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#But I still managed to draw someone crouching for the first time

mysterycitrus · 3 months

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[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

#this is an unedited snippet from september 2023 so plz no one judge me #roy harper #dick grayson #nightwing #arsenal #donna troy #teen titans #lian harper #persephone tag #fic #batman #dc comics #mart #roy harper is very dear TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

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sukunasdumbestchef · 5 months

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way how i see you.

True form!Sukuna x Blind!Fem!reader

꒰You are the one and only wife of the King of Curses, but you don't just have this peculiarity… you are also blind. And painting is your way of painting and trying to represent what you see, even if it's just a little.꒱

Fluff, but cheesy.

BAD ENGLISJ SORRY😭

It was actually a secret… blindness. No one suspected…not even the King, Sukuna Ryomen. You hid it so well.

For obvious reasons, your life changed drastically after your vision got worse, the world around you lost its colors and beauty every day. Your world became just silhouettes moving around, almost colorless and blurred. But, you were aware of some things, just by looking at the silhouettes, you know how to differentiate an animal from a human, or if someone uses hair accessories. You weren't completely blind, but you were blind enough to be considered blind and have difficulties.

Uraume was the first to suspect, they were going to your room to hand over your newly cleaned kimonos. Uraume pushed the door open with an elbow. It was at the same time that you were combing your hair, your room lacked a little light, the candles had run out at the moment. You placed the comb where you thought the table was, but the comb ended up falling. You crouched down, trying to look for the lost comb on the floor, as the comb was clearly next to you. But they did not talked, nor did they mention this to the king.

Sukuna became suspicious when you two were at the table. In an attempt to get the chopsticks, you put your hand in a completely far place. It wasn't your fault, the chopsticks were the same color as the table! You tried again, nervous and hoping your husband wasn't looking at you. You went wrong again, you swallowed hard. You only realized where the chopsticks were when you turned your head drastically.

"…" Sukuna obviously noticed this. So the dots connected in his cruel head: Didn't she see where they were? Maybe… it makes sense, this woman is "strict" with how Uraume serves her food, she asks that the rice be placed in a light-colored bowl, if possible, in a light yellow bowl… and things like that...

"Wife. Are you blind?" Sukuna asked, without further ado. You felt your heart lock… could it be now? The truth?

"Sukuna…I, yes I am blind, please my king forgive me for keeping it a secret!" You soon explained yourself, standing up and crouching in respect. You thought he was angry, but he was surprised. He realized that you were not a silly woman, you are a very smart woman, no one suspected that you were blind… not even the king!

And that's how your life changed, Sukuna didn't even ask and you already explained your condition. You explained that you weren't completely blind, but you made her life difficult. Sukuna, like a husband who doesn't say 'I love you' but would burn the world for you, did everything he could to help you, Uraume helped you more.

You were an artist too, you painted several pictures. First, Sukuna thought they were cute and that was it. However, upon discovering your lack of vision, he began to see your paintings differently… it was you representing the world… through your eyes, how you imagine the colors, from the memory of when you could still see the colors…

Sukuna was stuck, looking at his painting where you had made him. He remembers saying in the past how different their brands were, but now he understands. "I'm more surprised, woman, you actually almost managed to draw my marks… Did you do what you imagined they would look like?" Sukuna asked, you next to him nodded.

"I could see the spots on your wrist, they stand out against your skin. The ones on your face are harder to see…" you explained. Sukuna took you in his arms, you were confused because you didn't expect this all of a sudden. "Sukuna?"

"Um, give me your finger." He took her index finger. Her heart warmed as she felt him trace his marks with his finger. You got closer to his face, getting a better look.

"Wait… you have a mini eye underneath? I thought you only had 3 eyes…" Sukuna smiles.

"It's small." Sukuna replied, getting her down from his arm.

"Oh, Kuna! I need to paint you again!" She said, looking at him with a cute smile. Sukuna saw her pull out a painting, and sit at her desk. Sukuna sat right next to her, very close to her. "Kuna… this tone looks strange, does this pink look like your hair?"

"Yes? I don't understand anything about this color thing… I don't care." You sighed, but started painting. You approached him very closely, to see his features up close. He gives you a peck, "You're so close." He complained, you laughed.

He pulled you onto his lap, so it was easier for you to see him. He felt her soft hand contouring his sharp features. Analyzing, Sukuna held her closer. It was such a rare moment, so warm…

But Sukuna closed his eyes in pain when she accidentally stuck her finger in his eyes. "Stupid, woman. Do you want to make me like you, you bastard?"

"I didn't think it was funny Sukuna, it was by accident…"

"Whatever, get it over with. My ass is going to hurt if I sit here for so long."

"HUSH!"

I have a version of this same theme with a longer story and angsty in the middle… do you want me to post it?

long story version

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk x reader #true form sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 10 months

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CHOPPERS.

Part 1 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Today felt like the first calm shift you had in weeks… or at least that‘s what you thought until two unexpected guests stepped into Choppers.

WORDS: 3.3 K

WARNINGS: There's just too much testosterone in this chapter, mentions of injuries (cut lip), a bit of swearing, otherwise it‘s harmless

NOTES: Aemond seems a bit soft in this, BUT I can tell that’s not how he’s going to be all the time. Credit for the photo of Tommy with tatts goes to @/eatheruniverse. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics.

King’s Landing was the sort of place where you either had two houses or two jobs, and since you were currently wiping down the counter of Choppers and had no fancy–and ridiculously expensive–motorcycle parked in front of the bar, you clearly belonged to the latter.

The venue was busier than usual with several members of the Savage Dragons filling the tables and bar, and the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and leather hung thick in the air. Old school rock boomed off the jukebox in the corner, and the atmosphere was relaxed, making the shift one of the easiest you had in weeks.

At least that was what you thought until raised voices drew attention to one of the tables closest to the door, a familiar mop of brown hair involved and two other men you hadn’t seen that often before. In times like these, you were grateful to work with Cregan, because wherever that hunk of a man went, every turmoil was smothered within seconds.

When you turned around to meet his eyes from where he was drawing some beers, you merely had to wrinkle your nose with a ‘pretty please?’ leaving your lips to coax him from behind the counter.

“I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, and nodded towards the tap, “Need two more for Alyn and Addam. Could you, please?” Making a swift change, you took his place behind the tap, while he dried off his hands and threw the rag over his broad shoulder, walking around the counter.

“Cole! Lannister!” his deep voice rang out, perfectly audible despite the music still playing, “You fuckin’ know not to start shit on my shift. Get your asses outta here before they meet my foot.“ There had been a few encounters with them before, and each one had been won by Cregan.

Thanks to you working at the bar for quite some time now, your eyes managed to flicker between the scene unfolding in front of you and the tap, making sure not one drop of beer got spilled and the foam head was evenly and neither too thick nor too thin.

Even before Cregan reached their table, the men held their hands up in defeat, getting up to head towards the door.

“What are they even doing here? The posh lifestyle getting too boring?” you looked from Cregan and Jace to your friend Baela. She leaned over the counter, fishing for one of the beers you’d poured. You swatted her hand away, pulling the pints towards the edge of the counter, before crouching down to pull the first aid kit from the cabinet below.

“Well, technically, your father hasn’t banned them from entering the bar,” you noted, raising one eyebrow at her as you slid the kit across the counter toward Cregan so he could tend to the cut on Jace’s lip.

She slumped into the bar stool while you hurried around the counter with both beers in hand, sighing in an exaggerated manner, “Fuck, I know, I’ve been telling him for months now, but he’s not doing it.”

You meandered through the crowd of people and placed the pints in front of the silver haired brothers, walking back to get behind the counter again. “I don’t know what has happened between you, and I really don’t care, but just because your cousins left the gang and started their own doesn’t mean they should be banned,” you said, grabbing a rag to wipe off the tap. “They’re still your family, and the few members of Dracarys that come here have been nothing short of calm–unless they’re provoked by a certain someone.” You shamelessly glanced over to Jace, who just shrugged his shoulders.

“We don’t wanna have them here, and if that’s the only way to make it clear to them, I’ll keep going until they understand. They’re nothing but a bunch of elitist assholes,” the president retorted.

You’re just as elitist as they are, was the comeback you wanted to say but stifled by biting your tongue, because they were the ones kind of taking you in and accepting you in their gang, even though you didn’t own a motorcycle and weren’t a member of their tribe. You enjoyed the company of the Savage Dragons, and you’d been around Baela even before your first shift at Choppers, but they had no idea what it meant to grow up in King’s Landing’s lower class and to work for your money.

You handed Baela a freshly poured beer, throwing the rag over your shoulder in the same manner Cregan did before, who was already nursing a bourbon.

“Didn’t you come by motorcycle?”

“One does no harm,” he said, “besides, there's at least six hours left ‘till closing time.”

“How did I end up here?” you asked rhetorically, and pinched the bridge of your nose. Because you were looking for a new job, and Baela’s father was looking for a waitress.

Cregan smiled in a teasing manner, “Don’t you enjoy being a Dragon, sweetheart?”

You tilted your head to the side as you met his brown eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Just because I work here with you,” you nod in his direction, referring to the cut-off that hung on the knob of the cabinet with various patches of flames and dragons sewn onto it, and their gang’s logo patched on the back, “and occasionally ride shotgun doesn’t mean I’m part of your gang. I don’t own a bike and never will.”

The bull of a man just raised his hands as if he didn’t mean to offend you, though the cheeky smirk he held on his lips made it clear he didn’t hold it against you. “Just teasin’, sugar, we know you aren’t.” Sometimes the nicknames he gave you came so random that they really made you blush, and totally not because you had a little crush on him. Cregan was barely three years older than you, but he somehow had upped his flirting game to the point he just radiated daddy vibes. And you didn’t want to know what he was up to when he wasn’t working or taking his Triumph out for a ride with the Dragons.

Hearing his name being called in the distance, you both looked up to meet the violet eyes of Alyn, who was holding up two fingers while pointing towards the two empty pints standing in front of them. Sometimes you wondered if they just chugged it the second the drinks were served.

“After you,” you mirrored his cheeky grin and extended your arm, pointing towards the tap.

The brunette scoffed and shook his head, but not in a derogatory manner. He trailed past you, while you seized the opportunity to clean some of the glasses that piled up on the countertop.

Jace went back to where some of his men were playing pool, the cut on his lip obvious enough you could still spot it even in the dim light of the bar.

“So, the flame between you two dying out already?” you asked Baela with a softer voice, not wanting to catch Cregan’s attention, lifting your head to look at her. When there didn’t come an answer right away, you pressed on. “Just surprised Creg had to patch him up, that’s all.”

She took a swig of her beer, putting the pint down and slightly bending over the counter to come closer toward you. “He’s just been acting so weird lately. I get that it’s not easy when your parents get a divorce, but everyone saw it coming… even Luke handles it better than he does.”

“Speaking of, where’s he anyways? Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s in Driftmark with Rhae. Gramps needed some help in his workshop, and since dad’s busy with the new bar, Luke offered to drive her and stay there. They should be back by Saturday.”

You had to give it to Rhaena. Even though she didn’t own a motorcycle herself, she was mechanically inclined. Growing up with a father like Daemon, who was obsessed with motorcycles himself, she received all the support she needed on her way, and he taught her most of the things he knew, despite taking a step back from motorcycles and all things involved after their mother Laena got into an accident that nearly killed her.

At this point you just waited for the day she’d storm into Choppers and proclaim that Corlys Velaryon had bequeathed the workshop to her. You hoped for it to happen.

“Does he,” you nodded toward the Savage Dragon’s president, “want to stay with Rhaenrya or does he leave with Harwin?” You stored the glasses away and threw the rag aside, leaning back against the cabinet with your arms folded in front of your chest.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. He plans on buying an apartment in the city,” you raised your eyebrows at that, considering renting an apartment in King’s Landing already was expensive as hell, so, buying one was a whole other level. “And I can totally see Luke moving in with him, though.”

You nodded, and scoffed at the thought of the brothers sharing an apartment, considering Jace more often than not complained about his younger brother getting on his nerves. Perhaps moving out was his chance to get a taste of freedom and independence.

Your response was seized short when the loud chatter of the customers drowned into silence. Having got used to the background noise a long time ago, you picked up on it lacking the second it ceased.

There was a slight commotion at the front door, caused by the crowd of people parting to make place for whoever entered. It was a weird reaction, to say the least. The customers stepped aside when two silver haired men, clad in black jeans and matching leather jackets with a few patches covering the fronts and arms, stepped through the door and headed towards the counter.

You didn’t have to squint your eyes to make out that it was Aegon Targaryen, self proclaimed prince of the city and president of Dracarys. And though everyone kept a respectful distance from them, you knew it wasn’t because of him, but rather because of the much taller man that trailed behind him like his personal bodyguard, his serious expression seeming both domineering and threatening. You hadn’t heard much about Aemond Targaryen before, a total enigma to you, and while the brothers seemed like the epitome of the golden retriever and the black cat personalities, you knew better than to trust the first impression.

Aegon Targaryen was nothing short of ruthless and deceitful, the goofy and gullible demeanor only a mask he put on to fool people until he decided to show his true colors. The only thing that matched was his loyalty and protectiveness, always going the extra mile for his brothers and sister.

The only things you knew about Aemond were that he supposedly wore a sapphire in place of his left eye after he’d lost it in an accident, though the how and when was unknown and his left eye concealed with a black eyepatch, and that he was in no way inferior to Aegon, just as ruthless and if not even hot-tempered and fierce.

At least that’s what you had heard. You still had to experience their outbursts first hand yourself, most of the stories you‘d heard told by members of the Savage Dragons, or rather Jace, Luke and Creg. And sometimes even Baela told one or two stories, however, they never were as derogatory as the ones the others told.

“Now this is a rare visit,” your friend mumbled, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow as she noticed your attention was solely fixed on them. Not even Jace’s ‘Look who has decided to bless us with their presence’ was able to reclaim your focus.

With every step the pair took toward you, you felt the air being knocked straight out of your lungs, your throat becoming incredibly tight, whereas another sensation built in the pit of your stomach–perhaps even at the apex between your legs. Only when you felt Baela’s hand under your chin, as if she meant to close your mouth–even though it wasn't opened–you figured you had been staring at them a bit too long and a bit too obvious, but something about his striking eye, chiseled jaw and intimidating aura felt alluring to you.

“Cousin,” Aegon’s gravelly voice rang out, acknowledging Baela.

“Aeg,” she said before looking over to the taller Targaryen, nodding. “Aemond.”

The air between them was thick with tension, and it almost made you cringe to the point you had to interfere. “What can I get you?” your voice was a tad more high pitched than usual, and from the corner of your eye you were able to spot the way your friend’s eyebrow raised in a manner that made clear she was judging you.

You tried your best to focus on Aegon, his blonde stubble, the loose curls and lavender eyes dreamy enough to get lost in but not at all enticing enough to outshine his younger brother.

For a split second, you glanced over to Aemond, looming over his brother and Baela, and you were certain you’d caught the hint of a blush covering his pale skin, running down his cheeks and getting lost under his neck tattoos.

“Daemon’s here, sweets?” he drawled, the pet name only topped by the flirty wink he shot you. Goosebumps prickled on your skin, though it had a completely different meaning and got an entirely different reaction from you than it did whenever Cregan called you something similar.

Speaking of, he had abandoned his place at Addam’s table–that man couldn’t do anything else than drinking and chatting while at work, and occasionally threw someone out of the bar–and trailed around the counter to stand behind you, towering over your small frame just like Aemond did with Aegon. “No,” he said coldly. Very unusual for him, you thought.

Instead of looking at the man behind you, Aegon kept his eyes neatly trained on you, a smile on his lips that seemed eerily faked, “Then we’ll have two of his special. Neat.” Daemon’s special, you raised your brows, that meant you had to open one of the ridiculously expensive bottles of Elijah Craig’s 18 year single barrel that were stored in the back just for this occasion.

“I’ll bring it to you, guys,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at Cregan, whose jaw was set to the point you feared for his teeth. Both men nodded and left to occupy one of the tables in the back–the one where two of their men had been expelled from before, to be precise.

“Leave it to me,” you warned, putting a hand on the expanse of his broad chest to make it clear it wasn’t even up to debate. “They haven’t done anything at all and you guys can’t think straight right now.”

While you fetched two tumblers and retrieved the bottle from the back, Baela had left her spot in front of the counter, walking over to the pool table to approach Jace. You supposed it had something to do with the way he held his hands balled to fists at his sides and his eyes all but burning through his uncle’s bodies. If looks could kill, Aegon and Aemond certainly would have perished straight away.

Perhaps she would finally manage to keep his rage at bay and stop him from doing anything stupid. Yet again.

Grabbing a tray, you served the drinks to them before cleaning their table from the remnants of their clan’s escapades, several empty pints and tumblers stacked upon it. It was difficult to keep your cool with both their eyes watching your every move, though the younger one seemed to not be able to tear his eye off your body instead, watching the way your black attire clung to your curves, the hem of your skirt high enough to expose most of your thighs and accentuate your legs.

“Need a hand?” It was Aemond speaking, catching you by surprise as you’d judged him to be more quiet-natured. His voice was just as gravelly as his brother’s, but at the same time smoother, if that even made sense. It crawled under your skin, but this time it was more pleasant.

You flashed him a sheepish smile, and weren’t able to meet his eye for long. “It’s alright,” you said, “I’ve carried a lot more than that.” The nod he returned made him appear just as sheepish as you were, and you were certain that if you’d stay just a minute longer, you wouldn’t be able to leave their table at all.

You were completely oblivious that Aegon’s and Aemond’s eyes weren’t the only ones watching even the slightest move you made, though they all captured a different motive behind them. If it was up to Jace, you would’ve perished with his uncle’s in that moment, and if it was up to the Targaryen brother’s, they would’ve kept you at their table just a bit longer–one wanting your company out of self-interest, while the other one just enjoyed to mess with the other side of the family.

You balanced the tray back to the bar, placing it on the countertop and allowing Cregan to clean the glasses this time around.

He looked utterly ridiculous. A hunk of a man, hunching his shoulders while cleaning a bunch of glasses and staring at the men they loathed with all their hearts for reasons you didn’t even know in the first place.

“You’re still aware I’m leaving early tonight, right?” you asked him, trying to get his mind off the matter at hand. “Or do you want me to stay to make sure everything goes well? Don’t want y’all to rip each other to shreds. It’d suck to clean that up tomorrow.” The chuckle you released was meant to ease the tension, though Cregan wasn’t really having any of it.

“No, it’s fine,” he eventually replied. “Take your time off, you’ve earned it. Need someone to bring you home?”

He half turned to look at you, the slight tilt of his head indicating he’d help you out and probably drive you home himself. “Came by car today,” you retrieved your keys from the back pocket of your denim skirt, dangling them in front of his face. “So, no worries.”

“Alright, have a nice evening,” he hummed, and moved to tend to another customer.

You walked around the corner but stopped once you passed it, turning to face him one last time. “And Cregan?” you asked, catching his attention, “Behave.”

“You know us, Y/N.”

“Exactly.”

Raising his hands in defeat, silently indicating that he’d try to keep his hands clean for the remainder of the night, you moved to approach Baela at the pool table. “I’m done for the night, Bae. See you tomorrow?”

She embraced you in a tight hug. “I’ll hit you up.“

“You’ll hear from me once I’ve cleaned up after you guys… again,” you teased and waved goodbye to everyone standing around the table.

As you passed the table with two of the most attractive men you’ve ever spotted before, a shiver ran up your spine, feeling like liquid fire. You tried to keep your eyes on the ground, not able to get lost in the piercing gaze of Aemond once again, but were forced to take notice of them when Aegon’s voice rang out. “Leaving already, sweets?” You nearly missed the way Aemond elbowed his brother at the mention of the irritating pet name.

Unable to speak, you merely bobbed your head once, heading toward the door. Aemond’s ‘What a shame’ could hardly be heard by anyone other than you and his brother, and it forced a blush onto your cheeks before you hurried out of the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, this wasn’t the last you’ve heard and seen of the seemingly notorious devil.

These are my face-claims for the other (kinda important) characters appearing in this series. Cregan, Baela, Jace and Aegon.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp

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jessamine-rose · 1 year

Text

⋆‧͙*̩̩͙꒰ Disjecta Membra ꒱*̩̩͙‧͙⋆

*sigh* idk what to say at this point. I’m not even a major simp for the Jester but the Pierro brainrot was very infectious. Y’all can thank @frogchiro for converting me and @seakicker for inspiring this fic =_=

As always, thank you to @diodellet for suffering with me as my peer reviewer!! I’m also grateful to Kin for helping with my characterization of Pierro. I ended up writing about a very detailed darling, but I hope you enjoy their twisted tale nonetheless :>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, coercion, blood, violence, death, psychological trauma, self-deprecation, needles, spice, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader who is a fallen goddess, pre-release Pierro

♡ 14.9k words under the cut ♡

i. memento mori

You cooked too much food again.

You stare at your dinner. Out of habit, you had also set the table for two and filled both plates before realizing your mistake. You can’t finish the cream stew all by yourself.

Great, more stale leftovers.

You shake your head and pick up your spoon.

Old habits die hard. You’d made the same mistake before, but it had taken less time for you to adjust. It was easier when someone was still there to correct you.

The kitchen is too quiet. You can only manage a few bites before you grow sick of the empty chair across from you. Picking up your plate and cutlery, you go outside and take a seat at the temple entrance.

The forest is the same as usual, shrouded in a veil of mist. Through the haze, you can spot a few woodland critters darting to and fro. Somewhere in the trees, a pair of birds are singing a harmonious duet. The pasithea flowers are in full bloom.

You wave your hand and the mist rises. The berry bushes look ripe for picking. You can already imagine the many—no, Oizys won’t be here to enjoy your cooking.

“Help.”

You startle. Has a human entered your territory?

You can sense a distressed voice along with weak movement. From what you can tell, the wanderer must be at the edge of the forest, close enough to reach the mist.

You fix your veil, draping the sheer fabric over your face, and leave the temple.

It doesn’t take long to find him. The human is slumped against a tall tree surrounded by achlys flowers. His breathing feels unsteady.

“Hello?” You slowly approach him, clearing the mist.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. You lean down to examine him.

The poor thing looks close to death. His silver hair is messy and there is a cut on the side of his face. Judging by the weapons on his person, could he be a combatant? No, his torn clothes look too fancy for an ordinary soldier.

You tap his shoulder. “Can you hear me, dear?”

He opens his eyes.

Four-pointed stars.

You draw back. Those diamond-shaped pupils...this human is clearly from Khaenri’ah.

He lifts his head, blinking blearily. Based on appearance alone, he seems too weak to attack you.

You don’t sense anyone else within the forest. You could easily give this person first aid then hide in your temple. It shouldn’t take long for him to find the city once he recovers.

A hand weakly grips your wrist. The Khaenri'ahn dazedly looks up at you.

“Who are you?”

No, that would be absolutely cruel.

You crouch down, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. His temperature is too warm. And now that you’ve taken a closer look, is that blood on his clothes?

“Shh, it’s all right,” you whisper, offering a soft smile. “You’re safe here.”

The Khaenri'ahn stares at you for a few more seconds before his eyes flutter shut. His hand lets go of your wrist and falls to his side—did he pass out already?

You glance at the berry bushes and mutter a silent apology.

At least your dinner won’t go to waste.

ii. mea culpa

Thankfully, the Khaenri'ahn’s injuries aren’t too severe. After treating his wounds, you tuck him in bed and wait for him to wake up.

Even in slumber, his expression is weary. There are faded scars mixed in with his bandages. Has he been wandering Teyvat since the fall of his nation? How did he survive?

What should you do with him?

His expression stirs, followed by a pained noise. The diamond pupils are exposed.

“Ah, you’re awake!” you exclaim, rushing to his bedside. “Do you feel better?”

“What?” He turns his head in your direction, clearly confused.

You raise a cup to his lips. “Here, drink some water first.”

He finishes the entire glass. You point at the pitcher on the nightstand.

“Are you still thirsty? Or would you like something to eat?”

He shakes his head, looking at you warily. “Not now…where am I?”

“You’re in a safe place.” You smile, placing a hand on his bandaged shoulder. “No one will hurt you in my temple.”

His eyes widen. “Your temple?”

He lunges forward. A shocked cry leaves your lips as he sits up and grabs your arm.

“You.” His gaze turns hostile. “You are a god.”

Huh, he found out sooner than intended.

“That I am.”

You might as well reveal your true form. Wispy gray marks spread across your skin.

He holds your arm in a bruising grip. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Believe it or not, I wanted to save your life.” You hold his gaze through your veil. “Don’t worry, even if my intentions were cruel, I am quite harmless for a god.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

You wince as he strengthens his hold on you. Are humans normally this strong?

“You may call me ______,” you reply calmly. “That is the name I go by nowadays. But since you are asking for my true identity, I’ll be honest: I am █████ the God of Mist.”

He glances at the shadowy swirls on your arm. “I have never heard of your title.”

“That is to be expected,” you reply. “Now could you please let go of me? I understand your aggression, but I can’t properly care for you with a broken arm.”

The Khaenri'ahn’s gaze is clear this time. Those diamond pupils fixate on your face then his bandages. After looking around the guest room, he reluctantly lets go of you.

“There, was that so difficult?” you ask him. “I am sure that you have many questions, and I can promise you my full honesty. But for now, you must rest.”

“I can—”

He tries to leave the bed, only to stumble. You catch him in time.

“Now, what did I tell you? Don’t overexert yourself.” Shaking your head, you help him back into bed. “May I know your name, dear?”

The distrustful look he gives you is an adequate response.

“Not willing? Fine, that is a wise precaution.” You check your arm for lingering marks from his grasp. “Moving on, I cooked cream stew earlier. Would you like some?”

A moment of silence precedes his response.

“Yes,” he mutters sheepishly, “and pardon my hostility.”

You smile at him. “No offense taken. It isn’t everyday that someone treats me this way.”

*✧･ﾟ

The Khaenri'ahn remains cautious. In a few weeks, he regains enough strength to leave his bed and walk around the temple. You regularly change his bandages.

“Good, you don’t seem to be sick anymore.” You remove your hand from his forehead and leave the temple. “But it will take more time for your injuries to heal.”

It would be faster if Vesta were here.

He follows you. Since leaving the guest room, he has been watching you go about your daily routine. Cooking, foraging, doing laundry, cleaning the temple, checking the animal traps.

“For a god, you live quite a humble lifestyle,” he muses. “I assumed that you would have a horde of followers catering to your every need.”

“Hardly!” you scoff. “That isn’t my style of worship.”

The path ahead of you is obscured by mist. You are quick to catch the Khaenri'ahn when he trips on the steep slope.

“Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” he mutters, averting eye contact. “Where are your followers to begin with? I have not encountered any since entering this forest.”

“That is because they are all here.”

You wave your hand and the mist disperses.

The Khaenri’ahn stops in his tracks. “This is…”

The pasithea flowers have overtaken the cemetery. You walk past the gravestones towards a pair of half-broken statues.

“I suppose you’d like an explanation. Do you know about the Archon War?”

A short pause. “I have heard stories.”

Good, you don’t need to explain that far into history.

The pasithea flowers are concentrated around the shorter statue. Deep blue flowers sprout from the cracks, concealing her face.

“This isn’t my original territory,” you explain. “Before, I shared a vast area of land with three other gods. We retreated to this forest with our followers during the war.”

The Khaenri’ahn walks over to the other statue. “They survived as well?”

His face is discolored. A damaged Claymore rests in his hands, never to be used again.

You cover the statue’s eyes with mist. “Yes, but they’re currently dead.”

Silence. Picking up a broom, you sweep the leaves around the statues.

“At first, we defended our territory,” you continue. “That was the option I voted for, but we fled after Vesta was slain. A few centuries later, Pasithea succumbed to erosion. Wait, do I need to explain what erosion is?”

He shakes his head. “I can discern the meaning of the term. You may continue.”

“Okay then. In Pasithea’s case…she went mad and it affected our people. So one of her followers decided to end her misery.”

You sidestep a patch of pasithea flowers. If you try hard enough, you can still recall the lyrics to her lullabies.

“By the time I sensed them, it was too late…her death plagued everyone in the forest with insanity, and only a few survived. And before that, I learned that my friend Havria—she established her own new territory in Liyue—was also slain by her people.”

The Khaenri’ahn remains silent. You move on to a row of gravestones engraved with curlicues.

“Over time, my followers died out. The last ones lost faith in me and left; many switched to my last friend Oizys. I don’t blame them. His fortune, Vesta’s warmth, Pasithea’s dreams…what I gave them was incomparable. All my mist did was hide them from the world.”

“And what happened to Oizys?” he asks tensely.

You hesitate. “He died at the start of the war between Celestia and Khaenri’ah. He was on the gods’ side. A few weeks after he left, I discovered his body near the forest. I…I guess he used the last of his strength to come home.”

Tears prick the corners of your vision. You straighten your veil and walk over to Oizys’s grave, noting the Khaenri’ahn’s wary expression.

“And you do not resent my people for slaying your friend?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I’d rather not cause any more deaths. And I should be asking you the same question, really.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Until now, no grass has grown over his grave. Maybe you should try planting berries.

“I took a neutral stance during the Cataclysm,” you explain, “and that angered Oizys; he always called me too kind for my own good. But if I was truly kind, shouldn’t I have stopped him from joining the war? Shouldn’t I have cared more about his future victims?”

How long will it take for his body to decompose? Is his soul at peace?

“Maybe he would still be alive. Maybe your nation would have more survivors.”

The silence is heavy. You turn to the Khaenri’ahn, noting his solemn expression.

What did it feel like to lose all of his loved ones at once? Is it even possible for him to mourn their deaths?

Finally, he looks up to face you. There is no anger in his gaze, only sympathy.

“I did not advocate for the war, either,” he says, “but I was only a mage in the royal court. For that reason, the previous ruler heeded the sages’ words over my own.”

“I see.” You put down the broom and turn away from the statues. “Let’s go. It will take half a day to clean this place, and you need more rest.”

He follows you. “If you insist.”

The two of you leave the cemetery. The area is once again shrouded in mist.

The Khaenri’ahn meets your gaze. “I am sorry for your loss, ______.”

“I must say the same to you.”

He’s had less trouble walking lately. Soon enough, he will be able to leave the forest.

You walk ahead. “Once you have fully recovered, I expect you to leave. If you don’t have a clear destination in mind, I can guide you to Oizys’s city or draw a map of Teyvat for you.”

He responds quickly this time. “Of course, I would not want to overstay my welcome.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” You turn around to face him, a sad smile on your face. “It’s for your own good, dear. There is no future for you here.”

*✧･ﾟ

After your visit to the cemetery, the Khaenri’ahn begins helping around the forest. You initially disapprove of it but he is insistent on “repaying your kindness.”

He doesn’t divulge any more personal information apart from the fact that he lived with an outlander for some time. You ask him general questions about Khaenri’ah’s culture instead; in turn, he inquires about your glory days.

“Are your old temples still standing?” he asks.

You focus on the chessboard. “The last time I checked, all of them succumbed to the elements. My friends’ temples are more intact; some of my statues are kept there.”

The Khaenri’ahn moves a black pawn. “And they remain in their place, unbothered?”

You make your next move. “More or less. I’ve run into a few adventurers, and they make the wildest assumptions about my images. They would be quite disappointed if they knew what the real thing is like.”

He looks around the temple. Your religious art had been destroyed years ago.

“I can only imagine what it is like to encounter the remnants of your previous existence. It must conjure painful memories.”

You change the topic. “Have you planned your next destination?”

“I am still undecided.”

“Maybe this question will help: What will you do now?”

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t need bandages anymore. After months of his silent company, his departure will leave a new gap in your daily routine.

“You could start over in another nation. I’d suggest the city of Miseria as a new home; it is still thriving after Oizys’s death.”

He picks up another chess piece, planning his next move.

You continue speaking. “Or you could search for fellow survivors, maybe even preserve what is left of Khaenri’ah. Your life does not end with your nation. After some time…you will eventually move on from the calamity.”

The chess piece cracks in his hand.

You look up immediately. The Khaenri’ahn glares at you.

“Move on?” he asks angrily. “After the destruction I have witnessed, acceptance would be the most humiliating form of defeat.”

The diamonds in his eyes flash. This is your first time seeing him in such a furious state.

You glance at his clenched fist. You will need to replace the black king.

“In that case,” you reply carefully, “is vengeance a preferable option for you? It is one thing to live with resentment but taking action is a different matter.”

He returns the king to its original square and moves his queen instead. “At the moment, I have no concrete plan. But so long as I can remember the flames of Celestia’s cruelty, I would like to see them extinguished.”

“...Then so be it.”

You analyze the chessboard. The Khaenri’ahn turned out to be a formidable opponent. With how he constantly surprises you, you have no doubt that he will do well.

You are absolutely cornered. He topples your white king, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Checkmate.”

iii. damnatio memoriae

The remaining weeks are dreamlike. You enjoy more meals, conversations, and chess games with your temporary companion. He has more energy these days, perhaps motivated by your earlier conversation. He even smiles on a few occasions.

It only makes his departure more difficult.

“Do you have everything you need?”

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t stop to check his bag. “You have already given me more than enough for my travels.”

“Are you sure? Do you need more food? Another blanket?”

“I can take care of myself henceforth.”

How can he be so sure?

The mist swirls around you. You guide him to the edge of the forest.

“Then I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

The Khaenri’ahn steps out of the mist. He looks nothing like the pitiful creature you first met. No traces of sickness or injury. Mended clothes—he even allowed you to embroider stars and diamonds over the holes. A bright, determined gaze directed at you.

“Thank you for everything,” he tells you. “Had you not saved me, I would have lost hope ages ago.”

You smile, shaking your head. “That was nothing, dear. Thank you for your company.”

What will he do now? Will he really seek vengeance against Celestia?

He glances at the expanding mist. “Will you remain in your territory?”

“Of course, someone needs to take care of the cemetery. Oh, and…” Your voice trails off, a pause where his unknown name should be. “I have one last thing to say to you.”

He resumes eye contact. “Yes?”

He will be fine. It would be selfish to keep him here.

The mist recedes. You lift your veil, smiling.

“Your feelings are valid. If resentment is what drives you to continue living, then let it be. What matters is that you are still alive.”

So long as he doesn't give up.

The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t say anything at first. He stares at your face, likely taking in the details usually hidden by your veil. Why, though? He has seen it plenty of times during your meals together.

You clasp your hands around his. “Take care. May you find your new purpose in life.”

That draws him out of his stupor. He nods, standing up straighter.

“Your kindness will not be forgotten, ______.”

With that, he turns around and walks in the direction of Miseria. You remain in your spot, watching his figure shrink then disappear over the horizon. Not once does he turn around.

Back to your old routine.

The temple is too quiet. The dishes are still in the sink, speckled with crumbs of berry pie. The guilt finally sets in as you pick up the Khaenri’ahn’s—no, Oizys’s plate and clean it.

You put your tableware in the dish rack. Oizys’s is transferred to the cupboard, placed beside the three long-discarded sets.

*✧･

Time passes so slowly these days.

Even before the Khaenri’ahn’s arrival, you began oversleeping without Oizys’s wakeup calls. But with the former gone, you have less reasons to leave your bed.

You still sleep on the right side. You fill the left side with pillows to make the bed feel less empty, but there is no replacement for Oizys’s late-night ramblings. After a few more washes, his scent leaves the mattress.

On Vesta’s birthday, you leave the forest and return to your old territory. Their temple is still standing, but the fire has been extinguished.

At first, you think the empty hearth is a hallucination. You can still vividly recall the moment Vesta’s mangled body burst into fire. Even in death, their soul sought to provide warmth for their followers through everlasting flames.

Even in death, they provided more than what you could ever give.

The statues haven’t fared any better. Your friends’ icons have all crumbled into shards and dust. You don’t care to look for your own scattered fragments.

You visit Sal Terrae next. After greeting Havria’s remains, you run into Morax and exchange a few words with him. You leave immediately afterwards—he is busy overseeing Liyue’s recovery from the Cataclysm, and his nation only reminds you of your once-thriving territories.

That visit is what convinces you to rest. Back home, you clean the entire cemetery; the task takes an entire day without Oizys’s help. You go to bed and only wake up months later for your religious festival.

The forest is the same. Oizys’s grave remains barren.

You greet your followers’ graves. The temple is cleaned and decorated with your old tapestries. As you pick a bouquet of achlys flowers for yourself, the Khaenri’ahn comes to mind.

Is he doing well?

What a stupid question. The fact that he hasn’t returned is a good answer.

You bake a small cake this time, just enough for one person and topped with a ring of candles.

The fire is much dimmer than Vesta’s. What else is different? Your followers would return your greetings. Havria would visit to join the celebration. Pasithea would sing your hymns. Oizys would gift you another blessing of happiness.

You blow out the candles. Smoke curls into the air and mixes with the mist.

“Happy birthday, █████.”

*✧･

You sleep for longer intervals, dedicating a few wakeful days to your friends’ birthdays and the cemetery’s maintenance. The Khaenri’ahn doesn’t return.

Years after his departure, another human wanders into the forest. Her presence awakens you early, and you bring her to your temple upon sensing her wounded state.

Her injuries are severe, and you get blood all over your robes while stitching her wounds. After a brief introduction, she explains her situation.

“Your coworkers did this to you?”

“Yes,” says Alyona. “I tried to leave our organization and was branded a traitor.”

You look at the broken mask in her hands. “Where are you from, dear?”

Her eyes are glossy with tears. “Snezhnaya. Have you heard of the Fatui, miss?”

“I haven’t.”

“That makes sense; it is the new political department of my nation. They aspire to fulfill our Archon’s vision of a perfect world, but the things I’ve seen…”

She stares at her bandaged legs. You pat her back.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

Her expression turns fearful. “No, even if I—the director of the Fatui personally recruited me! He knows who I am. Once he hears about this, he won’t let me escape so easily!”

Poor thing. “And who is he, may I ask?”

She visibly shudders. “I know nothing about him but he called himself Pierro, the Jester. His gaze is terrifying; I’ll see those diamond pupils in my nightmares.”

You stare at her. “His pupils were diamond-shaped?”

“Diamonds,” she confirms. “He doesn’t look like a native of Snezhnaya, but that doesn’t matter. He is devoted to the Tsaritsa; he said it himself.”

She continues describing him. Strong build, pale blue irises, silver hair with a dark streak in it, a refined way of speaking.

“Where is she?!”

You startle. Someone—no, two people have entered the forest. One of them mentions Alyona.

“Miss?” She tugs on the hem of your veil. “I should leave. I can’t put you in danger.”

“The same can be said for you, little one.”

Outside the temple, the mist thickens. You sense the reactions of Alyona’s pursuers.

“Katya? Where did you go?!”

“How did I end up back here?”

There, she should be safe now. You smile at Alyona.

“Don’t worry about me; I’ll keep you safe until you recover. Afterwards, you can take refuge in the nearby city. The locals are kind.”

“Thank you so much, Miss ______!” She wipes her tears and looks around the temple. “Who is this temple dedicated to, anyway?”

“A nameless god,” you reply nonchalantly. “She died a long time ago.”

“That’s too bad. She must’ve been a splendid being if her priestess is this kind.”

“Not really. The world has no more use for her.”

iv. oderint dum metuant

In the years following Alyona’s departure, more Fatui defectors wander into your territory.

You help all of them. In your human guise, you treat their wounds and guide them to Miseria. Their pursuers give up after spending hours lost in your mist.

A few have stories about their leader, be it hearsay or personal anecdotes. Their narratives only provide more evidence that he could be the Khaenri’ahn you saved years ago.

Pierro, the Jester.

So it seems that the Cryo Archon took him in. He must be doing extremely well if he now holds authority over Snezhnaya. Could the Fatui’s objective align with his grudge against Celestia? Is that why he swore loyalty to the Tsaritsa?

You don’t visit Snezhnaya for confirmation. If Pierro is truly your old companion, nothing good will come out of your reunion. You are better off as a memory.

*✧･ﾟ

You sleep for an entire year this time.

Your solo celebrations have become unbearable and none of your friends will call you out for skipping their birthdays.

You do wake up for Oizys’s death anniversary. His grave remains a barren bed in the cemetery; not even your achlys flowers could flourish. The eyes of his statue have cracked, so you cover them with thicker clouds of mist.

Hunger eludes you. After greeting Oizys, you go to the kitchen and keep your tableware in the cupboard. It will only erode if you leave it in the dish rack for another year. Or what about two? Ten? A century, even?

No one will wake you up, anyway.

“______?”

You almost drop your plate. Is that an ex-Fatui acquaintance? You already forbade their visits. Before you can reinforce the mist, the person speaks again.

“█████.”

The plate shatters into pieces. You run out of the temple.

They know your real name.

The voice is familiar. And their location…

The edge of the forest has less achlys flowers these days. Someone is standing under a dead tree. Before you can call out to them, they turn in your direction and make eye contact.

Four-pointed stars.

He is the first to speak. “______, you haven’t changed at all.”

Before you know it, you are running towards him. “It’s you!”

The Khaenri’ahn gives you one of his rare smiles. “It appears that you remember me.”

“How could I not?” You stand in front of him, taking in his appearance. “Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

He looks so different. Neat hairstyle, elegant Snezhnayan clothing, a black mask over the right half of his face. Has his posture improved? His demeanor is dignified, imposing even.

You unconsciously fix your robes. “It’s been so long. What happened to you?”

“I have found a new home in Snezhnaya,” he explains, “and devoted myself to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. I believe you already know of the Fatui.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” you reply carefully. “You are the first Harbinger, correct?”

His expression turns serious. “You are not mistaken. Along with the title of Jester, I took on a new name. You may address me as Pierro.”

Was his gaze always so intense? It feels as though he is sizing you up.

You look away. “Then I can finally put a name to your face. If I may ask, why the Tsaritsa? I don’t know her personally, but the last thing I expected was for you to pledge loyalty to an Archon.”

“Neither did I,” says Pierro. His voice takes a reverent tone. “Her Majesty understands my pain. Through the Fatui, we will rebel against Celestia and create a new world.”

Your mind flits to Alyona and her successors. How many people will be sacrificed for such a lofty goal? And why do you feel so conflicted? Isn’t this what he wanted?

“I see. Your plan sounds outrageous but it must be promising if you are the one in charge,” you reply, smiling. “You’ve come so far. You should be proud of yourself.”

There is a faint glimmer in his eyes. “Your recognition is paramount.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air. What else can you say to him? Should you invite him to your temple? Why is he taking time out of his schedule to visit you anyway?

Pierro looks around the forest. “Have you been doing well?”

“More or less. Never mind me, I’d like to hear more about your new life.” You lean against the dead tree, twirling the hem of your veil. “So, a rebellion against the divine. How does one go about doing that?”

He takes a step closer to you. “Naturally, it will take years of preparation. In the present, I can see to it that our smaller objectives are accomplished.”

“All right, so what will you do now?”

“I shall overthrow the gods of the Old World, starting with you.”

Pierro slams his hand against the tree, cornering you. His other hand seizes your arm, holding it tightly enough to crush the bones.

“Pierro!” You bite back a cry of pain. “I—what are you doing?!”

Any and all traces of familiarity have left his face.

“█████, you have officially been recognized as a threat to the Fatui,” he declares. “Had you taken a neutral stance, we could have sought diplomatic relations. The assistance you have provided for the Tsaritsa’s traitors, however, cannot be overlooked.”

Of course he knows about Alyona and the others.

The mist swirls around you. Just before you can create a diversion, Pierro strengthens his grip on your arm. An unspoken warning.

You can’t keep the fear out of your voice. “I…what will you do with me?”

Overthrow the gods…will he kill you? But wait, your death could end up like Havria’s or Pasithea’s! You should warn him—

“Nevertheless, your punishment has been reduced by the mercy of Her Majesty.”

Don’t relax yet. He is still holding you. “What do you mean by that?”

Pierro puts his hand under your chin, tilting your face upwards. “What you are, truly, is an archaic god who poses little threat to the Fatui. I inferred as much from my time spent with you. For that reason, I personally pleaded your case.”

You can’t look him in the eye. “Then what exactly is my punishment?”

“I promised the Tsaritsa that I would oversee your subjugation by my side.”

“…Excuse me?”

The look on his face is completely serious. “I came here to bring you to Snezhnaya.”

Your arm shakes within his grasp. “And if I refuse?”

Pierro’s gaze pierces through your veil. “I advise you to be tactful in your decision, lest the city of Miseria be implicated.”

The mist rises.

“What do you mean?! Oizys’s people have nothing to do with this!”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are they wholly innocent? They have accepted numerous Fatui defectors regardless of their circumstances. We have yet to deliver retribution to the traitors.”

“No!” You shake your head, tears filling your eyes. “Please don’t—I’ll do anything!”

Your knees hit the ground. You bow your head, allowing the mist to disperse.

“I’ll listen to you! Just don’t hurt them, I beg of you!”

This whole time, you have endangered Oizys’s followers.

Pierro’s voice cuts through the fog clouding your thoughts.

“You astound me, ______. Your compassion knows no bounds, even for those who do not worship you. I now understand why your friend had deemed you soft-hearted.”

You remain in your servile position, staring at the ground. Pierro’s hand returns to your face, gripping it roughly under your veil. His thumb strokes your cheek and catches a stray tear.

How pathetic you must look in his eyes.

It is his next words, spoken in a soft tone, which make you shudder.

“That means you are a worthy soul for the New World.”

*✧･ﾟ

You give up your territory shortly thereafter.

Pierro doesn’t let you return to your temple for any belongings. He simply guides you to the waiting carriage, keeping his hand on your back. The only thing more humiliating than your earlier display of submission are the chains cuffed to your wrists.

You take down the mist before you leave. Without its veil, the forest looks small and unremarkable. Whatever the Fatui does with it, you hope the cemetery will be preserved.

The trip to Snezhnaya is quiet. You say nothing to Pierro when he gives you a coat for the cold climate, neither when he escorts you to Zapolyarny Palace, not even during your introduction to the Tsaritsa.

You understand why he would serve her. The Cryo Archon is a sacrosanct figure and her mere presence makes you shiver. While she regards you with a cold gaze and some curious words, she clearly doesn’t perceive you as an equal.

Neither do you miss Pierro’s reverent attitude towards her. When the Tsaritsa demands your utmost loyalty, it is his gaze which scares you into bowing before her.

Never mind your pride, you are dealing with the god who made his goal possible.

After the tense meeting, you return to the carriage. Snezhnaya is a far cry from your old territory, but the people seem capable of enduring the harsh environment. They have no trouble finding their way in the snow.

Your final destination is Pierro’s estate. You give him a confused look when he identifies the grand manor, but he leads you inside.

The foyer is lined with masked servants. They silently greet Pierro; some curiously glance in your direction. Before anyone can ask, Pierro’s hand moves to your shoulder.

“This is ______,” he announces. “Henceforth, she is the lady of the estate.”

What?

The gasps that echo across the foyer aren’t yours. You can only stare at Pierro, your chains clinking with how quickly you turned to face him.

The serious look on his face is what silences everyone.

Pierro continues speaking but your mind is too foggy to process his words. His hand is still on your shoulder, a visible confirmation of his earlier statement. The unanimous “Yes, Lord Harbinger!” is what draws you back into reality.

The servants disperse. Only two women remain.

Pierro lets go of your shoulder. “I expect Lady ______ to be ready by dinnertime.”

They bow. “Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

He lightly pushes you in their direction. You hesitantly follow them, feeling his gaze on your back until you disappear up the stairs. The handmaidens lead you to a lavish bedroom.

Your own chambers. How considerate.

The shorter handmaiden takes out a key and unlocks your chains. They work quickly, cleaning you in the en suite bathroom then dressing you up. The wardrobe is fully stocked with elegant dresses, all in Snezhnayan fashion. The blue diamond jewelry looks familiar.

You don’t protest as they alter an ornate gown and help you into it. Neither do you cast a glance at your old robes discarded on the floor. They let you keep your veil, at least.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro is already seated at the dining table when you enter.

“Your new attire befits you,” is all he says.

The handmaidens close the door behind you. You walk over to the empty chair.

Fancy tableware, gourmet food, a banquet table with more distance between the chairs.

“Thank you,” you reply bitterly, sitting down. “Is that all you have to say? Because I have so many questions for you.”

His gaze is still trained on you. “You may speak.”

“All right, where do I start?” You lift your veil, exposing your face. “I didn’t expect this kind of prison. And what did you call me earlier? I’ve had my fair share of admirers, but none were so brazen as to pursue a god.”

Your jewelry twinkles under the bright light. It matches Pierro’s diamond accessories.

His face betrays no emotion. “Make no mistake, your previous act of kindness had no bearing on my decision to save your life. You may find it to your benefit to respect your savior.”

What a charming word. “Of course, I’d hate to be a nuisance.”

You sample your soup. It tastes like borscht.

Pierro just watches you. The tension in the room is thick, so unlike your previous meals together. You aren’t in the mood for any idle conversation.

“Why am I here, Pierro?” You put down your spoon and sit back in your chair. “I can’t imagine why a prisoner of the Fatui should have such luxurious accommodations or a status like the Jester’s…partner.”

“And what were your expectations?” he asks.

“To be kept in a cell. To have my powers utilized for your organization. To be, I don’t know, treated like a pawn.”

His gaze remains unfathomable. “Was I not clear with my intentions? You are meant for the New World, so I intend to keep you safe until our objective is achieved.”

“And it just so happens that only you can fulfill the role of my warden.” You rest your head on your palm, eyes wide. “You have truly surprised me.”

What use could the New World possibly have for you?

Another uncomfortable silence. Both servings of soup are left untouched.

It is Pierro who speaks again.

“You will not be without basic needs, so long as you listen to me. Regarding your current lodgings, I will confess that it is a reciprocation of your kindness. But that is all there is to it—never forget that you would be dead if not for me.”

The diamonds in his eyes shine bright with resolution.

“Rest assured, the Fatui will not make a pawn out of you,” he continues. “From this day forth, you are liberated from your divine burden.”

You belatedly realize just how far you have fallen. Stripped of your divine attire, trapped in a foreign nation, left to the mercy of a powerful human.

Likewise, any act of defiance would only make the Tsaritsa doubt her trust in him.

“I see. Thank you, I think I have a clearer idea of my situation.”

Your appetite is nonexistent, but you force yourself to eat. The sound of metal scraping against porcelain comes only from your side of the table.

“Is the food to your satisfaction?”

You stare at your bowl. “The borscht is too sweet.”

“I will tell the chef to rectify their mistake.” After a short pause, Pierro adds, “Are you still fond of cooking?”

“Not really. I lost my passion for it a long time ago.”

“That is a shame,” he says. “You were quite adept with the knife.”

v. nitimur in vetitum semper, cupimusque negata

Pierro wasn’t lying about the reality of your prison. It takes a while to adjust to your new routine, however.

Each morning, your handmaidens wake you up early for breakfast. Your meals with Pierro remain tense; he initiates most of the conversations.

After breakfast, he leaves for Zapolyarny Palace while you remain in the manor. You have no one to interact with, given the servants’ fearful dispositions, but he is gracious enough to give you a new pastime.

“You expect me to study?”

Your desk is stacked high with books. Judging by the titles, most of them pertain to the history and culture of Snezhnaya.

Pierro takes another book off the shelf. “Did you expect a life of nothing but luxury? You have lived an idle life for the previous centuries, ______, but your archaic knowledge will prove irrelevant for the New World.”

And to think you had originally been in awe of his private library. You slump in your chair, frowning at the written worksheets.

“You are absolutely cruel.”

He gives you a stern look. “Do not think you can feign studying. Your handmaidens will supervise you to ensure your proper education.”

You glance at the two women standing by the door. What must be going through their heads right now? Did their job description prepare them for sights like this?

“And do you expect me to study all day?” you ask.

“Once you finish your studies, you may do whatever you like so long as you do not leave the estate. You need only read the introductions today.”

Honestly, he should’ve just left you to rot in a prison cell.

Pierro’s hand rests on your shoulder. “Your mental enrichment will be instrumental to your adjustment.”

He leaves the library.

Shaking your head, you open the first book. The history of Snezhnayan technology turns out to be an interesting topic, and you quickly move on to the corresponding worksheet. Aside from an enumeration quiz, there is a section for subjective questions. You mull over your answers and explain your stance.

An opportunity for psychoanalysis, perhaps. At least the political propaganda is tolerable.

Most of your free time is dedicated to naps. The manor is too warm for the natural formation of ordinary mist, while the outdoor mist is quick to freeze. The only personalized item in your bedchambers is an embroidery kit.

So he remembered another hobby of yours.

You think of Pierro’s finely-tailored suits. The style is a world away from his old Khaenri’ahn attire. Has he disposed of his old garments?

Pierro usually returns from work in time for dinner. After another tense meal, he retires to his private office. Unless he invites you over for conversation or chess games, you return to the solitude of your bedchambers.

You sleep in the middle of the bed.

*✧･ﾟ

After a few months, Pierro allows you to leave the manor for the first time.

Zapolyarny Palace is as chilly as you remember. You don’t know why he brought you with him to begin with—he just banishes you to the sofa with your books and embroidery.

…He looks hard at work. Every time you peek at him, he is writing reports at his desk or speaking with a subordinate.

Thankfully, you don’t have to greet the Tsaritsa. You do pass by the Doctor’s laboratory on the way out, only to be startled by a chorus of crazed screams and hypnotic singing.

You stop in your tracks but Pierro quickly leads you away from Dottore’s wing.

Your next destination is a town square. The visit is more of a formal tour than a leisurely stroll, and the bustling activity ceases upon Pierro’s arrival. Still, you obediently walk by his side.

“Is that the Jester?!”

“Who is his companion?”

“Their veil suits the Fatui’s masks, doesn’t it?”

“Her expression looks quite solemn.”

He doesn’t pay the whispers any attention, so you do the same. The Snezhnayan crowd isn’t here for you.

A few people catch your eye. You pause and wave at them, offering a friendly smile.

Pierro’s hand presses down on your back.

The smile leaves your face. You don’t need to turn around to know that he is glaring at you—or is it the people you’d waved at? They look frozen with fear.

“Sorry,” you mutter, looking ahead.

The both of you continue walking.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro leaves for a mission in Mondstadt. You remain in the estate.

Without him, the days are monotonous but easygoing. You eat your meals in peace and accomplish your studies. In your second week, you make an unlikely friend.

“My lady?”

You look up from your embroidery hoop. “Yes?”

The shorter handmaiden points at the half-finished design. “What flower is this?”

Where is her coworker? This is the first time a servant has approached you on their own volition.

“Pasithea,” you reply, tracing the blue and violet threads. “It’s…a special flower which grows in only two areas of Teyvat.”

“It must be beautiful.” She glances at your finished pieces. “Your needlework is exquisite, my lady. Are you preferential to any designs?”

“Not really. Would you like to suggest one?”

She smiles. “What about a snowflake?”

Her change in disposition is welcoming. She almost reminds you of your last priestess Charis. She was always quick to suggest designs for her new robes.

“What is your name, dear?”

“Eva,” she replies brightly, “and my coworker is named Anya. Please excuse her absence today; she caught a cold.”

“Send her my regards.” You smile, straightening your veil. “And thank you for your earlier compliment. It’s been a while since someone has praised my craft.”

She tilts her head. “You are quite nice, my lady. No offense but given your introduction, none of us know what to think of you.”

“None taken,” you laugh. “Honestly, I was just as surprised as all of you.”

How long until Pierro returns? Didn’t he say two months at minimum?

“I’m suddenly craving Brightcrown tea. Could you please prepare some for me?”

“Oh, sure!” Eva walks over to the door. “I’ll be right back, my lady.”

You might as well take advantage of this opportunity.

The needle pricks your thumb. You wave your hand, allowing the blood to evaporate into mist. It swirls around the room and dissipates into the air.

One room down. It would be more effective if you use your thurible, but you shouldn’t doubt the staff’s perceptiveness. You’ll have to settle for just a little blood and dominion.

If only this territory was meant for their safety, not yours.

“My lady? Your tea will be brought here shortly.”

Eva is back. You hide your thumb, squeezing the wound to extract more mist.

“Thank you, dear. May I have a tour of the estate later?”

vi. amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus

The remainder of Pierro’s mission is enjoyable. Eva and Anya are wonderful companions, and they introduce you to a few other servants. You chat with them often.

Your mist only claims part of the estate. Several rooms are locked with no gaps under the doors, including Pierro’s personal quarters. You do manage to sneak a few drops of blood through the keyhole of his private office.

The information gained is useless. You can only hear fragments of the servants’ chatter, mainly gossip about you or praise for your captor. They keep talking about the many benefits the Fatui provided for their hometowns, from new technology to public hearths.

At least he has made their lives easier.

You do hear about Pierro’s return ahead of time. The servants are agitated but not so much as you. You remind Eva and Anya to keep your camaraderie a secret.

He finds out, anyway.

“Your handmaidens have been terminated from their position.”

“What?”

You look up immediately. Pierro remains focused on the chessboard.

“I also dismissed two other servants,” he says, moving a pawn. “Starting tomorrow, their replacements will attend to your needs.”

“But why?”

His gaze is sharp. “I was informed that they had overstepped their boundaries. It is unprofessional for a servant to be overly friendly with the lady of the estate, much less request embroidery pieces and assistance in the kitchen.”

“That—I insisted on it!” Your hands shake, chess game forgotten.

Eva, Anya, those young cooks. All jobless because of you.

Your vision turns blurry. “Could you at least transfer them to another building or give them letters of recommendation?”

He sighs. “You are too kind for your own good, ______. What would you have done if those servants sought to take advantage of you?”

“They’re good people,” you insist, blinking back tears.

“Perhaps you are right. To which their own righteousness could have been manipulated for your personal gain.”

You glare at him. “I don’t plan to escape if that’s what you are thinking. I have nowhere to go and Miseria would be in danger.”

“Even so.” Pierro glances at your clenched fists. “Remember where your loyalties lie.”

You glance at your thumb. The wound has long healed, and your mist is currently down. You’d take this opportunity to claim Pierro’s office but he would surely notice.

“So what do you expect me to say? I understand? I’m sorry? Thank you for looking out for my safety?”

He remains unfazed by your anger. “Whatever you’d like to say. Your countenance already reveals much of your sentiments.”

“Well then.” You stand up, adjusting your veil. “What would you like to hear from me?”

There is a new medal on the wall, another personal accomplishment on display.

“Shall I sing you praises?” you ask, bowing. “Show my utmost gratitude?”

Pierro just watches you, a judgemental look on his face.

How did your last followers act in their throes of madness? It was sickening to witness.

You kneel on the floor, hands clasped together. “O, Lord Pierro, I humbly thank you for saving an undeserving creature such as myself! Had it not been for your benevolence, I would have been doomed to a life of sorrow. Your greatness is unparalleled. You have brought glory to Snezhnaya. The Tsaritsa—”

“That is enough.”

The anger in his tone is undeniable. You almost flinch from his glare.

“Cease these foolish theatrics at once,” he snarls. “It would do you well to remember that Her Majesty’s name shall not be disrespected.”

“My apologies.” Despite the shiver running down your spine, you bat your eyelashes innocently. “Shall I exclude her name and continue?”

His eyes flash. “Even a court jester has more wit about them. Sit back down.”

“Gladly.” You return to your chair, wiping the dust off your skirt. A smug smile crosses your face as you analyze the chessboard.

Your king is in a tight spot. Pierro meets your gaze, challenging you.

“Draw?” he asks.

You shake your head and make your next move.

*✧･ﾟ

Pierro wins the chess game. Nonetheless, you are quite satisfied with the results.

Your new handmaidens are more formal with you. For their sake, you avoid any sort of unnecessary interaction with them. The estate is rife with gossip following the dismissal of the old servants, and you disperse the mist. You don’t want to think about them.

With no one to appreciate your embroidery, you take to roaming the estate in your free time. The manor is extravagant for two residents and most of the rooms are vacant. During one stroll, you find a half-open door near Pierro’s bedchambers.

Isn’t this room usually locked?

“My lady, where are you going? We’re forbidden—”

You smile at your handmaiden. “Did the Jester permit you to restrain me, Esfir? If he finds out about this, I’ll gladly vouch for your innocence.”

She turns to her coworker, exasperated. “Karine, call Alec. That careless idiot…”

You go inside.

The room is dark. Opening the curtains, you find what looks like several furniture pieces covered in sheets. The locked bookcase holds ancient books and scrolls.

You uncover one item and promptly lock the door.

“My lady!” Esfir bangs on the door. “What are you doing?”

You return to the unveiled statue, hands trembling. The figure’s translucent veil and swaying thurible are flawlessly sculpted. The marble is cracked but polished to perfection.

Isn’t this your statue from Vesta’s temple?

You uncover the other items. To your horror, all of them comprise your old religious art. Broken statues, deteriorated paintings, ceremonial relics. So many images of you.

Calm down, it could be worse. The items are hidden in this room, not displayed for worship. Pierro probably stole these to erase your remaining influence. But why didn’t he just destroy them? Why is the artwork well-preserved? Why are there so many?

You can’t stand looking at those faces. They are too serene, too divine, too deceptive.

You cover the items and leave the room. Esfir and Karine surround you, along with a terrified-looking servant.

“My lady, did you—!”

You close the door behind you. “Alec, dear? Do you normally clean these items?”

He tenses. “I only dust the covers and the room. Lord Pierro forbade me from unveiling the items, lest I be…laid off like my predecessor.”

“I see.” You smile at him through your veil. “Lock the door properly next time, okay? If you aren’t careful, these items could be destroyed beyond repair one day.”

Pierro makes no mention of his secret collection later that evening, but you notice more locks installed on the doors. Despite your best efforts, Alec is fired.

*✧･ﾟ

Oizys’s birthday rolls around.

You sit by the window overlooking the garden. The estate grounds are a paradise of white snow and Snezhnayan flora. There are no berry bushes in sight.

At this hour, his festival in Miseria must’ve begun. You should be preparing for his private party right now. He always came home early for your berry shortcake.

The curtain is pulled over the window.

“How long do you plan to stare outside?”

Great, he’s here.

“Good morning.” You make no move to leave the armchair. “Why are you here?”

The door to your bedchambers is open. Esfir and Karine are gone.

Pierro rests his hand on the back of the chair. “Breakfast should have begun ages ago. Your handmaidens claim that you refuse to cooperate.”

They must be terrified right now. “I’m sorry, they tried their best. I’ll go now.”

“Are you thinking of the Child of Night?”

“...How do you know?”

He evades your question. “Your sorrow has not diminished in the slightest. Grieving his loss will not bring your friend back to life.”

You grip the armrest. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I can imagine what other thoughts are plaguing your mind,” he replies. He turns to face you, gaze somber. “However you may spin his tale, what remains certain is that you were faultless in his death.”

He’s wrong. “I know.”

Your doubt must be obvious because Pierro wraps his hand around your arm.

“What killed the Child of Night was his own foolishness,” he insists. “You may call yourself weak, unkind, cowardly even, but it was your conviction that spared you from his fate.”

Is he trying to make you feel better or worse?

“Will you please stop it?” you whisper. “I don’t want your pity right now.”

His grip on your arm tightens. “You misjudge my sentiments.”

“Really now?” You raise your head, glaring at him. “Because you have been doing a fine job at courting me, assuming that I have not misinterpreted my new title.”

Someone like you has no place by his side.

“It would be easier if you just hated me,” you mutter, blinking back tears. “At least then I would have a proper punishment.”

An audible sigh. “Such cynicism is rather unbecoming of your kindness.”

He lifts your veil.

Your eyes widen. “What are you—”

“Silence.”

The air feels cold against your face. The hand on your arm moves to your chin, tilting your face upwards. Pierro leans closer and you can only stare back at him, frozen in place.

Nothing about his gaze is condescending.

His lips press against yours.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Mist rises from the corners of the room and you hastily disperse it. Before you can fully process the soft sensation, he pulls away.

“Y-You…” The words won’t leave your mouth. “How dare…!”

“Are my intentions clearer?” Pierro gently brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears.

You can’t answer. Your heart is racing and it takes everything to hide the mist from him. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the armrest with all of your strength.

Just as abruptly as he kissed you, Pierro lets go of you and lowers your veil.

“I must leave for work,” he says. His voice resumes its authoritative tone. “I will tell the chef to cook a warm breakfast for you later.”

With that, he leaves the room. The door closes behind him.

How dare he.

Mist swirls around the bedchambers. You wipe your mouth and cover your face, bunching up your veil in your hands. The warmth in your cheeks is internal.

…Despite your mortification, the fluttery feeling in your chest is not unwelcome.

vii. dulce est desipere in loco

Pierro doesn’t acknowledge his kiss later that evening.

In the subsequent days, he works longer hours. The two of you eat separate meals. Your conversations and chess games are halted. The servants’ gossip provides no insight into his change in behavior.

What is he up to?

You answer another worksheet, taking note of the date written on the top corner. Has it been this long since your capture? Since moving to Snezhnaya, the days have felt longer.

“______.”

“Oh, why are you here?”

This is the first time he has visited you during your study sessions. Judging by the clock, he must have finished work early.

Pierro picks up one of your finished worksheets. “What an interesting opinion.”

You tilt your head. “You think so? I just wrote what was on my mind.”

In all honesty, the subjective portion is quite engaging. Occasionally, the questions are direct responses to your answers from previous tests, as though your tutor—Pierro himself?—is indirectly challenging you.

He turns to Esfir and Karine. “Lady ______ and I will eat an early dinner. You may tidy up the library and retire to the servants’ quarters.”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

You hesitantly stand up. “What is the occasion?”

He places his hand on the small of your back. “Why don’t you find out?”

The hallway is quiet. You match Pierro’s pace, casting a few glances at him. He stares ahead with a neutral expression, intentions hidden. What is so important about this dinner that he must personally escort you?

He opens the double doors.

Achlys flowers.

Every vase in the room is filled with white flower spikes and large trifoliate leaves. Tapestries hang from the walls, restored to their vibrant colors.

“I…” You clap a hand over your mouth. “What is…?”

Pierro silently takes hold of your wrist and leads you inside.

Your chairs are positioned side-by-side this time. The table is set with familiar food—your favorites, all cooked and presented in your usual style. A large bouquet of achlys flowers rests on one placemat.

You lift your veil. “My eyes aren’t deceiving me, right? How did you find out?”

He pulls out the chair for you. “Why not take your place at the banquet?”

Words fail you. You sit down and pick up the bouquet. The achlys flowers are perfectly fresh, tied with ribbons in your religious color.

In the center of the table is a large cake topped with glowing candles.

“It pleases me to see that my research was fruitful.” Pierro takes his seat and faces you, a familiar smile on his face. “Happy birthday, ______.”

That is the last straw. You burst into tears.

You can’t stop crying. Tears roll down your cheeks, drip onto your skirt, soak into Pierro’s suit when he hugs you. He feels warm.

“I suggest that you cease your crying,” he murmurs. “The food will go cold.”

“Quiet,” you sniffle. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Making sure that this is real. “You can’t just surprise me like this and expect me to react calmly!”

It takes a few more minutes for the tears to stop. You reluctantly let go of Pierro, closing your eyes when his fingertips brush against your damp cheeks.

To think that he of all people would be the one to make you this happy.

The birthday candles are still lit. The flames dance in the air, brighter than any fire you’ve seen before. You blow out the candles and the flames extinguish into thin curls of smoke.

“It’s been so long since I last enjoyed my birthday,” you mutter. You slump in your chair, watching the last traces of smoke disappear. “I almost forgot just how old I am.”

What kind of life have you been living up to now?

Pierro cuts the cake and gives you a slice. The flavor is bittersweet yet familiar. It brings to mind a memory of you chastising him in your kitchen for messing up the same recipe.

You put down your spoon, feeling more tears spring to your eyes. “This is all too much for one person, you know.”

He side-eyes you. “I believe that such splendor is to be expected for a god’s festival.”

“Oh, please.” You shake your head, smiling. “You deserve a grander celebration for your own birthday. If there is one thing you humans have over us gods, it is your ability to accomplish so much within your short lifespans. Compared to you…I never did enough.”

“I care not for such festivities,” he replies, holding your hand, “and I must say that you are gravely mistaken regarding your own personal significance.”

There is something so tender about his words. His other hand cups the side of your face, beckoning you to meet his gaze. Those four-pointed stars seem to peer into your soul, shining brighter than any celestial being in the sky.

“If there is one good thing which came out of your life, it was saving mine.”

Your heart twists in your chest. Try as you might, you can’t look away.

“I…I see.” Your hand shakes within his grasp. You want nothing more than to pull your veil over your face.

He knows just the right words to win people over.

This time, it’s you who prolongs the chaste kiss he gives you. It’s you who intertwines your fingers together. It’s you who whimpers when he pulls away. To your frustration, he remains mostly unfazed but the look in his eyes doesn’t lie.

How long has it been since you last enjoyed physical intimacy? What about him?

Oh well, you could play the fool for one night.

“Well, Pierro, this has been an impressive festival,” you tell him, smirking. “But where is my offering? Did you think a paltry kiss would suffice?”

“Oh?” He holds your gaze, eyes darkened. “According to the ancient records, only the divine friends of the God of Mist were expected to provide gifts. I presumed myself to be an exception to this tradition.”

“You disappoint me. But don’t worry, you can make up for it right now.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upwards. “And what exactly do you desire from me?”

You lay a hand on his chest. The pale blue diamonds of his necktie twinkle under the light, dimmer than his eyes.

“I believe you know exactly what I want,” you reply. Wispy gray marks travel up your limbs and around your eyes. “Are you up for the challenge?”

You aren’t even given a few seconds before Pierro clutches your waist and pulls you into another kiss, stealing your breath. His other hand cups the back of your head and pulls off your veil.

“Very well,” he says. “I might as well oblige you.”

*✧･ﾟ

You are never underestimating humans ever again.

The room is dark. If you close your eyes, you can imagine yourself within a void. The Abyss, maybe. Any lovely dark place where your debauchery could go unacknowledged.

Offering? You were referring to your own birthday gift, right? So why did you end up feeling like one for your captor?

Pierro lightly shakes you. “______, have you fallen asleep?”

“No, I haven’t,” you reply quickly. You turn your head in his direction, chest heaving. “I’m just exhausted.”

The complacent gleam in his eyes is absolutely maddening. Even with his mask off, his face is both familiar and different. The way he looks at you is earnest yet far from reverent.

Is this the same person you saved all those years ago? How can the voice which once weakly cried for help whisper such degrading things in your ear?

You raise your arm to inspect your wrist. Dark bruises mix with the wispy marks, from when he pinned you to the bed. Combined with the warm ache in your abdomen and knees…

You feel utterly desecrated.

Pierro holds you tightly, turning your body to face him. Loose strands of silver hair fall over his face. Familiar scars litter his bare skin, including those you’d healed.

“We missed dinner,” he murmurs. “Would you like to eat something later? It would be a waste of the banquet preparations.”

His gaze makes you shrink. Where in the world is your veil?

You sit up. “No, I’m fine. We can eat it tomorrow.”

Somehow, the thought of your party leftovers doesn’t feel unappetizing at all.

Pierro’s mask and your veil are on the night-table, along with your diamond jewelry. Your dress should be somewhere on the floor.

He grips your arm. “Where are you going?”

You sheepishly face him, wincing at the light pressure. “Going to my room. To sleep.”

He sighs, pulling you closer. “Stay.”

“...All right.”

His bed is soft. You return to his arms and rest your head on the pillow, giving in to your exhaustion. He’s saying something. Something kind, judging by his tone. Your name.

The left side of the bed is comfortable.

viii. flectere si nequeo superos, acheronta movebo

Your relationship has improved since your birthday.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve become more resigned to your captivity. It’s so easy to ignore the reality of your situation when you feel so happy.

Pierro has been kinder to you. Beneath his strict exterior, you’ve been seeing more traces of your old companion. The proximity between your chairs remains close and you permanently move to his bedchambers. Your conversations have become more intimate.

“Am I allowed to be this happy?”

“What do you mean?”

Pierro looks up from the chessboard. You move another piece.

“I don’t know,” you mutter. “It’s just…you really don’t want me to do anything for you? You’re just going to keep me around for the New World?”

He moves a black queen this time. “I told you before: Your former status is no longer a concern. There is no need for you to question your place by my side.”

“I know but—” You shake your head and focus on the game. “Never mind.”

Pierro clearly isn’t satisfied with that response. Feeling the weight of his gaze, you adjust your veil. He didn’t suspect anything from your recent Flower Ball embroidery, but your puffy eyes will be an obvious hint to Havria’s birthday.

Your king is cornered again. As you move a pawn, the door slams open.

“Lord Harbinger! There has been an emergency!”

A Fatui officer rushes inside, followed by two frantic maids. Surprised, you slide the pawn to the wrong square and knock over a few chess pieces.

The air grows cold.

“I do not recall permitting an audience with you, Lieutenant Dominik.”

Even you flinch in response. Despite his composure, Pierro’s irritation is evident. The fearful “We tried to stop him!” of the maids affirms that.

Dominik kneels on the floor. “Forgive me, my lord! But this is an urgent matter!”

Pierro turns to the maids. “Escort Lady ______ to our bedchambers.”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger!”

“Pierro.” You turn to him, hesitantly leaving the sofa. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I will see you once this matter is settled,” is all he tells you, staring down your unwelcome visitor. “I expect more competence from an informant of your ranking, Lieutenant.”

Dominik shudders, remaining in their kneeling position. You follow the maids out of his private office and into the hallway. Just as they close the door, you hear their voices.

“The Child of Ni—”

“Silence.”

What?

“My lady?” One of the maids—Sofia, you think—turns to you. “We must go.”

“Of course.” You cast a final glance at the door before you begin walking. “Thank you.”

Were they going to say ‘Night’? They couldn’t possibly be talking about him, could they?

The bedchambers are quiet. The maids leave you inside and close the door. You lie in bed, staring at the empty space next to you. You can trust Pierro…right?

Just in case, you wave your hand and imagine the private office. Soon enough, you hear two voices. Soft, fragmented, but audible.

“...divine karma…many afflicted.”

“...send more troops…Miseria.”

Did Pierro just mention Oizys’s city? Why would he still care about Miseria?

You continue listening.

“Bad…cursed. Misery, misfortune…”

“...remains? Dispirited soldiers…assured victories.”

Misery, misfortune…why are they discussing Oizys’s divine ability? What does it have to do with warfare? And what did they mean about karmic debt?

Your nails dig into the mattress.

“...others? Archon Residue…”

“The Doctor sent a report…early stages.”

“Inform me…public hearths were…exceptional fire.”

“...singing. Hallucinations have…”

The taste of metal invades your mouth but you continue to bite down on your lip.

They could only be talking about Vesta and Pasithea. And what’s this about Archon Residue and the Doctor’s involvement?!

Vesta’s extinguished fire. The strange singing you heard from the Second Harbinger’s laboratory. Their discussion of Oizys’s curse and victory.

…

Has the Fatui been using your friends’ remains this whole time?

Blood trickles down your chin. With a shaky hand, you wipe it clean and turn to the right side of the bed. Would he really do this after everything you told him?

The voices suddenly sound clearer. Have they moved closer to the door?

“Where are you going, my lord?”

“I will summon a maid. The humidity level in the room has suddenly risen.”

Pierro leaves the office.

*✧･ﾟ

“It appears that my suspicions were not unfounded.”

Pierro is straight to the point. You rise from the bed, glaring at his figure in the doorway.

On the blanket, a smear of blood evaporates into mist.

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions,” he replies, glaring. “How much of our conversation did you overhear?”

“Enough to give myself away, clearly,” you reply, gripping the bedpost. “So tell me, what is so urgent about Miseria that Lieutenant Dominik came here without permission?”

They specifically mentioned divine karma. Does this mean that Oizys…?

“There is no use in concealing information from you,” he sighs. “In summary, your former territory and the city of Miseria have been beset with curses in the previous months. We presume it to be the lingering resentment of the Child of Night.”

“And why is that?”

Pierro crosses his arms. “There have been sightings of a demon in your cemetery. It bears a striking resemblance to the religious imagery of your deceased friend.”

“I see,” you reply, gritting your teeth, “and what will you do to him?”

“That is confidential information.”

“Oh, really?” Your voice rises in volume, as does the mist on the blanket. “I think I have every right to know about Oizys and your other secrets. Tell me, what have you done with my friends’ remains?”

There is zero remorse on his face. “If you are pertaining to the Lord of the Hearth and the Goddess of Consciousness, then you can already deduce my answer.”

“How dare you!”

Mist swirls around the room, heavy and thick, but Pierro manages to cross the room towards you. You raise your arm but he catches it quickly.

“I advise you to be rational,” he snaps. “The Child of Night is dead. Whatever is prowling in your former territory is no longer your friend.”

“Don’t touch me!”

Your attempt to raise the mist is dashed as Pierro pins you to the bed. He grips your wrists with enough force to make you panic.

“Is this what you will do with me eventually?” you shout. Hot tears flow down the sides of your face. “Do you intend to make an instrument out of me as well?!”

Stupid. Not even Havria was this trustful.

“You already know how their deaths affected me, that their graves were still important to me! How could you—”

You struggle some more, only to shriek when Pierro strengthens his grip.

“I advise that you remember your place,” he says coldly, removing your veil and setting it aside. “Though your soul is worthy for the New World, even you are not safe from my scorn.”

“I don’t want to hear that right now! I’ve had enough of you and the Tsari—!”

A resounding pop interrupts you, followed by your pained scream. The only thing more excruciating than your sprained wrist is the sensation of Pierro’s fingertips wiping your tears.

“As I said, no harm will come to you so long as you are loyal to Her Majesty,” he tells you. “Your friends have long fallen, and your personal sentiments offer little insight into the importance of preserving their memory.”

“You…” Your voice is reduced to pathetic whimpers. “I…I thought I…”

Those diamond pupils hold your gaze, cold and unforgiving. “That is final.”

You should have left him to die that day.

The mist recedes.

*✧･ﾟ

You return to your old bedchambers.

The doors and windows are locked. Your embroidery kit is confiscated along with the needles. Esfir and Karine visit you with your study material and meals on a tray, but you reject most of them. It takes a while to readjust to your empty bed.

You don’t see much of Pierro in the following days. He spends less time in the estate to evade your supervision, and the servants’ gossip is hushed. You receive no more news on Oizys and your friends’ remains.

Your wrist is treated. The ice pack numbs your pain but it barely helps. You can’t forget the ruthless look on Pierro’s face when he hurt you.

You’ve never felt more angry with yourself.

Why did you let him do all of this to begin with? Out of fear or pity? Because his dreams of the New World trumped your own worthless existence?

You could spite him. Fall asleep for a century…or more? As the Tsaritsa’s underling, he is probably granted immortality. Perhaps you shouldn’t wake up at all.

But Oizys is still out there.

“Karine?”

She puts down the breakfast tray. “Yes, my lady?”

Esfir also turns to you, bandages in hand.

“When is the Jester returning from his mission?” you ask.

They exchange looks. “We are not allowed to share that information.”

“All right. Could you at least give this to him when he returns?” You give Karine a signed envelope, wincing at the pain radiating from your wrist.

“Of course, my lady. We will do so immediately.”

“Thank you for everything,” you whisper, “and I’m sorry.”

A ball of mist hovers under your palm, accompanied by flecks of light.

“My lady, what are you—!”

Your thurible is pristine from years of disuse. You quickly open it and swipe your palm through the built-in blade. Blood spills into the censer.

Dark clouds emanate from your Catalyst, obscuring the room and filtering through the keyhole. Esfir and Karine rush towards you, only to disappear into the mist. You raise the mist in the manor, hearing their screams in the hallway along with their coworkers’.

“Where am I?”

“How did we end up in the kitchen?!”

“I can’t reach the foyer!”

“Inform Lord Pierro at once!”

Their panic is unbearable. You can sense every scream, every frantic movement, every cry for help. But this time, you must resist the urge to help them.

The window is next. It takes a few tries but your thurible finally smashes the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat to the empty bedroom.

The servants will be fine. The mist will disappear in a few days, or perhaps earlier if you are slain first. Then the manor will be free from your dominion. Your signed letter will prove their innocence.

You swing your thurible, smiling. What will the Fatui make out of you, you wonder? A special weapon? A tool to spy on their enemies? Or maybe they will keep you alive to harvest your blood for the rest of eternity.

That doesn’t matter. It is only fair after all that you’ve survived.

ix. memento vivere

Miseria has fallen.

Your brief inspection is devastating. The Fatui has taken control over the city. The historic temple has been replaced with a church for the Tsaritsa. The people are consumed with misery and anxiety, likening their misfortune to a divine curse.

You almost cannot believe it. Oizys’s punishments were never this harsh.

You advance to your old territory before any Fatui officers notice you. After subduing so many pursuers, you already feel the strain from using your powers. Your thurible had to be refilled numerous times.

Your territory is even more unrecognizable. In your absence, the forest has been converted to a facility site. A Snezhnayan-style building stands in the place of your temple. The pasithea flowers have died out.

Surprisingly, the achlys flowers have multiplied. Fields of white flower spikes grow amongst the remaining flora in stark contrast to the unburied corpses.

So many masked humans. Did Oizys kill all of them?

A thick miasma of divine karma permeates the area, growing stronger as you approach the cemetery. Several graves have been excavated, leaving gaping holes in the ground. The two statues are missing.

A dark figure stands over an empty grave, holding a bloody Claymore.

“Oizys?”

He turns around. “█████?!”

The divine karma is so oppressive. You remain in your spot, but Oizys closes the distance and captures you in a tight hug. You nearly collapse from the miasma.

“It’s…is it really you?” you whisper.

A large smile cuts his shadowy face. “Who else?”

He feels so cold.

You pull away, processing the sight before you. This isn’t the body you cleaned and buried all those years ago. It is incorporeal, hazy at the edges, marred with bleeding wounds. Instead of his death suit, he is wearing his bloody robes with ruined embroidery.

You never wanted to see his mutilated corpse ever again.

No, you shouldn’t think that. This is still Oizys.

Pain throbs from your sprained wrist. You look down to find him touching your bandages.

“█████.” He grips your wrist tightly. “What happened to you?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” you reply quickly, slipping out of his grasp. “Listen, you’re in serious danger. I don’t know if there’s a way for you to leave but—”

“Leave?” He stares at you with bloodshot eyes. “I come back and you’re gone, not a trace of mist left. The next thing I know, these masked Snezhnayans take over, destroying your temple and the cemetery! And you expect me to leave after all that?”

The miasma is overwhelming. Unsettled, you take a step back.

He doesn’t notice. “And do you know what I found in my own city? Those ungrateful ants worshiping the Cryo Archon as though I had never existed!”

You shake your head vehemently. “Oizys, don’t take it out on your people. They—”

“Is this how you felt?” he laughs bitterly, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have accepted your followers back then. I should have punished them for you.”

“You can’t say that!” you exclaim. “Think about it clearly; it’s one thing to harm the Fatui but they were all innocent!”

There is a murderous look in his eyes.

“Oh, █████,” he frowns. “Have you learned nothing from how humanity abused your kindness? How they abandoned you and killed our friends?”

He’s wrong. “That…I couldn’t provide for them or fulfill my duty!”

“Those wretched creatures caused our suffering!”

His voice cracks on the last word. Oizys coughs up black smoke and you immediately approach him, only for him to step back.

“Forget it,” he snaps. “It’s useless to convince you.”

“Says the person who joined a war and gained nothing from killing what must’ve been several civilians! At least I’m still alive,” you shoot back.

“Well, I wouldn’t have died if you had joined me.”

What did he just say?

The miasma intensifies. When Oizys raises his head, there is only disdain in his eyes.

“Among our friends, why did it have to be you?” he whispers. “Maybe things would have turned out differently if someone else survived.”

“Oizys.” Tears fill your eyes. “You…you don’t really mean that, do you?”

This isn’t right. This isn’t how it usually goes. It should be you saying that and him assuring you otherwise. If even he believes that, what else can you think?

His gaze flits from your wrist to your neck. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Did those humans hurt you? Why are you wearing a foreign necklace?”

Your necklace? You look down, belatedly realizing that you are still wearing your necklace from Pierro. The pale blue diamonds twinkle in the fading light.

“Wait.” He touches the pendant under your veil. “I’ve seen this style before; it’s not from Snezhnaya. The design, the material…”

“Hey, not too close.” You try to step away but he keeps a firm grip on the chain.

“Is this from Khaenri’ah?”

You can’t look him in the eye. “I—”

“It would benefit you to lay your hands off what is mine.”

You are doomed.

Pierro enters the cemetery, wielding a sword. Despite his serious expression, his gaze is absolutely livid.

Oizys merely scoffs. “Another masked offender. How many of you—”

He stops talking, gripping your necklace tighter. His eyes fix on Pierro’s diamond accessories then his pupils.

“█████.” Any remaining warmth for you has been dashed. “Is he from that nation?”

You can’t answer him. Neither can you meet Pierro’s cold glare.

It’s too late. Oizys leaves your side and appears in front of him, swinging his Claymore, but Pierro dodges it in time. The miasma thickens.

“You wretched human!” he shouts, attempting another swipe. “How dare you!”

A dark blue galaxy-like aura appears in Pierro’s hand, shooting at Oizys’s neck. He gasps, clawing at his throat, but the Khaenri’ahn magic restrains him.

You grip your thurible. “Stop, you’ll—!”

Pierro’s glare is absolutely chilling. “I have finally been granted an audience with you, Child of Night. On behalf of my fallen compatriots, I return your blow.”

“I should have wiped out your despicable race until my dying breath!”

Oizys sets himself free and hits Pierro’s sword this time. The latter stumbles, only to quickly recover and fight back.

You rush towards them, swinging your thurible to spread the mist. Even if you can’t do much, you should at least distract Pierro and give your friend a chance to escape.

“Oizys, don’t underestimate—!”

The blade that cuts you isn’t Pierro’s.

Your back hits a gravestone, but what shocks you is the pain radiating from your cheek. Through the tear in your veil, you make out a disgusted expression.

Oizys looks away. “Just disappear already, █████.”

Why would he say such terrible things to you?

Pierro turns to you, eyes widening. Suddenly, he goes on the offense and successfully strikes Oizys in the leg. Whatever magic he had used earlier is imbued within his sword.

Oizys steps back, crashing into a patch of achlys flowers. He swings his Claymore again, slicing several flowers in the process. “Die already!”

You touch your cheek. Blood drips from the wound and onto the ground. Oizys didn’t hesitate to hurt you, not that he needed to in the first place—you were nowhere close to Pierro. The beheaded achlys flowers litter the ground, quickly trampled.

That thing is no longer Oizys.

What should you do now? The mist engulfs the entire cemetery. You can sense the entire battle. Oizys keeps flinging insults at Pierro, talking about how he will properly punish humanity this time. The latter doesn’t say much.

“You are gravely mistaken. I am not allowing her to escape from me.”

Oizys’s blade grazes his shoulder.

Pierro…did he just stumble?! Oizys laughs and hits him again.

The mist rises. You sense a shocked gasp as the ghost steps forward and gets transported to the other side of the cemetery.

“█████? Did you—”

The mist parts between you and Oizys. There is more blood on his clothes—Pierro’s, not his own. He stares at you, dumbstruck.

“Has your mind been utterly broken?!”

He runs towards you, only to disappear into a cloud of mist. You dodge his attacks, careful to keep Pierro at a distance. You take a few more steps and allow Oizys to find you.

He lunges at you, only to be splattered with a spray of blood.

Right in the eyes.

Mist rises from his eyes and wraps around his face.

He figures it out quickly. “█████! How could you do this to me?!”

His screams are too much to bear. You ignore both his frantic thoughts and the renewed pain in your arm.

Oizys begins stumbling in circles. The mist claims him, covering his eyes and obscuring his vision. This isn’t enough. It will take—

A blade cuts through his heart.

Pierro? When did he find you?

With a final cry, Oizys collapses to the ground. The miasma clears. His body turns more hazy and he ceases to think. When you approach his corpse and release your claim, his eyes are cloudy.

He’s gone.

A pained groan snaps you out of your thoughts. Pierro keels over, clutching his shoulder.

“Pierro!” Quickly, you help him sit down. “Where does it hurt? Do you feel faint?!”

Your voice can’t keep up with your thoughts. You grip his arms and inspect the wounds, horrified when you hear another hiss of pain. His mask lays on the ground, half-broken. There’s so much blood. You can’t lose—

“Compose yourself.”

He grabs your arm. The diamonds in his eyes are so clear, so bright.

“I…” You try to pull away. “Are you really all right?”

His grip is so tight, unwilling to let go. His fingertips press down on your sprained wrist, triggering another wave of pain. His glare remains terrifying.

“You will have to do more to escape from me,” he snaps.

The mist clears.

You raise your other arm. Pierro catches it in time, only for you to stomp on his foot.

He hisses in pain. “You—”

“You idiot!”

Hot tears roll down your cheeks, stinging your wounds. You try to stand up, only to collapse as dizziness overtakes you.

“______!” Pierro catches you in time, anger giving way to concern.

You glare at him. “What in the world were you thinking? Do you have no sense of self-preservation at all?!”

He examines your wounds. “That is a hypocritical statement coming from you.”

“I don’t care! It’s your fault that this all happened to begin with!”

You’ve never felt more relieved in your entire life.

You throw your arms around him and continue sobbing.

“I don’t even know the death rites for a Khaenri’ahn!” you sniffle. “How do you expect me to properly bury you?!”

Pierro lifts your veil and wipes your tears.

“You can cease your hysterics,” he says softly. “I am not letting you go anywhere.”

Behind you, Oizys’s ghost dissipates into the mist.

*✧･ﾟ

The ride home is anything but pleasant.

“The chains are still uncomfortable.”

“That is a necessary precaution.” Pierro adjusts the cuffs and gives you a stern look. “Once we return home, you will release your claim on the estate. There will be no more eavesdropping.”

At least his touch is gentle. His hand trails up your arm, from your sprained wrist to the bandaged wounds. The field doctors had been efficient.

“You will also be confined under strict surveillance,” he adds. He meets your gaze, trapping your reflection in his diamond pupils. “In our bedchambers. I will keep a proper eye on you this time.”

You sigh and lean back in your carriage seat. “You are absolutely cruel. In case you haven’t realized, I could have killed you anytime and still chose not to. And even if I wanted to do that right now, I’m too weak.”

You can’t tell if your lethargy is from blood loss or karmic debt, probably both. Despite his own wounds, Pierro seems to be in exponentially better condition.

“The creature we slew was not the true Child of Night.”

“Huh?” You look up, facing the seat across from you.

Pierro’s gaze is sympathetic. “It was nothing more than the lingering resentment of your deceased friend, so whatever claims he made were untrue.”

“I know,” you reply sheepishly.

Oizys is truly gone. No more warm smiles, blessings of happiness, or lively meals together. May his soul finally find peace.

“Here, take this.”

Mist fills the carriage. Pierro sits up in alarm, only for you to toss your thurible at him.

He catches it, surprise painting his features. “Might there be a reason why you are voluntarily surrendering your Catalyst?”

“Must I articulate my answer?” You cross your arms, leveling him with a tired look. “Take it. Add it to your creepy collection, use my blood as you see fit, I don’t care. So long as I no longer need to hold that terrible thing.”

He stares back at you for a few seconds before setting your thurible aside. “The Fatui has no use for this weapon.”

You think you can believe him this time.

You take off your veil. The fabric is torn beyond repair; you will need to sew a new one. Maybe you can ask Pierro for embroidery ideas.

Outside the window, the scenery switches to a swirling snowscape. A few Snezhnayans are walking against the blizzard.

No need to worry about them; they can persevere. If not, they should still be safe under Pierro’s leadership.

You leave your seat and walk over to Pierro’s. Pain shoots up your leg and you nearly fall, but he quickly catches you and moves you to his side.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” he mutters, but his tone is less harsh. His arm wraps around you, pulling you close.

“Hey, Pierro? Are you staying home tomorrow?”

“Why do you ask?”

You rest your head on his uninjured shoulder. “I just feel like cooking, is all. Do you have any requests?”

A short pause. When Pierro turns to you, there is a soft gleam in those four-pointed stars. A small smile cuts across his face.

“Your cream stew was my favorite.”

You smile back. “That is good to hear.”

What else? You will need to prepare the ingredients, pick the right tableware, maybe even ask Pierro if he’d like to assist you again. And so many other things.

The sky turns dark. The estate is still miles away and you will be trapped in Pierro’s company for a few more hours…and the rest of eternity for that matter. But for some reason, that fact doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

For the first time in years, you actually look forward to tomorrow.

♡

Author’s Note ๑ Side story from Pierro’s POV

Do not ask me how I ended up creating an ultra-detailed darling and a bunch of Genshin OCs for this fic. I am still processing the fact that I wrote a Pierro fic and that it turned out this way (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

If you actually read this to the end, I hope the experience was worth it!! Thank you to everyone for eagerly anticipating this and giving your lovely feedback on my previous fics. Do tell me if you enjoyed Pierro and Savior! Darling’s story, and Happy New Year~

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @kocherry @mirdance @victoria1676 @mnemosyneechan @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @lcveaesop @teabutmakeitazure @nicebonescomrades @ansy-tea

Thank you for your interest in reading!! @yandere-romanticaa @ddarker-dreams @cinnamonest @yanmaresu

#pierro #pierro x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #spicy warning #mdni #fem reader #jessamine-writing

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petite-phthora · 9 months

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This yours?

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 12]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.

In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.

There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.

Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.

In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.

Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.

“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.

Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.

They start cackling.

“Mwuahaha!”

It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.

However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.

A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.

“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.

---

Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.

They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.

They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.

They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.

Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.

One thing seems clear to the Bats.

They’re searching for something… or someone.

“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”

“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”

“Good… thing?”

“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”

“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”

“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”

“I highly doubt that”

“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.

“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”

“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”

“We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.

“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”

“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.

“Roger that.”

---

Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.

He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.

Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.

He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.

The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.

It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.

They both stare at each other for several seconds.

As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.

The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.

Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.

---

Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing

#dp x dc #dp x dc fic #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dead on main ship #Im wondering how easy/hard it is to guess who the person is #and also yes its supposed to have stereotypically comedic 'evil'/'villain' vibes #the person did that on purpose because they are dramatic and have style #also i aged ellie down a little from how old she *should* be cause i felt like it fit better #If you need a reason maybe she like ages a little bit slower due to being a clone or something idk #oh and i have a question for you all #should i make a masterpost??#i have like the very first chapter pinned but i feel like a masterpost might be better #especially cause like i already have 12 chapters and the story is only getting longer #damn this story has gone further than expected from a oneshot lol #it all started with me just tinking it'd be funny if like #a character was basically in shock but was still like nah I cant just kiss someone without consent lol #also I said id post like 5-6 chapters and this is still only like 6k :( i really need to write more ;-;#and also if y'all haven't noticed already #all I know of dc is through fanfics and fandom posts #though I really want to start reading the comics #i just haven't really had the time nor do I really know what's good and where to start #so like if anyone has any recommendations for dc/batfam comics they are more than welcome!! ^-^

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jamiedc-they-them · 24 days

Text

Good People Part IV: Safety in Numbers (Platonic)

Summary: A new friend joins you on your travel for this infamous head. A vault gives you a moment of safety. But, like always, the world comes crashing down around you. But this time, it's not just you that it collapses for.

Episodes 5/6/7.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

"Should we wake them up?" Maximus, the Knight you had saved - and the one who had saved Lucy - asks as he sees you slumped against a pillar, eyes shut. It hasn't been too long since he had gotten out and saved your friend, and yet you found yourself drifting off.

Lucy looks back to you, You look peaceful. For once, you don't look at war with yourself.

There's a feeling she has inside. For a moment, it reminds her of how she is with her brother - loving, protective; but most of all, accepting.

"I think a few more minutes won't hurt them. I think they need it. Haven't really seen them rest yet."

Maximus nods. He knows he needs the head and all, but he can also understand Lucy's reasoning. This place isn't kind to anyone, and having your guard down isn't the greatest thing. But, you do seem to need it at this moment. That, and you did save him, so.

Lucy gets him to agree to have you both accompany him to find the head. 'Safety in numbers' she says. He can't exactly argue with that; after all, without you two, he'd still be in the suit - or dead.

Maximus packs up his things. Lucy gets up and approaches you, crouching down in front of you. She lightly taps you on the arm.

"Y/N. Y/N, wake up," she says, keeping her voice soft. She keeps her taps quick, respecting the boundary with touch.

You jolt, then seem to calm down as you open your eyes. The first thing you do, she clocks, is check the area around you both.

She smiles, "made good on my promise," she teases, "no urination for you, my friend."

Friend. It feels nice to say it now and know it goes both ways. You're friends. Maybe Maximus can be one, too. Still, one step at the time.

You snort, eyes softening as you look to her, "that you did," you say, standing up - she mirrors you - as you then stretch a bit, "thank you."

"I should really be the one thanking you," she says, "it's you who got me the help."

You shrug off the thanks - still not there with that, it seems; ok, she can work with that - and roll your shoulders, "was all the Knight. I just got him out of the suit."

She wants to argue in your honour, but doesn't. Like said before, she can work with this. Baby steps.

"We're gonna be travelling with him," she says to you, "he needs the head too. So, I figured, someone else looking out for us can't hurt, right?"

You don't seem too sure at first, then nod.

You all go on your way, Lucy asking about what had happened in the last 200 years, as if either of you can summarise that.

"People in charge did what they always do," you say, "they chose power over lives."

"Sounds a bit like a red to me," Maximus says.

You shrug once again, "maybe. Still, ain't exactly patriots out here to shoot me for it."

Lucy looks at you concerned, Maximus shakes his head. You're an odd one, but you're honest. So, he respects that.

You come to a bridge, with two people on the other side. Lucy tries to calm the situation down. You and Maximus, seemingly reading each other, get ready. You stand in front, no weapons, but you'll go down first and give him time to draw.

It works, and part of you believes that it just might work, too. But, the inevitable happens; the fiends see the pipboy on Lucy's arm, and they draw. Your instinct was correct; Maximus draws Lucy's weapon, and gets a shot off. A shot hits his arm, you move Lucy back, just to be safe - it all happens quick, but you still manage too - and he then fires the second round off.

"I hate it up here," Lucy laments.

"Don't we all," you say, looking to Maximus, "your arm ok?"

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," Lucy protests, "you've been shot!"

"I'll be fine," he says, "let's just keep going."

Lucy looks to you. You sigh, nodding at your friend, before looking to the Knight:

"Look," you say, "we'll keep going," you put a finger up to stop Lucy before she says anything and continue, "but, we'll also keep a look out for a stimpack, or something for that wound, ok?"

Maximus nods, going with the diplomatic solution.

"See?" you say, "not so bad for a red, huh?" Maximus snorts at your tease. He shakes his head. Sure, he'd probably disagree with a lot of your views on things, but you're good as a person - hell, you gave him the space he needed for that interaction. He decides then and there to trust you.

The three of you continue. You reach Shady Sands, and Maximus tells you about how he was from here. He was a survivor, and how the Brotherhood gave him a purpose.

You might fully like the Brotherhood - at least in what you've seen; a company like that with brutality will always go wrong in your eyes - but Maximus is a good man, even if tortured.

You look from the massive hole, to Lucy. To your friend who gave you a purpose - at least for a little bit. You gulp.

You were bad luck. Hell, you even hit your head when Lucy first said 'hello' to you. You're a magnet for trouble. Yet, she stuck with you. Fought for you in your honour. She stuck by you when others would've left.

You find what you think is a hospital. Lucy enters, you follow, then Maximus does.

You split up, trying to find what you can.

You find some caps. Maybe your luck really is turning.

You hear a scream. Lucy's scream. You run out, back into the lobby area, and barge through a door...only to find that apparent adjoining one is fake.

You feel the floor give out from under you...

You wake up in a startle. For once, no dreams haunting you.

"Good, you're up," you hear a voice say. You turn, alert. It's a woman. She holds up her hands, "look, I understand the concern," she says, "but, we're not a threat. We're not a threat. We have your other friends. They asked about you."

So, they're alive, you know that at least.

"You're Y/N, right?" the woman asks. You nod, now noticing the blue jumpsuit...there's no way, "I'm Birdie," she says to you.

You approach the window, and look out at everything. It's all so clean and...nice. Everyone smiles.

You look back to Birdie, who seems to be waiting for you to ask, "are we -- I mean...is - is this a -"

"A Vault?" she asks, smile on her face - seems your instinct was right, "it is," she confirms, nodding as well.

You nod, taking it all in.

"Now," Birdie says, we kept you in there to make sure you weren't radiated or anything. But, all seems clear. You're free to see your friends. We'll get some food in you, then show you to your room."

"My room?"

She nods again, "welcome to Vault 4."

You are let out, and look over the railing at the place. It's like a community all onto itself.

Lucy spots you, and instantly beams, calling out your name and giving a wave. You wave back, before making your way down to join them.

Lucy gets up, and gives you a hug. You stumble a bit, but soon find yourself being ok with it.

"I'm glad you're ok," Lucy says.

You tap her on the back, and she pulls away - seemingly understanding your code language for 'too much'. She nods, "come eat."

You sit down, Maximus and you sharing a nod. Birdie, and then Ben - the overseer, come over and introduce themselves. You cant help, though, but notice Ben's one massive eye. No one else seems to bat on eye. And, hell, you've seen your fair share of mutations out in the Wasteland - as Maximus says, it happens. But, Lucy seems more disturbed.

You, however, let yourself feel a positive emotion for once - it doesn't feel natural to you - and it's a feeling of safety.

"Lucy," you say, "we're in a vault, that's gotta be something, right?"

"I - I want it to be," Lucy says, "but...Y/N, my Vault fell. I don't want - I don't want it to happen anywhere else."

"That's fair," you say, voice soft and distant; you both have your trauma's, and both have similar reactions with it - wanting to do all you can for it to not occur again.

Yours was isolation, her's seems to be more vigilance.

Still, she softens as you look around in awe at the place. Maximus clears his plate, before looking to you.

"Hey," he calls out. You look to him, "after we finish, did you wanna go see our rooms? I think they should be near each other?"

You look to your plate - at the actual full meal in front of you that you've barely touched. It feels wrong, eating this amount of food, but you've been given it. They have given it to you. And it would be rude to not take them up on this.

You look to Maximus, your new friend, and nod. He smiles, bright. You do too.

Lucy looks between you both. She's still unsure, something in the back of her mind telling her that something isn't right; but, she then sees you both and your eagerness for this place. To her, it felt like a homecoming; to you, it was a new world with a whole new set of rules to understand - and, god, the eager look you both had; the conversations you both have as you finish your own food. She doesn't interrupt you, she just lets you both talk, and that, that is what makes her feel that humanity may just make it through this to the other side; connections. Friendship.

She turns down the offer to go up with you both, saying that she'll catch up, but wishes you both the best. Her smile is honest, but you don't see the way it struggles to stay up right. She wants to best for you, she does really, but that voice in the back of her head won't leave you alone. It seems that, here anyway, it's not there for you - but instead now for her - and so she'll follow it.

You're her friends. She has to look out for you both.

Maximus is right, your rooms are next to each other. Everyone is so nice here. They smile and wave. They say 'hello' and pass you by and leave you be. No one tries to take things from you. No one has an ulterior motive. Everyone is just kind.

That, and no one pisses on you, so that's a win in your book.

Maximus give you a nod and a 'see you later' before entering his own room. Your door opens. You flinch at the hiss it makes, but Ben just assures you that it's ok.

You enter, and it shuts behind you. Ben explains how to reopen the door. He even demonstrates it for you, before leaving you to get acquainted with it.

It's bright. Colourful and expressive. There's no dirt on anything. There are clothes left out for you. Even a kind of gown. You take off your clothes, and enter the bathroom. You see a shower, you turn it on. It works. There is a heat that hits you. It's comforting. You put yourself fully under it, letting it wash over you fully, before you start using some soap to clean yourself. It smells nice. You could get used to this.

You get out of the shower, getting changed into your new clothes. You feel something on your cheek. You put a hand to it and wipe. Puling away, you see a tear.

More come after that. A mix of happy and sad emotions all hitting you at once. You've never let yourself feel. You've never been able to. But, here you are, letting yourself have a moment. To process fully all that you've been through. All you've lost, and what you've gained in such a short amount of time.

You hear a knock on your door. You open it, it's Lucy. She looks concerned, out of breathe. Just a mix of things.

She enters, shutting the door behind you.

"Y/N, I - I think..." she pauses whatever she was about to say, seeing your state, "what happened?" she asks.

"I, uh," you say, "I don't know," you wipe some stray tears, "just - just something dumb. Nevermind -"

"It's not dumb," she assures. She has so much suspicion for this place, and yet her first concern is you.

There's a beat of silence. She waits. Despite the anxious thoughts on her findings. She waits.

"It's just..." you look to the floor for a second, before back up to her, "it's a lot," you confess, "all of this. I smell good, Luce. I don't -" you shut your eyes, seeing the memories you are used to seeing, "this is a good thing. A nice place. Nice people."

She nods, wanting for you to go on, "and I don't - I don't know how to feel about it."

She turns her head to the side, watching as you struggle with your words - so, she says a few of her own, "you deserve good things, Y/N."

You scoff, looking back up at her with your arms folded and back hunched, "maybe," you say, not fully believing it, "but...least I'll have you, right?" your walls are down fully. Emotions on your sleeve. Assurance, that's all you want.

"Always," and she gives it. It's instant, too, tone serious. Your lip wobbles.

"Even after we find your dad?"

She nods, eyes firm, "I'll do whatever I need to, to get you guys a spot in my vault. You'll be safe there. I promise."

A few more tears slip, and you nod. You let yourself have this. Something good. Something to hope for.

Then --

"'Your vault'?"

She nods, hating to have to crush your hope a bit, "there's something wrong here, Y/N. They're - They're talking about Shady Sands. They celebrate Moldaver!" she says to you in a whisper yell.

Your eyes widen.

"Look," she says, putting hands on your arms, "I will fix this. I won't leave you behind. But, you deserve something good, Y/N, and I mean that. Even for a little bit longer."

You look at her, eyes shinning with new tears - one of worry for her.

"I will be fine," she promises, "I know Vaults. I did engineering there. That, and I can take care of myself."

You never doubted that, but still, "but, safety in numbers."

She nods, "I know. But, like I said, I know vaults. I know where to go and how to get there. Before this all comes crashing down, you deserve some piece of mind. Just, keep an eye on Maximus, ok?"

You nod. You can do that.

"Be safe," is all you ask her.

She nods, giving your arms a squeeze, "always am."

"One hundo percento?"

She smiles. There she is, "one hundo percento."

"Okey Dokey."

Her smiles softens, "Okey dokey."

With that, she's gone. Determined now more than ever.

She knew her feelings for Maximus, the word for them. An attraction. But you, it was a deep platonic love. A similar one to Norm.

If this was before everything she'd seen, she'd name it gladly. Fami-

But, she wasn't that person. She was still Lucy Maclean to her core, but something had shifted in her. Something broke. She'd always help if needed, but there was an edge now. A voice in the back of her head that told her that all was not well. It did with her father and Moldaver. She hated it, the doubts it plagued her with. She kept walking, though.

So, when it came to your friendship, she refused to use the familial term. Just in case.

It does go wrong. But, not entirely as she expected it to. These people were victims, who killed their oppressors.

She'd read stories of people like this. She idolised them. And yet, now, she was the one doing the oppressing. The one doing the judging.

She knew her sin. She understood it, clear as day. Still, you both had done nothing wrong. Nothing at all. You'd both just lived above ground with shit luck to life.

So, despite having like no leverage, all she asks is simple.

"Can my friends stay?"

And, to her surprise - once the initial shock of them not killing her, and even giving her supplies for above - they say yes.

She's glad. She's done that right at least --

BOOM! BOOM! BANG! The sounds of Maximus in the armour reverberate off the walls, before a gunshot goes off from a rifle. You're both here. 'Saving' her.

"No, no, no, no, no!" She calls out to you both. But you're too caught up. Too caught up in trying to save your friend, that you don't even notice said friend trying to stop you.

You don't get far, but there is still some damage done. You may have smashed a window to get to the weapon. And Maximus may of stolen the fusion core for the armour.

"Guys!" Lucy calls out. It works on getting your attentions, "I'm ok!" she assures you, "look! look!" she gestures to herself, "no injuries! They were even giving me stuff. Look!" she says, grabbing an item that was inside the crate they have, "they aren't the bad guys. They're the victims!"

It really takes the winds out of your sails. You and Maximus both look to each other, before you both in sync say a single thing:

"Sorry."

With no arguments from any of you, you are banned from the Vault. Lucy looks to you and Maximus; him with the core, yourself with the weapon. Finally a -

"We need to give them back," Lucy says. You both look at her like she's mental.

"I mean it," she says, "we're not bad people. We don't just steal. Especially not after something like that."

"We tried our best," you say, folding your arms like a child being reprimanded.

Lucy rolls her eyes, "I know, and I thank you for your courage in your actions," she says, "but, the circumstances did not require them. They're good people. They need all the help they can get. Plus," she says, bringing out her pistol, "I have this."

You whine, leaning back and shutting your eyes, "but I want a weapon!!"

Lucy rolls her eyes again, "You can still fight, Y/N. You don't need a gun for that. We have each other, and our wits. And," she says, looking between you both, "once we're done, you won't need a weapon again. We'll be safe in the Vault. Trust me."

You and Maximus look to each other. You both sigh, then nod. He takes out the core; you open the door for him and you both deposit your items. You hear a 'thank you!' from below.

"There," she says, "how'd you feel?"

"Vulnerable," you say, gaining a third eye-roll.

"That's not a bad thing," she says.

"I don't mean the emotional kind."

She shrugs, "I know. But, we'll be ok. We have each other, and soon we will have the head. Then we'll be free."

Maximus looks to you. You just gesture for him to go ahead of you. He does, after giving you a pat on the shoulder.

You sigh, taking your own leave. Lucy watches you both leave. She nods, taking a steady breath.

"Okey Dokey," she says, before following after you.

You've done a good thing, she's happy that it's gone well. That, for once, an interaction out here has gone well and ended happily for everyone.

She just hates that voice in the back of her head. That doubt. That fear. That hesitation.

You're her friend. Her best friend, she'd wager. Someone she'd burn down a vault for - hell, she almost did - but there was also that voice in the back of her head. One that said to watch out. To not get fully attached.

There was a dark cloud in her mind. One she didn't quite know how to get rid of.

But, she knew one thing.

You had her, and she had you.

All the way, no matter what.

Part V

#lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean #lucy fallout #lucy maclean imagine #lucy maclean fallout #maximus x you #maximus imagine #maximus x reader #maximus fallout #fallout x you #fallout x reader #fallout imagine #fallout #lucy maclean x you

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imaginefan · 8 months

Text

Blackmail

Damon Salvatore X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 776

Requested: Anon

Request: You're sneaking around dating Damon, but Katherine finds out and tries to black mail you into threatening to tell everyone. (I'm not sure where else to go with this other that that) one shot.

You and Damon had been dating for a little while now and despite everything, people were still finding it hard to trust him, you didn’t blame them you were the same before he started trying to prove himself to you, since then he had saved you on many occasions and has not lied either (as far as you know). Damon was the one who had asked you to keep the relationship a secret, he said that he wanted you to get to know him for who he was and for the rest of your friends to learn to trust him on their own merit, some might have called you naive but you wanted to give him a chance.

Kathrine had become the new problem for you and your friends and while you were trying to stay out of the way given the fact that you were human she still managed to find you when you were on your own, it was one of the rare occasions that Damon hadn’t decided to meet you. “There you are!” You assumed that she was trying to pretend to be Elena but you had seen her already and even without having seen her this morning you would have known that she wasn’t Elena. “What do you want?” You asked. “You know who I am?” She asked. “I know that you're not Elena.” You said as you got out everything that you needed to start studying. “Alright then we can get down to the good stuff.” She smirked as she sat down at the table folding her hands together as she looked at you, “I know about you and Damon.” She said with a smirked and you looked at her for a second before going back to your notes. “Okay…” You mumbled as you started jotting down the things that were worth studying as you waited for her to speak again. “I’ll tell them.” She said as she leaned on her hand, you looked up at her again and shrugged. “What do you get from that?” You asked. “Well nothing apart from hurting you, but if you want me to keep the secret all you need to do is be my little spy.” She said and shook your head. “Go ahead and tell them, I never wanted to keep this a secret.” You answered, she looked at you for a second before sighing. “I really thought that was going to work, you're human so I have to be careful about where I hurt you otherwise they’ll all be asking questions.” She murmured more to herself than anyone else as she stood up and walked around the table to stand next to your chair. “I guess you can play off a broken arm.” She reached out to grab your arm but before she could come into contact with you someone else grabbed her. “Don’t even think about it.” You recognised the voice as Damon's; he pushed her away as he put himself between you and Katherine. “Damon, why are you ruining my fun?” She asked “I thought she was just your human toy… Surely you can still play with her if she’s a little broken?” “Get away from her.” Damon said again and this time she tutted before turning and walking away.

Damon turned to you once she was gone crouching and taking your face in his hands “are you okay?” He asked, looking over your face and hands for injuries. “Damon, someone's going to see Jeremy and Matt work here.” You reminded him. “I don’t care, answer me are you okay?” He asked drawing your attention back to him, you nodded once and he let out a breath. “What did she want?” “She wanted me to work as her spy, she probably thought that because I was human I’d be the easiest to manipulate but she tried blackmail first.” You explained. “What?” He asked. “She’s probably going to tell the others about us, I don’t know how she found out but she did.” You shrugged. “Don’t worry I’ll find a way to fix it.” He promised and you pulled back to catch his eye. “I’m not worried.” You said, his eyes shifted across your face as if trying to find a tell that you were lying and when he didn’t find anything he nodded. “Then we’ll deal with it.” Damon said as you nodded, he started grabbing all of your stuff and putting it in your bag. “What are you doing?” You asked. “You're coming back to the boarding house, you can study there.” He said. “Fine.” You said as he took your bag and followed you out of the door.

Requests and general question!

#the vampire diaries preference #the vampire diaries one shot #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries #damon salvatore imagine #damon salvatore one shot #damon salvatore #imagine #oneshot #one shot #reader insert #x reader

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fandonnavyce · 3 months

Text

Danny Phantom Side Hoes Week 2024

March 7: Dani Phantom, self defense

Down by the Beach AO3 Link Danny Phantom x The Owl House

“That’s an amazing sandcastle.”

Collector whirled round, stunned to find that someone had managed to sneak up on him. It was a white haired girl who felt as human as much as she felt of death and power.

“Do you wanna play hide and go seek with me? I bet we’d have so much fun!” Collector blurted out starry eyed.

Fortunately, the white haired girl didn’t look fazed at all at the sudden fervent invitation.

“Yeah sure, you’re it!” she grinned widely. “Don’t forget to count to 100!” Then she zipped away, soaring into the air, her legs now a ghostly tail trailing behind her. The Collector blinked before giggling. He closed his eyes and started counting.

“98, 99, 100! Ready or not, here I come!” The Collector opened his eyes. Of course the beach was empty when Collector gave a quick scan of the immediate area. Then he levitated into the air to get that sweet bird’s eye view. He couldn’t find anything in the Electromagnetic Spectrum for miles around. He switched over to heat vision and then x-ray. But still nada.

“Oh, she is good!” the Collector praised as he soared through the sky on his flying starboard.

“I FOUND YOU!”

“But now you gotta tag me”

…

“No fair, the ocean is so cold!”

“Oh you think this is cold? I’ll show you cold.”

…

“I call hacks!”

“What for?”

“Animating your sandcastle into a walking fortress is totally unfair.”

“I don’t want to hear that after you froze the ocean. With ME INSIDE IT!”

...

“Listen, you can hear the ocean's roar inside,” frog crouching down next to a tide pool, Dani cupped a beautiful exotic conch shell to her ear. Hovering cross-legged beside her, Collector mimed turning a hand crank; amplifying the echoing sound so that he could hear it too.

“I’m gonna add this to my collection,” Dani declared whilst admiring the shell, it glimmered a fierce red and spooky silver.

“You have a Collection?” the Collector asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I‘ve got all kinds of cool rocks and souvenirs from all over the realms. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah, totally, of course.”

“I mean it’s back at my place, but you can come over.”

“I can?” the Collector’s voice cracked.

“Obvsi,” Dani teased in a ‘duh’ voice, “we’re friends”

“AWESOME!” the Collector yelled giddily into the bright blue sky. This was the first time in his entire existence he had been invited over to a friend’s home. “Whatcha doin’?”

Dani was currently holding some kind of hand device. It looked really funny. It was slab with buttons and a screen.

“I’m calling for a portal pickup” Dani explained.

“With that?! But what is it?”

Dani blinked in surprise, “It’s a long distance communication device called a mobile phone.”

“What, like a crow phone?” Collector cocked his head in curiosity.

Dani squints, “Maybe?” she draws out, “what’s a crow phone?”

“It’s a long distance communication device but it’s shaped like crow”

Dani shrugs, “then probably”, she looks back at her phone. “Hmm a portal should appear any second now.”

Just as she said that, Collector felt his ears pop as reality suddenly burst, like a pin in a helium balloon. Suddenly, a green swirly portal formed in front of him.

“That’s actually really cool,” Collector admits.

“Yeah c’mon,” Dani led the way through the portal.

Collector eyes widened at the Palace of Death, Ice, and Celestial Beauty floating before him, imposing and haunting against a backdrop of abyssal Cosmic Space.

“You live here?! Are you a princess? Where’s your tiara?” Collector asked, rapid fire.

“I’m not wearing it, yes I am, yes I do.”

The Collector looked around, his head on a swivel. “This place is so cool!”

Dani looked over at the Collector’s star themed outfit, “Yeah I had feeling you might like it,” she smiled. She flew up to her bedroom’s window, up in her tower, with the Collector following behind her as they entered in.

Taking up one entire wall, were shelves of her collections and souvenirs from her travels across the realms and Dani gleefully showed it off.

BANG!

The door to Dani’s bedroom slammed open and Dan was standing there in all his asshole glory. Dan looked down with all his stupid height at the two little kids in the room who looked back up at him.

Dani glared up at her brother’s intrusion. W̴̡̛͍͚̳͊͌H̶̦͑A̸͎̩͇͂̓T̷̞̻͖̜͑̾̉͝?̶͚̩̍̆͊!̸̳̱̐̓ ̷̞͙̀ (leave-get-out-get-out) (anger- confusion-disdain) she silently scowled in ghost-speak.

BANG!

Gone, Dan slammed the door behind him. There was a moment of confusion and surprise. Then heard hollered throughout the Palace,

“DANI HAS A BOY IN HER BEDROOM!!!”

Dani’s face was aghast. The Collector’s was bewildered. They could hear the building thunder of a stampeding herd of wildebeests.

BANG!

“Oh look, Dani brought her first friend over,” cooed Jazz.

Danny firmly denied the sight in front of him. “No! No! You’re too young to be bringing boys over!”

“Oooh who gets to do the shovel talk?” Dan cackled.

“Sam” “Sam” “Me” Tucker, Jazz, and Sam said together.

“What about me?! I’m the Ghost King! I’m her Father!”

“Yeah,” Tucker acknowledges, “but Sam’s the scariest.��

“Excuse you, I’m right here,” Dan protested.

Sam rolled her eyes, “Yeah but you’re not gonna bother.”

“... nah you’re right,” Dan shrugged.

“No wait, hang on, I can too be scary. I can be very scary.”

“Danny, you have multiple times needed either Sam or I to correct your order when you receive the wrong one,” Jazz pointed out.

“OK!” Danny blustered. “This and that are two different things!”

“Sorry bro, just take the L. You’ve been outvoted.” Tucker rested a commiserating hand on Danny’s morose shoulder.

“Anyway” Jazz cheered, “it’s very nice to meet you…”

“The Collector” the boy introduced himself feeling shy all of sudden.

“It’s very nice to meet you, the Collector. Nevermind the noise, you’ll always be welcome here.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Collector sheepishly replied.

“ALRIGHT,” Dani started yelling, “OUT, OUT”, she shouted as she pushed her family out of her bedroom. “I’m so sorry,” Dani apologised to the bemused-looking Collector, “my family is so embarrassing,”

“You better keep the door open!”

“DANNY!”

@lexosaurus

#dp side hoes week 2024 #crossover danuary 2024 #danny phantom #dani phantom #the owl house #the collecter toh

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em1e · 11 months

Text

mercenary. | 2.1 k words

╰ the ruler of the black dragon kingdom helps you escape your fate. ⚠︎ more tensions and plot building :3c, minor character death ♡ series m.list

in a month’s time, you’re to be married to kisaki.

you offered your own arguments; that emma from the black dragon’s kingdom was married triple that after you’d received the invitation, but your father dismisses it as nothing in relation to you.

“she is wed to her knight,” he’d say distastefully, “there is no reason to be like her in any sorts; it’s too improper of a princess.” you heard her wedding was beautiful. you were forbidden from attending.

a month is all you have to prepare, plan, escape.

your father passes in the time between preparations, his dying wish for you to have a happy wedding with king kisaki; it leaves your brother as acting ruler until the marriage is official.

yet not a soul knows of the letters you’d been exchanging with king shinichiro, practically begging for asylum in his kingdom; you think it helps that emma is your friend, because he agrees only if you have the means to make the trip, if it’s something you’re certain of doing.

he’s kind enough to help arrange a guide of sorts, someone to aid you in your travels and get you across the borders in one piece. he notes his own distrust for king kisaki, how he dislikes his rise to power relying on blood and murder and other underhanded means, and believes as you do that your disappearance would prevent corruption of your own kingdom.

it’s the nightfall before you’re set to marry kisaki.

the wedding dress that had been painstakingly tailored and sewn with beautiful, expensive laces from kingdoms all over sits prettily in the corner of your chambers, almost mocking you on its stand.

and you have a bag packed as neatly as possible, rations you’d snuck from the kitchen, rupees and coins and jewelry you can bear to live without sit in a pouch tied to your waist, tucked under one of the many layers in your thin dress.

a note you’d spent the last week writing and rewriting is left on your untouched bed, covers remaining as they were this morning when it was remade.

everything is accounted for and in order, and right as king shinichiro promised, the guide climbs in through your open window just as the clocktower strikes midnight.

twelve rings, and he is crouched at your feet in a bow, dark scarf over his face and head with a matching tunic aiding to blend him in with the night. you open your mouth to greet him, only to be stopped at the sound of your door being pushed open.

it’s a first, you think, for baji to enter without knocking.

and you also think maybe he looks more surprised than you do, a plate of fresh pastries in his hand as he takes in the sight of the stranger still low to the ground, far too close to be anything considered unthreatening.

the plate is dropped to the floor in tandem with your guide standing to his full height. by the time the porcelain shatters to the ground, they’re both drawing their swords, and your guide is stepping in front of you almost protectively, a hand out behind him to ensure you keep your distance.

“your highness?” baji questions, eyes flitting to you and how you don’t seem to move from the intruder.

you step between them despite your guide’s placement meant to keep you away, and he clicks his tongue in disagreement, “i’d hate to ruin whatever moment this is, but we only have a five minute window princess.”

baji stiffens, uncaring for the way the title slips from the stranger's tongue.

“(y/n)?” he says instead, begging for an answer, an explanation, and as quickly as you can manage you break down your plans, the reasoning behind them.

how you and king shinichiro agree that your disappearance would mean kazutora would remain king, and with the letter you’ve written, your brother should withdraw the wedding as acting ruler. how he would be a far better ruler, anyways, that it’s something he deserves.

“i cannot marry kisaki,” you finish with a frown, “i will not see my home torn down like the many kingdoms he’s rampaged through.”

baji takes in your face earnestly, before he sighs and sheaths his sword, careful to not cut into the fabric of his tunic. you visibly relax, and you hear your guide's sword also finds place back in its sheath, looking over your shoulder to see he’s peeking his head outside the window.

“ready, princess?”

you nod, despite him not looking at you, reaching down to grab your bag only for baji to take it from you and swing it over his shoulder.

“baji-?”

“pardon the abruptness,” baji apologizes, though a small toothy smile forms on his lips, “but as your knight, i cannot allow your life to be in the hands of this . . stranger.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the guide is quick to wave it off, closing the window and drawing the curtains, “that is something to discuss when we are out of the castle’s walls, we need to leave now while the guards are mid-shift change. you know the corridors well, don’t you?”

you nod, “there’s a passage for the maids at the end of this hall, and they all connect. most lead to the outside.”

“perfect,” the fabric shifts on the stranger’s face; if you had to guess, he was smiling under the mask, “lead the way, princess.”

baji, instead, takes the lead by guiding the three of you through the castle halls, down the corridor, until you reach the end wall. just as you said, there’s a smaller wooden door the two have to crouch under to avoid bumping their heads, until they disappear into the dark of the tunnel.

it’s nostalgic, and almost sad how you may never see these walls you’ve grown up in if things don’t go how you want them to, how you need them to. your fingers run along the worn wood of the door with a small frown.

“(y/n)?”

you freeze at the voice, closing the door quickly out of fear of the two with you being caught as well, spinning on your heel to see your brother staring at you with a tilted head.

“what are you doing up so late?”

“i could ask you the same,” you offer softly, stepping away from the door to meet him halfway, “was going to the kitchen, didn’t want to take the main stairs in case . .”

he seems to understand what you mean without you saying, nodding his head. it’s quiet a moment, his eyes trailing from you to the still slightly ajar door, “remember when we were kids and we would play hide ‘n seek with baji?” he recalls fondly, “you’d always run through the maids' tunnels, and we’d get in trouble because we would get lost.”

you smile at the memory, looking down at your feet, “you two would always run into the maids, too. it would make them drop whatever they were holding.”

he lights up with his own smile, hand finding itself atop your hair and ruffling it in a way that big brother’s do, “‘m sorry you have to do this for the kingdom,” he says finally, “but i’m certain it can work itself out. maybe king kisaki is not all that bad.”

“you speak as if you’ve held long talks with him.” you mumble bitterly. he notes your distaste for your future husband and pulls you into his side with a small frown.

“your mother would be disappointed to see you so upset.” he speaks quietly. you hit him lightly on his side in disagreement.

“our mother,” you argue, “she never liked you referring to her as anything but.”

kazutora pulls away from you slightly, just enough for you to see the way a small smile makes its way back to his lips, “you are right and it is late. go get your snacks and head straight to bed, yeah?”

you hum, pulling him into another hug and holding him there for a moment longer than necessary, the very real reality of this possibly being the last time you could see him settling in when he wraps his arms around you.

“it’s going to be okay,” he assures with a pat to your back, “now go.”

to emphasize this, he pushes you towards the door you previously shut.

“goodnight, kazu.” you whisper.

“goodnight, (y/n).” he returns before you’re pulling open the door and sliding behind it into the dark.

you sigh heavily once in the safety of the tunnels, taking a step away from the door and bumping into a warm body. a yelp almost passes your lips, if not for the gloved hand that presses itself to your mouth, your guide shhhing you before a sound can be let out. when you nod, he retracts his hand.

“sorry,” you continue whispering, “we’ll follow this hall until it ends and then take two rights and a left. it will take us to the stables.”

“baji explained it to me.” he parrots the way you whisper, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you, quick to cover your mouth on your own.

“didn’t realize you two were on a name basis.” you can’t help the tease in your voice. baji clicks his tongue.

“it is just from you saying it, your highness,” he sighs, “he refused to tell me on his own.”

“it’s not important.” your guide argues dismissively, taking the initiative to get the three of you moving forward. down the hall, two rights and a left, and he’s pushing open a gated door leading to the stables, exactly as you said.

though, the passageways is the farthest your secret knowledge in the kingdom goes; you know nothing of the streets of the village, nor the unfamiliar ways to get around without being noticed.

baji and your guide, however, seem well versed in sneaking throughout the area. a little too well, if how easily they slide behind stalls and barrels and houses when a guards light flashes in your direction. you gracelessly stumble behind them, barely ducking away from the ray of the lantern in time and surely giving the two a heart attack from the stress you put them under.

it’s only when the three of you are deep in the woods surrounding the kingdom that the two seem to relax. baji managed to sneak into the portion of your bag with your rations and was helping himself to a piece of bread you’d packed, holding the baked good above your head as a taunt and ignoring the way you argue you’d packed that for yourself, not him.

and as annoying as it may be, it brings that hint of nostalgia back to your chest. to a time where baji was only a friend to you and kazutora, not a knight assigned to you at the age of thirteen, not someone only referring to you as your highness or princess, but your name; because he was your friend, first and foremost, though it had become ingrained in him that you were royalty and only royalty.

shuffling to your right leaves you distracted from the thought (and from trying to take the half-eaten bread from baji). your guide, unwrapping the fabric from his head to reveal dark black hair and . . oh . . oh.

your steps stutter to a stop as you take in his features from the minimal light of the lantern in his hands.

“you’re . . chifuyu matsuno,” you state when he turns to see why you’ve slowed down. “i’ve seen photos of you.” wanted photos, you want to add.

baji turns as well to see what you could be talking about, brows furrowing before they shoot upwards, drawing his sword, “you’re the mercenary the other kingdoms have been warning us of.”

chifuyu’s own brows furrow, head tilting unimpressively at baji’s sword, “yeah? king shinichiro hired me to ensure you make it to his kingdom – ‘ve been pardoned there since i’ve only killed the corrupt and the like. i have no reason to end either of you here.”

you glance to baji, almost uncertain, before you nod your head, “okay, i trust you.”

“what?” baji’s sword remains pointed at chifuyu, though his surprised look is fixed on you, “how can you be so certain?”

“he could’ve killed me in my chambers.” you shrug, “and i trust king shinichiro.”

baji clicks his tongue, sheathing the sword but narrowing his eyes to chifuyu, “try anything and you’re as good as dead.”

chifuyu smiles, eyes lighting up at the challenge, “wouldn’t dream of it.”

#salmon rowe #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #keisuke baji x reader #keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #x reader

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partlystiles · 1 year

Note

Hey uhh. Can you make a part 2 of Barty and reader talking about their dads but this time they meet in the future and hoe reader died? I sort of need some angst

PT 1

barty crouch jr x fem!reader

summary: a run-in with a relative of someone from his past makes Barty's head turn.

Warnings: swearing, use of alcohol, mentions of death.

sorry it's been a while!

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

My dearest Barty,

Enclosed in this letter is an Occamy feather for you! You better like it because I nearly died getting it for you, I had to resort to the mating dance and screeching loudly so it wouldn't attack. They are very aggressive and protective over their eggs, just like I knew but I can't believe I managed to tame one.

Of course I didn't manage to get an egg, but I have a drawing of it in my case that I will bring back to you and tell you all about.

India is so much fun! I've learned Bollywood dancing, visited a lot of the temples, trekked in the Himalayans to get to the Occamy of course. I even came during Diwali and everything is so beautiful!

I wish you were here with me. You'd love the dancing, even if you think you wouldn't, I know it. I'll be home soon, happily back with you. Little Elijah or Eleanor, whichever one it is, has been kicking for their daddy. Misses you almost as much as I do.

I know you had your doubts about me going to India whilst five months pregnant but I've run into no trouble whatsoever, just a little kick here and there but you were there for the first one. It should be about 4 more days until I'm back and I'm so excited!

I'm hoping that everything is okay back home. I know there's been more recent disappearances, even Regulus Black. Poor boy. He was so nice to me, I can't imagine how his brother is feeling. As long as you're safe then I'm happy, very happy.

Four months until our baby comes into the world!

Boat is boarding soon, so I'll go post this letter now. I love you so much! See you soon.

Y/N x

Bartemius Crouch read the letter over and over again. And then again. Until he felt numb inside, numb all over until somebody had to physically force him out of his chair, let alone out of his house. His heart was shattered, crawling back together to try and attach itself again, but it didn't work. Everything just crumpled again, crumpled like the letter in Barty's hand that was stained with blood, tears and sweat.

Multiple times it had been fished out of the garbage, multiple times he had tried to smooth all of the wrinkles back out of the paper so he could read it one more time. Multiple times he had been on the verge of incinerating every inky last word...but he never did. Because he could never ever get rid of her, the thought of her, the knowledge of her. Her and his baby who was never ever birthed.

Little Elijah or Eleanor never met their daddy and their daddy never got to look into the eyes of his child and softly rock them from side to side whilst singing them to sleep. It was a loss greater than anything, but nothing will ever be greater than the loss of his wife. His sun, his moon, his eclipse. Without her, his nights were darkened, his days were lost and Bartemius Crouch Junior withered away in his grand house, wishing his love was still in his arms.

However, a knock at the door interrupted his nightmare of a daydream. A grunt escaped his lips at the sound of it, his hand's grip on his glass of alcohol tightening at the rim as his other hand wiped at his spiked stubble around his chin in an uninterested gleam.

"Go away." Barty raised his voice a little, stumbling up from his dishevelled armchair and letting the rest of the letter from his wife's travel that sat on his lap fall to the wooden floor below him. "No one's home."

As he tried to stumble away again, tipping the last of the alcohol down his throat, he heard his door open anyway. Despite the obvious want of not having someone with him at that current time, he could hear footsteps behind him, entering the grand room with an air of purpose and especially an air of arrogance.

"I said GO AWAY." Barty swivelled around, chucking his glass at the doorway that the person was stood in. They didn't flinch at all, but the glass smashed above the archway and the shattered pieces fell down to the floor. "Fucking...fuckin bitch. Fuckin leave."

"Mr. Crouch, please." The man in the doorway removed his hat from his head, holding it in front of him as he watched the broken man trip around his drawing room, walking to his fireplace. "I'm here to talk about my daughter. I believe you knew her. Her name was Y/N."

At once, Barty paused in his place beside the fireplace, his hand grappled on the mantelpiece as his eyes narrowed into fierce slits at the mention of the name. The man grunted drunkenly again, shaking his head as his hands slapped against the mantelpiece multiple times before he decided to hit his head instead.

"Don't..." He drawled, his voice like gravel scraping against his vocal chords before he looked at the man in the doorway. The man had a shadow cast over his face but the firelight highlighting his nose told Barty that he was a spitting image of his dear Y/N. "Don't act like you fuckin' cared about...about her. I know what you did."

"I-I didn't do anything. My girl ran away when she was 17...I've been trying to find her for years. They led me here."

"Well, you're about a year too late, old man." Barty chuckled darkly, pushing himself away from the fireplace to swipe his bottle of alcohol off of his coffee table, pouring a hefty bit into a new glass. "She's dead."

"I was afraid of that." The man sighed, shaking his head and Barty downed about half of his drink before squinting and facing the man again. This time with more suspicion as he began to wring his hat in his hands. "She always was reckless. Running off, wanting to explore the world when I had a perfectly good job lined up for her at the ministry."

"Maybe she didn't want to be a fucking brainless clone." Barty spat, placing his glass down on the table before running his hands through his growing hair and over his face disappointedly. "And why the hell did it take you five fucking years to go looking for her? Ask anyone, it would've led you to me. You wanna fucking know why?"

"I don't-"

"I was the one who convinced her to run away." He whispered comically, pointing to himself with a crazed laugh as his lover's father straightened up a little at the amusement Barty was taking. "Right after I put a ring on her finger, we ran all the way to fucking Glasglow and got married in a stable. How's that for your precious little girl?"

"You drove my daughter away from me!" The man walked towards Barty, who picked up his glass and downed the rest of the alcohol before turning until he was chest to chest with the man. "She could've had a great life. A great job with a great salary and a great husband with a son and a daughter. You took that from her?"

"You drove her away from you yourself!" Barty stumbled more, but poked a finger onto the man's chest anyway, eyeing his own wand on the table just metres away. "It was her dream to travel the world and that's exactly what I...what I let her do, what I encouraged her to do. She was fucking happy, fuckin' joyful. With me. With my child inside of her. But of course you and your fucking ministry can't leave a man alone for two seconds-"

"You see, she was coming home from India, 5 months pregnant with my baby- and she- and she, she was on the same boat as another Death Eater. I didn't even know the guy that well. You ministry Aurors showed up, and she was caught in the crossfire. She died. My baby died. My whole life was ripped away from me because of YOU. YOU AND YOUR FUCKING- YOU'RE FUCKING..."

"Spit it out, son." The ministry worker said, stepping back from the boy as Barty reached into his pocket and yanked out her goodbye letter, crumpling it again in his hand before he looked back at the man, quivering with rage.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE. GO." He shoved his hands out, hitting the man away from him, but the elder one didn't even budge as Barty's weak drunken form pushed and pushed at the body. "GET OUT. SHE WOULDN'T WANT YOU HERE. LEAVE. Fuckin-"

Bartemius reached his hand out, bending down in his pause from slapping his late wife's father to walk over to the coffee table where his wand sat. He picked up his wand, pointing it at the man in front of him who now did stumble backwards at the sight of the crazed man threatening him with his wand. Although it seemed as though Barty couldn't get a clear shot.

"Avada Kedavra." A blinding flash of light and a thud reverberated around the room as Barty was left alone, stumbling again though he didn't bother to pour himself another drink, he just grabbed the bottle and let it slide down his throat. "Fuckin' bitch, freakin' fucker...

... I want my baby."

#the marauders era #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch junior imagine #the marauders x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter

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jinxedruby · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump Day Twenty-Six: "Help them"

Featuring Sky and Wind.

Heads up for some violence in this one.

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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

“Someone, help, please!”

Sky’s spine jerked straight at the call as he spun around toward the voice. A woman stumbled through the cliffs, hair whipping about her head as she looked around, eyes wide. She clutched her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Sky exchanged a glance with Wind, who he’d been scouting with, before they ran over to meet the woman.

“Ma’am!” Sky called as they approached.

The woman’s head snapped to them and her eyes somehow grew even wider. She staggered toward them, tripping over loose rocks on the way but managing to catch herself. She ran headlong into Sky, gripping his arm with her free hand and staring up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, you have to help!”

Sky took a step back to better his balance, lifting his hands to her arms to support her. “Okay, just take a deep breath, tell us what happened.”

The woman nodded jerkily, drawing in a shaky breath as Wind dug around in his pouch for a bandage. “I-I was traveling with my- my friends, and- and we were attacked by monsters!” She swallowed hard, took another breath. “N-none of us are very good fighters. I man-managed to get away, but they’re still back there!”

“We can help,” Wind said, pulling out a bandage. “But we should take care of your arm fir-“

“There’s no time!” the woman cried, pushing away from Sky and starting back the way she came. “I-I’ve only been gone a few minutes but my friends could be…”

Wind nodded and tucked the bandages back into his pouch as he and Sky hurried to follow the woman. She wove through the natural paths between the rock formations, occasionally glancing back to make sure Sky and Wind were still behind her. After she did it a few times, Sky noticed she was only looking at him. He frowned on the sailor’s behalf, assuming she thought he wouldn’t be as much help due to being younger. They turned another corner, the rocks rising higher around them, the passage they went through narrowing. The woman slowed to a stop.

“Do you remember where your friends are, ma’am?” Sky asked a bit breathlessly, glancing around. Dragging in air had grown a tad more difficult after the run, but he’d certainly handled worse. The cliffs rose high on either side of them, eroded bits of rock piling at the base and scattering across the path.

“Oh, they’re around,” the woman said. She didn’t sound out of breath at all.

“Sky,” Wind hissed.

Sky glanced at him to see the sailor facing behind them, a hand on his sword, expression shifting into a scowl. Sky turned to see two men behind them, in similar traveling clothes to the woman. He narrowed his eyes, lifting his hand toward the Master Sword.

“That’s a fancy sword you got there.”

He spun back around at the woman’s calm and smooth voice, a stark contrast to all her stuttering earlier. She leaned her weight onto one leg, hand propped on her hip as she watched him with her head cocked. She wasn’t holding her injured arm anymore. A grin crawled onto her features. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we take a look at it?”

Sky’s hand closed around the hilt. “I do mind, actually.”

The woman’s grin widened. “Shame.”

A puff of red smoke enveloped the woman followed by a flurry of paper slips. She darted through the smoke with a laugh, suddenly dressed in a skin-tight red and black uniform, a white mask with a painted red eye covering her face. Sky pulled out his shield just in time to block her attack, a sickle clanging against the metal. He heard two twin puffs from behind him. Wind swiftly stepped back-to-back with him, pulling out his sword and shield. The woman jumped backwards, crouching low and twirling the sickle in her hand. Sky unsheathed his sword and she darted toward him again, sunlight gleaming off her weapon. He raised his shield to block. She vanished in a plume of white smoke just before making contact. His eyes darted around, straining his ears to listen for her to reappear. A huff of air signaled her reappearance and he spun to his right, blocking the blow aimed for his neck and returning the strike with a slash. She darted out of the way. He thrust the sword toward her and she skipped backwards. Then she crouched low, weapon tensed at her side, and sprinted toward him. His eyes widened, the familiarity of the move startling him out of his wits for a moment. He recovered just as she reached him, snapping his shield out in the same moment she attacked. She yelped and staggered back as the parry knocked her off balance. He struck, cutting a gash across her upper leg. She hissed and vanished again.

Sky took a breath, threw a glance over his shoulder to check on Wind. The sailor fended off the two men, both of them wearing the same outfit and mask as the woman. One held a sickle, the other held a striped bow curved in a unique shape. He couldn’t look for long, the woman reappearing and dashing at him once again. She slashed and he parried, scoring another cut across her middle. She stumbled back, free hand pressed to the wound. She hovered just out of reach of his blade, strafing back and forth. He carefully followed her movements, hand secure around the hilt of the Master Sword.

“Shit!”

Wind’s shout occurred a single moment before two arrows slammed into the back of Sky’s leg, just above his knee. He cried out as his leg buckled beneath him, leaving him struggling to stay standing. In the distraction, the woman darted in and slashed. He tried to lift his shield but she attacked before he could, the point of her sickle ripping through the crook of his right arm. He gritted his teeth and swung his sword. The pain slowed him enough for her to easily dodge out of harm’s way. He wanted to look back and check if Wind was okay, but the woman was already running at him again. Her sickle slammed against his shield and she teleported to his right. He spun and blocked her, pain burning through the arrow wounds. She teleported again immediately, forcing him to whirl around a third time. Then she did it again, and again, not giving him a chance to get an attack in. He let out a slow breath as he blocked yet another blow, narrowing his focus to her movements, trying to find a pattern. She always chose to attack from whatever side he was facing farthest from, making him expend as much energy as possible when turning to defend. When she appeared on his right, he deliberately overextended, turning too far to block. As expected, the hiss of air came from far to his left. He tensed his shield arm and whipped around without looking first. His shield bashed against her weapon with a sharp CLANG. She shouted as the force of the parry ripped the sickle from her hands, sending it clattering against the cliff wall. With a grunt, he lunged forward and swung his sword toward her side. She put her hands together and teleported away just as the blade began digging into her skin. She didn’t reappear.

Sky turned to check on Wind, air dragging through his throat, stinging in his lungs. Two arrows pinged off of Wind’s shield before the sailor twisted to attack the man approaching him from the side. Sky could feel blood soaking into his pants, pain blooming from the two arrows still embedded in his flesh, but the adrenaline did a good job keeping the pain from being crippling. He moved forward to help with the remaining enemies. Red slips of paper fluttered over Wind’s head. Sky dove before he could consciously process what was happening, instinctively recognizing the attack. He shoved Wind out of the way just as the woman appeared above them, plummeting with her sickle pointed down. The curve bit into the flesh between his neck and left shoulder, where his chainmail didn’t cover. Pain seared through the wound as the blade dug in deep, the woman’s feet landing on his back and shoving him to the ground.

His chin knocked painfully against the dirt but he hardly felt it in comparison to the sickle ripping out of his shoulder. He heard himself and Wind shout, his vision whiting for a moment as blood poured from the wound, soaking through his sailcloth, dripping onto the ground. Then the weight on his back shifted and the woman hooked the sickle under his chin, pressing it against his throat.

“Sky!” Wind yelled, moving toward him.

“Stay where you are!” the woman roared, pulling up on the sickle and letting the blade cut into the skin of Sky’s neck. Wind froze, wide eyes darting between Sky and the woman. The woman’s breath came in sharp gasps, the sickle trembling slightly against Sky’s throat. “We just want this one’s sword. Then you boys can be on your way.”

Sky tightened his grip on the Master Sword subconsciously, scowling. One of the men moved around Sky, heading for the sword. Sky jerked it closer to his body as the man reached for it. The woman tugged the sickle tighter around his throat, leaning down to speak in his ear.

“Let it go or you will die,” she hissed. Sky’s scowl deepened.

“Sky,” Wind said, making Sky look up toward him. The sailor’s eyes remained wide, staring at the sky knight. “Sky, do what she says.”

Sky gaped at Wind for a moment. The corner of Wind’s mouth twitched. His gaze darted up before coming back to Sky. Sky blinked. He had no idea what Wind was trying to communicate, but it was clearly something. Did that mean Wind had some sort of plan? Sky glanced at the Master Sword clutched in his hand. He bit his lip. Then, with monumental effort, he uncurled his fingers from around it.

“Good choice,” the woman said and Sky had to stuff down the urge to snatch up the sword again. “How did you manage to steal it, anyway?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Sky hissed, glaring up toward the woman. He couldn’t quite look at her with how she crouched on his back, but he figured it was close enough. The woman snorted at his response, nodding toward the man. He bent down to pick up the Master Sword. The moment his fingers touched the hilt, purple flames erupted from it. He yelped, yanking his hand back. Sky smirked as the man rubbed his hand, looking down at the blade in what was most likely a glare.

“The hell was that?” the man growled, glancing up at the woman.

“It’s not yours to wield!” Wind snapped. He remained on the balls of his feet, phantom sword clutched in hand, looking ready to pounce and tackle the woman off of Sky if it weren’t for the sickle biting against the chosen hero’s throat.

“It didn’t burn him, though!” the man retorted.

“That’s because it’s mine,” Sky said. Tiny black specks had taken up residence in the edges of his vision, the wound in his shoulder filling with needles. He ignored both.

The woman drew her face closer to Sky’s, the unblinking gaze of the mask boring into him. “No, it’s not,” she eventually said. “Your hair’s too dark. And you’re too tall.”

Before Sky could figure out what that meant, the man yelped again. He reeled back from the sword, a cloth clutched in hand.

“Yeah. Hold it with something. That’ll work,” Wind said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe you should try something thicker. Put on another pair of gloves.”

“Shut up, brat!” the man snarled, shaking out his burned hand. He gestured toward Sky. “Why don’t we make the k-“

His words cut off as three arrows buried themselves in his back. The woman cursed as the man crumpled, tensing the sickle around Sky’s throat. Panic spiked in his gut. Then an arrow stabbed through her forearm, forcing her to release her grip on the sickle with a yell. The moment she dropped it, Wind darted forward in a blur of blue, slamming into her and tackling her to the ground. Sky jumped up the moment she was gone. At least, he tried to. Lightheadedness filled him and gravity tipped, sending him to his hands and knees. He blinked as the black specks turned to splotches, encroaching on the center of his vision. Blearily, he looked toward his shoulder as fire filled the wound. His sailcloth had turned a deep red, saturated with blood to the point of dripping. A small puddle of his blood sat on the ground where he’d been lying. He blinked again, brow furrowing.

“Link!” one of the men roared, drawing Sky’s attention away from his wound. He looked up through blurry vision to see a blob of blue and blond at the top of one of the cliffs. He squinted, focusing enough to recognize Wild kneeling with his bow drawn, firing down at the enemies. At the edge of his vision, he spotted the Master Sword. He made his way toward it, trying and failing to stand and settling for crawling the short distance. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and drew the weapon toward his chest, falling back into a seated position and apologizing to Fi under his breath for letting her go. Boots scuffled before him and he looked up to see Wind battling against the man that had tried picking up the Master Sword. The sailor ducked under a swing and lunged forward, whipping his sword around and plunging it into the man’s thigh. The man gave a strangled shout then brought his hands together, vanishing in a puff of red smoke. Wind whirled around, breathing hard, eyes darting around the cliffs. Wild jumped down, landing beside him. He said something that didn’t quite make it to Sky’s ears then suddenly they both crouched in front of him, grabbing at his good shoulder, holding him up. He hadn’t even realized he’d begun tipping over.

“Hold on, Sky, I’ve got an elixir,” Wild said, setting his bow down and digging around in his pouch. His voice sounded muffled and far away. Sky bobbed his head in response, but the time between seconds stretched and he probably nodded longer than he needed to. The rest of his body felt cold in comparison to the burning. Something tapped incessantly against his knee until he looked up into Wind’s worried face. He said something that sounded like ‘arrows’, pointing to Sky’s leg. Sky nodded again, not quite understanding. Then twin bursts of pain tore through his leg as Wind ripped the arrows out and awareness slammed back into him. He yelped through gritted teeth as Wild pried one of his hands away from the Master Sword and pressed cool glass into his palm. The awareness began to fade just as quickly as it came but it lasted long enough for him to clumsily drink the potion, drops spilling from the corners of his mouth. He sighed after finishing it, the pain seeping out of his wounds as they closed. A hand squeezed his uninjured shoulder and he lifted his gaze to see Wild watching him with a worried expression.

“Alright, Sky?” he asked.

Sky nodded slowly, lifting a hand to his head at the dizziness the motion caused. “Yeah, just… just dizzy,” he mumbled.

Wild pursed his lips. “That Yiga did a number on you, huh?”

“Yiga?” Sky thought that sounded familiar but the blood loss made it difficult to put together a coherent train of thought.

“Oh, those are the guys that are after you?” Wind asked Wild. Ah. That’s why it sounded familiar.

Wild nodded. “Yeah. They must’ve seen the Master Sword, and…” He shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “Anyway, I’m glad I made it here in time.”

“Me too.” Wind stood up as well then they each took one of Sky’s arms and helped him up. He staggered as a wave of dizziness crashed over him but they were able to keep him on his feet. He distantly realized he held the Master Sword in the hand Wind had grabbed and tugged his arm from the sailor to put it away. Once he did, they began walking. It took a bit for them to adjust to the slightly awkward hold since Sky was taller than both of them. Eventually, they figured out a decent strategy, walking out of the narrow passage and back the way they came.

“We’ll meet up with the others so you can rest,” Wild said while Wind nodded. Sky hummed in response, the world still spinning slightly around him. Rest sounded good.

#linked universe #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #ruby writes #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #lu sky #lu wind #this is now the length of a novel but it's all just lu whump #well now I know I'm capable of completing nanowrimo if I really put my mind to it lol #may or may not have booted up botw just to find a disguised yiga just to verify the color of the smoke

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allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 17 days

Note

For Day 6: how about a role swap au where NHS is a Jin bastard and JGY is a Nie? I feel like that could encompass many of the prompts.

I hope you feel better soon! Please take it easy, we'll still be here later. ❤️

Blanking out the mocking laughter as best he could, A-Sang quietly knelt down and pulled the rag from his belt to clean the food off the floor and collect the scattered golden dishes, inwardly hoping none of them were dented.

He still had bruises from the last time.

"Hey, brat, you forgot a cup," one of the disciples said, and experience made him immediately close his eyes to keep from getting wine in them when the cup was slapped upside down onto his head, earning more raucous laughter.

He took a shallow breath and let it back out; if he started coughing now, things would get worse before they got better.

"Now, now," a hatedly familiar voice said in all fake kindness as an equally hated large hand clapped down on the back of his neck with enough force that he almost started coughing anyway. "It's not the little cousin's fault he's so clumsy. If his mother had been from better stock-"

He didn't hear the rest of it over the wheeze in his chest and the humming that was building up in his ears.

It didn't matter whether he heard it or not anyway; the insults were always the same.

When he came back to himself, they had, to his relief, gotten bored of him and moved on to more entertaining things. Picking up the tray of dishes and sticking the filthy rag back in his belt to be exchanged at the kitchen, he made his escape.

Where he was reasonably sure most sects would probably pretend to treat their servants better when they had guests to impress, the inner disciples of his sect always made a point to spend the first day of any multi-day meeting reminding him just how low in the pecking order he was, lest he get any wild ideas like, say, talking to any of the guests.

As if he'd ever dare.

Gaze locked on the ground in front of him so that his hair hid his eyes from outside view, he turned a corner towards the kitchen, only to unexpectedly smack into someone.

Stumbling slightly, he tried to rebalance the tray before the couple of dishes that weren't-quite-empty could topple off, only to freeze in horror when they spilled on the other person's boots and the hems of their robes.

---

Nie Xunyao really hated visiting Koi Tower, and had since the first time he'd been brought along with his father and Da-ge. Everything about the place made his back teeth itch with the urge to bite the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he would have almost managed to give up just in time for another visit.

The only remotely tolerable thing about being stuck in this den of pompous assholes was Jin Zixuan, who at least tried to be sociable with him, and whose inability to do so managed to be endearing instead of annoying.

But Jin Zixuan had been dragged off by his mother for only the heavens knew what -probably so she'd have someone to complain about his father to again, given past experience- which had left him to make his way back to his guest room to bury himself in one of the books he'd brought along to stave off boredom until his brother called for him to come to the next meeting.

He'd been so lost in his annoyance that he hadn't heard someone coming from the hall crossways to the one he was traveling until they collided at the corner, a bowl and several other overly-opulent dishes tumbling from the servant's tray to crash loudly to the floor, splattering his clothes in the process.

The servant went statue-still, then dropped to his knees with a hiss of alarm and pressed his face to the floor.

"T-this one is sorry, gongzi! Please allow-"

Recovering his wits, Nie Xunyao crouched to pat the poor thing on the back before he could truly work himself into a panic.

"It's fine, it's fine, no harm done," he said soothingly, then involuntarily wrinkled his nose when his hand accidentally brushed the servant's messy hair and found it sticky and wet. Drawing his hand back, he surreptitiously waved it close to his face and caught the unmistakeable scent of plum wine.

Ah. Small wonder he was such a nervous wreck, if he'd already encountered such a punishment so recently.

Another reason he hated this place. True, servants were sometimes punished at home, but never for something so petty, and an honest mistake at that.

"Hey, come on now," he coaxed, drawing the servant out of his kowtow and up onto his knees proper. "It was an accident, nothing more. Nobody even has to know."

The servant, still visibly shaken, raised his head a little bit more.

Enough that Nie Xunyao could see the gold of his eyes through gaps in the raggedy curtain of hair.

He managed not to let his emotions show on his face, but inwardly, he was cursing.

One of the byblows.

Suddenly, everything about the servant's... everything was painfully clear.

Jin Guangshan's less than savory dalliances outside of his marriage, especially with servants or other lower class girls who couldn't exactly tell him no, was an open secret among the sect families. His brother -and his father, when he'd still been around- had spoken of the issue with disgust more than once, and while he'd kept his opinions to himself, he agreed.

There'd been rumors that some of the girls who'd gotten pregnant and hadn't managed to terminate in time had been forced to let the babies be taken and raised as future servants, so that their 'gracious' father could keep tabs on them.

He'd never asked Jin Zixuan about it, knowing he had enough to deal with from his father already.

But here, now-

The servant started to fidget, looking like he was about to grab the dishes and flee.

"Hold still for me for just a second?" Nie Xunyao asked.

The other boy -now that he was really looking, they didn't seem all that different in age or size, other than the fact that the servant was clearly underfed- flinched, but did as told.

Taking a handkerchief out of his sleeve, Nie Xunyao carefully tried to clean away some of the sticky wine, sweeping the servant's hair out of his face in the process.

His lip had a visible split, and there were deep shadows under his eyes, and his cheeks were a little gaunt, but he was still surprisingly pretty.

He flinched again when the cloth went near his left eye, and Nie Xunyao could see some faint bruising along with the exhaustion bags.

He pressed his lips thin, then smiled disarmingly. "Why don't you come with me to get cleaned up, hm?"

"Th- this one would not dare to-"

"What's your name?"

The servant blinked at him in wide-eyed surprise as if he'd grown two heads instead of having asked for something so small... or perhaps not so small to him. How many people actually called him by name here, to get that reaction.

"I- this one is Sang," he mumbled so quietly Nie Xunyao almost couldn't hear him.

"Just 'Sang'? Nothing else?"

A nod.

"...Okay, then, Sang-er. I'll help you get these dishes to the kitchen, then we can both wash up," Nie Xunyao said brightly, pulling back to pick up some of the dropped dishes.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Sang quietly mouth 'Sang-er' to himself, a blush blooming across his nose and cheeks.

He really was cuter than this place deserved, Nie Xunyao thought.

Maybe he'd bring it up with Da-ge after the afternoon's meetings.

#mdzs #sangyao #sangyao week #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #only they're not this time #fanfic

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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months

Note

Do you think things like blood thinners that do something to a person's blood supply are like poison to vampires? 🫧

Kali and Stone can't find Vampire King! Reader in their wing of the mansion they are visiting - the three of you were on a royal progress, and this was one of the last stops before you could return to the comfort of your castle.

They both knew the inhabitants of this manor had been warned off them both - to feed off them would be to draw the King's ire, of course, and to go to war with the King was to sign your own death warrant - so they began to look for you. They tried obvious places first, the study you were provided with, the library (you often disappeared for hours at a time to go and read at home), the drawing room, and the rooms visitors would usually be received.

They found you in the courtyard, on your knees with one quivering arm pressed against the floor to hold yourself up, and the other clutched over your chest. Something was wrong.

When they reached you, Kali knelt behind you to hold you securely to his chest and Stone crouched in front of you, gasping at the horror that was your face. Wine dark liquid stained your eyes, ran down your cheeks like tears, dripped from your mouth onto the stone ground and flooded from your nose. The blood soaked collar of your royal attire clung to your freezing skin, and you looked sick, so very sick.

“My love, what-“ Stone started, but the words caught in his throat when he realised. When you three had first arrived, you’d been welcomed with a polite conversation with the Lord of the manor over a glass of blood wine. When you took a sip you made a face at the taste that only he and Kali had noticed, but you easily waved it off. “It’s a different kind of wine than the one I drink at home,” you’d placated them both. Stone knew he should have stopped you drinking then, but how could he when you were so calm about it?

“Anticoagulants!” Stone growled out, pulling you against his chest cradling your head in the crook of his neck as his mind raced, trying to come up with a way to fix this. Blood thinners were poison to your kind, and even as the most powerful vampire around - their King - a high dosage could do some serious damage. Your veins were slowly turning black as your regenerative abilities fought off the worst of the poison, but it wasn’t enough, you were still coughing blood and crying blood and blood blood blood blood bloodbloodbloodblood-

“Go and get the head guard,” Stone managed to get out, but Kali was already on his feet, consumed with rage and marching back into the manor. Seeing you, their strong and powerful King, weak and shaking and heaving against Stone, fighting for your life, stirred something in him that Kali didn’t like. Fear? Anger? He couldn’t tell, but he knew he had to fix this. This was an act of war, and to go to war with the King was to sign your own death warrant.

Kali was going to ensure every single monster in that house signed the dotted line.

I’M SORRY- Also did I make Stone be the one to realise someone had poisoned your wine because you mentioned that he doesn’t eat from the canteen in case it had been tampered with? Well, yes, because that tragic backstory is nothing but cannon fodder for me :) also I’m sorry I think they’re both very ooc here but also it’s 11pm and I’m up at 6 tomorrow and I can’t be arsed fixing it right now

I love this, it's so good! You did so well with writing both of them and I loved every second of it.

The only true OOC thing for either for them is Stone allowing you to continue drink the wine, but honestly that little detail is something I'd overlook due to the story it created. I'd have written Stone in the exact same way and I adore the fact that you've written this so beautifully.

This was some nice food, mhm.

Kali would totally storm the manor as Stone stayed outside with you because Stone is the one who could help you the most so he'd be like "Yeah, it's best to leave the rage to Kali" and if that's not a testament to their dynamic, I don't know what is. Anyways, that's a little ramble.

I love this, please go to sleep, I will be thinking about this for days to come.

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squalodinoappreciationsquad · 9 days

Note

hello! This is my first time requesting a drabble from a prompt hopefully I'm doing this right-

Coming from the Flower Prompts post, may I ask for Arbutus for Squalo and Dino? I really like your writings for those two qwq 🩵

Thank you in advance!!

Hi hello this is actually perfect! Don't worry, feel free to send more! And thank you so much for the compliments, I absolutely adore your drawings 💕

Now, you gave me a DELICIOUS prompt, I hope you are going to enjoy this snippet!

Arbutus - a realization that you are my one and only

Squalo and Dino meet each other again after the battle for the Vongola rings has ended, after all dust has settled and this time it is awkward. Some would say even painful to watch and indeed it does not go unnoticed by everyone around them.

Both the men had entartained the thought of them being together for the longest of time, they had yearned and pined even, in their teen years.

And then the huge presence of Xanxus had been the sort of bitter ending they both had, or so they had thought.

There had to be a battle.

There had to be blood.

There had to be opposite sides.

And then they finally understood.

When Dino finally realized, it was at the end of the Rain battle - he had expected to save Yamamoto from the inevitable death by being mauled by a shark and instead he had seen Squalo.

And in front of what had been his friend - and probably something more - unconscious and bloody, Dino could not help himself.

He felt dizzy, he felt all blood suddenly go away nd most of all he did not register how he had immediately crouched next to Squalo's body, trying to call him, to keep him awake.

And that was exactly when he realized it.

Oh no, he thought, oh no.

He absolutely knew it as he was dragged away by Romario, as Iemitsu was making his way.

And he found himself doing something he'd never thought he'd do. He begged for Squalo's life, no, the Varia's lives to be spared, inventing on the spot any possible excuse as to why the Vongola should not execute the Varia.

Sure, he is now indebted to the Vongola, but it was worth it, he thinks.

When Squalo opened his eyes again, in that hospital bed, the first one he saw was Dino.

None of the Varia were there, especially not Xanxus was there and yet.

The one walking next to him had never been Xanxus so far and Squalo had been so wrong the entire time, because there was someone waiting for him to wake up and it was Dino.

Somehow.

The uncomfortable feelings he had been struggling with finally agreed. Squalo looked intently at those sad brown eyes, memorized his faint smile as Dino told him that he had finally woken up.

And there and then Squalo realized that it had never been Xanxus the one he was looking for, the one he would lay his life for. and there and then he thought, oh fuck, oh no.

When Squalo managed to speak, his voice trembled lightly "Why... Why did you save me?"

And Dino's voice trembled too, hesitated even. "Because that would have been inconvenient if you died."

And they both knew that this was just a pathetic excuse, and they knew they were and always had been each other's person.

And now that the dust has settled, and they are both still alive, it is awkward and embarrassing and everyone is eyeing them trying to be polite but also curious to know what exactly has changed.

And neither one tries to make a step because - oh well, thwy should be past being two awkward teens vaguely in love.

They dance around each other and sit in the same room politely six feet apart like two Victorian lovers pulled out of a Jane Austen book and Tsuna and his guardians are too young to understand fully, and the Varia don't really have the emotional ability to just give the right nudge.

Luckily or not, however, Reborn has a plan.

Dino is after all a student of his and by proxy he has known Squalo for long enough.

It is going to be a fun time for everyone, especially for Squalo and Dino, Reborn thinks.

#khr #khr fanfic #kateikyoushi hitman reborn #katekyo hitman reborn #dino cavallone #squalo superbi #myrmyrtheorca #mod replies #squalodino #dino #squalo

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braxiatel · 1 year

Text

To See the Story Through

(See content warnings or read the fic on AO3 here)

The thing is – the thing Grian had forgotten – is that people die when you kill them.

The thought occurs to him, as solid as newly formed obsidian – and hissing and spitting just as much – as he watches Mumbo stumble through the woods, clinging to every tree he bumps into for support and leaving bloody handprints in his wake.

“Mumbo!” Grian calls after him.

(This is a mistake).

Mumbo half turns to look over his shoulder, and Grian can see the blade wedged into his back move. He screams.

A survivor. That’s what Grian is: a survivor.

That is the only reason he is following Mumbo. A survivor would not assume his would-be killer will die just because a wound looks fatal. Looks can be deceiving, and Mumbo might… might have potions or something…

Backup! He might have backup waiting in the direction he’s stumbling… not that he is managing to maintain much of a direction.

…

But Grian needs his sword back too! he won’t let Mumbo get away with stealing it, a redname like him certainly doesn’t need any more weapons!

Mumbo stops in his track and Grian braces himself for an attack. He might still have end crystals, or he might be keeping a crossbow hidden up his sleeve, or-

Mumbo keels over.

Grian has seen his fair share of blood and gore in his life. Has shed it, has been the one to die the slow, agonising deaths. He was still a child the first time he killed, and he has never had any qualms about doing what it takes to come out on top.

So why he flinches when Mumbo lands and makes the most awful sound he has ever heard another person make – wet and wailing – he cannot tell.

Grian is a survivor. He is a survivor. It was kill or be killed.

…

(Except…

… Except, Mumbo had been running).

And Now? Now Mumbo was lying on his side, his blood seeping into the ground, clumsy hands indecisive as to whether they should try to staunch the bleeding or tug feebly on the blade.

(He is crying).

(It is Grian’s fault).

Oh Void, what has he done?

“Mumbo,” Grian repeats, crouching at the other’s side. “Mumbo, can you hear me.”

“Shouldn’t… get close,” Mumbo slurs. “I’m dangerous redname, you know.”

“I can see that,” Grian tells him, easily batting Mumbo’s hands away so he can inspect the puncture.

(When he made his diamond sword he had made the blade long, but slender. It would be able to take less strain, but with Grian’s small stature, it was a necessary accommodation if he did not want to give his enemies the advantage of greater reach).

There is several inches of the blade protruding from the centre of Mumbo’s sternum, bobbing and letting another blob of thick, dark blood flow from the wound every time Mumbo draws in another shaky breath.

“You’ll be fine,” Grian says out loud, feeling Mumbo’s eyes on him. “You’ll be just fine… Just… need to drink a potion.”

Mumbo hiccups.

(It is a horrible squelching sound Grian knows will keep him up in the dead of night until his lives run out).

“Go… go on then,” Mumbo tells him.

(Grian thinks he has to look as ashy as Mumbo does. Or perhaps it is just that he always had an active imagination, and he reckons he must have paled at those words).

“You don’t have any potions?” Grian asks.

Mumbo remains quiet for so long Grian thinks he might have passed out. When he finally speaks he sounds sheepish.

“Can I tell you… a secret?” he asks, making Grian look up with a start. Mumbo flashes him a smile, more red than white. “I’m a bit pants… at the whole red- redname thing.”

(Mumbo is going to die).

Potions might have saved him, but the best thing Grian has to offer is food, and even if it would help he doesn’t think Mumbo would be able to eat.

Grian realises, as always at the worst possible time, that he loves Mumbo. Really loves him.

His mind screams it at him, screams at him to do something!

But what do you do when someone you love is dying and there is no way of stopping it? What do you do when it is all your fault?

“I don’t know, you gave me a pretty good fright,” Grian hears himself say.

His hands move in front of him, reaching out to lift Mumbo off the ground. He is careful not to let the bloody hilt of the blade – just a little to the left of Mumbo’s spine – touch anything as he manoeuvres Mumbo into a position he imagines to be comfortable, lying in his arms. Once satisfied Grian presses his free hand down on the wound, knowing full well that staunching it is of little use when the entrance wound is bleeding just as much.

“Really?” Mumbo asks with lights in his eyes.

“Definitely,” Grian tells him.

“What makes you… think I won’t just… go for the kill… now, then?”

Grian smiles at him, clenching the wet and sticky fabric of Mumbo’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t think you will. Not when I tell you I’ve got a secret to share.”

“Oh?” Mumbo inquires. His head has lulled against Grian’s shoulder.

“Mhm,” Grian tells him, giving up on his futile attempt at stemming the flow of blood and instead taking one of Mumbo’s hands in his. He rubs circles with his thumb on the pale skin, painting bloodred roses in his wake. “Want to hear it?”

“Sure,” Mumbo tells him. It’s strange, Grian thinks, how he feels no fear at all. He thinks he should be scared of rejection, of making himself so vulnerable. Instead, he just feels an odd sort of calm.

(Is this what people refer to when they talk about the eye of a storm?)

“I love you, Mumbo,” Grian says. “And I think you love me too.”

Mumbo laughs.

…Okay, so perhaps Grian is a little scared of rejection after all.

“You’ve a funny… way of showin’ it,” Mumbo grins, blood and spittle streaking down his face and into Grian’s jumper. The stain will be impossible to remove, a thought that sounds silly only a moment later when he realises far more of Mumbo’s blood is on his clothes, his hands, in his hair, under his fingernails, and beneath his layers.

“Maybe I could have thought of something better,” Grian admits with a smile that can only be described as exhausted. “But in my defence, you weren’t much better. Laying traps? trying to get me with those end crystals?”

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you,” Mumbo wheezes. Grian isn’t sure if it’s worse if the shallow gasps are better or worse than the rattling heaves of before.

Worse, he decides, watching Mumbo’s eyes widen in panic as the lack of air to his brain begins to set in.

(Mumbo is smart. Far too clever for his own good. Far too good for a world like this).

“Thought dying was supposed to be less painful,” Mumbo whimpers, and he can barely distinguish the words. “Aren’t you supposed to lose sensation? ‘I can’t feel my legs’ isn’t that how it goes… Oh, Grian, I don’t think I can feel my legs-”

Grian reaches up and cups his cheek. “Mumbo, look at me,” he requests. “Shall I give you something else to focus on? Make you feel something?”

“Please,” Mumbo begs.

Grian leans down, careful to avoid the pointed tip of the blade.

He wonders what the kiss might have tasted like had it not been blood and tears. If they had shared it under the starry skies of the Southlands, in the dying heat of a campfire, or perhaps between the sheets of one of their beds, hidden from the rest of the world.

Mumbo’s lips are soft, parting easily to Grian’s tongue. Grian thinks he might have been a good kisser, extraordinary even, if not for the part where he was going limp in Grian’s arms, his death rattle the symphony of their love.

Grian pulls back just enough to look Mumbo in the eyes, smiling at him even as tears make his face blurry.

“Grian?”

(He knows this is it. These will be Mumbo’s last words, and it is his fault, and they’re for him anyway).

“Yes?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we could still be friends?” Mumbo asks. “Just you and me against the world?”

“It would, yes,” Grian agrees. “It would have been nice.”

“Mhm,” Mumbo hums.

For a split second Grian thinks he sees something change in his eyes – from dull carmine to bright crimson, nearly glowing with redname bloodlust – but then cold hands pulls him into a lover’s embrace.

There is a sword sticking out of Mumbo’s sternum.

There is a sword sticking into Grian’s gut.

He opens his mouth to speak (to scream) and there is only iron, only red, only stars burning out as the universe does what it always does and takes.

Grian wakes up.

There is no blood on his hands. No warmth of a kiss fading from his lips. No arms of a lover lost holding him one final time.

(Had Mumbo meant to kill him? Or had Grian simply been collateral in the last death throes of his love? Had it been the desperate possessive passion of red wanting red in Mumbo’s eyes, or had it been the light fading as Grian finally got his kill?)

Grian shakes his head and ignores the way his heart clenches, finding that he does not like any of those questions very much at all. They are the sort of questions that can only lead to heartbreak.

Grian is a survivor. And what do survivors do? Well, they don’t curl up in their beds and cry about lost lovers, that’s for sure!

Another thing Grian is now, is a redname.

He can kill.

(He has killed-)

Come to think of it, he would like that an awful lot, in fact.

Past the haze of red, the fog of bloodlust, one final question presents itself: how much blood will he have to shed to outpace the force of entropy?

(More than he ever could-)

Well, there’s only one way to find out.

Grian stands and stretches.

He has a game to win.

#grian #mumbo jumbo #grumbo #last life #last life smp #trafficshipping #trafficblr #mcyt #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #writing #just a quick little fic I wrote in one go to get a creative break from a longer WIP :D

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