#she'd never say no to retribution | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

serasfanfiction · 17 days

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One afternoon, around the time Charlie was midway through the toddler stage, Lucifer had found himself spending the better part of one of her play dates in the shape of a mouse.

Charlie had been such an easy baby. She rarely cried or got upset. Most of the time when she did cry, it was for the usual things: she was hungry. She wanted to be held. Her diaper needed to be changed. She largely spoiled her parents as much as they spoiled her.

All of this wasn't to say that she didn't have her bad days.

The discovery had largely been an act of desperation. Lilith was away dealing with a matter involving Mammon that required the firm handling of a member of the ruling family. Lucifer had assured her he could look after Charlie for the day. They would be fine. It has seemed like it would be, too.

Then Charlie had started to cry. Started to cry and she wouldn't stop. Nothing he had tried had helped. Out of sheer desperation, he had shapeshifted into the form of the first animal he could think of.

At first, Charlie had stopped crying mostly out of confusion. She hiccupped, confused as to where her father had gone and what this new addition was. She had never seen any Earth animals and wouldn't have known that her father had turned himself into a duck. Because she was a curious thing, she had reached out one of her little hands to snag this new thing she'd discovered. Whatever had ailed her promptly forgotten. Lucifer had allowed himself to be squished and prodded for a few hours and in exchange, Charlie returned to being a happy baby.

So began the act of taking on the forms of Earth animals, both as a distraction and as a teaching tool.

For a while, it was her favorite pass time. Living in Hell as they were, it was hard to expose Charlie to positive things the majority of Earth children took for granted. Most of her experience with animals were the forms sinners took upon arriving, something that could give her a warped impression of what animals were supposed to look like. His favorite form was indeed the duck, but he was more than willing to take on other forms, such as cats, dogs, horses, and other common animals. He sometimes had difficulty with his snake form in the beginning, attached to some traumatic memories as it was, but he had endured the form for educational purposes.

The play date had been Lilith's idea. She had been keeping up ties with the Ars Goetia and had thought it would be good idea for Charlie to play with some other children her own age. Lucifer had thought the idea of being around a gaggle of hyperactive, screaming children had sounded exhausting, but had gone along with it. One thing led to another, and Charlie had strong armed him into showing the other children what a 'mouse' looked like. Mostly by repeating the word 'mouse' until he'd given in and transformed into one.

The other adults, Lilith being the exception, had been hesitant with the idea of the children treating him like a plaything. Lucifer may have been pulling away from his duties for centuries at this point, but he was still the literal King of Hell. What if one of the children did something to upset him and he decided there needed to be some sort of retribution?

Lucifer had thought they were making too big of a deal out of it. They were children. They were going to act like children. He understood that. They understood that. He wasn't going to harm the children for acting like children. He was a bit insulted they thought he was ruthless enough to hurt them for it.

Charlie - dear, sweet Charlie - had brought the whole debate to a resounding close when she had dropped his little mouse form into the hands of one of Paimon's random children. This set off the other children to want a turn and that had been that.

Another side effect of being born and growing up in Hell was that none of the children, Charlie included, understood that small Earth animals were breakable. This wasn't an issue, as Lucifer was still the strongest being in Hell regardless of his form, but he did protest to being stuffed into one of the children's pockets after the third time it happened. The play date had quickly morphed into a mini lesson in teaching the children to be gentle when handling 'fragile' things.

He let Charlie do it because she was his daughter, but what parent didnt give their children special privileges, right?

All of this was to say that Lucifer's current predicament wasn't an altogether new experience, he just couldn't quite understand how he had come to be in snake form, curled up around Alastor's arm and wrist and just barely hidden by his coat sleeve as they made their way through Pentagram City.

He would have liked to blame it on Alastor. To say it was his own fault and that he could suffer a little as a result, thank you very much. As much as he hated it, that wouldn't have been the full truth.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

The events that led up to his current predicament could be traced more immediately back to that morning. It had been determined that the time had come to tell Rosie and Carmilla about the upcoming broadcast. After days of planning and ironing out the finer details of the broadcast itself, it had felt good to finally be moving forward. They had gotten lucky there had been no additional attacks on the hotel during this time, but there was never any way to know how long their luck would hold out.

"Carmilla won't thank you for telling her," Vaggie pointed out from where she was lounging on the couch. "She could care less as long as it's not Heaven on her doorstep."

Charlie, who was sitting up against her side, had a different opinion on the matter. "Aw, I think it's nice! It feels like we have real allies now!"

"Exactly," Alastor chimed in, smug that Charlie agreed with his assessment and more than happy to rub it in. Vaggie glared at him. The only reason she wasn't breathing fire was because she was literally incapable of doing so. Fed by her reaction, Alastor added, "Telling our allies about our plans builds trust and makes them feel included. We wouldn't want them to think we're accusing them of anything, now would we?"

Charlie shook her head vigorously. Vaggie had refused to give any further input out of spite.

Lucifer, taking pity on her, redirected the conversation. "Yes, which is why we should get going." He pointed to the front door with the apple tip of his cane. "Soon."

Charlie had perked up at the 'we.' Since the catastrophe that was the aftermath of Alastor and Lucifer striking their second deal, she had doubled down on trust building exercises. It was debatable if they had made things any better or worse. "You're going together?"

Lucifer opened his mouth to give an affirmative, only to be interrupted by Alastor interjecting with, "Hm. About that."

The blonde crossed his arms, instantly suspicious. "Excuse you?" They had talked about this. He was going.

Alastor circled the little king, coming to stand just out of arms reach. He waved his microphone to encompass all of Lucifer's person. "Just think about it, your Majesty!" His tone was that of an adult talking to a small child. "You're such a rare sight to be seen around the city, people are bound to notice you immediately! Why, they're likely to guess something is afoot from the get-go." Ignoring the glare Lucifer was giving him, Alastor tutted at him. "No, no, it would be much better if I went on my own."

Lucifer didn't buy that for a moment. It was more likely Alastor wanted to control the narrative and the less of that the better. Meeting him grin for grin, he countered, "If we're so keen on building trust, wouldn't it be better if their king showed up in person to thank them?"

Inching closer in his irritation, Alastor stared down his nose at him. "Will they? After all, you've been absentee so long: does your opinion matter anymore?"

Charlie sighed, cutting their momentum short like the bursting of a balloon. Lucifer's eye twitched, remembering that he had indeed promised to work with Alastor, but he was making it so hard to do so! And he knew it, too! The king was tempted to yank on Alastor's chain, literally, even if neither of them had done anything to violate the terms of it. Alastor had agreed to stand with Lucifer during the broadcast, but nothing said he had to cooperate at any other time. It wouldn't have accomplished anything other than making Lucifer feel better in that moment. He only didn't do it was because Alastor was going to have his teeth in him at some point in the future and Lucifer didn't want to encourage any ideas of taking revenge during a vulnerable moment.

In a move that should have been a warning, Charlie gasped, a single finger going up in the air as a preverbal light bulb went off over her head. "Oh! I know just the thing!"

Lucifer softened his grin into a supportive smile as he turned to her. "What have you got for us, sweetie?"

Oblivious to the choas she was about to unleash, Charlie suggested, "What if dad shapeshifted into a mouse or something? Then he could just hide in your pocket and no one would see him!" She smiled at them, clearly believing this to be a good idea.

Lucifer's smile became frozen on his face. He had never regretted using his abilities to help educate her on Earth animals. He still didn't. He just kind of wanted to. All he could imagine was himself in the form of a tiny white mouse and Alastor towering over him as he prepared to stomp on him. He shuddered at the mental image. Oh, that really wouldn't do. Nope.

Alastor's face went through a range of emotions. He didn't shudder himself, but it was clear that he had wanted to, as he shot that one down without holding back. "Ha! Absolutely not!"

Vaggie, ever spiteful, was never one to miss an opening when she spotted one, and boy, was she spotting one. "What's the matter? Don't like mice?"

Alastor, however, had already recovered and if there was ever a master of taking advantage of opportunities, it was him. "Oh, but don't you know? Everyone knows mice and rats are known for carrying diseases. Who would want to carry such a vermin around?"

Charlie wasn't ready to let go of the idea just yet. "What about something around the wrist then? Like a snake?"

The redheaded sinner looked just as thrilled with this idea as the last, possibly even less so. Normally, Lucifer would have been sympathetic about his distaste for being touched, but his patience was running dry. Feeling malicious, he drawled, "Hmmm, I think that might work."

Alastor slowly turned his head around to face him, the rest of his body not following. Head tilting at an alarming angle, his voice deceptively calm, he asked, "Come again?"

Lucifer crossed the short distance between them, Alastor's head turning to follow him as he approached. With every inch he came closer, the redhead's smile grew a little wider, somehow going past what should be humanly possible for his face. Lucifer stopped when they were nearly chest to chest. He stared up at Alastor through his eyelashes, smile anything but innocent. "What's the matter? Is the big, bad Radio Demon scared of little ol' me?"

Alastor's pupils transformed into radio dials; eyes and smile lit up and bordering on manic. His fingers tightened around his microphone, as if imagining wrapping them around something else entirely. Calling his bluff, the redhead held out a wrist, snarling through gritted teeth, "Dear me, who am I to complain about wearing the King of Hell as jewelry?"

Lucifer nearly laughed in his face, thinking it adorable that Alastor seemed to believe that the worst thing he'd ever wrapped himself around was someone's wrist. Not waiting for the sinner to change his mind, the blonde shifted into the shape of a snake, his little top hat and bow the only thing giving him away as anything other than the real thing. He was quick to slither up Alastor's wrist, slipping under the sleeve until he was completely covered. He wriggled up the arm, trying to get comfortable. He paused when a hand wrapped tightly around him, the tightening of the grip threatening to become crushing.

He couldn't see anything but the red of Alastor's coat sleeve, so he couldn't judge his expression, but it was clear from his tone it was taking every ounce of his not inconsiderable self-restraint not to rip Lucifer off and fling him around the room. "I would appreciate it if you didn't go any higher than my gloves."

Lucifer was just at the edge of the glove in question. Just to be contrary, he flicked a tongue out, just enough to disturb the fur of Alastor's bare arm. Static screeched through the air and the hand around him tightened, compulsively, the sharp points of the redhead's claws held back only by the fabric of a coat tailored to withstand the typical violence one would expect in Hell. Not necessarily taking pity on the sinner, but deciding to uphold the illusion of peace, the fallen angel pointed out, voice not even showing a hint of strain, "I can't move back down unless you lighten up there, buddy."

The pressure around him increased, briefly, before very, very slowly decreasing. When he was free to move again, Lucifer slithered his way back down away from the top of the gloves, finally settling near the wrist, but not down far enough to be seen. His head settled against the inside of the wrist, the vibrations of Alastor's pulse a soft melody in his ears.

"Dad, are you alright?" Charlie's voice sounded a little closer. Had she gotten up off the couch?

"All set when Alastor's set." Lucifer gave a light, full body squeeze to show he was ready.

There was a pause, Alastor tense as a board. Slowly, he forced himself to relax until the only one who could likely tell he was still a potential live wire was Lucifer and that was only because he was literally clinging to him. "Yes, I do think it's time to leave. Don't want to keep Rosie waiting."

Charlie's voice was closer still and Lucifer could see her pant legs and shoes appear in his limited vision. "Are you sure you're okay, Alastor? If this is too much--."

Alastor was quick to cut her off, always allergic to showing any kind of weakness. "Don't worry, my dear, it's only for a short period. Nothing I can't handle." He must have tried to wave off the concern, because Lucifer suddenly felt a rocking sensation that nearly turned his stomach. He had never experienced motion sickness before, but was fairly certain this is what it must have felt like. Could snakes be sick? Oooooh, they were going to find out if Alastor kept this up.

Thankfully for all of them, the redhead seemed to remember his passenger and stopped. The landscape outside the sleeve changed as he headed for the door and the blonde closed his eyes in an effort to block out the dizzying effect of it. With a, "Don't wait up for us," they were off.

Which was how Lucifer came to find himself clinging to Alastor's wrist, lulled into a partial doze by the warmth of his hiding place and the general sounds of the city.

It was strange to listen to the city like this: present, but muffled. The rhythm of Alastor's gait soothed his stomach. Lucifer could hear the general hustle and bustle that made up the active and ongoing crime wave that never seemed to end, just move from block to block. The crash of breaking glass. The sounds of explosions in the distance. The escalating shouts of a fight that hadn't yet come to blows. The gift of free will, taken to it's worst heights.

The Devil's kingdom in all it's glory.

Hah. What a joke.

Lucifer was pulled from his thoughts by the jingling of a bell over head. He dared to peak open an eye to the sight of tiled floor. Were they there already?

Alastor answered that question, while raising several others. "Smithson, good chap, I've come to place an order."

An order? Where were they?

The ringing of metal hitting wood sounded through the air. A nervous, masculine voice followed. "A-Alastor!" An audible gulp. "Wh-What are ya lookin' for?"

The redhead came to a stop. Lucifer made the mistake of scenting the air, looking for more clues to their current where abouts. He instantly regretted it as the heavy smell of raw meat, so fresh the scent of blood hung in the air, hit him like a ton of bricks. Coupled with the sounds he heard earlier, the blonde concluded they must have stopped in a butcher's shop. He was never so glad as he was in that moment that he didn't actually need to breathe as he held his breath to avoid the smell.

"I'm looking to pick up a gift for a friend of mine." A pause, broken by a considering hum. "You don't happen to have anything similar to what I picked up two weeks ago, do you? She absolutely loved it!"

A shuffle from the direction of the person - Smithson? - tending the shop. "Uh, no. Pickin's from 3rd street dried up." Another shuffle, this time uneasy.

Alastor made another considering noise. "A shame. Very well, then something fresh. Perhaps some ribs? We're not picky about the bones."

Lucifer full-bodied shuddered. Knowing the redhead and his friend's tastes, he had the horrible sinking feeling he knew what kind of meat was sold in this place. Even if he hadn't been a vegetarian, he was certain he'd be more than a bit sickened.

Something heavy hit the counter. "I just got this in today!" Smithson sounded rushed, almost nervous. "Nice and fresh, just like you wanted."

A rustle of clothing and what could be seen of the counter got closer. A faint sniff followed. Lucifer felt Alastor stiffen. "Smithson," a dangerous undertone crept into the redhead's otherwise pleasant voice. "You wouldn't be trying to pull a fast one on me, now would you?"

Lucifer could see a blurry figure through the glass counter shift from foot to foot. "No. No of course not--"

The air around them grew heavy with static, reality warping harshly. Lucifer hissed as the vibrations pierced his skull with all the kindness of a hammer to an ice pick. It made him want to sink his teeth into the vulnerable flesh of the Radio Demon's wrist and bite and bite until Alastor stopped because it hurt.

"Because if you are, I will eat your limbs joint by joint until you beg for mercy," Alastor continued, not liking the response. With every word, the filter over his voice got more distorted. "And I have none."

Smithson whimpered. Lucifer squeezed the redhead's arm, hoping to bring him back.

As abruptly as it started, reality returned to normal. Lucifer tentatively loosened his hold. His head throbbed.

There was a long pause. Lucifer could smell the distinct aroma of pee, suggesting Smithson had pissed himself. A second sound of something hitting the counter eventually followed a bit of shuffling around behind the counter.

Alastor sounded much more pleased after inspecting it. "Much better, my good man. Now, what do I owe you?"

"N-nothing. I-it's on the house."

Alastor took up the package, the paper crinkling as he did so. "Very good! Always a pleasure doing business with you, Smithson!"

The whimper from the butcher indicated he would very much like to never do business with Alastor again.

The redhead murmured a jaunty tune to himself as he left the shop, taking another whiff of his prize as they set on their way again. The raised arms allowed Lucifer to peak out of his sleeve to give him a judgmental look. "Was that really necessary?"

"Of course!" Alastor responded, as if his overreaction was totally normal. "I'd say I did him a favor. Poor customer service is bad for business." He freed one hand to bop Lucifer on the nose, causing the snake to recoil and hiss at him. "Now, hush, sire. Everyone knows I'm insane, but I don't want everyone to think I talk to myself."

Lucifer wanted to comment that it was a perfectly normal thing to talk to yourself, but didn't want to risk a talk about the part where it tended to happen the longer one was alone. He didn't particularly want to open that can of worms.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, blessedly, giving time for Lucifer's headache to abate and disappear. No one approached Alastor as he passed, and there appeared to be no more detours.

The first indication that they were near their destination came with the general change in ambient noise. The sounds of violence tapered off, giving way to calm, friendly conversations and the laughter of children. Lucifer could swear he even heard music being played from somewhere.

Unable to resist, Lucifer peaked out of Alastor's sleeve. The town - Cannibal Town, a sign nearby proclaimed - was a tribute to an era gone by. Lucifer's grasp on what counted as "modern" on Earth was dodgy at best, but even he could tell that the fashion and look of the town was "old-fashioned." He couldn't pin down the exact time period the dresses and suits were from, although he could tell they appeared to be from an older time period then Alastor's own sense of fashion.

A child, eyes black and face almost inhuman, turned at just the right time to make eye contact with him. Lucifer grinned and winked at their confusion, before the child was quickly distracted by the game their friends were playing.

Alastor paid little attention to the people around him, headed for a single building at the center of the town that read, "Rosie's Emporium." Guessing from the name, Lucifer found it safe to assume that this was their destination. Not wanting to be spotted by anyone else, he withdrew back into his hiding place, content to wait until his cue to show himself.

Alastor soon came to a halt, roughly the correct amount of time having passed to have come to the emporium. Lucifer heard what sounded like knocking on a wooden door. They did not have long to wait, with almost no time at all having passed before the door opened.

"Alastor! Come in, come in!" A woman's voice, cheerful and upbeat. Rosie, perhaps? He could see the black and red hem of a dress swishing into view as Alastor was ushered into what appeared to be a brightly lit room. There was the sound of crinkling paper passing from one of them to the next, as Alastor presumably handed over his gift. "With all this secrecy," the voice went on around the sound of a package being set down, "I would have thought we were expecting the king!"

Lucifer refused to feel bad about crashing their little dinner party. He did give props to Alastor for emphasizing the importance of keeping this information on the down low.

Without seemingly pausing to breathe - did Rosie need to breathe? You could never tell with some Sinners - she noted, "And your cane! Now you really must tell me everything!"

Patient on a level Lucifer usually only saw him reserve for Charlie, Alastor placed his cane, tip down on the floor, folding his hands over the top of it in what the blonde was coming to recognize as his default position. "I believe most of your questions can be summed up by first meeting our guest."

"Oh?" Hard to tell from a single word, but her tone suggested she was curious rather than annoyed at the unexpected curve ball.

The redhead moved the arm with Lucifer clinging to it until it was held out to his side, palm up and lazily pointed at the ground. Able to catch the hint and recognize his cue, Lucifer slithered down and off, his reptilian brain protesting leaving his nice warm perch. Grin in place, he let himself fall, twisting in place as he did. Once he was an acceptable distance from the floor, a simple shift and a poof of smoke, and BAM! Instant King of Hell.

The perks of the little poof also allowed him to settle down into his own default stance. 'Socially Awkward' may have been his middle name of late, but he hadn't completely lost the ability to make a decent first impression. Eyes adjusting to the light, Lucifer got his first look at the Overlord known simply as Rosie.

A tall woman stood before him, similar in height to the Radio Demon off to his left. Large, black eyes gave her away as a cannibal like the residents of the town. Her smile, partially hidden by deceptively dainty hand, was full of teeth sharp enough rip through through the toughest flesh and bone. Her dress and hat were perfectly coordinated, that same old-fashioned look as the town outside.

Lucifer wondered if she was responsible for the theme.

"Oh my stars," she said, not missing a beat. It seemed it would take much more than a surprise royal visit to ruffle her feathers. "Alastor, you've certainly peaked my curiosity."

Alastor's ear twitched, the only sign of his irritation. Voice full of genuine warmth, he said a touch grandly, "Your Majesty, may I introduce my dear friend and fellow Overlord, Rosie."

Rosie, in response, dipped into what Lucifer identified as a curtsy. Human gestures of respect were an ever changing thing. He'd received anything from people throwing themselves, full bodied at the floor at his feet (unnecessary and a little cringe unless he was pissed) to something as simple as a bow (way more acceptable). Curtsying was fairly new in his experience, only from the last several hundred years and something he had only seen a handful of times. From what little experience he did have, he could tell it had been a perfectly executed curtsy, the motion fluid and practiced. It gave the impression she was used to entertaining people of high social status.

Alastor, voice notably less full of respect (and what was there was so far from genuine it was outright insulting), said, "Rosie, may I introduce our King, Lucifer Morningstar."

No embellishments, but no insults. Lucifer supposed this was an improvement from the person who'd insulted his height within minutes of meeting him.

He crossed the short number of steps separating them, reaching out to take Rosie's hand in his own. Smile sly and his voice dropping, he offered, "It's always a pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady." Following up the compliment, he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

"Oh, aren't you the charming one," Rosie near coo'ed, her grin widening. Her eyelids dropped to half mast, her expression suggesting she'd eat him alive if he gave her half the chance. Which, considering how she made her way to Hell in the first place, wasn't an empty threat. "I can see where Miss Charlotte gets her moxie from."

Lucifer barked out a laugh, releasing her hand as he stepped back. "Oh, I assure you, Charlotte is a force unto herself with no help from me." Unless one counted the bare minimum of donating their genes.

Behind him, Alastor grunted in disgust, the action barely more than a heavy exhale. Lucifer winked as Rosie's eyes crinkled with her amusement. "If you are done assaulting the dear lady," the redhead said with a sharp tap of his cane on the floor. "I believe you came here for a reason." Voice dripping with annoyance, Alastor added, "You were quite insistent about it."

Lucifer rolled his eyes and pointed a finger over his shoulder, as if to ask, 'can you believe this guy'?

Rosie was the very picture of neutrality, taking no sides in the way only a true friend could. It was obvious she found watching them bicker to be entertaining.

Ignoring the glare he could feel practically burning a hole in the back of his head, Lucifer said, "Charlie and Alastor told me that you were instrumental in getting the army together to defend the Hotel. You have my gratitude for protecting my daughter when I could not." He pulled his hat from his head, pressing it to his chest as he bowed deeply before this sinner who had likely only helped his daughter for her own reasons, but who had helped, nonetheless. "I owe you a debt."

Hands came to rest lightly on his shoulders, pressing against them and urging him to rise. "None of that, your Majesty," Rosie murmured, kindly. "Miss Charlotte convinced that stubborn group to join her with little help on our end." She took his hat from him with little resistance, before placing it back on his head. He could feel the pat she gave the top of it. She gave him a short inspection, before nodding to herself. She shot a look in Alastor's direction over his head. "You certainly know how to surprise a girl, Alastor. First a princess and now a king." Her tone was teasing as she said, "If I didn't know you were drawing all aces, I'd think you were going for a Royal Flush."

Lucifer could only imagine whatever look the redhead was giving her in return. He was given little time to ponder her comment, let alone boggle at someone teasing the Radio Demon and getting away with it, before she was spinning him around towards the interior of the shop. "Uh," he managed, only mildly indignant when she all but handed him off to Alastor, whose expression appeared tolerant in the brief second he managed to catch a glimpse of it. The redhead, in perfect tandem with his friend, curled his hands around the blonde's shoulders and began to push him along. "You play cards?"

Rosie laughed, finding the question adorable, waving her hand dismissively as she led the way over to a table with a pair of chairs around it. "Oh, Heaven's no! The only gambling I do is on my husbands, and I always play with an exit strategy when I do."

Lucifer had the distinct impression that 'an exit strategy' was just a roundabout way of saying that she had no shortage of ways to dispose of any husband she no longer needed.

Yikes.

Between them, they ushered him further into the shop, leaving little time for protest. Any irritation was washed away under his fascination as he observed the way they moved in sync with each other. He was so used to the idea of Alastor being a force unto his own, the lone puppeteer pulling all the strings, it was a little intimidating to see him working as a team with someone he clearly trusted to take the lead. It made something twist in his chest, a feeling of peaking behind the curtain at something he wasn't supposed to have seen.

It made him look... human seeing him like this.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Alastor deftly maneuvered him into one of the two seats, half shoving him down into it as opposed to seating him in it. Reminded there was a reason he personally disliked the redhead, Lucifer flipped him off with a glare after he righted himself while their host wasn't looking.

The redhead placed a hand to his chest, mock affronted. "Come now, sire. Didn't anyone tell you such vulgar gestures are impolite in front of a lady?"

Rosie had undoubtedly seen and done much worse things before and after her arrival in Hell, as evidenced by the way she took her seat with little more than a titter in response to the spectacle they were making. Lucifer blinked as it sunk in that there were only two seats and there were three of them. That damned swell of guilt tried to rise up, even as he tried to shove it back down. It wasn't his fault any more than it had been Rosie's that Alastor had tried to exclude him from his own meeting. He shifted in his seat, also suddenly hyper aware that the current arrangement left Alastor standing just behind and to the right of his chair.

How deeply had he gotten under Lucifer's skin that even though Alastor couldn't do jack shit to him, the fallen angel was uncomfortable with him at his back?

"Um," he asked, trying to hide his awkwardness and aware that he was only making it more obvious. "Should we get a chair for...?"

Alastor leaned against the chair in a blatant disregard for personal space. "Oh, no, sire, don't mind me. I'm perfectly fine where I am." Everything about his body language said that he could see all the ways he was making the little king uncomfortable and was loving every moment of it. He tapped the top of the microphone to the top of Lucifer's hat. "Please, do the honors of explaining the reason for our little visit."

Lucifer's glare promised retribution, the moment he could figure out a way to do it without upsetting Charlie.

The chink of a cup being placed in front of him reminded him they weren't alone. Rosie had poured tea for him while he wasn't paying attention. He tried to eye it without being rude with his suspicions. He didn't outright think that even their tea potentially contained bodily fluids in them, one just couldn't be to careful about these things.

Astute, Rosie seemed to pick up on the issue. "Oh, don't look so worried, your Majesty. I promise it's only tea." If she was insulted by his mistrust, she didn't show it.

Deciding to take the plunge, he picked up the cup. The liquid inside was still steaming, an indication that it was still hot even before he took a sip. He blinked as a fruity, florally taste blossomed across his tongue. "Darjeeling?" He was fairly certain that was the name of it, anyway.

Alastor leaned over to take a sniff of the tea. His eyes danced with laughter as Lucifer snatched the cup away, the latter waving a hand at him to shoo him off and telling him, "Get your own tea!"

"Rosie has been introducing me to new teas," he said by way of explanation. He tapped a finger to his bottom lip thoughtfully as he withdrew back to his former position.

Rosie nodded in agreement. "It's always useful to have an assortment of drinks for any occasion. You never know who you might be entertaining." She set her own drink, half empty, back on the table. Back straight, the perfect picture of a lady host, she placed both of her hands in her lap. "Now, why don't you tell me what all this cloak and dagger is about? I must admit, I'm dying to hear the explanation."

Lucifer eyed Alastor, making certain he wasn't going to do something else, like straight up steal his drink. When the redhead failed to do anything besides smile that eye twitch inducing smile at him, Lucifer properly regained his seat. He held on to the cup, folding both hands around it to feel the heat seep into his hands. He turned his full attention to his host. "I take it Alastor has told you about the attacks on the hotel?"

Cannibals didn't have discernable pupils so it was impossible to tell if Rosie shared a glance with Alastor. Lucifer allowed his neutral expression to confer that he didn't mind if any information had been shared, as no effort had ever been made to hide it.

Her response still caught him off guard. "Everyone knows about the attacks, sire. It's all over the news."

Without thinking, Lucifer turned to Alastor, gaging his response. Alastor's expression had tightened with distain. Voice dripping with scorn, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, he asked, "Vox?"

Her tone wasn't as scornful, but it was clear there was no love lost between them, as Rosie confirmed, "Vox."

Not for the first time, Lucifer was almost sorry he hadn't kept up with the inner intricacies of the alliances between the people that more or less ran his city. So many sinners had risen and fallen over the millennia, even before he let it all fall to the wayside, it was difficult to keep track of them, let alone care. He was only mustering up the energy to care in this case because it was affecting his daughter and this upstart sinners were already threatening to give him a headache.

He pondered if it mattered if the attacks were known by the public or not. It was his understanding that Charlie never said anything about the Hotel other than attempts to advertise it. She never commented on previous attacks on the hotel, save to comment that she was glad that they didn't have to rebuild that one wall everyone used to destroy all the time. Between his neglect of Hell and Charlie's lack of negativity, he doubted anyone was expecting anyone to say anything about it in the end.

He nodded in acceptance. The plan should still be fine. "The working theory is that someone is worried about souls being redeemed and potentially losing their contracts." He leaned back in his chair as he crossed his legs, spine flush with the back rest. "I'm going to go on television to deliver a little warning to everyone in Hell about messing with my daughter's little project." Head tilting to the side, nothing nice about his smile, he added, "I'm also going to break an Overlord's contract on air."

Rosie's eyes widened. "Oh, my, that will cause a stir." She leaned forward, considering. "But that's not all, is it?"

Sharp one, this one. He'd have to keep an eye on her, especially since she was Alastor's friend. Playing ignorant, he asked, "Does there have to be more? Alastor tells me that its courteous," these words he said as if they were foul tasting in his mouth, "To include potential allies in future plans."

But the Victorian Overlord wasn't fooled, her expression saying as such. "Come now, as sweet as all this comradery is, there wouldn't be all this fuss over a little broadcast."

There was the soft rustle of cloth from where Lucifer had last seen the redhead, but when he checked, Alastor didn't appear to have moved so much as an inch. Confused, but suspicious the deer demon was the one who'd made a fuss, Lucifer decided there was no harm in including Alastor's role in what was to come. There had been no agreement, after all, to exclude it. To Rosie, Lucifer explained, "Alastor will be joining me during the broadcast, as a sign of solidarity."

Rosie went still. Although her head had not moved at all, Lucifer had the impression she only had eyes for her friend. He glanced at Alastor, who was equally as still. There was nothing out of the ordinary to suggest he might be bothered by the idea of appearing on tv. Perhaps she could see something he could not, because Rosie's brows drew together in what looked like concern.

Alastor's blank expression smoothed over into an easy one. "Oh, don't look at me like that, my dear." Something Lucifer couldn't read passed between them. "I'm more than pleased with the results of our little deal," Alastor went on, running his claws lightly down the stem of his cane to draw attention to it. An explanation to her earlier observation of its reappearance. He tapped those same claws one by one on it, eyes half lidded and smile pleased, as he said, "And there are still pleasant things to come from it."

Rosie's hand came up to cover her mouth, the sway of the feather in her hat in moving with her head as she looked back and forth between them. A knowing smile crossed her lips. "I see," she said. She settled, her expression was still as sweet as ever, but Lucifer could pick up the hint of a threat in her body language. "I'm sure you'll take good care of our dear Alastor, won't you, your Majesty?"

She was no more a threat to him than Alastor was. She didn't have a prayer of taking him in a fair fight. He could take her out before she even thought about moving. Yet, here she was, willing to threaten the most powerful being in all of Hell for her friend.

Lucifer felt that pang in chest return, this time accompanied by longing. How long had it been, since he had last shared this kind of easy rapport with someone? Before he withdrew from everything and his marriage fell apart? Before Eden and his fall? He'd had siblings and his father, once, then he'd had a wife and a daughter.

Had he ever just had a friend, though?

Lucifer swallowed, distracted and feeling like he'd been missed a step while going down a flight of stairs. "Um. Yes?"

Wait, what?

What she'd asked and what he'd agreed to caught up to him in a rush. He set his now lukewarm cup down, indignant. Why did he have to look after Alastor? Alastor was not only more than capable of looking after himself, but he seemed to have most of the cards in his favor! Lucifer couldn't even harm a hair on his furry little head as long as his daughter was attached to him!

He didn't dare look in Alastor's direction. He could all but feel the smugness radiating off him.

Rosie reached across the table, patting his hand sympathetically. "Now that the serious business is out of the way," she proclaimed. "How about some lunch? Alastor was so good as to provide us with the perfect meal!"

"Um." Lucifer felt his stomach drop as he remembered little side trip. He hadn't seen the package during or after it's procurement, but it wasn't hard to guess from what he'd over heard what it was going to be. His suspicions were confirmed, when Rosie retrieved the package and opened it up to reveal a whole chest and torso, head and limbs removed. Old enough for the wounds to have stopped leaking blood, but not so old as for the skin to have begun turning green with putrefaction.

Lucifer covered his mouth with one hand and clutched the arm of the chair with the other, trying not to gag. "Sorry, I'm a vegetarian," he managed as he sat back as far as he could sit in the chair.

Rosie blinked, looking around her shop with a thoughtful eye. A closer look around revealed it was full of various other body parts. This was not the place for someone of his tastes. "Well, that might be a challenge."

Alastor hummed in agreement, utterly unhelpful.

Lucifer could already tell his long day was only going to get longer.

tbc

Part 12

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #hazbin hotel #i don't think i'll write out the meeting with carmilla #which means the broadcast should be in the next chapter!#sorry for the delay in getting this out #i haven't felt well this week #and still feel out of sorts #hopefully it will not take as long to get the next part out

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thebarontheabyss · 4 months

Note

One day, the person who used to bully MC in their life walks into the bar. When MC sees them, bad memories start to resurface in their mind. Since they don't want to deal with their bully, they hide in the staff quarters. RO sees them and decides to follow them to ask if there's something wrong. When they find them, MC is on the verge of crying.

How would each of the ROs react? What would they do after MC told them about the bully?

Oh, this is a spicy one. Let's see... 👀

Death would focus on comforting MC rather than confronting the bully. "You know, in the grand scheme of things, they're just a blip in eternity. And if it helps... their demise was rather undignified – choked on a sandwich, alone in their apartment," Death would say in an attempt to offer some perspective, albeit awkwardly.

Lilith/Damien would react with a sly, menacing grin. "Let's give them a show they'll never forget," they'd whisper, their eyes burning with a profane light. They might use their infernal powers to torment the bully with nightmarish illusions, pushing the boundaries of retribution. Eventually, their actions might be so extreme that MC finds themselves feeling a pang of pity for their bully.

Morgan/Morgana, after hearing MC's story, would express a fierce protectiveness. "Who's the wretch that dares upset you?" they'd ask, ready to take action. They'd likely cast a spell that would cause the bully to experience a series of frustrating and embarrassing mishaps in the bar, providing a satisfying sense of poetic justice for MC.

Peisinoe would see this as an opportunity to demonstrate their own prowess in handling bullies. "Darling, leave it to me," they'd say confidently. They would approach the bully with a mixture of charm and intimidation, using their stage presence to publicly humiliate them.

Shelly would rush in with a worried look, immediately trying to cheer MC up. "Hey, what's wrong? You know you can tell me anything," she'd say with a comforting smile. She'd be indignant on MC's behalf and suggest telling the others or finding a way to make the bully leave. Shelly's approach is more about lifting MC's spirits, offering to make them their favorite drink or treat.

Yaga's approach would be one of tough love. "Crying in the back isn't going to solve anything," she'd say, her tone gruff but not unkind. She would encourage MC to face their fears and stand up for themselves. "You're stronger than you think," she'd add, perhaps sharing a personal anecdote about her own experiences with bullies to motivate MC.

Hastur, upon understanding the situation, would assure MC of their safety with a calm but firm presence. "They will not dare cause trouble under my watch," he'd say. His towering presence alone might be enough to deter the bully from any antagonistic behavior.

He Without Name would enter the room silently, his presence almost unnoticed until he's fairly close to you. "Sad... Why?" he'd inquire in his usual cryptic manner. Understanding the situation might be challenging for him, but he'd stay near MC, offering silent support.

The Raven, true to their nature, would take a more mischievous approach. "Time for the art of subtle revenge," they'd muse. They might orchestrate a small but humiliating incident, like discreetly dropping a... surprise... on the bully's head from above, much to the amusement of the onlookers.

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wolfie-bee · 2 years

Text

The lies we tell

read it here as a twitter fic

Lena blinks slowly, eyes trained on the way that Kara fidgets with the phone in her hands followed by the deceptive glasses on her face.

She'd just informed her of the sale of Catco, told her that she'd needed the capital for a new venture, watched in rising horror as Kara believed those sweet honeyed lies that felt like bile on her tongue.

"I was a coward, and I hope that you don't feel I've made you out to be too much of a fool by keeping you in the dark." The words continue to pour out of her, and her fingers tremble where they curl tightly against the slip of her blazer.

Kara's eyes close for a second, sadness and disappointment evident on her face, and Lena can't help the sick satisfaction of retribution mounting like a festering wound in her heart.

"Lena, no, of course not, I -" Kara cuts in. The words tremble in the air around them like she has more to say, more to admit, but Lena doesn't let her, can't let her admit her truth without hammering at the fine cracks that Kara had so dutifully helped create in their friendship.

"You're my best friend," Lena says, the truth of it like a weight on her chest, and the guilt for wanting Kara to feel an inkling of the heartbreak she feels nearly locks the rest of those words behind her teeth. But she presses on, clawing nails into her own palms as she smiles, a strained thing that doesn't reach her eyes. "and here I go once again proving that you are more virtuous than I am, but I never did purport to be a saint."

"Lena." Kara swallows roughly, and there's the curious note of rising tension that she can feel like a lasso tied tightly around her heart. Kara's eyes ensnare hers, a silent plea in them that Lena pretends not to see. "You know what actually, there is something that I want to talk to you about."

This should be it, she thinks bitterly, this should be the moment where Kara tells her her secret.

Lena leans back, expression soft, open, a carefully curated mask that Kara should be able to see through. But she doesn't.

Kara expels a shaky wisp of air, mouth forming words that don't come and fingers squeezing that phone in her hands to the point where there's an audible crack. The sound of it is like a gunshot in Lena's quiet office and Kara chuckles, awkward and strained.

A short silence engulfs them, and Lena doesn't know what expression her face forms as Kara smiles and proceeds to instead tell her the details of another story she's been chasing.

Lena loves those, loves that Kara always finds the time to update her on the various topics she writes for her articles, loves the animated way that Kara talks about the people and places of interest to her stories and the brief but always exciting mentions of Kara's unexpected meetings with National City's super-powered heroine.

But this time Lena knows two truths. One: She is stupidly in love with her best friend and two: Kara Danvers is a liar.

Lena supposes that she should have expected it, after all, she's been lied to her entire life, betrayed by the ones she trusted would do no harm. Why does this keep happening? Why does everyone that she loves…

She clenches her jaw, anger flaring like fine points of pain behind her ribcage and her beating heart threatening to burst from her chest as her brother's last words fill her mind.

Kara looks up at her then, like she could hear the rapid change in its rhythm. And Lena realizes belatedly that yes, of course she can. And she hates her just a little more for it. Just a little for hiding, a little for lying, a little for trying to befriend her as both personas, a little for sowing seeds of mistrust in the friendship they'd so lovingly crafted over three fucking years.

"Lena, are you okay?" Kara asks slowly, eyebrows pinching together into that concerned endearing frown. Lena has to resist the urge to reach out and smooth her thumb over it, trace the lines until they flatten beneath her fingertips and Kara flushes prettily beneath her touch.

No, she wants to say, scream it really, but her throat is dry and angry tears burn behind her eyes. There's the soft wash of adoration burning in those eyes born of different stars, and Lena doesn't know how much of it is fake, how much is pretend, how much of Kara Danvers is a carefully curated mask. How much of her best friend does she truly not know?

Lena shoots off the chair, turning away from Kara when a traitorous tear breaks free from her lashes and rolls down her face. She swipes it away with the sleeve of her blazer but Kara's behind her in a flash, a minutiae of displaced air that's almost undetected as warm hands land on her shoulders, burning through her blouse and branding her skin.

"Lena." It's whispered softly, the syllables like honey on Kara's deceptive tongue but Lena's heart flutters at the sound, more tears breaking free from her lash line. A vein flickers in her jaw at the effort it takes to hold her words back but her body betrays her in the tremor that rushes along the curve of her spine when Kara's large comforting hands slide along the tense line of her shoulders and the cold tip of her nose touches Lena's neck. "Tell me what's wrong." She pleads and the concern in her voice is almost Lena's undoing.

Lena turns in her embrace, but the words die in her throat when she sees the look on Kara's face. There's a frown that's bordering on a pout, the blue of her irises so sad that it drags the air from Lena's lungs and she's annoyed at herself for caring, annoyed at Kara for pretending, annoyed at her heart for loving Kara Danvers to the point of destruction.

Kara's hands move to frame her face, thumbs a gentle sweep against her skin as they catch the rogue tears that escape against Lena's will.

The touch is unexpected and Lena almost jerks away but she tries to breathe through the contact as Kara immediately closes the miniscule distance between them, firm body pressing into Lena's and cheeks a darling rosy red. Lena flushes beneath her arduous stare, her longing for this woman making itself known in the harsh painful thud in her chest.

"Lena," her name is a soft careless whisper, those beautiful eyes filled with despair so deep she can barely breathe beneath the weight of them. "What's wron-"

Lena doesn't let the rest of the sentence escape. After all, she'd already admitted to being a coward. So, instead of answering, she leans in the rest of the way and kisses Kara.

The kiss is unexpected, that much is obvious by the gentle gasp that Kara makes against her mouth. It's just a distraction, Lena tells herself, a way to give her more time to gather her thoughts, but what's equally surprising is that Kara doesn't immediately pull away.

The thumbs stroking Lena's cheekbones stop, and Lena nearly pulls back when Kara's lips tremble against hers. There's a moment where everything just stops, the world holding its breath before Kara sighs against her mouth and softly, hesitantly, returns the kiss. This kiss is gentle, a simple brushing of lips that rights the world again. The tenderness of it is a ruinous force that worms its way into Lena's heart and she clings to it with a desperation that surprises her.

Kara gasps against her mouth, but she doesn't pull away and Lena presses in, kissing Kara more firmly as Kara's fingers thread through her hair, anchoring their mouths together.

There's the echo of thunder claps in her veins, her heart thumping in rapid beats against her ribcage, the warmth of Kara's body as their hips press together and the wild surge of lust teasing at the seam where their mouths meet. Lena's breath hitches when Kara pivots and the world tilts before those strong arms lift her onto the desk, and Kara slides easily between Lena's spread thighs.

Her arms wound tightly around Kara's shoulders, lips ghosting across soft pink lips as Kara licks into her mouth and the kiss turns hot, heavy, messy.

I trusted you, she doesn't say, instead her teeth nips harshly at Kara's lower lip, turning the kiss a touch primal, a touch hungry, a degree too painful for any normal human. But Kara's not human and she doesn't react the way a human would in this circumstance. She's…she's …the name gets stuck in her throat, Kara's brash distrustful self righteous alter ego's smile flashing behind her eyes and Lena growls against her mouth, clawing at Kara's back like she could rip the lies from her skin. The kiss lengthens, breaks, turns into another and then another, until Lena's lost count, until she's gasping into Kara's mouth, until she's gripping tightly onto Kara's hair, until she can't think beyond the gravity of her touch.

She hates her, and she loves her so fucking much she can barely breathe with the force of it. She wants to know her, all of her, she craves everything that Kara is, everything that Kara refuses to share with her. And her heart breaks all over again that Kara doesn't trust her with her secret, Kara who she'd born every inch of her soul to, Kara who's warm hands were now inching along the arch of her spine and holding onto her like Lena meant something to her.

But if this was all a farce then why did her kisses feel so reverent, her mouth so delicate and sure, her hands like warm marks branding Lena's skin?

Lena feels herself falling all over again, lost in the sensations, the emotions softening her heart and her mind goes carefully blank as Kara gently sucks on her tongue. She groans, a deep shuddering breath escaping her lips as the sound graces the air, face flushing at the blatant want tempering her voice only to be answered by a deep rumble like purr from Kara's lips.

She's briefly aware of the buttons flying off her blouse as Kara's hands fist in her clothes and Lena trembles as Kara's kisses move to the curve of her jaw, soft, adoring.

A sob builds in Lena's throat, and it spills into the air when Kara's lips fasten against her pulse, merging on the tail ends of a moan. Kara picks up on it but Lena isn't ready for this to end yet, so she rolls her hips, pressing the heat of her sex into Kara's firm abdomen. It works for a while as Kara's eyes turn glassy again, her focus drawn down to the silky bra peeking out from Lena's almost fully ruined button-less blouse as she buries her face there, the deceptive glasses going slightly askew.

Lena plucks it off her face and tosses it carelessly onto the desk, threading her fingers through silky blonde hair and tugging them roughly out of their tight ponytail. But Kara doesn't move. She stills, presses her ear right above Lena's fluttering heart as her hands drift down to wrap slowly, reverently around Lena's hips, anchoring their bodies together. A moment passes where their rapid breathing is the only sound in the office before Kara bravely finds the nerve to break it.

"You know." Kara's words tremble against her skin and Lena squeezes her eyes shut.

Damn her for being so intuitive, damn her for knowing Lena so well, damn her for not trusting Lena.

The sob that breaks free from Kara's lipstick stained mouth is heartbreaking and she presses her lips against the delicate skin of Lena's neck, an apology, an accord as Lena trembles in her arms, neither confirming nor denying her words.

"I'm sorry," Kara starts, the words trailing off into a deep shuddering breath as warm tears paint Lena's skin. Lena closes her eyes, arms curling tight around Kara's shoulders as Kara raises her head, tenderly brushing their noses together. "Lena -"

"Kara," the name bursts from her lips in a shaky whisper, a question, a plea and Kara chokes on the rest of her reply, pressing a trembling kiss to Lena's cheek and another to Lena's trembling lips. This kiss feels different, revelatory, apologetic and Lena finally finds the courage to open her eyes, meeting the red rimmed eyes of Supergirl free of their barrier.

There's a moment where they both just stare at each other, each stripped bare of their secrets and lies and all of the fight and the anger leaves Lena in a flash as she sags in Kara's embrace. Kara catches her, cradles Lena's body to hers as Lena presses her face against her neck, nose brushing lightly against Kara's fluttering pulse.

A strange sort of peace descends on the room then, and Lena thinks that this must be the calm before the inevitable storm. Kara's fingers comb lightly through her hair and Lena hums, on the verge of pulling Kara into another kiss when suddenly there's an incredibly loud beep against Kara's ears and soon the tinny voice of Kara's sister, Alex, joins them.

"Kara there's an incident at the museum. Can you get there?" Her voice is worried, urgent, crackling through the comms device hidden in Kara's ear and Kara sighs, squeezes Lena tighter for a bit before tapping the device to answer her sister.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute," she says softly, reassuring and Lena takes that as her cue to release Kara from her arms.

"I'm sorry." Kara starts immediately once they're face to face once more, "I wanted to tell you so many times, so many times Lena but I just -" but Lena doesn't want to hear those words right now. She can't, feels as if every part of her has been laid bare to this woman.

So she just leans in and silences Kara with a kiss, one that makes Kara frown so she kisses her again and again until she's sure that she'll listen to her when she speaks.

"Go," Lena finally finds her voice to say, but Kara's frown deepens, warm hands tenderly mapping the curve of Lena's shoulders and sliding down until she's holding onto her forearms. "I'll be fine. We can have this conversation when National City isn't imploding."

Kara stares at her for a bit, blue eyes distraught, and Lena feels the weight of them like an anchor in her heart. She brushes their noses together, whispers a soft "I promise we'll work through this," and then Kara's gone in a whoosh of displaced air, leaving Lena just a bit less weighted with dread, just a bit less hurt, just a little more hopeful about their impending reconciliation.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for even looking at this story 🥺💗 wrote this as an angsty twitter fic yesterday for Supercorp Sunday and decided to post it here. Shout out to @CSIRJen for always allowing me to hijack her supercorp tweets to create stories 😅

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #Happy Supercorp Sunday #twitter fic #the lies we tell #my writing #my fics #season 5 angst

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kanhapriya · 10 months

Text

A KRISHNA SAKHI

But she'd still love him.

(Please listen to the song on a loop while reading)

2. Pratiksha

There were many ways in which he came to her.

Like the breeze, gentle and delicate and soothing as if he understood that nothing could bring her the feeling of solace that he did. Nothing but him was that serene to live.

He also came like the rain, dropping all over her body, places where she would only ever allow him, no one else. Like the rain, he carried an attractive melancholic ambience with him, just like the rain, he was erratic and captivating. Like the rain, he brought with him a distinct scent.

Sometimes, he was in the sunny sky, painful to bear but beautiful nonetheless. Like he was the giver of life and death, glowing so luminous for the whole world and somehow still just a sliver of his real light is perceptible to her.

The soil, he for sure was a part of. He'd let people walk on him but when it was too much, he halted his stillness and responded to what was must. He bore so much life, that no one could exist without him, his essence and true personality.

Moon too was just him in guise. When the moonlight would glow in her dark chamber, a small part of the room would light up. Those places were the ones he'd always sit on.

Her soul was him, a part of him. He was her himself. She knew he was every part of her, her mind, her heart, her body, her soul and all her features. He was her flowing hair, her black kohl and her sharp nose. He was her.

But her favourite way of him coming to her was when he was her Kanha, her Keshav.

He'd come to her in so many forms, yet Krishna was the one she could never oppose.

In the form of Krishna, he met her so many times and never at the same time. He was Krishna but not the one she'd see in the crowd, not the one he'd see with Maiya Yashoda or Nand Baba or even Balram Dau. Not even his companions, or other girlfriends. He'd come to her like a Krishna she had never seen before and it stunned her each time.

He was blissful, ecstatic and euphoric all together when he came to her. As Krishna, when he'd step into her room through the window with his lotus-like feet, freshly smeared allta, she knew he'd leave behind traces, few more seeable than others.

When he'd come to her, Pratiksha would accept him in any form.

His hands would grip the periphery of her window on such nights, and she'd keep looking at him with learning eyes, how he must have lied to Maiya Yashoda about going out with his boyfriends. She'd look at him with mischievousness as he would hold the window for dear life.

"Sakhi, help me at least?" He would say out of weariness when sweat would wet his hair and he'd have to toil to keep them off his hair. Then he'd shake the sweat away, looking so lovely that she'd let him struggle.

However, when he'd bumble a bit too much for even her liking, she'd approach him, slowly, a little tormenting retribution, out of pure devotion. She'd hold his hand, his fingers enveloped all around her wrist as he burdened her with his weight and finally climbed up her room.

After she pulled him up, he'd collapse just on her, not even allowing her to breathe, and she'd laugh the loudest she was allowed to without waking her parents. Sometimes she thought all of it was just a play to him, so she'd help him up and he'd catch her in his arms.

"Kanha, I'll die " she'd try to push him up as he just rested, "I'm too young right now."

"But Sakhi, " he would fake taking deep breaths. "I'm too tired to move now."

"Come on, oh Nathkhat," she'd finally breathe ad he would lift some of his weight off "Thank the lord, Narayana,"

He'd grumbled whenever she'd take the name of Lord Narayana, along the lines of, 'Literally in front of you,' but she would pay no heed to him.

When he finally stood up, he'd make himself relaxed on her bed, laying on it like a starfish, his exquisite redolence, colouring her room. She'd go and sit next to him, and using her chunri, she'd wipe the sweat off his forehead. He'd close his eyes but a smile would be present on his face.

He'd hold her wrist and stop the whole wiping thing after a while, "Come on now, Sakhi," he'd sit up, her wrist still in his hand, "I'm not here get coddled," he would roll his eyes, "Or I would've stayed with Dau or even Maiya."

She'd snatch back her hand, a smile threatening to come over but she hid.

"Then Why Are you here?"

"You tell me."

"Tell you what?" Her brows would turn up and he would ever so gently lift his fingers and ease them. Then she'd smile.

"Tell me, why do you let me in?" He would stand up from the bed then, and approach her dressing space, a small hand mirror placed there that he would pick up and make the moonlight reflect on her face, "Why do you let me trouble you almost every consecutive day?"

She'd look at him, and he would raise his brows in question, and then She'd blush and look away at the moon every time.

"I let you in because-" she knew it was impossible to find the right answer to his inquiries, no matter how straightforward they were.

What could possibly be the reason if not him?

His smile, his complexion, his existence. Weren't they good enough reasons? Would she have to answer to the world as to why she would allow a not-so-ordinary cowherd boy into her room in the dead of night? Would she have to prove to the world her intentions to protect her laaj?

But those had been secondary issues then, Krishna being her prime. And She'd endure all the world's allegations if it went to be in his presence for a small while.

"I let you in because I'm selfish." She'd answered truthfully, not caring if it would make her seem wrong. She was selfish enough to want him but it was the most selfless she'd ever been.

He'd look confused, though with a hint of mischief in his star-like thinking eyes, "Selfish?"

Then he would approach her again, the mirror still in his hands as would sit in front of her, "I'd say, it's quite the opposite." He would raise his hands and tuck a stray piece of hand behind her ears, "Isn't it so, Sakhi? It's selfless."

She'd keep looking at him, the beauty of his beetle eyes capturing her into the slow trap he'd set up.

"It's love."

She'd not blink, how could she? He would be in front of her and she'd be sinned if even a second was spent without his glimpse.

Her voice would be lost too, the thirst of her throat for water or words, she wasn't sure but she'd desperately need it.

There would be silence worth a thousand words in those few moments. Just Pratiksha and her love personified as a beautiful blue boy.

"Wouldn't you know so much about love?" There was yet again fun in her tone, something that she'd noticed only happened with him.

"Me?" He'd fake being surprised, "Don't be funny, my mohini. You know love so much better than me."

She'd entwine both their hands and kiss the back of his, the skin so soft and cold yet warm, just like she remembered.

"Indeed I do." She'd look at him, tears overwhelming in her eyes, "For you are what I think is Love. And I know you,"

He'd smile then, not out of a trick or joke or fun poking but genuine, his tulsi smile, too pure, "Better than me?" He'd ask.

"Better than yourself." She'd nod with firm faith and he'd pull her in his arms and she would allow him, every night.

As she would lay on his chest, he'd soothe her mind with his soft head touches which would often lead to a dismantled hairstyle, but they'd ignore it and open the braid completely.

Pratiksha would then take the hand mirror from him and keep it at a distance from them so she could not waste even a second by not seeing his face, which would also do wonders for his ego.

"I must say, " he'd say between the silence, "Your Lord Narayana must've blessed me with quite a beautiful counter face."

Till then, she'd be in an already deep trance most would call sleep but she would love.

With no answer in return, Krishna would turn to the mirror to look at her reflection, mostly finding her in a euphoric stance.

He'd then allow himself to turn a little, not moving much but to face her. He'd trace the flower pattern above his eyebrows and on her forehead, the one he'd only make each morning, before bidding farewell for the day.

It would be a comfortable routine for them, dancing through the day and enjoying a slumber together, with peace and silence.

The next morning when she would wake up, her kahna would be awake too, mixing the fresh flowers he'd brought somehow, and readying the paint for their faces.

She'd stand up, laziness still deep in her body as she'd approach him, "How do you always wake up before me?"

Only then, he'd notice her presence and try not to laugh at her dishevelled appearance, "You look especially beautiful in the morning, priye."

She would be too tired to get angry at his jokes but just look at him who still looked like a world full of happiness and laughter.

She'd sit next to him on the seating in front of the mirror, looking at the colours he'd prepared.

"Your hair is a mess, Sakhi, " he'd tug on her open hair, "Come, let me tie them."

She'd keep quiet and let him, as she would snuggle deep into her own embrace, the morning dew making her cold. He'd keep pulling some parts of her hair, braiding them as she'd just feel his fingers all through her hair.

After he'd made the hairstyle, as beautiful as all the waterfalls of the world, he'd turn her around, and bring a wet cloth to her face and wipe away all her sleep and paint from yesterday.

"What flower do you want today, priye?" He'd pick up the bronze bowl with colour and a peacock feather, "What should I paint today?"

"Do as you wish," she'd look into his big dilated eyes, "I know it will look good."

He'd keep smiling as the peacock feather dipped into the white colour and the flowers and bela he'd start drawing. With each delicate stroke of the top, a petal would be created, and with every six petals, a flower would be complete. Like this, the hours would pass and they would read each other with love, colour and laughter.

And once again, Pratiksha would be reminded that her favourite way of him coming to her was as Kanha, Krishna.

The routine existed no more.

Pratiksha no longer exists.

Neither did her room or her friends.

Vrindavan too is gone now.

They'd cease to exist the day her Kanha had gone away forever.

Now what existed wasn't what it used to be.

Vrindavan cried now, every second of her existence was spent with sadness now, her rivers bare, stripped of their waves and joy, her mountains, not stable enough to handle the loss of their favourite cowherd.

No Gopi in Vrindavan truly smiled anymore. Smiles had faded into frowns just the way day faded into night, slowly, taking its sweet time.

And Pratiksha? She hadn't awakened in months.

She'd spent all her days just like she was right now.

As she lay motionless on her bed, her eyes were finished if all the tears she could hold in her two eyes.

Her heart was beating, not with life but with pain, misery and discontent and as she tried to stand up from the bed, her body gave up. Pratiksha was plagued by memories, plagued by him.

She finally gathered all her might, taking the support of the bed still to reach the window of her room.

The window.

It was still there, unlike him. That Makhan chor wasn't there anymore.

Each night, just like today, she would crawl up to the window still from where he would come to her. And just like today, she looked down there, no sign of him, no sign at all.

She would then sit with the support of the opposite wall, looking at her room, which was filled with him. From the floor to the ceiling to the wall to the flowers by her bed, all was him.

How was one to forget it all?

Now no one would climb up her window late at night, no one would beg her to help him up. No one would pretend to be exhausted and lay on top of her till she begged for mercy. No one would call her Sakhi anymore, not like he did.

She'd wait for him, penance endlessly to see his face again, to hear him laugh and giggle again, to hear the madhurya sound of his flute and hum along it once again. But he said he won't be back ever, that history was waiting for him. And who was Pratiksha to anger the immortal she?

But that didn't mean losing hope, right? No, she'd still wait for him. Wait for him to climb up the window yet again someday, and to call for her with the same amount of immense love. She'd wait till her teeth rot and her skin falls.

But right now, she'd cry tears of a lifetime, because her Keshav was gone.

Now she had to wake up alone, bed empty. No one was there to caress her cheek, to lovingly stroke her hair and turn them into a mess. Neither would anyone wipe off her tiredness with a bare cloth. No one would be able to love her, no one but Kanha.

She had no one to look at now, through the hand mirror, no one to lay on the chest. No one would calm all her fears with a sleight of hand. No one would ever come close to the experience of him.

She wouldn't allow anyone to, no. Her love was only for Kanha. How dare anyone think that she'd forget her Shyam ever?

Krishna was in her, was her and forgetting herself wasn't a decision she was gonna make. She'd wait for her Kanha to come back one day, a year later, 5 years later, a decade later, a lifetime later. She'd stay.

But hey Narayana, for long would she have to cry for her Kanha? Would he never visit her now? Was that the last time she got to look at his face? Was that the last time she touched him, played with his soft fingers, rested in his lap and braided his long curly hair? Would he be able to live without her for so long? She certainly wouldn’t.

Even thinking of spending a lifetime without getting lost in his dark beautiful eyes was a sin.

His flute, how would she not hear it at least once again?

No, this was pure torture, and he was the ever-enjoyer. She comforted herself with many arguments, one being that this was all a big joke, a text of her prem like he always did. But he had to come back. He had to or she would lose her mind.

Did he expect her to let go of this easily? Wasn't she his priye? Which honoured lover would leave his priye to spend a life long in wanting? No, he was Nirmohan but not to an extent that could kill her. He realised this, right?

Then Why did he cry that day, when he came for the last time? Why was he unable to keep his hands from shaking as he tied her braid with flowers? 'Param Shringar' he had called it, the most beautiful he'd made her ready.

He had painted her hand with the leftover flower and tears. 'It'll stay forever, a reminder of me in case you forget,' he had smiled with tears and kissed her palms, some paint on his lips too.

As she looked at her hand now, the smudged part was still visible after so long, the whole palm filled with colours, black and blue petals and flowers.

He was gone, wasn't he?

A sob came up again, and Pratiksha didn't try to stop it. She sobbed as much as she could, loud and livid, her head throbbed with pain and exhaustion and nothingness and her Kanha. Where was that boy? Why wasn't he here, with her head in his lap?

Her eyes longed to look at the face of her Nirmohan, oh how he was living up to the name.

He'd come to her as the breeze, uprooting all her beliefs and taking them away with him. As the wind, he would dry up her tears, when he physically couldn't. She'd still love him.

He'd come to her as the rain too, in her dull life, trying to some life to her death. He would fail miserably and then fall on her face as small droplets, mixing with her tears. She'd still love him.

These days, he'd shine less, not troubling her even more. He'd let her escape from his rays and feel more of his might and shine from wherever he was. She'd still love him.

When she would go on the bank of Yamuna to bring back water, he'd stuck to her feet, making her laugh for a second, but then she'd remember. She'd remember how she'd been like that too, the day he was going away. She'd still love him.

On nights, when she'd exhaust all her tears, he'd fall on her as the moonlight, emitting grace and his colour. That would make her cry again, but she'd still love him.

Her soul? It was already a part of his existence. Once he was gone, he'd take her with him. She'd still love him.

But her favourite form, her Kanha? Oh, how she missed. All night she would wait for the morning hoping he'd play his flute and declare it all a big crack. All day she'd wait for the night, so maybe, just maybe he'd climb up her window once again.

He'd disappointed her both times.

She'd still love him.

She'd still wait for him.

When he would marry all his wives, she'd still wait and love him.

When he would finally become dwarkapati, she'd still wait and love him.

When he'd protect Draupadi from men and their sorts, she'd still wait and love him.

When he'd lead Arjuna to the war, and become his sarthi, she'd still wait and love him.

When old age would dawn upon and her hair turned grey with patience, she'd wait for death.

And he would come to her, in her favourite form yet again, for the final journey. And she? She'd still love him. Because that was all she ever remembered.

Loving him was her only memory.

#gopiblr #kanhaiya #kanha #desi stuff #krishna #krishna is the best #krishnablr #spotify #krishna fics #hindu mythology #hindu history #i love krishna so much #kanha meri baat suno #Spotify

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wavvie · 4 months

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Retribution: Prologue

part 1 of 2

The darkness of the forest's canopy gave way to the moonlit road. A carriage sat waiting, its banners waving in the slight breeze—a rampant golden crowned stag on a field of green, House Oraen. Worry filled Yaenfiera's core, though she cared little about what would soon become her. Her mind went to the novice she sent away thirty-seven years back, still but a child. The gods had given Yaenfiera a command, and she obeyed. Had Yaenfiera known what would come, she would have held onto the child as long as time permitted. Perhaps the gods knew that, omitting what would become of the child, her child. It mattered not anymore. King Daenil of House Oraen had found her. The time of trials and tribulation was over, ushering in a new era of empyrean and inferno.

The rusted chains bit into Yaenfiera's wrists. The wretched bitch of a leader had put them on too tight, mocking Yaenfiera's discomfort. The Leader of the band of rebels had welcomed Yaenfiera into their makeshift fortress, though not with much hospitality. She openly voiced her distaste for the High Priestess, as if Zeneir's towers stood high and untouched by war. Yaenfiera might have stayed accustomed to feather-down mattresses and dining on mutton in another life. But not this one, never this one. "As promised. High Priestess Yaenfiera, Descendant Of Asteae, Sovereign of Zenier, Antidoted Envoy of the Divines, and Protector of The Zaetiraeal." The prickly woman spoke, every word an attempt to wound Yaenfiera. The three men looked Yaenfiera over with disinterest. With one wave of a gloved hand, a chest drops to the ground in a heavy thud. "Very well then," The Commander replies, "Ten thousand golden leviathans." "Is that the cost of damnation?" Yaenfiera spits, "The Realm will forever be changed and by your greed alone." "No, it is the cost of whatever befalls you." The seasoned Leader spun on her heel to face the High Priestess, "Was it not you who agreed to raise and mentor Ivaenia's heir? Then, conveniently lost said heir when the King called for her? Kings and Queens have done far worse for far less." "You speak of what you do not know." Yaenfiera's tone fell somber, "For every truth spoken into this world, deception takes root." "And for every tale, there are two sides—Atlir's teaching. Had you shared your side, the public might have cast the blame differently. But Zenier fell, and you vanished when your people needed you most. Any respect I might have had for the tales of your good deeds has long since soured. They say the gods make no mistakes, but I believe you were their first." The woman's eyes narrowed as they met Yaenfiera's. She and her scoundrels leave the clearing, chest in tow. The King's men grab Yaenfiera, escorting her to the carriage. The runes on her cuffs glow once, twice, thrice. A tear fled down her cheek; only the Forge of Avernus could've created such a monstrosity. All weaponry and artifacts granted from the Divine, or the Infernal, are born in its fires. And only there could such powerful runes be inscribed. Even if she were to drink from the Collision and obtain power that rivaled the gods, she could conjure no magic. Once in the carriage, she could no longer maintain her poise. Yaenfiera wept. She wept for her lover, for whatever became of her old friend turned foe, for all of Zenier and the Zaetiraeal. Most of all, she cried for the young girl from so many years ago. Where would she be in this moment? How far she'd gotten on her quest? Who had she become so far away from a mother's love? Her name came close to escaping Yaenfiera's lips like prayer, a plea for mercy. The girl would not go by that name, even if she had remembered it. She would've been born anew when she woke from the amnesia. If the gods were kind, someone would've named her in her stead. To bestow a name onto oneself is a sign of ill fortune.

#ts4 #ts4 story #ts4 simblr #simlit #sims 4 #oc: yaenfiera of zenier #hod:r #r:prologue

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meowmeowmage · 1 year

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Late Night Conversation

[ Anders and templar!Carver have a conversation post-Chantry boom. Anders positive. Carver is actually nice to Anders. Handers ]

They had all escaped Kirkwall on Isabela's brand new ship. And while everyone was currently in the gallery drinking for variety of reasons, Anders was out on the deck, still processing being spared. Hawke hadn't expressed any anger, hatred, or judgement towards him like Anders had expected. There had been only support and love which Anders still found so surprising.

He heard footsteps and turned slightly to see Carver walking up to him, thankfully having gotten rid of his templar armor.

"Have you come to berate me?" Anders asked. Carver had been rude to him on multiple occasions before, and Anders being the reason both he and his brother had to leave their home would alone be a reason for Carver to have come seeking retribution or simply to vent his anger at the person responsible for it.

"No," Carver said, "Garrett actually forbade us to speak badly to you or upset you in any way, though that's not why I'm not doing it."

Anders lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"He did that?"

"Yeah," Carver said with amusement, "He has this particular look when he's protecting people he thinks won't or can't protect themselves. He used to wear it all the time when Bethany and I were little. And while I've poked him quite a lot in the past I actually know when to quit. Fenris apparently doesn't and now he's nursing a broken nose. Garrett can throw quite the punch, especially for a mage."

Anders bit his lower lip with satisfaction. A warmth spread through his body at the thought of Garrett protecting him like that.

"It probably had to do with growing up and living free. The Circles are not exactly the places for mages to build muscles. Or to live." He couldn't help adding that.

"Yeah, definitely not for living, that's for sure," Carver said with a note of acidity in his tone that Anders didn't expect. "Speaking of the Circle, I actually came here to thank you."

Anders got a whiplash from how sudden he turned towards Carver, eyes wide with shock.

"What for?"

"They were gonna annul the Gallows," Carver said, "There were talks, or rather vile boastings, about Meredith having sent for The Right of Annulment. So many of the Order couldn't fucking wait to start killing and maiming even more brazenly and in the open."

The disgust in Carver's voice brought a smile to Anders's lips. How low the bar was, if not being a murderous bigoted piece of shit was worthy of a smile.

"I wanted to be so sure that she'd be denied," Carver continued, "But eventually I had to admit to myself that it wouldn't have mattered. Even if the Divine refused, and I don't think she would've, it wouldn't have mattered two shits to Meredith. Look how quick she was to decide to annul the Gallows without official approval just for the actions of one mage who had never even been part of the Gallows. There's just no way she wouldn't have had the whole Circle slaughtered in the night sooner or later if you haven't forced everyone to act."

Anders was stunned. He definitely didn't expect Carver to have seen the situation the way Anders himself had.

"Yes, she would have," he confirmed, "But I don't see how that's a reason for you to thank me. Unless... you had someone to lose if the Gallows were annulled. A mage...," Anders trailed. He had always found that kind of relationship quite disturbing.

"No!" Carver said hastily, "It wouldn't have been right. Getting involved with someone who couldn't really tell me 'no', or would say 'yes' out of self-preservation. I... once I got propositioned by a fourteen years old girl just because she thought if I claimed her as mine first, the more nasty templars wouldn't rape her or turn her tranquil... it's so fucking messed up... I refused, of course. Three months later she was made tranquil by that bastard Alrik."

Anders took note of how much what Carver had said had affected him. He wasn't sure what Carver had thought life in the Gallows as a temple would be, but it clearly was worse than he had prepared for.

"You weren't cut out to be a templar you know. But that still doesn't explain why you're thanking me."

"Right. You're painfully aware of what happens to the mages during an annulment. But do you know what happens to the templars?"

Anders frowned in confusion. The answer was obvious, surely.

"They murder mages," Anders said tersely.

"Yes. And if they refuse - they get killed as well. So you see, I would've either had to murder in cold bood dozens of innocents, children included, for not even a half decent reason, and would have had to live with their blood on my hands for the rest of my life. Or I would've been killed. So I would've been either a dead or a man I would've hated. But thanks to you I'm neither. And I can say I was on the right side and fought for a good cause."

Anders couldn't blink away the tears. He had prepared himself for hatred, accusations, persecution. But never for this. Never to be thanked. Tears rolled down his cheek and upon noticing them Carver swore in mild alarm.

"Hey, don't cry! If Garrett sees I made you cry he'd break my nose as well!"

Anders managed a small laughter.

"I'm sure he wouldn't. Thanks for talking to me, Carver."

Carver nodded and left. A few minutes later another set of steps was heard and Anders turned to see Garrett approaching with a small smile.

"Hey, love."

[ AO3 link ]

#anders #anders dragon age #carver hawke #carver #handers #anders positive #fuck the chantry #carver is nice to anders #cw: rape #cw: genocide #i don't like canon so I'm writing my own #hawke #my fics #my posts

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c-estmabiologie · 8 months

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brave on time (Stray Gods fic)

I finished Stray Gods! Time to write about Freddie because I'm love her! Warning: Pretty major mid-game spoilers

Also on AO3

Dying was the easiest thing Freddie had ever done. It’s everything that keeps happening now, in the after-dying part (is afterdeath a word? You know, like afterlife?), that’s really hard.

She can hear Grace moving around the apartment, can pinpoint exactly where she is and what she is doing by sound (she really never takes those shit-kicker boots off except to sleep): now she is closing the door behind Apollo and dragging the deadbolt home; now she is opening the fridge and staring at a bunch of leftover takeout that she doesn’t actually want to eat; now she is outside Freddie’s bedroom door; now she is pacing; now she is back at Freddie’s door.

Freddie feels her heart splash in her chest every time Grace stops just outside her door. She almost calls her in because she wants to imagine that it could be so simple: Grace would just come into her room and flop onto her bed next to her and they wouldn’t have to talk about anything tough at all, not like death, not like literally going to the Underworld and back, not like why she’d let the Furies take her in the first place.

And that had been the easiest thing in the world, letting a Fury’s blade slice into her gut. It hadn’t even hurt that much. When she pressed her hands against her belly now, there was nothing. No phantom pain, no scar, no proof that she'd launched herself into harm's way at all.

But why’d you do it, Freddie?

No, she isn’t ready to face that question down. Not because she doesn’t know the answer.

The answer:

I died because I started a band so I could hear you sing almost every day. It was the same summer you were thinking of moving out of state because you wanted something new, and the first time I ever thought I might lose you. I never told you how much it meant to me that you changed your mind. I died because the first time we sang together in school choir our voices fit together like stacked bowls. My voice was higher then, but you always had range. When we sing now we still fit like that. I like that I chose a band name that you hate because it gives us something stupid and familiar to argue about where you always let me win. I knew I liked you before I was sure I liked girls. I died because you have been like a sun to me. I didn’t want to make things weird when we had such a good thing going, so I was happy just to be beside you, in your orbit, and bask a little in your glow. I died because you’re a muse and you’re amazing at it. You’re taking, like, a cosmic shift in your reality in stride and just killing it. And you’re taking me along for the ride? It’s more than I could have imagined and not just because I literally never imagined this particularly weird scenario. I died so you could keep being amazing. I saw you stepping up to be a freaking Idol with god-like powers and couldn’t let that stop just because some divine retribution showed up to end you. I died because I wanted you to keep singing. I died because I love you.

She knows the answer, of course she does. It’s just too hard to say. Much harder than dying was.

But what if she were brave enough to say it? Maybe not all of it — some of her thoughts are too naked and vulnerable and should definitely just stay thoughts — but what if she said the part about love out loud? Who knows, maybe Grace has been secretly pining after her all this time, wondering if it would feel weird if they kissed or exactly right, maybe even thinking about her and pressing her palm against herself…

She knows Grace well enough to know that the worst possible outcome is just that she only loves Freddie as a friend and will only ever love her that way. It would sting but it wouldn’t be a shock or anything — she’d played this possibility out in her head before enough times and broken her own heart over it that feeling it for real would be familiar. They could still go on as Grace and Freddie: besties and her declaration would linger like a message written in the condensation on a mirror. It might pop up every now and again, like a nice reminder, but it would be easy enough for either of them to wipe away.

Freddie sighs. Grace isn’t outside her door anymore, not that Freddie had expected her to wait outside forever. She’s pretty sure that Grace has left the apartment completely even though she didn’t hear her leave. There’s that strange sort of stillness that you only get when you’re the only one home. It was fair for Grace to leave — she still has to prove herself to a pantheon that she wasn’t a murderer before the week is up, after all. It’s not like she can sit around the apartment all day just in case her friend decides she’s chill with everything that just went down. She’ll be back eventually, just like Freddie will have to come out eventually, if only because she’s alive again and has to do the sort of living people stuff that means leaving her room (she already kinda has to pee).

There’s also the matter of the eidolon inside of her, returned life ( immortality, Freddie, you’re technically immortal now if you want to be ) with an unfair price. Freddie hates the bitter part of her that’s ungrateful for being alive and breathing and needing to pee. She hates that she has to go through the motions of living when she’d already accepted being dead. She’d made the greatest sacrifice for Grace and Grace’d been like no thanks, I need you with me . Which is its own kind of love, she guesses, selfish and just as unfair as the other, more romantic stories of heroes going to the underworld.

“What the hell, Freddie,” she says out loud to herself, to the band posters on her wall, to the tidy spines of the books on their shelves, “you should be freaking out a little more. You’re a muse.”

She rolls over onto her stomach and presses her face into a pillow so she doesn’t have to look at it. It all looks exactly like it did before she died. Nothing has changed except her.

She doesn’t know what to do about being a muse. Should she be packing up her room and shipping herself off to Olympus? Should she be out beside Grace, interrogating gods and trying to solve the last muse’s death? (if she’s being truly honest, that’s where she wants to be.) Grace had been forced into this just as much as Freddie had, but she’d made it look so straightforward and cool. Freddie doesn’t think she has that kind of effortless way in her that Grace has. But she could figure it out. Grace had been a muse for like four whole days before giving it up, so maybe she could share some tips when she gets back. But that also means that she’ll have to actually talk to Grace.

“You can do this,” she says with her face still smushed into the pillow, feeling decidedly unmagical and a little bit sweaty. She hears the jingle of keys in the door. She hears the squeak of it swinging open and remembers the can of WD-40 that she’d bought three months ago that was still sitting under the sink, waiting for its day to un-squeak the hinges, just like she always remembers when she hears the door open. She hears Grace’s boots cross the floor.

She can do this.

A gentle knock. She can do this.

“Freddie?” Grace’s voice is a single bowl waiting to catch her. Freddie pushes herself back up to sit on the edge of her bed. Presses her sock-feet into the floorboards. Every second in the space after the question feels so much harder than anything she’s ever done. Still. She stands up to open her door to Grace.

She can do this.

#stray gods #freddie stray gods #stray gods spoilers

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felassan · 1 year

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Dragon Age: Absolution Episode 2

some random bits and pieces on Episode 2. under a cut due to length

Episode 1 post

It looks really cold down there! You can see their breath

The various glyphs and circular spells in this show really have the feel of similar glyphs and mage spell symbols from the games

The chained dragon reminded me of Ataashi trapped in Trespasser and the chained dragon in Dark Fortress

Is this ruin they're in the aforementioned sealed temple to the Old Gods? In Episode 1 we're told that part of the Summer Palace is built on top of a sealed temple to the Old Gods, and when Rezaren and Tassia exit that place they travel upwards from what looks like underground. that's interesting - it's the place where the Circulum was crafted by Magister Amelia Pavus. Was that so far back in time that it was during the time of Old God worship in Tevinter, or was Amelia an [underground] Old God cultist or simply conducting research of/in an old temple?

^ draconic figure pattern on the chamber walls

New lore: Tevinter Divine Marconius IV built the vault in the Summer Palace in Nessum as a last resort; its security system is designed to kill everyone in the palace in order to stop a full-scale coup, rather than a few intruders. sounds like a safe room tbh! also new lore: this Marconius put the bodies of dead slaves in the walls of the palace

Since it seems from a later normal conversation Tassia "has" with Neb's body later in this episode that Tassia doesn't realize Neb is dead, my reading of the 'Don't you have someone you want to bring back?' exchange between Rezaren and Tassia was that Tassia herself in her own backstory lost someone important to her

New lore: an ancestor of Dorian's, and a member of House Pavus, Magister Amelia Pavus, created the Circulum Infinitus as her last and greatest work. It brings people back from the dead - she'd be proud that her great-great-greatx9000 descendant is a Necromancer

On Memory / Enmity: aaah the highlight of the episode. Honestly I think there is soo much that could be written about this character, on themselves and as a commentary on broader things etc, even though they only appeared for a brief time. "Memory / Enmity" is how they're listed in the credits. they're a spirit of Wisdom called Memory, like how there's a Pride Demon called Audacity and a Desire demon called Caress. these are like, types of or possible aspects/things relating to the 'umbrella noun'. I think sometimes these are things it's focusing on, like how an anger demon that 'focuses on' [angry] retribution is more powerful as that kind of anger is more powerful and complex than simple anger. why memory.. There's knowledge to be found in memories, and they can help inform wiser choices in the future.

Memory has observed and remembered everything that happened in that chamber since its very founding, which as a temple to the Old Gods (from long ago) means that they've been doing that for a very, very long time and seen a great many things. this was in service of Tevinter; we already knew that in Tevinter mages bind spirits and use them as servants, so here's an example of that practise.

When Memory says they "sense" that the artifact has never been used, I get the impression that rather than sense that they just straight up know that, but were being coy about what they knew in a holding some info close to their chest kind of way. When they said that by name and nature mortals are doomed to die, I was reminded of the immortality of ancient elves, how the construction of the Veil changed elves' very nature and sundered them from themselves, and the theory that elves were once spirits/have spirit origins

Memory's descent into Enmity is also interesting. they already had multiple blue eyes, but at certain times when they're tempted, annoyed, sus etc they're drawn with additional, demonic black eye slits. there's also multiple triggers which contribute towards their corruption into Pride/Enmity and twisting away from/perversion of their purpose. Rezaren arrogantly states that just because something hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be done, and boasts that Magisters don't frighten easily. here, it's exposure to Rezaren's pride, like how in this Codex sonnet the spirit of Love was transformed into Desire by exposure to the lover's desire for them. Memory is further twisted when Rezaren harms them in an attempt to force/compel them to comply with his demands (forcing them to comply with something out of keeping with their nature). this is apparent from their expressions of pain (grimacing, hunching etc), and this twisting feels more like an animal's defense mechanism against being attacked, like if you keep pushing and pushing someone they may lash out. they're twisted when their own innate (hidden) sense of pride is insulted by the way that they're being treated and essentially being compared to a common shade. and they're twisted when exposed to the powerful artifact and find themselves coveting it and its power. When they say "revealing that would be unwise" it's a bit meta, as at that time Memory themselves is trying to avoid becoming their opposite (unwise... no longer Wisdom).

^ the multiple eyes + blue eyes is self-explanatory ofc, but here I was also reminded by the way the Dread Wolf's face in this mural is twisted and 'frowning'/snarling

Also poor Memory .. MEEEEEMOREEEE noooooo（；へ：）way to go Rezaren you corrupted a spirit other Magisters had been compelling and consulting without ruining for literal Ages

"Power like this draws... many... eyes": obviously referring to Meredith and likely also to get you to wonder who else, what other beings are after this artifact or want it. but it's also self-referential: Memory is drawn to the artifact, Enmity wants it believing that only beings such as they should get to hold such power, their many eyes are fixed upon it

Memory is bald under that there hood. this reminded me of bald ancient elves in wall paintings such as these and the obvious, which in turn brought to mind the theory on Solas' origins, that Mythal once called Solas (a spirit of Wisdom) out of the Fade to serve and advise her ("He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face")

The Memory/Enmity dichotomy is also interesting, it's not the 'simple' kind of axis like Justice-Vengeance or Love/Desire. we already knew it wasn't always fixed and 'linear' and or exclusive (Faith and Wisdom can both become Pride etc) but yea Spirit/Demon stuff is just soo interesting hh :D according to Professor Google there are some ideas in some types of religious thinking on enmity as it relates to pride:

"Most of us think of pride as self-centeredness, conceit, boastfulness, arrogance, or haughtiness. All of these are elements of the sin, but the heart, or core, is still missing. The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means “hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.” It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us. Pride is essentially competitive in nature. We pit our will against God’s. When we direct our pride toward God, it is in the spirit of “my will and not thine be done.”" [from a random site]

"the heart and core of pride is enmity - "hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition" - toward God and fellowmen. Enmity toward God has certain labels: rebellion, hard-heartedness, stiff-neckedness, unrepentant, puffed up, easily offended, and sign seekers. Enmity toward others is manifest in daily temptations to "elevate ourselves above others and diminish them."" [from a random site]

"“But Pride always means enmity -- it is enmity. And not only enmity between man and man, but enmity to God.”" [apparently a CS Lewis quote]

the Tevinter Chantry holds services in the evening (the evening chant) which have four bells, singing of the Chant and the congregation/people assembled looking for salvation

^ one last time indeed. F （；へ：）

I thought/speculated/worried that one of the gang wouldn't make it out of the heist alive, but I really did not expect it to be Fairbanks, Newly Ascended Extra and Inquisition Representation. wew!!

When Roland is rolling around on the ground like 'oh the pain' this is probably the bit mentioned here in the showrunner & cast interview from Netflix Tooned In:

Mairghread: “You get a file [of auditions]. A lot of people could bring the badass, but she really brought the warmth, and really, your voice and performance was so warm, in like, this, quieter moments where you could feel a person instead of just a phenomenal killing machine. I knew instantly when I heard your audition, I was like 'that’s it, that’s absolutely it’. […] Phil’s audition was so smooth and sexy, I was like 'oh this is so nice’, but actually what clinched it is there’s a moment where he has to like, act badly, and it’s actually really hard to get actors to act badly. A moment where he has to do a bad job of acting. And you went for it 100%, it was hilarious.”

"tell my wife I loved her" lmao

Levitation? in Last Flight there's the floating aravels and I think in the core rule book there's a bit about levitation of small items

the girl and the cook reminded me a bit of Briala and the chatelaine and Rilene the cook in The Masked Empire, only a lot darker

here's "bat" again, this time bat-eared.. is "bat" a Tevinter thing, like "rabbit" in Orlais? :|

"sky-sucking" lol

^ lockpicking looks fun and also the opened lock is a dragon!

The Fairbanks/Hira thing was a cool twist and clever misdirect. I originally thought Fairbanks was evil, a traitor/compromised or somehow not really Fairbanks in that scene

The Circulum absorbs some of Hira's spilled blood

Also I think Rezaren's mom's name is Enrichetta. That name is listed in the credits as Sumalee Montano, his mom sounded like Sumalee and it can't be the name of the cook or the girl as they're listed as "cook" and "girl", so by process of elimination and lack of who else it could be.. ^^

#dragon age #dragon age: absolution #dragon age: absolution spoilers #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #solas #hope these posts are interesting to someone hh :')#feels #gpoy #mj meta

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theleavesofwesteros · 8 months

Text

Retribution | Aemond Targaryen x OC!Visenya Velaryon

A/N: I guess I'm writing for Aemond now??? I'm absolutely petrified because I think he is such a fascinating character and I can only hope I do him even a bit justice in this fic, HELP. Oh also, I moved up the ages a bit oops idk if Aemond is truly 16 in the TV show, but in the timeskip of this fic he will be 20 </3

I'm also posting this late at night and I'm tired so if it's shitty I'm really sorry I just really wanted to post thissss and I love him and ugh

Also i'm so sorry this is my first time using dividers and idk where to find good ones so I used a random gif idk if that's alright

Okay ilyyyy

warnings: targcest (specifically niece x uncle, oops), mention of Aemond losing his eye, talking about sex and about dick, blood, that's it??? I think.

Visenya Velaryon was a feisty girl. She was the older sister of Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, and the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Though she looked like Jacaerys and Lucerys in the nose and mouth, she was a pure Targaryen otherwise; with her silver hair and violet eyes. Visenya never got a dragon as a child, so she was mocked by her uncle Aegon, but her brothers were more hesitant to do so, because she would shoot them a disapproving look and they would stop. Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys did have one person that they mercilessly mocked for having no dragon though; Visenya's other uncle, Aemond.

Visenya enjoyed Aemond's presence much more than Aegon's. Aemond resembled her, seeing as they were both observant, fiesty, quick to anger and well-read. They spent most of their childhood reading together in the library, sneaking off into the kitchens of the Red Keep in the middle of the night, and protecting the other from cruel words. Of course, good things never seem to last.

When Harwin Strong was removed from the King's Guard, Visenya confided in Aemond about how upsetting it was that Harwin Strong was being punished, but Aemond sided with Ser Criston Cole and even let slip a 'bastard' in Visenya's direction. Visenya hit Aemond across the face and left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, Laenor and her brothers.

Soon after, Visenya and her family went to Driftmark for Laena Velaryon's funeral. Jace was upset at the prospect of being there and not at the funeral of Harwin Strong. Visenya agreed with her younger brother, though she did not voice that opinion. She felt eyes on her throughout the entire ceremony and she knew who was watching her. She did not approach him, there was nothing to say. He'd made his opinion about her known. Visenya found herself hoping she had a dragon, a dragon who could scare Aemond into apologizing, into bowing at her feet and begging for forgiveness. Visenya held Baela and Rhaena's hands, comforting them as much as she could, but also secretly holding onto that feeling of hands in hers, and using it to deal with her own grief. She could obviously tell she was not Laenor's biological daughter, and if her brothers' resemblance to Harwin Strong was anything to go by, she knew she would much rather be at a different funeral.

Visenya went to bed early that night, desperately clutching onto Lucerys' little hand. Lucerys still did not understand why she and Jacaerys were so upset. He likely assumed that they were simply very empathetic towards Laenor's loss. After she'd fallen into a deep sleep, she was awoken by Baela and Rhaena talking to Jacaerys. Someone had stolen Vhagar. With the feeling of dread in Visenya's chest, she already knew who had done that.

Her feet carried her quickly through the castle and into the tunnel leading out towards the shores of Driftmark. Unfortunately for her, all that ensued never reached the outside world. It seemed to all be caught up in a secluded tunnel, almost as if the event itself knew that it would have been best to bury down under other family secrets and misfortunes. Obviously, with such visible ramifications, the event could never be hidden away.

Once the entire family, minus Laenor, had gathered to discuss what in the Seven Hells had happened, Visenya's hands were shaking, and her white nightgown was stained with blood. She had never thought her little brother Lucerys would ever do that. She only remembers running to Aemond to try and help, but he had pushed her away, calling her a bastard. Now, Aemond was sitting in a chair, his face bloody, his left eye closed and swollen, and Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra were arguing. Visenya kept looking at Aemond, kept begging and praying to all the Gods that this was not real, that this had not happened.

Queen Alicent requested that Lucerys give up an eye as well. An eye for an eye. Visenya felt herself get nauseous at the thought. Words were thrown back and forth, insults, accusations. It was an ugly affair. Visenya only looked towards Aemond. Eventually, his only eye made its way to her face as well. He scowled, but did not look away. They kept looking at each other from across the room, Visenya staying by a bloodied Jacaerys and Lucerys. Shockingly, Aemond and she had not engaged against one another. She only tried to stop the fight, so she'd only ended up with a few bruises and scrapes.

As the conflict escalated to dramatic heights, and Alicent cut Rhaenyra, King Viserys took hold of the situation. He had noticed how Visenya and Aemond had been looking at each other across the room, and last he knew, Aemond and Visenya were very close.

"Stop this madness! I am your King and I demand it to be so! Lucerys will not be giving one of his eyes."

Alicent ground her teeth at his words and looked away, shame and tears in her eyes. She and Aemond were holding one another, Aemond's eye yet again watching Visenya as if he was expecting her to finally pounce on him as well.

"The solution to this problem is easily obtainable." King Viserys continued, all eyes on him.

"Aemond has been injured, and requests retribution from Rhaenyra's children. Visenya has always been close to her uncle. I think it is obvious what must be done. I shall have Aemond and Visenya married."

Eerie silence followed in the room. Aemond and Visenya looking at each other with hatred on their faces.

"No chance at all-"

"Father-"

King Viserys simply held his hand up.

"Enough. Alicent, Rhaenyra, I know you are mothers, but I am King. My decision in final. I shall give you until Visenya turns eight and ten. Then, she shall return to King's Landing and she will marry Aemond."

"Father, I have no need for a bastard wife. I have earned a dragon. The greatest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms. What will Visenya offer me? She is dragonless. A simple bastard." Aemond said coldly, eye unmoving from Visenya's face.

Visenya scowled and was about to insult Aemond, but Viserys spoke again.

"Enough, boy. I am doing this for you. She is not bastard. You will marry her, you will strenghten our House, you will have your retribution for what has happened to you, and our family will be united once more. I will hear no more complaints."

Visenya said no more words for the rest of her short stay on Driftmark. She was glad to leave and go back to Dragonstone, for once in her life. Once home, she was furious at Aemond. He had a dragon, and he insulted her because she did not. They'd both grown up without dragons, and yet the second he obtained one, he allowed himself to mock her just as he'd been mocked. Visenya carelessly and out of pure spite, found the wild dragons on Dragonstone and through sheer ambition and fury, claimed The Cannibal. He feasted on the corpses of dragons, and Visenya knew exactly whose corpse she would offer to The Cannibal next.

"I don't give a shit about tourneys. Nephews...have you come to train?"

The tension in the training yard was palpable. The crowd had parted and Jacaerys and Lucerys found themselves staring at Aemond. He had grown tall, lithe, his hair had gotten much longer too. His voice had gotten deeper, one could practically hear his evil intentions within it. A sliver of silver was visible between Jacaerys and Lucerys and Aemond smirked.

"Little wife, have you finally come to me?"

Visenya pushed her two younger brothers aside and walked up to Aemond.

"Uncle." She said simply, her jaw clenched in fury.

"Niece," Aemond said, his smirk not having left his face.

He took in all of Visenya, admiring how she'd grown into a young woman. She had always been beautiful, but now, Aemond found himself slightly thankful of the match his father had made.

"You look angry as ever. Happy eight and tenth name day. I have no gift for you, but fret not, I shall be gifting you with something on our wedding night."

Visenya narrowed her eyes at him.

"I was not aware that three inches was considered a gift, uncle."

Aemond's jaw clenched momentarily, his eye blazing with fury, before he quickly composed himself, smirk back on his face.

"We shall see, niece. I believe you will find yourself begging for those three inches quite quickly." He got close to her so he could whipser in her ear. "You will also find yourself begging for the rest of me quite quickly as well, little wife. Fret not, if you are good, I will give you what you need."

Visenya pushed him away with a sound of disgust and eagerly left the training yard, opting to get ready with her brothers in order to strenghten Lucerys' claim on Driftmark. Before she left, she looked back at Aemond, who was already watching her.

"The Cannibal is eager to meet you, uncle."

Aemond only watched her, his amusement evident.

"Vhagar is eager to meet The Cannibal as well, I assure you, ābrazȳrys. Only then, shall we see who truly deserves the name of cannibal." wife

Visenya looked away from Aemond, showing him the middle finger as she walked off, leaving Aemond's cackle to be heard throughout the entire training yard.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #they are cunty #he is so fine #they love each other #but they won't say it #oops #they want to frick #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond x fem!oc #aemond fic

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