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roboticchibitan · 7 months

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A cottage witch and her dragon 21

(You can read the rest of this original story on AO3 here)

It was a lovely, cool spring day in Rodgate, and Serenity had left the snoozing Dragon at home while she went to market.

More specifically, she had said "Dragon, get up. It's time to go!"

And was greeted by a very sleepy Dragon waving at her in a shooing motion. So she had left him to his own devices for the day. It wasn't the first time she had done this. When he was very young, he had stayed at home or with Granny whenever she went to market because he found the crowded marketplace too loud and overwhelming. But nowadays, sometimes he just didn't feel like getting out of bed, so Serenity left him to his own devices for the day.

On this particular day, though, Dragon was very bored. In fact, he was painfully bored. The market was infinitely more interesting than their tiny cottage. It really wasn't fair that the market started so early. Getting out of bed when it was cold was hard! People who wanted to get up early on cold days made no sense. Even Granny partook of this nonsense. Dragon couldn't understand it.

Dragon finally got out of bed when the loud clock in the living room shrieked ten times. That clock was offensive. It was loud and shrill, with a little bird that came out of it to interrupt Dragon's morning snoozes. Serenity refused to get rid of it, which Dragon also found offensive.

Pacing in front of the fireplace, Dragon started pondering what he could do with himself today. Suddenly, he had an excellent idea. Serenity hadn't brought the almost invisibility cloak Granny made them with her to market today because it was cold. But if Dragon wore his little mohair sweater, it wouldn't be too cold, and he could explore the neighborhood without Serenity or Granny finding out!

Pleased with himself for thinking of such a clever idea, Dragon ran to get his little sweater. After an intense struggle with an unruly sleeve, he managed to put it on (all by himself!) and turned his attention to the drawer where Serenity kept the almost invisibility cloak. It was in the top drawer of a very tall dresser. Luckily, Dragon had been practicing his flying, and getting on top of the dresser was no challenge. He was an excellent flyer, after all.

Pulling the drawer out was a little more difficult. It was a solid wood dresser, and the drawer was heavy for such a little dragon. But after a few good tugs, he had gotten it open enough that he could reach a paw in and grab the cloak. Now he was in business! Giggling to himself in his little hiss-hiccup way, Dragon put the cloak on, and contemplated what to do next.

Granny wouldn't like it if Dragon wandered around the neighborhood alone. But he had the invisibility cloak. And he had heard Granny leave her cottage earlier in the morning. Perhaps she was still gone. He could go and have some of her honey while she wasn't home. Granny didn't mind sharing. And if she wasn't there, he could have as much of the special orange blossom honey that she kept for special occasions as he wanted.

He should definitely go have some honey. This was an obvious plan of action. It just made sense. It was "the sensible thing to do," as Granny sometimes said.

Hopping down from the dresser, Dragon scurried to the front door and opened it, peeking both ways down the street.

All was clear!

Dragon giggled to himself again. He was going to eat all the honey he wanted! Dragging the long cloak behind him, he quickly shut the door and went to Granny's front door.

The lights were off in Granny's cottage. She definitely wasn't home. Careful to keep his paws under the cloak, Dragon reached out to open the door, but the doorknob wouldn't turn! Drat!

Dragon sat on Granny's doorstep to think for a moment. Why wouldn't the door open?

He wracked his brain for a moment, but then suddenly he remembered! Serenity always locked the door when they left the house. So all he had to do was unlock it. Easy!

Dragon gathered a bit of magical energy and pointed it at the doorknob and let it go. There was an audible click. He tried the doorknob again, and this time it opened! Victory! But he had to be quiet, so no excited yelling today.

Entering the dark cottage, Dragon went straight to the counter and jumped up on it, making a beeline for the cupboard where Granny stored the good honey. Dragons can see in the dark, because they are much better and smarter than humans, so Dragon found what he was looking for right away.

Giggling a little more, Dragon opened the honey jar and stuck a paw in it. Serenity didn't like when he used his paws to eat honey. She said he got the floor sticky when he walked around afterwards. But Serenity wasn't here, and dipping a paw in honey and licking it off was the best way to eat honey.

The honey was good! Orange blossom honey had a special bit of zest to it that made it the best kind of honey. Eating to his heart's content, Dragon was blissed out.

Suddenly, he sensed Granny's presence nearby. Oh no! Granny made the cloak! She would definitely be able to sense him.

Dragon didn't have time to put the honey back. He dropped it with a clatter and jumped off the counter, running to the back door as quickly as his little legs could carry him. With a rush of magic that was probably too big for the task, he unlocked the door and made his escape.

From inside he could hear Granny exclaim, "What in the world? Oh! That rascal!"

Dragon didn't stick around to hear anything more. He scurried away from Granny's cottage as fast as he could. Flying would have been faster, but he still used too much magical energy when he flew and Granny would definitely be able to sense it if she came after him.

With the cloak dragging behind him, he reached the corner past Catnip's cottage and stopped for a moment to contemplate his next move. He had sometimes played outside or went between neighbor's houses by himself, but he had never left their block on his own before. The idea was a little scary.

He heard the back door to Granny's cottage open and took off running. The market was more interesting, anyway. And Granny wouldn't chase him all the way there. As long as he stayed far enough from Serenity's stall, she wouldn't be able to sense him. He could have all the fun he wanted.

Dragon knew the way from their street to the market. He made his way as quickly as he could.

He did not have the foresight to realize that a small creature at ground level that's hard to see might get stepped on. Several people nearly stepped on him as he made his way to the market. Dragon hissed at each of them, completely offended. Didn't they know stepping on people was rude? He was walking here!

Finally, Dragon made it to the market. Standing on a street corner, he paused, considering what to do next. As he was thinking, he noticed the bookstore cat lazing in the sun in the bookstore window. Aha!

The bookstore cat was Dragon's nemesis. The first time they met, he had swiped at Dragon with claws when all Dragon was trying to do was say hello! They had been mortal enemies ever since, hissing at each other on sight.

But the bookstore cat couldn't see him right now. This was promising.

Dragon sneaked down the street, careful to keep his presence hidden. This would have been a hard process to explain, but dragons could cloak their presence so they were impossible to sense. It was sort of like holding your breath, only with energy.

Holding his energy in, he slowly opened the bookstore door and slipped inside. The cloak got caught in the door and he had to carefully free it before continuing with his mischief.

The cat was a creature of pure white fluff. Dragon didn't know why people liked fluffy animals so much. Scales were much better.

Struggling to hold back giggles, Dragon crept closer and closer, until he was right next to the cat. Then he stopped cloaking his energy. The cat looked up, sensing him but unable to see him.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dragon dropped the hood of the cloak and crowed as loud as he could.

The results were instantaneous. The cat jumped two feet in the hair, every bit of fur on end, and ran away as fast as it could.

Dragon couldn't hold in his presence or his laughter anymore. The cat looked like a cotton ball! It was just too funny. Serves him right for using claws on innocent dragons.

Charles, the bookstore owner, called from behind the counter, "Dragon, is that you? What did you do to my cat?"

Dragon quickly threw the cloak hood over his head and swept out the door. Much to his alarm, when he got outside he sensed Granny nearby. Remembering to hide his presence, he looked around for her.

There she was! She was standing at the corner at the edge of the square, looking around intently. She was looking in his direction, but he didn't think she could see him. Time to go! In a surprising moment of foresight, Dragon gathered up the extra folds of cloth of the cloak so no one would step on it and trip him, and off he went!

Granny made a beeline for the bookstore while Dragon made a beeline for anywhere that Granny wasn't. Dragons are powerful and smart. If she wanted to catch him, she was going to have to try harder than that.

Careful to not get too near the stalls in the center of the square, Dragon ran across the square and then stopped once again to plan out his next move.

The scent of chocolate interrupted his thoughts. Oh! He could go visit Marcus, Maury the chocolate man's familiar!

Luckily for Dragon, he had stopped on the corner where the chocolate man resided. At least, Dragon was pretty sure he lived there. It was his store, after all.

Sneaking in behind a customer, Dragon extended his senses to find Marcus. There he was! In the kitchen!

Dragon snuck behind the counter, still careful to hide his presence so Granny wouldn't find him. He wasn't about to end his fun now, when he could talk to the cool older scaled familiar.

Making his way through the kitchen, Dragon found Marcus lounging under a warm light. It looked very comfortable. Serenity should get one of those for the cottage. He would have to have a talk with her about it.

As Dragon got closer to Marcus, the other familiar sensed the magic of the cloak and looked directly at him.

What are you doing here, little one?

Dragon sent back some mental images, explaining his adventures up until that point. He couldn't help but giggle when he explained about the bookstore cat.

You are full of trouble, aren't you? Well, we all are when we are young. You should go back to your caretakers. They will be worried about you.

Dragon shook his head emphatically and told Marcus he wanted to stay here.

Very well, it is better that you stay here with me than be out there where there is danger. But you must go home when your caretakers come for you.

Dragon reluctantly agreed to this.

Excited to be in the presence of an older familiar, Dragon kept up an endless stream of mental image chatter, which Marcus responded to patiently. Among other things, they talked about magic. Marcus explained how to help Serenity during a spell, answering all Dragon's questions very patiently.

It is instinct, little one. You will know what to do when the time comes.

Their conversation was interrupted by one of the kitchen workers, who noticed Marcus looking alert, and said, "I think that rat got back in. The snake is looking excited about something."

The worker grabbed a large knife from the counter and started walking towards them, looking around at the ground.

When faced with a very large man with a knife, Dragon panicked and ran straight out open the back door, too frightened to hear Marcus calling for him to come back.

Dragon ran as fast as he could, taking a turn here and there, until he was sure the man hadn't followed him. Relieved, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath and look around.

The buildings here were unfamiliar. They had two stories, and strange people were coming in and out of them, unaware of his presence. He had never been here before. Much to his alarm, he realized he didn't know how to get back to the market, or how to get home.

A sudden crushing fear dropped onto his chest like an anvil. He was lost! And he couldn't talk, so no one would be able to help him get home!

Tears started to well up in his eyes. How was he going to get home? This was a terrible idea! He should have never left his bed that morning. What was he going to do now?

Dragon let out a mournful howl.

"There you are, you damn Dragon," came a familiar voice.

Dragon had never been so happy to see Granny in his entire life. He threw off the invisibility cloak and rushed to hug her leg, crying the entire time.

"You little idiot! What do you think you were doing, wandering around on your own!"

Dragon cried some more, telling her "lost."

"Yes, you got lost! This is why children aren't allowed to run around on their own. You would have been in real trouble if I hadn't found you!"

Dragon sobbed out a "Sorry."

Granny's demeanor softened and she pet his head. "I found you, so it's alright. Come one, let's pick up the cloak and go home."

At the word "home" Dragon perked up. He sent a sense of "don't tell."

"I am absolutely going to tell Serenity about this. If it wasn't for Maury coming and finding me, I wouldn't have known where you went! You're in big trouble, mister."

Dragon was too relieved to be upset about this. All he said was, "Home."

"Alright, let's go," Granny said, picking up the cloak where he had dropped it. "We'll stop by Serenity's stall and tell her what you've been up to. I'll carry you on my back. But you have to use a little magical energy to keep yourself up, because I'm an old lady and I have a bad back."

Dragon didn't need to be told twice. He jumped up and held on tight as Granny walked them back to the market.

"Granny, Dragon, what are you doing here?"

Dragon was too ashamed to say anything.

"This monster escaped today, and got himself lost."

"You what? Dragon! What happened?"

One tearful explanation later, Serenity was looking at Dragon very sternly.

"Did you learn your lesson? We don't go leaving the house when there's no grownups around."

Dragon nodded sadly, sending her his genuine regrets and apologies.

"Well, at least you know what you did was wrong," Serenity said before turning her attention to Granny. "Thank you for finding him. I don't know what I would have done if he had gone missing. And I'll have to make Marcus and Maury a pie as a thanks for telling you which direction he went."

Dragon jumped up onto Serenity's lap and held onto her tight. Serenity petted his head for a moment. It was very comforting when Serenity gave him head pets. It calmed him down immediately. He was safe now.

"Do you want to stay here with me or go home with Granny?"

Dragon wasn't ever going to let Serenity out of his sight again. He squeezed her tighter and communicated his intentions to stay by her side.

"Alright, you can stay here, then. Granny, can you hand me the cloak?"

"Here you are," said Granny, handing back the almost invisibility cloak. "Don't leave this where he can get to it."

"Yes, I will have to find somewhere to hide it."

"Well, then, I'm going to go home and take a nap," Granny informed them. "Running after this monster all morning has worn me out."

Dragon told her he was sorry again.

"Well, no harm done. You just behave yourself," She said sternly.

Dragon nodded.

Granny relented a little and gave him a head pat. "Be a good boy and I'll make you tea when you get back from the market today. And we'll have a little of that orange blossom honey you pilfered, you little rascal."

Dragon perked up at this. Granny didn't call him a rascal if she was mad. Only when she was exasperated or pretending to be mad. He nodded at her and sent her his intention to be on his best behavior.

"Good. Alright, I'm going home. Come see me when you get back."

"We'll do that," Serenity replied.

Dragon spent the rest of the day draped around Serenity's shoulders, glad to be somewhere safe. When the day was finally over, he climbed into bed with Serenity with a sense of relief. The scary day was over, and he would never cause trouble again. Probably.

#if you only ever comment on one chapter let it be this one it was so fun to write #a cottage witch and her dragon #serenity and dragon #my writing #original fiction #my art #things i made

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honeyscreativeshop · 21 days

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limited time 75% off sale for PROM on my Etsy

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thelargefrye · 4 months

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THE YULE DRAGON … holiday one - shot ( 17+ )

pairing : poly!dragon!ateez x witch!f!reader

genre : dragon au, fantasy au, holiday au, fluff, angst

word count : 4.3k

warnings : language, mentions of dragon hunters, talks about death, light injury but nothing major, one death threat

suffer tag : @sanjoongie and for anon who asked about any new chapters

note : very excited to write this, so let me know what you think! also here is a link to what y/n's dress at the yule gala looks like!

the winter month draws near and the clan prepares to celebrate the yule dragon festival for the first time in years. knowing this is wooyoung's first one with an actually clan, you want to make sure everything is perfect.

when you woke up in the morning, you noticed how snow had slowly begun to fall and lay on the ground. you also couldn't help but notice how the dragons around you seemed to have been in good moods. smiles on their faces as they walked around and some even greeted you with warm smiles.

when you arrived at the nursery, the hatchlings all immediately greeted you. most of them run up and tackle you to the ground.

"miss y/n! miss y/n! did you see the snow?" one hatchling, jiyu, asked and you couldn't help but laugh as you nodded and pushed some hair out of her face.

"yes, i did. very beautiful isn't it?"

"not as beautiful as you, miss y/n!" another hatchling, minjae, said. the other hatchlings couldn't help but agree with minjae and you couldn't help but laugh at them all.

"prince mingi said that we will be able to celebrate the yule dragon festival this year!"

"the yule dragon festival?" you remember wooyoung telling you about the holiday years ago when you first met. you can't help but feel excited knowing he's going to enjoy a real one this year.

"yeah! it's been years since the clan last held one," seeun says and that quickly catches your attention. years? you thought the holiday was a yearly thing?

"alright, little ones, let's go ahead and get ready for the day," mingi comes in and ushers the hatchlings away from you in order to gather them in a line so they could eat.

you push your curiosity down for later as you go over to help mingi with the hatchlings. you watch the hatchlings with a warm fondness as they eat and talk to each other, and the rest of the day goes by in flash with you and mingi taking care of the young dragons.

"miss y/n, have you ever experienced a yule dragon festival before?" one of the hatchlings asked as they were laying down for a nap. the question of one hatchling seemed to have caught the attention of a few others around you two.

"not a proper one with a true clan, but me and wooyoung used to do a small celebration before we came to the clan," you said as you remembered your time with wooyoung back in your cottage. you can feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the first time you both celebrated the yule dragon together.

"do witches have any special holidays?" another hatchling, siyu, asked.

"we do but they're not like the yule dragon one. we focus more on what we are thankful for and mourning those that have left us," you explain.

"that sounds sad."

"sometimes it is sad, but then you have to remember that even those that left this world are still with us in spirit. watching over and guiding us on the right path of destiny," you say.

"but miss y/n, you don't have to be sad anymore because you have all of us!" one hatchling said with the others immediately agreeing and you couldn't help but smile at all of them.

"okay, okay, everyone," mingi says as he comes in and immediately calming all the hatchlings down. "its time to rest, not get excited."

"but prince mingi," minjae says looking towards the tall prince, "don't you agree that miss y/n doesn't have to be sad anymore, since she has all of us now?"

"of course," mingi says as he bends down to pet minjae's head, "but miss y/n still has a right to miss those that she lost. we all do. now come on, everyone, time to rest!"

you can't help but smile at how some of the hatchlings groan at mingi's words, but nonetheless all lay down in their little nooks. you and mingi go through and make sure each hatchling is comfortable before you leave the nesting room.

you watch as mingi closes the door behind him before he's offering his arm to you. you take his arm with a smile as he escorts the two of you back to the main palace wing.

"i meant what i said though," mingi begins and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "that you have a right to be sad about those you lost, but also know that hatchlings are right as well and that you have all of us now. the hatchlings, me, wooyoung, yeosang, the others, and even the clan. you have all of us."

"thank you, prince mingi," you say, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiles at you before quickly pressing his own kiss to your lips. "also," you speak up after you two continue to walk, "what did the little ones mean when they said its been years since you all had a yule dragon festival?"

"well... we haven't had one since hongjoong's parents and brother were killed. hongjoong didn't want to have a large one with the whole clan, so this is the first time in five years that we have celebrated it as such," mingi explains and you nod your head in understanding.

"what caused him to suddenly change his mind?"

"well you and wooyoung of course," you wanted to laugh at mingi's answer. more like just wooyoung, you think. you decide to remain silent as mingi guides you through the palace.

"this will be wooyoung's first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you note as you notice many dragons setting up and decorating the palace corridors with festive decorations. you can't help but feel excited knowing that wooyoung will be able to experience the real thing after so many years of not having it with an actual clan.

your mind goes back to when you and wooyoung would celebrate together back at the cottage. both of you dressing up, decorating the cottage, and spending the entire night together. wooyoung taught you the dances that he learned. even when you weren't celebrating the dragon holiday, you would find wooyoung and yourself dancing and just enjoying each other's company.

"hey, mingi?" you caught the dragon's attention and he turns towards you as you continue to speak, "is there... a way i can help set up the festival?"

"oh! umm, i think so. seonghwa is usually in charge of things like this, but i volunteered to help him this time, so..."

"do you need help?" you ask, feeling an excitement bubble up in your stomach.

"of course you can help," mingi says, a wide smile on his face and you mirror his smile, beaming up at him. the two of you share a quick hug, mingi lets out a small laugh at your excitement, almost not expecting it.

"thank you," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you are separating yourself from him. you notice the blush that covers his cheeks and ears and you have to stop yourself from pouncing on the tall dragon from how cute he is.

as the next week goes by, you spend your time helping the dragons in the clan to decorate for the yule dragon holiday. at first some of the dragons were reluctant at accepting your help, but slowly and eventually they allowed for you to help with the decorations. sure they didn't trust you with the important stuff, but that was okay.

you only wanted to make sure everything was perfect for wooyoung, he needed to have the best yule dragon after everything he has done for you. you also wanted to make sure the clan had a good one as well, but wooyoung took priority in your heart.

"wow, look at these decorations, darling," yeosang's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look down from your spot on the wooden ladder to see your lover looking up at you with a smile. you finish hanging the silver garland before climbing down the ladder and yeosang is quick to press a loving kiss to your lips.

"thank you, me and the hatchlings made them," you say, feeling rather proud from how all the decorations have been turning out. many of the other clan dragons complimenting you on your hard work.

"you've been working so hard, a lot of the clan members are grateful for your help," he says as the two of you begin walking out of the grand hall, where the yule gala will be held tomorrow night. other dragons are busy around you all finishing up last minute details, with most of them stopping to bow at yeosang before scurrying away to finish their task.

"i have something for you, princess," he says once the two of you are out of the grand hall and you give him a confused look which only makes him smile. "it’s custom for everyone to wear special outfits, rather a little too fancy if you ask me, but people really enjoy it," he begins as the two of you continue to walk down the hall.

"and i bet you completely forgot to make sure you are prepared for the gala," yeosang teases and you felt yourself get flustered at his words. "but don't worry because you wonderful mate has taken care of you," he says as you both stop in front of your chamber doors. "i hired a seamstress to make you a dress and thankfully she managed to finish it in time."

"wait, yeosang– you... you didn't, you shouldn't have."

"but i did, and i wanted to. my darling, you have done so much, let me give you this," he says, cupping your cheeks before leaning over and kissing you. you feel yourself melt into the kiss as you press yourself closer to your lover, arms wrapping around his waist. the two of you only separate when you're out of breath and yeosang presses one last kiss to your lips before he's pulling away and opening the door to your bedroom.

when you stepped inside, you were completely shocked at the dress that rested on the mannequin in the center of your room. you had honestly never seen a dress more beautiful in your life and you felt yourself tear up because of it. you felt like you didn't deserve a dress as gorgeous as this.

"it's beautiful, yeosang."

"you look absolutely beautiful, my fire," seonghwa says when he sees you walk into the grand hall.

the gala had been going on for several minutes, hongjoong lighting the ceremonial flame that burned in the center of the clan. you were amazed at the flame and its rather unique color, and mingi explained that this flame could only be lit by the leader of a clan and that it in order to celebrate the first dragon.

you honestly couldn't look away from the flame, almost like it was meant to entrance you.

"thank you, prince seonghwa," you said, bowing slightly to the eldest dragon prince. seonghwa could only smile as he took your hand into his before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"make sure you enjoy yourself," he says, not yet letting go of your hand. "i want a dance before the night is over."

"of course, your highness," you say, a small smirk taking over your lips before seonghwa is nodding and making his leave. he does unfortunately have other people to see and talk to.

your eyes scan around the grand hall, looking for the head of familiar red hair and you feel your heart skip a beat when you finally find him. wooyoung looked absolutely handsome in his outfit and you were glad to see that he matched the other princes. it made your heart flutter knowing that wooyoung was being accepted by the clan.

you made your way over to your first lover, your feet picking up speed when you two made eye contact. you felt like it had been forever since you last seen wooyoung – however it had only been a few hours. you had been so caught up in making sure the festival and gala were perfect for him that you had completely forgot to pay the red-headed dragon attention.

so you immediately wrapped wooyoung in a tight hug once you were close enough. wooyoung was quick to return the hug, holding you close to him as he inhaled your scent before pressing a kiss to your neck.

"my y/n, you look so beautiful," he says as he twirls you around, the white-silver fabric that was decorated with beautiful shimmering stars and moons. wooyoung had seen the dress, yeosang having shown him before you and he knew you would look beautiful in it. but of course, seeing you actually in it he was blown away by your appearance.

"are you having a good time, woo?" you ask, heart beating rapidly waiting for his answer.

"of course i am," he says with a smile, "mingi mentioned how you helped out with this whole thing. any reason why?"

"you, of course," you say, both your hands linking with his. "this is your first yule dragon with an actual clan in a long time. i wanted to make sure it was perfect."

"oh love," he says, gently pulling the two of you off to the side, "you didn't need to do that. it would have perfect no matter what because i'm celebrating it with you. back at the cottage... i saw the two of us as our own little clan. and the yeosang joined," wooyoung says and you can't help but laugh at his last comment. despite mating and bonding with yeosang, wooyoung still couldn't get over the other dragon coming in basically setting up camp in your little cottage.

"you love yeosang, don't try to fool yourself," you tease and wooyoung grumbles a little bit before rolling his eyes.

"whatever."

you were about to say something when the sound of a familiar tune filled the grand hall. you turned to see a lot of the people gathering at the center and began dancing. you noticed mingi pulling yunho behind him to the dance floor with many of the other dragons cheering for the two tall princes. following them, you see yeosang and san dancing and you were a little surprised at seeing the blonde guard dancing and smiling as him and yeosang looked at one another.

"wow, who knew san could smile," wooyoung says and you crack a smile before turning to your lover.

"shall we join them as well?" you ask and wooyoung nods before he's pulling you towards the dance floor and you two quickly fall into a rhythm of the dance. the music easily guided you as you and wooyoung danced, you felt your whole attention center in on your lover and it felt like it was just the two of you.

you got flashbacks to when you and wooyoung would dance in your cottage. how back then it really was just the two of you and no one else, but now you were surrounded by people that even if they all didn't welcome you, they welcomed wooyoung. and even if you didn't feel welcomed at first, you have mingi, yeosang, the hatchlings.

seeing wooyoung smile and laugh and enjoy himself made you feel like you were on cloud nine. even if he wouldn't say it out loud, you knew wooyoung enjoyed being a part of the clan.

you felt the music guide you and your thoughts, as the music began to slow down you found yourself and wooyoung also slowing down. wooyoung pulling you close to him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to hold you close to him.

"i have you had your ceremony?" wooyoung suddenly asks, snapping you out of your happy daze. you knew immediately what he was talking about.

"not yet, i was waiting till after the gala was over," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat at knowing what you would have to do later.

just like dragons, witches also had their own traditions and such. not as public as the yule dragon, but more intimate to each witch. celebrating those that you left you in this world. wooyoung has been with you during this ceremony like you have been with him for his. you don't know how many nights you have fallen asleep, crying in wooyoung's arms because of all the witches that have died.

"do you want me there with you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to think about it.

"no, i'll do it alone this time."

"are you sure?" you nod your head, you didn't want to ruin wooyoung's good time here with your own traditions and ceremonies.

when the music changed once again, you pressed a kiss to wooyoung before stepping away, telling him you needed some fresh air.

"let me come with you," he says as he starts to trail after you, but you stop him.

"it’s okay," you say, hand out to stop him, "i'll be right back."

you don't give wooyoung a chance to say anything as you're turning and making your way to one of the many garden doors that lead out into the courtyard.

once the cold air hit your skin, you let out a sigh as you made your way over to one of the stone benches that overlooked most of the courtyard and even down further into the clan. the yule flame burned brightly a short distance away and you couldn't help but walk over to it. the flame reminded you of the flame that you would light for the umbra ceremony.

the flame burned brightly and you almost felt like a moth from how you were being drawn to it.

which is how you found yourself in front of it. the noises from the grand hall behind you is like static as you look at the flame, letting it consume you. you got flashbacks to when you would set up a room of candles for the witches that you lost, the flame from those candles burning brightly into your mind.

"why are you out here," the cold voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at hongjoong with wide eyes. the prince looks at you with a stern expression, his cold eyes burning into your body.

"i was just... just getting some air," you tell him, refusing to fully make eye contact with him.

hongjoong lets out a 'tsk' sound before he's coming to stand next to you, looking up at the flame. you're surprised by how close hongjoong, this is probably the closest he has ever gotten to you without trying to kill you.

"mingi told me how you helped decorate for the festival," he said out of nowhere after the two of you stood in silence. "i guess witches can be good for something," he adds and you feel yourself deflate at his harsh words.

"i did it for wooyoung," you said wanting to make it clear that you were only doing it for your first love and no one else. "this is his first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you add.

"and i'm sure witches are the reason why he had gone for so long without experiencing one with a clan," he says back.

"perhaps," you say as you clench your fist together tightly, "but wooyoung is here now with a clan," you turn your head to look at hongjoong, taking in his form once more. his lavish outfit and vibrant blue hair standing out against the dark night. he was the epitome of what a leader of a dragon clan should be in the fact that he always had that air of authority around him. everyone respected him and if they didn't respect him then they feared him.

you, unfortunately, feared him more than you respected him. the dragon oracles say that you two are mates like you are with the rest of the princes, but you knew hongjoong refused to acknowledge you as his mate. you were a witch, the thing that killed his parents and brother and forced him to take the role of leader too soon. you wondered if you and hongjoong would ever get along.

you notice how the flame reflects against hongjoong's skin and then something hits you.

"please excuse me, prince hongjoong," you say suddenly before you are rushing past him. hongjoong doesn't say anything and you don't know if he watches you leave as you are too caught up in rushing back into the palace.

you run to your room, feeling out of breath as you enter your chambers you share with wooyoung before going over to the large trunk that rested at the foot of the bed. you quickly dig through the trunk and pull out a set of candles. all three a beautiful rose color and it reminds you greatly of your mother.

"what are these for mother?" you asked, looking up at your mother as she handed you the three candles. they were different from the ones you were use to lightly for the umbra ceremony and you wondered why she was giving them to you.

"these are special candles, y/n, i made them myself so you can use them when you need them the most," she explains, her voice seeming ever cryptic.

"when i need them the most?" you echo and she nods, a tight-lipped smile painting her features.

"they are for the one who will need to say goodbye the most."

you gripped the candles tightly as you raced back to the courtyard and was surprised to still see hongjoong standing there. somewhere deep inside wants you to believe he waited for you, but you know that's impossible.

"prince hongjoong," you say as you approach him. "i want to thank you for letting wooyoung into your home. i know that... you despise me and my people, you lost your parents and brother after all. and i know you probably don't care but i want to share something with you."

hongjoong turns to look at you, his face void of emotion as he watches you set the three candles down between the two of you. you crouch down, kneeling front of the candles as hongjoong stands towering above you.

"the umbra witches have their own ceremony, we light candles in order to remember those that have left us and this world. we do this as a way to remind us that while they have left this world physically, they are still here with us spiritually," you pause in order to take a deep breath, licking your lips before continuing.

"my mother made me these candles when she was still alive. she told me that they were for someone who needed to say goodbye, and... i think she made them for you."

"what the hell are you talking about?" hongjoong asks, voice full of surprise and anger. "i don't need any of you stupid umbra witch shit," he adds and you notice his fist clenches with his rage.

"please," you beg, voice straining as you plead with the prince, "take the candles, it will bring you peace, prince hongjoong."

you feel a sudden shock as you are grabbed by the collar of your dress. you're pulled up from your kneeling position, face dangerously close to an enraged hongjoong as he bares his teeth at you. in the moment you are reminded that you are at the mercy of a clan full of dragons whether you liked it or not.

"i will never," he jaw clenched tightly as he speaks, "ever, forgive your damned people for what they did to my family. my people. so don't think so damned candles will change that. you will never be my mate and just know that if it wasn't for yeosang and mingi that i would have burned you at a stake a long fucking time ago."

hongjoong waste no time in throwing you to the ground, your hands skidding across the stone pathway harshly and you flinch at the sudden burn of skin. you turn to see hongjoong's eye burning, like he will kill you if you say anything else to him.

you then watch him destroy two of the candles, his foot coming down harshly on them and you feel like a part of you is being ripped apart as you watch him. he's about to do the same to the last one, but you move and grab the last candle. the last one your mother made.

then without thinking you stand up and run away from the prince. you clearly made a mistake in thinking that you could get hongjoong to open up just a little bit. you felt tears begin to form in your eyes as you ran, clutching the candle close to your chest as you collapsed in the one of the many decorated halls.

you looked down at the candle once more, the image of your mother's smile flashing inside your mind as you caressed it. you knew this candle was for hongjoong. he was the one who needed to say goodbye to those he lost, but it was obvious that now wasn't the time.

"y/n!" the sudden call of your name makes you snap your head up to see yeosang rushing towards you. face full of concern and he drops down to the floor next to you. "y/n, what's wrong, why are you crying?" he brushes the tears away and you open your mouth to say something before a sob escapes instead.

you throw yourself into his arms and he arms them around you protectively. you hold your mother's candle close to you as you allow yourself to cry in yeosang's arms. yeosang doesn't say anything, only letting you cry as a comforting hand runs over your hair.

"it's okay, y/n, i'm here," he says softly, holding you closer to him. "whatever made you sad, don't think about it anymore, okay? cause i'm here to protect you."

and so the night comes to an end as you spend the rest of it in yeosang's arms, allowing him to hold you closely as you mourn for the loss of your mother and the hate hongjoong bares for you.

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#dragon from the window.#cultofdionysusnet #kdiarynet #cromernet #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fantasy au #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez dragon au #ateez wooyoung x reader #ateez yeosang x reader #ateez mingi x reader #ateez hongjoong x reader

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ataraxiaspainting · 5 months

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

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closed-third-eye · 1 year

Text

I really hope they don't make her a cottage core girl and instead a plotting cut throat witch who brings down a Prince and the oldest dragon in the world. He killed her entire family I'm not sure why people think she will fall in love with him...they desperately want her to be a damsel in distress when she was a a nurse maid for highborn children and a herb lady, so she was probably respected if trusted with their medicines and children.

#alys rivers #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #team green #hotd #daemon targaryen #vhagar #caraxes

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

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can you write Fenrys ×reader? The reader is Asterin sister (she's a witch) and Asterin and Manon doesn't really like Fenrys being with the reader and they threate him 😂

This is slightly different but still along similar lines

Blue blood

Captivated. Speechless. Motionless. Lifeless. Besides the heart that was beating so fast in Fenrys's chest. He was convinced that he had died. He had never seen a female more beautiful. The moment you stepped from behind Manon, Fenrys had lost his hearing abilities. All he could focus on was you.

You snow-white hair that fell in waves behind you. The way the wind reached to play with the ends of it. Fenrys felt jealous of the wind. Your skin put the finest porcelain to shame. The deep golden color of your eyes pierced anyone who they fell upon. Yet there was something different about you. While the other witches bore their teeth at the fealings. You just stood there. Partly captured by the wind, glancing at Abraxos.

"I'm happy you joined us", it was Aelin who spoke first. "Pity that this brings you joy. Tell me what was so eager?", Manon's sharp voice sliced through the wind. Rowan growled. That only made Asterin step forward. "There's no need for anger. We all have the same goal here", Aelin said firmly, "Let's go inside the weather is not the nicest", She pointed to the tiny cottage.

"You don't go anywhere", Asterin gripped your arm firmly, making you roll your eyes. "I'm serious. I'll...", "Don't bother with the threats, sister", you bit back. Yanking your hand from her grip. You knew this was her way of showing tough love but it didn't make you any less frustrated. You weren't a baby. You were powerful in your own ways now. They couldn't keep you wrapped up in blankets forever.

All this time Fenrys watched you. He knew this could easily be a magic charm that captured him. That the glamour would fall but there was not a single crack he could detect. He watched you lingering in the dark corners of the room. Barely a shadow. Quite and calm. And then with a blink of an eye, you were gone. Fenrys looked around the room. There was an odd emptiness that filled him. Mother, strike him. He was supposed to focus and yet he was yarning for a girl he had never even talked with.

"You own me. I expect no side-eye from you now", it's your voice that stopped Fenry's search. The fields were dark. The back garden is barely visible. But it was enough for Fenrys to make out Abraxo's head and you reached to hand him something. What was going on? Fenrys tried to be invisible as he moved. Watching as you looked up at the dragon. Palms full of flowers. A grunt in delight and a soft giggle. Fenrys smiled as well.

But a branch cracked beneath his feet and soon he was inches away from sharp teeth and claws. "No, Abraxos", you called out, "Move back", your hand pulled at the dragon's claws. As you stepped from behind his leg. Why did you look even more beautiful? Was Fenrys dead? "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?", you asked softly and Fenrys frowned. But then he realized that he was no longer standing he had fallen over.

"I'm...", he staggered out. All he could do was stare at you. "Oh, maker, you did", A wave of panic rushed through you. Asterin will set you on fire. He was an ally and you... "How many fingers can you see?", you asked the male. But the moment you truly looked at him your heart skipped a beat. "You're so beautiful", he breathed out, the words took you by surprise. "Sir...", you muttered but he shook his head, "I'm not ancient, please, Fenrys".

Something tinged within you at the sound of his name. The moonlight illuminated you two. And it seemed as if the wind had stopped. "What's your..", but you had been way too eager to share your name with him as you spoke, "Y/N". You watched as Fenrys whispered your names a couple of times. Then he shifted slightly, moving to sit up. You two are now in perfect position to look at one another. "I just...", Fenrys moved to reach out to you. Hand gently cupping your face. His face felt so warm, so inviting, so familiar. You blinked up at him.

Fenrys leaned closer, the need within him that set in was blinding him. Yet you pulled away, "We can't... I'm a witch", you breathed out. The ache in your chest already blooming. You knew what was made of your kind. You knew what destiny awaited you. But Fenrys only leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours before whispering, "I don't care one bit". And then his lips found yours.

#fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys tog #fenrys imagine #fenrys moonbeam imagine #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #tog imagine #tog x reader #tog x you #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass x reader

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seiya-starsniper · 7 months

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Fern - in a world of magic, the greatest miracle was you

For Dreamling? ❤️

JANNNIIIII this one really got away from me, but I hope you like it!

Flower Prompt Game!

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

In another universe, Dream of the Endless does not meet Robert Gadling in a run down pub, does not offer him immortality in exchange for nothing more than a once a century meeting. He does not walk the Waking World with his sister Death, but instead visits her realm for their weekly afternoon tea.

In this universe, Robert Gadling has made his own immortality in a world where magic never left. He is still a soldier for hire, a mercenary, an assassin where absolutely needed. He has no particularly strong magic of his own. But his skill with the blade, and his loyalty to those he serves earns him a name, and eventually, a favor. He becomes immortal on the night where the twin moons meet from across the sky, when the ensuing eclipse grants the Mad Witch Henreitta Reynolds the power to seal his soul from Death herself. Death notices the ritual and does not intervene, for she is too busy entertaining her brother’s latest stories.

Dream and Robert Gadling do not meet in this century, nor the next. Or the one after that.

But in all universes, Dream of the Endless is still captured by Roderick Burgess. Roderick Burgess will still take and take and take, but he will still fail to bring his fallen son (not a soldier this time, but a scholar, lost to a dragon attack at his academy). He will pin all his future hopes on his second, less remarkable son, Alex. Alex, desperate to please his father, will perform a ritual far outside his skill level, and it will result in Dream’s freedom, and the death of everyone else on the estate.

But Dream’s power is a fickle thing, too long have his tools been separated from him, and he does not even have enough power to call himself home. And so, naked, alone, and unable to return to the realm of dreams, Dream of the Endless walks barefoot towards the nearest village, seeking asylum.

In this universe, Dream of the Endless and Robert Gadling meet for the first time when the former collapses at the latter’s feet. Robert, having felt the tremors of the explosion from the Burgess estate, had run towards the carnage, instead of away, looking for survivors. He finds one, and whisks him away back to his cottage by the sea.

For three days, Robert Gadling would nurse Dream back to health. Dream would stay silent the entirety of those days, would refuse to make eye contact with his caregiver, too mistrustful of humans after having spent a century imprisoned by them. But Hob asks him no questions, does not push him to provide gifts he cannot give. He himself simply gives, and gives, and gives.

“I am Dream of the Endless,” Dream declares to him the night he feels enough of his power return to him. Robert only smiles back at him, charmed.

“I figured as much,” the immortal replies easily. “Hadn’t dreamed a lick in the last hundred years until the night I rescued you.”

This declaration is startling, but only the slightest bit. Dream had known he was not dealing with no ordinary man. He could smell the heavy cloak of magic on the man’s skin, and yet, none of that magic seemed innate. Robert Gadling had no remarkable magical talent of his own, and yet, he had earned the favor of some of the most powerful magic users in the realm. It was only natural he would have known of Dream’s true nature, and yet he chose to help him anyways.

“Your care has allowed me time to heal, Robert Gadling,” Dream continues, ignoring the thrill the realization alights from deep within him. “I would grant you a boon for your troubles.”

Robert only shrugs. “Call me Hob, first off,” he says, waving him off. “And I don’t need anything from you.”

After a century of being asked for gifts he was unable or unwilling to give, the casual indifference of the man’s dismissal rankles Dream. It is almost insulting.

“Surely there is something every mortal wants,” Dream insists. “You are already immortal, yes I can sense the magic,” he adds when Hob startles at the statement. “I am still weak from my imprisonment, but I can promise you wealth, power, the ability to inspire all dreamers. What is it your heart desires?”

“I’ve already told you, there’s nothing,” Hob replies, almost vehemently. “I did not save you expecting a boon.”

“I cannot leave a debt unpaid, Hob,” Dream growls, growing impatient. He wishes to return to his realm but he cannot leave before the boon has been granted. His pride will not allow it. “There must be something you wish of me.”

Hob then meets his eyes, ready to argue once more, but then Dream catches a glimpse of the man’s dreams. He sees himself pinned underneath Hob’s broader body, feels the immortal’s lips ghosting along his skin, teeth grazing at his thighs, and hands pressed firmly against his body. Hob realizes almost immediately what Dream has seen and turns away, his face flushed scarlet with embarrassment and humiliation.

“I would not ask that of you,” Hob murmurs. “It is not honorable.”

Dream smirks, and closes the distance between them. Hob does not move, but Dream can hear his heartbeat intensify, can smell the arousal wafting from every pore in his body. It is intoxicating, to be desired so much. It has been too long since Dream has been wanted in such a way.

“I do not leave a debt unpaid, Hob Gadling,” Dream murmurs against the man’s ear. “But you will have to work to truly pleasure the King of Dreams. Are you prepared to accept that challenge?”

Hob does. He rises to the occasion beautifully.

When their coupling is complete, Hob Gadling swears fealty to only Dream, makes grandiose promises to be his knight until the end of time. Dream laughs, and accepts. He has always been a greedy creature, and he wants this man for his own, and only his.

Hob helps Dream track down his tools of office, and when Dream is returned to full power, he grants Hob a place of honor as his knight, and his official emissary between the Waking and the Dreaming. In the night, he steals away his lover to his private chambers, where they bring each other untold pleasure that the rest of the realm feels for eons after.

“You are a marvel my dear heart,” Dream says to him one day, apropos of nothing. “In a world full of boundless magic and power, the greatest miracle to happen to me was meeting you.”

Hob kisses him gently, still charmed and deeply in love even after thousands of years. “I think you’re the miracle, love,” he chuckles. “I’m just the lucky bastard who gets to love you.”

#dreamling #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #dreamling fanfic #sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya drabbles #gonna clean this up for ao3 later I think #seiya writes dreamling

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stark-boys-simp · 1 year

Text

i would not ask, and neither would you

aemond x witch!reader

tags: smut smutty smut smut, minors go away, ooc aemond probably, pining, hands brushing against each other, this could alternately be titled autistic bitches in love, the reader is implied to worship the old gods but you can interpret it however you want, not proofread we die like vaemond

a/n: i’ve been insanely busy and this is so late but this was very inspired by a dragon without wings by @rottingviserys which is one of my favorite fics ever so definitely go read that!!

that fucking dragon had crushed all of her morels, she thought crossly.

the rare, delicious mushrooms were difficult enough to find as it was, and when the huge dragon had fallen from the sky, it had fallen right onto the patch she’d been cultivating for a year.

humming in annoyance, the witch walked over to the huge beast. definitely dead. huge fucker. big as a castle. still, maybe she could use its blood or teeth or hide for something useful.

she stepped close to its head, poking the scaled flesh gingerly. still warm. the witch walked in a circle around it, carefully inspecting the saddle. vhagar, it read on the side. wasn’t that the one eyed prince’s dragon? oh well. that saddle’s still good leather. ooh, a pretty piece of beadwork in the targaryen colors. those would fetch a pretty penny. ooh, is that a boot? if the other one is still there, that could buy a sapling for an apple tree or two. or a new dress,or a few skeins of fabric.

she reached up, undoing the buckles with careful hands before she froze, inhaling deeply in shock at what was still strapped into the saddle. the other boot was definitely still there. as well as the legs, torso, arms, and head attached to them. the head of aemond targaryen, the kinslayer, the one-eyed, and public enemy number one. as well as a pretty nasty sword wound through the shoulder.

shit.

———

she was just finishing labeling her new bottles of dragon’s blood when he awoke.

his white hair was damp with sweat from the humidity from the coming storm, his sapphire eye gleaming in the dim light from the fire. “good morning, your highness,” she said softly. “how did you sleep?”

“where am i?” he asked groggily. he sat up suddenly, straight-backed and glaring, then cried out at the pain in his shoulder and back.

the witch stood up quickly and rushed to check on his shoulder, clicking her tongue in dismay. “you’ll rip your stitches, highness,” she said softly. true enough, the tiniest bit of blood was beginning to seep through the soft cloth bandage. she began to unwrap it gently, trying not to hurt him.

he grit his teeth and she could see his violet eye moving, taking in her little cottage. she had him lying on the meager guest bed, at the wall nearest the fire in her little kitchen. he could see the door to what he assumed was her bedroom in the corner, with strange signs inscribed over the doorways. there were herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling, strange bottles in shelves on the walls, stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books. it looked… comfortable at least. if shabby and cluttered could be considered comfortable.

“are you a witch?” he asked suddenly.

the woman paused for a moment before nodding.

his face contorted in what she could only assume was fear confusion. he threw his shoulder from her hand and cried out at the pain, the blood flowing quickly now. he collapsed back against the bed, face contorted in pain, but still fumbled for the small knife she had been using to cut the bandages. he held it clumsily in his left hand, pointing it at her in shaking fingers. “get away, heathen,” he spat. “i’ve had enough of your kind, i won’t suffer you anymore.”

the witch scoffed. “ah, yes, my lord. please, i humbly beg your pardon for rescuing you from being suffocated under your gargantuan dead dragon, dragging you a mile and a half to my home, and using my precious time and resources to save the life of a man who not a year ago burned huge swathes of the place i have lived for five years. it was very inconsiderate of me.”

“i don’t need you to tell me what’s right and wrong, witch,” he sneered. “i heard enough of the lies your kind tell with…” his face contorted in what she couldn’t be sure was pain or rage. as angry as he made her, the witch pitied him. she hated seeing people in pain. even him.

so she sat down on the floor beside his bed. he looked down at her in confusion, but seemed to be slightly less threatened by her. he lowered the knife, but still gripped it tight. “what are you doing?” he asked, his voice guarded.

“sitting down,” the witch responded. “wild animals are less threatened by you when you make yourself less threatening. i thought the same might work for you. your judgment seems to be clouded, probably by pain and mental disturbance. mental trauma and physical trauma, as it were. when humans are traumatized and on guard, their more animalistic instincts sometimes cloud their logical judgment.”

he blinked. “you are a very strange woman.”

she nodded matter-of-factly. “i know. i’m not a bad one, though. and i would like to rebandage your arm, please.”

he looked at her oddly for a long moment, his face unreadable. the silence was only broken by the first patterings of rain against the thatched roof of her cottage. he finally nodded.

she started to get up quickly, then remembered how on edge he was and started to move slower, making sure he could see where her hands were or what she was reaching for in the cabinets. he was quiet, watching her intently with his piercing violet eye. “what is your name?” he asked after a moment. his voice was surprisingly quiet.

the witch hesitated for a moment before responding. “y/n.”

———

“you do know the old saying about sleep being the best nurse?” the witch said in a groggy voice, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand.

aemond was sitting straight up, staring at the wall in the dark. “i can’t.”

“it’s been three weeks since you came here, highness, and you have barely slept at all.” the witch sighed and lit a candle, setting it on the small table and sitting down on the rickety chair. she nodded in his direction. “would you like to talk?”

he blinked at her. “no.”

she nodded again pensively. “tea, then?”

he frowned at her. “you are quite the strangest person in the world.”

“that isn’t an answer.”

he groaned and lay back down on the bed. “yes, fine. tea.”

the witch hummed softly in response, rising and lighting a fire in the dying hearth. aemond watched her as she moved through the house, she was pretty, he thought. for a witch.

“may i ask you something?” her voice cut through the slight fog of his thoughts.

he blinked. “fine. ask away.”

“what is your favorite color?”

“…what?”

she turned back around, pulling two mugs from the shelf and setting them on the table. she measured tea leaves from a jar as she spoke. “favorite color. a color that you prefer over every other color?”

he scowled. “i know what a favorite color is. children have favorite colors.”

“not just children. mine, for example, is orange.”

aemond smiled, somewhat to himself. “orange?”

“mm. like autumn leaves.”

he inhaled the steaming, fragrant scent of the tea as she poured the water over it. she pushed a cup over to him and he gladly took it, getting up and sitting across from her at the table. “why do you ask?” he said, taking his first sip and looking across the table at her with intense eyes.

“i’m making clothes for you, since your old ones are filthy and torn and burned. i thought they should be personal to you. at least a little.”

“hm.” he took another drink, feeling the heat warm him from the inside out. “i expected you to ask about alys. or my family.”

“i will never ask. you will tell me when you are ready. even if you are never ready, i don’t mind.”

he looked at her for a long moment, watching the firelight dance across her features. she wasn’t a cold, glamorous beauty like alys, certainly, but she had a feeling about her that made him feel at ease. pretty and warm. like firelight.

“blue,” he answered after a long moment. “my favorite color is blue.”

———

you’ll be glad of the cloak later, y/n had said.

she had been right, of course, but aemond was loath to admit it.

it had been six months now since y/n had found him, and as unsettling as the fact was for him to admit, he enjoyed her company greatly. she was amusing, and kind, and respectful. she sang as she worked some days, while he did the little he could to help around the house, and he swore sometimes the birds stopped to listen. he was fascinated by her every move, her sewing that she showed him in the evenings, the baking of bread in the mornings, the way her thighs and hips moved and flexed when she walked or knelt before the trees she worshiped, the peeks of her body he could see when she bent over and he could see down her dress. she wore mostly loose, light clothing, so she could move around, but sometimes, in the rains, or on hot, damp days, her clothes would stick to the shape of her, and he could almost imagine what she-.

he wrapped the deep blue fabric tighter around him and tried to focus on his prayers. “father, give me the strength to-.”

“what on earth are you doing?” his singular eye snapped open. the object of his musings was standing there with a basket of mushrooms on her hip, looking at him curiously. “you do know that that it is about to rain?”

the neckline of her loose cotton dress had slipped down, and he could see the curve of her shoulder and the hollow of her collarbone. he grunted a response. “i do.”

“and yet you are out here, kneeling against a rock?”

he shuffled his knees slightly. “praying.”

she snickered. “how pious, to sit in the damp and muck, to get dirt on your clothes. tell me, prince, do your gods require you to put mud in your septs as well, that you may kneel in a way that is more pleasing to them?”

he scoffed. “no. the septs are made to be holy places.”

she hummed softly. “so then, this is not a holy place?”

“unholy things happen here all the time.” y/n smirked slightly and he swore under his breath. “wait, fuck, no, you know that’s not what i meant-.”

“no, no, you already said it. you can’t go back now.”

he groaned audibly. “you are insufferable.”

“and unholy, it would seem.” y/n shifted the basket on her hip, walking over to stand next to him, smiling mischievously down at him. “tell me, prince, what have i done that is so sinful?”

“other than practice witchcraft and idolatry?”

“those are both bad points. my gods might say you are practicing witchcraft and idolatry just the same. both of us would be right, and therefore neither of us would be.”

“you are annoyingly intelligent.” he stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees, his still-healing arm protesting at the movement. she noticed him wince and touched his arm in concern, pushing back his shirt and inspecting the scar. aemond could feel her breath on his shoulder, the soft touches of her fingertips along the ragged skin. the first drops of rain started to fall on the two of them, and a drop fell on y/n’s face, running down her nose and into the corner of her perfectly kissable- no. that was a terrible idea.

“we should get inside.” she brushed a raindrop from her hair, and before he could stop himself, he reached up and pushed the offending strands behind her ear.

she froze, looking up at him, her lips slightly parted. in her own mind, she admired the arch of his nose, the intense, deep violet of his eye. he was so, so close, close enough to-.

“yes.” he cleared his throat. “yes, inside.” he started to follow her before halting suddenly. “y/n?”

she turned to him. “yes.”

aemond took a deep breath. “alys. she put a love spell on me.she stole away years of my life, she… i only realized it the day i almost- well. the day i met you. it’s why i didn’t like them. witches.”

she nodded in understanding, then tilted her head. “and now?”

aemond blinked. “now what?”

“do you like them now?”

he looked at her, taking in the way her hair curled in the damp of the rain. “i like some of them.”

———

their clothes were steaming slightly in the heat of the fire. the rain had soaked through them on their way back home, and aemond had immediately lit a fire in the hearth. it felt good, to him: to be able to do something for her. y/n did most things, he mused. she had taken him in when she didn’t have to, risking her own life to save his. right now, she was kneeling in front of the fire, contemplating the flames.

tension was thick in the air. both of them seemed far too aware of what had nearly transpired in the rain, as the secretive glances and brushes of hands had built up over the months. both of them were aware that they needed to change out of their soaking wet clothes, but neither seemed to want to move, frozen next to each other and staring into the heat. until y/n’s hand flexed slightly, almost imperceptibly, linking her little finger with aemond’s.

something in him snapped at the touch, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her mouth and pulling away abruptly. they looked at each other for a long moment, cheeks flaming, before y/n reached up, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling his lips down to meet her own. it wasn’t a gentle kiss, rather rough and passionate, filled with things he wanted to say to her, but could not articulate. instead, his hands made their way up her sides, grasping at the soft flesh and pulling moans from her lips. she gripped his shirt tightly, tugging the damp fabric eagerly in her rush to get it off.

he pushed her away, panting slightly, and pulled his shirt off slowly, watching her reaction. y/n’s eyes traced the pattern of the scars from the wounds she had stitched together those months ago. she walked forward and brushed the raised skin with gentle fingertips before leaning down and pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, right at the apex of the scar.

aemond tilted his head back at the touch of her lips and exhaled, eye fluttering shut. y/n made her way back up his neck, leaving soft pink marks in her wake. aemond opened his eye, taking her in again, before turning her gently with a touch to her shoulder and beginning to unlace her dress. he bit gently at the junction of her shoulder and neck as the dress fell from her body, before laving over the mark with his tongue. he stepped back, taking in her newly-naked body. he raised his eyebrow slightly. “nothing underneath?”

y/n shook her head, cheeks flaming and lips swollen. “it’s been too hot before now.”

aemond’s pupil dilated. “you mean, you’ve been walking around with nothing underneath your gown all day?”

y/n laughed sheepishly, ducking her head down to avoid his hungry gaze. “i’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

he crossed the space between them in one long stride and took her face in his hand, kissing her roughly while palming the flesh of her tits, eliciting a moan from her lips. she took his hand in hers and brought it down to the apex of her thighs, guiding his fingers to her clit and moaning softly when they made contact with the swollen flesh. he stroked the nub gently at first, testing her reactions, then circling it roughly. in return, she hesitantly brushed her fingers over the prominent tent in his trousers. at his encouraging groan, she gripped him tighter, feeling the thick length in her hand. he took her hand and guided it inside his pants, groaning deeply into her mouth when she gripped him and began to stroke him gently, then harder, her hand already lubricated with the precum dripping from his tip.

aemond pushed her gently backwards, walking her into her bedroom, not bothering to disconnect their lips. he quickly registered that he had never been in her room before y/n’s knees hit the bed and they buckled, pulling him on top of her in a tangle of limbs and lips. he vaguely felt y/n’s hands tugging his trousers down over his hips and gripping his cock again, stroking it before guiding it to her entrance. he pushed in slowly, his shoulders tensing with the effort of staying gentle for her.

y/n pressed soft kisses to aemond’s face, peppering them around the eye patch he still hadn’t removed. he frowned slightly, thinking she meant to take it off, but she shook her head. “no,” she whispered. “not ‘til you’re ready.”

he kissed her again in gratitude and began to move within her, relishing in the feeling of the tight, wet heat of her cunt. y/n smiled into his mouth, clenching around him when he hit a particular place inside her that made her tilt her head back into his hand and moan his name into his shoulder. he smiled into her hair before groaning when she began to thrust her hips back up into his, meeting his thrusts beat for beat. y/n reached down between their bodies and began to circle her clit harshly, crying out in pleasure and coming hard when he thrust particularly deep, gushing around him and spurring him into his own orgasm. he groaned her name into her shoulder, spilling deep inside her and resting his head on her chest. y/n chuckled softly, running her hands through his silver hair. he pressed a chaste kiss to her breast as he came down from his high, before looking back up at her. “thank you,” he said quietly.

y/n laughed again. “what on earth for?”

“everything. saving me. this. thank you.”

she hummed softly in response. “are you sure you’re not too bothered about owing your life to a witch?” she teased gently.

“somehow i think i’ll manage.” he rolled off of her and slid up on the bed, pulling her into his chest. “what happened with vhagar’s body?” he asked after a moment.

“nothing. it’s about three miles away from here. she was a bit too big for me to bury by myself.”

“ah.” he ran his fingers over her shoulder and hesitated. “could we go and see her? i never really got to say goodbye.”

“mm. i’ll take you tomorrow.”

#hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #hotd #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x reader

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whoopseydaisy · 20 days

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On Witches, Wizards, and Wild Ones: A Conspiracy Board from the Walls of the Witch of the Wondering Path

Ahoohoo and crackle crackle!

This is an attempt of untangling some threads, stretching out their red yarn and connecting one thing to another or maybe to nothing at all. A series of notes and questions on what we know, what we may know so far, or at the very least what we have been told. The purpose is mostly to try and determine who might be behind the assassination attempt of the station of the Witch of the World’s Heart, before the Coven of Elders convenes, but also some other stuff, because these sorts of things balloon out quite quickly when one is combing through transcripts for clues. And also a dragon??

I shall analyze and speculate from what we have been told, knowing some inconsistencies may be characters concealing truths, interpreting them differently, or that some inconsistencies will be born of this beautiful improvisational medium. I will also do so knowing that Brennan is playing a long game, setting up characters and plot threads for a future he does not entirely know yet.

Settle in with your warm drinks and campfire blankets everyone, this is 12 page paper.

THE CURSE(S)

There are several appearances of curses in both the Children’s Adventure and the first arc, often characterized by an exhalation of dark smoke.

In the Children’s Adventure: While not confirmed as a curse, when Grandmother Wren leaves (to a meeting with friends that the wizards don’t know about, to see where the missing Eoighorain might be) to what is presumably a meeting with the Coven of Elders, she returns with a bandage tied around her forearm. But it does not look too horrifying and it is not soaked with blood. She describes the trip as eventful and necessary. (Possibly at the castle of Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars, as the conclave will be the second meeting there in a century.)

In episode 8, 2 days before Steel arrives to bring Suvi home, Grandmother Wren returns to the cottage after leaving to try and figure out why Soft and Stone have not come yet. She went to a place that they had told her was safe, and someone was there waiting to hurt her. Grandmother Wren tells Suvi “They’re gone now.”

Grandmother Wren looks ill; her hair is white and her hand is described as black and red and withered, burnt and cracking with blood streaming down from a wound that can’t set. Her breath is ragged, weak, and quick. The curse is described to Eursulon as not strong, but clever. He also learns that the curse uses her pain to keep the itself in place; that it gets stronger the more she tries to feel and deal with the pain.

After the children work together to trap the curse and heal Grandmother Wren, Suvi recognizes the mist of wizardly teleportation magic outside. The girls just barely see Grandmother Wren’s footprints outside the door, but do not see anyone else’s, nor any other signs of entry. Suvi is able to tell that the magic is not Grandmother Wren’s.

After investigating this caught curse, which Grandmother Wren at first believed was the work of the wizard, she determines the curse was expecting a wizard, and did not believe its origins were of this realm. She also says it should have killed her, but it didn’t, because they were expecting someone else.

I was surprised re-listening that Grandmother Wren believed this portion of the curse expected a wizard. I think this curse may have been on an item capable of teleportation magic (no second set of footprints) perhaps meant for Soft and Stone, but when its target became Grandmother Wren, a contingent effect was triggered, or this is another curse altogether perhaps mingling with the larger curse on both her and Ame. Grandmother Wren thought Soft and Stone were spending the summer trying to find out who their true friends were - perhaps the Coven of Elders were also testing who they could trust. While “They’re gone now. Do you understand?” implies Grandma Wren whooping their ass 6 ft under the ground, she hadn’t figured out who cast it yet at that point, which leads me to believe that they were not present. The origin not being of this realm makes me think the origin of the curse is The Stranger.

In Ep 01:

Here we discover the larger curse on both Grandmother Wren and Ame, when they realize a curse has robbed Ame of her memories and knowledge, of her station and of who she could trust and prevents Grandmother Wren from telling her about the Coven of Elders or calling herself the Witch of the World’s Heart. Grandmother Wren breaks through the curse (but not breaking it proper) as it tries to “stop the coronation” by willing the house, and all that is hers to Ame.

After, Brennan tells us “Grandmother Wren can no longer speak as she concentrates on magic, she has not fought off this curse”

Taro addresses the Granddaughters of Wren and tells them “The curse is powerful, but the secrets that Wren shared still live. You have been cursed too” and then, speaking of Wavebreaker, “But there is a key, a key to find where they are being kept, and a key to cut them free when found. There is a source with the power to disenchant and scry”

GrandaughterS of Wren - is Suvi afflicted by any part of the curse, or was Taro’s “you” only addressing Ame? Taro also says Wavebreaker has the power to find where the secrets are being kept, and the power to scry but this is not currently reflected in the statblock…but more on that later when we talk about the Stranger’s possible connection to Wavebreaker.

We also learn in Episode 15, once Ame recovers her memories, that the Stranger had attacked Grandmother Wren at the Grove of the Well— a place sacred to the Coven of Elders, a month prior to her bed rest. She also tells Ame “For some time now, since you were a very little girl, in fact, he has been moving upon our world in a way that I cannot quite see.

Is part of the curse helping to obscure The Pilgrim Under the Stars, The Man in Black, The King of Night, The Stranger from Grandmother Wren? Did he start moving in such a way shortly after she took in Ame as her apprentice (which she was “cutting a bit close”) and the succession of her station was in the process of being secured, not going the way of either Scalvi, the Witch of the Watching Fire or Oruna, the Witch of the Wide Blue Sea?

In Ep 14:

In episode 14 when Eursulon breaks the curse on Ame we are told “Whatever entity placed this curse on Grandmother Wren and Ame put a spell so nasty that it was standing in front of successive contingent effects. That there’s like, a nested series of spells within Ame, and you’re excising all of them. But the big one that Ame was aware of was hiding some others”

The curse afflicting Grandmother Wren at the end of summer, seems to be the larger curse affected both her and Ame. The children only excised and trapped one part of many of the curse.

The curse is described as something sliding and clicking, liquid poison filled with a puzzle, turning from the inside, made of shadow. something that twists and rotates and expands and pierces. The curse is also holding onto something as it leaves - Ame is able to grab and safekeep the knowledge the curse attempts to steal from her on a Nat 20 wisdom save, and then collapses to the ground and expectorates black bile that smells of iron and blood, like Eoighorain, with a 9 on her constitution save. Her breathing remains strong, not ragged (unlike Grandmother Wren). We are told, through Suvi’s identify spell, that the bile is not the curse itself, but was behind the curse - something hidden there, meant to kill Ame if the curse were to be broken

Does the bile smell of Eoighorain because its a contribution he made to the curse (he is a known entity to the Coven of Elders), or a signifier of a power both he and Ame are affected by? We learn later, in Episode 16 when Steel discusses Eoighorain with Suvi, that this smell is not common amongst shapeshifter’s, but a scent she has only ever smelled from him.

When Steel arrives she says that the longer Ame remains in her unconscious state, the more whoever created this spell would be able to track her.

More on this in the next section- but is that why Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars was able to send a message to Ame in the Citadel so easily?

THE COVEN OF ELDERS

In Episode 23, Mr. Soup tells us that Grandmother Wren was at odds with the Coven for many years— there was a plan she did not want to go along with, and had been searching for a long time to find a way to convince her sisters to do something else. We also see glimpses of this in Episode 15 in Grandmother Wren’s conversation with Mirara, the Witch of the Waning Moon. It’s a safe guess that this disagreement has to do with Wizards and the Citadel.

What Sly has divined regarding the upcoming Conclave (which we are told in glorious metatheatrical fashion in Episode 23 that “All things occurring as they have been seen. With perhaps one or two tricks, just to keep the story interesting.”)

That if Ame does not go to the North Pole in 3 days, the Coven will meet without her and that they will try to destroy her and in doing so the stations of Witch of the World’s Heart

One of them will make an argument that Ame’s existence threatens the nature of magic in Umora. The majority of times Ame wins that argument, it is because magically if they were to get rid of her station they would probably have to get rid of another.

If Suvi is not there as her advisor, Ame will die

We also know from Grandmother Wren that there is much the coven can do without full unanimity (but presumably would be far less powerful to do so), and the Coven is bound by laws of mutual respect and there will be tremendous repercussions if one insinuates that any of the other stations are not incredibly significant to the nature of magic itself.

But which of the members of the Coven of Elders might want the station of the Witch of the World’s Heart gone the most? WHO IS IN CAHOOTS? Is The Stranger involved? Is Eoighorain? Who has the most against wizards?

Marara, the Witch of the Waning Moon (Mirara? The transcripts use both spellings.)

The death of light, the end of might, the all consuming dread of night.

This is the obvious first suspect.

If that’s not a witch well on the pathway to wickedness, I don’t know what is.

The Witch subclass says of The Coven of the Wicked: “Members of this coven like to paint themselves as misunderstood victims, but it’s not tragedy that turns a witch’s heart to darkness—it’s the inability to let go of their suffering. A wicked witch might claim to be an enemy to all the world, but they always have one kind of person in particular—usually related to their past self, and what soured their magic—that they despise above all else. When you become wicked, choose a virtue that is anathema to you: courage, fairness, generosity, innocence, loyalty, kindness, optimism, prudence, selflessness, or being in love. Beings that display this virtue are especially tempting targets for your ire.”

Like…you can’t have a piece of such juicy and gorgeous and cool design like the Coven of Wicked (and the rehabilitation therein) and not have a wicked witch in your story!

Additionally, Marara’s domain is the Witch of the Waning Moon. The death of light, the end of might, the all consuming dread of night. The moon wanes as it goes from full to new. When Ame meets her on the road, to light her way to the cottage, the harbinger of her arrival is a candle on the verge of going out.

Mirara’s domain speaks to cycles, to the fall of the mighty and to the fear of the unknown. It is also of the night, possibly putting her in natural cahoots with The King of Night who also hates wizards. The conversation he has with Eursulon and the conversation Ame sees in the water between Marara and Grandmother Wren, both in Episode 23, certainly mirror each other.

She is also often accompanied by wind, which speaks to Indri’s domain, the Wind and Stars, another one of night.

Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars

Of frost and stone, of ice and throne, the ruler of the self alone.

Indri’s domain is the wind and stars, a domain that also overlaps with an appellation of the Pilgrim Under the Stars. In the letter to Ame she tells her she knew Ame has assumed her station from how the stars aligned. She has an apprentice we know little of. She also did the most to reach out to Ame to arrange a meeting.

Did she reach out to Ame so it was more likely she would attend the Conclave?

The ice fairies say when they find Ame and Suvi in the bathroom, “long lancing spells and vexing hexes of old were made to pierce and plunder through the guises and guile of wizards”

Were they able to reach her because Ame was easier to track when she was unconscious under Indri’s spellwork? Is it because she does not like wizards and is practiced at secretly penetrating their defences? The ice fairies were particularly silly, one being evidently foolish. Were they perhaps sent by Indri by way of her apprentice, who is lonely and excited to meet another Great Apprentice? “Hexes of old” does imply that Indri may be practiced at getting through Citadel defences.

Does Indri have any pull over celestial movements? When discussing that summer and Eoighorain with Suvi, Steel says “all of that changed as the celestial path shifted ever so slightly. And that slight slight shift meant that all of a sudden, you could teleport anywhere, pretty much unstoppable, very easily.” Grandma Wren also speaks of stars to Ame like they have personalities. Could Indri have eased the way for the eras of easy teleportation? Did she ever go on long and friendly flights among the stars with Grandma Wren? Is her witchcraft more divinatory? I think Indri falls on the side of wanting to stop wizards, but something in my gut says she does not want to see Ame dead.

Hacaea, the Witch of the Woodland Green

The holly branch, the towering oak, the limb and leaf an thorn her folk.

We know little of Hacaea so far, but I think she’s absolutely in cahoots mostly because she would have perhaps one of the greatest motives to hate wizards and want them gone, on account of the whole them turning a great forest into a huge snowy, mirror-y desert and a wizard tower who’s aerith depository is probably doing kind of fucked up stuff to the biome. We know she does not have an apprentice and I think Brennan singling her out as the one Ame could imagine hanging out with was in part was that it would hurt more when she’s in ASSASSINATION CAHOOTS. Might have sent Ame the letter on bark.

Grimoire, the Witch of the Wild Hunt

Where beasts have tread and monsters fed, the bloody fang and maw hath led.

We also do not know much about Grimoire. We know she has an apprentice, and has so far been characterised as much more feral and concerned with catching and eating things. She might have also sent Ame a letter on bark. I think there is more with her connection to monsters and possibly to Gaothmai, and Eoighorain?? Certainly there is more to her than meets the ear. Again I think Brennan could have been trying to be tricky in his comments about her, trying to make her seem less important early on than she will be.

THE STRANGER

Who has held his breath since the dawn of time, the Pilgrim Under Stars, the Man in Black, the King of Night. Who attacked Grandmother Wren at the Grove of the Well and who has been moving across the world in a way Grandmother Wren could not see since Ame was a very little girl, who came to the cottage the moment after Grandmother Wren passed when the station was at its most vulnerable and requested entry, and who does not like wizards.

The strings I am most interesting in detangling here, are his possible connection to Wavebreaker, and his connection to roads which we know are incredibly significant to Grandmother Wren’s wards.

In Episode 7 of Children’s Adventure after the cast each takes a turn describing a detail of Wavebreaker Brennan narrates “So you have this moment together in the hottest days of summer as this suit of armor hands you this thing”. The next scene, after taking a moment to roll some ability scores, is at night.

Suvi then rolls a 3 on a perception check, “So with a three in perception, you look and see that you were mistaken. You look deeper at the shadow and it's just a shadow. But it was a scary shape from one of the trees”

Ame investigates the spot the next day.

Taro had said back in Episode 01 “It will help you find whatever is keeping these secrets, and perhaps whoever took them.” What if that connection goes both ways for a powerful spirit with so many titles? One who has taken care to obscure himself from Grandmother Wren?

In Episode 23 once Eursulon entered the fire, eventually travelling from the Citadel to actual Gaothmai, the Stranger caught up to him enough to have a conversation real fast.

As evidenced above (if that figure of shadow is indeed The Stranger, but the point still stands anyways) he is also connected to the motif of roads.

The final line of Episode 01 (which as the last line from the first episode, carries extra emphasis):

From episode 21:

From episode 22:

But in speaking of roads we must remember,

The iron shoe of horses. 3 iron nails sprung out of a signpost. Could a connection to the Stranger cause Eoighorain’s blood to smell like iron?

EOIGHORAIN

In my folders of screenshots, within the one labelled conspiracy, this one is named “the unexplained Eoighorain fragment.” As I mentioned before, Brennan is playing the long game- placing pieces on the board, but he could not yet know all the ways they could move. Eoighorain is placed like a question mark, with great manoeuvrability. He could go one way or another. Too many NPCs think him untrustworthy and it makes me wonder if he is the flashy distraction of a magic trick so we don’t see what the other hand is doing.

This one goes down a few rabbit holes.

We learn much about Eoighorain in episode 16 from Suvi and Steel’s conversation but also, from the diagrams (which are 150 years old, made in the first 50 years of the Citadel) of garrans, which are a creature of the world of spirit. We learn that Eoighorain’s name means “Of Garran” or “Son of Garran” and that iron was always at the forefront of his smell, with the party speculating that the iron is perhaps used to bind him.

In Episode 15 Grandmother Wren tells Ame she has doubts about how loyal Eoighorain ended up being. Steel tells Suvi in episode 16 that she discovered recently, in the weeks preceding the start of the campaign proper, that Eoighorain was alive, and this is why she sent the books including the diagrams made to smell like him to Grandmother Wren, in an act of admitting defeat and hoping she would be able to find him where she could not.

She says she saw him at Fort Keiran, doubts herself, and then sounds sure.

Why was Eoighorain at Fort Keiran? Because the revolutionary forces of Gaothmai are fighting the Citadel? Because he is working with the Cauntaranacht now and perhaps always was? A secret third thing? Was it even him after all? Was Steel about to say that exact same scent? Was their revolution successful and so their forces hold much more power in Gaothmai now? Is that one of the reasons the war is spinning up again?

We see Gaothmai ourselves only briefly, in Episode 23. Eursulon, after falling and landing in an unfamiliar deep forest, meets monsters caught somewhere between spirit and mortal, left to fester— simian feline monstrosities, somewhere between a baboon and a panther with diseased scaly and mottled hide. Brennan describes it like a yard with attack dogs in it, who attack because of his citadel badge and who eventually leads him to Kalaya.

(And sidebar I think he sees a dragon?? Is the war spinning up again because of a dragon? Was part of the Coven’s plan raising a dragon to raze the Citadel and everyone else? Was that how the world burned before? I just realized now that Eursulon saw a dragon and I am spinning up about it for sure.)

But back to Eoighorain, and Steel thinking that he caused the death of Soft and Stone, who Steels tells us were prolific double agents with connections in both Rhuv and Gaothmai that pay dividends to this day.

Grandmother Wren tells Ame in Episode 15 that Eoighorain was one of the outside members of the Citadel to alert the Acadator to the presence of agencies, jokingly referred to as the League of Whispers, which were dedicated to the downfall of the Citadel from within. She also says “When Steel came to collect Suvi at the end of that summer, the primary targets of their investigation were dead or missing.”

Additionally in the Children’s Adventure:

Steel tells us in Episode 16 that the mission Soft and Stone were on the summer that they died was searching for a dangerous sorceress named Nahani. This was the first time that instead of her and Eoighorain protecting Soft and Stone, he alone was charged with their safety. When Steel returned to collect Suvi she came back with scars on her face, and a new cloak.

Why was Steel left behind? Was she needed by the Citadel elsewhere? A matter of trust? Is she telling the truth? Did Soft and Stone leave Steel behind so she would not know they were possibly acting against the Citadel? Because they knew she would not betray it? Was she really not there, or is that a cover up? Is guilt one of the forces that pulled her to be mother to Suvi? I don’t really think she killed them but I am not discounting that possibility.

I think Steel believes this wholeheartedly, but I don’t for a second.

Stone is a very prolific abjurer, who also studied divination. Just saying.

Additionally,

This little nugget in Gaothmai perked my ears up the first time it was said. Ket, you say? Like Suvirin Kedberiket? Like Aman Kedberiket? THAT WAS A CHOICE BRENNAN. IN A WORLD WHERE NAMES ARE VERY IMPORTANT, IN A CULTURE WHERE NAMES ARE KEPT SECRET. IN A NATION STONE WAS A DOUBLE AGENT FOR. WHO, 2 YEARS BEFORE SUVI WAS BORN, FREED A NUMBER OF SPIRITS, ONE OF WHOM WAS KALAYA, WHO THEN SETTLED DOWN IN GAOTHMAI. AND HE HAS A COLLEAGUE WHO IS THEORETICALLY A REVOLUTIONARY FROM THERE. A COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT. Anyways I think Soft is from Gaothmai.

In conclusion: ?????????????????? I’m really excited for arc 3 because I really love witches and I don’t really know what up with Eoighorain, and I adore but do not trust Steel (but what else is new) and I do think there’s a dragon in Gaothmai apparently?? And I think The Stranger has a connection to Wavebreaker and I think Soft is from Gaothmai and I really don’t know if I can trust Indri or not but I hope we meet her apprentice and some more ice fairies.

#wbn #wbn spoilers #wbn pod #the wizard the witch and the wild one #worlds beyond number #wbn meta #wbn conspiracy board #im moving this over from my google doc in pieces and it is 12:25 on the monday (tuesday) night before the episode drops #the conclave arc #and I do have work in the morning and I still must turn my outline on the stranger and eoighorain whose name I can finally spell now #into the writing of the thing #this was lowkey and then high key my project within arcs and I did not think it would take as much time as it did and then was FOLLY #but ya start collecting screenshots from transcripts and then ur collecting them for everything #anyways I think I can push it another hour so lets hope I can get er done and hopefully someone will read it #and its not all immediately disproven in 6 hours #a crack theory that came to me in a fugue state I did not include is that Eoighorain is the Scalvi's apprentice who betrayed her #okay it took me to 3am and the episode technically beat me by 45 minutes but I will take it #long post

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roboticchibitan · 7 months

Text

A cottage witch and her dragon 20

(You can read the rest of this story on AO3 here)

Rodgate sat in a wide valley that was full of lakes, rivers, and streams. The city had a river and several streams running through it. So on days like today, the fog came out in full force.

Serenity wasn't a fan of fog. It gave her the creeps. And today's fog was thicker than usual. When she went out her back door to collect firewood from the lean-to on the back porch, she suddenly felt a large amount of magical energy.

"Granny? What are you doing?" It was hard to see the old lady through the fog.

"I'm spinning fog," came the reply.

"You're what?"

"Come here and I'll show you."

Serenity, cold because she forgot her shawl, exited her garden through the back gate and went to see what Granny was doing.

As she arrived in the neighboring back garden, Serenity extended her magical senses so she could see the Web of All Things. She felt a steady flow of energy from Granny, and an odd sensation of pulling on the fog.

Granny sat with a drop spindle, using one hand to grab handfuls of fog and the other hand was doing the motions of drafting, and from her hands and onto the spindle came a string of condensed fog!

"That's fascinating," Serenity said, "May I touch it?"

"Have at it, girlie," Granny replied, offering up the spindle so Serenity could inspect it.

Serenity touched the fog yarn. It felt both solid and not. There was resistance to Serenity's fingers, but the yarn was see-through. It was an odd sensation. The yarn felt cool but not damp like she expected.

"How are you doing that?"

"Secrets of an old weather witch. You have to sort of use the Web to grab onto it, then some magical energy to make it dense, and then a little more to make it stay as yarn."

"Can you teach me?"

"I'm not sure I could, honestly. Weather witchcraft can be dangerous, and I don't remember all of the precautions young witches have to take anymore. It's all second nature to me at this age. But I'll tell you what I can do. I'll teach you how to use your familiar in a spell. You wouldn't have learned during your apprenticeship because you didn't have a familiar yet, right?"

"Oh, would you?" Serenity asked excitedly. "I know in theory how to do it, but I haven't tried it yet because Dragon is so young and I'm not 100% sure I know what I am doing."

"If he's old enough to get into trouble, he's old enough to help out."

"He's been getting into trouble since the day he hatched," Serenity laughed. "Do you remember how small he was? He fit in my hands!"

"And he tried to eat an entire pot of honey that was bigger than him. I remember."

"He did! But do you really think he's ready to help out in spell work?"

"Well, we can just ask him. He's got his own free will as a sentient being."

"That's true. How much fog yarn are you going to spin?"

"Enough to make a cloak. I have a plan, you see."

"Oh? And what is this plan?"

"An invisibility cloak! Or at least, something close. An almost invisibility cloak."

"Oh, I see! You're going to use the fog's natural ability to obscure things, and make a cloak that makes you hard to see!"

"Exactly," Granny said proudly. "I'm going to spin it, knit it, and enchant it. And you're going to help, because it's for you."

"Granny, you could sell something like that for a fortune!"

"Yes, but that won't put my mind at ease. A young girl like you wandering the city alone is just dangerous. This'll make you harder to notice, so you'll be less likely to run into trouble."

"I can't accept this, it's too much."

"You're going to help me make it, so you deserve to keep it. Don't disappoint this old lady. I am very proud of this invention."

Serenity was still reluctant. "I haven't run into any trouble yet."

"Yet. You're young and you feel invincible, but it's not true. And what happens if someone robs you on your way home from market, and takes all your earnings for that day? Could you take that hit?"

Serenity could not. "Well, I suppose arguing with you is no use."

Granny smiled widely, her hands going back to the spinning as she spoke. "That's my girl."

"I didn't know you could spin."

"I grew up on a farm, remember? We spun our own yarn from the wool our sheep produced!"

"So you've been able to spin yarn this entire time and you never told me?" Serenity said in a fake offended voice.

"It's not my favorite pastime, so I kept it to myself. You'll forgive this old lady, won't you?" Granny said in an equally fake show of penitence.

Serenity laughed. "I suppose I'll have to. How long do you think it'll take you to make enough yarn?"

"A couple more foggy mornings and evenings, I think. I've been doing this all spring. I'm almost finished."

Serenity shivered violently in the cool air. "I'm going to go back inside because I didn't bring my shawl, but you come get me when you're ready to enchant it and we'll cast that spell together."

"Alright, Serenity. You go inside and warm up! I'll come get you when it's ready."

Serenity hurried back inside to make herself some tea. That was the last she heard of the almost invisibility cloak for the better part of a month.

Finally, Granny came to call.

"Serenity, dear, the almost invisibility cloak is all knitted up! It's ready for the spell, and it's a full moon tonight!"

"It's done already? What time do you want to do the ritual?"

"Midnight is traditional, but I don't feel like staying up that late, so how about right after dusk?"

"Alright, my place or yours?"

"How about mine? My table is large enough to use for the ritual."

"Alright, I'll be over at dusk."

"Dragon," Granny said in conspiratorial tones, "What do you think of helping us out in a ritual? You have a lot of magical energy, you could be a big help!"

Dragon perked up at this. He sent a feeling of "Me? Help?"

"Yes, familiars often help their witches in spell work. What do you think? Would you like to give it a try?"

Dragon nodded an emphatic "Yes."

"Alright, you come over at dusk, too."

Excitement rolled off Dragon in waves. He was so delighted that he wiggled a little bit to let out some of the excited energy.

Dusk came, and found Serenity and Dragon in Granny's cottage, preparing for a ritual. Granny set out candles in the traditional pentagram layout. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it was easier to channel and control magical energy if you followed a rigid structure for your rituals. They tended to be more effective that way.

Granny lit the candles, then put the cloak in the center of the pentagram. It was a dense gray, not quite opaque, and when Serenity reached out and touched it, it was cool to the touch.

"Now, you hold my hand, and Dragon, you sit on the other side of the table. I'll direct the energy, since it's my spell. Dragon, when I tell you, you provide us with some energy too, alright? Between the three of us, we should be able to get this done without too much of a rebound."

Dragon nodded gravely, his excitement calmed to seriousness.

Serenity joined hands with Granny and extended her magical senses. The cloak was already glowing with magical energy. The Web of All Things lit up around it. Serenity felt a small pull on her own magical energy as Granny drew power from her through their joined hand.

Slowly, Granny's energy moved along the lines of the Web towards the cloak.

Once she made contact between her magical energy and the cloak, she said, "Now, Dragon."

A flood of magical energy flowed from Dragon into the cloak. Serenity could feel Granny gathering it and applying it to the Web. Granny looked through the threads of the Web, one by one, until she found the one that made fog difficult to see through. Upon finding it, she took hold of it.

Then, carefully, she started pouring the energy into that thread, until the thread was glowing brightly. Then, finally, with a mental tweak of the strings, she sent all of that energy through that thread and into the cloak.

For a moment, the cloak glowed brightly. Then, it seemed to get duller and darker, until it was back to it's dusty gray. Serenity could feel the magic of the cloak, but this was different from most spells. It was vague and hard to sense.

"Well, I think that did it," Granny interrupted the silence. "Dragon, you have such a large amount of magical energy! No wonder witches with dragon familiars become battle mages. I hardly feel tired at all after that. Without you, Serenity and I would both be out of commission for days from a spell like that."

Dragon looked incredibly pleased with himself. He puffed his chest up and his face settled into an expression that could only be described as smug.

"Don't go getting a big head now," Granny warned. "Serenity, try it on, let's see how it works."

Serenity removed the cloak from the table and put it on. It was incredibly light, lighter than the finest mohair yarns. It wasn't warm like mohair, though. It was distinctly cool. This would be good to use in the coming summer.

"What do you think?" She asked Granny.

"I know you're there already so it won't work as well on me, but it is hard to sense you, even using my magical senses. It's like the Web gets blurry and hard to see around you. I think it turned out perfectly!"

Serenity felt tiredness settle into her bones. "I am feeling that energy depletion now. Let's have a snack."

"I have just the thing! Made some raspberry muffins yesterday. We can have those. I'm feeling a tad tired too. Not bad for an old witch, if I do say so myself."

Serenity removed the cloak and sat back down at the table where candles still burned. "Not bad at all!"

Dragon took an enormous bite out of his muffin and then sighed. It seemed like the tiredness was hitting him as well.

"We all need to go to bed after our snack," Serenity said to her companions.

"And we will, but snacks first."

Serenity let out a sigh. "These muffins are delicious. You'll have to give me the recipe."

"It's an old family secret, but for you dear, I'll write it down."

Serenity smiled. "Thank you."

When everyone had finished their snack, the witches parted ways, Granny to have a cup of tea before crashing in bed, and Serenity excited to be the proud new owner of an almost invisibility cloak.

#a cottage witch and her dragon #serenity and dragon #my writing #original fiction #my art #things I made

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russosafehaven · 1 year

Text

Season of the Witch

Pairing: Werewolf!Billy Russo x Witch!Reader

Content: Aftercare in reference to full moon, Fem!Reader, Fluff

POV: Third?

BR Taglist: @snowkestrel @judig92 @k-marzolf

The cottage was deep in the forest, many people had never even seen it. In the town many of the children sung rhymes about the witch rumoured to live there. Every full moon torches were lit up all night, scaring the creatures that may lurk. Few people had ever seen the woman who was said to live in the forest. Those who had an encounter with her had found problems in their life magically going away.

A young boy who was riddled with warts found them disappearing when he gave the woman a penny. The local butcher who had a sudden influx of illness in his cows gave the woman some ice. When she returned the day after the full moon with the ice now melted, the butcher was instructed to give the water to the bovines. The illness that once riddled the animals was cured.

The townsfolk never saw problem with the witch. She lived deep in the forest, never harming the people. Although there were many creatures in the woods, vampires, werewolves. All sorts of them, the witch protected the townspeople from the ones with an intense blood lust. During the full moon when the werewolves transformed the people would find bundles of wolfsbane, wormwood, rue, sage and lavender hanging from their doors. Howls from the forest would no longer scare the children as the witch protected them.

There was only one incident where any of the townsfolk were harmed by the supernatural. The moon at its fullest and for a few minutes it was a crimson shade as it eclipsed. A wolf by the name of William Russo had found his way into the two. A young girl was outside, looking at the eclipse in all its glory. It was a rare sight after all. The beast in the man took over and attacked the girl. While walking through the streets harvesting some of the locals daisy’s the witch had seen the sight. Alone she wasn’t powerful enough to take the wolf on. However she was strong enough to save the girl. Her feet rushed towards the young girl. Using her own body as shield to protect the small child.

The cloak the witch wore was doused in wolfsbane. It was pungent and toxic to wolves. As the beast ran back to the forest the witch knelt down to the girl and pulled a chunk of dragons blood resin from her pocket.

“Take this and sleep with it under your pillow, by morning you shall be healed little one”

Sure enough by the next morning the girl’s body held no evidence of the attack. The witch had watched her play the next day, ensuring the spell held up. When she fled to the forest she found a man lying on her doorstep. His hair was messy, frame sky-clad and wounds all around his body.

Wolves often came to the witch for help after a full moon. Although often the alpha of a pack would come once a year and stock up. The creatures only turned once a month, twice if there was a blue moon. They didn’t need much depending on the size of a pack. Still there were a few solo wolves in the forest. Those who were vulnerable to attacks during the night.

“William, are you awake my boy?”

She knelt down next to the man. Many creatures had told the woman about William Russo. The wolf who refused the warmth of a pack. Hand trailing up his neck she felt for a pulse. It was strong, so he was just sleeping. Stepping around him the woman opened the door to her cottage. Fetching a jar filled with a variety of herbs.

When she left the apothecary room William was standing in her living room. She smiled warmly at him and grabbed his hand. Leading the wolf out of the cottage they walked to a small lake. It wasn’t that far from the witches home. Placing the jar on the edge of the lake she removed her clothes. The woman’s skin was untouched by time, no scars or wounds. Occasional blemishes as were expected, she was still somewhat human after all.

Turning around the witch grabbed the wolfs hand, guiding him into the water. It was cold but the sun glaring down on the two of them made it bearable. She turned around to grab the jar, opening it and adding some of the contents to the lake.

“Lavender for soothing. Rosemary for cleansing, sage for protection, allspice to help with aches, amaranth for the swelling, chamomile for any soreness, comfrey for healing wounds, daisy for the headaches and thyme is a wonderful anti-septic. The townsfolk don’t need to know how what I do aids them. They find beauty in the magic, however you wolves I’ve learnt like to know what I’m giving them. It helps ease your fear”

William watched as the herbs floated on the water’s surface. His bones already felt less sore and there were less wounds than before. The woman across from him looked ethereal with the sheen of water covering her body. He had heard stories of the witch from a local pack he was somewhat close with. Frank, the alpha had always told him to go to the witch. That she could help him.

He had never expected to end up at her doorstep. She didn’t ask questions, just got what she needed and did what had to be done. Curiosity flooded through William’s mind. How could he get to know her better? A splash of water washed over the woman’s skin and as she looked over to the wolf he was smirking wildly.

“Does the puppy wanna play?”

She asked with a wry smile. The water lifted up, coating the man with a wet sheen. The witches words had an effect on him. She was comforting to be around, like just her breath could heal his wounds invisible or not. The two would play for hours reliving childlike moments. A townsperson who had come looking for the witch saw them. He had spread the word that the witch had a lover. Whether or not the people lived in their protector, they were happy she had found someone to make her smile.

#billy russo #billy russo imagine #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #the punisher imagine #the punisher #x reader #billy russo fluff #billy russo angst #billy russo x yn

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ladytabletop · 11 months

Note

If I may be so bold as to request two: a 1d10 list of heroic deeds a barbarian must accomplish to prove his/her honor. and 1d10 Dwarven folk tales.

Heroic Deeds as Tests of Merit

Climb the highest peak and retrieve a single egg from the snow eagle's nest. Raise the eaglet until it is grown.

Set aside weapons of all kind and traverse the continent from one end to another.

Hold up a waterfall.

Construct a bridge to unite two villages. Accept no help. Use no tools.

Race a cheetah and win.

Retrieve the shield of an ancient warrior, long sunk beneath a deadly whirlpool.

Slay a dragon and carve its skull into a cottage.

Find the bog witch and live with her for a year and a day, doing whatever she bids.

Find a fallen star and bring it to the king.

Scale the Tower and discover what is hidden within.

Dwarven Folk Tales

The Lady of Under is a figure of myth every dwarven child knows about. They say she comes from the deeps, from the very center of the earth, covered in the glitter of mineral and the dust of stone, to grant sweet dreams to those who are sleeping.

Have you heard the tale of the Lovers of Malachite? The trio separated by distance and politics? Their story is a tragic one, for when their knocked messages were heard by the kings of their respective nations, they were locked away forever.

Shadowmoles aren't real. They aren't! They're a made up creature used to explain away miners losing things in the tunnels. Some even say depth sickness is blamed on them.

They say there was once a dwarf so talented on the guitar that even tallfolk were enchanted. If you are lost and hear music, know that it is his songs guiding you.

Efri the Rash was a dwarf so strong and so quick to anger, they say she carved the vast canyon we now live in in a fit of pique after her prize badger was slain.

If you're very quiet near a tunnel's entrance, and the wind whistles across it, you can hear the weeping of a king under the mountain, now long dead. His spirit wanders above ground, unable to return home because of a curse.

Dwarves once were able to swim in the lava flows found deep underground, but a trickster god in the form of a tunnelworm robbed them of their fire immunity. That's why tunnelworms can now swim in lava lakes.

If legend is true, twas a dwarf that hung the moon and the sky. She so loved the stars that she gifted them a great rock to be near them. Some say her bones lie at the moon's center.

If ever you fall into a sinkhole, you have been chosen by the earth to hear and interpret her words. They say you will come back stronger and wiser - but forever changed.

The glowlark flowers that bloom in the caves only grow where a giant's tears have fallen as it laid down for final rest to let its body turn to stone.

all d10 random lists

#d10 random list #these were fun but do please send lists separately!#it's easier to answer if I only have to do one at a time and not keep the ask open #guess I could have done a separate post for the second one

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ataraxiaspainting · 6 months

Text

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body.

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is.

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to.

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes.

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod.

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts.

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down.

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?”

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems.

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom.

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone.

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.”

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches.

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort.

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show.

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements.

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front.

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way.

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed.

“We’re finally alone, baby…”

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.”

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily.

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said.

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran.

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks.

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you.

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing.

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side.

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom.

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring.

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips.

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door.

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.”

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast.

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm.

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read.

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you.

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground.

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well.

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you.

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth.

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away.

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend.

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed.

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked.

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her.

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own.

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune."

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?"

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously.

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound.

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home.

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal.

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up.

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage.

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do.

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself.

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.”

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he?

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you.

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.”

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better.

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.”

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.”

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day.

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?”

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off.

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.”

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore.#ultraviolet.#author aya

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