#we may be using this as an excuse to pull out some of the lesser-seen lil dudes

[syrcus]

wanting to do the vanilla gpose challenge but trying to figure out which of my alts has no mods on them :') I think it's gotta be kria or denh? or eryx? I don't wanna turn quo's ears off it took me so long to get them to work jgdfg

#rambling #we may be using this as an excuse to pull out some of the lesser-seen lil dudes #because i wanna do it! i sorta miss vanilla gpose sometimes! those were simpler times! #and you don't need mods to make a cute character or take good screenshots and i do want to like. participate in showcasing that #i think it's a really cool challenge to be running #idk #we'll see if i can find the energy to take a few shots

[logicalalo]

Thoughts on CSM ch. 138

Alright, finally have somewhat organized my thoughts regarding this week's chapter and have some points that I would like to discuss. I would also like to add that some chapters are kinda foggy in my mind (I should definitely re-read them), so if there are errors, please let me know.

Introduction of Fumiko; Denji's bodyguard.

With her introduction and actions, yeah no, but we are stuck with her as she has been appointed to be Denji's bodyguard at school. In other words, Denji will have another figure from Public Safety keeping tabs on him. The way Yoshida explains Fumiko's job is that she will protect Denji so that Denji can enjoy a normal life. AKA since she is Denji's bodyguard, Denji can't have the excuse that he turned to CSM for self-defense. I would like to add that her addition to the cast and being another player for public safety makes me feel like the story is once again highlighting the two prominent sides of an impending conflict soon: Church of Chainsawman and Public Safety. Perhaps, we may have a school chapter soon where we can once again see the dividing attitudes of both groups via the students.

Sword Man

The first time I read the chapter (in my 15-minute break), I had assumed that Sword Man was part of Public Safety/ part of Yoshida's team alongside Fumiko, but I then realize he isn't? Or more like nothing has been said yet about where he stands. For sure not with the Church of Chainsawman. We do see him wearing the school uniform and a Twitter user suggested that he could be the one that helped Denji back during the Falling arc*. Based on his choice of words, he seems to hold CSM in a higher regard compared to Asa who he described with the words "some fresh-nobody" and almost dismissive by saying how she is the Church's poster girl. His re-introduction did bring a lot of buzz, as seen on social media, with many hoping that past hybrids from the series make a return. * Tweet about Sword Man being the one that helped Denji in the Falling Arc

Asa and the Fame

Per a discussion and agreement with Fami, Asa is now actively fighting devils while being the "poster girl" for the church of Chainsawman. Asa and Yoru agreed while each having their own reason; to protect CSM (Asa) and to kill him (Yoru). In this chapter, we see Asa looking tired with a band-aid on her face while staring at the TV. Displayed on the TV, appears to be a talk show where the host describes Asa in a positive manner. The host used the word "beautiful" and Asa repeats the word as if to confirm that she did indeed hear correctly. Yoru then shares that it's not so bad receiving recognition which Asa attempts to downplay by saying that "[they] aren't doing this for the praise...", she is doing it to protect CSM, and that it's creepy. However, Yoru sees through. We, the reader, also understand that it's not entirely true as Asa is shown smiling in a certain manner. Her smile makes me think of those smiles we sometimes make unknowingly when nervous or lying. Either way, the smile Asa gives feels questionable. The smile does low-key remind me of the smiles Yoru would make in previous chapters. Regarding Asa's development in this chapter, it looks like it could take the route where the newfound fame gets to Asa's head. I'll explain a bit below, but most of the time that this conflict is used in media, it doesn't serve the character well. It's sort of always used as a cautionary tale about fame getting to people's heads. Although, I can't blame Asa for feeling the way she did because getting recognition/praise feels good; she seen. It's human to seek approval at times because it also affirms our actions as 'correct'. I could more in-depth about this another time. On a lesser scale, something similar to what is occurring has played out. Remember the Aquarium arc? Asa was all smiles and confident when she pulled out that cell phone because she had others saying good things about her as she became their hope for a way out. Unfortunately, she fell and in came Haruka's criticism that crushed Asa. Wonder if something like this will play out again as falling at important moments has been an explicitly stated problem Asa has. Perhaps, she will deal with a 'fall' during her peak as a Devil Hunter? This is really random, but I suddenly made the connection with Mean Girls regarding Asa's current predicament. To be exact with the trope 'becoming the mask'. I think the trope loosely applies to Asa. Below are the comparison drawn between Asa and Cady (main character of Mean Girls). - Join a group that they were told to join where both were skeptical at first base on what they saw and heard. For Asa, it was Fami telling her to join the Church of Chainsawman and for Cady, it was Janis who told her to join the Plastics. - Once in the group, they become accustomed to it and lose their original self. Here it's where it can loosely apply to Asa since it's implied the fame may be getting to her head, but we still don't see the severity of it. While in Mean Girls, Cady took over Regina's role and lost herself along with her friends/ unrecognizable to those close to her. By the end of the film, Cady acknowledges that being at the top of the chain by being a plastic made her lose her way, her friends, her parent's trust, and made her feel lonely ( ex. eating lunch alone again). Cady reverts to her true self and repairs those bridges; becoming happier. Who knows, maybe Asa will also go through something similar to that as it seems to be a pattern when the problem in a story is about a character letting fame get to them (Shark Tale is another example of that conflict in media lol) I have so much more to say about Asa in general, but I think I will leave that for another day.

Fami better come back soon to clue us in a bit more on what her plan is with the church. Fami said that she wants to save humans, but her planning brings in a lot of questions. There is also the Fakesaw Man, Justice Devil being back, the weird thing that seems to be haunting/advising Haruka, and the list goes on. Only time will tell.

Thank you for hearing my thoughts which can sometimes be all over the place. I was really excited doing one of these posts since it's been ages. If you would like to talk more, don't hesitate to send me a message.

Edit: whoa it got a weird format when it’s posted.

#csm 138 #asa mitaka #chainsaw man #I think I rambled far too long lol #the random ass comparison between Asa and Mean Girls lol or is it?? #Note: long text post

[space-blue]

Question because I’m lowkey curious, do you believe that Vander’s issues and mistakes are largely overlooked by fans because he’s the “good guy?” And while Silco does have a lot of fans, he also has a good amount of haters in the fandom and do you think that’s “unfair” (for lack of a better term)?

Hello Anon! What a good question, thank you for trusting me with it... although I don't think I can speak for the fandom as a whole, I can certainly tell you what rattles in my skull.

I think mostly the fandom at large is not interested in deep dive analysis, or even capable of it — which is not an insult, plenty of people enjoy shows and fandom content without ever engaging with film critical theory of any sort, or even make their own opinionated meta. Many fans are happy to just be fed theories by meta creators, or have a general perception and don't seek out contrary content.

And then, if you don't spend a lot of time decorticating Vander, Silco, Zaun, reading into the implication of single lines of dialogue later on, discussing the show with other people who might point out stuff you missed, etc. it's hard not to just be satisfied with "Vander is a genuine Good Guytm" because the show certainly is happy to let you get away thinking that.

Media at large condones a LOT of violence. Vander's use of lethal force, threat, and coasting on a killer's reputation is absolutely nothing in the eyes of some "good guy hero shit" we see being pulled by some people.

James Bond? John Wick? Fuck, look at Finn in Star Wars, who gleefully kills a ton of troopers without ever stopping to think—even after it was established they're all poor brainwashed orphans, his colleagues until very recently.

Finn has a higher on-camera body count than Vander does!

And Vander is mostly seen through his children's eyes, for whom he's become a true father figure.

On top of that, he's got those big fat centrist inertia energies about him. He's mister Status Quo. Gotta do nothing in either direction, wait until I got no choice, chose the lesser of two evils, etc.

That makes him feel very measured in a world that revolves around incredible political extremes. On a passive first watch, this may seem like the nice guy thing to do.

All this adds up.

On the other hand Silco LOOKS like a villain, talks like a villain, slow claps like an asshole, condones the killing of kids because they chose to get involved without any visible remorse...

Vander seems brighter next to Silco's shadows.

What baffles me is how people don't start doubting the narrative they're being presented when Silco has his PTSD attack when Vander clamps around his throat. It becomes pretty clear that Vander was once a monster, and his betrayal of Silco is what created, well, the "monster Silco" we meet in act I. [Alexa, play The Monster You Created]

They're both shades of grey, and one might have lightened while the other darkened. It's not even subtext. It's flat out said and shown. That's the point where I think tepid takes like "Silco had it coming" and "Vander was doing everyone a service by drowning him" are dropping the ball and being lazy with their "analysis".

I don't think it's unfair that Silco has haters. I love him for his ideals and goals, because he's a champion of the poor and destitute. He's taking the burden of committing extreme violence against an abusive government that will not yield any other way, and would kill him for it. He sacrifices his entire life to this work. But I also love him for being an asshole, and the sort of man who'll make a mountain of corpses to climb up to his goal. He's flawed and very human, defined by his trauma. He's as yummy as a poptart.

But if you're not into revolutionaries, if you think the ends never excuse the means, if you think him loving Jinx is still detrimental to her and her growing up in a shitty Zaun orphanage would still be better for her, or that #PiltoverDidNothingWrong, then yeah, Silco would have very few redeeming qualities lol

Between his extremism and his appearance, it's very easy to make his final encounter with Vander be very black and white. The show literally pulls the rug from under your feet on the Vander-Silco dichotomy minutes before the stabbing and choking! And you've projected along with the kids and seen Vander as a Good Dad for 3 episodes! Silco killing him while he's defending his one surviving child won't exactly help.

Overall I don't think fandom overlooks Vander's faults because he's painted as a good guy, but rather because fandom doesn't scratch at that paint too much. It's easier to dismiss the shades of grey, and you don't have to think about Vander much in act II or III.

Arcane as a show is also a rather depressing, despite how pretty it looks, so I can see how appealing it would be to cling to any "nice" character. They're few and far between.

I mean, there's literally not a SINGLE named and voiced character who can't be made out to be some shade of asshole, outside of like, Sky (and maybe Thieram)!

But yeah, I'm generally not bothered. I think we'll see a ton more takes on Vander when he shows up as a cursed furry serial killer and potentially breaks Vi's heart and whatever is left of Jinx's sanity. I'm looking forward to *that*.

There are lots of valid good takes for Vander, portraying him in varying shades of grey. I think another reason we don't see a lot of stuff outside Good Guy tm is that he's so "minor" compared to the other main characters, and not exactly involved in any popular ship. (No shade of my fellow Vanco lovers, we're still well into rarepair territory)

So yeah. Waiting on the furry army in season 2 to get started on the real hot Vander discourse ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

#Sorry I realise this is very rambly #vander #silco #vander arcane #warwick #arcane meta #anon ask #thanks anon #I hope you got an answer somewhere in there

[mermaidsirennikita]

There's definitely a connection going on with the whole sanitized media, purity culture, unproblematic fave era that's happening right now. You brought up David Bowie who is not the only one. There comes a point when people don't want to pull on the thread because they will realize most popular entertainers have been accused (and are most likely guilty) of assault, domestic violence, rape or have probably been with underaged girls or boys. And as much as they don't want to be seen enjoying, stanning or shipping something problematic that's in fact impossible. So that's why we get people defending or denying or outright refusing to acknowledge the problematic behaviours of not only their faves but people in popular culture.

I think people do need to accept that the vast majority of the people they like, who are famous, have done something they won't like. Depending on when the person became famous, some of the sins may be lesser... But it's a fucked industry. You could have someone posting a really shitty slut-shaming comment, someone liking something they shouldn't. Tbh, social media usage is the downfall of most more recent/"woke" celebs today--people need to realize that they really shouldn't have public social media accounts unless they're going to pay a social media team. And even using a private account is dangerous, unless you seriously limit who has access and ensure that your password is changed constantly.

Then there are more serious crimes--actual crimes. Most of your favorites, especially if they are male, especially if they are white and male and of a certain era, have done something fucked. Even the squeaky cleanest of people... just aren't perfect.

The issue that we have in this purity culture is that people don't understand that everyone's threshold is different. For example--I know David Bowie had sex with underage girls. I also do enjoy his music. It's something I have difficulties with. I also love Prince's music, despite him doing the same shit. I can still listen to their music and enjoy it; I am figuring out how to do that while acknowledging what they did and not supporting that, but it's difficult, right? And the threshold is personal; I used to fucking love some Michael Jackson songs, but what I've heard from his victims....... I can't handle that anymore.

However, all of those men? Hugely important to music history, development, and pop culture. No matter what else comes out about them, on top of the other horrid shit, that is literally impossible to change, and that's something a lot of purity police seem to struggle with. It super doesn't matter if you say "DID Y'ALL KNOW THAT PRINCE HAD SEX WITH UNDERAGE GIRLS???? JAIL FOREVER, HOW COULD YOU EVER LISTEN TO PRINCE". The impact has been made. There are artists who wouldn't exist now without Prince, Bowie, MJ--and there are artists who will exist because of those artists, and so on. There are millions of moments that have been made in pop culture and in individual people's lives because of these artists, because of Elvis, and so on. And we can acknowledge this and discuss it and critique it and make an effort to not support artists who still do this shit, but we cannot pretend that these people who did horrible shit didn't shape culture. I'm sorry. We just can't. You'll sit there saying that Bowie is evil and rotting in hell and you'll never support him, and boom--you go to a movie and a Bowie song is playing. A song that would not exist if Bowie hadn't existed is playing.

That's kind of the nature of the game, and always has been. Successful artists make a fuckton of money for their industries, please their patrons, what have you... And so they are given excuses. It super doesn't fucking matter if you like it or not, so how about let's not focus on shaming people for enjoying those artists in a world that encourages them to do so, and we focus on processing what these artists have done and taking steps to ensure that people can't do what they do in the future. I'm not going to beat you up for loving Bowie's music--but I am going to have an issue with you trying to cover up his bad behavior. I'm just not going to be an obnoxious asshole and be like "DIDN'T YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID????" when I fucking know you know what he did.

And the same can be said for historical figures in general by the way. It's not just about music or film or TV, etc.

[soul-dwelling-not]

"This new anime has less depth than the comics!"

See, even as I do not like this anime, I can't say that is the problem, even if I'm not sure I can disagree with this assessment.

The anime opted not to give more depth to Scott--in many ways, regressing him.

But the anime did give more depth to Ramona--kind of...except it is still her doing a murder mystery centered on Scott, someone that I don't think she really got to know that well, and on her past romances. It still feels limiting.

The sticking point I'm having is that I may be confusing "depth" with "breadth."

We didn't get more insight into Scott, and maybe not even into some supporting characters like Kim. They didn't get much more depth.

At best, they did get cool stuff to do--Stephen and Knives bouncing off of each other, which tends to be the strength of this story and just about any good story, when you may not get much depth out of a character but somehow still explore something about them by putting them into a new situation.

That should also work with what is done with Todd, Lucas, Gideon, and Julie. And yet, reading what happens to them, it doesn't feel fun or depth or entertaining. Todd's storyline seems regressive (and an excuse to keep Wallace in the story), Lucas has potential but just isn't as much fun as the film version.

And Gideon and Julie...I feel like I've read this fanfic before on Tumblr (probably because I wrote this kind of fanfic before on Tumblr), so it doesn't feel unique or engaging. I don't mean that entirely as an insult, especially when really shitty people online use "fanfic-y" or "Tumblr" as a shorthand insult usually intended as a euphemism for bashing marginalized people. This should work--two villains finding love in each other. But just reading that scenario, it doesn't sound like it would work--and I'm not keen on committing to this to see whether they pulled it off.

But we did give the lesser-explored characters stuff to do--which, again, seems like breadth more than depth, because even when you are giving stuff to Matt, Todd, and Gideon, that all feels more like you gave them stuff to do, not necessarily digging into them. So the most we get is Matt is into theater? That's it? It makes sense from what we have seen before, but that feels shallow. They get to do stuff--but it feels like it's not going very deep with what they are up to, actually kind of one-note, maybe even as one-note as Scott and Ramona can feel in the comics, film, and now this anime.

#spoiler #spoilers #long post

[gimblestank-the-goblin]

RE: Dracula, May 5th

-Excerpt from the Journal of I-Sell-Nightmares, transcribed from shorthand.

So, May 5th. Jonathan has completed his travails and arrived at the castle of the count. And with that I would like to take a look back at this introductory section of the novel and catalog some bits which stood out to me.

 

World Building: First and foremost, I want to call out how effective the world building is here. Stoker has put a lot of effort into building a setting which is creepy and off-putting yet not so off-putting as to scare away our protagonist. And he has done so in way that makes sense. And he does that by creating a delicate balance between the villagers and the Count.

None of the villagers want Jonathan to go to the castle. They know that going there means his death. But they can’t tell him openly. To do so would mean the count comes after them for revenge. So they need to be circumspect. They have to talk around the issue. They need an excuse. They can’t tell Jonathan the count is a vampire. Nor can they refuse to take him to the castle. But if he’s late? If he happened to bring a crucifix? None of this is their fault. They can’t be blamed for that.* And of course this ties in superbly well with the next bit I will talk about

Atmosphere:

The atmosphere here is superb. The gradual builds gradually and just when it seems like Jonathan will be forced to confront that something is wrong… something happens to drain it. But the tension doesn’t drain away completely. It builds. The tension is like the waves of the ocean moving towards high tide. Each crest is higher than the last, each trough not quite as shallow.

And as the tension gets worse, so too do Jonathan’s opportunities for escape.

The carriage scene in this entry is a superb example. The ride is hard and fast and everyone is muttering things Jonathan only half understands. Its dark. You can’t see. And then Jonathan gets to where he is supposed to go and we see some of the most blatant rebellion we’ve seen of the villagers when they say that the count must have gotten the day mixed up.

And then the count shows up. And he’s scary. He’s threatening. Its clear that there is tension between him and the villagers.

And then Jonathan enters the carriage and its warm and inviting and there is brandy there for him.

And then they start moving, and Jonathan can’t escape and things get worse. Some kind of weird magic shit goes on, there are ghosts and wolves and they seem to be going in circles (magic, or to disguise the route and prevent escape?).

And then he arrives at the castle. And things seem normal again. The count is friendly – if odd – and there is a great feast and a roaring fire.

 

Magic Shit:

I have no idea what is going on with those blue flames, but the way the count talks to the horses makes me think he’s hypnotizing. Vampires are often said to be able to control “creatures of the night” but I wonder instead if the count just has a general ability to control animals – maybe tied into how the Count is portrayed as being as much animal as man.

Or maybe this is the same hypnosis he uses on his victims.

Also the count seems constrained by hospitality in general given how he acts when inviting Harker in.

The Count:

Dracula is ugly as shit. So much of modern vampire lore is about how sexy they are, how they represent forbidden desire. Not Dracula. He’s described as an elf-eared Danny DeVito with bad breath.  He is not the sex symbol society leads us to expect.

Despite all that, he’s surprisingly charming when he wants to be.

*As an aside, the villagers resistance against the count is fertile ground for a class based critique of the novel. The villagers critique, the delicate balance of power where the Count can kill any one of them but can’t defeat them all at once, the terror and the push and pull of how openly they can act against the count before inviting reprisals, its all very reminiscent of how the “lesser” of history have rebelled against their “betters”.

#RE: Dracula #dracula daily

[obeymeluv]

QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public. 

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.  

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy. 

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm. 

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads. 

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude! 

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.   

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

#Blurb #Lead-up #Obey me! x reader #Asmodeus x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Satan x Reader #Beelzebub x Reader #Beel x Reader #Belphegor x Reader #Leviathan x Reader #Levi x Reader

[originalwinnercheesecake]

Highlights of The owl house 2x05 Through the looking Glass ruins

Yesterday was the release of the owl house episode 2x05 “Through the Looking Glass Ruins”. Compared to the past four epsidoes this one was significantly calmer (no complaints here at this point we needed an episode like this) but it still had some really good points. I am going to go into them below but first I want to give a special shout out to the three characters who in my opinion were MVP’s of this episode:

:Gus, Mattolomule, and Emira; you three made the episode for me! Yes I liked the Lumity, Lumity is super cute. But these were three characters I had been really wanting to see get more development and I am very happy with the development they got. So highlight below

Gus getting an episodes A plot to focus on him! We see him lose his passion for Illusions after a trick he tried to fix a problem only made it worse, but then go on a quest to regain his confidence.

Also more lore on the illusion track. It’s seen as a lesser track. Crazy. Illusion spells are great and Gus is a fantastic wizard.

how dangerous are pixies? After this episode I grudgingly have a bit of respect for Boshca because she apparently lives with a pixie and has yet to come to school mulled.

Mattolomule backstory. So From this I can gather that Glandis is Matty’s old school and Bria and her cronies are his old “friends”. The wiki says he was expelled, but I re-watched SVSF and I couldn’t find where it said that. This episode implys that his parents pulled him from Glandis because he was having a really bad time.

Mattolomule’s time at Glandis not being used as an excuse for the way he behaves now, and seeing him own up to being a jerk and starting to make better choices.

Gus and Matt becoming friends and getting a weekend volunteer job. Gus will certainly be a better influence on Matt than the Glandis trio were, and I feel like Matt could be good for Gus too, because now he has a guy friend who is around his same age.

Edric crushing so hard on someone to where he wants to look perfect for their date, texts them poems, and has both their number and the numbers of their family members saved in his phone. Man when Blights fall fr someone they fall hard.

Edric’s crush being refered to as “Their”. This could be to hide the gender of Ed’s date, but Dana has openly talked about characters sexuality and gender before, and said that in the boiling isles all parts on the sexuality and gender spectrum have been normalized to the point were everybody is open abut them. So that suggests that Ed may be Pan and starting a relationship with a Nonbinary individual.

Emira finally getting some of her own characterization. I did not like the Blight twins at first. One big reason was because in a post Gravity Falls disney I am not okay with the tired old concept of having twin characters, who except for 1-2 tiny differences in their appearance are the exact same character with two bodies. In AITE Edric got some development. We saw that he was the more goofy, curios twin, and that he has a fascination with animals, particularly one s that could potentially hurt him. Also re-watching SVSF I think he is a bit more powerful than Emira. Emira so far has only been portrait as the just slightly more sane twin, who watches Ed’s crazy then makes the choice to stop or join him. In this episode we see her take a more big sisterly role and we learn she has an interest in beautification, and helps/gives both her siblings advice on how to look their best.

I have been wanting the twins to join the duel track since AITE when we learned that they still maintain top scores in illusions even though they don’t go everyday; and might in fact skip school because they are under challenged and board. Illusion and Beast Keeping are obvious choices for Edric. After getting some of Emira’s interests in this episode I would say put her in illusions and potions track. When she gets older she can make and launch her own line of cosmetics.

Luz has a new pet. Luz mousy needs a name and for you to keep it in a tank/cage stocked with bedding and stimuli, away from Hooty. Only let King play with it if some one is watching him.

Amity has lilac hair. I expect her natural brown hair, but that is kinda silly since Amity’s personal style is kinda punk/gothic. The lilac hair will take some getting used to, and I am not to sure about leaving those two front locks brown. But someone pointed out that now her hair is the same color her and Luz’s Grom tree and that is adorable.

Amity pecked Luz on the cheek. It happened. We all saw it. Luz now knows Amity likes her back.

#The OWl house #TOH #Through the looking Glass ruins #Gus Porter #Augustus Porter #Mattholomule #TOH Matt #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #Amity Blight #Blight siblings #Luz Noceda #Lumity #Glandis #Illusion track #Echo mouse #I want a pet Echo mouse

[saphirered]

Betrothal

This is part two of a request because part one already was already too long. I cut this one down too but didn’t want to turn it into a three-parter for one request 😅 but that does mean this is also a long one. Anyway. Enjoy! 

Time for another social event. There’s been way too many already in your opinion and you don’t think you’d be able to smile through another one. Lucky for you Essek shares this sentiment. Nevertheless you were expected so you’ have to attend, so attend you will. 

Ready to depart you walk down the stairs, fingers drifting over the handrail as you go. The hem of your fine garments of pristine white and silver trail a step or two behind you as you go. Appropriate jewellery of diamond encrusted platinum adorns your neck, fingers and ears like pure starlight. Already waiting at the door you see Essek, a similar style of attire shifts in the purple and night blue colour schemes, something you’ve grown more accustomed to the more time you’ve spent with him. It suits him. 

“You are quite the visage, dear.” You put a sarcastic emphasis on the pet name, something both of you have taken to when out of earshot. Ever since the arrangement between just the two of you gleeful sarcasm has replaced the belittling resentment. As you stated before, you’re much better off actually coexisting than you are making each other’s lives miserable. 

“And even the brightest stars pale in comparison to you, beloved.” The compliment is genuine but with a highly exaggerated lovesick undertone in reply to your comment. You lift your hand to your forehead and bat your eyes in a ‘I might swoon’ gesture before the both of you break and chuckle. 

“If we were actually lovers I might have to worry I’ll have to fend off the many suitors attempting to take my place.” You swat at Essek’s arm with a grin.

“I doubt I have any suitors left wishing to take your place. They are entirely afraid you’ll turn them into frogs or perhaps float them into the skies never to be seen again if they even dare to vie for my attention.” You laugh as Essek offers you his arm. You take it lacing it through his, another thing having become second nature in the past few months.

“Only if you’d ask me to would I resort to such measures. Ready to travel in style?” The comment and seriousness behind it is enough to raise your eyebrow in a ‘really?’ response but he doesn’t dignify you with an answer instead waiting for you to answer his question. 

If you’ve learned anything from the negotiations you’ve had, Essek doesn’t just give anything for free, especially not his precious time, so to say he’d go out of his way and use his precious resources without a second thought simply because you’d ask him is… new… Even more so without expecting anything in return. No favour for a favour? Odd…

“Always.” You put on your smile and in an instance the two of you are warped through space, appearing in the foyer of your hosts for the evening. Gotta love magic. 

Immediately you’re approached by the hosts, excusing themselves from whatever guests below your stations they were previously engaging with. Essek lets you take the lead and do most of the talking. He seems a bit more reversed than usual but you simply brush it off as boredom. Something is up with him and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’d simply have to! What if he falls through and does something that could reflect badly on the both of you? That’s a proper reason to do so, right? 

The night continues but you’re not given any opportunities to excuse yourself and Essek just yet. Every time you’re interrupted by someone wanting a word with either or both of you. Topics mostly revolve around your respective work, political topics but some particularly daring people carefully try to navigate your conversation to more private matters looking for the latest gossip.

After the public announcement of your courtship, when can they expect a formal engagement or have you gotten engaged informally already? Any wedding plans on the table? If you decide to raise children which one of you will stay at the Bright Queen’s side or will you both keep your places at the Bastion? Is the Shadowhand much of a romantic despite his cold exterior? If it comes to the engagement, will you ask him or he you and have you got anything planned yet? How was your first kiss? Was it romantic fireworks and all or have you learned to love each other? 

Each and every time when you didn’t want to fabricate an answer, you made it up as you went with such conviction that some of your answers made even Essek think twice if some of these events had really transpired or not. Whenever you’d ask him for his input or suggest him saying something he did but his replies had to be pulled out of him or he’d stay in his own world unless directly asked. What in the world is going on with him? 

Yet again not being able to get a single step closer to a word in private with Essek you’d given up and decided to leave the matter until you returned home. Home. No matter how many times you say it it still feels weird. You’d never truly considered any place home, just a place you resided and could leave behind in an instance. 

You’d come to realise the towers had begun to feel like home and you’d have a much bigger struggle leaving behind the books, the studies, the meals not spent eating alone, the room with the fireplace you’d spent going over your shared paperwork with to cut down your workload and have the evenings free, those evenings spent in absolutely roasting some of your fellow court members, or discussing what rumours might have some truth and you could use to your advantages in the future… You’d miss that place if you’d go back to living elsewhere. There’s something else but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Nevermind. You’ll figure it out if it’s important. 

“Excuse me. May I have this dance?” A daring drow you recognise to be from one of the other dens approaches you and Essek. You’re about to brush him off and let the man down gently but before you can Essek interjects. 

“Please, do not feel obligated to keep me company. I can entertain myself for a moment, darling.” Essek’s not much of a dancer and never had been. You enjoy it every so often but don’t necessarily jump at every opportunity you get. You take the offered hand of the drow.

“You may.” You tell him. While you’re guided to the dance floor you give Essek a confused look. You don’t get any kind of response from him as he continues the conversation you’d been having prior to the interruption. Other pairs join in and a new song begins to play. Nothing too fancy to particularly intimate. A simple nice waltz you’d be able to execute perfectly eyes closed. Blessed be the life of a noble-born schooled in any and all social graces from a young age. 

Your dance partner is a good dancer but by the light is he a dull conversationalist. You’re dying on the inside. One moment he’s boasting about his accomplishments within his den, the next he’s asking your professional opinions on political matters and how you’d navigate them, the next your opinion is insignificant because he knows exactly what he’d do and why it would work. Before you know it he’s asking if there’ll be any spots on the Bright Queen’s side opening up in the future because he thinks he might make a good candidate… 

But you let him talk and smile through it until you feel gracious enough to rip him to shreds instead of letting him be laughed off by the inner circle. Gently you correct every statement he’s made, with examples of the past and what happened to the poor fools that tried. You’re not brutal about it, and bring it in the nicest way possible no matter how much you might want to tear him down and face this idiot with the facts. Then you suggest perhaps he’d want to try smaller scale things first, maybe more locally to see if he has a taste for it. 

Of course your charm works. Of course it did. Much to your dismay this ‘act of kindness’ made the poor drow more interested in you than he’d already been. You were schooling him like you would a child for the Light’s sake! You brush off any and all attempts of charming you and getting into your good graces but apparently this thickheaded idiot doesn’t catch on. Maybe he should stay away from politics entirely if he can’t even get a hint. Luckily the dance it about to end.

“Perhaps we could go for a walk later this week? Or maybe a lunch if you’d prefer?” The fool smiles suggestion clear. You want to roll your eyes so hard but refrain. 

“My apologies. I’m occupied this week.” 

“Another time then?” 

“I’ll have to check my schedule. I’ll get back to you on that.” The waltz ends, you curtsy. Some couples leave the dance floor, others join to replace them. You’ll have to be quick. You look around the room. Essek where are you? You don’t see him. 

“Excuse me. I believe the Shadowhand is waiting for me.” You give the fool an apologetic smile and rush off before he can do or say anything else to keep you on the dance floor. Much to your dismay you’re whisked away by another drow from a lesser den as you’re unable to reach the outskirts before the next song starts. It’s inappropriate to leave a partner standing on the floor in the middle of a dance so you’ll have to go through yet another routine. 

You thought the former one was a dull conversationalist. This one’s worse. So. Much. Worse. You can’t wait for this to end. Essek would probably find it entirely hilarious once you tell him how much you’d prefer a quiet dance partner, or at the very least one that can feign an intellectual conversation without breaking the illusion in under a minute. Even then, could they please stop trying to stroke their own egos in the hopes of getting your attention? 

Before your betrothal you only had to deal with advancements, people trying to win over your heart, or your hand in marriage, but now, they’re entirely after not only your favour but Essek’s as well, wishing to get into your good graces and climb the social ladder; be that through (attempted) smooth words, gifts or your beds. It’s a disgusting reality. Maybe if this engagement goes through between you and Essek you’ll have to ask him how he feels about displaying a monogamous relationship for the public just to keep these people away from you and by default him? He wouldn’t be opposed to keep romantic and sexual advancements far away from him now would he? 

Eventually you struggle your away from the dance floor making excuses as you go and find a calm and quiet place. You had to approach the host coming up with excuse you weren’t feeling well and needed a moment away from people. The host understanding and wishing to please you, offered you access to one of the private sitting rooms upstairs where the guests aren’t allowed to go. It’d be calm and quiet and you’d be able to have some fresh air on the balcony too. 

This moment of peace and quiet gave you a chance to think over some things, mainly Essek’s behaviour of the night because don’t think you’d forgotten about that one nor were you going to just let that slide. Any and all theories you came up with in the next several minutes made no sense and held no reasonable credibility. You’re at a loss. 

To play people’s emotions you’d need to have an understanding of them but what do you do when you can’t place those emotions or explain the reasoning behind them? It’s easy when someone disagrees with you. How passionate are they about the subject and how willing to defend it? It’s easy to draw out anger from that, or frustration, more passion, and even pity. That’s child’s play. It makes sense. Essek does not currently. 

“Okay. You got this. Set things straight. You can figure this out. Take a step back and analyse.” You say to yourself sitting down on the plush couch, elbows on your knees and head leaning on your clasped hands. After going over every explanation you came to the most reasonable conclusion. 

Essek’s internalising his problems. There’s no one he feels he can confide in. For some reason he’s realised only tonight he’s distancing himself from you. If it’s selfishness it’s because he thinks you might be able to use it against him. This goes against his need for self-preservation. If it’s because it’s something he’s committed to whatever it is, he’s limiting the people involved because of the need of secrecy be that witnesses or possibly collateral damage. 

“But that’s not it is it?” You groan frustrated. There’s a knock on the door so you quickly recompose yourself; hands clasped on your lap, back straightened and welcoming smile back on. The door opens and you see the familiar floating drow enter. 

“I was informed you were feeling unwell?” Essek asks more than says giving you a once over and coming to the conclusion nothing ails you physically. Dropping your facade you take a deep sigh reflecting your current mood but not reasoning. He steps inside and closes the door behind him giving the two of you the chance to speak freely. 

“I take it your dance was not to your liking?” There’s a hint of humour in his voice as you throw yourself against the couch looking at the ceiling with an audible groan. From your slanted position forgoing any and all social graces you were taught. If anyone else could see you now you might be in trouble but it was only Essek and you’ve seen him in similar states. 

“I might take you up on your offer to tap into the sacred arts of Dunamis to get rid of some of these fools. I don’t think I’ve ever met people more dull and lacking of refine and intelligence. One could find more brains in a gelatinous cube. ” You adjust your seating arrangement and pat the spot beside you inviting Essek to sit down but he stays where he is. 

“I’ll make sure to order some new expeditions to the Barbed Fields. While they may make for poor company the rocs might just find them a decent if not bland meal.” While the offer is made with jest you can’t help but hear a tinge of sincerity in it. What’s going on? Were the people you danced with someone Essek’s been at odds with? If so why did he suggest you go dance with them in the first place? That doesn’t add up… But you’re not going to find out more without him talking. Keep him talking until he slips up or until your run out of words and face him with your questions directly. 

“Or maybe being surrounded by someone praised for intelligence and refine just dulls everything in comparison. You’ve truly ruined me Shadowhand.” You laugh and again pat the empty spot on the couch. This time seeing your insistence and lack of intent to leave this room any time soon, Essek sits down, a bit more distance that usual between the two of you. 

You give Essek a once over getting some insight in his behaviour. He’d be aware you’re doing so so you don’t even attempt to hide it, if anything you make it obvious to push for a response. You tilt your head to the side as you lean it on your curled fingers in tough. He’s more rigid than usual. That’s uncomfortable or anxious. It’s looking closer to both now. Essek is staring back at you but his gaze is not focused on you, but whatever reaches his vision as a whole. Avoidance. He mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Nevermind. Will you be coming back down or would you prefer we go back to the towers?” ‘The towers’? He’s never referred to them as this in this context. It’s always just been ‘home’. It is his home so why cease to refer to it as such because you’re in that context. 

“What time is it?” Essek gives you the time and you let yourself sink back into the couch once more. Why must the universe be so cruel? 

“Still another half an hour before it would be acceptable to leave.” You look around the room. It’s a higher end sitting room definitely decorated to receive more important guests. The candles are lit with an arcane flame so it was set up to possibly receive guests. The view from the balcony or close to the windows allows the people outside to see silhouettes when the fine iridescent drapes when drawn, or reveal when opened as they are now. While muffled if the room is quiet you can still hear the music and chattering from the ground floor. 

You push Essek to talk about what he’d been up to when you were dancing but his answers are right to the point, just barely detailed enough if not a bit absentminded. His behaviour shifts throughout from neutral to cold to the way he’s been around you since you both had come to terms with your arrangement, almost as if he’s preoccupied and trying to multitask equally difficult tasks. He doesn’t allow the conversation to flow naturally. Every time he’s answered he wouldn’t elaborate or carry the conversation. If you didn’t ask any other questions or give your input you doubt there would be any back and forth between the two of you. 

Deciding you’ve had enough and this wouldn’t give you much more answers you were looking for, you give up. You turn your body to face him, look at him directly suspicious and watching his every move. You press your lips together and squint.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” While there’s some worry in your voice, because you do worry, it is still a threat. You won’t let go unless he explains himself or has a damn good reason not to. 

“I assure you, it’s inconsequential. You have nothing to worry about.” Essek forces a smile. Inconsequential? To you? Because definitely not to him!

“With your attitude? I think I do. There’s two reasons why I you refuse to tell me. One, it’s secretive and possibly dangerous therefor limiting the amount of people you want involved in fear of hurting them or you getting hurt because of their opinions. Two, I’m directly involved or to blame for whatever is going on and you’re pushing me away to avoid conflict.” A sense of dread washes over Essek, you notice. Biting his tongue he holds back whatever comment he had. 

“It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. I can deal with this on my own.” Okay so confirmation first suggestion is out of the running. This had to do with you. 

“Essek, Light be with me, if this involves me please just tell me. I swear if this is how you’re going to be I need to teach you some proper communication skills or I fear for our future.” You watch him closely and there’s a hint of shame peaking through as well as guilt. 

“Would it hurt you so much to trust me?” Before Essek’s given the chance to answer there’s a knock on the door and the handle begins to turn signalling someone is entering. Thinking quickly you clench your teeth at the interruption, scoot to Essek’s side of the couch and lean your head against his shoulder, a pained frown on your face and eyes closed entwining your fingers. Essek, freezes for a second at the sudden contact but recovers quickly and joins in the act wrapping an arm around you to massage at your shoulder and neck. 

“Apologies for the intrusion. The master of the house asked me to check up to see if you needed any assistance.” The head servant peaks in and peaking from under your lashes you can see she almost melts at the sight she sees; a loving drow comforting his unwell partner. 

“Thank the master of the house for his concern and kindness but we’re alright. Will you be fine to rejoin the festivities, beloved?” Essek asks you sounding every bit the part he’s expected to play while still pushing to avoid continuing your conversation before the interruption. 

“I think I may need a few more minutes I’m afraid.” You’re not done yet and won’t let Essek get away with it so easily as you feign a heavy migraine. The head servant excuses herself and leaves closing the door once more. Essek stops massaging your shoulder expecting or rather hoping you’d remove yourself from him. You don’t and sit up just enough to be face to face with him. You have a stare down with him until he relents. 

“Fine. It is not a matter of trust.” Blunt and short. You squeeze his hand tightly narrowing your eyes not satisfied with the answer. Essek will have to do better and he knows it. 

“I’ve simply come to some conclusion I do not wish to share with you.” Okay, that’s not that bad. If that’s it, you might let it go. If he has things to sort out on his own, you’re not going to stand in the way of that. 

“And these conclusions you’ve come to have to do with me?” It’s more a statement than a question but Essek still nods not meeting your eye and instead focusing on your entwined fingers. You place a hand on his cheek lifting his face until he’s forced to look you in the eye. 

“You’ve come to me with your concerns before just like I have to you. Even when they have to do with me, know you still can. I won’t think any less of you nor will I be offended as long as you’re honest.” You’re about to pull away from your position to allow Essek some space but when you do it hits… You remove yourself from Essek’s side and hide your face in your hands. You could punch yourself right now. 

“Remind me to never claim I’m the cleverer one out of the two of us.” You groan muffled by your hands as you look back up with a frustrated exhaustion. How could you not have noticed? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. You should have caught on but no, you were so occupied on keeping an act going you lost sight of it. And then in your little thinking process, you analysed Essek the Shadowhand, not Essek, your friend and partner. 

“So you figured it out.” Essek breaths a weight lifted from his shoulders hides the slight deflation and is that disappointment? 

“Not to be rude but after spending this much time with you, you’re not exactly a good actor.” 

“But you are and have been an exceptional actor. You could even have fooled me should you have chosen to.” A compliment with a hidden dig at himself. Is he… blaming himself for growing attached to you? That’s just terrible. 

“I could have and that would certainly explain my every action in public portraying the perfect loving couple. However, that doesn’t explain literally every interaction outside of social environments.” You can’t believe you weren’t aware of your own shift in behaviour. Before your betrothal you might have had an interest in Essek. If it weren’t for your own career you might have taken a shot prior to everything given the chance but attraction is not love.

Your betrothal, forced on you by your families closed both of you off because you’re both people that want to be in control of a situation and make your own choices. That’s why you’d been less than friendly with each other. You try to pinpoint when exactly it might have started. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realise I had feelings for you. This is stupid.” You’re exasperated with yourself but Essek covering up shock catches you off-guard. 

“Don’t tell me you think this is all one sided. We’re both to blame for turning our lives into some cliche love story when we said we wouldn’t.” Essek looks on in shame hoping to neither confirm nor deny anything but you know him better than that. His silence gives him away. 

“You are a very convincing actor.” He defends blandly. “Are you sure you’re not still playing?” Essek adds as a joke upon seeing you roll your eyes. Your embarrassment and frustration with this whole revelation gives you a mote of courage and since this day couldn’t get any worse, you’ll take your chances. 

You move over right next to Essek sitting as close to him as you possibly can without climbing on top of him and grab his chin. Slightly confused thinking you’re about to retort his remark, Essek awaits his verdict. You bit the inside of your cheek in a last attempt to tell yourself this is a terrible idea but your mind is just blank. 

“I don’t know, my dear. Would a true love’s kiss reveal the truth?” You speak in a singsong manner that would make the bard’s colleges cringe making sure you sounded like the worst actor possible. Essek takes a hot second to figure out your words before it dawns on him what you’re asking. Do you really have to spell it out for him?

“Is it reasonable to say one may only be able to make up their mind through trial?” With that you pull Essek towards you allowing your hand to slide to his cheek. Making eye contact one final moment to make sure he’s alright with it, no hesitation is visible so you press your lips to his in a simple kiss. Essek’s hands find your hips and waist. 

You pull away awaiting his response if any. The kiss is entirely too short, in Essek’s opinion but you’re just being mindful of his boundaries not sure where this will lead and if the public displays of affection are something you’d both be comfortable with in this new context. Essek looks at you thoughtfully so you raise an eyebrow; a nonverbal tell to elaborate. 

“I think, I may need more examples to make sure you’re not just playing me.” You gasp feigning offence at his joke. Next you lean in close, hair’s breath away from kissing Essek.

“Luckily I have many more kisses to give you should you want them.” Essek leans in but you pull away just before your lips actually touch getting up from the couch and heading for the door; smile on your face. He takes a second and heads after you stepping between you and your direct path of the door but you could still easily walk around him should you wish to do so.

“Am I to understand you’ll remain a tease regardless of our involvement, beloved?” He empathises ‘beloved’ with the same sarcasm as ever. That might just have to be a habit you’ll never lose. You can certainly get used to it. 

“Did I give you any reason to expect differently. If you desire a kiss you may take it.” You blow Essek a kiss but are surprised he steps closer to you and makes eye contact giving you a chance to deny him.

“So he does find his courage.” You grin Essek’s lips meet yours in a deep if not slightly hesitant kiss. The hesitation fades quickly but the kiss doesn’t end as quickly as yours. Not that you mind. A habit you could get used to. Very used to but never tire of.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek theyless #essek

[midground]

I had some loose change jangling in my pocket, so here’s 2 cents from a Beaujester shipper (who’s been on board with this ship since the pirate arc) about why I don’t share the sentiment that the cast “forgot about” Beaujester. This got long, so I’m putting it behind a cut.

I don’t think it’s weird that Beau isn’t talking about/acknowledging her feelings for Jester. I don’t think it’s weird Beau has pivoted in her outward displays of attraction towards Yasha. I don’t think it’s a sign that the cast had a big discussion over the hiatus where they made some showrunning decisions about which relationships would become canon. Though to be clear, I am in full support of every D&D group having open, honest, out of character conversations about what sort of content they want to see in their games, especially romantic content. So if that is what happened, good. That’s healthy consent-based communication babes.

Since her confession in episode 85, the vibe I’ve gotten from Beau is that of someone who is struggling to bury her feelings for her unattainable friend. Someone who is so convinced that she doesn’t have a chance that she decides the best course of action is to ignore the feelings until they go away and quietly move on without ever telling her crush and risking jeopardizing the friendship. 

This is Relatable Content to me! I’ve been there, I’ve been there several times over, for several different reasons. Sometimes that reason was the person I was crushing on was straight. Sometimes the reason was I assumed the person I was crushing on was straight. But I’ve been there.

I think Beau’s (subtextual, not explicitly stated) decision to try to move on from Jester was amplified by returning to her hometown so soon after her confession, and her subsequent crisis of self-worth. Think about the moments we got while Beau was spinning out, letting some feelings slip at the Stones, but only when she was drunk. Putting herself down. Making fun of Jester’s old name. Think about pre-Kamordah, in Rexxentrum, Beau trying to get her own room when she thought she had an excuse to get some distance from Jester (and caving immediately when Jester turned those big, sad eyes on her).

I’ve seen a few posts going around from other Beaujester shippers who are hurt and confused by what seems like a huge tonal shift between episodes before and after the hiatus. But I really, really do think that if you go back and watch from episode 85 on, you’ll see that Beau started pulling away from her feelings almost immediately after her confession. Hell, she tried downplaying her feelings DURING her confession. Telling Veth made it real, made it scary, made Beau want to try to put some distance between her and Jester so that the inevitable let-down was under her control (a CONSTANT self-destructive pattern we’ve seen with Beau!)

Similarly, Beau’s outward displays of attraction/affection to Yasha ALSO started resurfacing pre-hiatus! Think about the fish-market conversation at the live show. This seemed like evidence to me that Beau was trying to redirect her energy towards someone attainable. And let me just say, I am ALSO a Beauyasha shipper, and this is not being said to disrespect the ship or say that Beau’s feelings towards Yasha are somehow lesser.

But I have ALSO been in the position before of trying to get over an old crush with a new (or at least different) crush. Beau has always been very frank about her attraction to Yasha, and finally, with Ashley back for good, Yasha was in a position to flirt back. 

Beau was looking for a “safe” way to get over her feelings for Jester, went to lean back on her old habits of flirting with Yasha (the “safer” move, something she’s done literally since the two of them met) and, to her great surprise, Yasha has been responding in earnest. There’s a separate post I could make about how many episodes Ashley has been back for, how long it takes her to get comfortable at the table (about 8-10 episodes), where Beau and Yasha’s heads been at for the past 20 episodes, and why we’re seeing a ton of Beauyasha interactions now. But from my perspective, Beauyasha coming to the forefront now makes perfect sense.

So with Yasha to focus on, someone who is openly queer and responding to her flirtations, and with no sign from Jester that she’s interested in Beau (at least from BEAU’S perspective, I do think there is a valid reading of the text where Jester is struggling with her sexuality) I don’t think Beau will confess to Jester as things currently stand. I think Marisha put the ball in Jester’s (Laura’s) court. And I think, unless something MAJOR happens, that Jester will need to be the one to make a move.

But I’m not done yet. Let’s talk about how the cast negotiates the spotlight when it comes to individual arcs. Because I think that’s another piece to this puzzle. When a character has an individual arc come up, the cast works to center that character to a larger degree within the narrative. Looking to them to make big decisions, taking cues from them when it comes to how they want to approach a situation/what content they want to deal with, making space for them to have big character-defining moments.

Travelercon is Jester’s arc. It is Laura’s time to decide what struggles Jester will be dealing with and what Jester-related subplots she wants to bring to the foreground. And I think, if we’re all being honest, we expected Travelcon to be Jester’s moment to make some decisions about what she wants romantically. Early Jester was very romance-focused, and I think many of us assumed that Travelercon would be her time to allow Jester’s romance subplot to shine. 

But instead, what we’ve been getting so far is about a crisis of faith and the struggle to articulate and center your own needs within your friendships. With a little bit of “learning that you can let yourself be upset around people who care about you” for flavor. (And these are all very good themes, I’m totally digging the current arc!)

But the bottom line is, if you take my reading of Beau’s motivations and actions as even somewhat accurate, Marisha put the ball firmly in Laura’s court. Laura has chosen not to address it. Yet. And I do mean “yet”! Travelercon isn’t over. Technically, it hasn’t even begun. We don’t know what else Laura wants to do with Jester’s time in the spotlight. I’ve always theorized that Laura would wait for a Jester arc to make any big romance moves, and that may still be coming. The cast is taking their cues from Laura right now. Laura has chosen not to explore Jester’s romantic options (yet). A lot of the cast very obviously ship Beauyasha, so they’re happy to celebrate when the two of them have shippy moments together.

None of those things say to me that Beaujester is done, just that we’re focused on other things right now. I don’t know where the story is going, but I seriously doubt they’re just never going to address Beau’s feelings for Jester again. Maybe it’s because I ship both Beauyasha and Beaujester, but I’m happy to just sit back and let the story run its course for a bit. 

#critical role #beaujester #beauyasha is talked about (respectfully) but is not the focus of this post

[fallenrepublick]

JUNE I HAVE AN IDEA AHH AND I CAN'T MOVE ON FROM IT TIL I BLURT IT OUT

Chiss triangle because you already know the game

We know the drill: you're with Thrawn, he's with you, Thrass wishes he was with you, you care for Thrass, and Thrawn isn't thrilled by whatever Thrass has got going on for you.

On some level, Thrass understands what he feels isn't ideal. Not that he's ashamed of loving you, no, just the opposite - He's afraid of loving you so much that it will forever impact his life negatively, knowing he might never get to be with you and feeling his heart break every time you and Thrawn accomplish another milestone together. It's not like he can take himself out of the picture since he's family, and essentially in charge of making sure Thrawn stays in line as far as work is concerned, nor would he want to. Any time with you is better than none at all. Still, he knows it would be best to at least try to move on from these feelings. He knows he'd die for you, but if he's ever going to be there for anyone, he needs to keep himself in check.

So, he decides to date around in his own circles, a little embarrassed by the fact that at one time he'd have any of these women on his arm just for appearance's sake, to compliment his own career. It would be hard to transition back to the same mindset he had before he fell in love with you, but for both your sakes, he was willing to try. He meets a fellow politician who seems nice enough - she's poised, elegant, intelligent, and knows what she wants. In the eyes of the Ascendancy, they'd be an ideal couple. That's good enough for him, he guesses.

Things go relatively well during the first month of their Chiss-typical courtship, and a family dinner is arranged with you and Thrawn. He knows he doesn't love her yet, and maybe he never would, but maybe this step was necessary to finally start breaking free. He doesn't mention much about you to her out of fear that she'd pick up on his feelings for you, so he doesn't say much other than you're his brother's significant other and what your profession is. In doing so, he neglects to mention that you're human.

The first thing she does upon seeing you is laugh into her palm and whisper to Thrass, "Is this some kind of joke?" to which he replies, "What are you talking about?" and she quickly realizes it isn't. How how the mighty Mitth have fallen, to allow their members to bring home trash from lesser space. It was unthinkable. She doesn't care to hide the mild distain on her face during the introductions, which doesn't go unnoticed by any of you, however, her snide remarks throughout the entire night indicated that didn't matter to her.

Thrass's brows knit tighter and tighter with every passing minute, seeing that although you're defending yourself quite well and minding your manners, her sharp words are subtly affecting you. Everything boils over for him when she shifts all her attention on Thrawn and asks him how you two met. He calmly tells the story, all but unaware of her politically-attuned reasons for asking, and she hums in response. "I see. If I may ask, is that even allowed?" She glares at you as though you were roadkill in a dress, not hiding her disgust in the slightest, "Does she have all her shots? Do you keep her indoors?"

Thrass bangs his fist on the table and immediately rises up from his seat, shooting a death glare her way when he asks her for a word in private. As they leave, you let out a sigh and lower your head.

"I'm going to excuse myself to the balcony," you whisper to Thrawn.

"Would you like me to join you?" he asks with a knowing care in his voice, and you agree to abscond with him. He wraps you lightly in his arms once you're both situated on a bench, ready to listen to your heart's concerns.

"I can't believe Thrass would fall for someone like that," you begin, "I really thought he was more..."

"Selective?" Thrawn guessed, and you nodded. He holds you a little closer, "Perhaps. My guess is that he wasn't aware of her prejudices. If my intuition is correct, she was mainly a distraction for him."

"A distraction?"

He raises a subtle eyebrow at you and smiles, charmed by your naivety. "In any case, I doubt we'll be seeing her again."

Before you can inquire further, Thrass steps out onto the balcony disheveled and alone. He looks to you and Thrawn, who gets up and whispers once he's at Thrass's ear, "You can apologize to me by covering dinner. You'll have to suffer more than that for her."

Thrass shoves his paycard into Thrawn's already-open palm and responds with a solemn look as if to say "I know" before Thrawn exits back through the corridor. Your eyes meet, and he moves to stand at your side, the epitome of guilt.

"I don't-, I'm so-, I can't believe-," he sighs, finally getting a grip on himself, "I apologize for everything you endured tonight. I never would have brought her had I known she'd be such a-"

"It's okay, Thrass," you interrupt calmly, "Really. I'm used to it."

The implications of your words melted his countenance into something pitiful, the realization that this wasn't a new occurrence for you breaking his heart. It didn't really occur to him that you likely were faced with disapproving looks and snarky comments nearly every day you interacted with the Chiss, since he himself had never seen you as anything less than perfect. He sat down at your side, taking your hand cautiously in his.

"You didn't deserve that. ____, I want you to know that I've never in my life thought of you as..." he let his thought get lost, making himself aware of what was appropriate to say, "I think you're wonderful. Please don't let what you heard tonight give you a bad impression of me, because I-"

You brought the back of his hand to your lips and gave it a quick kiss, charmed at how dumbfounded he suddenly became. "I know, Thrass. Thank you for being, well, you. I really appreciate it."

His eyes lit up, a feeling of relief washing over him. "You forgive me?"

"Of course," you answered, pulling him into a hug. He tentatively rested a hand on your back, thinking of a way to break the silence once it had dragged on a little too long, before he'd become a little too comfortable and say something he couldn't take back, but you beat him to the punch as you pulled away.

"So, what did you say to her?"

He stroked the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, nothing that bears repeating."

"Oof, that bad?"

He chuckled, remembering the heated argument from only minutes before. That beautiful human is the love of my life, and I'll sooner destroy you before you even look at her ever again. That, coupled with plenty of insults and expletives. "Yeah. Needless to say, we broke up."

Your expression was thoughtful for a moment. "I'd say I'm sorry, but... I'm not." You smiled, relieved when he returned it with glee. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "it's you I was more worried about."

He squeezed your hand, which hadn't left his the entire time, and you gave a reassuring squeeze back. A certain tension started to fill the air, and before you could acknowledge it, the sound of Thrawn clearing his throat from behind the both of you shook you out of it.

"I believe you have an early appointment tomorrow, Thrass."

He shuffled back onto his feet, backing away until he had both of you in view. "You're right. I suppose I should get going. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, he reverently gave a slight bow and strode out the way that Thrawn had stealthily came. You lover came and took the recently vacant seat next to you, setting an ornamentally-wrapped box between you both.

"What's that?" you asked.

"Dessert," Thrawn replied smugly, "courtesy of my brother."

You chuckled, leaning back into your rightful place in his arm. "You forgot to return his paycard."

"Did I?" He wondered aloud with no small amount of feinged surprise, holding it out in front of him. "Shame. I don't suppose there are any productions you've been wanting to see? Perhaps any jewelry you've been admiring?"

You gave him a good-natured slap on his wrist as you smiled. "I'm fine with dessert."

"As you wish, my love."

He was going to surprise you with something, anyway. Something expensive. It was the least Thrass could do, after all.

OHOHOH WAIT BUT THERE’S MORE

Think about it a second, do you really think that woman’s going to let Thrass get away with something like that? Chiss pride is a dangerous thing, and when crossed, can be fickle and vile to its victims.

And here, Thrass has crossed what he is soon made to regret. The woman goes to Thrawn, who’s obviously less than pleased to interact with her, but lets her speak regardless.

She tells him what Thrass said, everything so accurate to his personality, so reflective of how Thrawn knows him. Though her bitter demeanor gives him pause, he knows when someone is lying, and this... wasn’t it. The more the words circle around his head, the more he hates the knowledge that Thrass still can’t get over it.

It’s not his fault entirely. More often than not, it’s difficult to deny such strong feelings. And really, Thrawn has to at least give Thrass credit for trying. But that doesn’t change the fact that this ordeal may have only made it worse.

But Thrawn doesn’t tell you what his brother said, more for his own sake than Thrass’s, and only wants him to hurry up and seek out another distraction before he makes him. As long as he stays in a constant state of concern for himself, he won’t have the energy to pursue you. Thrawn’s certain of it.

#chiss triangle

[pan-cakez]

Last Straw

Inspired by this post: https://countingdowndays.tumblr.com/post/189602949856/prompt-lila-salt-adriens-mom

For their assignment over the weekend, the class had to write about their favorite film. The class was abuzz with excitement at the prospect of being able to write about something that they loved, and have an excuse to watch the movie again without judgement. When the class was dismissed, everyone kept on talking about the films that they chose, and some people even offered to have a showing with their classmates after the presentations. Adrien stayed silent. He knew what film he was going to pick, and even though his classmates may not appreciate it in the same way he did, he still wanted to share it with them.

When he was walking outside, Marinette called out to him. Adrien stopped and turned around to smile at her. “Hey Marinette! What’s up?” Marinette smiled at him and rubbed the back of her neck softly. “What movie are you going to write about?” Adrien chuckled. “The only movie that I ran out of my house to see. What about you?” Marinette twirled her fingers around and looked at the ground. “I’m doing a movie on the heroes of Paris that just came out. I honestly think that people need to stop seeing Ladybug as the only one, when they’re better together.” Adrien felt his cheeks heat up, and he rushed into the waiting car while yelling and quick, “Gottagobye!” leaving Marinette standing on the curb in confusion.

During the car ride, Adrien couldn’t really focus on anything. All that he could think about was how supportive Marinette was. He’s tired of being seen as lesser than Ladybug. He gets it, that he could really step up his game, but at the end of the day, he just doesn’t want anyone to feel the same misery that he does, and will try his hardest to make everyone happy. He’s glad that someone sees him as something positive, rather than a nuisance like Ladybug does.

When he arrived at home, Nathalie was there waiting there for him, tablet in hand. Adrien stood at the bottom of the staircase while looking up at Nathalie. “Does father still have a copy of mom’s movie? We’re doing a report on our favorite movies for class.” Nathalie looked down at him stone-faced. “I’ll ask your father. In the meantime, it is time for your piano practice.” Adrien sighed and walked upstairs to his room. He decided to play slow classical music. He got so lost in it, he didn’t realize his father was there until he cleared his throat. His head snapped to the doorway where he saw Gabriel standing. Adrien shot up, and stood up. Gabriel walked up to Adrien and handed him a flashdrive. “This is a copy of the film. It’s yours to keep.” Adrien smiled softly, and took the drive. “Thank you father, this means a lot to me.” Gabriel nodded and clasped his hand behind his back. “This movie means a lot to mean, and I’m glad it means a lot to you as well. I think your mother would be honored to have her movie be your favorite.” Gabriel walked away without any further comment. Adrien walked to his desk, and after loading the movie, he watched it for the first time this weekend, of many.

On the morning of the presentations, the classroom was filled with chatter. Adrien mostly kept to himself, but Marinette sat next to him, making sure that he was okay. Adrien smiled at her kindness. He knows that Marinette is the only person in the class that knows his mother stars in this piece. The fact that she could guess correctly that he would be emotionally vulnerable today really spoke to Marinette’s character, and he genuinely wanted someone as caring as her around more in her life. She made the wait for his turn much more bearable. Marinette when before him to ease him. To say that Marinette’s presentation made him feel butterflies in his stomach was an understatement. To hear that he was truly appreciated, and that his work as Chat Noir made a difference to people really warmed his heart.

When it was his turn, he took a deep breath and looked at Marinette. She gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Adrien started talking, and explaining the movie. Everyone was captivated by his presentation, and absorbed every word. He explained how rare the movie was, and how it’s fully in black and white, and how it was an artistic choice, rather than a limitation of technology in the case of older films. He explained the plot, and how the movie wasn’t a piece of media, but a piece of art. When he finished the presentation, Marinette had some tears in her eyes, and Adrien smiled softly at her, and the rest of the class just clapped. Adrien bowed and took a seat next to Marinette, who immediately hugged him. “I’m so proud of you. You did amazing!” Adrien let out a chuckle. “So did you Marinette!”

After all the presentations was done, everyone talked about the presentations. Everyone congratulated Adrien. Lila walked up to their table, and smiled. “What an amazing presentation! I didn’t know you loved this film so much.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and smiled softly. “Well there’s so many reasons behind it. The actress is also phenomenal!” Lila smiles, and sees her chance to woo Adrien. “Well, I know the actress personally, and I can definitely get you to meet her. We’re pretty good family friends.” Marinette looked at Lila in disgust. Adrien balled his fists, but kept it hidden under the desk, and tried his hardest to keep his cool. “Oh? How do you know her?” Lila smirked, fully believe she had him in her grasp. “Yeah. I see her all the time when I go to events. I actually have her number.” Adrien scoffed, knowing she was lying, and decided to finally expose her, and was going to use this to do it. He always let her slide because she never hurt anyone, but with this lie, it was too much, and his last straw. “Hey Lila, can you call her? I would very much like to meet her.” Lila didn’t expect it to get to this point, but she’s still going to pull his strings. “Definitely. I can call her and see when she’s free next week.” Adrien looked her dead in the eye and said, “Great. Tell me what my mom says.” Lila’s face dropped and the classroom went dead silent. All eyes were on Lila. “I always let you slide on every single one of your lies. I tell Marinette to leave you alone because no one is getting harmed, and they’re just little white lies. But this isn’t a little white lie. How many people have you lied about knowing to get people to like you? What about you isn’t a lie? You absolutely disgust me.” Adrien stormed out of the classroom, and Marinette ran after him. Marinette got him to stop before he walked out of the building, and pulled him into a hug. Adrien cried into Marinette’s shoulder and she just let him get it out. She rubbed his back gently and whispered comforting words. Adrien slowly fell to the floor and Marinette went down with him.

After Adrien stopped crying, Marinette and him walked back to the classroom, where the class was ganging up on a terrified Lila. “You made me ruin my friendship with one of the best people I know,” Alya yelled. “You cast Marinette out because she was the only person who saw through you! She knew that you were full of it, and warned us, and we didn’t believe her! We cast out a perfect friend for you,” Rose screamed. Madame Bustier stood in the corner, calling the principal, not knowing what to do. Marinette and Adrien started walking towards the crowd, and everyone split to let them through to Lila. Lila looked at them and Adrien almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Your work with the Agreste brand is now done. We will make sure to communicate with further business partners to let them know about your horrible tendency to lie. You’d better start looking for a different place, because the socialites, and celebrities here will have absolutely nothing to with you.” Lila was truly shaken by Adrien’s cold words. Marinette rubbed his back softly to make it easy on him. Mr. Damocles walked inside and called for Lila. The class watched her walked out in shame. Once she had left the classroom, Marinette felt eyes on her. Marinette shook her head and let out a sharp, “I don’t want to hear a word out of any of you.” The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The bell rung shortly after, and Adrien and Marinette walked out together, and Adrien asked if Marinette would like to watch his mother’s movie together. Marinette gladly accepted and when they arrived at the Agreste mansion, Adrien explained everything, which infuriated Gabriel. Adrien invited Nathalie and his bodyguard to watch the film with them. Marinette made chouquettes for everyone, and eventually Gabriel joined although he didn’t say anything. Adrien was just happy to be sharing this with so many people who appreciate it.

@virgil-is-a-cutie​ thanks for reblogging the post!! Its how I found it!

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml salt #lila salt #salt fic #okay but lila really does have to stop with her lies #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

[guqin-and-flute]

Are You Here to Stop Me? (Pt. 2)

[First post/Setting of Peony to Lotus]

[Part 1]

(TW for JGY having...JGY thoughts--violence and general bloody nastiness)

Jin Guangyao let himself slowly wander the Hall of Swords, hands clasped behind his back, one thumb worrying at the other as he waited. Waited for what was arriving on gilded swords, probably in force. He was not anxious, so to speak, but filled with the restless energy of a plan in suspension, ready for the next step to land. Alone--and the implications of that solitude sat oddly in his chest.

When Lan Wangji had flown them back through the freezing, torrential skies, they had tracked through the back halls of Koi Tower, avoiding his father, Madam Jin, and their personal servants in search of the Jiang contingent. After they had finally found them in their rooms and sent someone to clean the conspicuous trails of muddy water they had dripped everywhere, he shared what had happened and the plan that had begun its quick flourish into a many branched thing throughout his trip back. Their response had been shocked dismay, quiet panic, and...determination. It had taken startlingly little convincing to get A-Li to agree. Jiang Wanyin had taken longer, waffling about image, about expectations, about politics but, between the two of them, A-Li and Jin Guangyao had broken through his doubt enough for him to grudgingly agree to it. 

After that, they had followed his every suggestion, up to and including leaving Lotus Pier to his lone stewardship while A-Li, Jiang Wanyin, and a few top disciples flew to meet up with and protect Wei Wuxian on his mad dash from Lanling to Yunmeng. 

“We must still behave naturally--and you would be expected to try to find him,” he had reasoned, more than anything trying to convince A-Li that this was not some sort of strange Jin coup on her home. “If we are too calm, they will suspect a plot. I have the story straight and can cover from there. And it would be odd if you brought me along, considering how new I am to your clan--”

A-Li had laid her hand on his cheek, eyes wide with fear and fierceness. “A-Yao, you don’t have to explain. We trust you to watch our home. Just tell us what we must do.”

That had been...new. It had made it easier to slide around the dissonance this sleight of hand was causing him. Such blatant opposition to his father. It wasn’t that he objected to manipulating him--how else would he have secured a place in the Jin Clan had he not maneuvered himself to be too powerful of an asset to ignore any longer? It was just that, not so long ago, he had been prepared to do anything for the man, anything for his approval, his acceptance. In fact, he had. He had allowed himself to be blatantly discarded and married off almost immediately. It had...tilted him. The sudden shift in priorities, the derailing of his lifelong goal was disorienting to say the least and he was still sorting through the bloody, seething mess of it within himself. Foundations cracked. Absorbing information. Formulating. Deciding. 

The still-leaking carnage of him was partially being soothed by the salve of A-Li’s gentleness and the easy acceptance of his presence in Lotus Pier, bit by bit, but….

He had covered A-Li's hand with his own, smiled, and neatly pared off that dissonance like an unwanted branch, tucking it out of sight behind a swell of protective warmth. Anything for her. Anything at all. This was simple enough.

Being trusted with the whole of Lotus Pier was still a different experience. In Lanling, Madam Jin hadn’t even trusted him to carry her tea. Here, the whole of the cove was laid in his hands without so much as a follow up question--the servants and disciples had hardly blinked. The strange weight of such faith did not go unnoticed, hanging from his shoulders like an unfamiliar cloak.

Far away, there came faint voices from the courtyard. Loud voices. Enough rumination. It was time. He needed to focus. 

He had slept badly, mind churning with contingencies and when he had awoken, his lungs had been heavy with the cold and wet from their envoy pushing through the night on their swords to reach Lotus Pier with time enough to finalize their plans. It would distract and slow him, if he let it. Not for the first time, he had cursed his lack of spiritual power and ignored it. There would be time for such weakness later. Now, as light, quick steps came down the hall, he needed to be maneuverable.

 He left his back to the door so he could jump a little when the servant opened it and poked her head in. “Gongzi? Jin Zixun-gongzi is here to see--” she bit off the tail of an indignant sound when the man himself brushed by her, not waiting for the introduction to be finished.

He was windswept and radiating an ill-contained temper as he slowly circled the room, studying it with deliberate disdain before coming to a stop before him. “Cousin,” Jin Zixun dripped as much malice as was socially ignorable onto the word and Jin Guangyao feigned an involuntary half-step back. “Let’s talk.”

The servant was still hovering by the door, eyes darting between them, her face hard, and Jin Guangyao could see the flashes of listening forms in the hall. The servants liked him, he knew--he had heard them murmur protectively over their new young master, heard whispers of their surprise at how well A-Li and he worked together, how much calmer things had gotten. He gave her a purposefully nervous smile and nodded. “You may go.”

Reluctantly, slowly, she obliged, closing the doors behind her. His obvious discomfort would not let them go far; listening, at the door as servants did. Good. 

“So. Where are they?” Jin Zixun took back up his slow circuit of the room, intentionally moving around his back like a circling predator. 

Jin Guangyao turned with him as if it made him nervous to have him at his back, face in a stiff and uncertain smile. “They are out looking for Wei-gongzi. He disappeared after the scene he caused at the banquet--”

“The Wen-dogs,” he cut across him irritably. "The ones he stole. Where are they?"

His smile widened uncomfortably, let it show in his voice. “I haven’t any clue. Probably with Wei Wuxian, wherever he is? Like I said, Jiang-furen and Jiang-zong--”

"Shut up," Jin Zixun snapped, wheeling on him. "You think you can talk your way out of what Wei Wuxian did? He killed our overseers and freed our prisoners, acting against our alliance with this backwater clan. We would be well within our rights to...respond."

They both knew that the Jiang Clan was still one of the major 4 after their reconstruction efforts. Jiang Wanyin had done an impressive job for one so young and inexperienced--and such an aggressive move would be seen incredibly unfavourably by both Chifeng-zun and Lan Xichen. It was an empty threat. A stupid one. He widened his eyes anyway. “I’m sure there will be no need to be so hasty--our Clan Leaders can talk, and we can straighten out this misunderstanding.”

He could see Jin Zixun looking him over, curling his lip. Men like him always thought they were smarter than people they deemed ‘lesser than’ and it was incredibly clear that he put Jin Guangyao into that category. There hadn’t been much time for Jin Guangyao to prove himself as an intellectual asset to his father before being married off, hadn’t been able to implement many political workings, and so he was virtually unknown to his cousin beyond ‘upstart bastard interloper’. Jin Guangyao saw the thought process ticking behind his eyes, deciding which tack to take. Saw his eyes narrow and his smile curve sharply predatory. Bully, then. 

Alright.

“So they left you in charge while they look for him.”

Jin Guangyao shrugged, a quick jerky thing, looking away. “There wasn’t much I could do on such a search. I haven’t the strength yet to fly my sword and so….” he sighed like he was embarrassed and frustrated. “It’s all such a terrible mess.” Jin Zixun was silent and so he let it rest, let the tension build, let him think he controlled the flow of the conversation.

“And so what’s their excuse for their servant behaving so outrageously?” Jin Zixun finally asked coolly, hands behind his back as he slowly sauntered over to a tall lotus candle holder.

“He wasn’t--” He purposefully winced as Jin Zixun caught the base of it with his foot and, with a little jerk, knocked it over, spilling fast cooling wax all over the rich carpet. “...Supposed to do that.”

“Oops.” The idiot raised an eyebrow at him, as if he had done something clever. Waiting for Jin Guangyao to come over and pick it up. 

Slowly, he did, tamping down the irritation in his gut with habitual ease. Such humiliation wasn’t new--and it would enrage the servants, who took pride in a clean home. Straightening the delicate ornamentation around the candle at the top, he turned his apologetic smile back to his cousin. “He just got overzealous--everyone is aware of his temper and how he views things he thinks are unjust. Wen Qing had just asked Jiang-zongzhu to look into the treatment of her people, as a favor to her, now that they’re--” he clamped his mouth shut as if he had misspoke and turned back to the candle, arranging it busily as Jin Zixun slowly tilted his head. 

“Now that they’re...what.” My, he did like to think of himself as threatening, didn’t he? Certainly saw himself as the type that could pull off a quiet menace. 

Unfortunately for him, Jin Guangyao had seen real menace. All he saw in him was a puffed up gentry brat.

“Married,” he said as if he regretted even mentioning it, threading a grimace through his wince of a smile. “It wasn’t supposed to be announced yet.”

Jin Zixun stared at him, a small, cruel smile of fury curling his lips. “Married. We haven't heard of this union. When exactly are you claiming this happened?”

Helplessly, he shrugged. “It wasn’t final until very recently, apparently--the Jiang, they marry for love when they can, and with the political tensions being so fraught, they wanted to wait until after things died down to announce it. And they thought it to be in poor taste to air such a thing before it was finalized.” He couldn’t resist the subtle dig at his father, parading A-Li around for so many years as a bauble for the future, only to be discarded. “But surely...surely it’s understandable for Wen-furen to want her family safe. It’s been months since the end of the War. Wei-gongzi was trying to be filial but overreacted….”

Jin Zixun smiled wide under rage filled eyes, slowly approaching and nodding, until he came within arms reach; then he all at once hauled him close by his collar, hissing, “You seem to think I'm an idiot.”

Jin Guangyao let his face fall into one of startled fear, shrinking in his grip. He indeed did think he was an idiot--but not an entirely stupid one, more’s the pity. The beauty of this excuse was that the Jin didn't need to actually believe it--no one truly did. The Jiang just needed enough plausible deniability to make an outright retaliation disadvantageous and protect the Wen remnants from future attack. He angled his voice to pleading. “This is all I know, Zixun, they don’t...they don’t confide in me for things like this.”

Jin Zixun gave a snort, shoving him away and off balance. Jin Guangyao’s hand itched to tug his robe back into place, but he simply patted at it ineffectually, as if anxious, keeping his head down. Let him see what he wished to see. 

“At least they have sense enough not to trust you. Looks like you’re not fooling anyone, you snake; except maybe yourself. Did you know that Jin-zongzhu speaks of being rid of you often?”

Ah. So they were here already. Despite the curdling, vicious darkness that stirred in him, Jin Guangyao could have snorted. What an unpolitic moron. Spilling his Clan Leader’s private conversations for the chance to get a cheap jab. Perhaps it was true--it very well could be. But his father was still riding on the low profile waves of alliance this marital eviction had gotten him. Had Jin Guangyao not already been aware of the reason for his being married out, had he been pettier (and he how he sometimes yearned to be--but no, it was unwise to squander a pressure point so readily) this could have seriously damaged the relationship between the two clans. Having it known that he had given his treasured allies the dregs.

“He was right to get rid of you when he did,” Jin Zixun was continuing, turning back to wander again through the room. “Clearing the trash from the Clan. I hope you're not getting ideas above your station, here. I know they put up with more, but you should always remember what you are.” He turned around, lips curled into a smug smile. “Bastard. Son of a whore. The reject.”

It was difficult to know whether this was Jin Zixun’s attempt to strategically goad him as an interrogation technique or if it was simply venting his frustration--probably both. 

And it was working, to a point. There bloomed a bright star point of rage behind his breastbone as the words pounded through him like poison, squeezing the breath from him and he forced himself not to smile in defense; he was supposed to be cowed by this, this was supposed to hurt. He swallowed and let his mouth tighten as his chin tucked in shame and imagined digging his thumbs into Jin Zixun’s eyes like so much overripe fruit. Bursting.

When Jin Guangyao remained silent, his cousin’s face twisted at his lack of reaction, before hiking back up into a sneer of a smile. “But that’s alright, because you two seem to make a perfect pair--the leftovers together.”

Something incredibly dark shifted within him and turned its attention to this conversation.

“Don’t.”

It left his mouth on a breath, a spark from the flint striking in his chest without design. He managed to dart his gaze to the ground before Zixun could see the flame of it within him.

“What did you say?” Jin Zixun rounded on him, close again, smile small and cruel, eyes gleaming with the prospect of a weak link. So it was calculated provocation, then. Searching for an excuse for violence and offense. Even more dangerous. He sank the nails into his palm.

It was possibly one of the hardest things he had done to speak evenly when the small dagger he had hidden at the small of his back seared into his skin, pulsing like an eager creature’s heart, calling to his hand. “Don’t talk about Jiang-furen in that manner….Please.” 

Any other circumstance, and he could have protested--would even be justified as a husband to come to blows over such a thing. But there was a plan. And it was hard to seem weak and unthreatening in the midst of murder.

 All Jin Guangyao needed him to do was leave. Take this filtered information back to his father. Tell him of the web of complications woven against them, Jin Guangyao’s manufactured outsider status in the Jiang’s--an open avenue for false information, exploitation.

All he wanted him to do was leave.

“Aww.” Blunt fingers suddenly sank into his jaw, forcing his chin up, trying to meet his gaze. He allowed the wince, squeezed his eyes shut because he knew his own limits--he knew where this is heading. He knew what he could and could not keep from his eyes. “Is the little whoreson actually in love with his pity-wife? The little wannabe-noble getting ideas above his station? You know the only reason you were paired with her, little filth, is because no one else wanted her, right?”

There was an approaching ringing in his ears, the tide of blood pounding louder and louder. Fire and water, drowning and devouring. His breath seared. Focus on the outcome. Focus on the fact that the servants are hearing this. The repercussions. The plan. Wei Wuxian. A-Li. It’s for her. Focus. 

Focus. 

“She’s a boring, talentless cow with the weakest golden core I’ve ever seen--”

Distantly, he was almost grateful for the throb coursing through him, that shook him in Jin Zixun’s grasp like a fish on a line, for it muffled his words to almost unintelligible garble, had him sinking his fingers into the bracer at the wrist of Jin Zixun’s imprisoning arm, as if he wanted to escape, as if he was afraid. 

He did not want to escape. He was not afraid.

His palms prickled with emptiness, begging to be filled with a throat, a hilt, a heart. Soon, his own blood-heavy organ whispered from the crush of his chest, soon. “Stop,” he whispered, voice pressed thin by the weight of his rage.

“Or what?” Jin Zixun taunted, voice muffled, coming to him as if through water. 

Or I will ruin the carpet of the Hall of Swords. Or I will lose my grip on this careful mask. Or I will have a blade through your gut faster than you can die and I will watch you writhe and shit yourself to death in far too short a time. And then I will have to find a way to make this work without you. Which would be tedious, difficult. Dangerous.

Almost worth it.

It’s for her. 

Soon.

“I don’t know anything more, Zixun. You need...to leave.”

“Are you going to make me?”

It would be so easy to dart his head to the side and sink his teeth deep into his knuckles, to go for his throat. Slide the dagger neatly through his eye and into his brain. Like a keyhole unlocking such possibilities as blessed fucking silence.

Clearly disgusted with his lack of response, Jin Zixun shoved him away from him with a snarl. Jin Guangyao caught himself on a pillar and stayed pressed there, head down, hair fall masking his expression, feathering over the pulsing bands left on his jaw. 

“I should have known it was useless to talk to you.”

Jin Guangyao stayed motionless as the doors slammed behind him, as Jin Zixun’s footsteps retreated. As the side doors flew open and the servants and the disciples they had clearly summoned rushed to his side, the exclamations of their indignant anger washing over him in shallow waves. Hands patted his robe, gripped his shoulder, raised his chin carefully and he managed to analyze his own expression, reassuring himself of its blankness. It would have to do. They might take it as stunned.

“--bastard! That--that--! I can’t believe he said that about Jiang-furen! I’ll skin him alive!”

“--alright? You’re so pale--”

“I always knew the Jin were pompous and selfish, but this is too much! To come here and say this in the heart of Lotus Pier--to Jiang-furen’s own husband, of all people!”

“The gall! That piece of shit!”

“Jin-gongzi, talk to us, are you alright?”

It took him a few breaths to be able to look up, to regain his voice, and when he did, he made no effort to steady it. “I am. I’m fine. We need--we need to prepare for Wei-gongzi’s arrival.”

There came more sympathetic hisses, more fretful tugs of his clothes--he knew from experience that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between a voice shaking from fear and a voice shaking from barely suppressed savagery, if one's face was arranged correctly. His was. He made sure of it.

The tightness of his rage-lit chest did not abate when he went to the front courtyard to bow off the small glittering retinue of JIn, where he was, of course, ignored. Watching their receding backs as the clouds swallowed them up, he let his face drop entirely for a moment with only the ornately carved door ahead of him. Let his eyes burn. 

When he turned around, he offered the crowd behind him a harried smile. “We should probably send a few of Yunmeng’s delicacies after them. As an apology for the imposition of their journey.”

This sparked muttered suggestions of what bodily fluids might be able to be included and what species’ feces could be hidden most easily behind heavy spices. “I could kill him for what he said about Jiang-furen,” one of the shimei’s said, eyes blazing.

Oh, Jin Guangyao did not say, shuttering his eyes as if regretful. You needn’t bother.

Soon.

Back in their room, in front of A-Li’s round, polished mirror, he impassively considered the bruises on his jaw, the heat in his gut at a low, murderous simmer. He would have preferred a black eye, but perhaps less was more, in this case--more subtlety meant more double takes, more chances for curious ‘what ifs’. The story was bound to evolve anyhow, to become more fantastical as the enraged servants gossiped with their friends, their waiters, their fruit vendors. 

The noble Jiang, marrying for a love forbidden, taking beleaguered, harmless Cultivators under their wing and being threatened for it. Those villainous Jin, demanding back their spoils of war, treating Jiang-furen’s new husband as if he were still a common Jin servant. The indignity of it, the insult. Just like those star crossed tragedies. The Young Masters and Mistress of Lotus Pier were already folk heroes in the eyes of the common people--rising from the ashes of their slaughtered family to build anew, kind and just. This all would appeal greatly. 

Ever loyal, the people would probably find a way to alert them if any Jin lurkers were to show up. Ingratiation of the Wen, alienation of the Jin, deification of the Jiang. Truly, this couldn’t have gone better.

There would be a more formal--not to mention informed--meeting later, involving Jiang Wanyin, Jin Guanshan, and possibly Wei Wuxian himself. This was probably supposed to have been a precursor to that, a scouting mission meant to gather information, meant to be secretive and unnoticed. What a pity.

His smile stretched thin and sharp at his own metallic reflection. His chest was still tight and full, and his fingertips still ached for the rust of someone’s pain, but he simply straightened his robes, slowly and deliberately. Time to prepare for their guests. 

And figure out how slowly he wanted Jin Zixun to die.

#[Sings Zixun's Gotta Die to the tune of Earl's Gotta Die] #Peony to Lotus #my fic #my stuff #text

[teriwrites]

Swindler of Fortune

The coin wells were empty.

I stared dumbly into the cash register. They’d been full that morning, that much I was certain of. I myself had blindly emptied several rolls in my mad dash to open the store on time. 

What can I say? Even wizards sleep in sometimes.

But business had been slow, and even on heavy days, we usually didn’t get enough cash transactions to clear out the whole register. 

“Natalie?” I called, hoping she hadn’t left for the night.

I didn’t suspect her of stealing, of course, but she usually handled the front during weekdays. Thankfully, she was still in the back. I watched the doors swing open, and her bun bobbed just over the tops of shelves as she made her way over. 

“What’s up?” she asked as she reached the front, leaning down onto the counter to meet me at eye level. I rolled my eyes at the gesture.

“Did somebody exchange a large bill for coins?” I motioned towards the empty wells. “Because we’re all out.”

Natalie frowned as she pushed herself upright. “No. I actually had to empty a roll of quarters about an hour before closing. Why, have we been robbed?”

“If we were, it was by the dumbest thief alive.” As Natalie cocked an eyebrow, I went on. “All the bills are accounted for.”

For several moments, we puzzled over it, but it was late, and I think we both knew no questions were going to be answered without effort. And that wasn’t happening after closing. This was a problem for another day.

So I dumped a couple new rolls into the register and decided to call it a night.

The next day was a Friday, which meant more business. After a quick check to confirm that the coins were still in their place, I flipped the sign on the door to ‘Open’ and welcomed the start of a new day. 

Natalie was working inventory, so she hung in the back while I held down the front of the store. Rolling up the sleeves of my cardigan, I took in a deep breath and channeled my Manager alter ego - a mix of Customer Service feigned cheer with enough of an edge to hold some of the more entitled customers at bay. 

Our first customer rolled in around 9:30. My back was turned as the bell rang out, but the excitement emanating from Nathaniel as he ran laps around my back clued me into their identity.

I spun on my heel to see an old man wrapped up in dark furs and a matching cap step over the threshold. A green parrot sat on his shoulder, wearing its own tiny hat.

“Mike!” My Customer Service smile eased into a genuine grin as I greeted one of my favorite regulars.

“Ms. Kim, hello!” When Mike spoke, it was with his familiar, thick Russian accent. I wasn’t sure exactly when he had immigrated to Canada, but he’d been coming into the store as long as I could remember, back when I was just a kid helping my dad restock shelves. Even back then, he’d struck me as remarkably old. 

“I haven’t heard from you in awhile. I was beginning to fear the worst.” It was a half-joke, but before the mood could darken, I shook my head dramatically. “I thought you might’ve decided to turn to one of our competitors.”

Mike chuckled as he pulled his hat from his head, but his parrot cut in before he could protest. “Enough with the pleasantries! We’re here on business!”

Nathaniel had run down the length of my sleeve and was tugging it down my arm to press closer to the bird. I leaned forward onto the counter, and the parrot eyed my embroidered dragon cautiously.

“That’s a cute hat you got there, Charon.” I shot the parrot a wink and pushed myself back up. “What is it I can get for you today, Mike?”

“Do you have any tongue of frog in stock?” he asked as he brushed snow from his hat. 

I wasn’t sure, but I promised to check in with Natalie. As I made my way back to the storage room, I found her crouched in one of the aisles, gathering some nonalcoholic liquid courage to restock.

“Hey, do you have any tongue of frog marked up on there?”

The face Natalie made answered my question. “You actually stock frog tongues?”

“Spells, enchanted items, charms - ”

“Whatever your wandering, wayfaring wizard may need, I know,” she finished, nodding along dramatically. “But frog tongues?”

“If you heard all of the ingredients that go into those bottles” - I nudged my chin towards the liquid courage - “it’d make your hair curl. Not that it needs the help.”

Natalie smacked me with her clipboard before jutting her hand out for some help up. 

I had been working alongside Natalie for a few months now, but there were still areas of the store that I hadn’t acquainted her with. Some wizards would’ve scrunched up their noses at my more repellent products, so I was not keen to show them off to an unprepared Typic. 

Most potion ingredients sat in a medicine cabinet towards the front of the store, but it could hardly fit everything. The rest was tucked away into a side room - a pantry, really - hiding in the back corner. Pulling my keyring from my pocket, I shuffled through several before I landed on the right one.

Dust had collected on most of the shelves in the pantry. I had no excuse for its state; there simply wasn’t enough of a reason to come back here unless someone requested it. A single, flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling dimly lit the small space. 

I turned away from Natalie to fetch the jar labeled ‘tongue of frog’. After I’d snatched it up, I looked back to see her curiously scanning the shelves. Before I could say anything, her hand darted out and grabbed something. 

Holding it out to me, I could barely make out its label: newt eyes.

“Other friends of yours?” she joked.

I brushed past her as she replaced the jar on the shelf. “Of yours, actually.”

Carrying the jar back to the front, I watched as Mike perused some of the inventory up front with vague amusement. Charon was whispering something in his ear. Evidently it was something rude; Mike reprimanded the bird harshly in Russian.

“One tongue of frog,” I announced as I stepped behind the counter. 

“You have new merchandise, Ms. Kim,” Mike pointed out as he dug through his pockets. “I didn’t even know there were spells for maintaining battery life.”

“Yeah, well, some companies intentionally provide weak batteries to make you replace your phone after a couple years. This cheat seems the lesser of the two evils.” I rested my elbows on the top of the register as I watched Mike stack the contents of his pocket onto the countertop. Books, empty potion bottles, a pair of gloves. After withdrawing a black notebook with an engraved monogram and a full-sized human skull, he finally pulled out his wallet.

I had to ask him what spell he used to get that kind of pocket space. 

“Working another case?” I nodded at the notebook as I rang up his order. “I thought you’d retired, Mike.”

“I owed an old colleague a favor,” Mike admitted gruffly. “The police asked him for assistance on a case, and he referred them to me.”

He sounded none too happy about it. 

Mike passed me cash, and I opened the register. As soon as the drawer sprung open, I realized with a jolt that the change was missing again. Surely, nobody could’ve snatched it up without being seen. I could’ve trusted Mike with the entire store while I was in the back, and Natalie had been with me the entire time. 

“Is there a problem?” Mike asked, straightening up to peer over the counter.

I unlocked the cupboard with extra change and fished out a roll of loonies. “No problem, just ran out of change.”

I handed over his change and the jar without a bag, knowing he wouldn’t need one. When he’d taken both from me, he simply slid them into his pockets. With a quick nod and a small lift of his cap, Mike stepped back out into the cold. 

Only after Mike had left did I notice Natalie crouching by the first row of shelves. She clutched her clipboard to her chest, staring in horror at the door the old man had just left through.

“Was that man carrying a human skull?”

I dismissed her concern with a wave of my hand. “Mike’s a necromancer. That’s pretty normal for him.”

My reassurance might’ve eased Natalie’s nerves, but they simply shifted from fear into disgust. “Aren’t those people supposed to raise the dead and all that? Gross.”

“It’s a little more delicate than that. There’s a whole structure of ethical guidelines in that field. Full revival is prohibited, so usually it’s just gathering details on how the person died. I don’t know the ins and outs of it, though. I’ve never had the stomach for that stuff.”

“So you’re telling me there’s a whole slew of magical careers out there, and I got stuck working for the shopkeep?” 

I rolled my eyes as I walked away, leaving Natalie laughing on the floor. 

Saturday morning, I arrived extra early at the store. I told myself it was to make up for the fact that Natalie only worked weekdays and I would be running everything myself. But really, the first thing I did when I arrived was beeline for the cash register.

Everything had been in place the night before. After Mike’s incident, nothing had gone missing, and the rest of the day ran smoothly. I was secretly hoping that the problem would go away on its own if I just refused to acknowledge it. But I could only lose so many more rolls before making another trip to the bank, and I’m pretty sure the teller I always ran into was a vampire. Either that or there was some other reason he always stared at my neck when I was making deposits. 

Either way, not an experience I was eager to have again.

My key slid into the lock for the register, and I made a silent wish as I twisted it open.

The coin wells were empty.

I let out a frustrated shout as I tore the key out of the lock. This couldn’t keep happening. My store did well - my spot in downtown Trelis earned me good foot traffic, and our regulars were loyal - but I couldn’t afford the constant losses. 

There was only one answer. I would have to investigate. If I kept a careful eye on the full register, the thief would have to reveal themselves eventually. 

To refill the coins, I opened up the cupboard, only to find that it, too, had been ransacked. Every roll of coins had been torn to shreds, with scraps of paper left littering the cabinet. 

I felt bad for texting Natalie on her day off, but I had no other choice. I couldn’t both look into a robbery and ring up transactions. So, whipping out my phone, I shot her a text asking if she’d be able to make it down the store, preferably before it opened.

Fifteen minutes later, Natalie was at the front door, rapping against the glass. I unlocked it for her.

“More was taken?” she asked, pulling her mittens from her hands.

“Both the register and the cupboard are empty.” I groaned, draping myself over the front counter. “I’m at a loss.”

What kind of thief was this, who would ignore the higher-value bills and waste time tearing through paper to get at the coins? Who could somehow get around the store without being seen? Were we dealing with an advanced invisibility spell? Some pocket portal that could reach directly into the register? A clever magpie?

I dragged myself over the counter, nearly hitting my head against the back cabinet as I clambered ungracefully down. Landing in a heap on the ground, I found myself staring closeup at a pencil shaving. I frowned; the only pencils we kept in the front were mechanical. 

Sitting up, I pinched the tiny shaving from the ground and ran it between my fingers. It was then that I realized my mistake. The scrap wasn’t a pencil shaving, it was one of the shreds of torn paper from the cabinet. 

Natalie yelped as I threw myself back to the ground, eyes close to the floor. A moment passed in silence as I scanned for more shreds of paper. Though Natalie kept quiet, I could feel her piecing together what I’d found. 

She found the next scrap, pointing to it with her foot. As we began to follow a small trail of torn paper, I scurried along at a crawl. Less inclined to make a fool of herself, Natalie chose to walk.

The paper led to the back of the store, into a small hole in the wall that I’d never noticed, half-hidden behind a shelf. I didn’t dare reach into it, but shining the flashlight from my phone revealed only a long tunnel. Something glinted from a distance, but it was too far to make anything out. Whatever was back there was hidden somewhere in the wall of the potion pantry. 

It took a minute to find the key for the pantry, and another several to scan along the wall. But I finally found what I was looking for. Really, I shouldn’t take the credit. Natalie found it, helping me push aside a cabinet to reveal the door to a crawl space I’d never seen before. 

It was easy to overlook, a tiny door tucked away into the back corner of a room I rarely entered. But I immediately recognized with some satisfaction that its lock seemed to match a key on my keyring. The only key I’d never found a use for. It had always been there, since my father had wielded the ring, but I’d never thought to ask him what it was for. 

Now, with certainty, I tugged the key loose and shoved it into the lock.

Sure enough, the key turned, and, with Natalie flashing her phone towards the crawl space, I tugged the door open.

Sitting inside, on a veritable mountain of spare change, was a dragon the size of a coffee mug. 

I froze, not exactly sure how to react. Behind me, Natalie dropped her phone, and the dim lighting in the room was only enough to catch a glimpse of its sleek scales. After a second to recover from the shock, I began to move.

I’ve faced my fair share of house pests, and this was no different. Throwing my arm behind me, I latched onto the handle of a broom that had collected more dust sitting in its corner than it had ever swept in its life. Keeping my eyes trained on the dragon, I brought it forwards and prodded lightly at the small reptile.

The dragon snapped at the broom, as I’d expected. Natalie was apparently less prepared; I could hear the jars clinking lightly as she backed into a cabinet. As the little pest’s jaw clenched down, I carefully lifted it from its hoard. 

“Get me an empty jar,” I whispered over my shoulder.

Natalie fetched one, and hurried out of the room as soon as I’d taken it. The jug was large enough to fit the dragon snugly, but it would hold the thing until I could find a place to let it loose.

Out in the light of the store, I inspected the little pest. He had dark, reddish-brown scales and golden eyes that shone with what I could’ve mistaken for intelligence. As I studied him, he seemed to be sizing me up as well.

Natalie, having overcome her shock and seeing that the dragon was contained, ran over. With wide eyes, she reached out and tapped a finger against the glass. The dragon turned to her, staring up with what I swear was feigned innocence.

“We should keep him!” 

It was just about the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth.

“You want to keep a dragon?” I needed to get my hearing checked. Wasn’t this the woman that had nearly screamed on spotting the little guy only a minute ago?

“He’s adorable!” she insisted, reaching out to take the jar from me. “I’ve never seen a real dragon before. I was always told they don’t exist.”

What else didn’t Typics know existed? Did they think pigeons were fake, too?

“We could keep him in the shop, and he could help guard the door!” Natalie suggested, beaming like she was holding a newborn puppy. She was already tenderly cradling the jar. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Guard us from what?” I demanded. “The only thief I’ve had since I took over this store is him.”

But I knew from Natalie’s enraptured expression that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

I had heard of dragons being domesticated before. They were said to make excellent pets, given proper care. But there was no telling which breed this one was. Knowing my luck, he’d grow into a five-meter beast that’d fill up a whole aisle. 

“I’m calling him Midas,” Natalie announced.

And I knew any arguing was hopeless.

We now had a guard dragon.

#my writing #writeblr #writblr #short story #original fiction #original fic #writers of tumblr #teriwrites #flo's magical emporium #ongoing #character: flo kim #character: natalie baker #character: mike bereave #various vignettes

[pjsblogs-dc]

I hate this

Damian Wayne X Reader

Summary

Damian hates art show, but love you.

Warning

Death by embarrassment or fluff

Hard to say

~~~ Damian always hated art shows and charity parties that when with them. He would do everything in his power to skip or leave the party early. He hated the people, the clothes, and the popups attuite that came with the art shows but then he met you.

You were a young and naïve artist that just moved to Gotham, and just started working at an art center. He bumped into you as he was trying to sneak out, but quickly forget about it when he met your eyes and you quickly stumped out an apology. 

You had the most beautiful eyes and an amazing smile.

The two of you just kept talking for the rest of the night about anything and everything. But the event was soon ending and for once Damian was disappointed that he had to leave.

“When will I see you again?” He asked as the two of you walked towards the parking lot. He didn’t want to stop talking to you, so he lied saying his car was in the parking lot just like you.

“Well,” you said pausing to think “the next art show is in a few weeks. I can text you the details.”

“Sounds great!” he said with a smile.

As you drove away he couldn’t believe that for once in his life he was excited to go the some stupid charity party. He couldn’t stop smiling even after he got into the limo that Alfred was driving.

“Your a little late, sir“ the butler said with a cocked eyebrow.

The younger Wayne was about to say something when he saw the time. He told Alfred he was going to sneak out at 11 pm, but it was 2 am. Not only was he three hours late but he also missed his patrol shift.

“I got a little tied up.“ Damian said defensibly.

“That is want Master Dick said all the time when hung out with members of the opposite sex at charity events.“ Alfred said as he drove away from the art show.

Damian wanted to say something back but thought better of it. He knew he was going to get an earful from the team when he got back home and didn’t want it to start now. Pulling out his phone to see if you had texted him information of the next show, he also looked at the roster of events the boys had to go to.

Long ago to save a head ache, Bruce came up with an assignment system for who has to go to what events, it was to keep the peace in the house and work around patrols schedules, but truth be told it was a tool that the boys where threatened with if they didn’t get along. 

No one in the Wayne house like going to Charity events for the same reasons Damian didn’t like going but that was going to change.

~~~

No one at the Wayne house really noticed at first, that Damian was trying to get more charity events. Or that the shows were most with or hosted by Peterson Art Charity. None of them wanted to go so they were happy to listen to his poor excuse and give him the event. It wasn’t until Bruce called them all in did they see what was going on.

“What the hell you guys?“ Bruce said to the three Wayne boys, “Why is Damian going to all the events? I thought we had a deal.”

“We did,“ Dick said.

“Yea but Damian said something about need that day blah,blah, lame excuse.” Jason said dismissably, “All I know is that is instead of dealing with stuck up brats, I got to patrol and I beat up some bad guys.”

“Lol same,“ Tim said with a smile, ”I tried to give him all my days but he only want somedays. Hell he even offer to double up and do the later patrol shift so that I didn’t say anything.“

“He did the same thing for me to,“ Dick said.

“Is the little Demon ditching them and blaming it on us?“ Jason said “Because if that the case-“

“No, he isn’t.“ Bruce said, signing, “I just wanted to know why all I see in the social column is Damian and his alleged girlfriend, and not any of you and your alleged girlfriends.“

“You check the social column?“ Tim said with confusion, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“To see what the hell you guys did this week to piss off the press.“

“I know what we can do!“ Dick said.

“I alright don’t like this,“ Bruce said putting is head in his hands.

~~~~

Damian hated ever minute of the social part he had to do before he saw you. Smile and nodded to the racist old lady opinion on the world. Pretend to listen to some old guy talk about the stock market. Dance with the girls that only wanted his money. But when he saw you the world stopped, and it didn’t matter that he had a stupid suit or painful shoes, what matter was the time you to spent together.

He didn’t what you dragged into the fire storm that is the social gossip world because the two of you where seen outside of the charity events. And if someone snapped a picture of them together he always placed and anonymous phone call the next day saying he saw Damian kissing some high society girl which broke the news for the next week or two.

You didn’t seem to mind. You were so focused on your art that you couldn’t really met expect for at events. Plus you really didn’t watch or read the news so you didn’t know that the guy you where hanging out with was a Wayne. You were just happy to see him at all your shows or events, and always like the fact you had someone to talk to that wasn’t someone from work or a snooty art person saying that your art was bad.

The two of you had just saw each other when the door to the event swung out, showing something Damian hated more than a stupid art show.

A stupid art show with his family.

All of his brothers and sisters was here dress to the nines in gowns and suit, but his father stole the show with Selina Kyle on his arm and in a kickass suit. Everyone is the room was taken aback by their sudden appears and marveled at how good they look, but Damian almost shit himself.

He didn’t need to be super close to his father to see the look in his eyes.

It was his Batman eyes, meaning he was on a mission, and Damian didn’t need to think super hard why he or his family was here.

“I can’t believe the Waynes are here,“ a small voice said causing Damian to almost lose it.

That voice was you.

You looked amazing and he almost got lost in you smile, but he mental smacked himself. He need a plan and quick otherwise he was going to get embarrassed in front of you and he didn’t want that.

“Did you do all you socially thingys for work?“ you asked.

“Yep,“ Damian said turning his back to his family. Hoping the wouldn’t see him.

“Come on then!“ you said with a smile, and grabbed his hand causing him to blush. “I have something to show you.“

Damian forgot about his family and let you drag him away from the main hallway and into a small side room. He knew where he was going before you even took him there.

All the famous artist where in the main hall and all the lesser know was in side rooms. He was getting taken to a side room with your art. You were talking ecstatically about your art.

Apparently some anonymous person had bought all your art before the show even started. Damian smiled to himself, proud that he had caused you such glee.

“But that doesn’t matter“ you kept rambling on as the two of you stop in front of a piece of art. “What do you think?“

It was a beautiful piece of a man and a woman under a lamp light in the middle of a city. The two of them where holding hands and kissing, and Damian was at a lost for words.

“I don’t know what to say,“ he whispered.

“How about thank you?“ you said shyly.

Damian turned to you in confusion. You were blushing and not looking at him.

“What do you mean?“

“Well . . .I. . .umm.. ..aaa made it for you.“ you quickly whispered still not looking at him.

Damian reach out and lightly turned you face towards him.

“Say that again, my love.“

Now you were a bright shade of red and still not meeting his eyes but you said it again, but this time a little louder.

“I made it for you.“

“You didn’t have to.“ Damian said matching your voice level.

“Well you always say you want a piece but whenever I have a show all the art is sold before you ever get one, so I told the studio that all of them but this one is for sale because it saw going to go to you.“ You spoke so fast and all at once. Damian that it was cute when you got all fluster but he knew that if he didn’t stop you would have keep rambling until you ran out of breath. Damian politely cut you cut by putting one finger on your lips.

“It beautiful and I love it Y/N, but I have a confession to make.“

“You do?“ you said looking up at his with your mesmerizing (eye color) eyes. Damian got lost for a second but tried to quickly recovered.

“I. . .umm.. .aa. . .“

“What is it?“ you looked worried but before Damian could say something, someone else chimed in.

“Yea, Damian,“ a voice said “What is it?“

Never had Damian been filled with more rage then at that second.

The two of you looked up to see Dick, Jason, and Tim lending in on the door way. They had a smug ass look at Damian wanted to punch right off their face.

“Get the hell out of here“ Damian said through gritted teeth, shooting dagger at his brothers.

“Well that would be rude!“ Dick said as he and his brother walked over toward you. “We haven’t even introduced our selves.“

Dick forced himself between the two of you to “shake your hand” but Damian knew it was to piss him off.

“I’m Dick, Damian’s older brother, other there is his other brother Jason,“

Jason waved.

“and his other other brother Tim.“

“Pleasure.“ Tim said taking you hand and kissing it.

You give Damian a weird look.

“You’re related to the Wayne Men.“

“Oh he didn’t tell you that.“ Jason said with a smile as he wrapped his arm around Damian’s neck. “That doesn’t sound like our little Damian.”

“Not at all!“ Tim said with crooked smile.

Damian wanted to kill them all but Dick opened his mouth.

“Well I know something that our little Damian would do!“ Dick said with a smile “He would have told you that he keeps buying all of your art and hanging it in his apartment.“

“When did you go to my apartment!“ Damian snapped.

“On the way over!“ Tim said in a manner of fact voice, and he turned back to you, “And may I say what beautiful pieces they are. I wish Damian would let the world see them.“

“I am going to kill the three of you.“ Damian growled.

“Now, now, Damian!“ Jason said “Didn’t I teach you better than to plan a murder out loud.“

Damian was so beyond done with his brothers bullshit and was about to cruse them out when he saw you straighten up and someone clear their voice.

“Evening, sons“ Bruce said, causing the older boys to jump apart. 

Bruce was by himself with a glass of champagne. On the outside he looked like to cool, laid back playboy the media saw but Damian could tell by way he was standing that he was in a mood.

“Hi, Bruce,“ they all said, expect Damian.

“Father.” he said curtly.

“Damian,” Bruce said looking at his son with a cocked eyebrow. “You know we were all going to this party tonight, right? You didn’t need to drive yourself down here tonight, we were waiting for you at your apartment for an hour.”

No, he didn’t know that, but he knew that Bruce was lying about that last part. They had search his apartment not doubt and figured out where he was and decided to make a scene.

“I’m so sorry, Father,“ Damian said matching his fathers gaze. “I didn’t know.“

Bruce signed and looked at his older sons. They were trying their hardest not to do anything draw attention, but they were doing a bad job. They were shooting knowing looks and giggling.

“Got out of here and stop annoying you brother.“ Bruce said putting his face in his hand. The three of them ran out laughing like school boys, leaving Bruce with and annoyed looked.

He turned towards you and took your hand.

“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Bruce Wayne, I’m Damian’s father.“ Bruce said and kissed you hand.

You just stood and started at him, speechless. It took a minute before you spoke, and when you did Damian wanted to die.

“I see,“ you said in a high breathless voice, causing Bruce to raise an eyebrow.

There was another awkward pause before you realized you were supposed to say your name, but instead you rambled.

“Oh, yes... umm... I’m so sorry, I was thinking. It just kind of happened all at once. I am still trying to understand what exactly is-”

Damian moved quietly next to you and grabbed your hand, and spoke for you.

“Y/N,” Damian said in a confident voice meant to tell his father to back down and to help calm you down. “They are a pretty amazing artist, and the person I love.“

Bruce looked at you and then to his son and gave a soft smile.

“Well, it is nice to have finally have met you, Y/N,“ Bruce said “I hope to see you at the manor sometime soon.“

#Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #dick grayson #richard grayson #robin #Red Robin #Tim Drake #bruce wayne #selina kyle #batman #batgirl #barbara gordon #batwoman #red hood #Alfred Pennyworth #nightwing #DC comics #DC Universe #dc x reader #damian x reader #damian fluff #damian x y/n #damian love story #fluff #story #angst #smut #BatFam #batfam & you #Batdad

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - INTO THE DEEP, DARK THICK OF IT (11/?)

Hey, everyone! It's been literal weeks since I've posted anything, but I'm coming at you today with chapter 11 of THE WASTELAND, my @cssns 2020 fic! (With lovely cover art by @spartanguard and chapter art to follow!!!)

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me! 

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

On AO3 (follow this link to get there!)

David pulls the map from the tree, holding it between his hands, and the rest of them crowd around him to look over his shoulder at it — except Emma, who keeps her distance. She doesn’t know if it’s from what happened in the Echo Caves or from finding half of their crew taken again, but she feels sick to her stomach, and taking slow, deep breaths is less than helpful in the thick, humid air of the Neverland forests. 

But she is still close enough to hear their conversation: 

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, Killian, but isn't that—" David says, only to be cut off prematurely by Killian. 

"The Dark Jungle? Aye."

Mary Margaret tries next: "And that's where you told us—" 

"Never to go? Uh-huh," he says bluntly.  

"But this map is leading us—” Robin tries, but this time, David cuts him off. 

"Directly into the middle of it." 

“And we’re walking right into his trap?” Mary Margaret asks. 

“I don’t really see another option, do you?” David asks, and Emma turns to them just in time to see Mary Margaret reach out and take David’s hand, sharing a small but obviously love-filled glance with him. Though she has seen it many times before, has been watching her two best friends share displays of affection for years now, this simple gesture makes her stomach turn again. 

She didn’t know she was such a cynic. Sure, she’s been having sinking feelings about the validity of true love and things like that, but she never once imagined actually saying those things out loud.

To Killian. To a dying man who pretty much confessed his love to her. 

But she did. She didn’t even know she felt that strongly about it until she was already spewing her secret in the Cave, but once the words were out, there was no way of taking them back. Maybe that was Pan’s plan all along, to cause a rift between just her and Killian, because it doesn’t seem to her like anyone else was as affected by the Echo Caves as they were. 

Milah clears her throat, and they all seem to remember simultaneously that she is there. As the rest of the group turns towards her, Emma focuses on Killian, watching his face change as he looks at her. A rollercoaster of emotions crosses his face, his features softening before hardening again, as if remembering everything she told them in the Caves. “I’ve spent a lot of time on this island, and have learned some of the ways around. This map is sending you right through Pan’s camp, where all of his henchmen stay. It’s almost definitely a trap.” 

With that, his features soften again. “How long have you been here?” 

“Not long after Liam was killed and I thought they killed you. Pan offered me a life away from the War, and since that was all I ever wanted, I accepted before realizing it was a trap to keep me here.” 

“That’s twelve years, Milah,” he whispers, and something in the way he says her name makes Emma’s heart stop — or so it feels like. Every inch of her is weighed down by it, by the incredible familiarity that every inch of him exudes. Milah hurt him so much, Emma could tell by his response to her in the Cave. She hurt him, yet he still seems to have feelings for her. 

That’s what she wants, she realizes, standing there taking it all in. She knows she crossed a line, completely disregarded Killian’s feelings, and she wants to be forgiven. She wants to go back to how it was before they went into the damned Cave, before Pan pitted them against each other. 

She only hopes it’s not too late. 

“And how do we know that whatever way you take us isn’t also going to be a trap?” David asks, and Emma is glad that someone else feels a little leery trusting the woman who just revealed herself to be the mother of Prince Baelfire. 

“I have no way of proving my allegiance to you,” she says. “Only that I have spent my time here — twelve years, if Killian is right, though it only feels like a few months — as Pan’s prisoner, and though time may flow differently here than in the regular places of the world, I have grown to hate him more with each day I have spent here. If I could do anything to get off this island, I will, but if defeating him is something that could happen in the process of that, I'll do whatever I can to help.” 

David turns to Killian, who just shrugs. “What do you suggest we do?” 

“It’s a bit of a more treacherous path, to be honest, but doesn’t cut through Pan’s camp. Hopefully we’ll run into less Lost Boys that way.” 

“Lost Boys?” Mary Margaret asks. 

Milah nods. “That’s what they call themselves. Or what Pan calls them, I’m not sure who started it. I’ve always felt that they were trapped on this island like I am, but I have no way of proving it. All the ones I’ve been able to talk to seem pretty content to be here.” 

They stay silent for a moment, shifting their packs on their backs, until finally, Killian says, “Well, let’s go, we’re wasting daylight,” before gesturing for Milah to take the lead and following behind her. 

Robin and Mary Margaret take off after them, but Emma pulls David back, keeping a few steps behind them all and out of earshot. 

“Do you really trust this woman?” 

“No,” he says, keeping his gaze on the woods in front of them. “But the way I see it, I don’t really have another choice, do I?” 

Emma shrugs. “I just… have a bad feeling about all of this,” she says, pulling down her ponytail to put it back up and keep the flyaways out of her face as best she can. She's never been to a place as humid as Neverland, and while she was never one to give much care to the state of her hair, she has been finding it much harder to deal with over the last few days. 

“So do I,” he says. “I’ve had a bad feeling about all of this, since that first day when you called me from the hospital. But if listening to this woman — to Prince Baelfire’s mother — is the best chance we have for saving Killian’s life, then who am I to fight it?” 

“You do have a pretty good track record for trusting those you probably shouldn’t,” she jokes, knocking her shoulder into his. 

He chuckles. “That I do.”

  "And who do we have here?" King George leers, glaring down at her from his throne. For the first time since he sat down beside his father earlier that morning, David feels pulled to look up.

He had no idea what to expect, but a girl no more than twelve or thirteen, kneeling on the marble-tiled floor between two armor-clad guards, is certainly not it, though that's what he finds. Though each of their hands extend far past the end of the girl's shoulders, they seem to be pushing her into the ground much harder than David feels is necessary.

She says nothing, only spits on the floor in front of her. He doesn't blame her, really; just by the looks of her, he can tell that her life has been nothing like his own, that she has spent most of her life living on the streets. 

The streets of his kingdom. Or, what will be his kingdom one day. He’s thought about the people who are lesser off than he is, thought about those who don’t live the kind of privileged life that’s been handed to him — but, somehow, these thoughts have never included the idea that people his age could be living on the streets. 

Right here, with this girl right in front of him, it hits him a little too hard in the face. A tremor quakes through his body. 

“Tell me your name, girl,” his father demands, but all she does is glare at him — at them, together on the throne. 

“We found her in the royal gardens, your majesty. Trying to steal food,” one of the guards says, his gloved hand flexing against her shoulder as it keeps her on her knees. 

“Stealing from me, eh? Do you know what the punishment for that is?” 

“Father, you can’t,” David says, surprising himself more than anyone else. 

This time, King George’s glare is directed at him. “Excuse me?” 

David clears his throat, gulps, trying to hide his embarrassment, his nervousness. “The least you could do is cut her a break. She doesn’t deserve to go to the dungeon.” 

“She stole from me, David. From us, from the royal garden. The penalty is a night in the dungeon, no matter who you are.” 

“Just look at her.” 

King George turns away from his son to look back at the girl kneeling on the floor in front of them. For a moment, he is silent, his arms crossed over his chest, before turning back to David. “Okay, fine. What would you do, son?” 

David sits up a little straighter, running his fingers through his hair, if only to try to get ahold of himself. “The first thing I would do would be to offer her a meal.” Though King George’s eyes are on David, the prince is watching the young girl, who looks up at him when he says this. “She’s obviously hungry, or she wouldn’t be stealing from the royal gardens. Gods know we have more than enough food.” 

King George nods, looking back at the girl for a moment. “And then?” 

“Why take any more action? There was no malicious intent. It’s our job to take care of our people, not throw the hungry ones in prison.” 

King George smiles at his son, and for a moment, he feels hope. Maybe, just maybe, his father will see the truth in what he is saying, will be fair for the first time in his life. 

But then he stands up, wiping his hands on his black dress pants. “And that’s why you’re not king yet.” He turns to the guards. “Take her to the dungeons. And give her a piece of bread or something, I suppose.” 

Before David can say a word, King George turns on his heel and walks out of the throne room. As the girl is hauled back to her feet, David tries his best to give her a look filled with sympathy, but he has no idea if she took it that way. 

One day, he’s going to be a benevolent king. One day, none of his people will go hungry, and they will certainly not be sent to the dungeons just for trying to get a bite to eat. For now, though, maybe all he can do is be nice to this one, single young woman. It really is the least he can do. 

  He waits until he is no longer under the watchful supervision of his father, until he has finished the rest of his duties for the day, but then he makes his way down to the kitchens. 

“Hey, Granny,” he says, knocking on the door to the kitchen, though it already stands open. He knows the woman has another name, must have been told of it at some point, but everyone just calls her Granny — except his father, who refers to her only as “the cook,” even to her face. In reality, though, she is much more than that. Though she does not technically run their household, she does most of the work related to it, from running the kitchens to making sure the maids and servants do their jobs as they should. David knows the household would fall apart without her, and therefore always offers her a smile when he finds himself down in the kitchens, or when he runs into her in other parts of the palace. 

“Good evening, your highness,” she says, turning her attention to him for only a moment before turning her attention back to the pot in front of her on the stove. As always, she is stoic, unsmiling, but he has learned that is just how she is, and not to take offense of it, even when the rest of their staff always manage a smile in his direction — and a fake one when his father is around. 

It’s no secret that the household staff prefer the prince over his father. Sometimes they even whisper amongst themselves about how someone as rude as King George could have raised a son like David, who has grown into a polite and understanding young man. 

“What brings you down here this evening?” 

“My father threw a young woman in the dungeons earlier for stealing from the palace gardens, and I would like to make sure she gets a nice, hot meal.” 

This pulls one of the very rare smiles across Granny’s face as she puts down her spoon and wipes her hands on her apron. “Gods bless you, sire.” 

“It really is the least I could do,” he says, leaning back against the doorway, his eyes watching the old woman puttering around the room but the rest of him unmoving. “I tried to talk my father into letting her go — all she wanted was a meal — but he threw her in the dungeons nonetheless.” 

“I was a little girl when your grandfather was king,” she says, adding a few pieces of bread to the tray. “And have lived most of my life in this palace, seeing firsthand how the citizens of the Gale have been treated.” When she turns to look at the prince, his eyes have fallen to the floor, so she takes the tray in her hands and stands before him with it, waiting for him to look up at her. “I’ve been waiting for a ruler like you my whole life, your highness. I only hope that I shall live to see you take your father’s place on the throne.” 

He smiles at the woman, taking the tray of food out of her hands. “The rumor around here is that you’re never going to die,” he says with a wink, then turns and leaves the kitchen, another small smile spreading across the old woman’s face as she shakes her head. 

  He’s happy to see that the guards placed her in the first cell, the one that gets the most light during the day through the old iron gate at the top of the stairs. She is sitting alone in the corner, as far from the door as she can get, and her eyes follow him in what’s left of the light as he walks the few paces down the hallway to reach the door of her cell. 

Neither of them speak, even as he sets the tray of food down on the ground and pushes it through the slot at the bottom of the cell. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, running his index finger along one of the cold iron bars, but then he sits down on the floor, his back against the bars, facing away from her. He wasn’t planning on staying, certainly wasn’t planning on making conversation with her, but there are words coming from his mouth before he can stop them. “My father is an unjust ruler, but there’s not much I can do about it for now. All I can do is go behind his back and try to be the kind of king I want to be someday when he’s not looking. Today was the first time he even asked for my opinion on something, but certainly not the first time I’ve spoken out to him about it, though you saw how he responded to it.” He doesn’t dare to turn his head towards her, but out of the corner of his eye, he notices that she’s slowly moving towards the tray of food, taking the sandwich off the tray. “I’m sorry for the way my father treated you today. I would really — I would like to help you, if you’ll let me.” 

Her voice is soft, but still the fact that she speaks startles David a bit. “You have helped me already.” 

David smiles, fully turning to her and happy to see she has accepted the food he brought as she takes a bite of the sandwich. “I mean once you’re out from behind these bars.” 

“What do you think you could do for me?” There is spite in her voice again, spite that must come from years of being on her own and learning not to trust anyone, David realizes, but does not want to push her to the point where she thinks he is overdoing it. 

He turns away from her again, hoping to keep her trust. “If you’ll allow me — and if you would like — I can try to get you a job working for someone at the palace. I could at least promise you a meal or two a day, though I may also be able to find you a place to stay, depending on what you would be willing to do.” 

For a while, she is silent, slowly eating the sandwich before she begins picking at the pile of grapes. “What would I have to do to have a place to stay?” Her voice is small, showing David a side of her that he doesn’t think very many people get to see, a vulnerability that he can tell she has learned to hide under a thick skin. 

“Have you discovered any powers yet?” He’s not sure how old she is, if he has become of age for her abilities to begin to show themselves. 

“No, not — not yet.” 

“And what about your parents? Did they have powers?” 

“I… never knew my parents. I was left on the steps of one of the temples when I was just a few days old.” 

He’s quiet for another few moments, thinking about it all. “I think the palace healers are searching for an apprentice, actually. I’ll go check with them this evening and come back in the morning to free you and see what I’ve come up with.” 

He stands to leave, not expecting anything else from her, so when he hears a very quiet “thank you” come from behind him, he can’t stop himself from turning back towards her, though he has nothing to say. 

“Why did you help me?” she asks, and he backtracks the three steps he’s taken away from her cell. 

“I would like to be the kind of leader who helps as many people as I can, and it’s never too early to start.” 

“You’re a good man, your highness.” 

“David. Please, just call me David.” He wants to ask the question that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he’s also afraid to; he knows that sometimes orphans are left without a name, but he feels a deep calling to befriend this small, blonde girl currently sitting in his father’s dungeons. So he asks it anyway: “Would you like to tell me your name?” 

They share a smile. In this moment, Emma decides on a surname for the first time in her life. “Emma. Emma Swan. And thank you… David.”

  “Can we stop for a minute?” Mary Margaret asks, leaning against a tree right off the path. “Please?” 

None of them refuse. Killian even looks a little relieved, though he tries to hide his face from them as he digs through his pack, searching for snacks. Most of them dive straight into their supplies, searching for something, since Emma hasn’t yet honed the ability to conjure food like Belle and Merlin have — though, thankfully, most of them still have a fair amount of the food they packed in the first place because of the powers of their more magic-inclined friends. 

Water, however, she is more than able to conjure, filling everyone’s canteens and bottles as they pass them to her — even with Milah insisting that the water on the island is more than safe. 

"We don't want to take any unnecessary chances," David explains, handing Mary Margaret her bottle back. "Especially since we are no longer following the map Pan gave us. Who knows what kind of tricks he still has for us."

Killian, though he doesn’t seem to be listening to their conversation, has pulled the map out of his back pocket and has spread it across his legs, his attention on it instead the rest of the group. But his mind is very, very far away, the same place it has been for the last few hours, save when he has needed to point out something along the trail. 

He's torn. Torn between the choices lying before him, and torn apart by everything that has been thrown at him recently. He never imagined he would see Milah again, especially never imagined that he would have to choose between two women with Milah being one of them. Part of him — most of him, if he’s honest with himself — doesn’t know if he can even trust her, knowing what he learned in the Cave. The mother of the man that has become his enemy, the man who killed his brother and tortured him. 

And then there’s Emma. Days ago, even hours ago, he thought he was in love with her. His only question was whether or not he was going to make it off this island, whether he would have the chance to spend some of his life beside her. 

But now he knows their connection is fake — or, Emma believes it’s fake. Killian realizes, looking across the path to where she is sitting against a tree, her eyes shut, that, to him, it doesn’t even matter. Magic or not, prophecy or not, he’s in love with her.

Turning to Milah, he finds himself surprised by his lack of feeling for her, even as she smiles warmly at him. A smile that he has missed so much over the last twelve years, a smile he never thought he would see again. Still, he feels nothing. Not even hatred, not anger — just… nothing. 

Well, there’s his decision then. He’s not sure that he will ever get past Emma’s disdain towards their connection, but he at least knows that she is the one he chooses.  

If he makes it off this island. 

  A twig snaps behind David, bringing up the rear of the group, and he cannot quite move fast enough to simultaneously whip around and pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, calling for Emma's attention. At the last moment, he watches as the young boy that has appeared behind him knocks an arrow on his obviously-homemade bow, and he readies himself for the impact of the crude arrow into his flesh, his finger unable to pull the trigger with an enemy who looks so young. 

But the impact never comes. When he opens his eyes, Emma is standing in front of him, her hands out before her — and the hazy waves emitting from them are holding the arrow, mid-flight, in the air between them. 

Suddenly, a battle cry sounds in the forest around them, other young boys armed with spears and arrows (and David even thinks he sees a slingshot) appear from behind the trees. 

Their group stands unmoving, though their weapons are drawn, as the boys start to move around them, none of them able to bring themselves to fire their weapons at an enemy that looks so much like young boys. 

"They're enchanted, I told you this!" Milah cries, the only one of them unarmed, and she tries to cower behind Robin, who is having none of it. "They look like boys, but they're not!" 

Another one, this one significantly taller and older-looking, pushes through the trees, the smile on his face somehow calling attention to the large scar that runs down his cheek. "And I can assure you that nothing will hold us back from killing you." 

This is apparently the push Robin needs to act, and he releases an arrow at one of the closest of Pan's followers, catching the arm of his jacket and pinning it against the tree. He and Mary Margaret continue with this approach, successfully taking four of the boys out of battle, but it's almost as if they're immediately replaced with four more. 

And each of them are looking towards the tall boy with the scar for their orders. 

When Emma realizes this, she focuses all of her energy on him, though it takes all of the concentration she has to try to hold him still, her powers in battle still very new to her. 

They're still afraid to act, even as the boys begin loosing arrows in their direction. When Emma realizes that freezing their leader isn't helping, she releases him, trying to find somewhere better to focus her powers — and she finds it in a protective barrier around them, stopping many of the boys' arrows. 

But not all of them. Just as Emma begins to feel more confident in her abilities, she senses something came through anyway, and it almost breaks her concentration to turn her head for a moment in the direction she thought she felt it. 

She wishes she hadn't, though, because all she finds is Robin laying on the ground, the twig-end of one of the boy's crude arrows sticking out of the flesh of his thigh. 

"I can help!" she says, but the rest of the group seems to shout No! at the same time, and Milah kneels beside him. 

“Can’t you do something… more?” David asks, and Emma rolls her eyes. 

“I’m doing the best I can here.” 

“You’re doing great, love,” Killian mutters from beside her, bumping his shoulder into hers, then fires a shot at one of the boys, the first shot fired from any of their pistols. It just hits the side of the boy's leg, and he falls to the ground gripping it — but the rest of the boy's stop in their tracks, eyes wide and directed at Killian. 

Silence has fallen around them. 

"What is that?" the oldest of them, the one with the scar, asks, staring at the pistol in Killian's hand. 

It never occurred to them that the Lost Boys haven't seen newer, updated weapons. It never occurred to most of them that Pan would have boys on the island who can't age, who have been stuck here for gods know how long. 

"It's a pistol, you dunce," another of them says, aiming his bow once more — 

— and, somehow, Emma is overcome by a surge of power, emitted from her hands in a blinding flash of white light, sending all of the Lost Boys flying backwards and knocking many of them unconscious. 

"Bloody brilliant, love," Killian mumbles, knocking against her shoulder again as he returns his pistol to the holster. 

Emma whips around, first towards Robin before realizing that David has also come out of the battle wounded. 

"Alright," she says, helping David sit against a tree, her hand pressed against the scrape on the side of his ribs. "Am I allowed to help now?" 

She tries to smile at David, but it doesn't really take — and David certainly doesn't return it. 

Because when she lifts his shirt, the gash on his ribs has already started turning black. She glances over her shoulder, searching for him, but she knows he is seeing the same that she is. 

"Dreamshade," Killian mumbles, kneeling beside her on the ground. "What bloody luck." 

#captain swan #cs ff #wordsbymeganmichael #my writing #the wasteland #sorry tumblr sucks #and sorry theres no cut bc apparently you cant do that on mobile anymore #anyway heres chapter 11 #that i thought i posted but apparently did not #which was like a late christmas present to me #since i was stressin over ch 12