inhale his scent and close your eyes.

"I love you so much, Y/N. I'm sorry for everything", Draco whispers barely audible and places a kiss on your forehead, then another one on your temple. "I love you too, Draco", you absently smile and put your hand on his jaw, lift your head slightly and then give him a kiss on his chapped lips. "And please stop apologizing, alright? It was not your fault."

You can clearly see that he thinks about whether or not to reply but you beat him to it. "Listen. I don't blame you at all. It was a misfortune, nothing more and nothing less. All I need is your company right now. I need you by my side, Draco. Always", you explain and give him a genuine smile in hopes to make him feel better and to finally stop blaming himself.

He replies with an equally genuine smile and gives you one last kiss before he pulls you even closer, as if he's scared of losing you. Still, after your kind words, he actually feels better now and he smiles to himself when noticing your quiet snoring.

And that night Draco definetely made sure you wouldn't have any nightmares at all.

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erazonpo3 · 3 years

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(This is a written collaboration between myself and Hemlock/pathygen in the ‘Cassandra’s Tangled Adventure’ AU verse, featuring our characters Alphecca and Violante. This was just a fun little back-and-forth with our two villains set in the period in which Violante has possession of Alphecca’s phylactery.

The formatting is based on our replies, it was really fun to get to write together and watch Violante flex on Alphecca. I’d recommend reading it on my blog’s desktop page for the formatting)

The Eagle and The Mole

Ever since her rebirth in flame and ash, Alphecca hasn’t known the icy grip of cold; yet Countess Violante’s chateau inspires it in her bones. It’s a monument of stone, glass, and drapery, and at this time of night the torchlight in the hallways are extinguished; malingerers are unwelcome. Even the ever-present ache in her chest takes its leave here, something she would have been thankful for if it weren’t Violante’s doing. Her soul burned like a dying star, but since her phylactery fell into Violante’s hands all she has known is its absence— numb apathy— the closest thing she knows to cold.

She’s sure to school her features before entering Violante’s parlour, smoothing out the notch between her eyebrows and the curl of her lips that may as well have been sculpted into her flesh these days. Trinket shrieks at her as she walks past, aggrieved that her delicious bones are today wrapped in the illusion of skin and, on top of that, a stupid uniform. It’s stiff and it pinches in ways she can’t feel but is nonetheless frustrated by, and whenever she catches her reflection in the silverware she can’t help but grimace at the militant emblems and pageantry she advertises. All that’s missing from her marionette costume is the strings.

The Countess is waiting for her as expected, perched perfectly poised on the gaudy piece of furniture she likes to pretend is a throne. She resists the urge to sneer at the pretentious display, if only because Violante would find it so amusing.

“I’m back,” she announces flatly, absently picking at the cuff of her jacket.

“Yes, I noticed.” Violante replies, crystal and calm as a winter morning.

The countess has a quill pinched between her fingers; sharp motions carry the crimson plume across the page laid out in front of her, scratching. The chamber swallows sound and bounces it back. Dim moonlight ekes through tall, arched windows of blue stained glass, and casts a watery pattern against the polished floor.

Violante does not look up at the dead woman.

A minute and a half passes before she finally caps the tiny, neat scrawl on the parchment with a looping signature, rolls it into a neat cylinder, and sets it aside. The feathered end of the quill finds its way between her lips, ponderously. She tilts her head up and her smile is delicate. There’s something of a spider in it.

“That certainly took you long enough. One little village could hardly have been all the effort.” The Countess of Solanales stands with a fluid motion, and folds her arms loosely across her chest. A cigarette smolders in it’s holder on the edge of the desk, filling the room with an oily, herbal smell. She inspects Alpchecca like one might a mannequin stuck in a display, lips pursed.

“Well, at least you kept everything in order this time. See? You can look nice. I knew the collar would be a nice touch. The color accents your eyes, now that you have them in.”

Trinket croaks from her perch. The monochrome vulture returns to preening, bored now that the arguably edible bits of the lich aren’t on display. Violante leans back against the edge of her gilded seat. “So how did it go? Did you make any friends?”

This time Alphecca doesn’t withhold the grimace that curls back her lip to expose a yellowed canine. She’s aware of the way the moonlight makes her pale skin seem especially waxy and sallow, which typically serves to unnerve humans- all save the Countess. Violante’s eyes glitter like a cut diamond as she appraises her, and Alphecca forces her gaze away in a show of deliberate disregard. She stares through the blue washed windowpane to speak to the waxing moon, but keeps an eye on Violante’s figure in her periphery.

“I was just being thorough, I’m sure you can appreciate that. No stone left unturned, no building left standing, everything razed just right, just for you,” she says, flashing Violante a quick, sardonic smirk before returning her gaze to the window. “I don’t imagine you’ll have much of a problem marching your people down there and claiming a new pile of dirt, or whatever it is you do with the ashes. There’s nothing left.”

The moon’s bright glow begins to burn a spot into her vision, but facing the window makes it easier for her to keep her face blank. Her excursion today would be considered a success by Violante’s standards, but she had been sure to cause enough of a racket as she tore through the streets that most villagers had ample time to flee before she tore into the place. If they couldn’t escape even after all the time she gave them, well, Cassandra can’t say she didn’t try.

Under the scrutiny she can’t help but scratch at the briarthorn collar, and she chances another glance back at Violante.

“Thoughtful. I can’t say I have much use for more dirt than I already seem to own, but,” Violante gestures and Trinket stretches her neck. The vulture flaps off the stand and onto the desk with a crooked hop, and remains still while the countess fastens the scroll to her leg. “I’m sure whoever is left will be happy to accept all the aid Solanales is willing to provide, in the wake of their unfortunate devastation.”

Eyes glittering, she crooks a gloved finger under the large bird’s beak and hums. “The world is lousy with monsters, after all.”

And in the end, it was only a barrier town. But every little bit counts, every scrap of seizure. Scraps still. But these were things that couldn’t be rushed. Or shouldn’t have been, if she had been able to stick to her original schedule. Plans were important, but the ability to adapt to a situation was worth even more. Put attention in the right places, stress on the right joints, poison in the right tea.

Or get creative, and toss a skeleton into a henhouse. Ho hum.

“Go on.” Violante says to the bird. Trinket makes a clicking noise low in her throat, and takes off without a backwards glance at Alphecca, winging towards some high and hidden exit. Violante watches her go in silence. She doesn’t expect it will take long for a response, in some capacity, but she doesn’t really plan to wait for one either. Aldara is out in the field somewhere, hopefully stalking her other quarry, but there’s a decent chance both situations will muddle together eventually.

“Now, what to do with you?” Violante turns back to face the dead woman, who looks hilariously unsure. It’s already late, and she needs to keep some space between the raids, as she creeps them closer to the borders of the Iron Kingdom.

Alphecca scowls at the vulture’s retreating form, however glad she’d normally be to see it leave. With Trinket gone, only the two of them remain. It didn’t exactly make for a good buffer, yet in the leering bird’s absence the room tightens with intimacy. Violante and intimacy are her two least favourite things, and combined they manifest as the bane of her existence. The only thing that can make it worse is Violante’s voyeuristic shadow who is thankfully out on her master’s orders tonight, likely committing her own fill of atrocities.

The Countess’ icy veneer betrays nothing of her intentions. In a game where information is everything, Alphecca knows she’s at a woeful disadvantage. If she tries fishing, Violante will know what she’s doing the minute she speaks, no matter how vague or disinterested she comes across— but she might be indulged. It begs the question of whether it’s better to stumble around blindly or sniff out a trail she can’t trust. Either way, she needs to say something- the longer she concedes to silence, the further the scales tip in Violante’s favour.

“How about giving these old bones a rest? You’ll find a siesta does wonderful things for the constitution,” she quips. “I’m assuming you don’t want to cause too much of a stir, anyhow,” she adds, unable to deny the temptation of the gamble. Now she forces herself to keep her eyes trained on the Countess, and settles into a smirk.

“You’re dead, you don’t have a constitution,” Violante drawls.

She glances away towards the window, the picture of disinterest, thinking. Ghostly evening light blankets the room, and flows over the silent collection of statues and armor bordering the walls, the curtained archways. Rooting out the location of the lich’s phylactery had been more of an effort of time and money than anything else. She had a number of contacts stretched over the continent, from tomb takers to Morcant to disgruntled former servants who had once swept the halls of the Spire. The crumbling little ruin of a shrine had seemed like a forgotten afterthought, nestled on the edge of an icy valley north of Ingvarr. The pendant had been wrapped in hay and rue. The plain little goat skull carved into the stone that boxed it had worn smooth with time. It was imagery that had become much more frequent among the information she lately received. So many old stories seemed to be pulling themselves up out of the grave these days. Even keeping the new ones in the ground was proving to be a challenge.

No one died like they used to. The lich had certainly been involved in that most recent of frustrations.

Although, maybe, her decision to poison Cassandra had been a little hasty. She had maybe been a little angry. A little perturbed. Corpses and memories were generally less useful than breathing attendants, even if they were less trouble. People were so stubborn. Still, even there the lich might prove..useful. If that was the way things shook out in the end.

“Besides, we both know rest isn’t really in your cards.” The countess says, stepping down away from the desk, towards Alphecca. Reaching up, she adjusts the collar the lich keeps fiddling with, smooths down the epaulettes on her shoulders. The illusion of flesh truly was impressive. Almost as much as the facade of confidence. “You know, I once heard that a long life eventually deprives you of optimism. They also say that time heals all wounds. People never seem to be able to make up their minds about just how sad they think they’re supposed to be.”

Alphecca wraps her grimace up into a wry grin, though the fury in her eyes burns a palpable heat in the gelid room. Violante ignores said look as she smooths out the creases in her uniform, abusing all sentiment of personal space. The woman isn’t physically intimidating in the slightest; even wearing stilettos Alphecca has to look down her nose at her. But the proximity is unnerving. If her physical body is merely an extension of her soul, then Violante owns both, and she isn’t shy about making it known— so Alphecca does her best to ignore it, training her eyes on the wall in front of her instead of the head of perfectly coiffed curls only a breath away and the nails that cross her clavicle to smooth over her shoulders.

“In my experience, more time is just an avenue for more procrastination,” she admits. It’s the truth, or at least it’s her truth, and there’s no harm in admitting it- the information has no value to Violante. If the Countess got her claws on immortality, the last thing anyone should be concerned with is if she were happy or sad.

“People also say that destroying people’s lives and livelihoods won’t make you happy, but we both know that’s not true,” she adds. She hasn’t actually heard anyone say that, but it’s one of those unspoken things- and it’s wrong. Schadenfreude and victory are one hell of a cocktail.

“A common adage, is that?” Violante hums, stepping back. “Stagnation is hideous. And regret is a waste of energy. If you’ve really wasted all this time waiting for a death that’s never going to come, then it’s fortunate I came along to make better use of your… afterlife.” She tilts her head. “Especially considering that I found you rooting around in a cave, talking to bones. I can’t imagine skeletons make for very good conversation.”

For once, Alphecca isn’t bothered by the barb. She wastes her time however she pleases, spending her years harassing new villages until she gets bored and moves on, or searching for new fossils to reanimate, playing in the dirt. She knows she’s a disappointment but that’s how she’s come to like it— fuelled by the spite of those more ambitious than her who have to watch her gnaw on the unending life they can’t have. That is, until Violante took it from her.

With more distance between them now, Alphecca releases a breath; it’s unnecessary, but calming all the same.

“They make better company than your pets, at least,” she says. They don’t talk back, for one thing, but she’ll keep that part to herself. All the bones she finds have very interesting stories to tell, but unfortunately Violante’s dreadful companions only find them useful for teething.

“Tsk. Oh, kettle.” Violante says, sotto voce. She has very little interest in making any argument about the quality of company Aldara or anyone else brings to her circle. She doesn’t keep them around for their people skills. Mostly. The countess reaches out to tap the bottom of her jaw. “You’re so uncertain for a corpse. You chatter so much for a tool. But if that’s the way you feel…” A thoughtful pause, wintry silence. Violante steps past her, the dark pool of her gown trailing on the floor. “Come.”

“What, you’re not a fan of our stimulating discussions?” Alphecca jeers, cocking her head. Blunt as they are, words are the last weapons she has in this fight, but she turns to follow her nonetheless. She kicks her feet up off the ground to hang a foot in the air to let the click of Violante’s heels echo down the hollow hallways alone, creeping behind her like a spectre.

She’s hesitates, trailing behind at a healthy distance, but she can’t deny her curiosity is piqued.

“I think your talents lie elsewhere.” Violante answers without turning around, wry. The castle is large and cold and strikingly empty of people. There are servants, courtiers, of course, but this late at night the work has gone to ground. Most of them, having been around this long, have learned to work out of sight, or in silence. Violante lifts a low burning candelabra from a table in the tapestried hall, wax dripping into the filagree crevices that tomorrow will be picked clean again before she wakes. The halls stretch on, half covered portraits lining the walls, tall arched windows that continue to leak in cool evening light. Violante takes them down, towards the ground floor, and eventually comes to rest in front of a heavy, ornate door set back far from the main vestibule.

“Wait here.” she commands, and without stopping, the countess takes off down another hall and vanishes around the corner. She returns about ten minutes later, unchanged and smiling. In her hand is a small pouch, dangling with a loop of cord that she drapes around her neck. She nods at the door. “Shall we?”

Alphecca lingers back as she follows Violante through the chateau. She’s no stranger to silence, and she can even appreciate the servants’ scarce presence; humans can be such annoying creatures. However, there’s a hostility that comes with the quiet— an unspoken threat that has butlers and maids scurrying away like rats in the corner of her eye, only daring to move when the Countess strides past.

She halts when instructed, taking the time to inspect the portraits of Violante’s ancestors while she waits. The dim light is no obstacle as she takes in the details, sneering at the pompous Lords and Ladies that line the walls. The different fashion styles over the centuries blend together in her mind, but she recognises the distinct ruffles that predate the Shampanier Era crossing over to the more modern style of headdress, evolving across the row of portraits. They have matching brutal, patrician features and cold eyes, and their arrogance is palpable even through the oils. She wonders if Violante sees them as an inspiration or an embarrassment.

Alphecca drops to her feet when Violante arrives, eyeing the new fashion accessory.

“Ladies first,” she gestures in a parody of an usher, trying to avoid the sense of dread that accompanies the sight of the heavy wooden door.

“True.” Violante says agreeably, placing her gloved hand on the door. In the other she still clutches the flickering candelabra, and the light plays shadows against its surface. The front of it is carved with vines and flowers, mountains and snowflakes. It opens with a heavy grinding sound when she tries the handles, with some effort. Cobwebs stick and pull between the gap, and Violante sneers a little at the dust that collects on her fingertips. A staircase leads down into darkness. It reeks of earth, dry and undisturbed.

Violante’s face remains impassive as she starts down the steps, the click of her heels ringing against the stone. The walls are featureless rock, and roots start to press through the gaps the farther down they travel. Eventually the stairs level out onto a narrow, dark, landing. Violante moves with a caution in the dark that relaxes when she finds the torches set into thick pillars that frame the entrance, and she lights them with the candle flame. Orange light fills the cavern.

“Homey, I imagine.” she says. “But still better than what you were used to.”

It is a tomb, of course. More a mausoleum, seemingly built into the naturally limestone cavern underneath the castle. The roof of the crypt rises up high above the chamber, arched ribs and all angles like the inside of a cathedral. Violante doesn’t pause in her intrusion, gliding down the center aisle with a curious fervor, idly stroking the covered parcel around her neck. She finally stops as they near the back of the chamber, in front of a stone dais that elevates two, long, solid coffins. Side by side, in their lofty place of honor. Violante sets the candles down. She looks back at the lich.

She says, “You’re going to wake them up.”

Violante isn’t wrong to assume that the cavernous underbelly of the castle is more comforting to Alphecca than the bleak architecture and furnishing upstairs, but it’s still far from homely. The crypt is stale and azoic, lacking the warm smell of rot and soil that accompanies her usual hovels. Nonetheless she does feel more at ease here, and it takes the tension out of her shoulders.

“Is this mum and dad? I didn’t really take you for the mournful orphan type,” Alphecca says, her smirk eking into her voice. She approaches the left coffin and slides a hand over the lacquered wood, which is stained with black and ornately carved. The golden filigree is finely engraved and the craftsmanship of the coffin itself is masterful. A thrill runs through her bones; as disinterested as she is in the coffin’s inhabitants, she’s eager to see what bijous and tchotchkes she’ll find inside.

It takes her mind off of Violante’s request. Resurrecting one body, one soul, takes more effort than she is usually willing to expend. Two isn’t out of the question, but it’s going to take time. There are shortcuts she could take-

No. She’ll take all the time she needs.

“I can do it for you, but it’s not going to be quick or easy. I’m assuming you want more than just a couple of braindead puppets, after all,” Alphecca states, glancing carefully at Violante.

Violante watches the dead mingle, the old and the ancient. There’s a stone bench opposite the dais, maybe long ago a place meant for prayer or meeting. The back of it curves up into a chiseled swan’s head, with the beak broken off. She sits, and crosses her legs, eyes lidded, observing Alphecca as she circles the caskets. The lich’s interest is evident, undisguised. She’s being so nice.

“Mmm.” she confirms, very calm. “Lady Fiore and Count Viator. I poisoned them when I was seventeen.”

She draws a finger across the jagged beak of the swan and rubs the grit between her thumb and forefinger. The black fabric of her gloves are already powdered with dust. Idly, she pinches one finger and slips it the long glove off, stretching her hand in the cool, dry air of the crypt. The tips of her fingers are stained purplish-black, even deep under her nails.

“They need to be able to speak, and answer questions truthfully. I’m not especially worried about mobility, but memory is important.” She tilts her head, dark eyes focused on the bone witch. “How long? Describe the process for me.”

Alphecca’s lips twist as Violante confesses to her parents’ murder, but continues to investigate the coffins.

“Well, the process involves bartering with Death, binding the soul to an anchor and then binding said anchor to your will- it’s something that can take months, depending on how long it takes to get the reagents, and that’s just for one soul. Doubling up will save time, but even you don’t have infinite resources,” she explains.

Without asking Alphecca lifts the nearest coffin lid, and lets out an involuntary whoop at the burst of pungent aroma. There’s not much left of the carcass itself, despite what she’s sure was a vigorous embalming. Corpses are meant to return to the earth, and the ones buried above ground have a messier time of trying to find it. Lady Fiore’s robes are completely soiled with corpse juice, but she’s surrounded by a few glinting baubles that could still be disinfected- although she’s sure Violante won’t let her play with them.

“A fresh corpse is always easier to work with, but it’s just as well you kept the remains at all- souls will anchor to their own bodies with less of a fuss,” she says, disregarding all the loopholes that come to mind. With a snap of her fingers Fiore’s bones glow a pale blue, battling the orange torchlight for a moment before it subsides. It’s a basic preservation spell that she uses on all her creatures to protect their bones from the elements, which she hopes Violante will take as a sign of her veracity.

“You’ll find my resources will more than suffice.” Violanate says. “Considering the state of your previous arrangement, and what you’re used to.” Scrounging around in the shadows and the muck couldn’t have been all that profitable for the lich. Procuring things, especially things of an elusive nature, is not usually a problem for her.

The stench that emanates from her mother’s coffin is certainly vile enough. Violante’s nose wrinkles, and she nearly rolls her eyes at the bone witch’s obvious enthusiasm for it. For a moment she has to tilt her head to the side, and she brings the pouch around her neck closer to her face. There’s baby’s breath and rosemary inside: a good dampener, or so she’s been told. The Countess is not unfamiliar with corpses, but they’re usually less decayed, and less in her face. She could have used a stronger perfume.

“Useful little spell.” She says, turning back to face the dais.

And then, “..bartering with death.” Violante drawls, stretching the words out slowly. That has her curiosity piqued. Something about it, a string to tug. “Like it’s a person.”

Alphecca hums absently, neither in agreement or disagreement.

“I suppose we’ll see,” she says. She swipes a thumb over Lady Fiore’s cheekbone, imagining how the muscle would have wrapped across it and how the skin might have sat on top. Her sharp jawline mirrors Violante’s, and she’s willing to bet they shared the same nose. She was no doubt a very attractive woman in her prime, and Alphecca finds herself almost frustrated that she’ll be deliberately prolonging the reconstruction process.

She crosses over to the coffin on the left but her fingers tapdance across the lid, and her head perks up at the mention of Death.

“Well, yeah- okay, she’s not really a person, but she’s the shepherd between this realm and the realm where lost souls are... supposed to go, and you’re not going to get a soul back from the realm of the dead without her noticing,” she explains, smiling at the memory of the spectre. Absently she traces shapes in the dust of the coffin lid as she continues.

“It’s far simpler to make a trade with her than to try and steal one, but that’s still easier said than done.”

Having to watch the lich inspect and handle her parents' remains doesn’t seem to phase the Countess very much. Legs crossed, she sits back on the mourning bench, and rests her chin on the back of her fingers.

“‘She’. You make a trade with death.” Violante repeats, not a question. “What could..death-the-entity possibly want in exchange for a soul?”

There’s a visible sneer on her face at the word soul. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in spectres or spirits: she’s essentially speaking to one, even if it’s trapped in a bone. The concept of anything trying to tell her what to do, even after death, dissatisfies. Even at a young age, playing with her first herbs and poisons and staining her skin, Violante knew that she wasn’t going to go until she was good and ready.

She can guess what the lich might think of her. The many things, every terrible notion. Most she’s probably right about. But Violante has no interest in living forever. Cavorting around for centuries as a moldering corpse isn’t an appealing notion, and it obviously hasn’t done the witch any favours. No. She is going to build something great. Something right, something hers.

In the end, if it is really worthy, it will outlast her.

And if it’s not...well.

Violante hums, “Longing for death is a bit of a cliche, even for you.”

“Depends,” Alphecca shrugs. “Sometimes she asks for help wrangling the ghosts that refuse to let go, or she has a specific soul in mind, or sometimes she just wants a favour to keep in her pocket. There’s always some kind of catch though, because she’s hardly going to ask for something she can get herself.”

Even if she weren’t already planning on delaying the process, she anticipates bargaining for two souls will be the most difficult part. Bartering with Death isn’t exactly something she makes a habit of; she can count on one hand the amount of times she’s made the deal, and every time had brought its own headache. Just the memory of it is enough to make her head hurt, so she turns her attention back to Violante.

“Yeah, well. Even you’d be begging her to come take you after long enough. You and I both know Death can be a mercy,” she says with a smirk, and cracks open dear father’s casket.

Help, promises, wayward souls. “That’s a lot out of death’s reach.” More than one would think, for such a definite force. Violante listens to the dead woman without looking up, thinking, rubbing the pad of her thumb across the velvet pouch dangling from her neck. There is another wave of foul scent, all earth and rot. The sound of heavy stone dragging on stone. Her father had been a count of some notable prowess. He had been good at getting people to listen, and always spoke with confidence. Curt at times, but he shared a warmth with her mother that would have seemed anathema to the traditional Solanales chill, to anyone outside of their family. They were a private people. Violante had loved her parents. She had loved them even when she was putting them in the ground.

“Who said anything about mercy?” The countess murmurs, tilting her head, a silver-dark curl of hair sliding over one side of her face. Wintry, she says, “How long is this going to take you? Approximately, for one body?”

Alphecca rakes a finger down Count Viator’s sternum, making a mental note of his measurements. She’s sure there’s a portrait somewhere in the castle she can look to as a reference for their bodies, which are clearly tall but perhaps wider than their frames let on. Violante’s voice echoes in the cavernous room, yet the words themselves float around in the air. There’s a few trinkets scattered in the coffin, rings and jewels and heirlooms; they’re gaudy and expensive, but far from valuable to the dead. The sudden change in the intonation of Violante’s voice catches her attention, and she only catches the tail end of her question.

“Hm? Oh- well, for one? It’d normally take around a month or so to source all the reagents- meat, ivory, rare herbs and spices and whathaveyou- then somewhere between one to two weeks to build the body itself. After that it really depends on what I need to do to recover the soul,” Alphecca explains, finally dragging her eyes away from the remains.

“And of course, I wouldn’t want to rush perfection.”

“How thoughtful,” Violante drawls. “But they don’t need to be perfect, just functional. Enough to answer what I want to ask of them. You fare well enough without lungs. Or gray matter.” The countess tilts her head again. “They’re going right back in the ground after I’m finished with them.”

Pushing away from the bench, Violante stands with fluid, gossamer grace. Holding one arm loosely tucked around her waist, she climbs the steps and despite the reek, peers slowly into each of the caskets, expression unreadable. Swipes one stained fingers against the dust collected on the stone lip, rubbing.

Almost conversationally, she looks back and says, “Tell me what you need, and you’ll have it within a week. If not sooner. We have the merits of civilization here.” With a surprising amount of ease, Violante leans back against her mother’s grave and lifts herself into a sitting position on the skewed cover, ankles crossed. She smiles, her mouth a sharp, dark slash. “Three weeks, I think, is more than enough time for you to finish the work.”

Very slowly, she lifts the velvet pouch and threads it open. The amulet is heavy, and Violante curls it’s chain delicately around her fingers, thumb hooked under one of the horns. Scarlet light suffuses her from below.

Coy, Violante hums, “If you put your mind to it.”

Alphecca scowls at Count Viator, cursing him for ever procreating.

“If you want a botched job, then fine,” she sneers, bristling at the intrusion on her oasis. The presence of the phylactery is like a sneeze sitting at the back of her nose, painless and yet impossible to ignore. However, the Countess has extended her a favour in the same token, providing her the irritation necessary to redirect her attention elsewhere.

“The souls of the dead don’t tend to like being torn from their peace and shoved back inside their corpses, and the further the vessel is from their actual flesh and blood, the harder it is to attach them. And if a soul doesn’t attach properly, then you’re going to have a very uncooperative, likely half-braindead, pale imitation of your dearly departed loved one. So it’s your call,” Alphecca explains, drumming her fingers on the coffin lid.

It’s a gambit for more time, but the phenomenon of corrupted souls isn’t unheard of. And it’s not exactly something she’s keen on dealing with.

And then there was silence. It was followed by the shrill whistle of a lofty wind, swiftly swallowed by the cavern, sucked down. Above, a jagged crack in the apex of the cave opened up to mountain air and evening sky. Snow-melt had formed thin icicles which dripped with languid precision onto the old stone. There were some places within the cavern where if you listened close enough you could hear the sounds of running water; more runoff that was kept flowing by the warm channels that ran all underneath Solanales. The recessed thermal rivers: mineral rich, were responsible for the health and diversity of the medicinal herbs the county was able to cultivate. Her father had shown her maps, long ago.

Violante regards the lich cooly. The sneer; the constant flow of excuses, the obstinance. There is a moment before she speaks, where the slick consideration in her dark eyes slides towards bored. Just as quickly, the flat stare is replaced with a knifelike flash of malice, penetrative and acute—then a return to hawkish study.

“You’re right,” The countess says smoothly, examining the blemished fingers of her free hand, “it is my call.” She tilts her head, and wrly continues, “..and if I cared about what they liked, I wouldn’t have killed them in the first place.”

The glow from the amulet gives her skin a rosy tincture it doesn’t usually possess. Violante places her empty hand back on the coffin lid behind her, relaxing back into a lounge.

“Alphecca…” her voice is deadly soft. She rarely uses the corpse’s name. She’s never seen much point. The countess peers down at the phylactery, slim fingers curled under the horns and through the chains.

“You know, this really was remarkably easy to find. Time; a few simple exchanges of gold, a barter with a like-minded contact—who will no doubt realise, eventually, the true cost of that information, and likewise, the great loss she would accrue attempting to take it back.”

Calm, easy, her posture is that of a woman relaxing in a parlor; not an arm's reach away from her mother’s seeping skeleton. Violante runs her thumb up the side of the crystal. It’s warm, with a steady, pulse-like thrum.

“That is a part of what it means to have dominion—to have dominance. Laying the foundation. Control over people and their emotions, so that they don’t go spinning them out into actions they haven’t thought over properly. Something always there, in the back of their minds.”

With a sly smile, Violante tilts the amulet. “Like this.” Her fingers tighten, squeeze around the pulse.

“Come here.” she commands.

The Countess’ silence brings the familiar weight of dread, the coils of her contemplation winding and tensing before their inevitable release. The use of her name, soft as it is, is like the snap of a twig; the arrow is coming next, but she has nowhere to run. When Violante speaks, her words are dripping with nightshade, and Alphecca pays less attention to the words as she does those eyes and the way they peel back the illusion of her flesh. How long ago was it that Zhan Tiri had stood in her place, holding the phylactery that they’d created together, swinging it before her like an aberrant hypnotist? The image lingers in her mind, branded into her being, and it burns again now. Violante holds her ransom with equal avarice and even more capriciousness.

She doesn’t fight the command.

One foot drags after the other, pulling her away from Viator’s putrid remains towards his fetid offspring. The ends of her hair dance in the waves of heat that surge from her body, casting her pallid skin in the same glow mirrored in her bottled soul, and her sclera seeps with augural ink. She looks down her nose at the Countess, but stays mute; her glare speaks for itself.

“Oh, that face again,” Violante smiles slyly as the lich draws near. “You looked at me like that the last time you tried to get me to break this. For all that trite dribble about souls, they pack rather nicely into tight spots, hm?” She lifts the phylactery and lets it dangle from her fingers again. The carved crystal twists, shedding ruby light.

Tilting her head, the countess adds, “..though honestly the sheep-theme is a little provincial for my taste.”

From her perch on the coffin lid, she and the lich are almost at eye level. Idly, she taps the curled horns of the amulet against her lips, and takes a moment to inspect the flickering hair, warmed by the unnatural heat in the cold center of the crypt. She’s seen the witch dressed in bone before, skeletal, human then very much not. She hasn’t yet been able to divine whether the flesh is an illusion, or a simulacrum.

“...you know, it’s almost funny,” she says after another moment, musing. Gently, Violante reaches up to take Alphecca’s chin between her fingers, feeling for bone or for the presence of a seam. Without much force, she tilts her face left, then right. “The creature that made you this way got to die before you, didn’t it? Whether it wanted to or not. And even though it’s gone, you’re still here. That’s an impressive act of malice I’m not even sure I could aspire to.”

She brushes a strand of winding hair behind the dead woman’s ear, the fingers of her other hand wrapped around the amulet. They rest there, lingering.

“Mercy,” she hums, “Death. Do you really think that force regards you as anything more than a vague afterthought? Do you know why?”

Close, her eyes are dark and flat. When she smirks, her lips part, and there’s something of a serpent in it. The fingers set behind the corpse's ear hook suddenly, sharply. “It’s because you’re a commodity.” Softly, “A body. It was a waste having you be as you were before: running loose, childish and deranged. Whatever worth you had was decided on ages ago by something greater, and then discarded in one instant, only to be defined again, now, by me. That’s the only thing that matters here.”

Drawing her hand back, Violante twines another piece of fiery hair around her stained, lacy fingers. The amulet beats a rhythm against her palm. “Like that little village you destroyed. Garbage, right? But now, it’ll be built up again into something useful—desirable. Not only as a consequence of my birthright, but because I have the power to make that happen, and the will to speak through it. Because that’s the zeal the world recognizes. In the end, it doesn’t matter who you are or who you’re trying to be. Whether you’re a shambling monster… or a wayward sword, I’ll use the power I have; my proof of conquest, to assert my will—” a rough tug on the strand of hair, closer “—and change the meaning of value.”

Silence, and the drip of distant water. Violante lets the strand slide free from her hair, and inspects her hand with distant disinterest.

“Three weeks,” she says cooly. The phylactery thrums in her grip. “Don’t ever try to argue with me again.”

Alphecca’s phantom heart thumps in her hollow chest. Words intended to cut to the quick come close to their mark, but nothing Violante says can slice deeper than the futility of her situation. She can’t remember needing to gasp for air like this, not for a long time. And yet for all her vast networks of contacts and flies on the walls, Violante doesn’t know everything. She clutches that thought like a final matchstick in the dark, for all its limited warmth. The Countess doesn’t know Death; not like she does. And she’ll get those souls that she wants, and she’ll do her finest job— but Violante’s not the only one that has strings worth pulling.

For as tainted as Violante’s hands are, they’re still warm. Blood pulses right to the tips of her fingers and beats against her false skin, and she feels its absence when her hand draws away. Alphecca responds with a cock of the head, and a sneer.

“I’d better get going, then.”

#cta au #alphecca #violante #my art #my writing #and also hemlock's but that's just my fic tag

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bssaz97 · 3 years

Text

Family Friend

- Patch Island, Kingdom of Vale -

[95 A.G.W.]

[18:55 Hours (6:55 PM)]

10 YO Rowan: Wagon check?

10 YO Summer: Check!

Rowan: Soda?

Summer: Check!

Rowan: Balloons?

Summer: Check!

Rowan: Poppy Rocks?

Summer: Check!

Rowan: All Poppy Rocks accounted for?

Summer: *about to open a bag to eat* Uhhh... Check!

Rowan: Ready to throw some Poppy Rock filled Cola’s at that stupid dentist billboard Sis?

Summer: Heck yeah!

Weapons of choice in hand, the Rose twins stealthily went on their way dragging along twelve bottles of Cola Pops with a box of Poppy Rocks in what would be their best prank yet.

[45 Minutes Later…]

After trekking through the woods, the twin finally arrived at the destination of their latest prank....

A Billboard promoting a local Dentist Office!

Rowan: After two months of saving our allowances and a week’s worth of lunch monies, we finally have the tools to enact today’s plan! For too long we children have to suffer at the hands of those “dental specialists,” so now it’s time to take revenge for children of all ages!

Summer: *fistbumps* Yeah!

Both take a liter of Cola in their hands and begin to use them to fill several balloons. Afterwards they poured a whole sachets worth of the rock candy mixture.

Once they had their weapons ready, they quickly shook a balloon in each hand, took aim and threw them at the billboard with all their might!

When the two balloons had made contact with the billboard, the twins had been pleased to see the sight of two messy and foamy spray on the dental advertisement.

Summer: Woo! That was so cool!

Rowan: Yeah! ...Wanna throw another one?

Summer: Heck yeah!

They prepared more balloons and repeated the action of tossing them in exactly the same way as before.

Soon enough, the billboard was nearly covered with sticky foam and rock candy, all to the twins mischievous glee and amusement.

Sadly their fun was too soon coming to an end, they both stared at the two remaining balloons that they each held.

Summer: Aw... I wish we had bought more balloons.

Rowan: It was fun while it lasted. Come on, let’s make these ones count. Whoever can hit an eye gets to give the other their brussels sprouts for dinner tonight!

Summer: Yuck! Brussels sprouts... you’re on!

The twins held their final individual balloons in one hand, rearing their arms back to throw and are prepared to fling their balloons, but unfortunately for these two, their fun ended when a beam of a flashlight was pointed at them.

“Oi! Hold it right there!”

The twins stopped themselves mid throw, thankfully neither of them let go of their balloons, as they both turned towards the light being pointed at them.

Busted.

A figure walked towards slowly, a female judging by the voice, a northern Valean accent to be accurate. However, neither of the twins could not make out as to who the woman was for the sky had begun to turn dark and the light that she held was exceptionally bright.

The young woman stopped only a meter away from them.

???: Reach for the sky.

The two Rose twins complied, both raiding their hands.

???: Well would ya look at here, I got me some no good troublemakers messin’ around with town property. Don’t try ta deny it either, I caught ya’s red handed.

Rowan: W-We aren’t trouble makers m-mam, we were just playing. Right Sum?

Summer: Y-Yeah, just playing! Honest!

???: Oh? An’ you want to believe that loada crap. Especially when ya’s still got tha proof in ya hands.

Rowan was shaking in place, this was not looking good for either of them, they had been caught and now they were likely in big trouble. Mom would find out and be disappointed, he could get kicked out of the soccer team and they could get this marked on their permanent record.

He was taken away from his thoughts when he faintly heard whimpering, turning his gaze he saw his twin looking on the verge of tears, absolutely terrified at the implication of getting in trouble.

That just solidified Rowan’s decision.

Rowan: I-I …It was my idea! Please if you’re going to take one of us in, just take me and let my sister go! She just went along with my idea!

Summer: Wha-! N-No that’s not true! I threw just as many balloons as he did!

Rowan: *whispering* Summer! I’m trying to save your skin!

Summer: *whispering* Nooo! I don’t want you to go to jail!

Rowan: Please mam, I acted alone! She just watched me do it and I pressured her into it!

???: That a fact? Well that doesn’t mattah, I’m takin’ the two’s of ya in anyway.

Stretching out her empty hand she activated her semblance, causing the tips of her fingers to illuminate a green hue and a symbol of a leaf appeared on her hand. What occurred next shocked the two young Rose twins.

From the ground beneath them, roots emerged and swiftly wrapped around their little wrists, forming makeshift wooden handcuffs. With a pull, the roots brought the two on their knees, making it clear to the two that she meant business.

Rowan: W-Wait! Hold on a minute! Don’t you have to read us our rights or something!?

Summer: Yeah! Tell us we have the right to an attorney!

???: Attorneys are for grownups. Bad kids like the two of ya’s, get sent to juvie. You two already confessed to the crime, so now I’m takin’ ya to tha slammer!

Rowan: B-But!

Summer: I don’t wanna to go to juvie! Please don’t take us!

The two are nearly close to tears when something unexpected happens. The woman in front of them started to …giggle. Soon enough, her laughing grew louder in volume as she started leaning forward, holding onto her abdomen as she was losing herself to her hysterics.

With a wave of her hand the roots receded, returning to the ground albeit the restraints that remained on the twins wrists.

They looked on in bewilderment as the woman who was apprehending them laughed at the two as though she heard the best joke of her life.

???: *inhales* Oh, you shoulda seen the look on the both of ya’s faces! That’s gold! Pure gold!

She turns off her flashlight with a press of a button, no longer hindering the twins vision. When both of their vision became adjusted to natural light, they immediately put together their apprehender’s identity.

Rowan: Rosemary!?

The twin’s apprehender was none other than Rosemary Thornbush, local Huntress and resident of Patch. She also happened to be a friend of their mother and aunt, and they had history. So the redhead was indeed a familiar face to them.

Rosemary: *laughs* Hey Row-Row. I got ya kids good, didn’t I?

Summer: Rosie! That was mean! I actually thought we were in trouble!

Rosemary: I nevah said you ain’t.

A silence fell on both the twins, as they saw

Summer: oh… so we are going to juvie?

Rosemary: Nah. But the two of ya’s are gonna get a mouthful from ya mom.

Rowan: Y-You’re gonna tell Mom?

Rosemary: Yep, and she’ll get to decide the punishment for that. *pointing at the billboard*

Summer: …Can we go to jail instead?

Rosemary: Oh quit you’re whining, get up you two!

Sheathing her flashlight, Rosemary takes both children by the wrist and guides them down the dirt path towards their home.

Rowan: But the wagon.

Rosemary: We’ll get that tomarraw, it ain’t going nowhere.

Rowan: Aw…

[A walk of shame later…]

Ruby Rose gazes down at her two children in front of her, whom she believed were going to a sleepover, but were all actuality caught vandalizing a billboard with the liters of soda and candy that she purchased under the pretense that they were gonna be used by school children to eat and drink. So not only did her naughty children lie to her, but they also committed a crime.

She was not in a good mood.

Ruby: Rowan, Summer, is this true?

Neither of the twin’s answers her and instead avoided her piercing gaze by looking at the floor. Their guilt clearly written on their small faces.

Ruby: *breathes* Well then, for starters, you’re both going to get ready for dinner. Then you both are going help me wash the dishes tonight, which will be spotless, and then you will both get ready for bed and go to your rooms without any TV or games for the rest of the week.

The two winces at the stern tone she used, they only hear it rarely but it’s not one any child enjoys hearing.

Ruby: Then tomorrow morning you both are going to wake up, eat your breakfast …and help clean up the mess you made on that billboard.

Summer: B-But tomorrow’s the weekend.

Ruby: And?

Summer: Nothing Mommy…

Ruby: You have anything to add mister?

Rowan: No Mommy…

Ruby: Good. Now go fresh up, I made dinner and I don’t want it to get cold.

Wordlessly, the twins moved past her and hears them go upstairs to their shared bathroom to wash up for what would undoubtedly be a very awkward meal.

The sound of giggling breaks Ruby’s thoughts as she turns her attention back towards her guest.

Rosemary: Yeesh, I’d hate to make you angry. Especially if I met you as a kid.

Ruby paused then shook her head, laughing a bit herself at the notion. Being only five years her senior and a friend of her older brother at Signal, the young lady has a way of making her seem old.

Ruby: Thank you Rosie for bringing them home, I really appreciate it.

Rosemary: Forget about it Ruby, I’m always happy to help a friend of the family. Your kids certainly did make the highlight of my night.

Ruby: Did you want to stay for dinner?

Rosemary: Thanks for the offa but Ma’s undoubtedly waiting for me to get my butt back home. Maybe another night. Bring the whole family?

Ruby: I think the kids would love that, once they get over you turning them in.

Rosemary: I hate to do it but it’s my job. Also, I plan to keep an eye on them while they clean up their mess tomarrah. I figured you’s gonna ask that.

Ruby: Thank you again, when everything is cleaned up I’ll come to get them. Who knows, maybe you can expect a cheesecake with your name on it?

Rosemary: Yes mam! *has an eager smile on her face*

Ruby: Well then, I hope you get home safely Rosie, let the family know I said hi and that I appreciate their daughter looking out for my children.

Rosemary: Sure thing, Shrub is definitely gonna enjoy hearing about this. Well you have a goodnight, Ruby.

Ruby: You too, Rosie.

With her job seemingly done for the night, the younger red head began on her way, walking down from the Rose residence’s porch and making her way back from the dirt path. But before she could make it there, her attention is taken away when a voice from behind her called out.

Ruby: Rosie!

Rosemary: *looks back* Yea?

Ruby: …Thank you for bringing them back.

Rosemary: *shrugs* Sure thing. What are friends for, am I right?

Without another word, the young huntress resumed on her way. Another normal day on Patch done and the night setting in.

- Fin -

A/N: Thanks again to @tanakaclinkbeard for allowing me to use his OC, Rosemary Thornbush, in my AU. While it is a different version of her and the history is also a variant, I did my best to keep the core traits of the original.

Edit: Also, the reason Rosemary talks differently is because she has what’s referred to as a Northern Valean accent (Boston accent for irl example).

#rwby #rwby rowan rose #rwby summer pyrrha rose #rwby rosemary #rosemary thornbush #ruby rose

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

Text

A Bit of Clarity �� (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"

"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"

Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."

Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."

He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."

"You're… applying to work here?"

Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.

"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."

"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."

"What about your apiary?"

"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

"People?" Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."

Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."

"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."

"No, I don't suppose she would."

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."

"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

"Have a good day, Clarke."

"You too. And thanks for the treats!"

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, you."

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."

"Is hello formal now?"

"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."

Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."

Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mm probably not."

Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."

Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"

"A woman after my heart."

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."

"Oh there'll be a third date?"

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."

"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."

"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."

"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."

"What's that?"

"That- look. And your voice. You know what."

Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."

"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."

"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"

Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."

"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."

"I didn't even know he baked."

"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."

"How did you meet him anyway?"

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"

"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone. She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.

"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."

"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.

"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."

"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Please, come in."

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world.

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.

"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."

Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."

"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.

"Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded. "Very."

Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."

"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.

"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

"You imagined us kissing?"

"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing.

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.

Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."

Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

"If only."

[part ten]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #short chappie to get back into it #w

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yourfriendslimey · 4 years

Text

7 Minutes

Bambam x fem. Reader

Genre: smut if you can call it that

TW: mild sexual content

WC: 2.5k

Author’s note:took me long enough. this is literally my first smut (r.i.p.). also the ending is a nit dumb but wow did I not know how I wanted to end it.

Preview: “I can hear you heart beating,” Bambam spoke softly. His face was inches from yours; a soft hand placed gently on your jaw…

You melted into an old beanbag chair slumped haphazardly against the corner and let your eyes wander the smoky room. Lit only by a few table lamps, the whole space seemed to rock to the R&B music being playing around you. Even though you were hesitant at first, coming to this party was the best idea you’d had in weeks. Well it was less of a party and more like you and 11 other people sitting around in your close friend, Yugyeom’s apartment. You didn’t know most of the people here, but social interaction was social interaction, nonetheless. It felt like ages since you’d had any actual fun.

The smell of sweat, weed, and hours old pizza filled your nose with each breath. Your eyes traced over the mostly unfamiliar faces in the room and landed upon Yugyeom’s roommate, Bambam, causing your stomach to float.

You didn’t know him very well, but the longer you looked at him, the more you wanted to. However, he seemed to almost avoid you whenever you came by; ducking into his room or leaving the apartment altogether. On the rare occasions you were both in the same room, you’d barely acknowledge each other, giving only a polite wave and a short “hey”. You never really asked Yugyeom about it, opting to just admire him from a far as you were doing now.

His slender frame was leaned against the wall as a bored hand scrolled aimlessly on his phone. A red plastic cup occupied the other. He wore white skinny jeans paired with a pale brick turtleneck that hugged his form. Short snow-white hair and small silver earrings contrasted with his golden skin.

“Hey creep.”

Your heart leapt to your throat at the shock. You shot a stern look to your left to see Yugyeom crouched playfully beside you. “Enjoying the view?” The shit-eating grin plastered to his face made your cheeks burn. He’d known for a while about your feelings for his roommate and took every chance to tease you about it. Honestly, he probably needed to bug you as much as he needed to breathe.

Yugyeom lightly patted your cheeks, giggling at the pissy look growing on your face. “Go to hell, Kim,” you pushed his hands away and threw a punch at his shoulder. “Ow, hey! C’mon, I’m just messin’ around, lighten up,” he pouted as he rubbed his shoulder. “Seriously though, why not just ask him out already? I mean what’s the worst that could happen?” You leaned back with folded arms and sighed, “Well for one, he could laugh in my face and say no. And if that happened I would not and could not EVER come over again. Our friendship would then slowly dwindle away to dust since I rarely see you anywhere other than here. And I honestly don’t know if you’re prepared to handle life without me,” a smirk found its way your face. Yugyeom rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retaliate but stopped himself and smiled impishly, “I have an idea.” He gave one solid clap of his hands, jumped to his feet, and breezed away, leaving you in a pool of confusion and frankly, mild terror.

You watched as he traversed to the stereo and turned the music down, the sudden silence pulling all eyes to him. “Alright guys, it’s that time…” he paused and rubbed his hands together dramatically, “Anyone down for seven minutes?” The room whooped and laughed excitedly, everyone already moving to sit in a circle on the floor.

“Seven minutes” was shorthand for Seven Minutes in Heaven. From what Yug had told you, he and his friends always played when they got together like this. Your stomach formed a knot as Yugyeom moved the small coffee table off to the side and an empty beer bottle was placed in the center of the carpet. Yug found himself a spot, patting the floor next to him for you to join in. Lazily you made your way over and sat cross-legged beside your friend.

You noticed that Bambam was sat across from you leaning back on his hands. He eyed up everyone in the circle and the moment he landed on you, a slight smirk crept to his face. You quickly looked away, feeling your cheeks grow hot. Excitement sparked within you as you silently wished you’d be paired with him.

Yugyeom piped up, “Before we start, I’m gonna explain the rules since y/n hasn’t played with us before.” You listened intently, “I’ll spin to see who goes first. Then that person spins for their partner. No re-spins. You get who you get. The pair will go into the coat closet together for exactly seven minutes. They’re free to do whatever they want with each other, no questions asked. When seven minutes is up, we open the door and let them out. Then we just go clockwise from the first pick. Questions?” Yugyeom looked directly at you.

You shook your empty head. Even if you did have any questions, you didn’t want to make yourself stick out even more than you did. “Then let’s begin,” Yugyeom said as he spun the bottle.

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The rounds passed by quickly. Couples were sent into the closet one after another. Each time the timer went off, Yugyeom unceremoniously swung open the door. Make-out sessions were cut short, wandering hands returned to their owners, faces were flushed red.

You remained mostly uninvested, only taking interest when Bambam was finally up. The circle whooped and whistled, a ring of excitement. You could see almost everyone crossing fingers and leaning in, hoping to sway the bottle in their favor. He smugly chuckled and gave a few flirtatious glances at girls he’d probably been paired with before. A pang of jealousy took root within you. Bambam obviously got around and at least half of these girls have gotten a taste before. You watched intently as he reached out and spun the bottle; your heart a lump in your throat.

You weren’t sure if you were hoping to be chosen or not. If you got paired up, would he even be into it? Into you? Would he be disappointed? You mind did somersaults. Time seemed to slow down, the bottle taking its sweet time before finally stopping. Your heart paused; your eyes widened.

You sat frozen, staring at the bottle waiting for it to somehow move to someone else. This moment was too perfect to be true. Your face grew redder; your cheeks hot. For a moment, you only heard blood pumping through your ears. The sounds in the room grew muddy and you thought you might pass out from shock alone.

Yugyeom laughed and nudged your side, bringing you back, “you’re finally in the game!”

He stood and made his way to the closet, opening the door and gesturing inside. Bambam appeared in front of you. He looked like an angel; a vision too good to be real. Smiling he extended a delicate hand. You gently took it, thinking if you grabbed too fast, you’d pass right through him. He pulled you up and guided you towards a giddy Yugyeom who was practically bouncing on his toes. You watched your feet as you walked, too nervous to look anywhere else. Bambam entered first; you crept behind, taking your spot opposite from him.

Dimly lit only by a small strip of purple LED’s the closet took on a cozy air. Save for a few scattered jackets and the building tension, the space was empty. You were practically shaking, wondering if anything would happen between you two or if you’d both sit in awkward silence. “Have fun,” Yugyeom teased in a singsong voice, winking at you as she slowly shut the door.

You were practically glued to the wall, your sense of time skewed. These first few seconds felt as if minutes had already passed by. Now what? You thought. Do I say something? Make a move? Keep looking at my feet, twiddling my thumbs? You swallowed hard, finally working up the nerve to look up.

Bambam was looking right at you. The weight of his stare keeping you pressed in place. He seemed to take notice of how tense you were.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know. We could just talk; get to know each other better. I mean you’re hear all the time, and I only know your name,” his smile was genuine. It helped to slow your heartbeat just a bit. Even still, your head was swimming.

“Yeah, yeah, sounds great… What do you wanna talk about?”

Bambam thought for a moment, “Well to start, how long have you and Yug been hanging out? He’s never been one to brag about that kinda thing, but he’s never been shy about it either.” You raised a curious eyebrow, “Honestly I thought you were just some onetime hookup, but when you kept coming back-“

A wave of laughter erupted form you. Bambam jumped a bit in shock. “What’s so funny?” he laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” you wiped a tear from your eye and took a deep breath in, “We’re not sleeping together. I love him yeah, but as a friend. That’s it.”

Bambam’s eyes widened, “Oh. That’s good then…”

“What do you mean ‘good’? Would it be bad if we were?”

“Well yeah,” Bambam’s voice was low, the lighthearted smile now replaced by a sultry smirk. He stepped closer to you, “Cause then I’d have to keep staying away from you.” He pressed both hands against the wall on either side of your head, locking you in. You felt your breath leave you.

You stammered a bit. The air in the closet grew thicker. Bambam’s soft features were illuminated by a purple glow; his eyes grew darker and sharper the longer you gazed into them. For a moment, you thought the floor had collapsed under you. Your eyes darted down, making sure there was still solid ground below your feet. There was. You pinched your arm to make sure you were awake. You were.

He leaned in close to you “I like you, y/n.” The musky smell of his cologne took over your senses. Your heart picked up pace, your knees almost buckled, and your breath became shallow. You swallowed hard, your mouth an arid desert. “I can hear you heart beating,” Bambam spoke softly. His face was inches from yours; a soft hand placed gently on your jaw. “Do you want me to stop?” You shook your head and before you knew it, Bambam’s soft lips connected with yours.

Electricity shot through your body. A soft moan left your mouth as the warmth of his body overtook you. Bambam released you face, his hands finding their way to your hips. Without much thought, you brought your arms around his neck and pulled him in deeper. His tongue knocked at your mouth’s door. You willingly let him in. Your tongues battled back and forth; teeth clashing wildly. He pulled your hips into him and you could feel the growing mass in his jeans push against you. He wanted you as bad as you wanted him.

Bambam broke the kiss and set his sights on your neck. You welcomed him, craning your head to the side to give him room. You felt your core grow warm, beginning to throb with desire. He left a trail of animalistic kisses, pulling at the collar of your shirt. Your breath became hollow. A sharp gasp left you as he grabbed your left leg and pulled it up to his hip.

“You don’t know how bad I’ve wanted this…” he groaned before lightly biting your collar bone.

“Tell me…”

“I’ll do you one better,” he lifted you, pressing your back to the wall. His hips ground into yours all on their own. You couldn’t help but let out a moan, your hands finding their way to his shirt, tugging it desperately. As his fingers dug into your thighs, you pulled harder, craving the feeling of his naked skin. He let you down, lip still attached to you, before unbuttoning your jeans. You were practically dripping, your panties ruined. He toyed with the hem of your panties, knowing fully well what he was doing to you. You bit your lips, frustrated, desperate for his touch. He slid his hand down, rubbing his first and second fingers against you through the thin fabric. You groaned. Two can play at this game…you thought, moving to undo his belt and pants button.

You teased back, palming him through his boxer-briefs. The soft groan vibrating against your neck felt euphoric. He grabbed your wandering hand with his free one, pinning it by your head. “You’re so mean,” you sighed. He said nothing, giving only a deep chuckle; his fingers finding, their way into your underwear, lightly brushing against your outer folds. Your hips moved on their own, instinct taking over. You wanted, no, needed Bambam to go further. If he didn’t, you were sure you’d lose your mind.

He slipped a digit in between, lightly feeling out your entrance. “Holy shit you’re wet...” He brought his lips to your ear, nibbling your lobe, “Do you get like this for every guy?” You shook your head and hummed in reply, too lost to speak. “Good,” and he pushed his finger inside.

You bit your finger as you forced yourself to stay silent. Slowly, Bambam curled his fingers in and out, savoring the feeling of you on his hand. You whimpered, trying your best to keep your sounds to yourself. He met your gaze, smirking smugly. “Having trouble keeping quiet, are we? You better be care, or else everyone’s going to hear you,” he pushed his fingers deeper, beginning to pump faster. You bit your bottom lip hard, your breath fast but deep. You began to feel yourself tighten on him, your body on autopilot, chasing a high so out of reach. You needed more so damn badly you thought you’d die. But you knew time was limited. If you both lost control then you’d for sure be exposed to a room of curious eyes. Bambam knew too, slowing his pace to a halt before slipping out of you. You whined in frustration, throwing a pair of big puppy eyes and a pout at him.

“Our time’s almost up,” he sucked you from his fingers, while using his dry hand to caress your cheek. You looked at him inquisitively. “We’ve played so often; I’ve gotten pretty good at gaging the time. We’ll pick this back up later,” he winked and fastened his jeans and belt. You follow suit, quickly straightening yourself out to avoid suspicion.

The two of you returned to your original spots, leaning against the walls. A bright smile stretched across Bambam’s face which you mirrored. The closet door swung open to reveal Yugyeom still bright eyed and grinning. The two of you stepped out and returned to your spots in the circle. Yugyeom took his seat next to you, shaking your shoulder and quietly whispering, “Well? Well?” You smirked, glancing at Bambam before looking back to your friend. “We’re gonna play again later.”

#got7 #got7 smut #got7 bambam #got7 yugyeom #bambam #got7 fluff #got7 imagines #kpop smut #got 7 jaebeom #got7 jackson #got7 mark #got7 jinyoung #got7 youngjae #bambam imagines #bambam smut #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #got7 scenarios

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the-stubborn-exchange-student · 3 years

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Pride Cometh Before the Fall (Part 2)

Part one can be found here

Pairings: Lucifer X Alexis (...?), bits of Mammon X Alexis if ya squint

Summary: People don’t always make the best choices when upset.

Notes: Originally, I’d intended to write this big ol’ dramatic confrontation, specifically among the brothers, but when I started writing that wasn’t really the direction the story was heading in. So instead, we have....//gestures vaguely whatever this is. Maybe not quite as angsty as the first portion was, but as I was writing it seemed like I wanted to focus less on the hurt and more on (eventual) comfort, and the ties between the characters.

Tagging @kcabyap because I know they were interested in the hypothetical part 2, hopefully I don’t disappoint aaha;;

“Alexis, wait--!” He’d called, body rooted to the spot. Even as his previous words had come out, he’d known they were wrong. He’d wanted to take them back.

But it was too little, too late, it seemed. Alexis was in no mood to listen to another word.

Lucifer couldn’t blame her. She was just trying to protect the heart he’d broken so easily. All the same...there had to be a way to fix this. A way to make this up to her. A way to go back to how things were, how he wanted them to be--

“Lucifer? Is everything alright?” Diavolo frowned. “You seem distracted...”

“No. I’ve broken up with the love of my life, over a stupid matter. And I may never be able to repair the damage.”

“I apologize, my Lord. My brothers have merely caused a good deal of trouble today.”

“I see. There truly is never a dull moment among your brothers.” Diavolo chuckled. “But tell me, where is Alexis? I was looking forward to her joining us.”

“Alexis...sends her apologies. She isn’t feeling her best, and I assume she’s returned home.”

“‘Assume’?” Barbatos asked, looking up from the tea he’d been pouring. Even so, not a single drop was spilled. His expression was as neutral as ever, but something unmistakably concerned flickered in his eyes. “It isn’t like you to not know where Alexis is.”

Ah. Yes, there was that. Lucifer had been very adept at keeping track of the exchange student, even before he’d had any real emotional attachments to her. It was unlike him to fail at that...or to be almost dismissive of it.

“...Lucifer, are you certain you’re all right?” Diavolo asked again. “Tell me, please. Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

It needled at his pride like few other things did; he didn’t need help. And Lord Diavolo had far better things to do than help an underling like him settle a squabble...

...No. this was more than a mere “squabble”. And it was his damn pride that had caused this problem in the first place.

“Alexis ran off. I can only hope she ran home, but I don’t know for certain.”

“But why? She knows the dangers the Devildom can pose to a human, even one with the pacts that she’s made.”

“We...fought. I’ve upset her. Hurt her badly.”

“You...after everything, you’re...you’re dumping me because you think I make you look bad??”

“Oh...Lucifer, what happened?”

“No one worth your time is going to condemn you for having a heart, Lucifer!”

Lucifer was spared from answering Diavolo’s question when his D.D.D. went off. And then went off again. And again.

“Your brothers?” The Prince asked, even as Lucifer irritably tapped the screen to bring it to life.

He knew it was a slim chance, but a part of him was nevertheless disappointed that none of the missed calls or texts were from Alexis.

The brothers’ group chat, on the other hand, had flared to life, and it took a bit of scrolling to figure out everything that had happened.

[Lucifer: Beel, tell me you didn’t actually tear the kitchen apart.]

[Mammon: Yeahhh, he totally did.]

[Beelzebub: I’m sorry...]

[Beelzebub: I was hungry. No one’s made dinner yet.]

[Satan: Well, now no one is going to be able to make dinner for a while.]

[Mammon: Dammit, and it was Alexis’ turn to cook, too. Why’d ya keep her stuck at RAD, Lucifer?!]

The last message sent a bit of anger spiking through his chest, although it was almost immediately quelled by a fearful tightening.

They thought she was still with him.

He’d thought for sure that she’d gone home.

...Where was she?!

“I apologize, Lord Diavolo, something’s come up,” Lucifer said. The panic beginning to course through his veins had already propelled him out of his seat. “Alexis never made it back to the House of Lamentation.”

Similar expressions of alarm flickered across both Diavolo and Barbatos’ faces, and the former gestured to his right-hand man that there was no harm done.

“Barbatos and I will search the castle and surrounding grounds, just in case. Keep us posted, Lucifer.”

The firstborn nodded, quickly striding out of the student council room, gloved fingers flying across the D.D.D.’s keyboard.

[Lucifer: Alexis left RAD some time ago. She should be back at the house.]

[Mammon: Hey, hey, wait a sec! You just had her go back on her own?!]

[Satan: I never thought I’d say this, but Mammon’s actually right. Why wouldn’t you walk her back?]

[Belphegor: I guess he didn’t want to keep his precious Diavolo waiting.]

[Lucifer: That’s enough, Belphegor.]

[Belphegor: Tell me I’m wrong, you can’t. What, you just decided Alexis wasn’t important anymore?]

It must seem that way, especially to Alexis herself. But she was important to him. More important than his pride.

So why...why had he hurt her so badly?

[Lucifer: Belphie, do something productive with that energy and help me find Alexis.]

[Belphegor: Hmph. Fine, I’ll give you a hard time after we find her.]

[Mammon: I’ll get my crow familiars and have ‘em check out town!]

[Asmodeus: I’ll call Solomon!]

[Leviathan: I’ll wait at home in case she comes back!]

[Satan: Lucifer, as far as I’m concerned, whatever happens to Alexis while she’s gone is on your hands.]

He said that as if Lucifer didn’t already know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When this sort of thing happened in movies and books, the weather was always almost storming. It was as if it was nature’s way of showing how the character’s world was ending, crumbling down around them.

No such weather was accompanying Alexis as she walked aimlessly along. It was a clear day in the Devildom, and if anything, the silence only drove home just how badly she was breaking.

At least if it was raining, like a movie, she’d be able to use the sound to try and drown out everything else running through her head.

Truth be told, Alexis had no idea how long she’d been moving, or how far she’d gone. She’d run for a good while longer than she would have thought herself to be capable of, and when the burning in her lungs and her legs forced her to slow down, she’d found herself pushing on at a slower pace.

Her D.D.D. vibrated in her bag, again and again--some part of her wished she’d left the damn thing back at RAD. After it rang for the fourth or fifth time, she let out an aggravated noise, pulling out the offending device.

[Mammon: Yo, Alexis! Where’re you at?!]

[Satan: Alexis, please let me know when you get this. I’m not sure what happened, but we’re all very worried about you.]

[Beelzebub: Alexis, please come back home. I’ll treat you to Madame Scream’s. Anything you want, just let me know you’re okay, please...]

[Solomon: Asmodeus just called me in a panic, asking if I know where you are. What’s happened? Are you okay?]

[Mammon: Darlin’, answer your phone, please. Ya don’t gotta tell me what’s wrong, just at least lemme know where you are so we can come get you.]

Her screen was filled with messages, a new one popping into existence almost faster than she could read the previous ones. Each new one made her heart ache--they were all so worried about her, probably losing their minds trying to find her, and here she was just...running off like a child, in a place she knew could still pose a very real threat to her.

[Lucifer: Alexis, please, talk to me.]

...God, she wanted to.

Newer messages were already taking its place, but Alexis didn’t seem to even register them. Her vision had blurred, hot tears rendering the phone screen nothing more than a blur of color and light.

She wanted to. She wanted to talk, to understand, to forgive, to forget this entire day ever happened...

...but she couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself.

[Alexis: No.]

[Alexis: You’ve already made your priorities clear. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.]

[Lucifer: Alexis, tell me where you are. Now is not the time for spite.]

She glared at the screen even as she let out a disbelieving noise. She wondered if Satan, somewhere, could feel the traces of wrath that had flared up inside her when she read that.

[Alexis: Are you fucking kidding me? You dumped me and now you’re mad that I’m upset? What right do you have to be upset??]

[Alexis: I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to even look at you right now.]

[Lucifer: I’ve made a mistake, love. Please.]

Oh...that was...

Even when they’d started dating, Alexis knew apologies did not come easily to Lucifer. When he’d admit he was wrong at all, it was through actions. Never exactly words. He...he was really being sincere...

...No. No, she couldn’t assume that. She’d thought he’d been sincere when he told her he loved her, but with how easily he’d just...cut her off...

[Alexis: Let me guess. The “mistake” was leading me on.]

[Alexis: Like I said, you’ve made your priorities clear. There’s nothing left to say.]

[Alexis: I hope you had your fun, at least.]

Even as she backed out of the chat, Lucifer was already typing, and Alexis was choking back another sob.

It was be easier if she could bring herself to hate him. Easier still to simply not care at all. But she couldn’t. She’d never be able to.

She loved him, truly and deeply, and that hurt most of all.

Alexis knelt down on a patch of grass, hands shaking as she opened another chat.

[Alexis: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and just took off, I’m so sorry I made you worried...]

[Mammon: Alexis!! You’re not hurt, are you?!]

A difficult question. Physically, no. But the rest of her was a very different matter.

[Alexis: No, no...I’m not hurt. I am kind of lost, though. Some forest-y looking area.]

[Alexis: I just want to go home, Mammon...]

[Mammon: Okay, treasure. I’ve got my familiars out in full force, we’ll figure out where you are in no time. Sit tight, the Great Mammon’ll be there before ya know it.]

Alexis set her D.D.D. aside, leaned against a gnarled tree, and listened for the sounds of crows.

#Hi hello I've managed to hurt myself writing this so Imma just....lie down #obey me #mc: Alexis #Alexis' writing

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 5 Part 6

Once more, we delve into the world of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!

Eda roared, leaping toward the man, the monster, who had just casually murdered a child right in front of her!! Whipping her staff down to crush his skull, she was caught dumb when he casually leaned out of the way, a frost clad fist slamming into her face as she fell forward. A gasp of pain burst out as she was sent sprawling. Luckily, Eda had been in plenty of brawls. Gathering her wits, she tucked into a roll, coming up flat on her feet.

“If you think I’ll go easy on you ‘cause you’re human, you’ve got another thing coming!!” She shouted, eyes glancing at Lily, still prone against the wall. What was up with her, this was an emergency!! She growled, shifting herself to spring between Lily and the goons following that monster.

“Go... easy... on me? Pfft HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!” The bastard laughed, actually laughed!, at Eda’s claim, as if the idea that she could beat him was so utterly ridiculous it deserved nothing but ridicule. The fact that his goons echoed him was like rubbing salt in the wound. “That- That was truly amusing!! In exchange for that wonderful jest, allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed, a mocking leer stretched across his face. “I am Rudolph Cranwin, practitioner of the most noble art of Frost Magic, not that I ever really cared about the alleged nobility of it; twas but another tool for me to kill with, nothing more. I look forward to seeing how long I can drag out your demise!!” He said cheerfully, as if her death would be the highlight of his day.

‘To this piece of shit, it might very well be.’ Eda bitterly thought to herself. Her thoughts were cut off by his next words.

“However,” Rudolph mused, “This crowd truly is far too large. Better to thin it out a bit before I let my precious brethren have their fun.” He raised his hand, a cold wind building into a ball in his palm. Eyes widening in shocked comprehension, Eda lunged forward, a massive ball of flames building along Owlbert. She had to get there in time, she needed to! If she didn’t… Rudolph gave her a mocking smile. “Too late, Owl Lady. Winter Spite.” With those two words, the ball exploded in all directions. A huge burst of extreme cold, so deep that it effortlessly extinguished Eda’s building spell, ripped through the stadium. In an instant, the entire place was coated in frost. Just from what she could see on the ground, Eda saw several Demons and Witches in the crowd frozen in place, ice and frost coating their bodies; from the few she could clearly see, at minimum twenty had died, a quarter of which were children. The smallest she could see looked to be about five. As if some signal had gone off, the hoard of Mages lurking behind Rudolph burst forth, screaming in bloody rage, sickening grins coating their faces, spells primed to rip and tear.

“Tree Shot!” “Big Head Blast!” “Sword Beam!” “Wind Cleave!”

Eda braced herself for the attacks; a tree root tore out of the ground, ripping across Eda’s ribs, a spell shaped like a giant head rocketed past her, a beam of light shaped like a blade cut into the stadium, and slashes of winds tore at the bystanders. And more. So many more. They weren’t all incredibly powerful, but they all had something in common; the palpable desire to hurt leaked out of each and every one. Bearing her fangs, Eda whirled around, launching a wave of magic upwards, cutting off as many spells as she could. Her quick timing was used against her, however, when a blast of cold smashed against her back, sending her flying.

“Ah, ah, ah! No interfering with the games, Owl Lady!” Rudolph mockingly chided. She turned her head towards him, eyes burning with hate. He merely grinned. “If the crowd wishes to live, they must defend themselves, or have one of their own act as a champion! You, and your sister I suppose, are my prey.” Rushing into her guard, his palm glowed. “Winter Punt.” A burst of frigid air formed underneath her gut, angled upward, and as it released, Eda choked on her own air as it drove her into the sky.

What was with this guy!? She had decimated Lily earlier, and while she was feeling some of the effects of pushing herself that hard, that quickly, she shouldn’t be this hampered. She sighed, freezing up as she saw her breath, as if she was in the middle of winter. She looked down, and saw her limbs coated in patches of frost, weighing her down, slowing her reactions, and who knows what else. She genuinely didn’t even feel the cold, not really, but her body was acting as if she was naked in a blizzard!!

Rudolph smirked. “I see you’ve noticed.” He chuckled, slowly stalking towards the Witch and her prone sibling. “Yes, a fun little aspect of my magic is that it clings to the body of those it hits, slowing them, filling them with cold, stilling the flow of magic. The longer our fight goes on, the slower, weaker, and more feeble you will become.” He cocked his head, a look of mockingly fake sympathy playing across his features. “Oh, how tragic, to be cut down so short.” He cackled, an uproarious sound that resounded through the arena.

“Bastard.” Eda bit out, trying and failing to flake the frost off her limbs. “If I wasn’t dealing with this, he’d be flatter than paper!!” She glanced back at her sister, still stuck in that pose from where she had dropped, dead to the world, tears pooling at her feet. ‘What’s up with you, Lily? We don’t have time for this! ...Please, whatever’s going on, I’ll help you, but you have to snap out of it!’

Luz growled as she and the others passed by yet another corpse, this one bearing the distinctive signs of Retic’s harvesting; the chest ripped open, organs carefully partitioned and severed from the surrounding tissue, and the corpse tossed aside like a rag doll, whatever body parts he didn’t take flopping uselessly. The others stoically pointed forward, steadfastly ignoring the gore and death surrounding them; they knew that if they stopped, they wouldn’t continue. But with each corpse, each tragedy they passed, the burning rage built up within them.

“So…” Willow drawled, trying to distract them from the horrors surrounding them. “You mentioned you were a member of this group. What was that like?” She instantly felt like kicking herself, but it was the only thing she could think of off the top of her head.

Luz snorted, but decided to answer; it would come out eventually. “I wasn’t a member of the Black Dog Squad specifically, but I often got saddled to them; they provided a big, bloody distraction, I completed the objective, whether it was stealing a priceless relic, assassinating an enemy, or just setting the pieces for something bigger in motion, I got it done. I hated every second of it.” It was truly the most painful chapter of her life, bar nothing.

“If you hated it, why did you join?” Amity stated more than asked. Truthfully, Amity cringed at the accusatory note in her voice; all of this pain was like nothing she had experienced before. The fact that the girl in front of her, that snarky, selfless, free-spirited girl had been in any way connected to a group capable of this? It was jarring. She had to know why.

Luz gave a small chuckle, the kind of empty, hollow ache that only came from someone trying to humor the most tragic and heartbreaking of requests. “I didn’t exactly want to join. Suffice to say, I entered Oroboros’ field of vision when I interfered in a few of their operations, not that I knew it at the time. They ended up deciding to pay me a visit. The reason? Join them, or someone will die.”

Gus cocked his head in perplexedness, deciding to ask what he felt they all were thinking. “Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem sacrificing yourself earlier.” He hoped he didn’t sound accusing, but it really was confusing to him.

Luz snorted, morbidly amused. “I never said I was the one being threatened with death.” She calmly replied, causing the others to pause for a second. Luz continued, nonchalant. “Yeah, whenever Oroboros decides it wants someone in its ranks, but they have a few too many morals, they take a hostage, someone that person cares about dearly.” The others felt a sinking feeling at Luz’s words, as she rambled on. “Whenever the recruit talks back, their hostage gets beaten. Whenever they fail, their hostage has a limb broken. Whenever they succeed, the hostage gets a wonderful meal, after having been deprived of all but the bare minimum of food and water needed to keep them alive during the extent of the mission of course. Every aspect of an Objectionary Recruit’s time with Oroboros, someone like myself, is intertwined with the health and safety of their hostage. If the Recruit dies, so does the hostage.” She finished, walking on.

The others exchanged alarmed glances, before Willow spoke up, voice loaded with uncertainty. “Then… did you leave your hostage behind?” She didn’t think Luz had, none of them did, but the only other alternative…

“HAHA!!” Luz cackled, as if what she asked was funny. “No. No I didn’t. They begged me to leave, to save myself, to do the right thing. But I didn’t! I stayed. I killed, and stole, and ruined countless lives, for the life of someone dear to me. But, ultimately, it was for nothing. A guard, one who would’ve been a perfect fit for the Black Dogs if it weren’t for his lack of magical training, decided he wanted to have some fun. My hostage took exception to that. An hour later, their bodies were found. The guard had been strangled with his own belt… my hostage had a knife slid into her liver.” She turned her head towards the others, an almost beatific look on her face. “It’s hard to threaten someone with a hostage when they’re dead, afterall.” And then, Luz laughed, the broken, empty laugh of someone who didn’t know how to find any other way to make it stop hurting.

And so the group moved onward in silence, the Witchlings carefully ignoring the splotches of tears that followed behind them; they didn’t want to tell Luz she’d been crying ever since she started talking.

Boscha growled, hastily ducking under another clumsy swing from the disgusting pile of fat in front of her. With a roar, she leapt into the air, an axe kick launched for the fat thing’s head, a curved blade of bloody flames trailing in its wake. She yelped when he caught her kick, slamming her into the ground with a painful Crack! Cursing, she bobbed under another lunge, slamming a burning fist into his stomach, something that prompted a horrific squeal from the disgusting beast.

His smile dimmed, Fatso charged Boscha with a roar, his mouth distending into the massive chasm of flesh he used to swallow his foes. Screaming in challenge, Boscha belted out a burst of flames, gushing from her mouth; it was an honestly surreal experience to be literally breathing fire!! Fatso squealed, flailing back from the flames that avoided his colossal mouth. Boscha smirked. ‘So I just have to keep him from eating my attacks, eh?’

“Try and eat this, you fat fuck!” She shouted, unleashing a wave of flames. Even if he ate some of it, the rest would scorch him badly, something Fatso was apparently smart enough to realize. With a shocking level of agility and strength, he hurled himself into the air, beaming in childish delight. Out of the line of fire, he opened his maw, inhaling with all he had; the massive wave of flames was sucked into his gut. Boscha cursed. Why wasn’t this working!? Her flames, her damnable flames, the one thing she could reliably use, were worthless against this creep!! Whispers started creeping in, the sound of screams building in her head. She shook it off as best she could; she knew trying to fend it off was temporary, but she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Oooooohhh you’re a funny one! IIiiiiiiii’llll have lots of fun tenderizing you!” Fatso cheered, rushing up to Boscha, slamming his corpulent fists into her legs, a scream of agony ripping out of her throat; he had definitely snapped a bone or two. Before she could move, he gripped her by the skull, violently slamming her against the stone. “Iiiiii’mmmm gonna have so much fun with you, and when you get all nice and tender, I’ll get to eat you all up! Wooooonnnnn’ttttt that be fun!?” He kicked her in the stomach, her lunch spilling out in response. “Aaaaaawwwww, you lost all that food! Tttthhhhaaaaattt’ssss no good! Nooooowwwwww you won’t taste as yummy when you get in my tummy!” He whined, hurling her away in annoyance. He pursed his lips, placing a pudgy finger on them. “HHHhhhmmmmm maybe I’ll have better luck if I try finding that scarf girl?”

Boscha’s eyes snapped open. Shakily rising to her feet, she screamed. “YOU KEEP AWAY FROM HER!!” With a roar, she rushed him, only for him to dismissively backhand her away, not even bothering to look at her.

“YYyyyoooouuu’rrrrrreee no fun anymore.” He said without a glance, waddling off. “Aaaaaaalllllll you can do is throw that stupid fire. Nnnnoooooo fun, no fun at all eating the same stupid trick.”

“Fun?” Boscha whispered, eyes widening in incredulousness. “You think this is supposed to be FUN!?” She half-screamed. Tears started building in her eyes. “HOW IS KILLING US, ATTACKING US WHEN WE’VE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, SUPPOSED TO BE FUN!?!?!?”

“Hhhuuuuuuuhhhh? Wwwwwhhhhaaatttt kinda stupid question is that? IIiiiiiittttt’ssss fun because I’m strong, and you’re weak.” He said, as if saying that the sky was red, or that plants were purple. “Tttthhhheeee boss said that, because I’m part of Oroboros, I can do whatever I want, eat anything I want, anyone I want, because I’m strong and they can’t stop me, so whatever I do is fun, because I say it’s fun!!” He cheerfully explained. “Eeeeaaaaatttttiiinnnnnggg is so much fun, I could eat forever!!!! BBbbuuuuuuttttt when I eat people-meat, it’s even more fun, because they give the bestest screams when they go in my tummy!!” He patted his gut for emphasis.

Boscha’s blood pounded in her ears. Strong? This… fat piece of TRASH thought he was strong!? No… he didn’t know the meaning of the word. She had seen real strength. He might’ve been powerful, but he wasn’t strong. If he faced someone with real strength, he’d be crying like a bitch. Boscha pulled herself to her feet, utterly indifferent to her previous pain, nothing but burning rage flowing through her veins at the moment. Flames sparked, sputtered… and raged. Boscha wasn’t sure if she was fully conscious at the moment, but she didn’t care. This bastard had threatened one of the few things in this life she actually cared about still, and he had the balls to pretend he knew what strength was, and that he was strong?

Flames pooled at her feet. In a burst of heat, Boscha zipped to Fatso’s side, fist cocked back. With a roar filled with the rage of a wild animal, Boscha slammed her fist so hard against his gelatinous face, she would swear later that she felt his bones bend around her fist. “You think you’re strong?” She asked, the deathly calm doing nothing to hide the burning hate hidden within.

As Fatso rocketed back, eyes snapped wide open in disbelief, Boscha rushed in, flame-clad knee slamming into his gut, watching in grim amusement as he coughed up a mix of blood and miscellaneous bits, whether the blood was his own or not was up for debate. “You don’t know anything about strength.” She ducked under his clumsy swing, landing a clean blow to the throat, prompting him to choke. “Strength isn’t about lording what power you have above someone else.” She slammed across his face, knuckles landing a solid hit to his eyes. “It isn’t acting as if you’re above the same rules and laws everyone has to follow.”

He grunted, and roared, swinging both arms down towards her skull. She leaned back, letting the attack whiff by, slamming home a kick to his chin. “It’s about making a difference.” She caught his next punch, her eyes narrowing at the panic in his gaze. “It’s about looking after what’s precious to you.” She twisted his arm to the side, prompting a squeal of pain. His eyes furrowed, before he lunged forth, attempting to swallow her, only for her to catch his face with her free hand, fingers covering his eyes and digging into his temples, arresting his movement. “It’s what happens when you stop standing on the sidelines to cruelty, or acting to further cruelty yourself.” Flames started licking up her arm, prompting Fatso to start struggling.

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen real strength before.” She casually continued, ignoring his screams as the flames scorched his face. “I wonder, if I had never seen real strength, would I have turned out as something like you?” She pondered, even as Fatso begged and pleaded for her to let go. “Even so…” She murmured, glaring at Fatso, even as his skin blackened and peeled under her grip. “How can you call yourself strong… when you’re losing to someone AS WEAK AS ME!?!?!?!?” She screamed, wetness pouring down her face. She screamed and screamed and screamed, all while the skin, fat, flesh, and what little muscle remained of his body all turned to ash, tears pouring down her face all the while. When all that was left was his scorched, pitted, blackened skeleton, Boscha fell to her knees, tears falling in pools. “I’m so sorry I’m weak. Maybe if I was stronger… you wouldn’t have had to die so slowly.” And with those words, Boscha fell, her strength spent.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #amity blight #willow park #gus porter #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #boscha the owl house #magic

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theatresweetheart · 5 years

Text

Thorns and Arrows

Fandom(s): Sanders Sides, G/t

Prompt: “I’ll take real good care of you, I promise.” With prinxiety? Maybe with big Roman and tiny Virgil? — Asked by @arc852

Summary: Virgil, after narrowly escaping capture by humans who believe his witchcraft is demonic, ends up getting caught by Roman instead.

Warnings: Brief mention of Remus, brief mention of Deceit (Darien), multiple descriptions of blood, disturbing use of language, talk of death, character being treated inhumanely, fear, fainting, crying, swearing, fire. (I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!)

Pairings: Platonic Prinxiety, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Logince

Word Count: 4140 words.

A/n: So, I actually had a lot of fun writing this and getting to play around with different perspectives and such. Also, a huge thank you to the ever lovely @hiddendreamer67 for being a fantastic beta and helping me edit!

(Also, as a side note, I decided not to add this into the ask with the prompt, only because it had gotten so long. Adding “Read More” into my asks has been problematic for now, so I might do every long story like this and the shorter ones answered in asks. That is still to be decided.)

Anyhow, enjoy!

Taglist: @isle-of-gold (Feel free to let me know if you ever want to be tagged in future works!)

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Life is a cruel mistress, some would say.

She taunts and giggles and gifts more misfortune to the already unfortunate.

To those that had been born into a life with little to no chance of success or survival, she can be loving and kind and extend assistance and a caring hand. Or, she would sit by, watch and grin at the suffering she caused.

Virgil didn’t want to be ungrateful, but as he stumbled through the overgrown underbrush of the forest in a panicked escape from the king’s knights close behind him—with swords and shields and bows and arrows ready—he felt as though he had every right to be sour about his life.

“Halt in the name of the King, witch!”‌ One knight shouted, causing the witch himself to reel and press on forward faster. “You will cease your useless attempt and repent in the Halls of the King before the Royal Court!”

If he had wanted to repent and be dragged back to the court to either be hung or drowned, he would have already turned himself in.

The sounds of his own breathing got loud enough that it was the only thing he could focus on. The blood rushing in his ears, the adrenaline pounding through his veins.

His coven had already been ravaged by fire and death and destruction, his familiar was nowhere to be seen—which worried him greatly—and now he was running blindly through a forest he didn’t know his way out of.

He was in an area of the forest that he had never had the chance to see. A place he had never been taken to, or shown around. He was completely on his own when it came to navigating his way out.

To put it lightly, Virgil was terrified.

The sound of an arrow whizzing by his head, nearly nicking his cheek, made him recoil and duck to the other side, catapulting himself over a fallen log and continuing his sprint.

There was just so much that had gone wrong in such little time. This morning had been like any other morning, quiet, relatively peaceful. He was going to try and spend most of his day perfecting his potions, only for that to have changed within the hour.

How had the knights figured out his coven existed?‌ A false accusation by one of the paranoid townspeople, claiming they had seen another of Virgil’s coven commit a heinous act of witchcraft.

It hadn’t been hard to figure out that the townsfolk were bluffing. It also wasn’t hard to understand that the townspeople didn’t like him or his coven in the first place. They were isolated and kept to themselves a lot, only entering the town square when absolutely necessary. To an outsider, they almost did look a tad too much like witches, but they had never been accused of it before.

There had been rumors, Virgil remembered, when he was little. He remembered staying close to Darien, a hand latched onto the older witch’s jacket as they navigated the town. People would whisper to each other, point and stare, but nothing had ever come of it. It remained only as if it were a whisper on the wind.

There had always been paranoia within the town about the forest and what lurked inside of it, which was understandable.

There were terrible creatures that lurked in the night, searching and stalking for an easy meal. If you didn’t know how to fight back, it would be far too easy to lose. Sometimes, even if you did know how to defend yourself, you just weren’t strong enough.

Some of the animals that did haunt the night were wolves and bats and coyotes and such, but then there were mystical creatures as well; the fae, werewolves, and vampires, which were rare, but there. They mostly lived among the people and not so much in the heart of the woods. It was easier to feed that way.

There were even creatures that were so big they’d be able to swallow a human whole if they so desired.

Now those were the encounters that would strike fear into anyone’s being. Anyone that had a rational head on their shoulders would avoid a giant at all costs.

Then there were the so called “giant hunters”‌ who decided it would be a good idea to go after these massive beings and try to claim fame and fortune.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely anyone would return from such a quest.

Not that Virgil felt a shred of pity for them. They had made their choice—no matter how stupid—and it had cost them their lives. So, the only way to go about that was to learn from their mistakes and never make the same choice himself.

The twang of another arrow being loosed caught his attention, but the searing hot agonizing pain that rose from his left shoulder was the thing that shattered every coherent thought in his head. The yelp of pain that came sharply from his mouth made the knights behind him cheer in glee; they had hit their mark!‌ It was only a matter of time now before the witch stumbled and dropped.

While his vision was hazy, Virgil wasn’t letting the arrow get the better of him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find– to find… find what exactly? What was left for him? His coven was nothing but ashes, his familiar was possibly dead and he was being hunted. It really was only a matter of time before he stumbled to his knees and let the knights have their way with him.

But there was also the sharp resilience that said this isn’t what his family would want for him. The fact that giving up meant losing immediately. The moment one gave up was the moment one lost.

Chancing a glance down at the wound, Virgil saw a steady stream of crimson blood oozing down his left arm, dripping off of his fingertips before it had the chance to dry. He needed to dislodge the arrow, find some way to heal the wound before he bled out…but without a safe place to stop and rest, it was pointless.

Without his eyes on the escape route, he had failed to notice the steep drop down the bank in front of him. Just as his foot caught on a stray root, a sharp cry was ripped from his throat and he stumbled and slid to his knees. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he collapsed to the ground and rolled onto his uninjured side just enough to see the knights approaching him quickly.

The sounds of the armour and weapons clattering got closer and closer, until Virgil could see the three knights standing over him. Looking red in the face and furious, but almost mixed with a horrible look of glee. They got to take what they wanted of him. Torture him, kill him.‌ Anything they so desired.

His chest rose in panting breaths, unsteady but in an almost recognizable pattern. Hazily, his eyes slid over each and every knight, taking in what they looked like. Burning their images into his brain as the last thing he would probably see before they ran him through. He memorized every little detail, including their unbearable grins, sneers and sharp looks that said so much more than words could.

“Absolutely pitiful,”‌ the one to his right said, voice dangerously low. He crouched down, prodding Virgil roughly in the injured shoulder and grinning as the witch hissed at the unwanted and painful touch. “A single arrow takes down the last witch of that disgusting coven. You’d think it’d have more fight. At least a will to live.”

Of course Virgil had a will to live, but surrounded like this, too weak to even try and utter a simple spell?‌ His odds weren’t looking great. But that knight could go and take what little knowledge his fat head carried and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

“I almost feel bad,”‌ a second voice piped up, cruel and unrelenting. “Get it up boys. Bring it back to the King.”

The first knight got down lower, so low that Virgil could feel his breath against his neck. It was a vulnerable section of skin for someone’s mouth to be hovering over and he was half afraid that the knight would take the advantage to sink his teeth into his jugular. Of course it wasn’t a human move, but it didn’t stop Virgil from worrying about it. He even tried to writhe away to the best of his ability but was stuck in place by the third’s heavy grasp. “The King ain’t gonna be happy with you,”‌ he snarled, “I‌ like to think that your coven got off easy.”

The thought that being burned alive in your own home was getting off easy, made Virgil feel so unbelievably sick that he felt bile rising.

There was no way that Darien and Remus had gotten off easy. Buried under rubble with heat from all sides, heat that you couldn’t escape, that you choked on and eventually made your suffering so unbearable—

Virgil coughed, blood painting his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat prickling the back of his eyes. The water threatened to spill, but he fought back the urge. The knights already had enough reason to mock him; he didn’t want crying in front of them to be another.

The first knight grinned wider. He pushed himself away from the curled up form on the ground and circled around to the other side of him. He grabbed Virgil under the shoulder where the arrow was still implanted into it, before seemingly like he had a better idea. “Hold the witch down,”‌ he said to the other two. “Roll it over onto its back.”

As he was pushed onto his back, Virgil’s eyes snapped back open, blurred as they were, and they locked on the first knight. They widened as he noticed the knight’s hand wrapping around the shaft of the arrow.

He’s going to pull it out. It’s going to get ripped out without care or precision.

Doing that, could ruin his shoulder for life. There was only so much healing magic could do when you weren’t skilled enough in the practice. The fact that the arrow itself was going to be ripped out the opposite way it had been shot in made his stomach churn.

“N-no!”‌ Virgil had finally found his voice, but the demand came out weaker than he had anticipated it. The three men above him didn’t seem to care about his protest as the arrow was grabbed half a moment later. “W-wait, please! Don’t— don’t do this!‌ I’ll go back willingly…ju-just leave the arrow alone!”

“So, it talks,”‌ The second knight snarked, his hands tightening on his good shoulder. Virgil’s eyes frantically searched the features above him, the world beginning to darken in his terror. “It’ll only hurt for a few days.”

“Don’t worry though,” the knight said, giving an experimental tug on the arrow shaft, watching Virgil’s pained expressions carefully. “I’m sure you won’t live that long anyhow. So, perhaps, it’ll only hurt for the rest of your miserable life.”

Virgil tried to prepare himself for the feeling of something being torn out of his body, but nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating feeling that rippled through his entirety.

The arrow head had been so far embedded into his shoulder that it had nearly been poking out the other side. It had torn through layers of skin and had caused the wound to enlarge. More blood spilled from the gash and Virgil almost felt numb. So much agony was flushing through his body that he could hardly put two and two together.

He choked on his breathing, blood made another reappearance as he coughed, gagging at the unbelievable amount of torment.

It only made the knights howl with laughter, looking down at the witch. He wasn’t a big kid, in fact Virgil was actually remarkably small for someone his age. His short stature only made it easier for the knights to keep him trapped.

Virgil gasped, trying to find a way to steady himself enough to process just what exactly was happening to him.

Die.

The word was so sudden and startling that he almost couldn’t fathom the meaning of it.

You are going to die.

Everything that had happened in his life was going to be rendered meaningless. As if he had never done anything at all. There was no one left to remember him.

They’re going to kill you right here, right now so the King will reward them as heroes.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally spilling over. He choked on a sob and shook his head, trying to get them off. Trying to get them to let him go. Trying to do something that could possibly save his life. Anything.

You’re going to die and there is nothing you can do about it.

His mind was alive and buzzing, but numb and everything was confusing and he couldn’t see straight, he could hardly breathe. There was so much assault happening to him that his senses couldn’t comprehend everything. From the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder that was going to kill him if he didn’t get it treated to the electric buzzing going on inside his head from the constant movement and chatter, or even when it came to noticing the quaking in the ground that hadn’t been there before.

Wait.‌‌ What the holy hell was that?

“I didn’t think witches understood human emotions,” the first knight said, snapping the arrow between his two hands and tossing it to the side idly.

He seemed to be the only knight that hadn’t honed in on the difference in the air around them. The way the ground kept shaking in a steady and oddly familiar pattern. It was timed and paced, but shook with a passion. It felt like…like… oh.

Oh no.

No, no no no!

Virgil was too scared to open his eyes, knowing that his consciousness was just barely holding on. It was only a matter of time before it was over for all of them. Seeing through the blood loss and tears wouldn’t help either, but he knew what was coming. He knew that it was way worse than what the knights had in store for him.

“L-let me go!” He grit out, almost trying harder but with his strength failing him, he sounded pathetic.

“Now, why would we do something like that?” The knight crooned. “We caught you and now we’re going to fulfill our duty to the King.”

“No!”‌ Virgil’s voice verged on shrill. “You— you don’t get it!”

The footsteps were getting closer, more prominent. The earth shook with every footfall and the force rattled through him as he was laying flat on the ground.

It was then that the knight seemed to realize what was happening. The first knight was turning to see something he did not want to see.

“What?” The knight barked in surprise, immediately on his feet with his sword drawn. The other two followed suit leaving Virgil on his back, heaving with gasps and anguish.

Just as the knight had gotten the word out, the darkness slid over them, casting the four humans into its shadow.

Virgil knew that it wasn’t a cloud blocking the sun; it was something far worse.‌ Far more dangerous.‌ Something that made him want to be dragged away by the knights and thrown in front of the king. He’d rather that then suffer a death at the hands of a giant.

“Now isn’t this quite the sight,”‌ the rumbling voice from overhead made Virgil flinch further into himself, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He had already memorized the faces of his other tormentors, he didn’t need to see this one too. “The King’s men, supposedly meant to protect the citizens of the Kingdom, attacking one of their own.”

“A‌ witch!”‌ The knight barked, his hold on his sword wavering, terror eating away at his insides. It was obvious how frightened he was, but the stubbornness within him refused to let it show. “It is no member of our society!”

Roman scoffed, his eyes locked on the quivering little form on the ground. “I don’t want to assume, but I‌ would believe the witch would prefer to be addressed as a he not an it.”

The knight threatened to take a step towards the witch again, but Roman moved forward more, to match in confidence and challenge the knight. Giving more of a protective loom over the group of three knights.

“Witch or not, he is still a person,” The giant said, a growl just under the tone of his voice. “Or is that too hard for your bitty human brains to understand?”

The second knight reeled back from that, looking white in the face. His terror was clear to read. The third knight was harder, but the quivering of the blade showed real fear. The knight that was still talking back just seemed to be an idiot.

The first knight met the giant’s eyes, fearless and stupid. “I suppose that means monsters stick together.”

A sharper look filled Roman’s eyes, almost immediately the aura darkened, and he leaned down so much so that they were nearly at eye-level. He hovered just over them to assert his dominance in the situation. To further assert himself, he planted his hands on both sides of the group of knights—even though he was carefully aware of where the little witch was cowering, sobbing, bleeding out and shit I‌ have to deal with these fools quick.

So, he focused all of that irritation and frustration into staring, unwavering, at the knights in front of him. Their swords were nothing compared to him. Humans were absolutely nothing compared to him. “Keep using language like that and I will scrape you across the forest floor like old gum.”

Finally, that got the reaction he had been wanting. He wanted fear, and he wanted them to regret stepping into his part of the woods and torturing an innocent person—witch or not—as if they could get away with it. As unbelievably angry as he was, he knew that he would have to treat the little human and his injuries.

“I’m going to give you a single chance to leave without getting hurt,” he said, voice dangerously low. ‌A menacing snarl that reverberated through his chest and rumbled around them like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. “Get out of here. Now.”

The two other knights had no problem sticking their swords into their sheathes and bolting in the same way they came, their armour clanging together as they escaped. The first knight held his ground, but when chocolate brown eyes stayed locked on him, unrelenting and cold and unsympathetic, the knight felt his heart jump into his throat for the first time. He took an unsteady breath and his resolve shattered when he watched Roman bare his teeth in a sneer at him.

It took nothing for him to scamper off in the same direction as his colleagues.

Now, with the threats gone, he could pay some attention to the witch that was still bleeding out on the ground.

His hands moved from their defensive position, that he had been using to keep himself upright, to one that was encompassing the little human. Curled around the tiny shivering form as if to protect him and ward off any further predators that intended to harm.

“Hey,” his voice was softer, as quiet as he could get it to be without causing more alarm. Perhaps after everything though, Roman would still be registered as a threat because of what the witch had just witnessed. He watched the tiny form flinch away from the sound, one hand moving to cover the gaping wound on his shoulder. “This might not sound all that…reassuring, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The witch gave the tiniest shake of his head in a clear and obvious distrusting “no,” but his eyes remained screwed shut. The human’s hands were smeared in his own blood, the ripped white shirt he was wearing had been stained crimson with the thick liquid.

Biting into his lower lip, Roman let his gaze flicker. The creature was obviously in a great amount of pain and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “I‌ know you have no reason to trust me, but would it help if you knew my name?” Without an answer, he was sure the human was starting to doze but he needed him awake. So, talking to him was the only rational thing that came to mind. “My name’s Roman. I know this is an odd way to meet someone, but it makes for an interesting origin story, don’t you think?”

The witch groaned up at him and for a moment, he thought they were actually communicating, only to be let down—unsurprisingly—when the human didn’t react anymore than that.

While he wanted to get him patched up as soon as possible without moving him, as that could agitate the wound further (or so Logan said), Roman needed to get the human back to his home. There, he had medicines and remedies that would help begin the healing process. And, if the knights were right and the human was a witch, he should know some healing spells himself, too.

Quickly making up his mind, knowing that he couldn’t leave the half-conscious human here by himself to go and retrieve medical supplies, he began to close his hands around the tiny form before pausing. The human hadn’t even looked at him once and Roman didn’t want to startle him by just suddenly grabbing him and hefting him high into the air.

“I’m gonna have to move you, alright?‌ That way I‌ can take you back to my place and my friend and I‌ can get you all fixed up,”‌ Roman chattered at him quietly, explaining his plan while also asking for permission. “That way you’ll be right as rain in a couple days. Will you let me do that?”

The witch made a small noise and Roman was ready to roll with that, when instead it opened its mouth. He held his breath, wanting to make sure he didn’t miss anything important.

“…nuh.”

It sounded like a no but even knowing that the creature didn’t want to be moved, Roman couldn’t just leave it here to die. At least, not in good conscience.

His shoulders drooped and he couldn’t do it. “Sorry little buddy,” he said quietly, the apology doubled as a warning.

It seemed the witch understood that much as the eyes fluttered open lazily. The brown eyes were glazed over, that much was obvious to tell. The little one was watching but Roman didn’t think he was actually seeing. Or if he was even able to connect what was happening right now to reality. The little thing had to be inches away from death and, if worse came to worse and Roman couldn’t save him, at least the human would be in safe company when he passed.

Refusing to let that thought rule his motivations, he carefully scooped his palms underneath the tiny being, incredibly savvy to how he cried out with such a heartbreaking noise. The little one was absolutely petrified.

Heart crawling up into his throat, Roman cupped the human between his two hands and lifted the little one off of the ground and out of its puddle of blood, into the cupped bowl of his palms.

The human groaned in agony and Roman was quick to coo to him, making small comforting noises in the back of his throat. Trying to make the awful situation better as he rose to his feet. “Shh, shh. I know, little one, I‌ know,” he soothed, “I know it hurts but I’m going to get you back home and I’m going to get you all patched up. I’m not gonna hurt you, you’ll be okay.”‌

He felt so horribly guilty that he hadn’t heard the commotion earlier. He knew it wasn’t right to blame himself for this, but he couldn’t help it. Not with how the witch was trying to focus on him, only to let his eyes slip closed.

It looked as though he was ready to accept his fate.

Roman couldn’t let him do that—not without at least trying first.

“You’re okay,”‌ he hushed the tiny human, “no one’s gonna hurt you again. You’re safe with me, I‌ swear it.”‌

Roman looked up briefly to make sure he was heading in the direction that would lead him home, before focusing back down on the form in his hands.

“I’ll take real good care of you.” His voice was nearly a whisper, a silent vow as the human began to drift off into full unconsciousness. “I‌ promise.”

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eagles-translated · 4 years

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Q&A answers from creator and producer Stefan H. Lindén!

Here are the answered questions that all you guys sent in to Stefan. I’d like to thank all of you who sent in questions, and I’d also like to thank Stefan for being the one who offered to do a Q&A and taking the time to answer all the fans’ questions. This post got really long (almost 5000 words including your questions haha) so I put a keep reading line on this. Anyway, Stefan’s answers were super interesting to read, so enjoy! 🥅🏒

Thanks for your question. My idea has always been that Ludde was blown away by Felicia and that he really likes her but that they both initially interacted and met to go swimming because Felicia knew it would piss her dad off and Ludde knew that it might throw Elias off, since they were competing for the same position in the team. However after that, they really fell for each other. So he is very interested in her and so is she – however as of now in Season 2, Felicia’s behavior has thrown Ludde off since Felicia is still very angry with him due to Halloween and the reveal at Christmas.

Without telling to much on what’s ahead, the build up of Elias and Amies potential relationship from season 1 does matter and will play a role down the line of the series. But with that said Eagles has always, in my vision for the series been a 4-5 season concept. I did answer the question regarding Amie and Elias below in a longer format – it contains a little more info on the matter.

Will try to avoid potential spoilers but I can confirm that from the beginning of development of the series and the first version of the storyline a triangle drama was at some point intended for season 1 but later removed – however when creating the characters, Ludvigs skill in music and arts was always there from the beginning so by knowing that, we always knew that interactions would appear between them. When looking back at Season 1, in the first scene by the lockers when Amie tells Felicia who Ludvig is, she does know exactly who he is and she is well aware of that his friend Tobias is a music guy that Amie wants to get to know. Also when looking at it, when I was the same age as Ludvig and Amie I, and I am sure a lot of people can relate to it, fact is that we never really knew if it was love or friendship in the beginning.

Actually my favorite NHL-team is the Boston Bruins and when writing the first version of the pilot episode for the show Boston was my choice of team. Back when I graduated high school my girlfriend, now my wife was an Au-pair outside of Boston so I visited the city for a couple of months. Later when I studied in Los Angeles I had a friend playing hockey in New Hampshire, where me and my wife spend one Christmas and paid regular visits to Boston. So it’s a town that I share a special connection with and that have a hockey team that I really love.

Thanks for your question, hope you watch season 2 soon. In my opinion her storyline is clearer this season than it was in the previous season and since Yandeh Sallah, who plays Amie is such an excellent actress I always wish for more scenes with her but I also do wish for that with all of our main characters – it’s time to fit them all in sometimes because our format is so short.

Bringing Jack in was actually originally not my idea, it came from my writer colleagues after that they revised my storyline notes for Season 2, while I was still down in Oskarshamn shooting Season 1.

We had always intended for a character to come in and raise the stakes but I never imagined it to be Jack. When we started to develop the character, we all started liking him so he was kept in the story. Like with any new character we never really know who they are and what point of them for coming in is, so to not spoil anything I will let your question be unanswered, sorry.

But what I can say is that Jack does have a backstory and a character arch that will answer a lot of questions about him and who is, it may not all be explained in Season 2, but hopefully if we get commissioned for a Season 3, you will get to know more about him.

I would say many of the storyline bits are loosely inspired on things/events that were in my surroundings when growing up, mainly I would say that the characters all have bits and pieces from friends or people I knew, but would definitely not say that the main storyline or the characters’ lives are based on my life or me growing up. When we started to work with the series in a writer’s room after having it commissioned and when summarizing the research, the original storyline was revised, updated and changed a lot in terms of drama and conflict. When me, Anton, Michaela, Fanny and season 1 director Amanda all came together we shared a lot of similar stories, experiences and of course some unique stories that were later all kind of built in to our characters and the show’s storyline. Same thing happened when our season 2 director Carl-Petter entered the Writers Room. To summarize I’d say that some things that could definitely be recognized from my teenage years, only that they are a wee bit heightened in order for it to be a good dramaturgy. But it is fun to think that there actually is a combination of people out there, that I knew or know that laid the basic foundation for Ludvig, Felicia, Amie, Elias, Klara, Andreas, Tobbe and the parents.

I will not spoil anything but let me put it like this and like I said above. Eagles will always have room for more than just one love saga and the things established in season 1 is not something that we will ever just throw away. However, in the storyline as it evolves some things may take longer than other and some things may happen faster than others. When working with such a short format as 8 or 10x20 minute episodes our job as a creative team has always been having to cut away pieces and push them forward in our story archs – with that said Eagles have according to my vision for the series always been a 4 to 5 season concept. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe it took about 21 films before Cap got Agent Carter – so even if you see things that you unlike that happens now, don’t forget that I and our team always follow our fans’ thoughts and that everything will hopefully make sense in the end. Also saying if everything just happened straight away – it wouldn’t be as exciting to watch. But to give one spoiler, there’s a thought-out path for them down the line, but can’t tell you more than that at the moment.

Thanks for your question and wow, what a tough one to answer. To me it’s a little like answering which one of your children you love the most. I have always been very protective of Ludvig and Felicia and it was quite tough for me to let other creatives come in and have opinions there – but I believe when letting my guard down and having to change a certain way that I had imagined them to be, act and behave, it changed my opinion a lot for the better.

Having had all these characters in my head for so many years then having actors coming in, claiming them, changing them, making them their own was quite scary for me – however they all kind of blew my mind away which was one of the most amazing feelings I have ever experienced, and that goes for all of them. I feel so fortunate to get to work with such a talented cast and they still blow my mind with their talent every day on set.

Thanks for your question, have received a few of these questions and answered one with quite a long answer but eventually, yes. It might take a while due to all the things that has happened to the characters with Felicia and Amie and since Elias has developed feelings for Klara – but nothing in Season 1 was for nothing and like said above – there’s a thought-out path for them down the line.

I have answered the question regarding Amie and Elias and their potential romance and well, we are aware that many of you are rooting for them but we will always try to make choices that effect all of characters in the greater story arch and what in the storylines and the archs that make sense for them for the time being in their lives, in the series. I will not tell what the future plans for the characters are since SVT would probably kill me if I did – but if we get renewed for a season 3 and if we’re lucky enough to get to make a season 4 and that the actors still want to play their characters in the series, our intention will be to have Amie and Elias remain in the show up until the grand finale.

In addition, our plan for all of the characters in the series will always be to have them evolve within themselves and not only in their relationship with or to another character. Love and friendship will be always be the most important themes of Eagles but our goal is to show that no character or person is 1-dimensional being, but rather 3-dimensional and have different sides to their personalities that make them act the way they do.

Thanks for your questions and love that you share potential theories. Unfortunately I cannot reveal what is about to happen and what role they all play or how things evolve – what I can say is that most of your questions and raised concerns will be answered or dealt with in the course of this season and the ones that don’t won’t be forgotten and will eventually come to a resolution or maybe end up in an even bigger conflict.

The answer to the question in short is, yes, it’s super difficult.

The reason why it’s difficult is because hockey in real life and hockey in storytelling is a lot different and to me working out the esthetics of the hockey was very important when pitching the show. I come from Oskarshamn myself and have a lot friend who plays or have played ice-hockey growing up – to me the goal was to make them feel like they could recognize themselves in the universe of the hockey and that it would feel real enough – also my goal was that people with a hockey interest would like the hockey action sequences. Meanwhile we also had to make sure that we created a hockey universe on the rink that people who doesn’t like hockey could understand and grasp and that the hockey action sequences would be interesting for someone who doesn’t like hockey as well. So it was quite difficult where to start.

Before even being commissioned I had a long dialogue with one of my good friend and colleague Simon Ekbäck Nordström who is a former hockey player, and had played at junior elite level, who also work as a Technical Director and 1:st AD in the industry, to have him on the show and to build this universe together with him if the show would go into production. When we did and when season 1 director Amanda came in our biggest task was to find a cinematographer who could film on ice. When meeting with Gabriel Mkrttchian who I had worked with before he introduced a camera rig set up called a DJI Ronin that would be able to make us follow players on the ice as Gabriel would be able to skate with them. We tested it, and we loved it! That and an combined research where I and writer Anton met with players between the ages of 15-35, really gave us an understanding of what things in the culture of ice hockey that people had in common and what was more local to Oskarshamn. In the process we even met with former NHL-players, only to understand how Mats would feel having ended a successful career and how it was to leave the sport behind him to move back to Sweden.

After that followed a long work of preparing how to film the scenes in the shortest amount of time and make them as visually astonishing as possible. Simon and Gabriel worked long hours to do maps of plays that the players would do and how we would capture it, also with the account that we had to have images shot when the actors are seen combined with scenes that are done by bodydoubles – believe me it was a puzzle, but a fun one to lay out. When going into season 2 our goal was to take what we had created and expand it, something that both me and Simon feel that we did, especially with the end scene of Episode 5.

This might be a very long answer to your question but yes, its difficult but it’s also extremely fun. Like Simon told me before we shot the hockey scenes for the first season: “Let’s go out and invent the wheel”. In Season 2, we tried to improve that wheel and for a hopeful season 3 we hope to perfect it.

Yes, they do know that, which we tried to portray by having Klara being quite lonely in the start of season 2, she and Amie doesn’t talk, Felicia’s look angry at a nervous Klara when she returns to school – Amie also says after having had food thrown on her by Felicia, and Klara asks if she’s fine: “Are you happy now” as an indicator that this is all Klara’s fault. One might feel that she didn’t get to pay the consequences yet, maybe she will, maybe she won’t – can’t tell what will happen but we as a creative team has always said that Klara wasn’t really the worst person in that specific plot point, Ludvig and Amie, not telling Felicia was a lot worse. With that said Klara could’ve definitely had done it nicer.

Yes, I would say it was. To me it was obvious that having the Kroons separated from each other was inevitable when Elias signed for another team and in order for the story to include all of our main characters and to be able to move forward in our storyline without being stuck in the aftermath of season 1 for to long with so few episodes in a season, we felt that we did needed for some time to pass in order to get story going again.

I think if you went into the writers room of Eagles and asked all of us what really happened in that room we would all have different answers. I know what happened, but I’m not sure we will ever truly know for sure, unless Ludvig or Amie eventually are open enough to admit to anyone what really happened.

He does and so does Felicia. As we know Felicia doesn’t like Klara, but what we do know is that she hates Ludvig and Amie even more now. Like the old saying goes: Don’t kill the messenger.

Regarding if Klara is going to become a better person. Klara is and has always been thought of to be quite a complex person – when we did our research and met with teenagers during the development of season 1 and when started to develop Klara, me and my colleagues all had known or did know a Klara kind of person. When growing up I knew a lot of people that were kind of like Klara and I didn’t like them but when getting to know them later on in life it always showed out that these people came from carrying quite heavy loads and came from complicated lives – when they grew older some of them changed some of them didn’t. Klara however is a mirror of a person that my goal as creator and that I share with my colleagues, is to be more than what meets the eye. In the end she is, just like everyone around her , trying to find a way to be – she was raised to be a certain way, the way she is and hopefully she will understand that there’s other ways to be, that are nicer and better. But like I said, some learn, some don’t. Some react different to the fear of losing a friend, Klara’s reacted like she did. Some react on being betrayed by throwing food on them – what is right what is wrong is a very individual thing. The thing is we know why Felicia did embarrass Amie – but we might not know all that we need to know about Klara to fully understand why she is like she is yet.

Our initial goal was to connect the IG to the show, however a tight budget and regulations from SVT since they’re a public broadcaster has not made it possible for us to do as much as we wanted. Hopefully though as the series evolve, we will be able to connect the two. It would be amazing if that could happen.

Well they all kind of had a great conflict that lead to quite complicated relationships to each other in the end of season 1 and now slowly interactions will start coming to life, some mending will be done and some will wait – but eventually down the line we will have them all together, under whatever circumstances that forces them to be together – but that is a spoiler for a much longer arch.

The answer is there will be scenes with them – they might not be like you all thought they would be – but I can tell you that the story of Amie and Elias in Eagles is far from over.

Well, I have answered most of the questions and there is a plan, maybe sooner, maybe later. Will use a Swedish saying: Den som väntar på något gott, väntar aldrig för länge which means ”The one who waits for something good, does never wait for too long” – I have always rephrased it to say “The one who waits for something good, always wait for too long” and with that said we have not seen the last of Amie and Elias.

Thank you so much for this question. I am very happy you asked about this scene, because to me it’s a very personal scene. In one of the questions above I was asked if there’s anything in the storyline that is inspired by my own time growing up in Oskarshamn and I answered that there are bits and pieces. This is one of those bits and pieces.

To answer your question as clearly as possible before broadening my view on the meaning of the scene I’d like to say that the scene could mean both. To me that’s the beauty of creating stories and having an audience view it - because our intention for a scene does not always have to match the way you as an auditor view or interpret it.

So for the long answer with trivial content for the one who has an extra minute :P.

According to my personal relationship to the scene and what our intention was, I’d say that is connected to her parents' situation. The basic foundation for this scene was actually born outside of the writers room when we had just finished the storyline for Season 2. I was sitting with our Technical Director and 1:st AD, Simon Ekbäck at his home as we started to lay out a possible shooting schedule for the season. Together we imagined the scenes together and tried to envision them in front of our eyes and how they would cut together. I remember shutting my eyes and telling Simon that the episode should end with Leila and Felicia pulling the car aside by the water and that Leila wouldn't be able to hold her tears in anymore - and that Felicia would witness this, try to hold her tears back and then fail at holding it in. The original scene as it had been discussed in the writers room was that they would cry in the car on the driveway, but I felt like they needed to get out of there and that this was a scene needed to take place somewhere else, somewhere more private. When later watching the final scene one could have copied my imagination of how the scene would look and pasted it in - that happens very rarely, that something becomes just like you imagined it. But for this scene it did happen, much thanks to Simon, Kristoffer, Carl-Petter and of course Alva and Charlotta.

My personal attachment to the scene and what it really means doesn’t have directly to do with Felicia being sad over her parents' situation, because it would be too soon for her to truly realize what Leilas decision means. When I was 21, a bit older than Felicia, my parents seperated and I remember talking to my mother alot, watching her crying, having to comfort her and carry her weight and that made me feel very uneasy. When later talking about this with friends and processing it, I was told and have come to the realisation that we as children in the best of worlds should never have to carry the weight of comforting our parents in a divorce - which so many of us are forced to do. This has been a lesson and realization that I’ve taken in as something to carry with me, since I have just become a father myself.

I mean even if our parents when we’re growing up are looked upon by us, their children as superheroes, they are only human in the end. Growing up makes us realize this and that has always been an important theme of Eagles, to see the true colors of our parents.

Comforting my mother during my parents' separation was tough, because I felt sad as well but had no room to express it - even though that I might have needed it. I was old enough to handle it, but many teenagers are a lot younger than I was, and for many children these situations can be very tough.

To summarize, the idea of the scene has always been that Felicia is forced to be the comfort to her mother's pain. When her mother shows her vulnerability in front of Felicia Felcia tries to remain strong and hold her tears in - but eventually the situation gets too personal and she can’t, but she tries to hide it from her mom, thus looking the other way, out from the window so that Leila won’t see her crying.

To me the scene is not meant to be a critique towards parents but rather a depiction of when it happens and is as important for the young and older audience to see and reflect about - because divorces happen all the time, and way to often children are forced to carry their parents when according to me, parents should remain strong and carry the weight for their children instead.

Long answer to a short question, but yet again thank you for bringing this scene up. I hope you are satisfied with the story of the scene and my view of its meaning.

Thank you so much for all of your questions - hope that my answers will make you happy. Since we’re in the middle of a season it’s hard for me to answer some of them since they would contain spoilers. I also want to thank director Carl-Petter Montell who added a few notes in my answers.

Last but not least I wanna thank Eagles-translated for all the great work that is done in gathering fans for the series - I also wanna thank all of you, fans who follow the series. To me as a creator producer of a series I always say that without you, we as a creative team and we as a series would be nothing. A series without an audience is no series - so thank you again for watching, sharing and caring about our work!

#svt eagles #eagles svt #stefan h lindén #i'd love to do more q&a's since this was really interesting!

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rainiedeforest · 4 years

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Poetry

Fandom: Mo Dao Zu Shi (The Untamed) Pair: Madame Yu | Yu Ziyuan / Jiang Fengmian Link to AO3: [here] Summary: Where Fengmian learned a very valuable lesson. Words: 2130 Other chapters: • Chapter 1: Spring (12 years) • Chapter 2: Attempt the impossible (15 years) • Chapter 3: Presuppositions (16 years) • Chapter 4: Poetry (17 years)

Maybe it had been the company, or perhaps the alcohol, but Jiang Fengmian and Wei Changze looked clearly amused at Jin Guangshan.

“I think you've had too much to drink already, Guangshan,” Jiang Fengmian said, trying to take away the glass of that sweet wine they had gotten at the inn.

“Stop talking bullshit! I haven't drunk half my capacity yet,” the other young master complained as Wei Changze looked at both of them with a soft smile, keeping silent. “Come on, come on! “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll pass, thank you. I appreciate my life,” replied the heir of the YunmengJiang Sect, raising the cup to his lips to entertain himself with something.

Jin Guangshan snorted and slumped back, leaning carelessly against the wall. His hand, shaking from the alcohol, pointed at him, causing the other two young men to share a regretful look.

“What scares you? That we choose wrong?”

Jiang Fengmian rolled his eyes and sighed, shaking his head.

“It's not that I'm scared, but rather that I'm educated enough to not sneak into a maid's bedroom to sing her a sonnet.”

“Let's free the poor girl from hearing such torture,” Wei Changze muttered, trying to hide his smile behind the small glass. Jiang Fengmian poked him, pretending to be offended, but with the gleam of amusement shining in his eyes.

“Precisely,” Jin Guangshan said after taking a long sip of his drink. He swallowed loudly and pointed at both men. “This girl is perfect. Even the flight of a fly bothers her.”

Jiang Fengmian choked, starting to cough as Wei Changze patted him on the back with concern. The young master's eyes trembled slightly as he looked at his best friend and the young sect master of LanlingJin, searching for any sign that it was a bad joke. It didn't look like one.

“It's… It's a joke, right?” But Jin Guangshan's wolfish grin was enough to let him know that no, it wasn’t. “You cannot be serious. No, I refuse.”

“Oh come on, Fengmian!” Guangshan exclaimed, amused. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid! But the last thing I want to do is bother Yu-guniang.”

Jin Guangshan shrugged and rolled his eyes, picking up the jug with the clear intention of filling his glass further. But the jug was empty. A snort escaped his lips as he searched for another one they had bought.

“I don't know if Yu Ziyuan deserves that appellative.”

“Miss Yu deserves it, as well as the respect her rank demands,” Jiang Fengmian said rudely. She would not be the kindest, sweetest or most loving maiden, but she was still a lady and she should be treated like one. “Don’t you ever dare to insult her again in my presence.”

Both young men looked at each other, the good humor and the relaxed atmosphere that they had been having broken by the tension and the reproaches. Wei Changze put his glass down on the table and tried to appease both young men.

“Perhaps singing a sonnet wouldn’t be the most appropriate thing given the situation,” Wei Changze replied, getting their attention. “After all, I have heard that she is engaged. I doubt very much that her parents and her fiancé found it amused.”

Jiang Fengmian lowered his gaze and nodded. He couldn't forget about that little detail, especially when Yu Ziyuan herself had informed him of this. Jin Guangshan clicked his tongue as he opened another jug of wine.

“Damn marriageable young maidens… Always ruining all the fun.”

However, hours later, he didn’t know exactly how, but he was at the foot of the bedroom window where he knew that Yu Ziyuan was currently sleeping. They had coincided again in a night hunt and, again, she had shown her superiority with respect to the rest of the men who were there.

He could barely stand up because of the three more jugs that had fallen in their stomachs, but he had clear a goal he must achieve.

Taking advantage of the snows that had fallen earlier, he began to make small snowballs and, even with the darkness looming making his vision difficult, he managed to throw them against the window. But he couldn't hear any sound. No sound or light turning on.

Perhaps she was no longer there, or perhaps she had gone to spend the night in Xing Sheji's room. It wasn't unusual for them to spend as much time as they could together. After all, as soon as the two of them were married, they couldn't see each other so assiduously. Both young girls would have responsibilities to their new families.

He had just thrown a new snowball when he heard it collide with something, causing a high-pitched whine. Jiang Fengmian looked up at the window and felt the blood drain from his face. Yu Ziyuan was looking at him from the window with a lit oil lamp and the remains of the snowball on her chest.

“Have you gone crazy, Jiang Fengmian?” She asked after a few seconds observing him in complete silence. “Do you know what time it is?”

Jiang Fengmian nodded and, without a second's hesitation, began to climb up the wall until he was hanging from the window. Yu Ziyuan looked at him in surprise and slightly shocked.

“W-what are you doing?!” She exclaimed when the young master managed to sit on the window sill. “Go away!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a really important mission,” he answered with a goofy smile on his face. Then, he raised a hand, gesturing to the inside the room. “May l?”

“O-of course not!” Ziyuan's tone ranged from surprise to outrage. “You're drunk!”

A small giggle escaped the young master's lips before he looked at her darkly. Ziyuan felt the blood rising up to her cheeks and flushing them fiercely.

“Mm… a little bit,” Fengmian whispered before taking her hand. “Miss Yu, can I come into your bedroom? I promise you it won't take more than ten minutes.”

“What if I don't want to, Jiang-gonzgi?” She asked in a very low voice, trying to ignore the pleasant chill she had felt when he took her hand.

Jiang Fengmian pretended to be thinking it up before grinning widely again.

“I will fall and you will have to bear with my death.”

Ziyuan slightly pursed her lips and, after a few seconds considering whether it would really be that bad for Jiang Fengmian to fall to the ground and pretend all of this had never happened, she stepped aside to let him pass.

Which was a completely mistake, since the young master was so clumsy right now that he tripped over his own legs and fell flat on the ground. Those noises would alarm anyone inside the inn and Ziyuan stared at the door in distress for someone to enter and see them. They could think anything and she would be lost. Not that she cared about the opinions of the others, but she didn’t want to put her family or her sect in a bad place.

Jiang Fengmian laughed and Ziyuan was quick to silence him.

“You want to wake up the entire inn?” She asked in a hiss, slightly annoyed. She moved around the small room until she placed the oil lamp on a small table where there was a really spectacular embroidery. “What do you want?”

The young man approached her, walking on his knees until he could take her hand again and smiled.

“Water lilacs bloom in the Great River,” Fengmian began to recite while he was still looking into her eyes. Ziyuan stifled a groan of surprise. Was he...? “Bright red on green water.”

“Fengmian...”

“Its color is the same as our hearts,” the young master continued despite Ziyuan's discomfort. Her heart kept racing, forcing herself not to take none of this seriously. After all, he was drunk. But on the other hand... It was the first time someone dedicated a poem to her. “Its roots take a detour...”

Fengmian paused for a little bit before kissing the knuckles on her hand, causing Ziyuan to forget how to breathe.

“Ours cannot be separated,” he whispered, finishing reciting that poetry, barely separating the hand of Ziyuan from his lips.

That simple act was a gesture of complete intimacy that was only expected between spouses. That he did that only made two things: one, that her stupid infatuation for him worsened and two, that the very idea of having to marry someone else was even more painful.

“Did you like it?”

“Let go my hand, please,” Ziyuan asked trying to recover. Jiang Fengmian stared at her in confusion, but did as the young woman asked. “What is all this about?”

“I thought you'd like it.”

Yu Ziyuan gave a dry, slightly cruel laugh that went perfectly hand in hand with the bitterness of the moment. Like it? She had loved it. But receiving poetry from a person who would never be her husband only made the situation torture.

“I’m betrothed.”

“Mm…” Fengmian seemed to ponder that for a few seconds, his eyes widening in surprise and nodding as if he'd fallen for it. “It’s true…”

“You shouldn't dedicate any poetry to me.”

“All pretty young women deserve to have someone to read poetry to them.”

Ziyuan's lips parted slightly, showing surprise at those words.

“You're drunk.”

“Mm… I am…”

“You don't know what you're saying…” Ziyuan muttered trying to get away from the young master.

Fengmian tried to reach her again, but fell flat on the ground again, staying there.

“Yes, I know…” he whispered before falling asleep.

Yu Ziyuan watched him for a few seconds, not sure what to do. In the end, and against everything her better judgment was yelling at her, she ducked next to Fengmian and barely lifted him, dragging him to the still intact bed. Gathering her strength, she laid him down and covered him gently with one of the blankets.

She sat on the edge of it and put away a lock of hair from Fengmian's face, feeling that simple caress burn her fingers. Her eyes swept over his relaxed features and she let out a sigh. How easy it would all be if all of it had happened otherwise, she thought bitterly, closing her eyes and letting a small tear escape from her eyes.

Ziyuan got up to close the window and turned off the little lamp before grabbing all her things and leaving the room. But, before closing the door, she took one last look at the sleeping body and whispered:

“Good night, Fengmian.”

The next morning when Fengmian woke up, he did with a severe headache that he would have gladly given to anyone else. Why did he have to drink so much that last night?

He let out a groan of pain before rolling over on the bed.

“Changze, give me water, please,” he asked his best friend, hoping that he was awake and in the room. But no one answered him. “Changze?”

Fengmian opened his eyes and found himself in a small, perfectly neat and clean room. What...? Where was it?

And then, small images of what happened the night before came back to him with great clarity. Fengmian sat up quickly, instantly regretting having done so because of the pain that went through him, but all of this was little compared to what had happened.

Had he really thrown snowballs at Yu Ziyuan's window? Had he really climbed up to her room and recited some cheesy love poetry? Had he really taken her hand and kissed her knuckles as if they were something else?

But the room was so quiet and so neat that it seemed that there had been no one there besides him.

What if he had dreamed it? Yes... Surely he would have dreamed it...

Fengmian finished getting up and, after washing his face in a small porcelain basin in the room, went in the direction of the door with the intention of leaving. However, before he managed to leave, he saw what looked like a purple silk handkerchief in the floor.

The young master approached the table where an oil lamp rested and took the cloth of the floor between his hands. It was richly embroidered with brightly colored beads and soft threads that came together to form a beautiful and perfect lotus flower.

“Jiang-gongzi!” Wei Changze exclaimed approaching him once he left the inn, after checking how someone had already paid for the room. “Where were you?”

“Ah... Sleeping. Upstairs,” he said, without adding anything else.

He helped Changze pack up his things and make his way home after saying goodbye to Jin Guangshan. Always with the little embroidered handkerchief hidden and pressed against his heart.

#mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #yu ziyuan #madame yu #jiang fengmian #jin guangshan #wei changze #read on ao3 #ao3 #my writing

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kentuckywrites · 4 years

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Brainjack: Loud Silence (Part 1)

So @heroicmeep has been writing @deltheor ‘s Sydney’s Brainjack tyrant arc for a while (which is an AMAZING read) and I recently got inspired to write something based off its events. However, that something grew into twenty four pages where “Pongo” got somewhat involved in things...needless to say, I went OVERBOARD. So this will be two parts long - it was a fun little ride, and now I have feelings.

It felt weird having his comm device turned off. Vandham had given him the all clear to do so - well, actually, he’d taken it out of Pongo’s hands and shut it down himself after he granted Pongo time to take a vacation. Pongo didn’t exactly want a vacation, but Secretary Nagi had gotten wind of how hard he was working and had told him in the most polite terms possible that he was taking a break whether he liked it or not. Pongo hadn’t been given much room to argue.

So halfway through his vacation Pongo flew his Skell over to Oblivia, to the Floating Reef to the far east. He’d packed himself a nice lunch to enjoy while looking out over the continent, and for once he was looking forward to the peace and quiet. It wasn’t that Pongo didn’t enjoy human interaction, but lately his missions with other BLADEs had come with little inconveniences, little mishaps that he had to solve. Broken comm devices, Skells out of gas, teammates arguing, battle tactics thrown to the wind. They all built up after a while. As Pongo exited his Skell, he realized that maybe being forced onto a vacation wasn’t a bad thing after all.

His plan for vacation had been to explore the continents on his own, get some time alone with his thoughts. He’d packed enough coffee and extra rations to last him a week, maybe a little longer. Pongo knew enough about Mira’s ecosystem that he’d be able to hunt down and scavenge for some food, making good use of the knife Irina had lent him. The blade still felt awkward in his hands, and he preferred using traps whenever possible, but he couldn’t exactly avoid using it. He still had his photon saber and dual guns if things went wrong. Surprisingly, he hadn’t gotten into any dangerous altercations with indigens or Ganglion during his vacation, and he hoped it stayed that way.

Pongo sat down at the edge of the Floating Reef, setting down his lunch to the side. It was a rare day where Oblivia was shrouded under a layer of clouds, a threat of storms and lightning. He breathed in the Oblivia air, a mixture of moisture and sandy desert metals. If only he could sit here forever, taking in the sights and smells. It was calming in a way he could never admit out loud. He’d be forced on more vacations if he confessed his desires.

The moment Pongo decided to open up his lunch, his stomach lurched. A rumble pierced his ears and he looked up quickly at the horizon. Was that the beginnings of the electrical storm in the west? That was what he thought, at first, but when he saw no traces of lightning he scowled. His hands pressed into the dry desert ground, rocks imprinting into his palms. He watched with a close eye to see if the horizon would change.

Pongo.

Mira spoke, a whisper that was both distant and too close for comfort. He spoke out loud in response, for there was no one else around to hear his monologuing.

“Mira? Are you alright?”

Something is wrong. I feel their confusion and pain in Caul-dron’avos. They are scared, but why?

Pongo knew Mira was referring to the indigens in Cauldros. “Is something attacking them?”

No, not attacking. But...I think something is there. Something unnatural.

“The Ganglion?”

No, they have existed in Caul-dron’avos long enough for me to consider them natural. This is artificial in nature, but...I believe this stems from a human presence.

“A human?” Pongo said, rubbing his chin. His hand lifted sand up from the ground and deposited it on his chin and on his lap, but he paid no mind to it. “Is someone going around and killing indigens?”

No one is dying. But there are many humans there, and they seem...subdued by something. Controlled, almost.

“Controlled...what in the name of everything living…”

I guess I should have expected you to be just as confused. You are being forced on a vacation, after all, so it is only natural for you to be ignorant of everything happening around you.

“That is not fair!” Pongo cried, “But you have me curious. Perhaps I should go to Cauldros to investigate?”

That might put you in danger.

“Nice to see you caring about me! I can handle myself out there.”

Am I not allowed to care about my vessel despite him being overwritten by a childish and naive personality who has no sense of self preservation?

Pongo chuckled to himself. “Love you too, Mira. Let me know if anything changes out there. I will investigate after I eat.”

Are you telling me you are prioritizing your lunch over rushing headfirst into danger?

“You just called me out on my lack of self preservation, so yes.”

Fuck you. Eat quickly.

Pongo couldn’t help but smirk as he unrolled the wrapping around his sandwich, but deep down he was still shaken about Mira’s warning. What had happened in Cauldros? Were people really being controlled by something, like Mira theorized? He had picked up on the fear in Mira’s voice, almost hidden by its monotonous whisper, and now that same fear was taking root within him. If there were people in danger, he was going to help, vacation be damned. He wouldn’t let Vandham chew him out for this.

In a few quick minutes Pongo scarfed down the food he’d brought and hopped back into his Skell. Eros’s engines purred as he booted up the flight module, setting course for Cauldros. It would be a long flight over a vast ocean, hardly scenic. Pongo could cut the tension in his cockpit with his knife, and after a few minutes of peaceful flight, he turned on Eros’s radio. The station that came on liked to play Earth music, songs considered classics, old but not forgotten. He recognized the one that came on - IRIS, by the Goo Goo Dolls. What a funny band name. He lost himself to the music for the entire flight to Cauldros, the sky around him shifting into darkness.

When Pongo finally saw Cauldros on the horizon, he tried to look for any indication that something was wrong. But from the surface, everything was as it should have been. He pushed Eros’s thrusters to go faster, on a direct path to the Adder Byroad. Flying in from the southeast wasn’t the safest way into Cauldros; the sky was always littered with Ganglion Skells patrolling the continent. But he’d had good luck flying past them before. He knew the openings in their defenses.

And so he snuck past, landing in a secluded part of the Byroad. He opened up his cockpit, his nose shriveling up when he smelled the metallic heat of Cauldros. It had been a while since he’d been to Cauldros, and looking upon its barren and lava-filled landscape, it wasn’t hard to remember why. Too many indigens thrived here for his comfort, too many evil schemes, too many disturbing memories. He shivered as his feet hit the ground, his skin tingling under his vest. The heat had never bothered him, but the memories always would.

Pongo double checked his gear before beginning his surveillance, keeping an eye out for any other humans. Everything seemed quiet, but as Pongo kept walking, he discovered things were too quiet. He had at least expected some gerrids on the Byroad, but it was just him. Just Pongo.

...No. No, it wasn’t just him. Something else was here.

He could feel it, but couldn’t see it. Something pressing inside his mind, an oppressive and shadowed force. It felt similar to Mira’s presence, but this wasn’t Mira trying to control him. This was...could it be a Ganglion? A new indigen? Another human? Whatever it was, he could feel its mind crawling around in his own, tiny spiders invading his brain. Pongo clutched his head as the spiders started to bite, pain coursing through his body. He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth, doing everything in his power not to scream, not to draw attention to himself.

Mira’s voice broke through the pain.

I know what this is. You cannot fight this. You need to give me control.

Its tone was dark, laced with a poisonous rage. Pongo had no choice but to let go, and his vision went white.

Mira opened his eyes, letting go of his head and standing himself up. The pain was residing now that Pongo had given him control, and Mira prepared himself to explain.

That was an Art. Brainjack.

Pongo began, his voice an echo inside Mira’s mind. It felt strange to have the roles reversed, for the physical body to belong to Mira instead of Pongo, for Pongo’s voice to be guiding Mira instead of the other way around.

“Yes. If I remember correctly, it can be used by humans who wield knives.” Mira’s voice sounded almost exactly like Pongo’s now that he was in control, but there was still an echo in this form, an otherworldly and commanding force. “You were Brainjacked once. I had to save you. Remember?”

I remember something like that happening. I was having coffee. The man who Brainjacked me...his name was Sydney.

“Right. He got fairly angry that I wiped his attempt from your memory.”

You did WHAT -

“Believe me, you did NOT want to remember what he did to us. Besides, your absolutely childish optimism shut him up quickly afterwards.”

Pongo was quiet for a moment, and Mira took that as a cue to walk, his hand dangling close to his photon saber.

He said he Brainjacked me because he was bored. I always thought Brainjack only worked on indigens, but...Mira, do you think that he is the one who tried to Brainjack me just then?

Mira’s lips pursed. “I do not want to ignore that possibility, but I do not think Brainjack has that large of a range.”

You are right, its range is fairly small. But you said it felt like a lot of things were being controlled, right?

“...this does not feel right. Hopefully we stumble across a human soon so we can ask what is going on.”

You will maintain control through it all? Are you sure?

Mira rolled his eyes. “Either that or you get immediately Brainjacked the moment you regain control. Best you stay inside for a while.”

Alright. I trust you.

“Like you have a choice,” Mira joked, but when Pongo didn’t respond, he assumed he’d hit a nerve and sighed. He walked on, making a mental note of where Pongo had parked his Skell as he trekked farther into the continent.

With such a high surveillance point, Mira could eventually see other humans in the distance, some clumped together into groups, others traversing the land solo. All of them had weapons drawn. Some of them sparked memories in Mira’s mind - were they friends of Pongo? Had they gone on missions before?

There! We should try and talk to those people down there. Maybe they can tell us what is going on!

Pongo sounded excited, relieved in a way. Mira rolled his eyes, letting one of his hands rest on the hilt of his photon saber. He would’ve preferred if Pongo brought his dual swords instead, but then again, it wasn’t as if Pongo had prepared for any of this.

“Are you an idiot? That is too dangerous,” Mira hissed, “If something tried to Brainjack you before, then it likely tried to Brainjack those humans too. I bet that is why I sensed something off before. They are being controlled by something...someone.”

Controlled by another human, or at least a humanoid who can wield a knife and has been registered with BLADE. No civilians can access Arts.

“What about the Ganglion? Do they have Arts like you do?”

I am not sure. They have their own technology and method of weapon creation, but in my experience, they have nothing like Brainjack. I can only think of one other creature on the planet that can control humans, but -

“The Wanderer-King resides in Noctilum,” Mira finished, “And as far as I can discern, he is still there.”

Right. He hardly ever leaves his cave.

In the midst of their conversation, Mira had failed to notice that the humans down below had spotted him, and were approaching with their guns and melee weapons pointed at him. When he snapped back into reality and saw the humans coming his way, he grit his teeth.

“Pong’netai-opta, LOOK. Do they look like they harbor good intent?”

Mira drew the photon saber at his side, the blade igniting under his grasp. It hit him that he had only a small grasp of human fighting styles; he knew Arts existed, what some weapons provided in terms of resistance and buffs, but the bar on his hilt labeled TP had almost no meaning to him. He had no time to ask Pongo about it, because when the humans descended upon him, they were quick to act.

The first human to strike held a javelin between her auburn hands, and when the tip of the blade thrust forward it crackled with colorful electricity, reds and blacks intertwined in twisted harmony. Mira twisted his body to dodge it and immediately put up his photon saber to block the longsword that had attempted to strike him down at the same time as the javelin. He ducked and ran to an open spot to regain his bearings before pressing one of the Arts on the photon saber’s hilt. He cast the blade down in a brilliant show of sea green energy, wisps of light trailing behind and floating around his body, unconscious supports. He managed to hit the longsword user in the shoulder, a well dressed man with sunglasses dark enough to hide his eyes, but it was not a success to be proud of. From Mira’s backside he caught another photon saber wielder activate an Art and run forward, launching his body into a series of front flips, his saber inches away from hitting Mira. He grit his teeth as he stumbled backwards, and yelped when a bullet hit him in the upper arm. Three melee fighters, two ranged maintaining their distance. Mira shook his head. He could take them down, he just had to focus.

The girl with the javelin propelled herself forward by jamming her javelin into the ground and pushing to aim a kick at Mira. She’d taken too long to set herself up and Mira could predict where to go to dodge it and knock her off balance, and he did exactly that. She tumbled to the ground, and when she got herself back up, Mira saw out of the corner of his eye that her gaze was burning red, a strange symbol within her iris.

Mira, stop!! That is my friend, Aeviann!

“They are not your friends right now,” Mira said, nearly dodging another swing from the longsword user. A name popped up from Pongo’s memory - Draco - and Mira had to step back in a defensive posture.

“Stop trying to regain control! You will jeopardize us both!!”

I will not let you hurt them!

A swing, a hit, someone was bleeding now and it wasn’t Mira. Time became irrelevant and he could only feel the hilt of the photon saber in his hand, how it finally connected with its targets, how the dark landscape of Caul-dron’avos was being stained with blue. There was something beautiful about Mira’s rage in that moment, something freeing. He had wanted revenge against the humans not long ago for their savage destruction of his ecosystems, and they’d proven themselves worthy, but some resentment lingered behind. He swung and hit with everything his body had left, but with every hit, his grip on the body kept slipping.

MIRA!! STOP!!

“And just give up?! They would kill us if we stopped defending ourselves,” Mira yelled, realizing just how long the fight had been dragging on, realizing that Pongo was close to regaining control. “Just shut up and let me -”

Mira screamed suddenly as his inner conscious was ripped apart. Pongo was too close to returning to the body, and whoever was Brainjacking these humans was close to taking Pongo’s mind too. Mira had to use the last bit of his strength to stay in control, almost ignoring his surroundings to keep Pongo at bay. But in the end, all he could do was watch Pongo’s mind slip to the front, and the pain erupted tenfold. Mira held on for dear life trying to stop Pongo from being Brainjacked, and through a lens he watched Pongo drop his saber, take every hit that came to him, pleading with his former friends to remember him, to break free of their binds, to remember themselves.

Of course it didn’t work.

Pongo took too many hits in the end and the poor body collapsed, and in Pongo’s mind, Mira spat a final curse before their vision went dark.

#xenoblade x #Brainjack: Loud Silence Part 1 #this whole thing is formatting hell #anyways I went a little ham on this #is it an AU? is it canon to the tyrant arc? I have no idea #all I know is that Mira's fun to write #and part 2 is a DOOZY #hehehhehhehehehhhe

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starkravinghazelnoots · 5 years

Note

Orange or yellow and Peter or Tony for the drabble thing! (rly predictable ik sorry!)

ORANGE

Energy, balance, warmth, enthusiasm, vitality, expansion, flamboyancy, and autumn.

This turned into way longer than a drabble. I couldn't resist the pull of writing some Biderman in honor of Pride. I had a ton of fun writing this, so I hope this lives up your expectations and that all of you enjoy!

I apologize in advance if the line break doesn't work. Tumblr really hates when I try to use line breaks.

xXx

How to be Proud

Peter was pretty confident in himself. What's more, he had an extremely supportive family and group of friends, some of whom understood what he was going through better than others.

But that didn't mean it was always easy to be proud of himself. It wasn't for Peter, at least.

But Spider-Man? He didn't have that problem.

"Don't fucking touch me, homo!"

Peter rolled his eyes behind the mask as he shot a web over the criminal's mouth. "Trust me, buddy, I'm not gonna touch someone as nasty as you." He gestured to the purple, pink, and blue cape tied around his neck. "And for the record, Mr. Homophobe, I'm bisexual. If you're going to insult me, at least get it right."

Peter called the police to report the location of the tied-up criminal before swinging away. His curfew was in ten minutes, which meant he had to hurry if he wanted to make it back to his apartment on time.

He dove through his window right as the clock on his dresser changed to midnight - on Fridays he was allowed that extra hour, but he did have a tendency to push it.

"How was patrol?" May asked. She was leaning against the door frame of his room. She must have just gotten back from her shift at the hospital, because she was still in her scrubs.

"Pretty good!" Peter said, standing up. The Iron Spider mask disappeared from his face. "Stopped a bank robbery and some petty theft. I also rescued Mrs. Post's cat again. He keeps escaping and climbing up the tree next to her house." Peter snickered. "It's still so funny to me that she named her cat Jeff."

May smiled at his amusement. "Well, I'm sure she was very grateful."

He laughed. "Yeah. She always tries to give me cookies or some other kind of sweet before I leave." Peter snapped his fingers, remembering the last thing he did before returning home. "Oh, I also stopped a kid from being beat up. I don't know who he was, because he ran away when I swung down into the alley, but I took care of his attacker." He untied the flag from his neck and hung it over the chair in front of his desk. "He was a nasty guy, too. Homophobic. Smelled like hot garbage."

May chuckled. "Well, it's a good thing you were there to take care of him." She gestured to his bisexual flag. "Get any compliments on that?"

Peter beamed at her. "Yes! It was so great. A girl actually burst into tears when she saw me because she was so happy her favorite superhero was bisexual, too."

May held her arms out, and he eagerly accepted her hug. "I'm so proud of you, Peter."

Peter smiled. "Thank you, May." His voice was muffled by her shirt. "I love you."

May pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Well, I love you more."

"I love you most."

"Then I love you more than the most!"

Peter laughed. "You're the worst."

"Oh, I know."

xXx

MJ slid into the chair in front of Peter, startling him out of a daydream that definitely had not involved the aforementioned girl. "We're still on for Pride tomorrow, right?"

"I am," Ned said excitedly. "I can't wait!"

Peter nodded, taking a sip from the cup of coffee in front of him. He loved this little café. "Yep. It's gonna be so cool to go with both of you." He'd been looking forward to Pride all week. It would be his first time going as openly bi, and he wasn't sure whether he was excited or terrified.

MJ smiled. "Nice. Because I had a little idea that I thought the two of you might be interested in."

Peter glanced at Ned, who shrugged. "Alright," he said, turning back to MJ. "What's your idea?"

She smirked. "There is a third person I propose we bring to Pride. But I wanted your approval before I invited him."

"Sure. Who is it?"

MJ's grin widened. "Spider-Man."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You want to invite Spider-Man?" It was always weird having to refer to himself in the third person. "Why?"

MJ shrugged. "He's an out and proud bisexual superhero. I think a lot of people, especially the teens at Pride, could use that kind of confidence boost."

Peter felt the blood rush to his cheeks, simultaneously embarrassed and flattered. "Oh. Okay."

"Do you have a specific thing you want Spider-Man to do at Pride?" Ned asked.

"I'm glad you brought that up." MJ pulled her sketchbook seemingly out of nowhere and placed it on Peter's desk. "I drew some concept art for what I think Spider-Man should wear."

Peter looked at her sketch. "Don't you think that's a bit flamboyant for a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?"

MJ shrugged. "So what? Sure, Spider-Man is pretty down-to-earth. But if he was going to be flamboyant, wouldn't Pride be the perfect time for him to do it?"

Confidence surged through Peter's veins. "Yeah. You're right."

MJ rolled her eyes, smirking. "Of course I am."

xXx

Tony stared down in disbelief at the picture in his hands. "Parker, you want me to do what to the Iron Spider suit?"

Peter beamed at him. "Just follow the picture. You're the best Mr. Stark! Okay bye now."

Tony sighed as his intern dashed out of the building. "That kid is going to be the death of me."

xXx

"How's the suit?" MJ asked, popping her gum.

Peter smirked, gesturing to the watch on his wrist. "It's ready whenever. And can I say that it looks cool as hell?"

"Of course it does. I designed it."

"I can't wait," Ned added. "You're gonna look so badass, Peter."

Peter laughed. "Well, I don't know about that."

Pride was in full swing around them. Both Peter and MJ had bisexual flags painted on their cheeks, and Ned had a classic rainbow. Peter also had his bisexual flag tied around his neck, and MJ had an ace flag tied in the same way. Ned had turned down wearing a flag as a cape, instead choosing to wear a long-sleeved black shirt with rainbow patches running down the arms.

Time flew by. The trio marched for over an hour, maybe two, before breaking off to go to a drag queen comedy performance, then went to lunch together.

"So there's a concert in about thirty minutes," MJ said as they were leaving the restaurant. "Want to go to that?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm down with whatever."

"As long as it doesn't last too late in the afternoon," Ned pointed out. "Spider-Man is planned for what - 4ish?"

Peter laughed. "Don't worry, Ned. I'm watching the clock." His heart was racing, and he wasn't sure if that was from nerves or from excitement - either way, he couldn't wait.

The concert itself was decent. Peter thought he might have enjoyed it better had he actually known who the band was. Not to mention he was distracted, glancing at his watch so often he couldn't truthfully say he was paying attention. He a made a mental note to look into more of the band's albums later.

"Hey, Peter," MJ said, smirking at him. "It's 4 o'clock."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You guys are really living for this, aren't you?"

"Duh," Ned said, beaming. "Do it, dude!"

Peter laughed. "Alright, alright." He ducked into an empty alleyway - how fitting that the concert had been so close to one. Apparently the universe was rooting for Spider-Man to show some pride.

After making sure no one was around him, Peter crouched behind a dumpster and tapped at his watch. Within seconds the Iron Spider suit rolled out and covered him. He blinked for a moment to adjust to his sharper vision.

Peter then shot a few webs at the side of the building in front of him, getting a running start before swinging up onto the top of it.

He looked down at the crowd below him. The bright colors of a hundred LGBT+ flags filled him with elation and immense confidence. He'd never be able to replicate that feeling.

Peter shot a web at a pole near the crowd, swinging down and around so that he landed on top of it.

"Hey! New York Pride!" he shouted. His suit magnified his voice. A quick glance at his arm revealed that the suit was doing exactly what it was supposed to do - shift through the colors of as many pride flags as possible. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is here to remind you that you should never be ashamed of who you are! You are all amazing, beautiful, inspiring people. If it weren't for you guys, then I'd never have been able to feel comfortable expressing myself." As if on cue, the wind picked up, causing his bisexual cape to flutter behind him. "I'm able to be who I am because of this city. Thank you, New York!"

The crowd started cheering, and Peter swung down into the middle of it, managing to hold short conversations with various people before being whisked off to talk with someone else.

He ended up in front of a young boy who had the trans flag painted on both of his cheeks and a pan flag tied around his neck.

"H-Hi," the boy stammered. "I love you, Spider-Man! You're my favorite hero!"

Peter smiled at the kid. He looked to be maybe around 13 or 14. "I'm flattered. Have you been having fun today?"

The kid didn't answer, instead staring intensely at Peter. Finally he blurted out, "Thank you for saving me!"

Peter blinked. "Saving you?"

The boy nodded. "Y-Yes! A few nights ago, my stepfather, he - he kicked me out of the house, and he followed me away, and he... He started hitting me, but then - then you showed up and you saved me!"

Peter was thankful his mask hid his shocked expression. He remembered that encounter all too well. "That was you?"

"Yes. And I live with my aunt now so everything is okay but I just - I just wanted to say thank you."

Peter almost asked why the boy's stepfather had kicked him out, but given that the trans flags on his cheeks were streaked with tears... That told Peter everything he needed to know.

"Hey," Peter said, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders. "I want you to know that you should always be proud of who you are, okay? No matter what anyone tries to tell you, your identity is beautiful." He winked at the boy. "Remember, Spider-Man will always be on your side."

It was no coincidence, Peter figured, that at that moment his suit shifted from the colors of the trans flag to the pan one.

He said goodbye to the boy before swinging up and out of the crowd, high fiving people as he went.

Pride.

It was a funny word, really.

Pride meant a mixture of confidence in oneself and trust in others.

And in that moment, Peter had never been prouder.

xXx

Mr. Stark: quite a stunt you pulled at NY pride today, Mr. Parker

Peter: lol sorry i didn't tell you that was what the suit was for

Mr. Stark: first of all, it was so obvious that was what the suit was for. second, why didn't you tell me? did you think I'd disapprove? kid you know I've been out since the 90s

Peter: I was worried you might think it was too flamboyant for a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man

Mr. Stark: there's no such thing as being too flamboyant. I made a few modifications to my own armor for a trip I myself plan on making to pride tomorrow

Peter: what?! without me, Mr. Stark? how could you

Mr. Stark: Pete. I never said you couldn't go with me

Peter: so I'm invited?!

Mr. Stark: whatever you want, kid

Peter: yesssss tomorrow is gonna be awesome

Mr. Stark: uh huh. Sure.

Peter: :D

Mr. Stark: hey, kid?

Peter: yeah?

Mr. Stark: I'm proud of you. You know that, right?

A single tear fell onto the screen of Peter's phone. Maybe of happiness. Maybe of thanks. Maybe even just of sentiment.

Peter: thank you, sir.

Mr. Stark: but don't get used to the compliments

Mr. Stark: i have a reputation to maintain

Peter: sure, Mr. Stark. sure

Peter put his phone on his dresser, falling backwards onto his bed. The day had been perfect. Even if he had chickened out yet again in confessing his feelings to MJ. But that was okay.

At least he'd made Mr. Stark proud.

Huh.

Peter chuckled to himself.

Maybe he should pull flamboyant stunts more often.

xXx

Thank you for requesting this! Other drabbles probably (for my sake lol) will not be this long. If anyone else wants to send a request, please feel free to do so. Again, thank you for reading!

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