#and thought 'Finally a decent idea Miss Crane!'.

[stromuprisahat]

When people get a little too happy in here, I like to kill some Capitol kids to let them know nobody's safe.

Dr. Gaul, probably

#The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes #Dr. Volumnia Gaul #meme #Clemensia Dovecote #Apollo Ring #Diana Ring #Gaius Breen #Androcles Anderson #V #I mean #Clem survived #and so did Androcles #but I'm pretty sure the bombing was her work. #She looked at stupid dead Archne #and thought 'Finally a decent idea Miss Crane!'.

[seriouslysnape]

Loving Every Inch

Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Language. Body image issues. Very brief sexual content.

Word Count: 1,461

“What about me had you so preoccupied?”

The rain fell steadily from the gray skies outside. The pattering of the rain on the roof was a monotonous drum in your ears as you subconsciously listened to it. Thousands of raindrops stuck to the windows and raced one another down to the bottom of the sill, leaving a wet trail behind them as they slid down the glass. Every few minutes or so, a roll of thunder would boom off in the distance causing Neville to flinch in your hold. He had straggled his way to your dorm, knocking on the door quietly as always, no matter how many times you told him that he didn’t have to knock.

He entered after you gave him permission, not saying a word until he had crashed on your bed. He found himself settled between your legs with his head resting on your chest. He mumbled a sweet, but brief “hello” before growing quiet. He had a rough week between a heavy workload and several exams that he had studied countless hours for. Over the course of the last five days, he had been by your side whenever he had a free chance (which still wasn’t very often). He had told you all about his shitty week and how it was seemingly endless. But alas, Friday was finally here and his hellish week was over.

You could feel the strain in his shoulders when you rubbed them, and the tension all over the rest of his body. Your fingers combed through his soft, dark hair that was strewn about his head. Neville usually put a decent amount of effort into making his hair look nice, but the way it was now showed otherwise. He had become a little more careless as the week had gone on, and his hair was the last of his worries. On top of that, he had been growing it out to “try a new look”, and it had developed a bit of a curl to it as it became lengthier. 

He babbled out a rather muffled sentence at the feeling of your nails scratching lightly at his head. You cocked your head to the side as you peered down at your boyfriend, wondering what in the world he had just said.

“Say again, Nev?” You requested.

“I said I’ll fall asleep if you keep that up.” He repeated, referring to the way you were massaging at his head.

You let out an airy laugh, ceasing the movement with your fingers.

“Sorry,” You apologized, “You can take a nap if you want.”

“I want to spend time with you, flower. I’ve hardly seen you.” He remarked, shaking his head in refusal.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere in this weather.” You referred to the nasty weather outside.

Neville turned his head to rest his chin on your chest to be able to look up at you. You could see it in his eyes that this week had done a number on him, but he seemed perfectly content where he was now. You swept some of the hair out of his face, his pupils dilating at the sentiment.

“Can we just lay here? Maybe talk for a bit?” He asked, his voice sounding small, “I’ve missed you, tulip.”

You smiled genuinely at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a nod.

“Sure. We can stay here,” You granted, “Did you have a good day?”

He shrugged, his head craning to the side just a touch as he continued to look at you.

“It’s better now. I...I’ve been thinking about you all day.” He admitted.

“Oh? All good things I hope.” You joked.

“Of course, love. I would never think badly of you.” He replied instantly.

“I know, Nev. I was just kidding,” You laughed, taking his face into your palms, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs, “What about me had you so preoccupied?”

A sweet smile appeared on his face, his eyes brightening with happiness.

“I was thinking about how you’re so pretty; I couldn’t wait for the day to be over so I could see you...so I could touch you,” He explained, his hands trailing from your waist to your hips, “Haven’t seen you all week and I missed feeling you.”

“I missed you. I’m proud of you for working so hard.” You complimented him.

His voice had faded into a huskier tone, his eyes practically gleaming with anticipation. He pressed  a kiss just above your navel through your sweater, his fingertips curling around the hem of it. He went to lift it over your body, but you stopped his hands.

“Wait, don’t. I don’t...want to do this right now.” You blurt out, shimmying higher against the headboard away from him.

He caught your panicked tone and his shoulders dropped. Normally, if you weren’t feeling up to sex he’d just mumble a short “okay” and then move on. This time, though, he could tell it was something more than you just not feeling like it.

“But...I want to touch you. I want to make love to you.” He said, returning to his normal tone.

He kissed a few more times against the material of your sweater as he awaited a response. Body image was something that you had struggled with countless times before. It was something that Neville had always been willing to help you work through, praising you and assuring you that he thought you were perfect. It helped some, but some days were better than others.

“I know, angel, I just...don’t want to.” You lied.

Neville’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. It had been quite a while since you had shied away when he tried to take your clothes off. He figured that since you hadn’t really been around each other lately that you had fallen back into a pit of doubt.

“If this is about your body, [Y/N], you know that I think you’re stunning,” He hushed out, his fingers dancing along your sides, “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You looked away from him, watching the layer of raindrops on the window from the steady storm outside. When you didn’t give him a response, he continued on.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I want you to see yourself the way that I do,” He stated, “I’ll never pressure you into anything, but I do love you. I love every inch of you.” 

He gazed up at you with pure admiration and desire. He would tell you for the rest of your life that he thought you were the most wonderful human to ever walk into his life. He cherished you and everything about you. He hated that you sold yourself short.

“I love you, Nev. I guess it’s just hard to see myself as beautiful.” You responded, nervously twirling at the hair on the back of his head.

His lips upturned into a slight smile, his head pinging with an idea.

“Can I show you?” He questioned.

“Show me?” You echoed.

“How beautiful you are?” He elaborated.

Your heart took a leap, but despite your hesitation, you nodded. His hands returned to the bottom of your sweater, but waited before trying to remove it.

“Can I...take this off?” He asked, pausing before doing anything.

You nodded again, and he whipped it off of your upper half. Neville’s eyes widened and his cheeks went red when he saw your breasts peeking over the top of your bra. You could feel the warmth of his blush under your fingertips, something that you always found endearing. Neville was easily flustered. He was shy, and it didn’t take much to have him red in the face. He had become much more confident with you over time to the point where he wasn’t constantly bashful around you. Although, your tits never failed to bring a pink tinge to his face.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty…” He almost whispered, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your right breast, “All mine too. Thank Merlin I don’t have to share with anyone. Not sure I’d like that.”

His kisses moved up your chest to your neck where he stopped to suck softly in a few of your more sensitive neck areas. His hands were gentle on your body, one cupping your breast and the other beginning to fiddle with the side of your knickers.

“Neville…” You breathed out when he sucked just below your jugular.

“Mmhm?” He hummed, not interested in stopping what he was doing.

“I want you to…” You sighed when he moved to your other side, “...to fuck me.”

He chuckled kindly into your skin, capturing your lips in a deep kiss before complying.

“Anything for you, my pretty girl.”

#neville longbottom #neville longbottom x y/n #neville longbottom x you #neville longbottom x female reader #neville longbottom x fem! reader #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom smut #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom oneshot #seriouslysnape

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x self insert #mgg #gublernation #matthew gray gubler fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[sumsebien]

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

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[abluescarfonwaston]

“Damnit Lambert!” He coughed violently. Rolling over to curl in on himself. “Why didn’t you warn me you had a bad batch of tawny owl?”

He wrapped the cut on his leg. Scrapping guts off his armor. “What are you on about. It was fine.” He wanted to roll up into a ball too but the cramping was only going to get worse and they still had to get a trophy off the damn thing.

“This,” Aiden groaned pathetically. “Is not fine.

“This is what fucking tawny owl does Aiden!” The pain making him snappish. “It helps and then it wears off and you want to claw out your guts. That’s how it fucking works cause this life is a goddamn nightmare!” He stabbed between the vertebrae hard and severed its head quickly.

“Fuck what?” Aiden rolled over. Sounding extra pathetic about it which just pissed him off more honestly. “Who taught you how to make potions Lambert? Cause I need to stab them.”

 He spun on him. Knife to his throat. “Don’t ever fucking threaten them Cat.”

Aiden watched him. His slow heart beating faster than Aiden’s. The stench of the corpse filling their noses. The potion curdling their guts. “Sorry.”

He hated that. How earnestly he apologized. He sat back against a rock. Stared at the things leathery skin. “Vesemir taught us.” Aiden waited. Or maybe he just couldn’t think of a response over the pain. “He was a fencing instructor. He taught us what he remembered but. It’d been a long time since he learned.”

“Lambert?” He groaned. “If this is what all your potions are like then destroying that bag would be an act of love for you and self-defense on my part.”

“They’re not. All this bad.” He defended but honestly some of them were far worse. “Swallow’s decent.”

“Lambert?” He grunted. “You’re a great fighter. But we are never using your potions again.”

He took a sip of the freshly made Petri’s Philter. To test it out. He’d made it like Aiden had shown him but it was the first time he’d done it himself.

“You cheater! Taking a potion before we spar!” Eskel cuffed him.

“I was checking if it came out right.” An idea popped into his head. “You can use one too. Petri’s Philter. See whose works better.”

“Not a fair comparison.” Geralt pointed out. “Eskels better at signs than the rest of us.”

“What are you scared?”

Eskel eyed him unimpressed but went to grab his. Took a swig. “How do we want to do this?”

“Who can toss Geralt the furthest?” He suggested ruefully.

Geralt’s protests when unheard as Eskel launched him into the base of a snowbank with Aard.

He glared at them. Covered in snow.

“Come on Geralt! It doesn’t count if we use a different person the second time.”

“I’m going to throw both you in the river.”

“Just the loser.” Eskel argued.

“Then I don’t get to throw you in.” He grumbled crossing the courtyard to them.

“Nah I’m willing to take that bet.” They both looked at him like he was being daft.

He adjusted his glove. Don’t fail me now Aiden. Launched Geralt into the air.

He landed with an oft and a puff of white snow. Halfway up the snowbank.

He grinned as they sputtered.

“Guess it works.”

“How’d you learn this Lambert?” Vesemir asked as he copied down the last recipe Aiden had had the chance to teach him.

“Found a cache with the information.” The cache was another witcher but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

“Right.” He felt Vesemir watching him. Not believing him.

He dug his heels in. He didn’t owe the old man answers. Didn’t breathe a word as a cold wind whipped through the giant hole in the wall. He wondered if the Cats had caused that one. He didn’t ask but he wondered.

“Aiden what did you use in this necrophage oil?” He sniffed the vial walking over to him.

He perked up from his disappointment over how many less necrophages he’d killed to tell him.

He laughed full bodied and loud. Aiden wasn’t smiling when he finally managed to stop, wiping a tear from his eye.

“I thought you were just shit at fighting but that’s garbage. What’s it supposed to do? Make them itchy? Impotent? Hurt their feelings?”

“Well how do you make them then?”

Next spring he wondered how many Cats were using Vesemir’s recipes.

“Damnit.” He cursed. Shoving the broken arm piece back together. Trying to sow the gash closed.

Aiden watched him from across the fire. Lazily rotating the fish they’d bombed from the water. “You really need to just replace that mutt.”

“Fuck off pussy I don’t have the diagrams on me and were nowhere near anyone who knows how to make it.”

“Well no one’s going to be able to figure out what it was supposed to look like from that.”

He stared at the mangled and ruined armor in his hands. His fingers dug in and the thread he’d used on it snapped. It fell back apart.

He tossed it away with a frustrated scream and ran. Ran until his lungs burned and his feet ached and the exhaustion finally over powered the anger.

Aiden was asleep in his bedroll. His fish still waiting for him- although they had long gone cold. He chewed the small bones not bothering to pick them out.

A small set of papers sat rolled next to it.

He unrolled it.

Kicked Aiden.

“I can’t fucking wear this!” He shoved the diagram back to him.

“It’d be just until you could get new armor. You can’t work in a shirt and pants.”

“Cause Cat armor is a huge step up from that!”

Aiden scowled at him. “Oh cause people thinking for half a second you might be a Cat is worth dying over. Just show off your medallion and bark at them. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“You’re fucking right it is!” He grabbed his medallion and bared his teeth. “I’m not a Cat.”

They had murdered his school. Killed so many. Destroyed the closest thing he had to a home. It was a shitty home and he hated it. Some days he wished they’d finished the job. Some days he was glad he had a home at all.

Aiden face shuttered closed. “Well we can’t all be Wolves Lambert.”

In the morning he was long gone. The diagrams laying in the morning dew.

He picked them up.

However upset they’d be at him for wearing them wouldn’t match how upset they’d be if he didn’t come home. Probably.

He found a leatherworker and had a set made.

“What are you wearing?” Eskel blocked his entry. “I almost shot you Lambert.”

“Glad you didn’t.” He shoved him out of the way. “I’m tired. Piss off.”

He grabbed him. “If Vesemir sees you wearing that-“

“It was this or go without armor so Fuck Off Eskel.”

Eskel studied him. Let go. “Let me warn the others at least. You know that,” He motioned to the armor. “Is going to bring back bad memories.”

“Would you preferred I died out there?”

He raised his hands placating. “Didn’t say that. Happy you’re home.”

“Yeah well that makes one of us.”

No one asked about the armor. They left a set of wolf armor diagrams for him outside his door and he spent the winter in clothing and furs.

No one why he had cat armor. He didn’t offer to explain. He wouldn’t have answered if they did. Would have made it very clear it wasn’t a topic for discussion.

But no one asked.

He sat in his room and stared at it. It looked so similar to Aiden’s. Which of course it did.

We can’t all be wolves Lambert.

No. But why you have to be a cat? Anything else would have been fine.

He gasped short and quick and barely breathing at all. His eyes losing focus. Pinned to the tree by the dead monster’s antlers.

What a shitty way to go.

“Wooh. Glad I came. Thought I smelled wet dog.”

He raised his head. Vision spinning as he did.

A cat. His cat. Aiden.

The world went dark.

“Look who returns!” The fire popped as he opened his eyes. “Holding up alright?”

“Love questions like that.” He whispered as Aiden lifted his head and raised a potion to his lips. “Holding up? Holding up what? My dick?”

“Well you certainly are one so I wouldn’t put it past you.” The vial moved away. His head was lowered onto Aiden’s thigh.

“This is shit and you know it.”

“Yeah. It is.” Aiden craned his neck upward at the stars. “I was really looking forward to yelling at you.”

“Do it you pussy.”

“It’s no fun if your injured bitch.”

“What think I can’t take it?”

“Take what? My dick?” He chewed something loudly. “Come on. Even a lone hunter can use a helping hand some time.”

“Don’t quote Vesemir at me you prick.”

“Oh I’m a prick now? What an upgrade.” A different flask came back and he drank greedily. “And I wasn’t. Guxart said that.”

“Sounds like a dick.”

“No. I like dicks Lambert. He was pussy.”

He chuckled. Which hurt. It pulled at his wounds.

“Did you know it was me?”

“Knew it was a wolf.” He dropped some of the jerky on his chest. He nibbled on it. “Hoped it was you.”

“Would you have helped? If it wasn’t.”

He was quiet while he considered. If he weren’t so tired it would piss him off. “Yeah. I would have.” He believed him. Because it was Aiden. “Glad it was you though.”

“Why?”

“Cause I missed my mangy mutt. Who else is going to teach me how to fish with bombs?”

“I started building a boat. So I could do it on the lake.” He was starting to feel hazy. Aiden’s potions sometimes had painkillers going for them. Which was nice. “At Kaer Morhen.”

“Bet it’s going to leak like a drunkard.”

“Yeah. Bet it will.” He thought of the lake and keep. “I hate that place.”

“Can’t say I understand why you go back.”

“Why do you go back?”

“Go back where? At best the cats have a traveling caravan of misery these days. I don’t visit.”

“What? But winter sucks.”

“Not going to argue with that.”

He had a brilliant idea. “Come home with me. We can sink my boat together.”

Aiden looked down at him. So sadly. He reached up for him in confusion.

“They’re assholes but the keeps pretty big so we can just avoid them. We can sleep in my room. I’ve got a lot of nice furs. It’s pretty. Please?”

“Sure Lambert. Sure.” He cupped the hand that had found his cheek. Kissed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold that against you in the morning.”

“If you were there maybe I could breathe. Cause.” It was really hard to keep his eyes open. His hand was heavy in Aiden’s. “The one good thing this life gave me. Was there.”

“Love you Lambert. Love you too.”

“I asked you to come with me.” He said weeks later.

“I surprised you remember. You were pretty loopy at that point. Do you remember explaining why pigeons were the best bird too? Cause that was pretty funny.”

“You’re lying.”

“You wish I was.”

He scowled at him. “I don’t remember your answer.”

“I said I wouldn’t hold you to it in the morning obviously. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh.” The horses crunched gravel as they continued on. “I did mean it. I want you to come.”

Aiden kept his eyes ahead. “We both know that doesn’t matter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His horse picked up speed at his unintentional request. He tugged him in front of Aiden’s, halting him. “What I want doesn’t matter?”

“When has what we wanted ever mattered Lambert?” He flinched. Eyes stuck on Aiden’s reins.  “It was very sweet of you. But the other wolves would kill me for being in twenty miles of Kaer Morhen and we both know it.”

He couldn’t look away from his dark scarred hands. “Why’d you have to be a cat?”

“Why’d you have to be a wolf?” He moved his horse so they were side by side. Took his hand. “We get three out of four seasons together. That’s pretty damn good.”

“I want more. I want more than this life.”

“Hey. Maybe if you build good enough boats we can.” His hand squeezed. “We could be the first. Retire on some big lake and fish with bombs.”

“With a little house infested with mice because we can’t convince any cats to come within ten feet of us?” He into his golden eyes and for the first time could understand why people called them beautiful.

“With a tiny little house with a leaking roof that you always curse at.”

“We’re never going to get that are we?” He didn’t comment on the tears in Aidens eyes or the blur in his own.

“No.” Aiden squeezed his hand. “But it’s a nice dream isn’t it?”

“It’s awful. Why did you make the roof leak?”

“Why did you fill it with mice?”

“Cause I want it to be real.”

“So do I.”

They clicked their horses forward. Not letting go.

“So this house. Smells like rat shit huh?”

“Yeah. And our clothing gets all mildewy cause we just throw it in the lake to wash it and forget to hang it up.”

“Ugh. I hate that.”

“Yeah it’s awful.”

“But it’s ours?”

“It’s ours.”

“I had a friend. Aiden was his name.”

“Gonna retire to your vineyard wolf?”

“I might.”

“Good for you. Make sure Dandelion writes a song about your beer gut.”

“Lambert-“

“Pardon my interruption gentlemen.” Majordomo stepped into the room. “A gentleman just arrived looking for Master Lambert. It seems urgent.”

“Lambert?” Geralt shot him a confused look.

“Hey don’t look at me! I don’t know!”

“Let’s go met your guest.”

They pushed the door open and he looked to the left. Geralt to the right.

“Who are you?” Geralt asked. He turned to the newcomer.

He exhaled. “Aiden.” When he inhaled it was like coming up for air for the first time in months.

Scarred. Hair long. Covering one eye.

Alive.

“Hey Lambert. Been a while.”

“You fucking heartless asshole!” He yelled as he lifted him off the ground in a crushing embrace. “How fucking dare you.”

“Missed you too bitch.” As he attempted to break his ribs with the force of his hug. “Nice place you got here.”

“It’s Geralt’s and it sucks.”

“Yeah.” He mumbled into his ear. Not letting go. “Our place is gonna be way nicer.”

“With rat shit and everything.”

“Yeah.”

#lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #aiden x lambert #laiden #this entire fic is thanks to the line in the first witcher game #that was like 'vesemir taught us how to make potions but he's a fencing instructor so...' #Cross school education!!!!! #I very much want aiden to come to kaer morhen but man i can't see the wolves taking that well #so instead they get a shack on a lake and fish with bombs #cause i love canon and cant let go #what do you mean? Aiden obviously survived #he's FINE #writing #also Guxret or whatever is the cats fencing instructor who was friends with Vesemir #or so says the wiki

[ikemenfics]

The Kiss That Begins with C

Word Count: 1983

Happy valentine’s: The finale of our crazy crack comes to an end!  

“They went aft th' Uesugi Takeda alliance, too?”  The white haired man leaned back, looking all but flabbergasted hearing the recent events regarding the Oda and Takeda incidents.  “They mad?  That’s madness.”

The messenger nodded, agreeing with the pirate warlord, “There were no casualties though.  That’s the strangest part…”  They sat, contemplating their sake as they spoke.  

“So ye're tellin' me that a lone figure broke into th' Oda 'n Uesugi castles.  Nah only that, they went aft th' warrior monk, too.  Hmm..."  an idea spawned into Motonari’s head.  If he could get ahold of the geniuses that broke into the castles AND got to the warrior monk, that could spell complete chaos on all sides.  Motonari’s face broke into a grin at the thought, dismissing his subordinate.  

"Now all that's needed be gettin' th' apparent trespassers t' come t' me."

Elsewhere, around a table sat figures playing cards.  One perked his head up, gave a nod, then excused himself from the game.  Another figure reached to peek at his cards but found his hand smacked away before he could eye the hand.

Motonari had wandered into the woods.  His intention was to question Kennyo himself, as an “ally”, about the recent drama.  After all, Kennyo had also failed to take the town he had planned to raid.  There was definitely suspicious intelligence at work and if it was against Oda, Takeda/Uesugi, and Kennyo...they were people he definitely wanted to see.

His vision warped and he nearly fell over as his mind tried to reorient itself.  A point pierced reality, slicing cleanly downward.  A figure in white stepped from the tear in the world, giving a bow of flourish.

“Pardon me,” the man said, raising from his bow, “My name is Edgar and I have been commanded to bring you this.”  A small bag appeared in the man’s hand and was tossed towards the pirate warlord.  “You are to use this to bring joy-”

[Now’s me chance] Motonari didn’t let Edgar finish.  He charged towards the man, hitting him near his midsection, knocking him off balance.  The two tumbled into the tear in reality, Motonari already standing to dash away into the realm behind the tear.  Edgar stood and considered giving chase. “It seems, I must notify the king of my failure.”

Figures at the table started placing their cards down. “Straight.”

“Gay!”

“I got nothing.”

“Pair...10’s.” “Two pair, queens and aces.” “Go fish.” “Wrong game, but good try.” “What did Edgar have, though…” another hand reached for his cards.  “Royal Flush..ace high.  How?!” Before the conversation around the table could continue, a figure burst into the room, rushing past the players without a word.  Several pairs of confused eyes followed him as he left, Edgar close behind. “My king…” Edgar panted, “we have a breach.” 

Chaos erupted as everyone stood, dawning back their full uniforms, preparing to apprehend the man. “Wait.”  The red king glanced in the direction Motonari had gone, “Reinforcements might be needed.  We can’t risk the citizens.” “Agreed,” the black king nodded.

Orders were given and soon the members all split in two directions, some towards the border of reality, others into Cradle.

You were walking through the halls, delivering various repaired garments to their respective owners when the world warped. “AGAIN?!” Was all you could cry before familiar aqua hair appeared. “Yoohoo~!”  Seth stepped into reality, followed by a figure you’d never seen before.  His companion was tall...very tall.  You craned your neck to get a good look at him.  He stared down at you and you were sure he started hunching so you wouldn’t have to look up so far.  “We need your help,” the man said, “Where is your king?”

You and your new guests arrived at the war room to alert Nobunaga and co.  There wasn’t a meeting and messengers had to be sent, leaving time for introductions between you, Sirius, and Seth Hyde. “A queen?  But you’re a...?” You trailed off, letting the question hang lest you accidentally offended someone. “Not that kind of queen, little lady.” “More like a queen in a deck of cards, second to the king, as it were.”

The war room doors slid open with a loud thwack as men charged into the room.  “Motonari has done what?!”  Hideyoshi’s cry preceded him as men filed into the room.

You explained, “They said that Motonari walked through the tear that the strange man with the chocolate had made.  They are asking for help in tracking him..” “I can track him easily.”  Mitsuhide turned to Nobunaga, awaiting his orders.

“You can’t track him in another land, Mitsuhide,” came Hideyoshi’s response, “Even you aren’t that talented.  Damn that thrice cursed cur for causing all this trouble!  Nobunaga-sama, let me lead men into the realm and we will bring him back for your justice.” “Hey, now,” Sirius interrupted, “Calm down.  We have armies, we need someone who knows the pirate to help us track him.  We don’t need more war on our hands.”

“I will *not* calm down.  Not while that lunatic pirate heathen is out there causing trouble.” “So you’re just going to make more trouble for everyone trying to stop his?  Great plan,” Ieyasu crossed his arms, watching Hideyoshi fume.

“If we’re sending people out to track, I can help,” Masamune said, “I got speed to go with Mitsuhide’s intelligence.  We’ll bring him back in no time.” “And probably with half your parts missing, too,” Ieyasu muttered to no one in particular. “I haven’t lost any yet!” “Care to adjust that eyepatch?  I think it’s blinding your good eye.” Nobunaga raised a hand, all bickering coming to a halt.  “I will send Mitsuhide and Masamune.”  He stood, intending on leaving the war council when a thought struck him, “You’ll take my lucky charm with you.  I can’t risk losing two of my best to this task.”

Meanwhile, in a tower, two men sat and discussed a possible alliance. “YOu are telling me you can rid me of both armies and all I have to do is give you lodgings?  You can’t be serious.” “I be perfectly serious.  I needs them in chaos as much as ye do.”

Amon sighed, moving a bishop across the board, “Then it seems I have little choice as you already ransacked much of our stash.  Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“A scallywag has t' throw away all th' rules o' fightin' if he hopes t' survive th' sea.  Thar be no honor outside o' yer crew among pirates.  Even then…”

And so it was that you, Masamune Date, and Mitsuhide Akechi found yourselves in Cradle.  It was a wonder to your eyes.  You’d read about the elaborate rose gardens of Europe, but nothing quite correctly encompassed what assaulted your senses.  The roses were perfectly red and bushes all but made a wall around you.  There was a large table, a red and black table cloth covering the wood.  You found other figures and a shocking sight. “Shingen-sama?!  Yukimura-kun?  And Sasuke-san?!” Yuki blanched but Shingen was quicker, “Ah, so they have acquired the aid of a goddess.  I do not have to worry so much about being out of my element, for surely we now have luck on our side.”

“Masamune,” a man whom Sirius had been speaking with while you gawked approached, “You will work with Luka and Fenrir, my jack and ace.  I’m told you make a rather formidable ace yourself.” Masa nodded his agreement to the team, moving to join them. “Luka, first we need to prepare rations for the search parties.  Fenrir, get the gear ready for them.  Masa can help with either.” “I’ll cook,” the one eyed dragon stated. “Roger that,” came Luka’s response. “On it,” Fenrir’s.

“Oh...I was told to give you this..” Ray lifted your hand, placing a small kiss in it.  This kiss was different than previous kisses, for this one’s wrapping was brown with lighter tan stripes.  A caramel Hershey’s kiss.  You glanced up confused and all Ray said was, “I don’t know.  I was just told to give it to you.  I’m sure you’ll find out why later.”

Parties split, each moving to their respective headquarters, leaving you to follow the black army somewhat helplessly.  You moved from the garden to a place called Central Quarter and from there to the Black Army Bridge.

You, however, didn't get to cross it.  An arm shot out, your mouth covered as you were dragged away.  In an alley, figures in white examined you.  They seemed to be confirming something before a flash of light found you in a new place.

“I did warn ya nah t' let me catch ye, once, seamstress.”  Your eyes widened as you met Motonari’s.

“How did you even get here?”  You had a million questions but you had to keep calm, buy time, the others would find you, right?  In that time, you needed to get Motonari to spill all you could get from him. “Doors don't jus' open one sided, seamstress,” Motonari said, “When th' scallywag wit' th' thin cutlass sliced th' world, I jus' stepped into his side o' it.”

You pressed more, trying to ask where you were, who the people in robes were, but Motonari was done with talking.  He held up a bag that you recognized.

“Wha' th' heck are these?  th' metal be lame 'n doesn't make decent bullets, but th' brown stuff underneath be too soft fer anythin'.”

“They’re...kisses…” you said, weakly, realizing what your task was going to wind up being.

He eyed the bag, questioning your sanity or education regarding displays of affection.  It was a familiar conversation.

“Strange thin' t' call these.  But I didn' make 'em so I don't much care.  Take 'em.”

You shook your head, realizing what you had to do.  “You can’t just thrust them at someone.  There’s an order to things.”  You removed the caramel kiss from your kimono, holding it out to him. “It’s diff’rent.” He took the sweet and you leaned, kissing his jaw.  Motonari’s entire body went stiff at the touch, the man turning into an almost human statue.  Moving back you held out your hand. “Now you can give me one kiss.  That’s it.”

Motonari eyed you in shock.  He silently took a kiss from the bag, flicking it at you.  You caught it, almost fumbling trying to hold onto it.  You closed your eyes, waiting for the kiss but none came.

Opening your eyes, you found him smirking at you.  “Didn' realize ye were that way fer me..”  He took the bag, placing the whole thing in your hands.  Your hands holding the bag, he took the opportunity to seize your face in his own.  “Now, where's me kisses?” His mouth pressed against yours, his tongue already invading.  It was passionate, him breaking on occasion to nip and lick, before pressing his lips to yours again.  You moaned at the attention before he finally parted.

“Was that a bag's worth o' kisses?”  You stared at Motonari, nodding in response.

The tower rumbled, panicked voiced filling the areas around you.  Motonari took your hand, both of you leaving as the world seemed to stretch and strain against some chaotic movement.  You traveled to the garden, through the tear and back into the woods that Motonari had once occupied.  You panted, catching your breath, and glanced back to the pirate, only for him to cover your eyes.

“Don't stare at me anymore wit' those eyes.  They look too deep.  I don't like that.  Go galleon.  Ye're nah far from th' Oda.” You stumbled home, finding everyone had made it safe.  The rips in the world had been repaired, everyone back where they belonged.  You, though, found yourself staring again at the forest where a pirate seemed a little honest to you.

“Huh...bag’s worth, indeed, Motonari.”

What happened to the tower? Dunno You wrote it? Look, shoehorning...shoehorning They ok? Probably Didn’t you promise us Jonah About that... You’re not giving us much. Look here- -flings Edgar at you and flees- At least this is the last time...

#Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen #crack #Ikemenfics #Motonari Mori #Crossover

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump Day 6

Prompt: Insomnia

Summary: The Disaster Lineage™ has a long history of being horrible at getting the sleep they need.

Read on AO3

Good Sleep is Hard to Find

"It's called insomnia, Obi-Wan," the Twilek healer looks unamused as she sits across from him. "And no, it's not normal."

Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't particularly like going to the healers. In fact, he avoids them as much as he can. Unfortunately, in this case, Master Che cornered him as he left the training sala and practically dragged him by the ear to her office.

"It really is not too bad. I've grown accustomed to-"

"To what? Four hours of sleep? On a good night?" Master Che rolls her eyes. "You Jedi Knights are going to give me an aneurysm one day."

"I do hope not, Master. Then all of us would be walking around with untreated concussions and scantily wrapped blaster wounds."

She leans back in her chair, her bright blue eyes softening. "Yes, likely. Listen, I brought you here because your little late-night training sessions have found their way down the rumor mill. People are concerned for you."

Obi-Wan glances out the window at the darkened megapolis. He didn't think anyone knew he would go to the training rooms when he couldn't sleep. Though, nothing can really happen in this temple without every other knight and padawan hearing about it.

"I figured it was a good way to tire myself out."

"Well lucky for you, you won't have to do katas at three in the morning anymore," she reaches into her desk and slides two pill bottles across the table. Obi-Wan gingerly picks them up, looking up at her inquisitively. "One is a natural supplement. Think of it as your first line of defense. If you're not feeling tired at bedtime, take this first. It's the natural hormone your body produces to make you fall asleep. Very safe."

"Right. And this one?" he shakes the other. A flicker of a smirk appears on her lips.

"That's the good stuff. It should knock you right out, but only take one pill a night, max."

Seems easy enough. Obi-Wan looks between the two bottles, internally a little glad Master Che corralled him into here. He is not keen on drugs usually, but his current situation has become quite distressing... Maybe he'll finally get a decent sleep.

"And if neither work?" he asks, a little fearful of her answer.

"I'll be impressed if the second doesn't work, but I suppose I can teach your padawan how to do a proper sleep suggestion."

He points an accusatory finger at her. "You wouldn't dare!" The healer smiles fully now, shaking her head. As she looks at him longer, her smile fades again into sympathy.

"Obi-Wan, I do hope you plan on using these medicines. Insomnia is very common, and you are certainly not the only Jedi Knight on this regimen."

He sighs, clutching the bottles in his fist. "I just don't understand why I can't sleep, I suppose. Anakin tires me out his fair share, and I feel exhausted, I just can't seem to actually sleep."

"Well," she shifts in her seat. "It tends to get worse in times of stress-- like having a teenage padawan... or when processing trauma."

Red. So much red, and the sight of a lightsaber through Qui-Gon's abdomen flashes through his mind. He blinks away the image, though he knows it will be there in his dreams anyway. It always is. But he isn't here to discuss that, even if Master Che seems insistent on doing a full exam on him while she has him trapped in the halls.

"Right, well," he stands. "I should let you get your own sleep and try to get some of my own."

She looks a little disappointed as he pines for the door but she stands and they bow goodbye. "I don't want to hear about any more nighttime training sessions, Knight Kenobi. I have eyes and ears everywhere, you know."

He smiles. "Yes, Master Che, I understand."

Yet somewhere between the Halls of Healing and Obi-Wan's apartment, he seems to forget their understanding. He sits on his bed, staring at the bottles in either hand. The morning will be upon Coruscant in a short few hours, and he can't risk being knocked out and missing morning meditation and training with Anakin. He sets the bottle of sleeping pills on his side table and looks at the supplements. She claimed these were natural, only a mild aid... perhaps he can at least try these for his few hours of sleep.

They go down easy with water, and he lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His muscles are still buzzing from hours of repeating kata after kata, honing his acrobatics, and dueling with the training droids. It baffles him how his body can feel so exhausted but he doesn't find a wink of sleep. The reality of his sleeplessness is a number barely present in the back of his mind. He tries not to think about it as the hours tick up. Twenty-four hours. Thirty-six hours. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.

The worst part is he is trying to sleep. Truly. He wants nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow and to blink out of consciousness for a good six hours or so. But to no avail. He envies the other knights who have taught themselves to sleep whenever they can, wherever they can. In the deep wells of the Temple windows, pilot chairs of ships, standing up in some cases. Sometimes he is tempted to ask them their secret, but he suspects that just like he is wired to be awake forevermore, they are made to find their rest.

Everything is the will of the Force, isn't it? Qui-Gon always told him there was a reason for everything. A plan that he may not be able to see now, but later he will. His greatest comfort has always been that there will one day be a purpose for the agony he goes through. One day it will all make sense.

He closes his eyes. Maybe that will help. He doesn't feel drowsy but he isn't sure if he is supposed to with this supplement.

Obi-Wan can feel the edges of sleep nearby. He tries to grab them, hang onto the feeling of spiraling into blissful unconsciousness, but it's like a switch he can't reach. He rolls to his side, squeezing his eyes shut again. Tries to push out every thought from his mind, but somehow thinking about how he needs to think about nothing is more occupying to his mind than actually thinking about anything else.

So he lies there. Switches to his other side. Back to his back. Experiments with lying on his stomach, and decides it cranes his neck too much. And when he finds himself on his back for the third time he realizes the light has slowly crept into his room and Anakin's alarm is blaring on the other side of their apartment.

He sighs. Sits up and rubs his eyes. Fifty-five hours.

Obi-Wan struggles his way through their meditation. His heavy intake of caff made him jittery and his lack of sleep made getting a good grasp on the Force difficult. Even Anakin seemed to notice his lack of propriety, which only made Obi-Wan feel worse. After lunchtime, Obi-Wan goes to one of his knight elective courses. It's saber training concentrating on Form III, which he usually enjoys, but today he lingers near the back of the group. His vision is starting to get hazy, and things look as though they are moving when he knows they aren't. After getting hit by three training bolts that he should have been able to deflect, he decides to bench himself for the remainder of the class.

He has a feeling this will get back to Master Che, but he doesn't care anymore.

Anakin is back from his own classes when he gets back to his apartment. The padawan is lounging on the couch with a datapad balanced on his knees. When he sees Obi-Wan come through the door, he jumps up.

"Master you're back!" he says with more enthusiasm than Obi-Wan is used to from his teenage apprentice.

"Anakin, hello," he says, raising an eyebrow and glancing around the apartment. "What did you break?"

Anakin crosses his arms. "Why do you think I broke something?"

Obi-Wan sets down his training bag by the door. "Just a feeling, I suppose."

"Well a wrong feeling, Master," he says, walking with long strides into the kitchen. Yes, he is definitely up to something.

Anakin pulls out two plates, each with sandwiches stacked tall with meat. Obi-Wan also suddenly realizes the kettle is on the stove and two mugs are sitting out, prepped with tea bags.

"I asked one of the Masters what kinds of food help people go to sleep. They said turkey and chamomile tea are good," Anakin looks up at him hesitantly. "I thought maybe some turkey sandwiches and tea for dinner may help you... you know. Sleep better."

Obi-Wan feels like he might cry. He blames it on the sleep deprivation but seeing the effort Anakin put into a problem he had no idea his padawan even picked up on touches him. The boy can be a terror sometimes, but Qui-Gon was right about his kindness. Obi-Wan smiles, walking up to the fourteen-year-old and squeezing his shoulder.

"This looks wonderful, Anakin. I have been having some sleep troubles, and I'm sorry if I worried you."

"When I can't sleep I like to try to tire myself out. Have you tried that, Master?"

He smiles softly. More than you know, young one. "Unfortunately, Master Che was not too happy with that method. She gave me some medication to help, instead."

Anakin takes a big bite of his sandwich, making a face. "That's not as fun."

Obi-Wan takes his own bite of the sandwich that is quite literally stacked with turkey. It might be half a bird here alone. "That's what I told her, too."

Anakin laughs, jumping up to grab the screeching kettle and finish preparing the tea. Sixty-four hours now, but this time he has a good feeling about resetting the clock for tomorrow. The master and apprentice enjoy the rest of their meal, and then Obi-Wan retires to his room. With his belly full of comfort food and tea, he actually feels the long-lost tug of drowsiness enticing him to bed. Even with such a feeling, he picks up the medication that Master Che prescribed him.

Without adequate sleep, he can't be the Master Anakin needs him to be. The boy deserves all that and more. Obi-Wan swallows the sleeping pill without another thought and lies back in bed. It takes only a few minutes for him to drift into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

__________

A scream is caught in his throat as Anakin is forcibly thrown out of his nightmare. He chokes on it, coughing a few times to clear his throat and then wiping the cold sweat off his brow and upper lip. It's pitch black in the room, but he waits a moment to turn on the light. Sometimes, when he just lets his eyes adjust naturally he can pretend for a few moments that he's anywhere other than the cold quarters of a star destroyer. He can be back on Coruscant, in Padmé's comfortable bed with the weight of her comforters pressing him into the mattress. Or in their lake country villa on Naboo, her body wrapped around him with the sound of running water nearby. Sometimes he is back with his mother, her fingers rifling through his hair soothingly as she lulls him back to sleep.

Anywhere where he isn't alone on a bunk harder than durasteel. Sometimes he thinks he'd rather sleep on the dunes of Tatooine than his bunk. (Obi-Wan usually tells him to stop being dramatic when he goes that far.)

But these little divergences are enough to lull him out of the panic of his dreams and into a better state of mind. By the time his eyes do adjust to the blank walls and regulation furniture he can decide whether or not he will be returning to sleep for the night.

They've been getting worse lately. The dreams. They happen nearly every night now. Not always the same thing, like before his mother's death, but always intense and horrific. Always making him wake up close to tears or worry that he's been screaming and Ahsoka or Obi-Wan will come bursting in at any moment. Sometimes he is calm enough to put going back to sleep to chance. Other times he prefers to just accept a day without sleep.

Obi-Wan would kill him if he knew. Ahsoka gives him enough trouble when he yawns his way through briefing meetings, so he's surprised she hasn't tattled on him yet. Or maybe she has, and the old man has decided it would be hypocritical to nag him about it. Obi-Wan isn't exactly known for his healthy sleep schedules either.

He doesn't have good feelings about sleep tonight. His heart is still racing and he can still see a horrific scene of Ahsoka sobbing with a lifeless Obi-Wan in her arms, blood is trickling out of his nose and ears, and eyes glossy and set. It's a moment he's seen a few times. Sometimes Obi-Wan is already dead and other times he's falling and Anakin is running frantically to save him.

He never makes it.

Tonight was no different.

Anakin turns on the light and slips on a pair of trousers. His hair is a mess, per usual, but running his fingers through it a few times seems to do the trick. He still has to squint as he steps out into the hallway. The fluorescent lights of the ship are about as harsh as staring straight into a star, but it wakes him up as good as a cup of caff. It's the middle of the nightshift, but the halls are still just as busy as usual. Since there is no distinct day or night in the middle of deep space, they are just suggestions to ensure people actually sleep.

It's not as comforting as taking walks around the sleeping Temple when he can't sleep. There is a blissfulness to being awake when the rest of the planet isn't that Anakin finds refreshing from the usual bustle of the day. The best he can find is the mess, where only a few troopers sit around at the tables with cups of caff or snacks.

Anakin helps himself to his own cup, pouring a decent amount of sugar in for good measure. He settles down at a table with his datapad. Maybe this time he'll actually get his council report in on time, at least. He spends the next hour or so filling out his paperwork and working up a decent collection of caff cups and snack wrappers. By the time he reaches his last assigned task, the dinner rush has begun for the night-shifters.

"General Skywalker?" he looks up to see Rex standing with his own cup of caff in hand. Anakin gives him a friendly smile.

"Oh hey, Rex, what are you doing up?"

"Could ask you the same, sir," he sits down on the bench, eyeing the four other empty cups strewn about.

"Paperwork. Couldn't sleep."

The corner of Rex's mouth upturns in a half-smile. "More and more like General Kenobi, every day."

"Don't even joke like that, Rex, I would never hear the end of it," he says, though a small part of his mind curses that the captain is actually right. Using paperwork as an excuse to avoid sleep? He might as well grow a beard and have a Core accent.

"Only joking, of course, sir."

"So what's your excuse?"

"My excuse?"

"Our first call isn't for another few hours, and I've never seen you up and about at this time."

Rex takes a long sip from his drink. Stalling, it seems.

"To be frank, sir, ever since Umbara I tend to... wake up earlier."

Anakin searches the clone captain's face, and suddenly he recognizes it. The dark circles and bloodshot eyes are faint, but definitely there.

"The dreams keep you up?" he asks casually. Anakin has always liked Rex because he isn't afraid to be more candid around him. He has the respect of a leader, but he isn't so uptight about his rank. Through their time working closely together, they have actually begun to be somewhat of friends. At least, Anakin considers Rex to be a friend.

The clone looks up at him with surprise. "Well, sometimes, yes. How did you--"

"Like I said, I'm not Obi-Wan. Paperwork doesn't keep me up at night."

It feels good to actually admit it aloud to someone. To be able to say he's having bad dreams without getting a lecture from his master or getting watched like a hawk by his padawan. Especially if Rex is having the same issue.

They let this revelation blanket around them as they continue to sip on their caff. Even with six cups in his system, Anakin's body feels heavy and fatigued. It takes much longer to complete the last form with the amount of time he has to read and reread things to make sure he is understanding it right. His vision keeps blurring as though he is on the verge of falling asleep.

That's something Anakin has never had a problem with-- falling asleep. It takes him mere minutes to close his eyes and fall into a deep sleep. It's just the damned dreams that wake him up and ruin his rest.

"Uh, sir?" he hears through a clearing throat. Anakin opens his eyes and realizes he has dozed off with his forehead on the datapad. He smiles away the embarrassment, shaking his head.

"This caff sucks."

"You know they have decaf out after lunch right?"

He blinks. "Decaff?" Anakin says it as though it's a word in a foreign language.

"Yes, you have to request for a pot of regular. New health initiative started in the last month or so to improve... sleep."

The Jedi general crosses his arms over his chest. "And nobody told me?"

"I suppose they thought the label on the pot sufficed."

He glances over at the caff machine and, in fact, there is a label reading DECAF. Fair enough. He looks back at Rex, who is passively amused by all of this.

"Kix has too much power. It's going to go to his head."

Rex smiles, shaking his head but not disagreeing. Now disgusted by his caff, the knight casts aside the half-empty cup. The lack of caffeine definitely explains why he is still so tired.

"I should be going to prep for the morning briefing, then," Rex says, standing up and grabbing his bucket from the bench. He downs the remainder of his coffee and tucks his helmet under his arms. "Thanks for the company, though, general."

"Anytime. I suppose I will see you at the update."

"Oh right," Rex says, pausing and looking back down at him. "I have messages for you. General Kenobi commed to let you know they have postponed the update meeting to tomorrow. And we will be in hyperspace another full day before arriving at our check-in point."

He does the mental gymnastics of cycling through his schedule and realizes his entire day is clear of meetings. A day off? That is about as rare as Ahsoka not being snippy. He even has his paperwork done now so...

"Well in that case, maybe I will take the decaf as a sign and... take a nap." He can feel his mind more clear now. Usually, that means he can manage a few good hours without another nightmare if he has any at all. Though he was adamant about not wanting to go back to bed a few hours ago, suddenly laying down sounds amazing.

Rex smiles. "Very good, sir. I will be sure to comm you if we need anything, of course."

The clone captain walks off, and Anakin looks around at his little collection of trash, tired and a little dumbfounded.

He has a sudden suspicious feeling Ahsoka hasn't been tattling to Obi-Wan, but to Rex. Anakin smiles to himself, shakes his head, and gathers up his things to go back for some extra shut-eye.

__________

When Ahsoka can't sleep, she pulls her old Jedi cloak out of her closet. It's not something she wears anymore-- not for a long time at this point-- but it is something she has kept close to her ever since going on the run from the Empire.

There is just something about that thick, wooly fabric that is like a security blanket when she encases herself in it. It still smells like a mix of the standard-issue laundry detergent and engine oil. She can run her fingers along the hem, recognizing the familiar fray on the right sleeve that she used to pick at when she was nervous, or the hole that Master Kenobi had to patch three separate times in the pocket. There is a burnt edge on the hood where Anakin managed to nick it with his saber, and sometimes the tip of her montral would peek out.

Today she can't sleep, and she isn't sure why. Sometimes, she has these periods of time where falling asleep and staying asleep are more difficult than they should be. She suspects it has something to do with stress, which she has plenty of, all the time. The cloak always seems to help, so she grabs it. It always reminds her of Master Obi-Wan and his habit of losing his own cloaks. When she pulls it around herself it feels like a hug from Anakin. And when she closes her eyes she pretends she is in another time and another place. A time when her mentors watched over her and protected her and she wasn't so alone.

A part of her thinks that somewhere in the Force they are still looking over her. It is a Jedi teaching that she still holds a belief in that in death all are returned to the Force... Which means the same energy field that surrounds her and binds her is Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Plo Koon. Every other Jedi that didn't make it through Order 66. Though the thought of their deaths brings a deep sadness she still cannot quite process, it also reminds her that when she wraps the Force around herself she isn't as alone as she feels. Sleep comes easier.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday6 #insomnia #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #rex #ahsoka tano #it is 5am and i am posting this #because i too have insomnia #and i told myself i would post day 5 and 6 today #and well #before the sun comes up counts as today for me #this has been one of my WIPs for forever #so im glad to finally post it #but it needs some work #so let me know what you think!

[rottenprincessshura100]

First chapter of Fanfic.

I’m reposting this in case people haven’t read it. This is the first chapter of the fanfic I’ve been working on for years. It started off as just a conversation in my head. What would Mephisto be like in a job interview? If a person met him for the first time, how strange would it be? He’s cunning, manipulative, and of course obviously a demon. Bits and pieces of me are evident in this chapter, i have a background in contemporary arts as does my OC character. (I started off writing what I know.) I thought back to that time when I finished grad school, was completely broke and couch surfing. What time a job would I have done for basic groceries? Pretty much anything.

Anyway...here it is. Feel free to pick apart the writing style. I’m trying to improve and get better at it. ;)

CHAPTER 1

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

Well, I hope today's interview will go well.  

My student loan papers sat on my kitchen table with ominous foreboding. It was time to pay up.

I won't allow this new job to define my life, and it would be good enough, just for now. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend more time in my studio making art. I just had to impress the academy director during today's interview, and I'd be able to afford some decent groceries in two weeks. That's right, Evie, think positive!

So, what should I wear to this silly thing?

It's a private religious school; that means I should dress as professionally as possible.

I have two suits to my name, so I guess I'll wear a black jacket and a red blouse. Or is the red shirt too much? Yeah, I look like a cocktail waitress.

Back to the closet I go.

Okay, how about the wine-coloured blouse and black jacket? Sensible pants and a pair of heels. Fine.

My hair is a bit harder to work with; it's pinkish-brown. I'm an artist, so I tend to be riskier in my appearance. Today though, I have to clean up—no wild eye-makeup. I need to look like an ordinary boring temp worker that can file paperwork. I pull my hair back into a severe bun, like a schoolmarm or a librarian. Yep, now I look like a vodka aunt in a cheap suit. Effective.

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I drove along the busy narrow streets through True Cross Acadamy town. The school was a place for the well-to-do, and I'm almost embarrassed to park my junky car on the grounds.

Much to my mortification, the car backfired, drawing numerous stares from the crowds of uniform-clad students, practically bursting from every building.

Poor-ass artist alert! Here I am!

I slunk down into the seat, hoping the sun's reflection on the windshield washed out the crimson stain quickly spreading across my pale, freckled face.

After speaking with a guard at the main gate (located at the far end of an ancient drawbridge), he instructed me to drive up a long winding road to the highest point. This so-called town was, in reality, a walled city, consisting of tightly layered buildings in an array of architectural styles, all flawlessly intermixed. It was the oddest urban planning I'd ever seen, either designed by a crazy man or an absolute genius. From my own experience, I find the line between the two decidedly thin in most circumstances.

People from the mainland would often joke that True Cross City would never be completed but renovated in an endless loop. The rumours stated that the school's wealthy director never allowed the construction cranes to cease because it was merely bad luck to stay idle.

I continued my drive through the school campus to the mountain's apex—my job interview scheduled at the golden manor house of Sir Johann Faust on the 5th. The director himself would see me in his private office.

I swallowed back a slight wave of apprehension. I hope this guy isn't some sort of pervert. He most assuredly was eccentric. That I could handle.

I pulled up in front of Faust Palace, and just like the rest of the town, it's unusual. As I parked and exited my car, I'm in the shadow of tall golden spires shining like twin suns. The rest of the building reminds me of a cross between an ancient Greek temple, an art deco apartment and a mythical Arabian kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my black dress pants, my demeanour full of apprehension.

Yeah, I don't belong here. I've got a bad feeling about this.

At that point, I decided to leave. Yet, I watched with foreboding as a pair of security guards materialized from the shadows and closed the elaborate golden gate, trapping me within the compound. Shit!

I made my way over the interlocking marble slabs to the ornately carved wooden front door with a heavy sigh. Before I'm able to raise my hand to knock, it quickly opens. A short older gentleman greeted me with a nod.

"Miss Evelynn Smith?" He inquired.

"Uh...yes. I'm here for the interview?"

"I am Belial, the keeper of the house. Please follow me; Director Faust will meet with you shortly."

The butler escorted me up a seemingly endless hallway. It was odd that an inconsequential temp worker, like myself, was being given the grand tour.

White marble pillars accented the grand structure, with furniture from various periods arranged throughout the abode in mini tableaus. It seemed more like a museum than someone's house. How very strange!

There were many rooms with identical doors; this place was more like a goddamn labyrinth than a manor house! I hope I can find my way out of here after this interview was over!

I tried to get a feel for my potential boss. Being an artist, I, of course, took in the paintings that hung salon-style from every square inch of walls. There seemed to be an abundance of demons and death themes. How morbid.

Stefan Lochner, The Last Judgment, Vincent Van Gogh, Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette. But wait? Aren't these all part of museum collections? I'm confused. Are they copies?

Just as the creepy dark artworks start to grate on my nerves, I round the corner into the next hallway and find myself engrossed within a pop art nightmare; wall-to-wall pink Takashi Murakami paintings hung in tandem with Jeff Koons, Made in Heaven.

Jesus! Who the hell was this guy? He's adorned his house in pink flowers and porn stars! Surely the students didn't walk into this hall?

As if on cue, the butler regarded me sheepishly. "Pupils are not permitted in Director Faust's residence. He only grants top members of the Vatican access to his private quarters."

I attempted to hold back my laughter. "So, this is a private religious school ran by the Vatican no-less, and we have trashy kink splashed all over the walls. I gotta say, I'm intrigued."

"The master has a dark sense of humour."

"Understatement of the century."

"This is the master's office," The butler ushered me quickly into a large room. "Please, take a seat. He is running a bit late from a previous meeting."

I turned back toward Belial, but he's long gone. I'm all alone in an empty room.

The office is quite different from the hall and decorated in deep mahogany wood, decidedly masculine. The desk is large and ominous; that is, it would have been if it weren't for the strange little collection of toys and knick-knacks carefully arranged next to the computer. I picked up a pink porcelain rabbit in the palm of my hand and raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'd ask that you do not touch the things on my desk."

Crap!

I hastily placed the toy back on the wooden tabletop and jumped to my feet. A tall, impossibly slender man strolled confidently into the room to greet me. He wore a crisp white suit and a long heavy cape. I shook his purple-gloved hand firmly. As I stared up into his face, I furrowed my brows in confusion.

What the actual fuck?

"Please, take a seat, Ms. Evelynn Smith." He bit his lip and snickered. "Or do you prefer...Eve..."

"Uh...Eve's fine." I replied with hesitation as I slowly eased into the yellow and blue jacquard chair.

I should look away, but I can't. Mr. Faust's hair is an impossible shade of violet purple with platinum highlights that shimmer just at the crown, he has pointed ears, and his teeth are small sharp fangs. He's dressed up like he just got back from Comicon.

Also, what's with that curly plume at the top of his head? Is it some sort of fascinator? Is it a feathered hair ornament? I don't get it.

"Okay, Eve, spill it. What's on your mind?" He rested his chin on his gloved hand and smiled knowingly. "Do I have horns growing out of my head or something?"

"It's just....uh...a great costume." I stammered. " Those ears look so real."

He seemed taken aback for a brief second. "Oh, yes! I'm an Otaku. I've had quite a few physical modifications, and it will all make sense in time."

I nodded slowly. What the hell does that even mean?

"Getting back to your resume...Eve." He finally pulled out my paperwork from a nearby folder. "So, you possess a minor in classics, a minor in philosophy and a master's degree in contemporary art. How intriguing."

"Pardon?"

"This job is for an assistant to the Vatican. Your degree is all about a personal quest for knowledge, not exactly chock-full of practical skills." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair. "Your parents must have been completely disappointed, wasting all of that money. An arts degree instead of a doctor? If there was a wizard school, would you have signed up for that?"

"I paid for my education through scholarships."

He smiled smugly and read a few more pages. "So contemporary art, hmmm? Tell me how you make your artwork. What's the methodology behind it?"

"Well...I tend to work under the idea that the world is in a state of flux. Time isn't static, and we live in a non-linear narrative. I open my mind to thoughts of the impossible, the idea that they might indeed be probable under different subjective conditions. I try to allow play, chance, and chaos into the things that I build. Often by allowing more variables into a composition, we can get closer to the truth of our existence and find a deeper meaning."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desktop.

"I will be candid with you, Eve. I saw some of your work in a gallery in Northern Cross a few months ago. I greatly enjoyed it. You have a very open mind, which is the biggest necessity for this particular position."

"I just noticed your art collection." I countered. "It's not every day that one walks into a room of wall to wall vintage Cicconlina."

"You know your porn stars, I see?" He laughed with a merry twinkle.

"I know my art history."

"Oh...." He razzed. "Distinction made!"

"Director Faust, about this job....."

"Please. Call me, Mephisto." He gushed. "Faust is an old legal family name."

"Mephisto? Really?" I stare at him in confusion. "Your last name is Faust, and you call yourself Mephisto? Am I...?" I stammered. "... Am I walking into Dante's Inferno here?"

"You dare mock my name." He challenged. "Yet, your parents named you after Eve. The woman who was the downfall of man."

Who the hell does he think he is; Literally, devil's advocate?

"Eve decided that knowledge was more important than a paradise of ignorance. I firmly believe that a woman needs to know what she's getting herself into, Mephisto."

"I wholeheartedly agree." His large green eyes narrowed. Mephisto's attention now seemed quite dangerous, almost transfixed to my face. "Knowledge is so critical. It's the most important thing to you. Isn't it?"

"I would say so," I answer slowly. "Without knowledge, life is a waste."

"Eve, do you believe in the paranormal?" He changed the subject abruptly.

"I honestly haven't got the answer to that question."

"Oh, I think you do." He pressed. "You can see quite a few unexplainable things. Am I correct?"

How did he know?

It was like he could see right through me. I've seen weird shit my entire life, but you just don't talk about that sort of awkward nonsense. People would think I was crazy. My experiences had been terrifying, and I suffered alone in silence.

"Eve, what if I told you this job would answer all of your deepest questions? Questions that you cannot answer through traditional science and reason."

"I'd say you were full of shit."

"So says the artist!"

"Touche."

"Getting back to the idea of wizard school, I wasn't ribbing you entirely for fun. This academy is a training facility for exorcists. We use very non-traditional methods for ridding the world of darkness. If you choose to take this job, you will need to suspend your current notions of reality for a modified one."

"You mean I will believe in ghosts, goblins and demonic possession?"

"That's a fundamental understanding, yes. This job will explain the workings of the universe to you. Give you access to the vast knowledge that no other humans are privy to. There is one caveat; however, once you sign a very aggressive contract. You cannot tell anyone about the true nature of our work. Not family or friends, the Vatican takes security extremely seriously."

I started to get cold feet; this is a lot to consider. Am I cut out for the responsibility? This entire meeting was getting stranger by the minute.  The job sounded downright ludicrous; the premise piqued my interest, but how could I believe in such nonsense? Plus, the more time I spent with Mephisto, the less human he appeared. Did his pupils just dilate like a cat!?

"You know what's funny?" He stated coyly, his fingers toying with an ornament on his desk. "You voyage into my office and instantly take note of my strange appearance. Most people don't possess the ability to see me for what I truly am. I tell you my legal name is Faust, and my current name is Mephisto. I have artwork depicting demons throughout my lavish abode. Eve, you're intelligent enough to connect all of these dots, and your mind has already solved the puzzle. Yet, your human conditioning tells you to disbelieve the apparent truth sitting directly in front of you."

"The truth?" I stammered.

"I'm a demon, my dear."

I take in his admission with a shocked and irritated face. This guy is a bonafide nutjob.

"I think I've heard just about enough of this Mephisto; this degree of wackiness is far beyond me. I think I'm the wrong person for this position." I stood and prepared to take my leave; only I can't. I'm unable to move a muscle. What the hell is happening? My eyes grow wide with panic.

Mephisto slowly removes his gloves and rests his chin on a black-clawed hand.

"I see. I'll have to prove it to you then. Fair enough, let's give you a little taste, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a hoard of disgusting gremlins, clawing at my ankles with oozing toothy gullets. I saw the same terrifying creatures as a child, invading my daydreams, hiding in the dark shadows when I was alone. I'm so frightened; I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was my worst nightmare brought back to life, these creatures as real and substantial as the floor under my feet. As the horror of the reality became almost too much to bear, suddenly, he was there. Mephisto expelled the creatures one by one into poofs of purple smoke with a simple flick of a finger. I fall back, no longer able to stand, and he catches me quickly. I'm still shaking from the shock as he carefully sits me back into my chair.

"Those creatures have followed you your entire life. As you have gotten older, you've noticed them less, but they were still slowly feeding off your energy. They are quite volatile." He sat demurely on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs playfully. "They won't bother you now though, I've exorcized them from your presence. You see, this is what we do here. We help humans battle the unsavoury monsters from Gehenna."

I sit dumbfounded, rendered speechless with bewilderment. Mephisto continues with our one-sided conversation, unconcerned like this was completely normal. "...The pay for this position is quite handsome for an artist. It's also part-time, which will allow you to continue to work in your studio. You will report here five days a week, from 9 am-2 pm. You will receive correspondence from the Vatican, and you will keep me informed of all inbound information. You will also book and coordinate exorcists for special ops and daily assignments. My butler Belial will train you appropriately."

"Mephisto...I'm..."

"Terrified and disconcerted?" He grinned. "Happens every time I make a new hire."

"I don't think I can't handle all of this."

"Do you think I pick my employees out of thin air? You wouldn't be here if I didn't find you entirely capable. I've researched you extensively. You long for knowledge, and I will provide all of the deepest desires in your quest. All you simply need to do now is agree." He presented me with a contract.

"I don't know," I whispered nervously. "Can I think it over?"

"I haven't the time." He responded with a hint of a smile. "I am a very busy person, you see.  It's now or never, my dear."

My rational mind screams for me to jump out of that chair and run from the building. Yet, my desires kept me staring in a trance at the contract. Mephisto presented me with an old-fashioned quill pen. I grasped it with my shaking hand and stared at the bottom line.

"Oh...we need some ink to seal the deal. How silly of me to forget something so important." He took out a silver hatpin from a glass decanter and poked the end of his finger. A river of blood ran along his impossibly pale skin and dripped from the end of his glistening black claw. As it flowed freely into a bronze dish on his desk, I stared in dismay. I can't believe what I'm seeing! Mephisto then gently took my hand and poked the end of my finger. A tiny drop of my blood intermixes with his.

"What the fuck," I whispered hoarsely. "No...I'm not signing this. No way!"

"You will sign." His eyes bore into mine, and I'm once again drawn physically to the contract. I dipped the quill as if hypnotized and slowly write my name.

"Excellent!" He seemed pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I'm totally in a daze and fall back into my chair, suffering from strange exhaustion. Did I just sign a contract in blood?

I stood shakily, preparing to leave.

"Eve, I will see you back here tomorrow morning, bright and early." Mephisto rambled on with a sing-song voice. "Here is some research about me. It will teach you the basics of demons and how to work with them."

Belial is now instantly at the office door, he handed me a stack of books, and I find myself escorted from the building.

I jumped into my car and locked the doors. As I put the car into drive, the transmission lurches forward. The books flutter open on the car seat; the top hardcover was a book about Ancient Demon Classification, followed by a copy of Faust and  Dr. Seus, Green Eggs and Ham.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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Here’s the link to the rest. ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/711456559-the-interview-a-blue-exorcist-fanfic-the-interview

#fanfic #mephisto pheles #blue exorcist #posting my own content because there is none and I'm sad.

[pyrrhesia]

FF14 Write - ‘Crane’

In which Cwenthryth Sadler finds a round peg for her ro--

...

In which Cwenthryth Sadler finds a better fit.

Aislona Rymmahrwyn belongs to @catpella

People often compared Cwenthryth to a lizard. Mostly, they meant she was cold-blooded, or that there was something in the way she seemed to stare through you without blinking. The most apt comparison, though, was that Cwenthryth liked to get close to the sun. She liked to climb in general. There was a satisfaction to finding a way to scurry up from a back alley, finding footholds in weak limestone or windows. Where a more... uniformly built city, or even the nicer parts of Ul'dah, might have confined its citizens to the street, the slums encouraged movement as the crow flew. There was, for a time, peace. She watched the birds for a time, before closing her eyes, letting the sounds of the world melt away. She'd never have considered herself to meditate, and yet, in these little moments of quiet, she found the strength to keep going... A grunt, followed by frantic scrabbling at the rooftop, sheared through her peace. What. She opened her eyes and put a hand to her dagger, looking over at... the man from the alchemy shop. She craned her neck, this way and that, trying to figure out why he was here. Or, failing that, remember his name. "You're... agh... a hard woman to find, Cwen," the man wheezed. "Good." "Ah... ?" She closed her eyes again. "Didn't want to be found." Grunt. Scrabble. Scuff. "Well, I figured, since we-- nngh!" Cwenthryth sniffed. Her priorities changed. She looked back over. "You brought food?" "I thought... you might..." She unfolded briskly, and hoisted him over the lip. He was a lean, rangy highlander of a similar background, though a second-generation immigrant while she was first. He talked like a local, acted like one, too, but he'd definitely liked the sight of what he saw as a compatriot turning up on his storefront. Cwenthryth, for her part, liked the sight of shawarma. She took it up and gnawed at it, while looking inquisitively at Thelred as he tried to get his breath back. "You figured since we were what?" Cwenthryth asked, between bites. Thelred forced himself to sit up, looking up. Cwenthryth blocked out the sun. "It might be nice to spend time together." "We do spend time together. Did you want sex? It's too open here." She chewed on the shawarma some more. "Maybe time doing something a little different?" he tried. "Just talking." "I'm not good at talking." "Well... neither am I, but you've always been good at listening." He fidgeted as she ate, still looking down at him. "I'd like to think we could do more than just sleep with each other," he hinted. "That maybe we could become partners." "I don't know alchemy. That's why we met." "Not business partners," he said, desperately. "I meant... I wanted to see you as a girlfriend. Not as... whatever we were." Cwenthryth stared at him for a few seconds. It took some time to process. She quite liked what they already had going. Work was hard, she needed relief, she figured he needed relief, they rolled into bed and she was gone by dawn. The idea that someone wanted more... that someone might even want her? That was enticing. "I mean that--" "I know what you mean," she said. "Okay. We can try it. I mean, I'd like that."

Cwenthryth had a few simple rules as a debt collector. She wouldn't hurt peripherals, because that made people act irrationally. And she always made good on threats. The faster she could narrow someone down to making the right decision - that was to say, finding the hidden cache of money which always had a way of mysteriously appearing after some persuasion - the sooner she was out of there. Following these rules, her reputation had grown to the point where, by now, she usually didn't have to get her hands dirty anymore. This was useful. Blood stuck under the nails. She'd managed to get a decent return on her current job, a scion of a Monetarist family who was rich, but not so rich he couldn't bankrupt himself with gambling debts, it had turned out. It was a familiar story. Some genuinely did just wait for death, blowing through whatever they had left and praying their families would bail them out. They generally did, once Cwenthryth had sent them enough fingers. This one, she sensed, might have been of that vintage save for losing his nerve at the last moment. As she forced open the door and slipped inside, she saw, quickly, the telltale signs. Ruinously expensive grog, some tacky new art, and - her eyes lingered - a shape under the covers of a luxurious bed. But the window was open, letting in what could generously be called the atmosphere of Ul'dah. She went over to the window, scanned the area, but the only sign she saw was a distinct dent in the tree beneath. The covers shifted behind her. "Mmn, Alfric, where's my money..." Cwenthryth turned, saw the shape of legs - long, tight legs, her hindbrain noted - stretch out like a cat's, pulling down the covers to reveal a sharp, angular face, with the telltale 'hewn from purple-tinted stone' look of a roegadyn. Her eyes fluttered open, saw Cwenthryth, shut again, then opened wide. "Oh," she said. "He's gone," supplied the debt-collector. "Really? Damn." "You didn't ask for money in advance?" The roegadyn raised an eyebrow. "Generally, people don't dare stiff someone two feet taller than them. The ones who try aren't much of a bother. Are you going to kill him?" "Depends. He's in debt to two different people. Hiring escorts isn't a good look." Cwenthryth cocked her head, considering the other woman. "And you don't look cheap," she concluded. The roegadyn laughed. "Well, thank you! So friendly, for hired muscle. We've no quarrel, right?" "No, so you can stop reaching under the pillow for your knife." The roegadyn paused, then broke out into a laugh. "Can hardly blame me, under the circumstances. When an armed stranger breaks in, no matter how pretty..." Cwenthryth's heart skipped a beat. "Uh," she said. "Can I at least take some of his stuff? I can't imagine he'll ever pay me what he owes. And that was not an experience worth putting on the house, believe me." The roegadyn sniffed, and shifted upright in the bed. For a tantalising moment, it looked as though she wouldn't bother to keep the fabric pressed against her chest. "Asked you a question, darling," she reminded her with an outrageous wink. "Sorry to have distracted you." "Uh," said Cwenthryth again. Without twenty-six years of emotional suppression under her belt, she'd have turned red as falling Dalamud. "Take everything. He deserves it." She started to move back towards the door, but couldn't tear her eyes away from the escort. Because she was just... watching her back, for the only potential threat in the room. Yeah. "Ah, you are a treasure," said the roegadyn. "I'm sure we'll see each other around!"

"You should smile more." Cwenthryth's smile died on her lips. "Huh?" "You were smiling," said Thelred. "It's nice. I don't see it enough." "Thanks." Cwenthryth filed it away. She'd learned a lot about what girlfriends should do lately. It meant an end to going missing on rooftops. Odd phrasing, she'd thought. She knew where she was. Now her only time away was out working - and he disapproved of her work - or at home - and he was dropping hints even Cwenthryth could pick up on that they should soon share a home as well. "I was thinking about this woman I saw yesterday. She was..." She had been a lot of things. Cwenthryth settled on, "beautiful." "Oh? More beautiful than I am handsome?" "Yes." After a half-second's pause, Thelred laughed. "Oh, thank Rhalgr I've you to keep me humble." "Ha," Cwenthryth managed. They walked for a while down through the market stalls. Cwenthryth felt Thelred's fingers wrap around her hand, and decided to force a smile. "There's my girl," he said, and she tried to stifle her bile reaction. "You'll need to practice that smile, you know. When I get my shop, I'll need your help." She looked across, with rare surprise. "You're going to be a money-lender?" Thelred's burst of laughter quickly faded away. "No, no, I... Oh, you aren't joking." "I'm not good at jokes," she said earnestly. "Well, Fafarino's not getting any younger, and he's been... dropping hints, perhaps that he might leave me the place, when I'm ready. And I think that'll be soon. Then we're set, right? And you can finally quit your... uh, work, and settle down..." Some tiny warning bell rang in the deep recesses of Cwenthryth's brain. "Wouldn't that be nice?" he prompted, as they reached the front door of his house. "Yes. You'd like that," she said dutifully, accepted a kiss on the cheek, and weaved away through the streets.

That night, she found herself on the rooftops again, hugging herself in the cold. All her life, Cwenthryth had felt, or sometimes just been told, she didn't... fit right, in the world. That there was some agreed-upon ruleset she just didn't play well with. But she had to be doing something right, didn't she? She had a partner, and they had a plan together. Right? And he loved... her, maybe, or at least, loved who he thought she was, or perhaps who he thought she would become. She wasn't... unhappy. And it was a way out of the cycle of violence. It wasn't that she liked hurting people, she had to keep telling herself that, to keep her apart from the sadists and the madmen, she just happened to be good at holding her nose and getting the job done. She could make herself happy. And learn to smile and be happy behind a counter, and say the right things at the right times, and then at last she'd be the upstanding Ul'dahn woman her mother had wanted her to become, the life she'd been told her father - the fighter, the revolutionary, the martyr - would have wanted for her. But when she coiled up in her bed that night and closed her eyes, she dreamed of winking roegadyn.

#FFxivWrite2021 #crane #this was originally six instead of three parts #i am glad to have cut it off. #OC: cwenthryth sadler

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 17: 1x23 The Omega Glory

Watched the very uneven episode “The Omega Glory” today. Upon some reflection.. I think I have seen it? But I think my last rewatch ended abruptly after “By Any Other Name” so it might have been some time ago.

Anyway, it was... something. Decent, I might even say good, until the last 10-15 minutes and then it just went off a cliff? That’s how I’d summarize it.

Sulu, my beloved. I’ve missed you.

Kirk knows where all the ships are. I mean, obviously, but I love to hear it.

Phasers on heavy stun huh?

It’s so weird to be on a different ship. That looks like the same ship. It’s so empty and haunted looking.

With creepy crystal remains of bodies everywhere.

“These white crystals... are the crew.”

Something was thirsty!! Perhaps... a water vampire? Perhaps... a former McCoy girlfriend?

(Honestly having watched the whole ep...they could have expanded this intro longer. It was creepy and mysterious. Then cut the last act.)

Oh no, they’ve been infected and now must quarantine. Sort of. I guess.

...Oh no, is this Vietnam? Again?

“Our old enemy, Vietnam.”

My mother suggested the disease might be communism and I don’t think that metaphor tracks through the whole episode but you know what.. anything’s possible.

I don’t like this whole “you can’t leave the planet or you’ll get sick and die” thing. Too familiar.

"I may never be able to leave this planet but I have a worse problem: a colleague may be breaking a rule."

Says the man who has frequently violated a directive that has never been referred to as Prime before.

Kirk is getting very mumbly. That’s his serious voice.... bu it’s also his Denny Crane voice lol.

Like bio warfare in the 90s? TOS really thought the 90s was going to be the dark ages, didn’t it?

Only 90s kids remember...

Spock bursting in with a wounded man, just bringing the drama, as he does.

He’s not even listening to McCoy. Rude.

Spock absolutely 100% would have killed Captain Tracey on instinct as soon as Kirk is threatened.

Sulu’s in command? I love Captain Sulu but where is Scotty?

Kirk is so good. Clever, strong, smart. Knows all the regulations.

Tracey’s so dumb. “They’ve eradicated disease and live for hundreds of years!” Man, have you considered that they are...aliens? And their life spans are simply.... naturally longer than human life spans? And even if you could isolate the serum, it might not work on humans?

And his master plan is to isolate their immunity and bottle it for profit. It’s our old enemy... capitalism and the exploitation of intellectual property.

A fight scene!

“The pointy-eared one stays.”

Another fight scene!

Spock is watching all of this, and you know what, I feel like he’s not upset about it. It’s just like Pre-Reform Vulcan. Perhaps some... Amok Time flashbacks? “Damn, I wish that was me.”

Peanut gallery Spock.

“I wish you could teach me that.” / “I have tried.” Omg where is my scene of Spock trying to teach Kirk the nerve pinch?

And then that look Kirk gives him.

I don’t get the point of this scene but it amuses me that as soon as McCoy sees the pretty girl, he feels better.

A post-apocalyptic alien world... a very interesting concept. Like you could do a lot with that idea imo.

“That’s our worship word [freedom too.” Umm.... questionable.

Damn bitch, that was cold. Just knocking him out like that.

Damn yankee.

...Yankee and Communist dammit.

McCoy’s not even surprised to see Kirk and Spock out of jail.

Nature created a natural counterbalance to the biological disease. Where is OUR natural counterbalance, I ask?

McCoy sounds extra Southern rn. It’s all the stress.

I really don’t think Shatner gets enough credit for his subtlety. His face when McCoy explains the whole situation...

Oh he's mad now. "You've hurt Spock for nothing! Oh yeah and also killed thousands but MOSTLY THE SPOCK THING!”

Whereas Tracey really doesn’t seem to care about anything but war for its own sake. He knows now that his master plan for immortality was nothing the whole time...but he still needs to call those Yangs.

In other words, another once-reputable figure of authority now gone mad.

Kirk’s voice is so casual when he’s talking to Uhura and Sulu, you feel like he’s gotta have something up his sleeve. He can never hide when he’s really upset about something.

...Apparently what he had up his sleeve was his crew knowing regulations and then another full body tackle. Fight scene 3!

"My need for attention is vital.” Same, Spock.

This is a very attenuated and unbelievable connection Kirk is making but he’s Kirk so I’ll assume it makes sense that he’s putting it all together so fast.

Alternate Universe: Vietnam canon-divergence lol.

For anyone keeping track, this is right about the point where the episode goes off the rails.

YOU’RE A ROMANTIC, JIM. Well he’s right about that at least and he should say it.

Oh no, an American flag.

Cloud William, chief and the son of chiefs. That’s continuity of government for you.

(Also pretty hilarious that this society is supposedly So American with our exact flag and Constitution and everything... but they’re not a democracy.)

I really don’t want to believe that “under God” is still in the pledge 200 years from now.

"You're confusing the stars with heaven." Kirk thinks he's being called an angel.

The absolute mishmash of meaningless, referent-free words here. America. Native Americans. Communists. The flag, the Constitution. God. Angels. Devils. What???

Like how can they both be flag worshippers AND...believers in God? Who is their God? Alien George Washington?

So rude to call Spock Kirk’s “servant.” That’s his space husband!

Is that a literal picture of Spock as a demon in their.. Bible?

I can’t even follow this anymore.

“You command him.” I mean...yes, that’s how the military works.

“He has no heart.” Wow, rude.

“His heart is different!” I stan one (1) Southern Doctor.

I feel like Spock is just... not having this at all. His face loos like he’s thinking what I’m thinking.

Oh no is that the CONSTITUTION??!

“Kill his servant” wow Tracey is obsessed with Spock, isn’t he? I guess everyone in the Fleet knows about them and their special relationship.

Spock is even amused by the knife at his throat. His eyes say "I am distressed--but fascinated!"

A FOURTH fight scene? And here I thought Kirk was going to recite the Constitution.

“I’m open to suggestions.” He’s just as worried about Kirk as McCoy is, bu the doesn’t show it.

...Yep, he’s being telepathic again. Not really in line with his usual telepathy but okay. Alien magic is flexible.

Okay I have a JD and I can confidently say there is nothing about good defeating evil in the Constitution.

And now this alien guy is immediately ready to make himself a “slave.” That seems problematic. What happened to the holy word “Freedom”?

Wow, Kirk's in a bad mood. "You can't pronounce your own holy words worth shit."

“This is only for the eyes of a Chief,” he says and Kirk just pushes him away.

Spock literally turns Tracey around for Kirk’s big final speech like “Listen up, bitch, my boyfriend’s talking.”

Is this the 4th of July episode?? Feels like there should be canons and fireworks going off behind him rn.

Idk, the words of the Constitution can't be so unique and unprecedented if a WHOLE OTHER ALIEN CIVILIZATION just came up with them, too, on their own, like monkeys typing Hamlet. (Given the timelines here... they probably did it first too lol.)

"Liberty and freedom need to be more than just words." Like what does that even mean in this context? Sounds nice but it’s very hard to put into the context of all the rest of this.

“And uh be nice to the Kohms,” after most of them (?) were probably just killed.

I really was into this until the last 10-15 minutes and I think there were under-explored concepts that could have taken the fever dream of whatever that bizarre-o fever dream at the end was. The abandoned ship. The leftovers of bio warfare. The whole weird and under-explained concept of immunity. The tragedy that so much was destroyed,, including but not limited to the whole Exeter crew, for no reason. What happened to Tracey to so destroy him--was it just greed? What about the “Prime” Directive? Is it important or not. They just leave at the end after (as Spock pointed out) doing quite a bit of their own meddling, even though meddling is allegedly the worst. Also, we know almost nothing about the Kohms at all. The “American” society clearly wasn’t democratic. Were the Kohms literally Communist?

I’m willing to accept a certain degree of alternate Earth scenarios--like Miri (though imo that was not a necessary component of that story) or Bread and Circuses, but this was too much. TOO unbelievable. And frankly unnecessary. You could do an allegory for alternate-Vietnam, and it would be just as clear but even more effective. There wouldn’t be any distraction in the form of “what the fuck is that flag doing here?”

There is a potentially incendiary concept here, which is the same one I thought of reading about actual COG plans--certain aspects of the Yanks’ culture survives, but with absolutely no meaning attached. They have a Constitution but they mispronounce all the words. They have this tattered flag but it has no other meaning. They’ve turned the symbols of the government into a religion, but they don’t practice any of the civil aspects of it--they have chiefs, not democratically appointed leaders, for example. Like, COG asks “what IS the country, and how do you make sure the country endures no matter what?” This was an opportunity to show the worst of that: the country continues to exist as symbology only--incredibly strong symbology, but only that--and all of the actual values that were supposed to be stored with that symbology have disappeared. Similarly, their hatred of their enemies endures. It’s lauded in the ep as their attempt to get “their land” back but what if it’s just war for its own sake, as Tracey seems to be engaging in? To tell that story, especially in the 60s, against the backdrop of Vietnam, and with the references to bio warfare and nuclear warfare, could be powerful. And I know TOS can work in metaphor and comparison. It doesn’t need to bring out a literal fucking flag.

Honestly, it was like they had one good, classic, sci fi story but it didn't fill 52 minutes so they tacked on the American Pride 4th of July Propaganda Extravaganza at the end.

It really felt like the lesson was “America good” lol.

I liked the concept of the post apocalyptic society in the aftermath of bio warfare as a cautionary tale for 1960s America, and I'd be up for crazed snake oil salesman Starfleet Captain (or...whatever his rank was) if it were a bit better explained. But the rest of it....

It also... could have been kinda incendiary with the idea that the Constitution and flag are religious symbols... I mean some people do treat them that way and I've always found that, first, blasphemous, and second, bizarre in such a hyper-Christian country. But I feel like instead of digging ito that, they just tempered it with "But also they're Christian, as you can tell by their drawing of devil!Spock, for some reason."

Idk, this story could have been complete with out the whole weird “Vietnam AU” back story or alternately it could have been a biting commentary about what defines America, and about whether or not our symbols might be more enduring--or even more important to people today??--than the laudable but more complex and difficult ideals that underpin the country’s founding. Are the words of the Constitution just gobbledy gook? They are if you don’t live by them, and America has always struggled to do that. It definitely would struggle even more in the aftermath of an apocalypse.

...I’m more annoyed now, thinking about the possible sci fi story that could have been...

Anyway next is an ep I’m fairly sure I haven’t  seen, so that should be fun.

#the year 2021 #2021: star trek #star trek tos

[bgn846]

Marshal’s Creed FFXV Fanfic

Summary:            

Cor dresses up for the annual Halloween gala in hopes to win a bet. Can he beat out everyone else at the party with the best costume?

Notes:    

I had a fun prompt from my friend @ragewerthers for Cor Leonis getting invited to a Halloween party.... but what in the HELL is he supposed to go as?!  Do Regis and Clarus help him?  Do the boys help him?  Does he decide to go scary?  Funny?  Mythical?

I hope you all enjoy, I had fun writing this! :)

Work Text:          

“What is he wearing?” Regis asked under his breath from where they were standing near the steps to the throne.

“Not so sure, but it seems pretty popular with the ladies,” Clarus admitted as he craned his neck to see better.

“Dear six, he looks half-naked!” spluttered Regis after a moment.

“Sorta, he’s got pants and maybe something someone would consider a shirt on.” Though Clarus was still clueless as to what Cor had dressed up as.  The annual Halloween gala was always a fun event. However, the marshal never dressed up.

Ever.

It was only the quick thinking of Regis with the tempting draw of a bet that enticed their friend into wearing anything special this year. A hefty amount of 500gil sat waiting for Cor if he dressed up and won one of the sundry costume awards to be gifted that night.  The prizes given out were little awards trinkets, and the bragging rights until the next party.  Of course, Cor could care less about any of that, the only reason he’d even agreed, was to prove Regis wrong and maybe relieve him of some decent spending cash.

The king had figured Cor wasn’t creative enough to even stand a chance. Regis had merely snorted and waved him off when the marshal assured them he’d win something.  Now, as Clarus watched their friend navigate through the crowd he was beginning to think Regis might have to pay up at the end of the night.

The squeals of impressed party goers only got louder as Cor approached, as did the flash of lights from photos being snapped. The crowds dispersed once he’d reached the king.  Cor yawned once seemingly bored with the whole affair already. “You might as well give me the money now, Regis.”

“Never!” the king hissed, “You aren’t going to win, look at you! What is that, it looks like a pile of rags!”

Before Cor could answer a young staffer passing by interrupted them with a shout, “Awesome costume!” They left just as quickly as Clarus began to examine the outfit in more detail.

“I’m afraid I’m lost as to what you are, care to enlighten us?”

“Eh, this? I have no idea, Noct helped me pick it out.  Said it was the best costume to wear and had Ignis go online and order me one before I could say no.”

“You asked my son to help you?”

“Nope, he found out I was going to dress up and he nearly flipped. How could I say no, he begged me to let him help.”

“Still what the hell are you?” Regis asked in exasperation.

“An assassin I think?” Cor supplied with a furrowed brow. “Honestly, the kid was talking too fast for me to catch the exact name, but he said it was from a game.”  

“Why in the heck would an assassin wear that? Your entire right side is exposed, seems like a defensive nightmare.”

“I’ll admit it’s not exactly realistic but it’s comfy at least.” Cor offered with a shrug.

“I don’t know why you let my son talk you into this, you look ridiculous.” Regis was about to add more when another party-goer/staffer wandered by and started staring. They were of course after a picture of Cor.  The staffer was young and blushing like mad but still managed to ask for a selfie.

“I’m sorry what were you saying majesty? I got pulled away to have my picture taken because I’m going to win.”

Regis sneered and turned around to walk away.  Clarus couldn’t help but snicker at the sight. Regis was a sore loser so a part of him hoped Cor wouldn’t win, but he probably would. The marshal, though not a youthful twenty-year-old anymore, could hold his own in the looks department. He was only in his forties now but still trained just as hard. His well-defined six-pack was evidence of that.  Clarus suspected that most of the girls wandering over were trying to get a better look at what he’d been hiding under his guard uniform.

Cor for once didn’t mind the attention and even smiled for a few shots.  It was nice to see his friend out of his element for once.   “Have you seen his highness?” Clarus asked, figuring Noct would have at least had to help Cor get ready. Otherwise, the man wouldn’t have known how to wear the costume.

“Yeah, he’s coming soon, he was getting picky about his nails.”

“What?”

“You’ll see, he’ll match grumpy pants over there,” Cor announced with a chuckle. “Regis thinks sporting little tiny fake fangs makes him a good vampire. He’s so wrong.”

“Oh dear,” Clarus could only guess what Noct had conjured up. Ignis would have been key in gathering his needed elements, but the idea was most likely the princes. “What are the others dressing up as?”

Cor barked out a laugh, “I only saw Ignis and Prompto but it appeared they were wearing matching black suits.”

“That’s it?”

“Almost, if you don’t count the wolf tail they both had clipped to their belts and the wolf ear headbands.”

“I’m so confused,” he sighed. However, right as he was about to ask for more details a sudden hush overtook the room. Looking up he noticed what had caused the reaction. Ignis, Prompto, and his son were stalking over towards them. They all matched and looked quite formidable.   However, Noct seemed to be missing. The black suits had matching black shirts and ties to go with. One might take them all for security guards aside from the addition of the animal ears atop their heads. One thing Cor hadn’t mentioned was their eye color. Each had donned a pair of contacts that made their eyes look golden and cat-like.

As they neared, Clarus realized there was a fourth pair of legs hiding behind Ignis. This must be the prince. Waiting patiently as the group finally came to a rest in front of them, Clarus was treated to the reveal. A pale hand with amusingly long pointy black nails slowly crept out from behind Ignis arm.  It reached out and pointed straight at him.  Then in a move that had Clarus snorting with laughter, Noct curled his fingers and beckoned him closer.  

“You’re nuts if you think I’m letting you near me with those daggers,” he laughed.

Noct merely shook his finger and carefully leaned to the side to show his face. The prince’s hair was slicked back and someone had drawn in an exaggerated widow’s peak.

“I see you’re taking your role far more seriously than your father.”

“I shall win,” was all Noct uttered before he hissed and retreated behind his bodyguards again.

With a quick bow, Ignis led the way back out into the party.  The advisor was playing his part very well and looked like he’d snap a person in two if they even tried to talk to the prince. Prompto was fighting to hide a smile as they turned to leave. Gladio offered Clarus and eyebrow waggle and a wink before he left.  They were having fun it seemed.

“So forgive me for being a little behind on my fantasy lore, why are they all wearing animal ears and tails?” Clarus asked kindly.

“He’s a vampire and he needs his werewolf pack to protect him.”

“Ah, I see. Noct basically thought up the perfect costume, ensuring he doesn’t have to talk with anyone.”

“Pretty much, he’s clever in that way, unlike his old man!” Cor teased as Regis joined them again.

Ignoring Cor’s comment, Regis stared at Noct’s retreating party and tilted his head, “Was that my son?”

“Yep you missed the reveal; he’s a vampire with a coven of werewolves.”  

Regis simply smiled and straightened his shoulders slightly, “He takes after me in so many ways.”

Cor groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, “You wish, look it I’m gonna go mingle and get some more votes in my favor.  I’m winning this contest tonight, be ready to pay up.”

Regis tried to whack Cor in the shin with his cane, but the marshal was quicker and leaped out of the way. He laughed and casually wandered away, complete with a smug look of satisfaction.

“He’s such a brat sometimes,” Regis huffed.

“He’s only five years younger than you.”

“Shut it; let’s go see if we can convince the judges to ban him or something.”  

Cor did not get banned.

Clarus had the joy of watching his friend claim a very special award, the citadels’ sexiest costume. Apparently, the panel of judges was also distracted by Cor’s exposed right side and six-pack.  The few other contestants in that category didn’t stand a chance.  No manner of makeup could fake muscles or a square jawline.

Regis didn’t have to pout for long though when his son won the night's overall best costume design. The king was proud of his son and his friends. They’d banded together to create a memorable look.  Noct stayed in character when he accepted his award and tried to bite one of the presenters.  Gladio sprang into action and held him back.  The room erupted in laughter and cheers.

Suddenly thankful they could all enjoy moments like this together; Clarus smiled and looked over to his friend and King. Regis must have had a similar reaction as he returned a warm smile of his own and a small nod.

The rest of the night was a blur; Cor had come playfully demanding his money. Regis denied him, but Clarus knew he’d pay up in the morning.  His liege kept trying to accuse Cor of cheating since he was only wearing half a costume. The marshal would then wiggle his award in front of Regis’ face as a rebuttal.

The music soon turned up loud enough that they couldn’t talk anymore. Opting to retreat to the far corner of the room the three friends sat and relaxed.  They spend the remainder of the evening commenting on the costumes and the terrible music.

The End.

AO3 link is posted in the comments.

#ffxv #fanfic #cor leonis #the immortal #the marshal

[navybluehues]

The Letter Pt. 1

summary; a game of wizard’s chess with one of your closest friends is interrupted by a devastating letter. 

there’ll be fluff eventually, but it’ll be a slow burn with some angst along the way. ;)

scribbler’s note; i’ll be honest, i have no idea whether i should make this barnaby/fem!mc,  murph/fem!mc, oor … someone else??  idk idk let me know what you think!

warning; people throw hands. that’s about it

word count; 1,500ish

-----

“Queen to G5. Aaand … Checkmate.”

“Really? Again??”

You couldn’t help the smug smile that crossed your lips, finding some amusement in Murphy’s exasperation. “I bet you wish that you hadn’t borrowed me that book on Wizard Chess stratagem.”

Murphy crossed his arms as he mulled over the last several moves that got them to that point. He finally recognized the maneuver as one from the book, albeit a little too late. You set the trap and he had fallen right into it. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually read it ...”

You snorted.  “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Murphy couldn’t deny that you had a point there. You were known as a voracious reader when it came to learning a new skill that you had an interest in. It was one of the qualities that landed you in Ravenclaw, despite being born into a family of well-known Gryffindors. He should’ve known better than to gamble with that. Sighing, he threw up his hands in defeat. “Fair enough. Care for another round?”

“I have to go to class in a bit, but sure. This shouldn’t take long.” The implication of the statement wasn’t lost on him and he chuckled sarcastically, resetting the board. “You’re right it won’t, because now that I’m onto you and your tricks. I’d say the odds of me wiping the floor with you in 5 minutes is at a staggering 98.5%”

Just as you had started sorting out your first move, your thoughts were interrupted by the flutter of wings. You looked up in time to recognize the unmistakable plumage of your father’s Eagle Owl as it came soaring in. It settled on the table next to you and much to Murphy’s vexation, knocked over many of the game pieces in the process. You smiled apologetically, “I’m sorry, he forgets his size sometimes.”

The massive owl trilled contentedly when you stroked him, releasing the letter into your grasp. It had been months since you last heard from your parents. They had adamantly discouraged you from  digging into your brother’s affairs over the last few years but as persistent as you were, they’d come to expect it from you. In the end, they simply resigned themselves to asking that you be careful. However, after the last letter you’d sent as an update to your progress, they had gone silent. You had been wondering if you might’ve gone too far and so you couldn’t deny that you were relieved to hear from them finally. That was, until you opened the letter …

Murphy craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the letter and its contents. “Well? What does it say??”

You were silent, taking in the words. You didn’t even react when the owl flapped his massive wings and took his leave. Murphy frowned. “(Y/N)...?” He was interrupted when he heard someone trip on his chair at the end of the table. He instinctively turned to apologize, as it was a fairly common occurrence for people to accidentally stumble on the chair if they weren’t paying attention. Expecting to find some hapless student, he was surprised to see Ismelda’s delighted smirk instead. She gave the chair another firm kick and it managed to distract him enough not to notice Merula as she came up behind you. “What’s this…?” She inquired, snatching the letter from you.

“Merula!” You snapped, grasping at the letter as she held it just out of reach.

“What are you so worried about, (L/N)? Got something here that you don’t want us to know about? Good.” She snickered, unable to hide her growing amusement as her eyes flitted across the script.

Murphy rolled his eyes at her and reached for the letter when she made her way around to his side of the table. Unfortunately, Merula had stepped back just enough to dodge his attempt. “Merula, will you just bugger off, already? Don’t you have some sorry first year to bully out of his  galleons?”

“Sure, but I’d never miss out on the chance to share my condolences for [Y/N]’s late brother. So sad …” Merula pouted, her voice dripping with malice as she pretended to dab at her eye with the corner of her sleeve. You pursed your lips, staring hard at the Wizard Chess board in front of you. The edge in Murphy’s voice softened when he turned to look at you from across the table. “[Y/N]? What is she talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard? Everyone thinks that Jacob’s dead. Even her PARENTS!!” She grinned, waving the letter triumphantly. “Everyone, except for [Y/N] here. You really are the stupidest Ravenclaw there is.”

Merula and Ismelda laughed amongst themselves while Barnaby exchanged a concerned look with Murphy. He might have been a little dense, but even he seemed to understand that this would not end well. “Uh. Merula, we’re going to be late for Charms. Let’s go-”

The Slytherin scoffed. “Please. I wouldn’t miss this for all the House Points Hogwarts had to offer. Go on, be a gentleman and say that you’re sorry for her loss.” Barnaby stiffened, glancing from her to you and back again. “I … Merula, if we’re late again, Flitwick will have our heads.”

“We’re not leaving until you say that you’re sorry for her loss.” Merula sneered at him. He didn’t appreciate her tone, but the more he thought on it … if [Y/N]’s brother were truly dead, wouldn’t that actually be the decent thing to do? Barnaby scratched the back of his head and turned towards you. “[Y/N], I -”

Before he’d had the opportunity to finish his thought, you had shot up from your seat. By then, the attention of the entire hall was on your table, hushed murmurs rippling through the room as you drew your wand and aimed it right at Merula. She was clearly taken aback by the gesture but with the eyes of the other students upon her, a good portion of them from her own house, she managed a hollow laugh. “W-what’s wrong, [L/N]? Don’t you want the support of your mates during these trying times?”

There was a cruel look in your eye, one that neither Murphy nor Barnaby had ever seen before even when you dueled.  It made the normally demure, even-keeled Ravenclaw that you were nearly unrecognizable. You said nothing, grip tightening around your wand. Undeterred and with her reputation on the line, Merula pulled out her own wand. “Come on then, [L/N]. Let’s see what you’ve go-.”

You sent a blast of energy towards her and she had to stumble out of the way to avoid it. Merula looked over her shoulder to the smoking black spot on the wall behind her. “HEY! That's not fair! I wasn’t ready!”

“Merula!! Look out!” Ismelda shouted. Before she could register what was happening, you had bounded across the table and landed a punch square across her jaw. Merula reeled backwards from the blow, catching herself on the table behind her where the students had already scattered to get out of the way. She gaped at you. “[L/N]! What the hell?!”

Your response came in the form of a shove, which threw off her balance enough to bring her to the ground. It was in that moment, standing over her, that your family’s reputation for having a mean streak was actualized. You felt fire in your veins when you straddled her, landing blow after blow across the disarmed girl’s face. Merula grabbed at your robes in a feeble  attempt to defend herself, managing to claw at your face enough to redden the vision in your right eye. You still didn’t relent, pouring every sleepless night, every holiday without your brother, every ounce of bottled-up guilt, grief and anger into mercilessly pummeling Merula. Not even Barnaby could manage to pry you off of her. It took the combined efforts of both him and Andre  to wrestle you away from her and by then, she was teetering on the edge of consciousness.

You struggled against the boys as they forced you backwards into the uproarious crowd that had gathered. It was all that they could do to put distance between the two of you. You tearfully shouted and cursed until your throat was raw, though you couldn’t begin to comprehend what you were saying. Any attempt to coax you out of your frenzy only seemed to anger you further until finally, you managed to twist around enough to slap one of them. You froze when you saw Barnaby staring at you, his opposite hand held against the red mark on his cheek. All at once, the fire in your veins was extinguished and all that was left was a pitiful, smoldering ember of a girl.

Without another word, you shook them off and pushed past them. You had taken off in a sprint out of the Great Hall before anyone could stop you. Where were you going? You couldn’t say. Anywhere was fine, as long as it was far, far away from there.

#duelling club is the fight club of the wizarding world #hp #hphm #hp imagine #hogwarts mystery imagine #charlie weasley #murphy mcnully #andre egwu #barnaby lee #bill weasley #penny haywood #merula snyde #ismelda murk #hogwarts mystery #ben copper #fanfic #harry potter #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #murphy mcnully x mc #barnaby lee x mc #charlie wealsey x mc #bill weasley x mc

[hyperpsychomaniac]

The Other Side of Me - Chapter 1

Darkwing Duck Fanfiction (90s Series)

The Negaverse Launchpad arrives in Saint Canard and announces his intention to take down Darkwing Duck in preparation for Negaduck’s arrival. Darkwing refuses to take the threat seriously, so Launchpad decides to take on his stronger, crazier, and downright dangerous counterpart himself.

***

“I’m not sure about this one, boss. I’ll do whatever you tell me. But that portal looks… dangerous.”

“Aw, don’t tell me the big bad Launchpad is going to be a pussy about a harmless little portal?”

“I’m no pussy!”

“Then get your butt down there!” Negaduck slammed a fist into the big brute’s shoulder.

Launchpad did not so much as flinch. A frown creased his stubbled beak as he stared into the portal that swirled about their feet.

Sometimes it took a few seconds for his orders to sink through that beefy skull. Negaduck was not keen on waiting for his minion’s neurons to fire. But this would be easier if his guinea pig was cooperative. “Listen, LP,” said Negaduck as he stretched an arm around his companion’s broad shoulders, “I need someone over in that other Saint Canard I can trust. A scout to take care of Darkwing Duck and pave the way for my glorious reign.”

A grin slowly spread across that big, dumb face. “Yeah, I can do that boss.”

“Then listen carefully. And I’ll try and keep it simple, stupid. Everything over there is the opposite. There’s an alternate you over there too. If those nerds at the university rigged this thing up properly, this portal will dump you out within a mile of him. If everything goes to plan, I’ll have access to Darkwing’s world again.”

“Hey, wait. Is this one of those things where you want me to replace my double? I’m a heavy, man. You need to use me to smash some skulls!” Launchpad pounded a fist into his open palm.

Negaduck snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. You’d need a shave. And to learn some table manners. No, smash in as many skulls as you see fit. Take out some of Darkwing’s allies. Find out where his lair is. I don’t care. I’m giving you your head… if you know what to do with it.”

“Huh?”

Negaduck grabbed Launchpad by the collar and dragged him down so they were beak to beak. “I’m tired of your screw ups and having to explain everything half a dozen times. You get over there, and you prove to me you’re worth keeping around. Got it, big guy?”

Launchpad glared back at him, but Negaduck did not miss the other man’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped. “Got it, boss.” He squared his shoulders and moved back over to the portal.

Negaduck grinned. He didn’t care what Launchpad did once, and if, he arrived in Darkwing’s Saint Canard. He needed this idiot for one thing and one thing only.

“Still looks a little rough down there.” Launchpad grumbled as he craned his neck out over the edge. “But maybe it’s not really so dangerous.”

“Only one way to find out.” Negaduck put a foot square into Launchpad’s backside. The big brute pinwheeled his arms and then toppled into the maelstrom.

Which immediately exploded into a green black geyser that splattered and hissed across the ceiling.

Negaduck dropped to the floor and pulled his hat down over his eyes. The air heated to a barely tolerable level.  A rush of wind whipped and howled past him. Then with a crash and a whoosh the gale turned back on itself and rushed back towards the portal. A chair skittered across the floor beside him, caught in the vacuum.

Then the portal shut down with a very final sounding whoomph.

Negaduck cautiously peeked out from under his hat. The ceiling had been blasted black, as had the floor. The chair sat where the portal had been, blackened, and cleaved clean in two. The smell of burnt wood and feathers lingered in the air.

Negaduck whistled through his teeth as he stood to his feet. “Oh yeah, that duck is D.E.A-dead.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at his failed experiment. Then he shrugged. “Guess it’s back to the drawing board.”

***

Launchpad dusted dying embers from the feathers on his forearms and hauled himself to his feet. The world tilted. “Stop it!” he demanded with a slur. The portal ride had been hectic, like being inside a green and black tumble dryer that was doing its best to catch on fire. But he wasn’t going to moan about it. He’d walk it off.

Sure enough, the world settled around him. The cracked bitumen at his feet was littered with garbage. Dingy, spray-painted walls hemmed him in. For a moment, Launchpad thought the alley he found himself in was back in the Negaverse. But the sky above was a bright, clear blue, and the sound of birdsong reached him. The alleyway opened to a parking lot. Across the road was a park, which was actually green. There were children playing, and giggling. Launchpad repressed a shudder. “Yuck. What a hell hole.”

And then an eerily familiar voice reached his ears. “Okay, so we need to get eggs, milk, de… er, or is that an o? I have got to stop Drake writing on my shopping list.”

Next to a garish blue sedan stood… Launchpad.

Launchpad blinked and rubbed at his eyes. “What the heck is he even wearing.”

His double scratched at the aviator’s cap perched on his head, then shrugged. “Hey, if I make soup, he’s not going to know what’s in it anyway.” Then, belting out a whistling tune that made Launchpad cringe, he strolled into the grocery store.

Launchpad rolled his shoulders. “Alright, then. Well, he is supposed to be Darkwing’s sidekick. Maybe this whole thing is just a cover. And I can’t fail Negaduck again…” Launchpad bit his lip. But no. Negaduck would not follow him in a hurry. He had most certainly pushed him through to check the safety of the portal. That ride had been anything but safe, and Negaduck was too much of a coward to come through right away until he was sure it was.

Which meant he had some time up his sleeve. “Guess I’ve got some work to do, but…” Launchpad rubbed his hands together as his gaze narrowed on the blue sedan. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun whilst I’m at it.”

***

Launchpad searched the aisles of the grocery store for what he’d eventually determined was ‘deodorant.’ He snatched a spray can off a shelf and grinned in triumph. “Got ya. But you are definitely not going in the soup. Heheh.”

Crime had taken a bit of a dip the last half of the week. It meant he could get on top of the groceries. Maybe get some meals into the freezer. When there were two men who spent half the night tearing around Saint Canard chasing baddies, and one growing kid who could consume an entire stack of pancakes and then ask if she was going to get bacon and eggs with that, in the house, it paid to have something stashed that was easy to make and better than toast. Launchpad’s freezer meals always seemed to last forever. Although, sometimes Launchpad thought that was because DW preferred the toast.

He ended up getting a bit more food than he had originally intended. “Are you sure you can carry all of those?” the register attendant asked him.

“No problemo.” Launchpad hefted the two overstuffed grocery bags to his chest. He grinned out through a bunch of celery leaves and winked.

The attendant slowly raised her eyebrow. “Have a good day, sir.”

Launchpad weaved his way across the parking lot. Lifting the haul was the easy part. But the grocery bags were so overstuffed he could barely see where he was going. “Not the first time I’ve been flying blind.” Every time he caught sight of the blue sedan through the celery, he course corrected.

“Ow!” Launchpad grumbled as his shin collected the tail gate. “There she is.” He had to boot the car twice before his foot found the tail gate catch, and then he dumped the groceries in back.

He threw himself into the driver’s seat, tore into reverse, then scraped the undercarriage on the gutter out of the parking lot. Someone honked. “Sorry, I got to get home to make soup!”

Launchpad tapped the steering wheel, hummed to himself, and glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Huh? I thought I shaved this morning. Wait…”

Launchpad spluttered as his scarf tightened about his throat. Warm breath blew down his neck. “Keep driving. And no funny business.”

“Air…” His scarf loosened just a little.

“Take us off the highway.” There was something familiar about that voice. “Pull into a sidestreet.”

Yeah. Right. Launchpad pulled into a slip lane off the highway as he’d been instructed. “So, you wearing a seatbelt?”

“I don’t need no pussy seatbelt…”

As the slip lane dipped down, Launchpad gunned it. The incline was just enough to get a bit of power out of the four-cylinder engine. His assailant yelped, and there was a heavy thud as his he slammed into the roof.

Launchpad gagged as his air cut off completely. He struggled, one hand wresting the steering wheel back and forth to keep them on course, the other grappling with the material now looped tightly about his throat. He slammed on the brakes. He had previously determined the trajectory of any loose items in the sedan on more than one occasion. He ducked. Tins and bottles took flight. Some thudded into the man in the back, eliciting more grunts and curses. The rest bounced harmlessly off the windshield.

Launchpad got out and, teeth gritted, hauled the man in his rear seat out by the collar. “Next time pick on someone your own size!”

The guy slammed balled up fists on Launchpad’s arms and broke his grip. “That was the idea.”

Launchpad took a step back and put up his guard. Both men froze, facing each other in a fighting stance.

Launchpad’s fists loosened. “You… You look just like me…”

“What the hell was that?” His mirror image barked. “You trying to kill us both?”

“Mom and Dad never said anything about me having a twin.”

The man that looked like him straightened his disheveled jacket collar with a quick tug. “Okay. That was actually a half decent move. Maybe you’re not as domesticated as I first thought.”

“Who are you?” Launchpad demanded.

“Is that stupid cap cutting off circulation to your brain? I’m you, genius.”

The gears in Launchpad’s head grated over. “The Negaverse. DW told me… you work for Negaduck.”

“There you go. Heh. Guess I’m not as stupid as everyone keeps telling me.”

“What are you doing in Saint Canard? I mean, our Saint Canard.”

The other Launchpad flicked a celery leaf from his shoulder. “Not the groceries.”

“Okay, okay… I’m talking to another me. Perfectly normal. So, you work for Negaduck. But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy, right? I mean, you’re me… Heheh.” Launchpad tugged at his scarf.

His double dragged him towards him, so they were pressed beak to beak. “Why are you giggling?”

“I am very uncomfortable right now.”

Launchpad released him with a snort. “Great. That’s his bloody laugh. I’m glad we’re supposed to be opposites. But you listen up, pal. You’re going to be more than uncomfortable when Negaduck gets here.”

“Negaduck’s back?” Talking to himself was weird as. But he had to pull it together and focus. Launchpad jabbed a finger into his double’s chest. “I’m not going to let him hurt DW!”

Launchpad grinned. “There’s the guy who nearly sent me through his windshield. Relax, Negaduck isn’t here. Yet. He sent me, his top man, through ahead of him. So, you’re not going to have to worry about him hurting your ‘DW’. Because by the time he gets here, this Launchpad will have put Darkwing Duck at the bottom of Audubon Bay.”

Launchpad threw a punch.

His double shielded his chin with broad forearms, then clapped Launchpad in the side of the head with a right hook that sent him sprawling across the bonnet of the sedan. “Negaduck will be awhile,” he said, as he backed away. “So, in the meantime we’re going to play a little game. I’m coming for Darkwing Duck. Let’s see if his sidekick who I’ve heard so much about can stop me.”

Launchpad hauled himself upright, hands balled into first. But his head still spun. By the time the world settled enough he could stand without toppling over, the doppelganger had disappeared.

“Launchpad!” It would’ve been amusing, screaming his own name. Had his heart not been hammering in his chest. His double had gone. But he had been no figment of his imagination. “I’ve got to warn DW.”

Tins and bottles clattered across the pavement as Launchpad dove back into the sedan and raced towards home.

***

Authors note: So that’s the first chapter. I’ve been (re)watching Darkwing Duck on Disney Plus. Forgot how good it was. And so, now I’m writing fanfiction. This is set somewhere just after that episode where Darkwing goes to the Negaverse (Life, the Negaverse, and Everything). Basically I just wanted to get the two Launchpad’s together in the same universe and see what happens. 

I’ve already started posting this on fanfiction.net, but wasn’t seeing much action over there. But seeing as I’m booting back up the tumblr, its coming over here now. I’ll post the other chapters soon.

Read chapter 2

#darkwing #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #negaverse #launchpad #negaduck #fanfic #fanfiction #darkwing fanfic #darkwing fanfiction #nega launchpad

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 14: Nicolas Flamel The scarlet plush carpet and gold trimmed furniture would have given it away, but Frank still easily deduced they must have landed in the Gryffindor common room even without that. 

They were obviously in one of the towers, the view from the window showing the Whomping Willow in the distance and Hagrid's hut smoking merely in a late afternoon sun. He'd always had a guess this particular house was opposite his own side of the castle, though he spun in a curious circle how remarkably more roomy it seemed, he'd been picturing medieval weapons upon all surfaces, and all the suits of armor to hang around in here.

Usual occupants of this place of course made themselves right at home, the four Marauders instantly claiming cushioned seats by the fire, though Black made a face as he lounged sideways across his, feet dangling near Potter's face. "Not as much fun when there's no competition for them."

Potter shoved the trainers away and seemed completely at ease with this, stating, "better than Guffin telling us off again for taking 'his' spot. Honestly, every time Percy's mentioned I think of that inflated Head Boy who thinks he owns this place."

"Which I still say is the reason not one person in the common room blamed you for getting the chair stuck to his backside," Pettigrew snickered.

"Down a chair, up a win," Lupin agreed as he slouched in his own nearest the fire and looked ready to take a nap.

Evans was resting on the girls stairs with a put out expression in place, evidently she'd tried to go up to her room to get away from all this for a moment but of course all of those were still blocked off.

Regulus was at the tables far away from everyone again, digging his pinky nail into the wood. Frank finally decided he was curious enough about this one and went over to sit next to him, Alice following in surprise.

"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced-" he tried to begin politely.

"Did you realize that the third or fourth time we went jumping around," he muttered back without looking up. He was still digging his nails into the wooden surface of the table and seemed completely transfixed on his task of carving something into place, without magic, which was odd in itself.

"Well to be fair, after all being shoved in a closet together, I think proper hello's were a thing of the past anyways," Alice said with chipper.

Regulus gave a small bit of laughter in agreement for that before using his other hand to wave vaguely. "These seats may not be sat next to a fire, but they're free."

"Thanks," the two said peaceably.

Awkward silence only hung though, as Regulus was being friendly enough but clearly not up to anymore of a conversation, so Frank summoned the book to him which somehow fell as if it had been stuck to the ceiling for whatever reason. Then he glanced up and saw that the house-elves had yet come through for a nightly cleaning, including unsticking many papers waded up to the wall with spit. He decided to use his wand to flip to the right part and continue.

The chapter itself certainly started off with a bang, not only promising more information of Nicolas Flamel being the chapter title, but a vivid nightmare that would give anyone the creeps. Then a tiny moment of joy in hearing of Quidditch practice for the Marauders, and then everything was ruined with Wood's announcement.

Not one of them could come up with why it was actually a good reason for Snape to be refereeing anything, let alone a Quidditch game. Though the idea sent the older Black into mirthless tears considering the only time he'd ever seen him on a broom before, even Evans was aghast at why he'd be doing any such thing.

It was clear he didn't like Harry, which honestly Lily couldn't much blame him for, but there must be some motive she was missing in him wanting to be closer to this game. She just wouldn't believe Harry's, or Potter and his gang's, motives Snape was after him. It was all the more depressing to her she seemed the only one left believing this, even as she watched Frank reading he wasn't doing a very good job holding himself back from nodding in agreement with the kids ridiculous desires of trying to get Harry out of this game.

Neville came as a nice distraction then, until she pursed her lips up in distaste that only Hermione really stood up to help him while every other person fell over laughing. At least Harry was being decent to him, he and Ron finally showing more worth than she'd ever seen of the Marauders as they spent time to make this kid feel better whom they hadn't anything to do with before now.

No one could have seen coming the answer to Nicolas Flamel being in a candy wrapper.

"To think that was dropped on us ages ago and none of us took notice," Frank grumbled, eyeing that with much less annoyance than he meant to, he was still smiling it had clearly meant so much to Neville.

"Who actually reads the cards," Regulus shrugged, looking on with intrigue the story was finally progressing again even while he defended, "it's just the rarity of the card you want, not what the wizard did."

"You knew this whole time!" Frank startled in surprise and the book fell out of his grip as he turned around to see Evans glowering at Potter, who didn't look remotely abashed.

He just shrugged casually and hardly turned to acknowledge her this time, like she'd interrupted an important conversation, "sure, I've had Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card memorized for months now, knew Flamel was an Alchemist. Why the yelling?"

"You couldn't have shared that?" Regulus demanded.

Sirius rolled his eyes, all four looking dumbfounded at the others dumbfounded expressions. "And why would we do that? What reason have you lot given for us to be sharing anything with you?"

"Well it's not as if you've had anything else to do, I'm still the only one looking for a way out of this mess!" Evans thundered.

"Yes, and checking every door is really doing you good," Lupin muttered, probably more loudly than he meant to in the usually much noisier common room.

"Who says we haven't been doing that as well while being ahead of the lot of you on Harry's mystery," Potter challenged, a gleam in his eye making at least Frank realize this wasn't all show. The four of them had taken every opportunity to be quietly talking to each other, and though they'd only heard a few stupid comments, it did cross his mind for the first time they really could be up to something other than just goofing along for the ride.

Evans was still muttering some foul mouthed comments Potter had known something before her and even Regulus still looked outraged at this slight, but Frank just sighed and kept going on so that he could catch up.

Indeed Hermione's explanation fascinated him, the idea that such a Stone could exist was such a fundamental part of magic that seemed so unattainable the more he learned of it, he wanted to get his own hands on this stone purely for studying purposes, it was no challenge at all to see why Snape or anyone would want it. Of course Evans' nostrils flared further at this comment, and she began muttering for no one to listen about how it could be anyone in the world besides her best friend, but at this point Frank found it easier to ignore her, and didn't envy Alice. When the redhead finally had no choice but to admit to this truth all of them had accepted, it would probably fall to his girlfriend to comfort the girl, considering she was the closest things to friend Evans had in this room.

The kids discussion of what they'd buy with the Stone was amusing, and mirrored along with the Marauders. Though now Frank was listening for it, he did notice that they were speaking at a perfectly normal volume when the dialogue hovered in the story, but the moment another conversation broke out such as Alice trying to engage Regulus in this same conversation, the four boys turned into sudden whispers.

Potter did fall out of his seat in shock though at Harry's proclamation. "Merlin my kids suicidal! A maniac he knows wants him dead will be within arms reach of him during a dangerous bloody game, and he's still going to play!"

Frank couldn't help it that time, he fully turned in his seat, craning his neck around over the high back red pleather to get a look at those words escaping Gryffindors prized Chaser. Yet this was no joke, he was frowning heavily and ruffling his hair, looking genuinely concerned for the fate of this future child. Considering Harry's last Quidditch performance, Frank would have thought any parent would fear their child continuing in this game, but as far as he could tell Potter had brushed the whole thing off. Now though, it was clear he'd taken this threat far more seriously than any believed, especially Evans.

Her brows shot up into her hairline, shock finally the most prominent expression on her face except contempt as she gazed on at him as well.

Black snapped his attention away from this reaction fast enough though. "Would you get on with it Longbottom? I'd like to know if the kid lives past this next game."

He actually sounded upset as well, eyes more on his best mate than anything, but the genuine concern stunned him as much as Potter's reaction. Seemed those boys were even more invested in this Harry kid than any of them had yet realized.

Since Potter looked ready to snatch the book away from him any second if he didn't get on with it, Frank quickly read through the next parts, that pep talk from Wood somehow only mounting things up worse than whatever he'd been intending. Finally though, Frank didn't feel all eyes on him were a glare when Dumbledore was mentioned.

"I'm probably supposed to be relieved," Potter muttered, finally taking his seat but still shifting restlessly. "At the same time though, Dumbledore wouldn't be there if there wasn't something to worry about."

"Cheer up Prongs," Pettigrew said, clearly infusing that into his own voice far better than the others could have. "Maybe even the twins will be keeping a better eye on him considering the last game, if Harry even starts to slip one of them will scoop him up before Dumbledore can draw his wand."

"Yeah," Potter seemed cheered at once by this idea. "Then they can knock Snivellus out of the air for us on their way doing it."

Evans scoffed, the mood wasn't truly back to content, but Frank got through the match with only a few curses for the whole event. Turned out Harry wasn't even the one to be worried about during this game. Malfoy finally said one to many comments and Ron and Neville doing something about it was more of a show than Quidditch for once.

"I love Harry's friends!" Black cheered from his seat, all of them giving a great whoop of joy as the proceedings included yet more thrill of Harry winning the game in a record time!

The Gryffindors celebration was short lived. The same four boys who'd been high-fiving and cheering each other on as if they'd just walked away from their own game froze and went right back to uneasily listening when Harry turned around to do his next foolhardy stunt.

"This kid is unbelievable," Evans whispered. Who was mad enough to follow a teacher into the Forbidden Forest, and eavesdrop on that conversation?!

Regulus agreed with her, but his unintentionally glancing over at her for doing so was instantly corrected when they accidentally met eyes. He went back to digging his nail into the surface of the wood. In the time it had taken them to be in here, he'd done out a rough drawing of his family houses crest, two stars above a sword, separated by an arrow point. He was just putting the finishing touches of the shield around it when Frank's voice hitched in his own bit of concern upon hearing Neville came out unconscious for that squabble, but aside from Alice covering his hand with hers and squeezing the two passed over the moment. Considering the main kid had now been in four near death experiences already to Neville's one, he still thought they were overreacting.

The closing bit felt ridiculous on these kids parts, Regulus would agree with Evans scoff of disbelief up to a point. They truly couldn't see Snape as anything more than the lone man out to get this object, but Regulus more believed Quirrell could be in it for a cut. That little argument had hinted the two were trying to work out a problem after all, and the Snape he knew certainly didn't ask for help willingly.

#The Marauders #Harry Potter #fanfiction #Reading the books #Wolfstar #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #Lily Evans

[cryoculus]

Hello! I was just wondering if you were taking requests right now? If so, could you please write something for Sakusa Kiyoomi? It can be anything from fluff to nsfw. If not, feel free to ignore this ask. I love your writing!

» Word Count: 1,539 wordsCross-posted on AO3

I think it’s painfully obvious at this point that I rarely check my askbox. This oneshot has been posted for a while now on AO3, too. 

---

You're only vaguely aware of the train screeching to a stop when you cracked one eye open.

"We have arrived at Shibuya Station. Please stand clear of the doors and mind the gap between the train and the platform. Thank you."

The groan you wrenched out sounded awfully dry in your throat as you forced yourself to sit upright. Shibuya was the most crowded district in Tokyo, and you'll probably get your ass kicked out of the train if the marshals found you sprawled all over the seats. Your cheek felt cool from where it had been pressed against the cold metal, but you managed to overlook the sensation as you tried to pull yourself together.

"No more yakinikus that lasted until morning," you swore under your breath. "No more."

The train doors finally opened, and you were at awe with the influx of passengers this early in the day. It was barely five A.M but Shibuya was already bustling as usual. As each of the Tokyo commuters filed inside the car, you noticed the way their eyes would latch onto your inebriated form for one second before deciding to sit as far away from you as possible.

You scoffed. Damn, at least you weren't driving drunk.

It seemed like an eternity has passed before you heard the doors signal for a close. The car was pretty much packed now, save for the vacancy to your right. The schoolgirl sitting beside you seemed rattled enough by the stench of sake that clung to your clothes, so it wasn't a surprise that no one had bothered taking the only seat that's left.

That was until he arrived.

"What a pain," grumbled the unreasonably tall man, face scrunching up beneath his face mask.

Rather annoyed, you flipped him off without a second thought, making the elderly woman in the adjacent seat gasp. "You either sit the fuck down or shut the fuck up, buddy."

Little miss schoolgirl squeaked at your uncalled-for antagonism, and your conscience was beginning to nag at you to stop letting the damn alcohol talk. If someone even vaguely recognized you, you were going to get an earful from your coach later in the day.

Tall, snark, and handsome—wait, did you just call him handsome?—narrowed his eyes but then a flash of something you couldn't quite single out shadowed his face. Before you could ponder about it more, however, the train was beginning to pick up speed, leaving the district of Shibuya behind.

When he didn't say anything more, you found yourself being able to sink back in your seat as you closed your eyes. Who knew that cold, subway train seats could be comfortable—

"Quite embarrassing, isn't it? For a V. League Division One libero to be seen in that pitiful state?"

All of a sudden, your wide-eyed gaze snapped itself back at him—expression turning rigid with panic. Fuck. He recognized you?

Then, your stare wandered down to the black gym bag strapped across his lean shoulders. Three large claw marks were plastered across the surface, and you had to resist the urge to vomit all over the floor.

MSBY Black Jackals was printed in shiny, gold lettering, and you could almost see him smirk through that damn face mask.

The next ten-or-so minutes were spent channeling all the negative energy you had on your person and shoving it all on the man before you in a heated gaze. How dare he look so composed, gloved hand clutching the handrail so nonchalantly as if he didn't just insult you?

"We have arrived at Shinjuku Station," the voice of the woman speaking through the PA system rang in your ears. "Please stand clear of the doors and mind the gap between the—"

"Do compose yourself, (Surname)," Black Jackals guy taunted as he made his way towards the exit. "You can't always let the night life run its course until morning."

"I know that, jackass," you hissed, earning yourself even more judgmental stares from the other passengers.

Thankfully, he decided to let you have the last word, the only retaliation you saw from him being the glimmer of smugness that shined in his dark irises. Tall guy stepped off the train and disappeared in the throng of Tokyo commuters within seconds.

Once the train veered into motion once more, you scooched a little to the side to make space for the first passenger of the day who didn't give a shit sitting next to a drunk. He was busy scrolling through weird TikToks on his phone to care, and that's when you finally allowed yourself to relax.

You decided that, once you got a decent amount of sleep, you were going to hunt that damn Black Jackals guy down.

---

"You were out drinking again, weren't you?!"

Your face twisted at your captain's shrill voice grating at your ears. "Maricchi, I got here relatively on time, didn't I?"

"Relatively?" Mari echoed, tapping her foot with waning patience against the floor. "It's been thirty minutes since warm-ups began, and you had the guts to show up with a hangover? (Name), we've only got two liberos on the team, and Sakura is still on maternity leave. You can't both be out of commission!"

You waved away her fury with a nonchalant gesture. "Right, right. Could you, um, tone it down a little? Your voice is magnified by like a hundred in my head, just so you know."

"Whatever," she told you dismissively. "I bet you forgot we're having a joint training session today, too."

"A...what?"

"Yeah, idiot," jeered your captain. "Or are you too hungover to notice all the damn men with us today?"

You stared at her in confusion before letting your gaze wander across the entirety of the gymnasium. Some were talking among themselves, while others sought out the help of your teammates in doing their sit-ups.

Now, joint training sessions weren't an entirely new concept to you. Division One V. League had a knack for mixing up male and female teams in the said training sessions, so the match-up didn't really come as a surprise to you, but it just had to be that team, didn't it?

Black uniforms with golden claw marks slashed onto the fabric. The gods really were out to torment you today.

"Oi."

You hated yourself for reacting instinctively to the familiar voice. Craning your head to the side, you were met by the same, dark eyes that ridiculed you first thing in the morning. This time, though, he was devoid of the black face mask he wore during his commute, and you hated yourself even more for thinking that yup, he definitely was tall, snark, and handsome.

Sakusa Kiyoomi—that was his name.

"How long can you hold up against outside hitters?" he questioned, carding his fingers through his inky hair. "Division One liberos aren't a joke, but from the way you were half-dead in the train earlier, I figured it would be merciful to go easy on you."

You could practically feel Mari's eyes burning holes in the back of your head. However, you opted to save the explanations for later.

"Listen here, you punk," you ground out through gritted teeth. "You don't give a rat's ass about my well-being, got that? Send a thousand spikes my way and I'll dig every. Single. One."

His mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile, but there was an unspoken challenge in his eyes that you'd want nothing else but to take on. Before he could speak again, though, another party has joined the fray.

"Oomi-kun, you aren't usually one to talk unless spoken to," the Jackals' setter, Miya Atsumu sighed, slinging an arm around Sakusa—a show of familiarity that the latter didn't seem to enjoy. "What're ya doin' canoodling with the enemy, huh?"

"None of your business, Miya," Sakusa scoffed before turning back to you. "I'll take your word on that, you drunkard."

You gasped, steeling your expression. "Bring it on, asshole."

"My, my. Such competitive spirits this early in the season!" Miya hollered at your unbridled hatred for the other right off the bat. "Well, Oomi-kun and I are gonna get goin'. He still has to spike some of my tosses."

"What—"

The blond tutted Sakusa before he could get another word out, pushing him by the shoulders as he sent a wink your way. "Let's have a good game, libero-san!"

Once the odd duo left you to your own devices, you should've expected Mari to explode on you like a nuclear meltdown.

"How did you know Sakusa? And Miya, too? Just what did you get yourself into, (Name)?!"

The sigh you let out is a bit strained as your gaze riveted itself on the other side of the court. True to his word, Miya really did force Sakusa into hitting his tosses, and the sound of a volleyball landing on the floor with a clean spike was music to your ears.

The devil really had no business making him look so cool as he did so, too.

"I have no idea," was what you told your captain. "Come on, help me warm up. No way am I letting that jerk score any hits off me."

#haikyuu!! #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #manga spoilers #hqscenario

[faean]

Spider-Man/Peter Parker x Male Reader

Rating: T; Angst

Word Length: 2,512

Title: Forgive Me

—–

          Peter had never been more perplexed in his entire life, and he did not know what was more surprising: The fact that this ranked higher in terms of something than him getting tech from the Tony Stark and fighting the Captain America half way across the world, or that he was genuinely confused about everything.

          A little exaggerated, of course (and possibly not for the first time), but you certainly did have an effect on people.

          First off, you, (Y/N) (L/N), were a transfer student from who knows where. Second, you were easily the most amiable person in existence, so much so that it took no more than two weeks for you to become one of the very few people to know Peter as Spider-Man. Third, you seemed to be, somehow, always of aid to Peter even when he didn’t think he needed it nor expected it.

          Lastly, and certainly the most prominent thing, was not just that you were open and comfortable about your sexuality (which wasn’t unheard of and even encouraged), it was that Peter began to question his own.

          He still harbored a small, albeit diminishing, crush on Liz after she moved. He also began to develop feelings for MJ. Most jarring, however, was that in spite of him knowing that he is attracted to women, he could not get (Y/N) (L/N) out of his mind.

          And things only got stranger.

          Soon, (Y/N) became absurdly more affectionate towards his close friends, especially Peter. He had even become Peter’s, rather Spider-Man’s, go to after patrols and battles to get patched up or rest, sometimes spending multiple nights in Aunt May’s apartment, which she enjoyed immensely since you were such a help around the place. Peter had even become accustomed to the affection you showed, so much so that he found himself craving it at times.

          Stranger still was the dramatic decrease in criminal activity. Peter knew he couldn’t be the cause of it, and it wasn’t because he didn’t do a decent job at being a ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. It was because that drop in crime went straight to zero and the only reason he continued patrolling was because of a new figure on the scene. He had no idea if they were a new villain or hero, or even if they were male or female! The new figure was always heavily disguised, and it was obvious they were using a voice modulator.

          Strangest of all, though, was that when the disguised person began making sexual advances towards him, it correlated with (Y/N) becoming unabashedly possessive, and to Peter alone. While Peter did enjoy the reprieve from Flash’s torment, he did miss spending time with his friends; even Ned and MJ shied away from him whenever you were present.

          And all of this in the span of a mere six weeks!

          It was now week seven of this strangeness, and Peter wanted answers. He wanted to finally figure out his sexuality; he wanted to finally hang out with his other friends; he wanted to finally unravel the intentions of the disguised figure; and he wanted, most of all, to get a break from (Y/N).

          Surprisingly, he got through most of that list by the end of school.

          He figured out that, while he is indeed attracted to the opposite sex, (Y/N) is an exception and it was due simply because Peter could admit he was comfortable with such an idea.

          He got to hang out with his friends, and it was such a relaxing and fun experience that Peter nearly forgot he had more stuff to do.

          Nearly.

          The only reason he was able to spend some time with his friends was because you were absent, which was startling, as you haven’t even been late to any class or club meeting, much less absent all together. Peter had to admit that he was somewhat worried about you, but it was this worry that reminded him of his mission. Once school had ended for the day and he donned his suit, he searched throughout the city to find the strange person.

---

          It had been several hours, and night began to fall, but Spider-Man could not find any trace of the disguised figure. Exhausted and defeated, he took rest atop a random skyscraper, watching the sun finish setting, and gazing into the night sky. There were few stars, given the amount of light pollution, but with the help of his suit’s A.I, Karen, he magnified the sight and stared into the depths of space. Unfortunately, this moment of respite was just that.

          A moment.

          “Peter, I am detecting an energy source quickly approaching.” Karen’s voice riled him up, but his Spider-Sense (or Peter Tingle, as his Aunt called it) had already put him on guard.

          He stood, ready to counter whoever and whatever came at him, the suit’s sensors attempting to locate the direction of the energy source.

          “The energy source is increasing in speed exponentially and resembles that of the disguised figure we have met. I am currently attempting to predict its- Above you!”

          Karen’s warning and Peter’s reflexes were not fast enough to prevent him from being pinned to the floor. It took Peter a few seconds to recover from the force of the impact, and he came face-to-face, well, mask-to-mask, with the disguised person. He struggled to push them off of himself, but they were unnaturally strong.

          No, not strong, he thought. They couldn’t possibly be strong enough to pin him down with brute force, not unless they were unnaturally heavy.

          Which also didn’t make much sense to the still struggling Spider-Man. The figure was barely taller than him, and just as lean. In order for them to so effortlessly restrain him, they would need to be dense. Denser than most metals. Upon realizing this, Peter noticed no warmth emanating from the body above him, and Karen’s scanning revealed as much.

          “Peter, the person, isn’t a person. They’re not even machine. I cannot determine the mat-t-t-t-… Pe-pe-peter, they a-re-re messss-ing-g-g-g with my f-f-f-unction-ion-ionnn...”

          Karen went silent, and the holographic display of his suit disappeared. Black tendrils snaked from the thing’s hands, somehow shutting the suit down and paralyzing Peter as it reached across his arms, stopping at his neck and chest. This was unlike anything he had ever experience, and he was truly, genuinely, afraid.

          The figure stayed still, straddling Peter and staring into his masked eyes. At least, Peter thought they were staring at him. He couldn’t see any part of their face, and he didn’t care, as his mind was set on finding some way, any way, to escape.

           As the figure lowered its head, Peter could hear a faint purring coming from it. It pressed its entire body against his, an immense pressure weighing upon him, restricting his breathing and ensuring he couldn’t escape, if he could have in the first place. Soon, it buried its head into the crook of his clothed neck, its ethereal purring having an… effect on him.

           It resonated throughout him, and he fought his body’s arousal. He was no stranger to it, admittedly, as he was a teen going through the paces, but those times were private and few in between. Though, they did become more frequent and intense when (Y/N) began to overwhelm him. But this? This was unwanted, and he struggled ever more vehemently to escape.

           Then, the figure raised its head, seemingly gazing at Peter before an inky black tendril slithered to the seam of his mask and slipped underneath. Peter’s eyes widened as he was being unmasked, but then his Spider-Sense went nuts, the tingling in the back his head overpowering the sensation of the figure’s purring.

           He couldn’t see what happened, exactly, but the figure was forcefully ripped off of him by an unseen force and slammed against the low wall that encased the rooftop. Instinctively, Peter first shot a capture web at the figure before shooting a tether at the entrance to the rooftop, hoisting himself away from the figure.

           Freed from its grasp, his suit sparked to life, and Karen’s voice could be heard again.

           “Karen! How did they shut the suit down? And what was that that pushed them back?” Peter asked, his words laced with fear.

           Before she could respond, footsteps echoed, and Peter’s attention was on…

           “(Y/N)…” he whispered as he stared at your back, watching you casually make your way to the figure, which had picked itself up and stood hunched over, its hands scraping the floor and it head unnaturally twisted at you.

           “You had free reign of the city, all the enticing souls of Manhattan, and yet, you just could not help yourself. He is mine, and I will not hesitate to ensure he stays mine.” You growled at the figure as you continued towards it.

           Peter was taken aback, his face heating up from your declaration and his mind racing from your reveal: You and the creature were connected, its appearance coinciding with your transfer and the sudden drop in crime. Although, Peter had thought the figure was likely you in disguise, even Karen had calculated it to be the most probable of scenarios.

           “…” The figure remained silent, but its body spasmed as it turned its head to look up at Peter. “………”

           “So be it.” Was your reply to the figure’s silence, standing in front of it now, your hand on its neck as you lifted it off the ground, its head still craned towards Peter’s perch.

           Peter was in shock at how you managed it, and Karen’s voice was a distant echo as he remained fixated on you.

           You took a step up onto the ledge of the wall, dangling the figure over the vast expanse of the city scape below. Peter snapped back to his senses, rushing towards you to stop you. He had so many questions and fears and he just had to get answers from you about the figure, but…

           He stopped in his tracks as you turned back at him, a soft, loving smile on your face. Your eyes held such adoration for him as tears glistened in them, the moon perfectly aligned with your frame. So many memories flashed before Peter’s eyes, memories of loss and tragedy and heartache, he meekly reached out for you as you stepped off the ledge, falling, still with the same smile and love across your lips as you mouthed ‘I love you…’.

           He screamed for you at the top of lungs, firing off two webs at you as he desperately chased after you, his tears clouding his vision. The webs raced after you and the figure, but you both fell at such an unnatural speed, as if something more than gravity drew you towards the gray concrete earth. They never reached, and Karen had to fire another to anchor Peter to the building so he would not meet a similar fate.

           The figure landed first, impacting the ground and cratering it, the force shattering nearby glass. It laid there, motionless, until you neared the ground. It jolted up and leapt to intercept, but it fell a few inches short as you slammed into the asphalt beside it.

           Peter swiftly made his way to your lifeless body, your smile and love unbroken. The figure knelt beside your body, and in its ethereal, warped voice, whispered “Forgive me...”

           Peter held you as a crowd began to form, and the figure slowly dissolved into an inky black mist as it slumped over, its hand intertwined with yours.

           ---

           A week went by, and Peter was still lying in his bed, the city of Manhattan wondering where their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man had gone off to. Peter refused to leave his room save for food and the occasional hour-long shower, and took no visitors, not even Tony Stark had been able to get through to him. Ned and MJ stopped by everyday to drop off his missed homework and copies of their notes, but Aunt May remained to be the only one to see him.

          And now, she stood outside his bedroom door, a crisp letter of crimson with an ivory seal in her hand. She hesitated when she went to knock and decided it better to slip it under his door, knowing he would come out when he was ready.

          Peter saw the letter but made no effort to get it. Hours passed before he mustered the strength to retrieve it. He sunk back into his bed as he read the lettering, the same color as the seal-

          ‘Beloved’

          He gingerly opened it, immediately having recognized your handwriting. Carefully unfolding the letter, a few rose petals scattered about him and the bed as they fell from the opened paper. His eyes watered as he smelled your scent on the paper, and it soon became sobs as he read through it, your voice echoing in his mind.

          My Dearest Beloved,

          I imagine you have many questions, and I desire little more than to give you those answers. Beloved, I am gone, as is the shade that bore the darkness of my soul and the sins I have committed, but I ask that you shed no more tears for me. I am undeserving of your grief, much less your love and affection.

          I longed for someone to call my own, but my shade haunted me everywhere I travelled, a reminder of all the sorrow I have wrought. While I changed my ways, it could not, and many more fell to the darkness that resides within me. I thought, in a place with a vast number of criminals, it would be satisfied. Of course, when my heart became yours to bear, it followed suit. Beloved, never have I loved someone as much as I love you, and it is your memory that I shall keep with me as I atone for all the pain I am responsible for.

          But, enough of me, for I matter naught. Only you matter. Peter, my beloved, I knew that you could not be mine by any measure, and I accepted this. At least, I thought I had. Your radiant beauty captivated me, and your brilliant mind ensnared me, and my heart yearned for a love I could not have. It is an excruciating experience, and I do not wish that anyone, not anymore. As your happiness is my only desire, I prepared this letter, and many others, for when my time came to meet my fate.

          Peter, my dearest beloved, I do not love you so simply. I am in love with your very being- mind, body, and soul. I cannot express my gratitude for your freeing me. May the next letters find you and, if you still have the kindness I am ever so glad to have received, may you treasure them as I have treasured every moment I spent with you.

                                                                       With Sincerest Love,

                                                                                                           (Y/N) (L/N)

          Peter set the handwritten letter down, three simple words leaving his lips before he went to Aunt May, his heart aching.

          “I forgive you…”

—– 

#Marvel #Marvel Comics #MCU #Spider-Man #marvel spiderman #Peter Parker #male reader #spiderman x male reader #peter parker x male reader #angst #fanfiction #original works #enjoy you heathens