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rebelliousstories · 1 year

Text

Snow Day

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader

Fandom: Interview With The Vampire

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Angst, Mentions of Blood and Vamperism

Word Count: 2,956

Masterlist: Here

Summary: Another Christmas had come and gone, but not without Lestat telling his tales of his favorite, and least favorite, holidays of the past.

Snow danced outside the window that Lestat sat at. His golden curls were loose, like his shirt. The chill didn’t bother him unlike his companion who was currently bundling up and starting the fireplace. Snow in New Orleans was rare but not unheard of, however it was interesting for the vampire. He was so used to warmer temperatures that he forgot the cold. And he wouldn’t be here had it not been for his companion.

She walked over and draped a blankets over Lestat, before setting down a steaming cup of hot cocoa. The man looked quizzically at the lady who now snuggled up to his side in the blanket.

“So, how do you enjoy the snow?” She asked as Lestat’s arm came around her shoulders. She reached for her cup of hot cocoa, enjoying the way it warmed her hands and her body as she drank it.

“It’s been some time since I have seen snow. I’ve been in New Orleans for so long that I had nearly forgotten of its existence. Although it did snow back in the 90’s there. Normally snow is during February though. It has been a lifetime since I’ve experienced a white Christmas.” He continued to stare out the window, as his companion stared up at him instead.

“Les,” he hummed, “can you tell me about some of the Christmases you’ve experienced? Surely you have some good stories to tell.” She sounded so hopeful, and who was Lestat to deny his lover anything?

“That I can do, Mon amor.” He took a minute to collect his thoughts and think about Christmases past that he could remember. Only a few stood out.

“Well, let’s start with one of my earliest.”

December 25th, 1771

A young boy with golden curls greeted his cousins in the living room for the large French mansion. He was dressed in his favorite royal blue outfit, with frills and lace. It was a normal Christmas in the home that he shared with his parents. There was nothing that mattered to him at that moment, except the presents underneath the Christmas tree. They always saved one present to open when the rest of the people got there, so there was always an element of mystery in the day.

The ten year old Lioncourt traded books, candy, and stories with his cousins. They did the same with him, and he consumed the knowledge that surrounded him. A distant memory of his mother’s face calling him for dinner. Lestat sat next to her at the table, and enjoyed Christmas dinner. He enjoyed the turkey, and rolls. Vegetables dawned the remaining parts of his plate.

But what he couldn’t wait for the most, was opening that final present under the tree. It was always something that was worth the wait. Usually a book, but Lestat didn’t care. A present was a present, and books that he hadn’t read were rare. However, once dinner was done, and the maids had cleared away the table, the box for the young man wasn’t shaped like a book. The box was tapered, resembling more a coffin than a book. He opened the box slowly, and was greeted with himself. Or rather, the reflection of himself. An ornate silver mirror was nestled gently in a plush interior. The boy picked up the beautiful object and observed it carefully. There were gems and crystals embedded in the back of the mirror, along with engraved flowers and vines.

He couldn’t stop staring at himself in the mirror or the mirror itself for the rest of the night. It was easily his favorite present he had received that Christmas.

“Do you remember what happened to the mirror?” His companion asked; Lestat was still staring outside at the snow falling down.

“I do not. After I ran away from home, the last I heard about my family was my mother and father died. My little brother was locked up in a mental hospital.” He seemed to have to think hard about what happened, like he hadn’t really thought about it for a while. But, suppose that’s what happens when you are alive for over two hundred years.

“What was Christmas like once you became a vampire? Can you even celebrate such a holy holiday?” His lover questioned from underneath Lestat’s arm. Said vampire began to chuckle.

“Oh I can certainly think of a few ways for us to celebrate.” He looked towards her with his eyes full of mischief. She groaned and gently hit her lover in the side.

“But yes. I remember my first Christmas as a fledgling. My own creator didn’t care enough to stick around after he made me. So it was a lonely Christmas.”

December 25th, 1781

Snow flitted on the streets of London. A fresh fledgling wandered said streets, looking for food. No one was nearby to show him what he was or what to do. All he knew was that he was hungry. His boots crunched the snow beneath him as he walked. Normally, he despised wearing shoes as common as boots when he wasn’t around to ride a horse. But winter was here, and he was on the streets.

Lestat was so hungry. He was on the hunt for food and shelter. If he was able to charm someone for the evening, he could find the solution to both problems. And maybe get a little more for his troubles. As he ventured down the dirty streets, lights greeted him as did the smell of freshly baked goods. The young vampire remembered having fresh cookies at his home for Christmas. Jam, and different sugars made the cookies sweet and delicious.

There was a tree in the middle of town, strung up with tinsel and paper decorations. His legs dragged him over, and dropped him in a heap at the base of the tree. Exhaustion filled him, inside and out. The hunger seemed never ending, and he was starting to regret ever talking to that strange man that made him the way he was. This was unbearable.

A hand gently placed itself on his shoulder, and Lestat’s head slowly turned. It took all of his remaining strength to do so while the mysterious figure draped a blanket over his shoulders. A woman, no older than he, was dressed impeccably, clearly having money and status. He remembered her honey sweet voice asking him if he’d like a warm place to stay, and a warm meal. He remembered meeting her husband and his friend that was staying over at the house for the holiday.

He vividly recalls the silent shock on the men’s faces as he tore into their necks, but he doesn’t remember destroying hers. A haze had made itself present over his vision and reasoning. When Lestat came to, it was a massacre in the home. But he finally felt alright. He wasn’t hungry, wasn’t exhausted, wasn’t cold. Blood drenched the clothes he wore, the carpet in the room, and the people that now lay dead. He went over to his gracious hostess and made sure to lay her down properly. She was kind to him, but he needed to eat as well.

Lestat remained in the home over night and left before anyone could find him the next morning. The man’s clothing fir him well enough that he could continue to find lavish homes to spend the night in for the rest of winter.

“That was the one death that I regret, truly. But when in a frenzy after going so long without food, it’s hard to contain.” Lestat was genuinely upset at the kind woman’s death. He’d forgotten her name after all these years, but he never forgot her generosity.

“She seemed like a lovely lady.” His lover was now pressed into his chest, Lestat was on his back. The snow outside kept coming down, slowly burying the home and roads in the icy white substance.

“She was. Did you know that Louis was absolutely insane over Christmas the first year he was turned? He was so concerned that he couldn’t celebrate the holiday because of the dark gift I gave him.” Lestat began to chuckle lightly at the memory, which caused her to start laughing as well.

“Tell me about that Christmas, Les. Please.” Who was he to deny her?

December 25th, 1791

Night falls across the plantation in beautiful and busy New Orleans, Louisiana. A young vampire, only twenty years turned, slowly wakes up from his peaceful slumber and takes in the sight of his coffin. His own prodigy, his very own fledgling, was curled into his chest, and had yet to wake up. In the dark of the coffin, Lestat could just barely make out the man’s full lips, prominent cheekbones, and soft skin. The brown hair on his creation flowed over his shoulders and tickled the man’s back lightly. His red eyes were shielded but the elder vampire knew that once he woke up and opened his eyes, Lestat would hear the incessant whining of him.

Speaking of which, his fledgling was beginning to wake from his peaceful rest. Just like he thought, his eyes opened and he realized what day it was. But Lestat was determined to keep the whining down today. He opened the coffin gently and helped himself and his companion out with care. Louis walked over to the portrait of his late wife and daughter, and spent several minutes just staring at the paintings. Lestat busied himself with having the maids set up the table for dinner, and the decorations for the evening.

Once Louis had emerged, he couldn’t believe the image that greeted him. Lestat could hear his thoughts from a mile away, and he was pleased to hear them. Louis was slowly taking in everything; lights, garland, paper decorations on the tree in the adjoining living room, and Christmas plants littered the room. He was so nervous and upset that he wouldn’t have been able to celebrate Christmas now that he was what he was. Lestat came over and took his hand gently in his own, and pulled the stunned man to the table.

They enjoyed Christmas dinner together, and Lestat brought out a special flask and crystal once the maids had retired for the evening. The two vampires made their way to the living room, and settled on the couch. Winds roared outside the home, while they enjoyed their post-dinner treat. Once they were satiated, Louis curled up to Lestat’s chest as they stared outside at the flurry outside. It was too cold for it to be rain, but too warm for the flurry to stick and become snow. While no words were said, Louis made sure to let Lestat know how much he loved being able to celebrate Christmas, even if it was different than how he usually did. His face when Lestat pulled a present out from underneath the tree was worth it.

“Did you continue to celebrate as you journeyed together?” His companion was so full of questions, but it made Lestat happy to talk about his life.

“Of course we did. And when we had Claudia, oh the Christmases we had with her. While she was a brat towards the end, in the beginning, she was sweet.” The vampire didn’t even need to have her prompt him anymore to talk about this kind of thing. So he begun the story of Claudia’s first proper Christmas of her life.

December 25th, 1794

Once the calendar showed that December had begun, Lestat was fully wanting to spoil his little family. He went full boar into decorations, planning, and prepping for the holiday. It was their daughter’s first Christmas with them; Louis needed to get on board. All it took was the two blondes to look at Louis with puppy dog eyes, and he was on board. It was more Lestat that did the actual convincing, but Louis couldn’t and wouldn’t deny Claudia when she looked so cute.

They made a new home ready for the holiday. Claudia talked about how before her mother got sick, she always tried to make her life better during that time. That admission tugged on his heartstrings, and made him want to give her the Christmas she deserved. Lestat took over most of the preparations while Louis rented the bill. It was all for Claudia anyways. The night before Christmas Day, Claudia kissed Lestat goodnight and took off to Louis’ coffin for her sleep. Louis stayed up for only a moment longer to put her presents underneath the tree, while Lestat watched him. He even put some underneath for the other blonde vampire but he didn’t need to know that until tomorrow.

He didn’t see Lestat go to bed, but he knew that as Claudia slept, Christmas Day would be perfect for this little girl. A gentle hand opened his coffin lid a few hours later, after the sun had gone down. Louis smelt actual food in the home, and saw Lestat holding open his lid. The elder vampire smiled down at his family that he had made. Their little girl had yet to wake up, but soft words were exchanged over her head. Making sure that everything was done and ready for her to experience. The rumbling underneath woke up the young fledgling, and she lept from the coffin to Lestat’s arms, begging for presents. While the other man woke up, they had already begun to sit at the dinner table.

They enjoyed their usual Christmas dinner, complete with their usual post-dinner treat in the best crystal they had. After Claudia had calmed down from her drink, that’s when she was allowed to open her presents. She tore open the paper on each present with childlike wonder and got excited each time the gift was revealed. Lestat sat with Louis on the couch and they watched their little girl have her first real Christmas. It wasn’t until Claudia saw a present with Lestat’s name on it that she got curious. She brought it over to her sire and turned back to discover if she had any more presents. But she just found one for Louis instead.

It was their first perfect Christmas as a family. Lestat remembered how happy he was when he saw how excited Claudia got over everything, and how Louis was excited for his presents. He just remembered being happy.

“That was the first Christmas I spent with both of them being happy with me. Claudia tried to kill me a while later.” His hand carded through the hair of his lover, who stared up at him as he spoke. There was a pause as she took in his words. She felt the mood drop, and she wanted to keep him at least happy.

“When was the last time you saw snow on Christmas Day?” There was more silence from the vampire. He really had to think about it. Lestat had spent most of his immortal life in New Orleans as he never got used to cold temperatures during parts of the year. It still got cold in Louisiana but never freezing except-

“1953. It was… that was the last time it snowed on Christmas Day here.” That far off look came back onto his face and she strapped in for the tale.

December 25th, 1953

It was cold. Freezing cold. Staying in one place for too long, Lestat tried desperately to keep himself warm with the thin blanket he had. Once it became summer, he’d be able to move far easier but for now, he was confined to the small rocking chair he called home. Hopefully next year got warm quickly, because this was painfully cold.

Lestat sat and reflected on his life and how it came to be. His lover and daughter both betraying him, killing him twice. But you can’t properly kill someone that is already dead the normal way. He was thankful that the house had the drapes still up so the sun didn’t get to him. Word of Claudia and the woman she was with being turned to ash. While he hated how much of an awful child she had become, he couldn’t be happy she was dead. She was his prodigy, his creation. And all the great memories they had made along the way flooded his mind.

He wondered where Louis was nowadays. He had always been the more responsible of the two, and much more attached to Claudia. In the span of a hundred years, Louis had lost two children. That has got to take a toll on a person, living, dead, or in between. Lestat wished he could see him one last time. He missed his family.

As he reminisced, snow danced outside of the window he sat nearby. The snow reminded him of every winter he spent with someone. Every Christmas he spent with his family, feeling like an actual family.What he wouldn’t give to go back to those days.

“I thought about going into the sun from time to time during the winter months, and especially at Christmas. But I could never bring myself to go through with it. It made me wish that I had held them a little closer to my heart.” While Lestat had a neutral expression, his companion heard the sorrow in his voice. She turned his face towards hers with a soft hand on his jawline.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Les.” Her eyes sparkle din the dim light, while the man leaned in just a little closer.

“As am I, Mon Cher.” He bridged the gap between them, and shared a loving kiss with her. Maybe he didn’t have the perfect family with Louis; but he sure had something good going for himself.

#rebelliousstories #writing #interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire imagine #lestat de lioncourt imagine #lestat x reader #the vampire lestat #lestat x louis #lestat de lioncourt #horror imagine #horror #25 days of ficmas #25 days of christmas

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sketchyelvenasss · 6 months

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Divulge Under the Stars

Gale x Tav

Act1 - no spoilers - 1000w

Under the stars is the perfect place to tell your crush you tragic backstory, right?

It was a cool night at camp and the breeze felt pleasant against Aerika’s ashen skin. The fire crackled below the blanket of stars that twinkled against the dark indigo night sky. No matter how much time he spent above ground it was still a sight that filled him with wonder.

Most of the camp had gone off to sleep aside from himself. He preferred to take first watch and observe how different everything was from his home. Even the darkness was comparatively bright to what he was used to. There were many luminous mushrooms and lichen in the Underdark, but none could compare to the stars.

Then there was his company, which at present was much more wonderful than the air above. Gale sat on the ground beside him gazing above and happily pointing to each constellation. His deep brown eyes bright with excitement at the opportunity to share, and boast, his knowledge. While his other hand was entwined in Aerika’s behind them, as if it were a secret.

Not that it was. But it was one of the only things they could delight in without worry of meeting an explosive end.

“It brings me joy to see your smile.” Aerika said when there was a pause in Gale’s lecture. Usually he would listen with rapt attention, but it had been a rough few nights for the mage. After learning the means he had been using to keep the Netherese orb at bay was rapidly losing its effectiveness, Gale looked incredibly sad when he thought the others weren’t paying him attention.

“You are too kind.” He chuckled after a brief pause.

“I disagree. I am only telling you the truth.”

Gale pulled his hand away and a disquiet silence fell between them. How cruel fate was sometimes. To light a spark of romance, only to smother it with impending doom. But Aerika wasn’t so easily disheartened. Especially not in odd circumstances that they and the other infectees had found themselves in. Anything could happen.

Spurred by the desire to comfort him, Aerika shifted closer next to Gale, closing what little space there had been until they were hip to hip. Explosion be damned. But thankfully they both remained in one piece, even when Aerika wrapped his arm across Gale’s back and rested his head on the other’s shoulder. Loose strands of blond and powder blue hair fell together with warm brown waves. There was no breeze anymore, as if to perpetuate their stillness as they found equanimity through the soft intimate touch.

“Do you remember when you pulled me out of that portal?” Gale asked, his voice low.

“I do. It was not that long ago actually. I was drawn to the intriguing, but voracious, magic and instead of an illithid relic or cursed artifact I found a hand calling for help. It still baffles me how a wizard of your skill ended up like that, irrespective of that Netherese blight of yours.”

“I’m certain you’ve heard this innumerable times before, but you are unlike any drow I’ve ever met. You revere the weave. Wield it with both passion and skill that would humble many a mage. I can tell it runs deeper than mere devotion to accrue divine power. It is inspiring.”

Aerika smiled fondly in recollection. The memory was more than a century old, but clear as crystal. “Magic saved my life. That is the long and short of it. In my earliest memories I was avidly consuming any material pertaining to magic. I practiced cantrips and invocations I had memorized from books whenever I could. I desired nothing more than to become a famous adventuring wizard. My parents labored to support my passion, but…” he paused. This was the part of the story that still hurt. No matter how much time had passed. It did them no honor to fight the tears that looked in his white eyes. He let them fall freely down his face into the soft fabric of Gale’s shirt. Gale was quiet but gave Aerika a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

It’s okay, if you need to stop. The touch soothed. But Aerika wanted to share this. Not many people allowed him to get close enough, because they only saw a drow and assumed he was everything they feared. Unlike Gale, who had been cordial and given him the benefit of the doubt.

“My parents were murdered by Loth-sworn raiders, and I was captured. It was a cleric of Mystra that came to my rescue. Her name was Amillia. A middle-aged woman with grey eyes and choppy pink hair. She spotted me bound and bloody, tied to a cart and forced to either keep pace with the rothé or be dragged on the ground behind them. If not for her I would be dead or a slave. We escaped the Underdark, and she brought me to her clergy. A small temple in a port city along the Shining Sea. She’s buried there now. If we both survive this misadventure, I would like to bring you there.”

“It would be an honor to pay my respects to her. Something to look forward to.” Gale said.

After a short moment of quiet, Aerika cleaned his face on his shirt and Gale began to show off small tricks in his palms to lighten the mood. The night ended too soon— they both need some rest to continue the quest of finding a survivable tadpole extraction method— but it concluded with warm smiles, light hearts, and a dream of a future together.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #galetav #gale x tav #bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 no spoilers #bg3 fic #bg3 gale of waterdeep #aerika dyrr #might and magic #drow tav #cleric tav #cleric of mystra #my writing #fan fic #long post #fluff with angst #look it’s hard to write fluff without angst

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sonderwrit · 6 months

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C93: It burrowed into the brain

I Have to Be a Great Villain - Masterpost

Wang Yi fights with sentient ear wax slime and S-0 tries (uselessly) to help.

(SFX: *pah*)

WY: Ahhhh it, it crawled inside!

S-0: Host! Here's some tweezers!

WY: The ear canal's too narrow, can't use that! (Get out get out get out!)

S-0: What about a straw?

WY: (slapslap) Then start sucking for me!

Slime: Where should I start eating from…

[Note: Abnormal organisms eat differently from normal life forms]

Slime: When it comes to humans…the tastiest part is still their emotions.

Slimes: Especially…when they're being tormented.

WY: AHHHHH—! (falls on knees)

S-0: What's wrong?!

WY: I, I don't know—

WY: Feels like something's touched my brain.

WY: It's like being electrocuted….ahhhhh!!!

WY: I can't tell if it hurts or feels good.

S-0: Eek! Hold on, Host, I'll definitely, right away—

WY: Ahnnnn—hurry up! (wuu~)

WY: (What's going on?)

WY: (It's like my mind's suddenly crystal clear.)

WY: (Is this slime attacking my consciousness? It's unlike any feeling I can describe in human terms—)

Slime: Hm? These memories—are so familiar…

(Ba-thump)

WY: (There's a voice?)

Slime: Could you be.. …?

WY: Who's speaking?

(S-0 hands him a rubber hose)

Slime: Hear.. …me? Ah… ..you

Slime: … …here!

Slime: Remember… …

WY: UWAHHHH—!

WY: It seems like, there's something else there. But it's all static, I can't understand—

S-0: Okay, Host, stop babbling! Hurry and suck that jelly back out!

WY: Ah? You want me…to do it myself?

S-0: Of course. Has Host ever seen a cat who can use a straw? (*Cats will leak air if they try)

WY: You damn—you can't do anything but you're a champion at pissing people off.

S-0: Do your best!

WY: (I have to be careful not to swallow it by accident) *sucks*

*sucking sucking*

Slime: !

WY: (Is it not powerful enough?) *increases sucking strength*

*SUUUUCCCCCKKKKK*

Slime: No.. …it's not enough

Slime: It's not enough ahhhh!!

WY: (?!)

WY: (It's coming!)

*SPITS*

WY: Ha—thank goodness…hah….that's dealt with.

S-0: *slams lid down*

S-0: Uh-huh, gave me a scare. I thought we'd die and exit this world right after we started our vacation.

WY: Looks like even "safe" scripts have lots of hidden dangers. We can't lower our guard.

*bangs case shut*

WY: (It assimilated the piece that broke off…no wonder it's a slime, what strong vitality.)

S-0: Huff…Host's body is all right? Shall we send this thing away?

WY: Aish, I feel fine now that it's left my ear. The other specimens might be even harder to deal with, so keep it under observation first.

S-0: That works too.

S-0: Right, just then the Gardenia in the Apocalypse world finished its run and gave us points.

WY: Oh, how were the results? A lotta points or a little?

S-0: Same as the one before, upper-middle levels.

WY: Oh oh, then what was the ending? Between Bai Mo and Qin Xian, who ended up as the city lord?

Slime: *regained a bit of energy*

S-0: The ending, hmm…

S-0: It was, "Bai Zizhi (FL's name) destroyed the Zombie Stone and then united all the lands, becoming the first ever female city lord in the Central Regions."

S-0: And then—huh!

S-0: ?

S-0: She spent a blissful, happy life with the second male lead?

WY: Hah?

WY: Then what about Qin Xian? (Where did he go?)

S-0: Qin Xian…

S-0: Qin Xian went to deal with the next zombie swarm after you died…and charged straight into the mob for the sake of saving Bai Zizhi, sacrificing his own life in the process.

WY: ….

WY: In other words, the protagonist exited the stage before the novel reached its ending?

S-0: Mhm. *nods*

WY: All right, I got it.

WY: Keep the points for me, I'm not going to buy anything now.

S-0: Kay. Call me when you need me…

S-0: Wait, Host. Where are you going?

WY: I'm drowsy.

WY: Gonna sleep for a bit.

S-0: Aye, you can definitely rest.

S-0: You need to hurry up—and extricate yourself from the memories of the last world, oh~

—

*scurry scurry*

Slime: Thank goodness.. …

Slime: Thank goodness this human is such a fool.. …

Slime: He didn't even notice that the "me" he sucked out of himself…

Slime: …was only part of the whole.

#i have to be a great villain #villain 93 #manhua translations #body horror tw #i guess? what do you call a fear of things in your ear lol

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fayyet · 10 months

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9 Games that Defined My 2010′s (pt. 2)

NOTE for 7/5/2023 - I sat on this article then never published it. 3 years later I figured just to preserve this article as it was intended to be read by me from 3 years ago. My thoughts & feelings have changed. The final 2 entries had little text & my memory is not strong enough to remember the context carefully enough to really add onto what was there.

4) Bloodborne (played on PS4)

Lovecraftian horror saw a huge resurgence in the 2010s, and Bloodborne was the first thing to show me that you could easily harness the author’s distinct sensibilities while avoiding all the racist/sexism/homophobic/pro-eugenics bullshit that informed H.P. Lovecraft’s worldview. Bloodborne sidesteps these pitfalls entirely by merging the aesthetics of Lovecraft & Victorian-era gothic fantasy horror to weave a tale of politics, the abuse of power, and how those abuses destroy the lives of ordinary people. Truthfully, so much of the actual story & sequence is so obfuscated that the only way to really grasp it is to dive into community-built Wikis, watch plot explainers, & pour through archived Reddit threads. Bloodborne’s world is horrific. Chilling soundscapes, unsettling environments, and increasingly distressing monster designs evoke an almost nihilistic sense of doom. I heard unseen NPCs cry out in pain and read descriptions about mass suffering, and it became clear that Yharnam was not only haunted by werewolves and aliens, but the despair. ALSO, there’s a game you can play too! Unlike Dark Souls, the combat loop revolves around aggressive play, leading to a faster, twitchier feel. Even though I played Dark Souls first, I didn’t like it. Bloodborne’s loop was super compelling, though years out, the setting still lingers with me.

3) Pokken Tournament DX (played on Wii U & Nintendo Switch)

In 2013, I was a frightened closeted trans kid that just escaped the Midwest, heading towards an unfamiliar city. In my new home, I started developing interest for competitive Smash Bros: Melee thanks to the surge of popularity the game was having online. I quickly saved up for a Gamecube and started I grinding Melee, but ultimately this first foray into competitive fighting games would be a lonely experience, as I struggled to find friends or local meetups. I dropped Melee and wound up neglecting the genre until around 2016, when I reluctantly tried out Pokken Tournament on the WIi U (BTW f--- 2016). Picking it up initially was rather bewildering, as Pokken is just, fucking WEIRD. Matches constantly switch between a 3D arena-fighter arena with 6 degrees of movement, and a 2D state that plays like a traditional fighting game. Moves & inputs change across both settings, meaning that every character has 2 unique kits to learn. Despite this curve-ball, I quickly came to adore Pokken’s lightning-quick pace.

Also, it’s deeply important to note that the game has Suicune, my favorite Legendary Water Dog. Pokemon Crystal (for Game Boy Color) was the 2nd game I ever owned so YEAH, Pokken DID mine some unearned affection from me right out of the gate. I’m ashamed of nothing. Solid fighting games were certainly common in 2016 (BTW fuck 2016), but, unknown to me, Pokken Tournament had something uncommon: decent online matchmaking. Even in 2020, Japanese-developed fighting games still implement delay-based netcode that doesn’t scale well from Japan to America, which infamously makes online play a struggle for many here in the US. With Pokken, online matches came quickly and felt responsive, even on my average connection. This ease of access allow me to spend 100-ish hours in the game’s competitive modes. With hindsight, I was lucky super that my reintroduction to fighting games was so accessible and opened my heart up to the genre.

2) Tetris Effect (played on PS4 & PSVR)

I have two special interest that do not overlap: Electronic Dance Music and video games. This game merged those two things awkwardly, but in a way that helped me celebrate my love for commercial dance music.

1) Warframe (played on PC & Nintendo Switch)

I have ADHD & Warframe’s loops sucked me in. 600 hours and $600 dollars spent on a game that let me press buttons.

Is it good? Kinda. Narrative stuff is a bit Warhammer-y, which like, fine.

#pokken tournament #pokken #Wii U

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

Con Man's Daughter

Posting this because there isn't enough biodad! John Constantine content.

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

-----

I feel like this should be a Damianette story or just platonic relationship after Jon got aged-up to seventeen and Damian wanted a friend his age but doesn’t want to admit it.

So basically there is this big bad in Gotham using magic that Batman was fighting at the time and enlisted John Constantine to help out.

John realizes that the villain is using a Miraculous.

“Oh. I think I know how he gets his powers. And lucky for you, Bats, I know an expert on this special brand of magic.”

And he did the smart thing and called up Marinette who at the time was already Guardian and was looking for other lost Miraculouses like in the Treasure Hunter AU I wrote.

He calls her at a really bad time. She was in the process of being chased by the guardians of the place. Monsters and evil spirits.

“Hello, Dad. What do you need and can you do it quickly?”

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. How is my little cupcake up to these days?”

“You called at a bad time.” Gunshots.

“WAS THAT A GUN I HEARD? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOUNG LADY?!”

“Somewhere in Japan. Getting a Miraculous. And why can’t you call me to check in on me and not ask me to help you with whatever mess you got yourself into.” More gunshots sounds and it was telling that Marinette was using a gun.

“Where did you get a gun? And don’t you have school?”

“It’s summer break. Don’t worry Maman and Papa know. Well, the fact that I am in Japan anyways.” Marinette sounded a little out of breath. Roaring and horrifying sounds at the other end. “Can we do this later?”

“As it happens, there is a villain going around Gotham with what I think is a Miraculous.”

Swears on the other end.

“Oi. Watch your fucking language, young lady.”

“How about a No and move the fuck back, old man. I am coming over right now.”

“Old man? I am not that old-” as a magic blue portal opens up in the Bat Cave.

And a red Chinese dragon comes out with someone riding it.

Its rider was a black-haired girl. She had a trench coat similar to Constantine's. I imagine her with a fedora. Like Carmen Sandiego style but not red. Sometimes red but only when she has to steal it from a museum or high security places and she leaves a name card with the name Carmen Sandiego. A sword strapped to her back and a dagger to her thigh.

She had a gun in her hand which she used to shoot the monsters as it was halfway through the portal and yelled out the spell to close it.

“Brilliant entrance but you are in lots of trouble, little lady. What were you thinking about going to another country unsupervised? And isn’t there still a butterfly problem in Paris?”

“One, I wasn’t unsupervised. I had Tikki, a billion years old being and a sort of god. Two.Well, it got boring trying to track Hawk-bitch down. And I found this legend about a guy with a Miraculous who disappeared in the temple and thought hey, more miraculous could mean another edge to defeating Moth-man.”

More bickering and John grounding Marinette who was acting very nonchalant about it.

Okay, at this point, I should say that Batman and Robin are in the background trying to make some sense.

Batman is surprised to find out that Constantine has a daughter who is also involved in magic like her Father but an apparently more specialised kind called the Miraculous. He is a little miffed that he didn’t know about John having a daughter. He did consider it weird at first that she had a slight french accent unlike her father’s Liverpool accent although she pronounced some words like he does.

He also connected some dots that she is also the Parisian heroine, Lady Rouge who Wonder Woman introduced to the League a while back and had declined to join the Young Justice or Teen Titans until everything in Paris was resolved.

Damian on the other hand was suspicious of the new arrival and came to the same conclusion as his father about the daughter thing.

Batman after a few minutes, clears his throat.

The Constantines stop arguing.

“Bonjour. Batman. Robin. Pleasure to meet you. I am Mari Constantine and yes, I am this homeless looking man’s brilliant daughter.” “Hey”

“Well, Mari. Your father thinks you can help us with this new criminal turning Gotham upside down. Literally in some cases. He said that you might be able to help us.” Batman said as he pulled up zoomed in picture of the Miraculous.

Mari looks through the Miraculous grimoire and tells them all about it and power-ups, basically the most effective thing to defeat the guy is to get the Miraculous off them. Plus a spell that would make the Miraculous ineffective if casted within a certain radius of it.

“Thank you for the information, Mari. Constantine, let’s go.”

Mari made to follow them.

“You young lady are grounded and staying here.”

“I don’t need another supervillain using the Miraculous which are my responsibility as Guardian to retrieve them for their own misuse and wreaking havoc on the city. And what if there is an akuma in Paris? I can’t go there if I am grounded in the Batcave although it is a cool place to hang out.”

“You can portal back to Paris but you are not going to follow me. Understood?”

“yes. crystal”

“Good. After me and Batsy get the Miraculous, you can do your Guardian duties.”

Damian snickers. Until Batman cut his mood short, “You are staying behind too. Robin.”

“But Father, why? I am much more capable than Constantine.”

“Hey!” Both father and daughter.

Damian is staying behind too because of the Miraculous power or other reasons and keeps an eye on Mari.

Damian stays behind and there were some protests about mari mad about having a babysitter and Damian doesn’t want to be a babysitter. Despite the two of them being around the same age.

“I got an eye on you so no funny business.”

“Okay, Dad, I am not going to have sex with Robin.” Mari said with a shit- eating grin. Robin definitely didn’t blush.

“I hate you sometimes.”

“I love you too, Dad. Go save the world. Byee.”

John eyes her suspiciously because she is not one to give up that easily usually.

He casts a spell to watch her as they leave. and which she totally knew about.

“So...I have one question.”

“Tt, ask and don’t bother me anymore.”

“Is Batman Bruce Wayne?”

Damian looks up, totally caught off guard.

“I am going to take that as a yes.”

Puts sword at her neck. “How did you find out?!”

“Opened up Google Maps and saw that we are under Wayne Manor. Connected the dots. Also I already knew when Dad made a bet with me once to find out Batman’s secret identity but he never did confirm it for me. And can you please not tell your father about this? I don’t feel like being interrogated by the Bat in the future yet.”

“Father must know about this.”

“I saw you looking at Scarlet here. An animal lover then? You can give her some belly rubs. She deserves it after helping me outrun those monsters.”

His silence was brought. To pet a dragon.

One thing after another and he ends up bringing out his pets-Jerry the turkey, Goliath the dragon-bat, Titus- and her introducing him to her other pets like a hellhound, griffin and other mythical creatures who mostly roam free but come to her when she calls for them and also the kwamis, at least the ones who came with her.

After 30 mins have passed, “So Robin how do you feel about disobeying our fathers?”

“I am in.”

“Depends. Are we going after the (villain's name) ?”

“Yes.”

Awesome montage of them getting rid of the spell John casted and flying out of the Batcave on their respective giant flying pets to the villain’s base.

Meanwhile, their fathers are not doing so well and are trapped in a death trap. John can’t say the spell because the villain made him unable to talk.

“At least, the kids are staying put.”

Cut to Damian and Mari jumping off their pets and onto the roof. Taking out the guards posted there and going into the building all sneakily and also taking out the guards that come their way.

They dropped into the room where their fathers and the villain is.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Villain starts an evil monologue about his mastermind plan to which Damian cuts it short by trying to cut him down with his katana. Mari goes to deactivate the death trap.

They are evenly matched with Damian’s training and the Miraculous.

Mari steps in as Damian was about to be killed. Taps on the shoulder of the villain and when he turns around, gives an awesome right hook that knocks him out.

Takes away the Miraculous and curses him. Wiped the dude’s memories of it.

“When I said stay in the Batcave, I meant stay behind at the Batcave. What point of being grounded, don’t you understand?”

“You mean, Oh, Mari, light of my life, my wonderful daughter, thank you for saving my ass. You are the best.’ by that, right?”

-----

Mari and Damian exchanged numbers and email addresses.

As she was about to leave the Batcave, “It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Wayne.” and leaves with a wink.

John ‘ungrounds’ her for the look on Batman’s face.

-----

After this, Marinette and Damian become friends who bitch and vent to each other about their alter egos and various villains of their respective cities. (In codes, just in case) They also share updates about their pets and love of drawings.

They have that type of friendship where they trade favors. Mari calls Damian to Paris sometimes to help out with the akuma of the day and Damian sometimes calls her in when Bruce doesn’t let him go investigate a case so he can sneak out by magical means or as back up for when his brothers were too annoying to deal with.

It’s summer break so no missing school.

John and Bruce are aware of their friendship and some of the shenanigans the pair gets into behind their back.

-----

Right. how this all started...

John and Sabine first met when the latter was still in college somewhere in France. John was tracking down a demonic entity which was targeting Sabine for some reason and she was the next target.

John saved her life and exorcised the demon. There was a heat of the moment thing and they had a one-night stand. There were a few more flings and hook-ups after that night.

And nine months later, Marinette Cheryl Cheng-Constantine was born.

When Sabine first found out, she called John to come over and he thought that it was a call for another hook-up and was very surprised to find out that it was not and that he was going to be a father.

They both like each other but do not want to be in a relationship together so they both remained as friends and John agreed after some strong-arming at the very least to meet his daughter before he goes to do his job. And pay for child support. And help Sabine during her pregnancy.

Pregnant Sabine was someone you don’t want to mess with. And John has never met a demon or anyone scarier than her.

He was at first not into meeting his child and there was a self-pity party he threw himself with how the child was going to live a bad life because he was the dad and how he destroyed every good thing in his life.

That’s why he is going to meet the baby once and leave maybe a letter and the occasional birthday present and stay out of their life. Forever.

The day Marinette was born and it took one look into her eyes for the HellBlazer to fall under the spell and all of his plans to stay out of her life to burn away.

At first, he tried. He really tried but he couldn’t do it.

Lasted 4 months before he came back, wanting to place protection spells on her and sigils around the house to keep away the forces of Heaven and Hell and other entities so they won’t use her against him as a bargaining chip.

Sabine calls him to babysit. He could have refused and Sabine would have easily found a babysitter. He moans and whines about how he is a great mage and not a bloody babysitter. Sabine retorts that it is actually called parenting since he is Marinette’s father. He grumbles but in the end, agrees.

The great John Constantine is wrapped around the little girl’s finger.

He was around for some of Marinette’s firsts. Her first word was “John”.

It made him cry. He wasn’t a good man and he doesn’t deserve someone this precious. His daughter doesn’t deserve someone like him as a father but fate made it that way and what can you do about it.

After an exhausting week of doing the usual and coming back from Hell, he saw that Sabine had sent him a video. It was Marinette taking her first steps.

Chas swears that in all the years that he has known John Constantine he has never seen the man look so happy.

------

When Tom came into the picture, John was there to take care of a toddler Marinette while Tom and Sabine went on dates.

Insert John threatening a much bigger Tom while holding a baby Marinette with wide eyes and hugging a teddy bear with the same coat as John’s. (It was something Sabine brought on a whim and to tease John when he came around.)

Tom is supportive and treats Marinette like his own flesh and blood.

John resolved to leave for good now that Tom would be there to be a father figure for Marinette.

That plan fell into the drain the moment he was going to leave for what was supposed to be the last time before Sabine pulled him back and knocked some sense into him.

His face was a big giveaway. Sabine knows that despite his claims of being a terrible father for Marinette, he was a good one and damnit she was going to make sure that Marinette would get to know her actual father.

Tom later made an awkward talk with John about how he was not going to replace John’s role as Marinette’s father.

Marinette was the flower girl at Tom and Sabine’s wedding. John was there too.

During bedtime, John would read her stories and use his magic to make it come to life. Although he would feel a little drained afterwards, it was worth it to see her smile.

Sometimes he told stories about his tamer adventures. (After cutting out some of the inappropriate bits)

------

When Marinette was about 5 or 6, Sabine was out on an errand and Tom was at home with Mari and helping her with her homework. There was a crash downstairs at the bakery. Tom went down to check it out to find John lying on the ground.

With a weak cough, he said, “Close the door. Close it.” Before losing consciousness

Tom did before a man with pitch black eyes slammed against it.

Thankfully John had installed heavy wards around the bakery when it first opened.

They held against the demon on John’s tail. Tom brought John inside and unsure of what to do, grabbed a rolling pin on the counter.

The man outside started pounding on the glass door and every time his hands touched the door, light glowed outwards, showing the invisible magic barrier around the bakery. Sparks and steams fizzled with every pound.

Despite the reddening and burns of his hands, the not-human didn’t slow down.

“ʝօɦռ....ʏօʊ ӄռօա ȶɦǟȶ ɨȶ'ֆ օռʟʏ ǟ ʍǟȶȶɛʀ օʄ ȶɨʍɛ ɮɛʄօʀɛ ɨ ɮʀɛǟӄ ȶɦʀօʊɢɦ ȶɦɛֆɛ աǟʀɖֆ. օռƈɛ ɨ ɢɛȶ ʏօʊ,” He laughs, the sound sends chills down the large man’s spine, “ȶɦɛʀɛ ǟʀɛ ֆօ ʍǟռʏ ȶɦɨռɢֆ ɨ ɦǟʋɛ քʟǟռռɛɖ ʄօʀ ʏօʊ.”

Tom knew that Marinette’s father was a con man. Come on, Master and Practitioner of the Dark Arts and Occult. But he was a good father nonetheless despite all his flaws and Sabine liked him enough so that was good enough for him.

Before today, magic was just the sleight of hands and use of fancy tools to sell the illusions. Now, with a could-be-a-demon knocking on his door to get to the father of the girl he sees as his daughter, he’s not so sure.

“Tom? Qu'est-ce qui se passe? (What’s going on?)” A little voice came from the stairs, “Dad!” Marinette padded across the floor to the body of her passed out father.

She shook him awake and there were a few soft slaps to the face.

“Dad, what’s happened?”

John mumbles, “Demon…. possessing some rich guy….. Exorcism…. Doesn’t like me very much…Don’t worry...wards going to hold.”

John manages to stand before falling down and Tom catches him before he hits the floor. He has a concussion. Tom turns to Marinette, “Go, Hide and don’t come out until It’s safe.” which she did

Unfortunately, a while later, Sabine returns from her night out and the demon upon seeing Sabine. “ɛӼƈɛʟʟɛռȶ..”

The demon possessed Sabine and the previously possessed dude hit the sidewalk with a thud.

“ɨռȶɛʀɛֆȶɨռɢ....” The voice coming out of Sabine didn’t sound like her mother which scared Marinette a lot. “օքɛռ ȶɦɨֆ ɖօօʀ օʀ,”the demon pulled a knife out of thin air, ,“ȶɦɨֆ ɮօɖʏ ɢɛȶֆ ɨȶ.”

Tom hesitated until the demon put the knife on Sabine’s neck and put enough force for a thin line of blood to be shown.

He opens the door and the demon knocks him out. Stepping over his unconscious body and looking down on it, “ʄօʀ ȶɦǟȶ, ɨ ǟʍ ɢօɨռɢ ȶօ ʟɛȶ ʏօʊ ʟɨʋɛ ʊռȶɨʟ ɨ ǟʍ ɖօռɛ աɨȶɦ ʝօɦռ, օʄ ƈօʊʀֆɛ.” and cackles. The sound was so wrong and unnerving and little Marinette tried very hard for her sobs not to be heard.

Too bad the demon had super hearing. “Come out, my little blossom. Maman is home. Why don’t you come out and give me a hug?”

It sounded so much like her mother and she nearly believed that it was her mother and not some entity in control of her body.

But she knew better from John’s stories of dealing with demons and how they would use the voice of loved ones to lure them out and into a trap. (Definitely not something one should tell as a bedtime story but Marinette was very different and had an unconventional childhood with John Constantine as her father.)

Wait...she got struck with an idea but she wasn’t sure if it would work.

Before she could do anything, the door of the cabinet she was hiding in was opened and she was dragged out.

The demon lifted her a few feet above the ground by the collar of her dress.

It heard Marinette saying something. “աɦǟȶ ǟʀɛ ʏօʊ ֆǟʏɨռɢ ƈɦɨʟɖ, ֆքɛǟӄ ʟօʊɖɛʀ?”

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.” Marinette was now screaming the words at the top of her lungs. She repeated the spell over and over again with fierce determination.

John, being his paranoid self, taught her the spell for an exorcism, just in case. Demons spared no one, not even a girl.

It screamed “NO….” as Sabine’s body contorted in strange angles before a dark shadow seemed to be dragged down into the ground. It made a desperate attempt to possess John before it was pulled away and disappeared. There was no sign that there was a demon attack.

After John woke up, he managed to piece together that his 5-years-old (Sorry 5 and a half) daughter sent a demon back to hell.

He was a very proud dad. (He was a tad worried about the consequences from this event and demons hold one hell of a grudge. He wanted his daughter to live a very safe and happy life. The bakery’s wards also need an upgrade.)

He also got the job of explaining what he actually did to Tom. And lots of reassuring.

Sabine, on one hand, was not happy that Marinette knew how to do magic. That is until John told her that he did it just in case so she can protect herself and later it was agreed that Marinette can learn some Magic spells and charms to better protect herself and when she is older, she can decide if she wants to continue or not.

----

(Part 2)

#bio!dad john constantine #maribat #damientte #damainette #platonic daminette #maybe?#minor swearing

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colemacgrathtkz · 3 years

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Treachery over here

Previous. Next

Disclosure: I decided to take another look at where my contributions were headed, here. We got a lot of new stuff from the second season. For me, that means more to work with. That being said, it also means some ideas get scrapped.

[ Two weeks after "Crashed course"]

Down in what they called the "Owl bunker", Luz was kept under tight watch. They didn't think the owl house was the best place to keep her. Prior to her arrival, the gang had made a bunker only known to original rebels. Eda, Willow, Lilith, Gus, King, and Amity. Even with her sitting in chains, they were still afraid of her. They each took turns trying to talk to the girl that brought them together. When Eda and King were with her, she'd talk about her homesickness. With Willow and Gus, she'd deflect interrogations about the Empress with inquiries about them. With Lilith, she'd just sit there with sullen eyes; not saying a word. The few times Amity chose to see her, she didn't say anything on the way out.

Eventually, Willow asked the "New Coven" leader to help make a hard decision. It had been something floating over their heads since they saw the crystal balls. Amity was about to leave the bunker when Eda blocked the door.

Eda: "Just a minute, kiddo. We need to talk."

Lilith pulled up a chair for her former student. The youngest Blight hung her head and fixed her gaze on the ground. Once she finally sat down, Gus was the first to speak.

Gus: "Look, I don't like this anymore than anyone else does. But what are we going to do with her now? We all saw what she tried to hide from us. That's some messed up human work she had cooking up!"

Willow: "She still won't talk about what she was up to or how she was going to do it. But, I can't believe I'm saying this, I'm more afraid of who isn't here. Amity, you said the Empress and Luz are two different people?"

Amity: "Something like that. Whatever Belos had, it wasn't natural. It burrowed into Luz and made that... horror."

Lilith: "I've been researching everything I could get my hands on this ritual you performed. But it appears you have bonded it to her soul. I'm afraid there's still very little we or anyone else knows about it. Where did you find it?"

Amity: "I'd really rather not go back there."

Twiddling their thumbs, everyone was still nervous to say it. King couldn't stand to just sit there, uncomfortable, and wait for them to stop beating around the bush.

King: "Are you really going to kill her?"

Finally, the real debate.

Eda: "Woah, woah, woah, put a sock in it! No one said anything about--"

Lilith: "Pardon me, sister..."

Eda(agitated): "No! You are not going to say, ' let's consider this, Edalyn'?!"

Gus: "Maybe we should give it a fair say?"

Eda: "You too, dweeb?!"

Gus: "She messed with our heads. It wasn't an accident like with Willow. She was up to something and still won't even talk about it."

Eda: "Last time, she didn't have a parting gift, from Belos, sloshing around inside her!"

Gus: "And now, she's stuck with it. She isn't who she used to be. We've had to make sure she isn't using illusion magic to trick us again.

At that moment, King threw a stuffed animal at Amity's head.

King: "Just checking."

Willow: "You're right. She isn't who she used to be. But that doesn't mean we go down that road. I don't think it was all an act. This might be wishful thinking. But maybe she really is still Luz. It's just this other fake that's got her hostage."

King climbed onto Amity's lap to get a better stance on this argument.

King: "So, what do you want to do?"

Willow: "We keep her here until we're absolutely sure there's nothing else in Belos' old archives. He lived with it, too. He's got to have had something."

Gus: "Meanwhile, Luz could break out at any moment. The conformatorium isn't going to work. I don't like suggesting this either. But we already tried sending her away."

Lilith: "Correction! Amity Blight sent her away. It was a decision made out of desperation and fear. Much like the one you're suggesting. May I speak now, dear sister?"

Eda looked mildly impressed as she gestured for her sister to take the floor. Lilith had sat quietly. But now, she made her way to Amity's side. She kneeled down and placed one hand on the young girl's shoulder.

Lilith: "I know you cared for her. And despite everything, we all still do. What you did was to save the girl you fell in love with. But we all charged into that last battle without knowing all the details. The fact that the former emperor Belos was human, for instance! Much less that he had a trap like that waiting for whoever replaced him. This isn't your fault. Of course someone was going to pay for our ignorance. While binding the both of them to that staff bought us some time, it was just a young girl doing something because she was scared. Now, we must find a way to clean up this mess. After all, she's counting on us. She's stuck with it, but she isn't that beast. Once we break that chain, we can move onto killing the beast. Properly, this time."

Everyone kept glancing at one another after Lilith's little speech. Eda stood proud of her sister.

Eda: "Dang, Lily, that was great.”

Lilith: "I know a little something about this. Your student has been teaching us about second chances, even me. Especially me."

Amity petted King before taking him off her lap.

Amity: "Thank you. I didn't know you'd say that. I'll remember that. We both will."

A double take was done at her last comment. But an unfamiliar melody was beginning to play just outside.

Amity: " Finally!"

With both hands, the "New Coven leader" immobilized Willow, Eda, and King. Her abominations rose and held them from behind. The door burst open and scouts from the old coven rushed in. Lilith and Gus were detained. Once the scene had calmed down, Kikimora strolled in.

Kikimora: "I wasn't sure a brat like you could pull this off. You may have a sprinkle of my respect."

Amity( glaring): "She's in the room down the hall. Think you manage to move a girl in chains?"

Eda(furious): "Traitor!"

Amity: "It's not like that, Eda."

Kikimora gestured for scouts to retrieve the captive waiting for them.

Eda: "What was your price, huh? How'd they get to you?"

Amity: "Actually, I found them. Wasn't hard. I figured they'd take the bait. But I think you're not getting the whole picture."

The scouts returned with a Noceda, still in chains.

Luz: "Eda! That's not me!"

A little confused, "Amity'' cleared up the misunderstanding.

Amity(Luz): "Body swap! The only thing to do when friends can't see eye to eye, right, Eda?"

Gus: "Those chains should have kept you from using magic. How'd you do it?"

The imposter signaled the intruders.

Amity(Luz): " I think it's pretty clear I've got help."

Willow: "Why would you ever work for her?"

Kikimora: "I would never debase myself so much that I’d work under a human! This is for the true ruler of the Boiling Isles."

Amity(Luz): "I'll switch us back soon, Amity. I don't want to keep my awesome girlfriend in the dark any longer."

The scouts at the door stepped aside for the last party crasher.

Lilith felt utter dread as her blood ran cold.

Belos stood there, in the moonlight.

Amity(Luz): "Surprise, witch! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of him?!"

Bonus:

Amity( Luz): "Not to sound creepy, but it's pretty cool to hear your voice talk like me. Oh, I can totally teach you some anime songs now! Hang on, I need to reach into my pocket for a sec-"

Luz( still in Amity's body) personally escorted her girlfriend to her new chambers.

Her prisoner flinched as her hand came near.

Amity(Luz): "I know it's weird hearing 'you' say this, but couldn't you say something, please? You've been quiet since we left the others."

An elegant room was presented before them.

Amity(Luz): "I'm not going to let them hurt you or any of them, ok? So, come on, don't leave me hanging, Blight? There are worse places they would have picked. But your loving Luz just wants us to be happy. I promise, I'm going to show you what Luz Noceda can do."

No response, and someone was getting restless.

Amity(Luz): "There's got to be something you want to say? Or maybe hear me say, hmm? Last chance?"

Nothing.

Amity(Empress): "Will you just-"

A faint red glow appeared on the witch's pale skin. But unlike before, it flickered. She clenched her heart as the pain sent her tumbling to the floor. With her free hand, she started up the spell.

Amity(Luz):" Ok, I need my body back."

Finding herself standing, she noticed Amity hadn't made a move to her side. She watched her girlfriend get off the floor and sit on the bed of her "nice" prison.

Luz tried to reach out to her. With her arms closed, Amity jerked away; not even looking.

Luz: "I hurt you, I get that. But I do want to talk. I'll be close by, when you're ready. I just want to see my awesome girlfriend, then I'll go. So, will you turn around, please?"

Luz had seen her enraged before. She braced herself for what face she'd see this time.

After a couple of seconds, the look on the witch's face wasn't one she could prepare for. There was nothing. No pity. No rage. And worst of all, no love. Just nothing.

Luz stumbled back from the memories of her old school life. The way her old classmates had rejected her. Seeing the look on Amity's face, she couldn't spend another second in that room.

Author's note:

I was really looking forward to Lilith's little speech. And, yeah, I was just looking for an excuse to use that "Surprise, witch" line.

As for the body swap, I wanted to clear something up. Thanks to Uberduck.ai, people have been having alot of fun.

I set the format to be: a person's body along with the voice people hear( person inside).

It might be confusing, but I did it this way because of the Owl house body swap episode. While we, the audience, can still hear Alex Hirsh play King. I wasn't sure if the characters could hear the same voice coming out of Luz.

Sarah-Nicole Robles: "I've got some very confusing emotions right now."

Just a personal note, but I thought it would have been funny if the actors had to perform these lines like their co- stars would have.

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a-lonely-tatertot · 4 years

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Finding Home

A/N: Introducingggggg AMY and linh! it gets gay at the end dont worry, once again thanking @bookwyrminspiration for betaing for me!

Tw: mention of injuries and some phantom pains (is that what they’re called??)

Word count: 2279

Chapter 2: Runaway

A month and an accepted roommate later, she got to remember she was Sophie for a minute. Sophie before everything happened. She saw her sister for the first time since their parents were kidnapped and it knocked the breath out of her. Short, bright pink hair blowing around her set face, Amy’s wide eyes stared up at the apartment complex.

The stairs passed in a blur as Sophie barreled down them almost tripping over her feet on the way down. Amy, her Amy. “Amy!” she yelled barreling into her sister. A moment too late she thought it would be extremely awkward if it wasn’t Amy.

But it was, and she hugged her tighter than ever. Sophie buried her head in Amy’s short hair taking in the comfort of her sister. “You smell weird,” she whispered.

“Missed you too, sis,” Amy chuckled lightly.

“Dyed your hair and got glasses?” Sophie said, pulling away and holding her at arm's length.

“Sorry, are we not going to address the fact that you’re passing as human? Under my original name?” Amy asked.

“Uh yeah guess I’ve got a bit of explaining to do.” Sophie rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oh yeah, but over coffee, because I was not ready to see my sister for the first time in over ten years,” she laughed, “And I need a lot more energy cause we have a lot of talking to do.”

So they talked and talked until the sun set behind the skyline and the street lights flickered on empty roadways. They talked until they were out of coffee to drink and snacks to eat and stars to count.

Sophie could barely pay attention to the first day of classes. Every flash of strawberry blonde and soft eyes sent her back. Back to bright mornings and weird lockers and one on one classes. But not only that; it sent her back to her friends. Dex appeared in the ramblings of Jena, one of Amy’s many friends who could talk for hours about chemicals and science. He clouded her memory when she walked into Chemistry and it threw her back to his laboratory. She thought of him looking at the skinny, freckled covered kid that hung onto her Quantum Theory teacher’s every word.

When she walked into the library, three days in, and saw the spiraling stacks she remembered Fitz and how he could get lost in a book and never leave the pages.

Marella could be found in the rare smiles that were Anaz. How sarcastic comments came to her with ease and there was always gossip flooding the halls.

In her English teacher’s humor, she found Keefe. How Sophie collected pens just because they were there and how doodles filled Amy’s margins.

Red became her color. In the morning when she didn’t know what to wear Biana flooded her mind. When she didn’t know how to hide her scars she thought of her. Sophie would wear them as a testament to the people she left behind. And when her eyes caught sight of the scars that littered another student’s body, clear on their dark skin, she stood a little taller. They were a testament to survival.

Tam, she remembered when the world was so loud. How he was able to control his impulses, his power, his shadows like her telepathy and inflicting. When she just wanted to hide from it all she remembered him, and kept going.

And the one that came as a surprise to her was Stina. The cold exterior and the sense of superiority that followed Henry, who locked so much of him away in a tiny box, to hide from the rest of the world. And how when you really got to know them there wasn’t a small corner that was as cold as it seemed.

But the one that never really went away was Linh. It didn’t surprise her. No, she knew she would never really get Linh out of her head. So Sophie accepted the small tug that came with seeing people together. As they laughed and smiled and hugged, as two girls held hands firmly; she wondered if that could’ve ever been them. If their broken world would’ve allowed it.

When she thought of them, her hand found her neck and the crystal and she held on tight only to let go. Because that was no longer her, and those people were no longer her’s. Amilia Ruewen did not know them. The crystal was all she had left of them.

And at some point that would have to be okay.

“You’re coming to this club with the group tonight,” Amy grinned. Ugh, a night with Amy’s friends? Sounded like torture.

“Why?” Sophie asked. In her head and in her apartment, they were Sophie and Amy. To the world, their jobs, their school, their friends, they were Amilia and Natalie.

She didn’t have work until Saturday and she had already finished her homework and Amy knew this. There wasn’t a way she wasn’t going. Amy looked up and smiled all teeth, all eyes. Someone save me, Sophie thought.

Spoiler: it went a lot worse than she expected.

There was a feeling that Sophie knew well. It was why she was here in the first place. The feeling started in her wrists, where she had been bound countless times. It spread up and down to the edges of her fingers which had caused so much pain. The fingers that held weapons and the hands that held both the blood of her enemies and friends. It filled her shoulders with tension and her legs with a need to run. But she couldn’t. She was surrounded by bodies, moving, dancing, controlled by the beat of the drums that shook her core like a war cry. That was because it was a war cry. The image of her friends, the small family she had made, half-dead and filling up every bed in the Healing Center. She had run away from them. That was what she alone had done. Sophie ran from the dangers and the responsibility.

Coward.

“Breathe,” an order. In. Out. One. Two. Three.

“Sophie? Soybean?” Amy’s voice. Amy’s hands on her shoulders. “Hey, hey,” her fingers cradled her jaw. “You’re right here, I got you, you’re okay. We won, it’s over.”

But it wasn’t. At night the demons came back to haunt her. And she would be running from them for the rest of her life.

Sophie had told herself when she left the Lost Cities she wasn’t following orders anymore. Little notes and anonymous gifts were things of the past. She told herself this as she took a picture of her shifts for the next week. They flowed through her mind as she wrote notes for a lecture. Words scribbled on papers and typed on documents controlled her whether she wanted them to or not. They set the path and all she had to do was follow it.

This time it wasn’t directed at her.

“Hey Soph, you got anyone who would send you mail?” Amy called from the hallway.

“Nope!” She had barely even heard what Amy had said, too absorbed by homework.

“Huh, okay.”

“You sure it’s not for you? It’s from that town like an hour north of campus,” Amy asked a minute later, shoving the envelope in front of her computer. “Get out of your nerd stuff and look at important things.”

Sophie made a noise but took the envelope, “My nerd stuff is important!”

Amy chuckled lightly, “Sure dear, you’re almost as bad as Jena.”

“My lord Amy it has your name on it,” Sophie shook her head, “And Jena is really smart and, unlike you, actually capable of holding an intellectual conversation!”

“Huh, guess I’m blind.” Rolling her eyes, she went back to her homework as Amy tore open the letter. Where was she? Oh yeah-

“Do you know about that road house right outside of town?”

“Amy I swear if you interrupt me one more time-”

Amy ignored her, “It’s a coupon to there. We could take the gang this weekend.”

“Yeah sure, totally, now just let me finish my homework,” Sophie said, not realizing that she could’ve just agreed to anything.

“Nat you can drink?” Amilia asked. It was a running gag.

“Oh shush, I’m not eleven anymore!” Natalie retorted. And she wasn’t eleven, she was twenty-three and Amilia had to remind herself of that often.

The roadhouse was dark, full of wooden booths. In the corner there was a pool table surrounded by a group of guys. Amilia sat at a table with three of Nat’s friends, her friends, she reminded herself. Thunk! The sound of darts reminded her of throwing stars. Shaking her head slightly she tried not to think about all she had left behind. Amilia, she thought, but it echoed outside her head.

“Amilia!” Tina called, waving her hand in front of her.

“Sorry, what?�� she asked. Get out of your head, she thought sternly.

They all chuckled quietly and tampered off into their different conversations. It was a nice normal, zoning in and out, the words just soft buzzing. She traced the rough wood of the roadhouse with her eyes. The chipped, frayed edges. Dark, daunting, but cozy. The roof domed up to balconies with rooms for the inn part. Sophie didn’t know if anyone actually stayed there anymore. Posts came down into booths, to a karaoke machine in the corner, to the bar that stretched along the entire left side. There was a girl, flannel tight around her waist, short dark hair held up by various barrettes keeping the strands away from her face. The pen and cups flew through her hands with experience and it was mesmerizing to watch. Sophie couldn’t see her face, but there was a tugging feeling that the girl was familiar. From a past life, she thought, and laughed. She had had many past lives. At this point she wouldn’t know which one the girl would’ve been from. If she would just look up, the urge to know who she was got stronger. She was someone to her someone important-

Crash. Her heart pounded, her ears rang. The shattering sound of glass was ironic because it played backwards in her ears. Shattered heart becoming whole.

Sophie, because to that face that was all she was. Her feet moved without her permission.

Because this girl wasn’t just someone to her, she was everything to her.

She was the hardest to leave behind and the only one that could make her stay.

“I’m supposed to be bartending,” Linh whispered into her shoulder, “and your friends are looking at us.”

“Fuck off, I get the longest hug I want after not seeing you for a decade,” Sophie laughed stubbornly into her shoulder.

Linh turned her head into Sophie’s neck and hummed quietly, “I think that’s fair.”

For the first time she relaxed. The world fell off her shoulders and she realized this was the feeling she had been chasing. Linh smelled like cigar smoke and whiskey and cats (she made a mental note to ask about that later). But she knew, as she shifted closer, holding Linh as tight as she could, after all those years she would still smell like the ocean, she’d still smelled like home.

The next morning she found herself passed out in a room that wasn’t her own. An old lamp sat on a wooden nightstand. Next to it, barely lit, was a piece of paper. In big bold letters it read: The Western RoadHouse. In scratchy handwriting there was a note. it filled the entire card,words running into each other. In her very tired state Sophie could barely decipher it.

Hey! Sorry I had to work early and you looked way too peaceful to wake up. How much of last night do you remember? We talked about how I got here, and how you got here. And, well, we talked for hours and did you know the more tired you are the pinker your ears get? And the easier it is the fluster you? You also get clingy and rub your eyes a lot. I ended up having to carry you up to my room and swear to Amy on everything that I had you would be okay. But I realized in that minute in a half of hauling your dead weight and listening to you murmur in your sleep that I had missed you. I ran away because I’ve always been running, but I don’t wanna run anymore. If you’d let me, I’d like to run to you instead. This is me asking if you’ll be my girlfriend, or just go out on a date if you didn’t get that. So yeah? Can I run to you?

For a moment she thought she was dreaming. Then she read it again and all she could do was laugh. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she grabbed a pen and paper and wrote a simple message in neat, loopy handwriting.

Well then runaway,

Come running.

She wrote her and Amy’s address at the bottom and slipped it into Linh’s bag on the nightstand on her way out. When Amy pulled up in the van she only raised an eyebrow.

“Did you win?” she asked, turning down the music slightly as Sophie closed the door.

She smiled, mouth crooked, eyes wrinkled, for once unguarded and wild. “Yeah, I think I did.” Whoops and hollers rang out from the back where her friends crowded together. They whooped and hollered and clapped her on the shoulder as Amy pulled the van out of the lot.

Tag list: @enbies-and-felonies, @clearlykeefitz, @ruewen-and-rising, @you-are-the-vacker-legacy @linhamon-roll @lemontarto @rainbowtay-11 @an-absolute-travesty @girlofmanyfandoms(if you want to be added or removed come find me here)

#finding home #tater writes #kotlc #kotlc fic #sophie foster #amy foster #linh song #injuries tw #phantom pains tw #keeper of the lost cities #solinh

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witchfall · 4 years

Text

old souls

summary: When the act of want feels like a risk, what happens when you get everything you asked for?

A Crystal Exarch x Warrior of Light fic Word count: 6431 Rating: M (implied sexual content)

Also on AO3. Technically a sequel to ‘hard is the heart that feels no fear’, though it can be enjoyed standalone.

Thank you to @vaniccio for betaing!!!

Copious Shadowbringers: 5.3 Reflections in Crystal spoilers within. You have been warned!

—

–

For a blistering moment, Izzie sees meteors flicker in his crystal body.

He’s not there anymore. She knows that. She grips the crystalline vial of blood memories so hard she fears it will crack. The sadness Alisaie spoke of when she saw the star showers -- loss that leaves yawning gaps, writhing and vile -- creeps up her throat. She remembers when she had her first vision from Hydaelyn on that trip to Ul'dah long ago; she feels more grounded in it, now. The pain is lived in. Understood.

The rains have ceased, but you are not here to see it.

The Scions join her at the seat of sacrifice. They stare at her, alarmed, as she strides past and says nothing. She will risk nothing sullying her hope; she will hold it like candle flame, close to her chest, until she is certain it will not go out.

---

Y’shtola lifts a single, elegant brow. “You still have to take the Exarch to Nabaath Arang?”

“Yes.” Izzie tries not to snap. Y’shtola, of all of them, is most likely to examine Izzie down to the quick and question what she finds there.

“Showing him the realm, are you?”

Izzie crosses her arms. Rain in the Greatwood has unsettled the ancient greenery. Her nose twitches at the heavy scent of damp moss. “What of it?”

Something changes in the air, then. Y’shtola pauses, recalculating, and Izzie’s tail stands on end from the tension. “It simply has...been awhile, since you have taken a flight of fancy like this.”

Izzie digs her toe into the mud. She huffs. For a bard, she’s extraordinarily bad when it comes to talking about herself. “It’s nice. To pretend.”

You are death.

“Pretend?”

“That I’m just a traveler, anymore.”

Y’shtola gives her a small smile, but there’s something deeper there that spooks Izzie, like she’s looking at something private. “Is that not among your brightest qualities? Your penchant for adventure, vast and mundane?” She places a gentle hand on Izzie’s shoulder. “You are not so unknown.”

Izzie says nothing, even as Y’shtola shakes her lightly.

“I am not one to make prognostications I don’t fully believe in. You know this. I do, in fact, think this has more than a passing chance of working.”

Izzie nods. She refuses to cry.

“You could do worse." Y'shtola brushes an invisible piece of dirt off Izzie’s tunic, as if oblivious to the effect she had on her younger counterpart. "Though...were the two of you anyone else, I would call you both unspeakably obsessed..."

Izzie's breath stutters as Y’shtola’s cloudy eyes sharpen upon her. She lets up for nothing. But before Izzie can struggle to defend herself, the woman gives a dazzling smile.

“Do keep heart. My life and happiness depends on this working, too, you know."

Izzie glances pointedly to Runar, who is speaking with a woman by one of the Slitherbough gardens, and Y’shtola, perhaps sensing her intent through the aether, finally graces Izzie with silence.

---

The Scions’ crystals shimmer and everything clicks into its right place; Izzie feels settled for a bare moment, as if she had stepped onto a ferry in just the nick of time. Her beloved family rises one by one, greeting the new day, groaning as they stretch out waxy muscles. But as they each turn to appraise her, Izzie fidgets and fidgets.

They each gaze upon her expectantly. We will leave the rest to you, Y’shtola says, smiling with rare maternal kindness. It sends cold water down Izzie’s back. Urianger’s softness has never been a mystery to her, even in his most shadowed; his words are complex but their meaning is simple. It will work, he reminds her. The doors will unseal because G’raha’s blood is in her satchel.

(How many years has she dreamed of saving his blood under her fingernails, of forcing those golden doors open with a furious pouring of her own essence?)

The realization scares her: they all know what she wants. And not a single person in the room dissuades her.

Her stomach roils. Her blood feels electric. The hope of fulfillment alone may devour her. She runs and does not look back, not even when Tataru shouts. Not even when she feels Alisaie look after her strangely, like a confirmation that something is changed forever.

---

The ground shakes as those massive doors, the Dossal Gates, open. The stale air tastes split by lightning. She had just been standing before these same gates a few moments ago, but the difference between the worlds hollows her out. Unlike in the First, where the doors herald the hope of a city, these doors are dusty and hidden. Sealed purposefully against the various evils of mankind.

She grips the crystal tighter; perhaps it is his present soul that makes her own memories feel suddenly, painfully vibrant. His broad shoulders square as he seeks to leave her behind forever -- but then he turns just slightly, as if considering looking back, and his mouth moves as the doors close, the words lost forever to the sound of doors roaring shut.

I love you. That’s what he said. She knows that now. The crystal is warm under her fingers, confirming it. It gives her the will to keep walking, up vaunted staircases that once stunned her with their beauty. Now they are just another obstacle. She barely registers the imperial stature of the architecture or the distant, yawning sounds of monsters that could still be lurking in its eternal spire. She follows a well-tread path to the Umbilicus and she knows it is right; the crystal near thrums with an affectionate, overbearing knowing.

So like him.

And then, after she throws one last door open with a breathless, heavy creak, her journey ends. She takes in a sharp breath. Dust stings her nose.

There he is.

He sleeps upon little more than a tiny dais with some red blankets thrown over it for bare comfort. His head lays upon what must be an old shirt of his balled up to serve as a pillow; his hands rest, open palmed, upon his chest. This cannot be what he thought an Allagan princeling would look like. She nearly laughs, lightheaded.

Still...

Despite everything, his face is the picture of a lazy Mor Dhona afternoon. Even under the cold blue-gold light, his handsomeness is gutting.

He is exactly as preserved in her memory, save his hair spreading loose like red vines across his makeshift bed. His youth, unburdened by a century of waiting, springs tears into her eyes. How many years does she bear on her back, despite the star merely going round twice? Will she look too different in his younger eyes? (This body is still older than her, she notes. But barely anymore. What a strange pair they make.)

She feels stupid, standing there staring with the crystal in her hands. She wonders if perhaps she should have brought Krile along. But, in theory, this should work the same as with the Scions, so before she can overthink it she places the crystal carefully, lovingly, beneath his palms. She jolts when she touches his skin— cold as the air in the tower — and for a moment she actually fears waking him, like she doesn’t want to upset his sleep. Even though that is exactly what she is doing.

What the fuck even is her life, a tiny part of her whispers.

The seconds drag on. Her tail twitches behind her in restless energy. Should she practice a speech or something? Should she talk to him to encourage his soul to accept itself? What words would even suffice? She spent two years wondering after him, yet it all feels short compared to this moment.

“I’m here,” she announces quietly and her hand lingers on his for just a moment. When he doesn’t respond, she sinks to the floor beside him, her back against his strangely warm dais-bed, her head between her knees. Words are no good. Whatever she says could easily be for naught.

She sings instead.

It’s a silly song the dragons taught her that does not translate well, but she liked the challenge of it in her mouth. It was once a courtship song, she was told. The meaning behind the deeply intricate symbols had been lost to time and the traversal of new stars. Now they just liked the ditty.

Care to forget the deep warm wells of another life?

The slow love of water beneath the sand?

Stupid questions I can't answer.

She hears the crackling sparkle of aether and pointedly does not look. She digs her eyes into her knees, seized with fear, and keeps singing, even though it’s muffled by her legs. Her torso is bent just enough that her voice feels weak, but she doesn’t adjust.

She will need to give him space. He will need time to come to terms with this world. She will not press him. She will not.

you're bold and bright, the sun star's last breath.

me?

at least the dark magic is mine

and I will keep it to myself this time.

Her song smothers the groaning sounds of his waking. She doesn’t notice him take a few silent moments to watch her, all curled up and heartbreakingly girlish again in her waiting. Her feet tap the floor. Her hands grip her ankles. Her ears twitch, and then…

She sees feet hit the floor in the corner of her eye and…

She shoots up to standing so fast that her vision tunnels for a moment. She doesn’t breathe. She could pass out standing there. She might well have, watching him as he watches her, his mouth popped slightly open…those red eyes...

She stumbles back a tiny step at the weight of seeing him. His breath catches.

“I remember,” he says. His throat works to swallow. Her eyes hone in on it. “I remember everything.”

"Oh.” Breathe. Her heart is in her mouth. “That’s…”

Well, not entirely good, is it? Don’t think about it.

She scans him as clinically as she can manage. The Allagan technology did well by him, at least. His skin is clear and pale. His tattoos stand out like void bites. His lithe frame had retained its old musculature, though she imagines it must be disorienting regardless. His aether situation -- she would leave the specifics to Krile -- must be very confusing.

But then his eyes fill with tears.

She panics, and against her earlier desire for restraint, she closes the distance between them in a step. Her hands fly to his face (no crystal coming to claim him, simply the edge of an archon's tattoo...). She cups his jaw, resting her thumbs on his cheeks. The tears she can't catch fall into the webbing of her fingers.

"It's okay," she says softly. She squashes her own tears down, down, down. His face still feels too cool beneath her hands and she thinks for a moment about what it would be like to wrap him up in a scarf and keep him like a trophy. "The worst is over now."

He leans his mouth into her palm. When he speaks, his lips brush her heart lines and she fears she may combust. "You're real, aren't you?" he croaks out. Voice unused for years. "You aren't some strange ghost created out of the hope of two souls?"

Her throat tightens. She forgets how to speak like someone kind. “Of course I’m real, you idiot. Of course I'm--”

He seizes her, then, in a crushing embrace, his arms as strong as the day they said goodbye. They snake around her waist. She is crushed between her leather armor and his stupid ugly tunic and the haleness of his body, and all she wants is to wink out of time and live in this moment. Still, a part of her resists. He has much to remember. Hundreds of years to consider.

He whispers into her ear. “My star. Izzie. My love.” Naming her, as if to anchor her to him. He pulls back only so their foreheads meet. She struggles to focus on the radiance of his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Am I--” She nearly growls at him in her flummoxed state. Tears slip down her cheeks, too, and it makes her angry and proud and happy and destroyed. “I should be asking you that!”

Perhaps he didn’t hear her; but then, it is more likely he did and saw through her. He tucks her head under his chin and rocks her back and forth. He holds her tightly until her shoulders finally lose their tension and she gives a keening sob against his chest. His breath catches again. And then they collapse to the gold filigree floor, grappling with the sudden collision -- and end -- of too many painful years apart.

---

She feels a bit like a child bringing home a stray, even though that doesn’t make sense. Her Scions know him and he’d lived in Mor Dhona for a not insignificant amount of time. But nothing explains the bizarre embarrassment and desolation she feels when they arrive at the Rising Stones and everyone stares for a second. Don’t look, she wants to scream. Everything is fine and normal and not at all a miracle that shouldn’t have happened.

But then Krile marches forward and points a terrifying finger at G’raha. “Raha. Just because this all worked out well does not mean you are forgiven for being an idealistic fool. To bed. Now.”

Izzie grins so brightly her eyes water as G’raha’s ears flatten against his head. Her mother would like Krile very much; the resemblance strikes her fiercely in that moment.

“Don’t let him leave your sight, Izzie,” she grumbles as they enter Dawn’s Respite. G’raha leans into Izzie as she half carries him, and she wonders if he’s dramatizing a little to stay close to her and hide from Krile. “I can’t believe how angry I still am with you after all these years. You ridiculous fool. You’re lucky your decision quite literally prevented a calamity…”

G’raha, to his credit, bows to her scolding. “You’re right, of course.”

Krile harrumphs. But Izzie doesn’t miss the soft, sidelong glance she gives the younger scholar before she near pushes him to bed.

---

Izzie brings G’raha everything Krile says he needs and more. She fetches food and blankets and washcloths. She holds weird aether scanning tools at just right angles. She cleans medical tools and sweeps floors and folds sheets when Krile runs out of things for her to do. At one point, she notices G’raha keeps brushing his bangs out of his eyes. She silently marches up to his bedside, fishes out a few pins from her pocket, and waves them in front of his face.

He reaches forward to take them. "Thank you--"

"Let me do it," she whispers, and before he can protest, her fingers brush against his crown, pinning his soft hair out of his beautiful eyes. He takes the faintest breath before he wraps a hand around her wrist, gentle and pleading.

"You haven't sat down."

She feels like she has hornets under her skin. "Lots to do."

He quirks a smile. “No there isn’t.”

She glances to where his fingers grip her. She glances around the spotless Respite. Her ears flatten. “...well. There was.”

So she sits in the chair Krile pointedly left beside him and collapses her body forward until her forehead lays on the mattress. She is tired. Not for the first time, she wishes she wasn’t like this. Wishes she didn’t feel driven to do until she can’t think anymore.

But then G’raha gently rubs her head between her ears and she decides she can just opt out of thinking, if she wants. She allows herself the affection; from the way his hands don’t leave her, he seems desperate to give it. She snaps out her own hand, letting it wander the mattress and muss away the sheets until she finds his thigh and she feels better, touching him back. He softly hums some old tune and she relaxes there in relative quiet for who knows how long.

In her warm drifting, she eventually realizes she dreads nightfall. She should let him sleep the recuperative sleep of a mortal man. She should not hover or oppress him into what she wants. But just as before, as in the old days and the new, he speaks as if he can read her like a book.

"If it isn't any trouble, my dear one," he starts, "would you be willing to stay with me tonight?"

She nods at once, relieved, and settles harder into her chair. He smiles, lopsided.

"You can have a bed, if you'd like."

"I want to be closer," she admits, and already her face burns, even though she has not lifted her hand from his thigh for hours, maybe. "So here is fine, I've slept in a chair before, a lot actually--"

He reaches up and tugs on one of the frazzled locks of hair framing her face, just like Before. Her lip quivers. "You can have a bed," he says, cutely commandeering in a way he never let himself be as Exarch, and he pats his mattress.

She blinks at him. In the next moment, she is peeling off her boots, avoiding his resplendent gaze as she does so. She pulls back his covers and slips in beside him, her legs sliding against his warm, bare skin as he tucks her in against his chest. She entwines their limbs and throws an arm over his waist. She digs her nose into his chest, smelling his clean skin; even now his scent reminds her of their old campfires. He rubs small circles into the back of her neck with his thumb.

Why had she been so afraid to ask for this?

"Finally," he sighs into her hair. "My dark and dastardly plans may commence."

He brushes his fingers on her exposed waist. She squeaks at his touch -- he was tickling her, the fiend -- and whaps him with her palm. He laughs. She feels at home.

---

G'raha awakens first. He blinks heavily at the weight lying against him and looks down, and only then does he accept he is not dreaming.

Izzie snores against him, her mouth open. Her chin shines with drool. Her hair is a tangle of red knots under her sweaty neck, but her face is so relaxed that he thinks to keep her there, forever. His reverie only ends because Krile enters -- and she stops suddenly, seeing the pair.

He can only describe her expression as wistful. But she schools her face into more familiar, sly watchfulness when she notices his gaze upon her.

"You would ensnare the Warrior of Light," Krile says, as if exhausted of him already.

"I assure you," he says, quiet as a whisper, "that it was entirely the other way around."

Krile smirks. She oozes sarcasm as she sweeps over to them, but when her gaze shifts to Izzie’s still miraculously sleeping form, he remembers how badly he missed Krile’s softness, too.

“Oh, Raha.” She lays the back of her hand on Izzie’s forehead, testing for fever (it was apparently that unusual for her to sleep like this), but her twinkling eyes land on him. “You haven’t changed at all.”

---

And then the strangest thing of all happens: The Scions of the Seventh Dawn have nothing to do. Nothing so pressing the world won’t wait a few days for them to catch up to it.

G’raha learns the limits of his new old body. He falls asleep on their picnic blanket and during a card game and even, to Izzie's sickening panic, once on the edge of a balcony wall where he had perched with a book. He devours whole meals so quickly she watches him in careful awe. He weaves spells and gets tired enough to faint; she has so far been able to catch him before he hits the ground, but she ponders letting him do so, once, if it teaches him a lesson.

Izzie enjoys playing witness. It’s like watching her favorite dreams depicted on stage for her amusement.

"I like your hair like that," she says in passing one day. His hand flutters up to the pins he had kept and his ears flick -- more expressive than she had ever seen, even in the old days. He smiles brightly.

"I'm glad," he says. "I like it too."

Tataru gifts him new clothes, and that is when it truly feels like the beginning of an era. He steps out of a side room to model them for the Scion family, smiling sheepishly, and Izzie stares for a moment too long. She feels Feo Ul's hand in this. The Fae King reached through time and space to design this outfit specifically to slap her in the face. My dear sapling will have to thank me in person later! She can nearly hear the words -- and indeed, Izzie would.

The design is a perfect blend of old and new. His sharp red half-robe is ridiculously him, honoring the Exarch and young scholar both. The gold accents shimmer under the light. He is adorned with so many necklaces she is struck with the desire to bring him another, as if in tribute.

She steps close and adjusts his black scarf, letting her fingers drift down to the tassles and linger on the sumptuous fabric just over his collarbones, before she realizes what she is doing.

G'raha's grin is blinding in the corner of her eye.

"It wasn't even," she grumbles at him.

"And the rest of it?"

"It's a good look," Thancred says. His tone indicates more than just the clothes. Alphinaud poorly stifles a giggle.

Izzie turns back to glare at them, but they are all looking at her, like she is the twist in the tale they've been waiting for. Urianger smiles gently. Y'shtola raises a brow. I knew it to be so. Even Alisaie looks strangely triumphant, like she'd won a bet.

She blushes furiously and lets it slide.

Despite this -- despite the offer for him to join the Scions and the work he does to re-seal the tower and the fact he is never far from arm's reach, much less out of sight -- she still feels out of sorts. And then one day, as they sit together in the Rising Stones cafe picking over finger sandwiches, her mouth does the thing where it asks a stupid question before she realizes it's happening.

She stares at him as he places a fifth sandwich in his mouth and she asks: "Are we together?"

He glances to her, alarmed, but his tone remains steady and teasing. "Did you teleport somewhere on accident? You look corporeal enough."

"No. I mean. Are we...are…" Well, no, now it feels really stupid. She turns away. She stuffs a whole sandwich in her mouth in one go, and he waits patiently the whole time. She says, once she swallows the food down: "Is this happening? For real this time?"

She isn't sure what she means. Physically? A proposal of marriage? All of it makes her feel like she just stuck her head in an oven.

His brows turn downward. "Why wouldn't it be, my love?"

Yes, this is very stupid indeed. His love is near impossible to avoid. But since he received his own room at the Stones, they function otherwise like they intend to live completely separate lives. Like colleagues.

Which they are. Which is fine.

It’s not.

"Can we...go on a trip? An adventure maybe? Or something? Alone. Just us two. Without...any of the other Scions…?”

She bites her lip and lays her head on the table and covers her scalp with her hands. She wants to die for some reason.

He laughs, warm and true, and he leans in until his forehead rests on her temple. She still hides in shame, even as he whispers just for her to hear. "How many times do I have to tell you you're my guiding star? Before you believe me?"

Her face is so flushed she feels sweat break on her brow. "Maybe another time would help," she mutters into the table.

He laughs again and gently kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "I will wait for you to come to me, alright?" When she looks at him with wide eyes, stricken by a terror she struggles to name, he smiles at her. Love freely given. "You could never disappoint me. As ever, I follow in your light."

---

She takes him up on it that night.

She was never confident in these affairs. Their first time in the tower on the First she was seized by reckless abandon. He was already seeing everything. Why hide? Their time, she sensed, had been limited once again. The tower loomed over everything. A judge in cold absentia.

Now, if she knocks on this door in the Rising Stones, she will be stepping into forever. Her body shakes. She feels 19 again, afraid of how powerfully certain she is -- afraid of the pain she may invite into her life, if she loses him. But this time, she has already lost him twice. No god, if they exist, would be cruel or stupid enough to make an enemy of her this time.

She knocks. He opens the door. He stares, bewildered.

"Hi," she says flatly.

A blinding smile lights his face. She has to look away a moment. Her heart thuds so strongly she is certain he can hear it. He stands there, staring.

"Move, would you?" Her voice feels harsh and unsteady. "Before the gossipmongers see."

He steps back. She steps in. And then, in one fluid movement, he pulls her against him and pushes the door closed behind her. Suddenly her back is pressed against the harsh wood and she is kissing him, melting into his muscled chest and his moan of satisfaction as her tongue darts into his mouth. She isn't sure who moved first. It doesn't matter now. They're together, against the literal forces of time and space.

She pulls back just enough that their lips are only a hair apart. Heat thrums between them.

"I hope you know," she breathes, "that this time I mean to keep you."

He grins. The boy she had dreamed of. "This time I intend to be kept."

She laughs before he quiets her with his mouth against hers.

For all its drama, the reconnection is quiet. He carries her to the bed. They undress each other slowly, limbs entangled, smiling into each other's skin, until they lay together naked beneath the blankets. He won't stop kissing her, pressing his lips against old injuries, her ears, her collarbones, her stomach.

“So much to catch up on,” he says. “And I will know all of it, again.”

She takes a deep breath and shreds her last bit of armor. Do what you like with me. Mark me. Make it real.

He holds her fast when she says this. He trembles, looming over her, within her. She wants to be disappeared by his shadow. She wants to be consumed.

His mouth and tongue slide down her neck. "You are everything.” His teeth graze the top of her shoulder. “I will answer your every prayer.” His hand slides over the bony curve of her hip. “For what I want...is to see you beloved.”

---

And yet.

She wakes curled into his side, his arm circled around her shoulders. She moves until she can hear his heart, beating and alive.

The shadow of night sparks cruel questions: Will he be kept? Will he be fighting fate's designs upon his life? Can she survive another loss? Can she afford to try? They circle in her head until she takes a sharp breath. She utters his true name. "Raha…"

Perhaps he had already been awake. Immediately, he circles his arms around her in a protective vice. “What’s wrong?”

Her voice catches in her throat and G’raha pulls her up. He sits against the headboard and cradles her against him, bringing the blankets up to keep her warm. “I don’t know,” she says. She smothers her ear against his chest. Lets the sound of his lifeblood calm her. “I don’t know what happens next.”

He strokes her back. Her fingertips slip against his chest as she balls her hands into fists. And then he sucks in a breath. She tilts her head up at him.

"...I just want you to know where I stand," he says, and she gets the feeling he has practiced this speech. "I...I had seen the reports of your death in the future that now will never be. I saw...memorials to you in every camp. Every small group carried something of you. A picture. A carving. A song they thought you wrote…"

He sighs. She hears a century of pain in it.

"Your death in the abstract was untenable. You were everywhere. And...I knew, I knew when I woke that I would be confronted with your death, even in an ideal world. But it was...I felt so immeasurably stupid. To think that I would be able to survive it. I could barely tolerate giving up adventuring with you, much less..."

She stops him with a finger to his lips. No need to relive these hurts for her sake. "What's the short version, Raha?"

The use of his true name sends another contented shudder through his lungs. He takes her raised hand and pulls until he can press his lips against the inside of her wrist.

"I had a century to come to terms with what I want. And now I have her, despite my every expectation.” His tail curls around her hip. "You haven't had that time. I didn't want to press it. But I also know...sometimes you experience more pain doing nothing out of fear of what the something will bring."

She hears the silent mercy he is granting her. It’s okay to want. It’s okay to struggle with it.

“And,” he adds, “you lose a shocking amount of time, thinking not of the present.”

He presses a kiss to the pulsing vein in her wrist. She taps his chest with her thumb.

"What did the pictures even look like?"

His other hand slides lazily down her back. "Not even the slightest bit like you."

"Not even a little?"

"It was you if you were at least a fulm taller and had much meaner brows. Maybe."

"Hmm…"

He squeezes the base of her tail and she jumps. His chuckling breath tickles her ear. "I much prefer this version."

---

G’raha taps the charcoal against the blank drawing parchment as he watches Izzie experience the consequences of her actions.

On the path into Rowena’s Splendors below, the Warrior of Light and Darkness hummed, fully distracted by the contents of her bag while she walked -- leaving her utterly unprepared for Thancred to hold out his arm and nearly clothesline her. She stumbles with incredible drama. Her arms flap. Her feet dance to keep her aloft, and just barely do they succeed.

“Hey!” she shouts.

“Your bag,” Thancred insists.

“You-”

“Your bag.”

Izzie growls in frustration before shoving it at him with a leathery thunk.

Thancred makes a show of rifling through it. Some knives wrapped in burlap. The remnants of a cheesecloth. A few glamour prisms. G’raha knows Thancred wouldn’t find anything in there. He knows, also, that Thancred wouldn’t even be down there if it wasn’t for him. He tipped the man off because he knew Izzie would find it funny.

He rather enjoys Izzie’s little cons -- when they aren’t directed at him.

Thancred hands back the satchel. “If I find any more of that Mord grub in our coldbox, I will confine you to quarters, warrior of two worlds or no.” Despite his words, his tone is largely...endeared. Relieved, and not just because her bag was empty.

Izzie grins at him. “Gaia didn’t send any with me this time.”

Thancred ignores her. “And you!” he shouts up at G’raha. “Stop enabling her!”

G’raha raises his hands to proclaim innocence, laughing, and he wipes off the charcoal lingering on his fingers. He turns his eyes toward the door to the balcony upon which he sits. His heart floats, knowing it’ll be mere moments before Izzie will be ambushing him.

The scions -- his fellow scions -- hadn’t missed the changes within her. She smiles more. She even plays music in the tavern sometimes, which always brings a full house. I’ll deal with the frustrating practical jokes if it means she’s doing alright, Thancred admitted to him over beer not so long ago.

He hears her before he sees her, but only because he seeks out her quiet footfalls. She jumps from the threshold of the door and makes it half-way; she twirl-steps the last half to dramatically throw her arm over his shoulders. She lands hard enough to thump the air out of him. The whole of her leans playfully into his side, her chest nearly against his own. “Ready to see Ma?”

He grins before her happy radiance, never one to resist her call to adventure -- not even when he fears what it will bring. Meeting her adoptive mother, for instance. He settles his arm around her lower back. “As ready as one can be.”

---

The Thanalan heat stifles him. Dust seeps into his clothes and sand flies into his eyes no matter which way he turns when the winds blow across the desert. Izzie's ma, Sheshena Shena, takes one look at G’raha’s pale, wind-chapped skin and insists he take tea with her on the covered porch.

"Izzie can set up the carriage herself," she declares. Izzie glances to him and nods encouragement, but she acquiesces at once to her Ma's will. Lady Shena, G'raha thinks, has a power all of Garlemald wishes it could wield.

But he knows that this gesture is not solely for his benefit. She allows him a few moments of polite, worthless conversation over an aromatic chai before her glassy eyes pin him in place.

"Not too many moons ago," Sheshena says, "I was going to ask her to quit."

G'raha lets that register for a moment. "Her work with the Scions?"

Sheshena inclines her head. "She wouldn't have. She can no less quit being the warrior of light than I can quit being her mother. But I thought...perhaps it would help her notice just how bad the misery weighed on her shoulders."

She purses her lips and turns away, toward Izzie. She lingers there a moment.

"She would have just been angry with me." Her gaze slides back to him. "But I have watched my daughter carefully, G'raha Tia. And much of this started not long after you disappeared from her life."

He understands now. She is warning him. She is telling him the stories that wouldn't be in any tomes.

"...it wasn't all your fault," she allows. "Her time in Ishgard would have crushed her were it not for dear Edmont." He forgets she is on first name terms with Izzie's Ishgardian family -- that she is part of it, too. "And then her father died."

G'raha closes his eyes, punched in the gut.

Her voice hollows. "It never quite stopped after that."

He realizes this is not just a tribunal for his crimes against her daughter, but a confessional. An unmooring of pain, old and new.

"She stopped allowing herself things. Her silly songs ended. Her visits slowed. I knew she needed the space. But she was drifting into the middle of a lake with no paddle. She was letting it happen." Her silver eyes sharpen into knives. "And I sought to blame someone. And I decided it was you. You, who had broken her heart first. You, who had left her behind. You were...it was easier."

She sets down her tea cup with a shaky clink and turns away from him.

"She told me what happened on this...other world. How she found you again."

He stares down into his half-sipped tea. His fingers slip upon the stone table. He would take this punishment. It was small, in the scheme of things, and necessary.

"She told me, had it not happened...had you made a different choice, that she would be dead."

So would the whole world, he thinks to say, but on this he and Sheshena agreed: without her, none of it matters, anyway.

"That you survived years and years to set things right and make sure she didn't die."

He nods, though his neck feels stiff.

"So I wanted to apologize. And thank you."

His heart stutters. He looks up at her in shock.

"Come off it," she says, sly and perhaps embarrassed. "Look at her. Look at her." Her lip trembles. "She's humming again."

They both look out to her, softly brushing her chocobo. The 'bo chirps conversationally at her. She laughs and coos at her stalwart friend. And there, in her laughter…

Where the desert sun left him weak and wan, she is painted in one thousand colors of light. Her sea green eyes shine. Her skin reddens like a canyon at noon. The sun adores her as its own, and perhaps she is.

This is the crystal of Azem. I think that it was meant for me. Can you believe it? Emet-selch, making this for me, once upon a time...

The Sun. The Shepherd of the Stars. When he touched the crystal, he felt a strange sort of awe.

He tastes cloves and the fruit of oasis when he thinks about her aether whipping around him. He thinks of life where there should be misery -- of how desire can twist but also carefully caress.

"Ma! Where'd you put Bonbon's sun hat?"

Sheshena answers, her voice no longer weighed down, and he realizes again why Izzie was so afraid at first. He would learn the realness of her again. He would see her pain and be there at her Da’s grave with her. He would make it impossible for her to forget that she is loved.

Sheshena turns back to him and the light in her eyes shifts.

"So." Sheshena regards him regally. "You're Allagan royalty, are you?" She raises a single brow to his flummoxed expression and sighs as she lifts her tea cup to her lips. "I suppose she could do worse."

The sun scalds bright pictures behind his eyelids as he laughs.

#g'raha tia #g'raha tia x wol #5.3 spoilers #crystal exarch x wol #crystal exarch #ffxiv #ffxiv fic #otp: upon an eternal wind #kathryn writes

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embklitzke · 4 years

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July 2020 Camp NaNoWriMo - The Magic Crystal Justice Squad (Chapter 1)

So this project that I'm doing for July 2020's Camp NaNoWriMo kind of snuck up on me. I'd originally intended to start a re-draft of UNSETIC Files: Pawns for this go-around, but plans changed when lightning kind of struck my brain.

There's a meme floating around about magical girls who were supposed to be retired but have to pick it back up again when they're around 30--and have real lives, real jobs, responsibilities, etc. that would definitely be impacted by their side gigs saving the world. When I first saw it, I laughed about it and wondered if it maybe wouldn't be a fun project to try out--someday.

Someday happens to be, quite unexpectedly, right now.

The Magic Crystal Justice Squad is something completely off-the-wall and very different for me, but definitely brings back fond memories of much younger years when I rushed home every damn day from school to watch Sailor Moon and the hours spent over the years watching Power Rangers and similar fare. It also lets me stretch my writing muscles in some new and interesting ways, since it feels a lot more tongue-in-cheek than many of my other projects. It's something fresh and new and has been fun so far.

We'll see how long that lasts.

Until then, enjoy joining me on this little bit of a ride.

One

Shots rang out and I pressed my back against the brick wall, sucking in a pair of ragged breaths. Steady. Steady.

Maybe if I told myself that I could still do this, I’d actually be able to.

God, everything hurt so much more at twenty-nine than it had at seventeen.

There’s something they don’t tell you when you sign up for this whole magical girl gig. Of course, that assumes you’ve got the choice when the whole thing comes up—from the looks of things, most don’t, at least not when you read about them or watch them on TV. I’ll tell you what: Sailor Moon it’s not, that’s for sure. It’s not Magic Knight Rayearth or any of the others, either. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and personal growth.

And unlike in Power Rangers or any of that craziness, there’s no handing over your powers to someone else. There’s no retirement plan.

There sure as hell isn’t a happily ever after.

I’ve spent twelve years trying to convince myself otherwise and the only thing I’ve learned is that fate is a cruel bitch and the business of saving the world sure as hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be on TV.

I risked a glance around the corner. Not immediately seeing my pursuit, I allowed myself a second to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to listen past the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. They couldn’t be far. Their pursuit had been dogged across rooftops and down through the cavernous alleyways. I’d be paying for my rappelling trick for days.

Austin would’ve told me that it was an impressive move, but probably an unnecessary stress on my body, a waste of economy. As usual, he’d have probably been right about it, too.

But Austin wasn’t here.

Austin was why I was here.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Someone must have called the cops, as if they’d be of any help in this situation. For all I knew, they were working for the enemy.

It would not have been the first time something like that had ever happened.

Just breathe, damn you. It took every ounce of wherewithal not to snarl at myself. Panicking wouldn’t do me any good, not now—not that it ever had. All it’d ever done had gotten me was into more trouble or yelled at by my former teammates.

Former.

If there was nothing else that slammed home how alone I was in this, it was that single word.

With Austin gone, too, I was well and truly on my own for the first time in twelve years.

I opened my eyes and stared at the wall ahead of me, then reached up to tap my tiara where it rested against my temple. A crystal visor materialized a second later, numbers and figures scrolling in front of my right eye, almost too quickly for me to understand what they were telling me.

That had always been a problem, but it was one that I didn’t have the patience to fix and probably wouldn’t until the next time it almost got me killed.

Three of them closing in. I can dodge them or I can fight.

My hands curled into fists. As stupid as it was, I wanted their blood. I wanted to put them out of my misery.

It would be three less foot soldiers for the enemy to throw at me in the future.

Hell, they might have been the ones who took my brother, which meant that I owed them more than a little payback.

I should have listened sooner. If I’d listened sooner, none of this would have happened. None of this would have started again. We could have stopped it.

Dammit, we could have stopped it before it started all over again.

Too late now.

I watched the scroll for a few more seconds. My breathing calmed and I counted my heartbeats, listening as the sirens grew closer. The sirens—and the three men who thought that I couldn’t hear them coming.

They brought this on themselves.

Hands tightening into fists, I took one last, slow breath.

“Fuck with the Crystal Princess and see what you get,” I breathed, then pivoted out of my hiding place and into the open. Leveling my wand—twelve inches of iridescent, crystallized silver—at them, I growled words that only felt even more ridiculous every time I said them. “Quicksilver Crystal Blade Spread!”

In the split second between the men realizing what I’d said and the blast hitting, the look on their faces was nothing short of priceless—they thought I was the most ridiculous thing walking.

They weren’t far from wrong.

Even ridiculous, however, I was still deadlier than they were.

The magic started as a brief flare of gray-white light, almost too faint to see. It grew exponentially in a matter of seconds, gaining form and substance as crystalline daggers that flew in an arc in front of me. Dozens of them found their mark, blasting the center most of my pursuers clear off his feet, sending him flying backwards a dozen yards. His companions had a split second to look at each other, their mocking and amusement melting into something close to fear.

One of them had the temerity to shoot at me.

He missed, though not by much. It helped that I was already moving.

If I’d learned anything over the years, it was to keep moving before they got your measure and your number came up once and for all.

The other thing I’d learned was to come at the enemy with all you’ve got because you never know which encounter’s going to be the last.

Catching the one on my right in the chest with my foot, I pushed off him to tackle the one on the left, the one that had managed to get a shot off. As his companion went careening into the wall, I bore the shooter to the ground, using momentum to make up for my lack of girth. The gun clattered from his hand, went spinning away, out of reach of both of them.

They were already bleeding from the dagger spread.

Monsters, after all, bleed just like everyone else.

Whipping my wand toward his jaw like a baton as I bore him to the ground, the shooter’s head bounced off the concrete as we landed, me on top of him. His eyes rolled up into his head for a second, then he snarled. I could only see the whites of his eyes as he lunged upward at me, fingers hooked into claws.

Oh no, you did not just pull that shit with me. Throwing up one arm to catch his hands, I drove the heel of my free hand into his nose.

The sound he made was the stuff of nightmares—half a scream, half a growl. It soured my stomach and sent bile creeping into my throat, touching a primal fear built into all of us.

Unlike most, I’ve figured out over the years how to shunt that fear aside and keep on fighting.

I risked a look away from him to check on my other assailants. The one that had taken the brunt of the daggers wasn’t moving—he was probably out, though I wasn’t sure. The other, though—

Yeah. I should have been a little more vigilant about him.

A booted foot sent me sprawling, knocking me from my perch on the shooter’s chest. The other man stalked after me, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and a few places where the daggers had caught him, too.

“You should have stayed out of it,” he growled, his voice guttural, somehow human and inhuman all at once. A shiver shot down my spine.

Just in case I needed more confirmation that something was rotten in the state of Denmark...

Well, I had it now, not that I’d needed it.

“Fat chance,” I said, brandishing my wand. He laughed at me.

“What are you going to do with that, Princess? It’s a sparkly stick with magic. You don’t have too many charges left, now do you? Bet you’re spent after that last-ditch effort to shake us off.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. “You’d be surprised.”

They were working from outdated information. That was good to know.

While being older meant that I’d pay a heavier price for any sort of physical feats of magical-girl prowess, having become a magical woman had apparently translated to a deeper fount of magic.

“Quicksilver Mist Arise.”

His eyes widened as the air around him thickened. I crawled back, stumbled to my feet, watching as a silver mist coalesced around him and his fallen companion. Their faces changed as the fog swirled around them, growing heavier, thicker.

There it was. The demonic-looking visages I’d expected, the ones I’d sensed but not seen.

They were getting better and better at hiding in plain sight.

Still, they hadn’t quite gotten good enough to fool me—not most of the time, anyway.

The mist choked off even their screams as it stole their breath.

Carefully, I stepped around the mist and headed toward their fallen companion, crouching to check for a pulse. I found none. His face had taken on the same demonic cast in death that illusion shrouded in life. My lips thinned as I started to search him, hoping to find something some clue to what they’d been up to—other than hunting me.

Behind me, the mist faded away, leaving the bodies of his companions lying in the alleyway. Muttering a curse as I came up empty in my initial search, I headed for the other two and repeated my search.

Nothing.

Maybe they were getting smarter after all.

I straightened and shook my head, staring at them for a few seconds, throat tightening at the shameful waste of it all. It didn’t have to be this way.

But they’d chosen this war, and the war, in turn, had chosen me.

If I wanted to save my brother, I didn’t have any choice. I had to keep fighting. No one else would.

There’s no handing your power to someone else when you end up where I’m at. No new reincarnation crops up to pick up where you left off, to take your wand and skirt that you thought you’d hung up and fight the good fight.

There’s only you and the demons that still stalk your days and your nights—both the ones that come from outside and the ones that come from your soul.

We thought the war was over.

How wrong we were.

#camp nano 2020 #Camp NaNoWriMo 2020 #Magical girl fiction #fiction #The Magic Crystal Justice Squad #writing #amwriting #urban fantasy #trope subversion #MCJS

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

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S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

↬ previously ↫

"Mama? It's me. Jane. I'm home."

"No."

"RUN!"

"Breathe."

"RUN!"

"Three to the right, four to the left."

"Breathe."

"Sunflower."

"Rainbow."

"Three the right."

"RUN!"

"Four fifty."

"RUN!"

"Rainbow."

"Three to the right."

"RUN!"

El rips the blindfold off her eyes in panic, her breathing heavy and uneven. As she is brought back to reality she looks up at her mother in her rocking chair. There are tears in her eyes and she is sadly uttering the same words.

"Run. Breathe. Sunflower. Rainbow. Three to the right. Four to the left."

El feels a pair of arms wrap gently around her and she can feel her own shaking, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly. She feels a hand grab hers and she knows it's Y/n. She squeezes her hand for comfort and Y/n gently runs her thumb over the back of her hand, showing her support.

No one says anything for a while, and apart from her mother's mumbling, she sits in silence embracing the support given to her as she tries to calm her racing heart.

||3rd Person POV||

"And it just kept repeating?" Becky asks.

The three had returned to the kitchen, Becky and El sitting across one another while Y/n stood leaning against the counter behind El, a glass of water in hand. El frowned at the foreign word.

"Repeat?"

"Like a circle?" Becky answered. "Just showing you the same image over and over?"

El thought bout this, and her eyes glanced in Y/n's direction without moving her head.

"She kept showing the woman, and the girl in the room."

"The rainbow room?"

El nodded, flinching ever so slightly at the invasion of a flashback. A memory that wasn't hers, trapped in her mind.

Becky thought about this, her fingers drummed lightly against the back of her hand lost in thought. She shrugged, her hand waving slightly before falling back onto the table.

"I guess that makes sense, Terry always believed you weren't the only..." Becky trailed off, her eyes fixed on the other young girl in her kitchen.

Y/n had her eyes fixed on the tile floor, her glass of water she had been refilling from the kitchen sink gripped tightly in hand though it hung lazily against her chest. She seemed to be lost in thought, though she must have only been listening. Her e/c eyes left the floor when she noticed Becky had stopped talking and she looked between her and El, curiously as if she had missed something.

But then she noted that Becky's eyes bad fallen to her glass and Y/n's eyes followed. The water had begun to bubble only slightly, but it was all too visible through the crystal glass. Y/n's eyes widened, quickly she set the cup down on the counter and the bubbles disappeared within seconds. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the attention and her eyes fell to the floor once more. Save for a few glances at Becky, who eyed her curiously.

Becky spoke finally, in response to El, although her eyes were still drawn to Y/n.

"The woman she kept showing you, what did she look like?"

In the time between El departure from her mother's mind, and their current discussion at the table, El had briefly filled them in on each image she was shown to the best of her ability. And while they had gotten the picture, it was still out of focus, details were fuzzy and hard to identify.

That was, until now.

El thought about the question, she had only seen it played out normally once, and the woman was at a great distance. But this didn't stop her from trying. She spoke slowly with a frown on her face as she reached farther and farther into her memory.

"She was pretty." She began, smiling sadly. "She had [h/l] [h/t] [h/c] hair. And [s/c] skin. She was [y/h]."

El met her aunt's gaze and nodded, confirming her suspicions.

"I think..." she turned to her best friend, who watched with teary eyes. "It was your mom."

"My- My mom, she showed you my mom?"

El nodded sadly. Y/n looked between Becky and El shifted on her feet, wringing her hands nervously.

"So, my mom, she's...?" Y/n took a deep breath and attempted to swallow the lump in her throat.

El nodded, and for a moment studied the body language of her friend. El didn't quite have a read on body language, but she knew enough to know her best friend was in great distress. Tentatively, she reached out her arm over the back of the wooden chair and extended her hand, offering what Y/n had offered her countless times in their friendship. Support and understanding.

Y/n graciously took her hand and sniffled. Though it proved fruitless and she stepped forward, and grabbed a napkin from the center of the table and blew her nose before sitting down between Becky and El. She wiped her nose and looked to El.

"Why did they take her? Why did they, you know... What did she do?"

El's gaze fell to the table and she thought about it.

"I'm not sure. She said Mama could still make it. That she knew where to go."

Becky sighed, capturing the two girls' attention and she planted her face in her hands. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and swept her hands across her face before addressing Y/n and El.

"You two have to realize, I only did what I thought was best for Terry. I really thought all those things, that happened to her, that it had affected her. That's why I didn't believe her."

They looked at her curiously, having already understood this. She anxiously met their eye before looking away again.

"But another thing she told me, something she insisted before she," Becky faltered, and gestured to her sister in the other room. "Terry thought she could have gotten you out. Terry thought she could have gotten you out because someone else did."

"For the longest time, she was telling me about [y/m/n]. I didn't really believe her, but according to her another woman had a baby," Becky paused, looking at Y/n briefly who was listening intently. "A special baby. Like you, El. And they wanted her, but according to Terry, and I guess, what you saw, she really did get her baby out."

Something clicked in Y/n's mind, and she focused carefully on the intricate patterns of the wooden table as her mind brought the pieces into place.

"I was found." She muttered.

El and Becky shared a look before returning their attention to her.

"My mom and Dustin - my brother, he was no bigger than I was at the time," she added last minute to Becky. "was in town, visiting family. And mom said they found me."

She shook her head and scoffed lightly in disbelief. Tears streaming freely down her S/C cheeks.

"On a walk. She said she stepped out to get some air, and she heard me crying... the neighborhood, I guess, was on the edge of the woods or something," Y/n blubbered, she wiped her nose with her napkin once more and took several deep breaths. "All I had was a thin blanket, I hadn't even been properly cleaned. Mom always said it was a miracle I didn't freeze to death out there,"

El tilted her head, clearly confused. "Miracle?"

"A very very good thing that isn't usual, or expected."

Becky explained.

"Anyway," Y/n sniffled, cracking the smallest of smiles. "I guess that answers that question, I kept myself warm."

A weak chuckle escaped her and El smiled weakly. Becky didn't understand but Y/n quickly explained.

"It wasn't until last year I found out I had... powers."

After all this time, Y/n still felt a little silly saying it. It didn't help that she almost never spoke it aloud but she guess in this instance she could.

"To be perfectly honest I'm still finding things I didn't know I could do."

"That doesn't really surprise me," Becky piped. "Then again, it's getting kinda hard to surprise me at the moment. Terry went on about you a lot. She said they were after [y/m/n]'s daughter because she- you were supposed to have-"

Becky stopped, the same words from last year popping back into her mind. The same words she told that Byers woman and the chief.

"Supposedly had some 'untapped potential for the greater good.' Some real pseudoscience shit."

She bit her lip before she could say the words and Y/n's frown hardened. She leaned forward, urgently.

"What?"

Becky looked at the kid before her, her eyes were pleading and she already felt guilty. But she also couldn't dump such a heavy load on a child, especially after she had learned what she just learned.

Becky sighed and looked at the girl.

"Potential. Apparently, whoever was after you had plenty of reasons to believe that you can do a whole lot more than boil some water. Let's just leave it at that."

She said, gesturing with her eyes to the forgotten glass of water sitting on the counter. Y/n gave her an incredulous look.

"What do you-? That can't be right. I mean, sure my mom must have been, well you know experimented on when she was pregnant with me, but I didn't grow up in a lab like El. I wasn't trained, or-"

She stopped, choosing her words carefully.

"I never learned how to use my powers. How could I have any more potential than El?"

Becky shrugged her shoulders and looked between the girls.

"I really don't know sweetie, to be honest, I'm still getting used to the fact that all this stuff is real."

A defeated sigh escaped her chest and her chin came to rest on her hand, propped up by her arms resting on the surface of the coffee table. There was a brief silence apart from the mumbles of the television and El allowed herself to dwell on the loop of borrowed memories playing over in her head.

"The girl," She reminds, tentative. "She also kept showing me the girl."

Y/n turned to her, quizzically, the gears turning in her head.

"What about her, El?"

"I think Mama wants us to find her."

A frown found it's way onto Y/n's face but she allowed her friend the benefit of the doubt. She was unsure about all of this, but unlike El's aunt, she was still in the process of swallowing all of this new information herself. The girl looked at Becky and she nodded in thought, before rising from the table. El and Y/n followed curiously as she led them into the next room, the small office space adjoining the living room. Becky bent over and pulled open a drawer from a steel filing cabinet, it was filled with several manilla folders.

"When Terry was looking for you," Becky began, her fingers riffling through the dozens of file folders. "She kept these files of other missing kids. Kids she thought were like you."

Without glancing back at them, Becky grabbed a small handful of files and dropped on the floor near Y/n and El's feet while she kept searching. Immediately, the pair of friends knelt down to the ground and began pouring over the folders.

"Maybe that girl is in here somewhere." Becky finished, grabbing the last of the folders before joining the girls on the carpet.

Y/n and El had each taken a folder, and anytime Y/n had happened across a photo she would show to El. But she would only shake her head. Y/n did keep an eye put for any possible leads as to her possible birth mother. She had a first name and a description. But that something. And something she could certainly keep an eye out for.

"Does anyone look familiar?" Becky asked hopefully.

She was met with silence as El continued to riffle through her folder. El had nearly reached the end when she unexpectedly froze, grabbing the attention of the other two in her company. Before either her friend or her aunt could attempt to sneak a glimpse of the photo, El grabbed the photocopy and closed the folder. It was another newspaper article, featuring a photo of a very young girl with braids. The caption read, "VANISHED! Indian Girl Missing in London".

"Is that her?" Becky asked softly.

El looked up, her heart racing, and nodded.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El found herself in the void for the third time that day. Her toes sinking into the imaginary water, and she was greeted by the usual chill. Like a visible mantra, she repeats the image of the girl her mother had shown her, not the picture she held in her hands. The girl in the rainbow room, the girl playing with blocks, and before she knows it El can hear a small crackling behind her.

She turns and much to her relief, her hopeful heart spiking, she sees a figure standing in the distance. The figure had their back turned to El and they were standing over a large metal barrel with fire bubbling over the top. It was a very strange sight to El, but in a way, it was quite rewarding. El had finally found some luck, this being the first sign of the girl she had found since her first attempt.

After finding the article, she had set out to search for the girl with no such luck. Night had fallen by now and Y/n had thanked her past self for packing an extra set of clothes. Y/n was wary of staying the night but ultimately agreed they needed more information. Becky was more than accommodating, she had pulled out a futon for the girls to share where they now lay. Few words were exchanged, given the tremendous load, the friends had been through. Though they still managed to crack a smile when El had learned from Y/n what the term sleepover meant.

"Thanks for bringing me along El," Y/n mumbled, wrapped under their shared blanket, head sinking into her pillow.

El had turned her head to look at her friend and nodded simply. Between themselves, Y/n was slightly better at holding a conversation, but it was nice. Y/n never pressured her to talk.

"I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances, but, at least we get to have our first sleepover," she whispered sleepily.

Y/n quickly noted the confusion on her friend's face, and smiled weakly, fighting the weight of her heavy eyelids.

"A sleepover is something best friends do. Stay at each other's houses, usually, they watch a movie or play a game or something but, "Y/n trailed off, a yawn escaping her. "Well, you know. But you get to talk after dark, and even see each other in the morning. The point is, it's nice that we get to spend some time together."

El found herself smiling at the words and her spirits perked for the first time since their arrival. It gave El a spark of hope. Hope that, when all of this was figured out, and everything had smoothed over. That maybe she could have a normal life. A normal life with her aunt and she could have a real chance at seeing Mike, and having sleepovers with Y/n, and playing outside and just being a kid. But that was on the back burner. She needed to find this girl, she had done what she had set out to do, she found her mother and she couldn't help but feel like her mother was telling her something. To seek out this girl.

And that's just what she had to do.

It wasn't long until Y/n had turned over on her side, mumbling a soft goodnight before she was fast asleep. But El was still wide awake. Her mother's memories were still plaguing her and she felt restless. El picked up the picture of the girl from the newspaper, she had kept it in her pocket and she decided to herself that another attempt wouldn't hurt.

So here she was, creeping cautiously towards her fate with bated breath. Guardedly, she calls out to figure, smoke flocking into the air from where the makeshift firepit stands before it.

"Hello?"

She approaches the figure and as she gets closer and closer her suspicions are quickly confirmed when she recognizes the figure. The girl, as she was in her mother's memories, she was a few years older than herself. And she was dressed in dark shabby clothing, and her hair looks, purple? El isn't sure, but her heart is hammering much too hard in her chest to worry and before she has time to glance at her face she is gasping for breathing, back in reality.

Excitedly, she turns to Y/n, but she is lost in sleep and she allows her friend a few more minutes. Like herself, she had been through a great deal and it seemed to have taken a toll on her. But she would tell her aunt. She practically jumps from the mattress, and bursts into the hallway, running for stairs. Fighting the urge to shout, she calls out to her aunt when she reaches the top of the stairs.

"Becky! Becky, I found her!"

When she reaches the kitchen, she looks around excitedly for the woman, surely she would know what to do next. Only seconds pass until she tubes into her aunt's voice carrying from the other room.

"I just-- I didn't know who to call."

El steps further into the kitchen, her head peeking around the corner to find her aunt Becky, phone to her ear. She was talking anxiously into the phone as she paced across her back porch, the door ajar as she glanced at a slip of paper.

"He gave me this number, and he came here looking for her. I thought maybe he could help me."

El felt a sick feeling bubble up in her stomach, and a dark and heavy weight settle onto her heart as she watched the all too familiar exchange. It reminded her of the nice man that took her in when she first escaped. But she desperately attempts to put that memory from her mind.

"Yeah, Jim Hopper, he came here with some woman named Joyce Byers?"

El watches disgusted and hurt as her only remaining family turns her in. Their own private conversation from before plays mockingly over in her head. Of when she was invited to stay. In the lovely, and comforting room that was supposed to be hers. And although her mom wasn't the same, she could still be with her. And just as soon as it had come, the dream life she had conjured for herself just minutes ago, evaporated into thin air. A normal life with no rules, where she could go outside, or at the very least, look out of a single window.

Visits with Mike, sleepovers with Y/n. A normal life. Gone. Just like that.

"Well," sighed Becky, her figure temporarily stepping out of view. "that's a little hard to explain. Uh..."

El shifted uneasily, the dark sludge in her stomach only multiplying in volume at what Becky mentioned next.

"There's another girl, two actually, uh, she came here with a friend of hers? I don't know much, but it sounds like the kid comes from the same side of the tracks as the other but as far as I know, she's got a family. Said she was adopted... No, I did not, I did not catch a last name but she goes by Y/n. Look, I don't if she's a runaway, or what, but she showed up at my doorstep with the other and I just put them to bed... No, mam, it's just those two, but I think another one is missing. I just, I just didn't know who to call... Thank you, thank you. And you are?"

"Florence," Becky repeated, though she paused when she heard the distant sound of the front door opening.

"I'm gonna have to call you back." She mumbled nervously into the phone, though she is already steadily on her way to the kitchen counter.

Discarding the phone and the slip of paper, she looks on in disbelief as she finds the contents of her purse spilling out across the counter. And in the center, wide open and empty, her leather wallet.

Picking up her speed she races through the front room and towards the front door, it remains wide open and the cold autumn wind seeping in hits her like the brisk reality she faces.

And like the dreams El had conjured, the girls were gone as easily as they came.

+++

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fantasyoverreality98 · 4 years

Text

Fight the Darkness Pt. 10

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Summary: Stuck on a destroyed Mydiea, Amy and Gaius make plans for what to do once they return to Greece.

Author’s Note: Sexual content warning. That’s all I have to say. No other words needed. Also, sorry for any potential typos or grammatical errors.

Word Count: 4,339

-----

Death had never felt so good.

It was dark, quiet, and…damp?

Amy shot up, gasping as she scrambled to her feet. Pain shot through her leg, and she fell back to the ground, wincing.

“Oh, thank god.” Gaius sat a few feet away, his hair disheveled. “I had no idea whether you would ever wake up.”

“Where are we?” She studied their surroundings, frowning when she noticed the small stream running alongside her, its water black.

He sighed, averting his gaze when she looked back at him. “We’re in a cave. And we’re still on Mydiea.”

She should be dead. She had been ready to accept her fate.

Now, she didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” Amy said, remembering the way she had behaved. “I should have told you the second I felt like I was losing control.”

“How are you feeling now?” His muscles were tensed.

He was afraid of her.

The sound of the stream filled in the silence while she tried to think of what to say. Finally, she cleared her throat, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “I feel nothing. No voice, no darkness, no power. It’s quiet.”

Her laugh echoed off the cave walls. For so long, there had always been a presence lingering, following her everywhere she went. Now, all she felt was the blissful silence of being completely alone. There was only one voice now. Her own.

This relief was temporary. Once Amy remembered what she’d done, how many lives she had claimed, shame washed over her. Hundreds were dead. And it was all her fault.

“How do you live with the guilt?” she asked, wishing Gaius would look at her.

He stared at the cave floor, the blade of his sword scraping against the rock as he dragged it in small patterns. “Eventually, you get used to it. You accept that there’s no way to take your actions back. And you just hope you can redeem yourself someday.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like I’ve redeemed myself.”

His lips twitched, and he finally met her eyes. “Join the club.”

Amy looked back at the stream, frowning at the color of the water. “How did we get here?”

“I had to carry you in here before the sun killed us both.” Gaius set his sword down, staring at a spot near her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah…” She slowly rose to her feet again, the leg no longer hurting. “But I don’t think we can just go back to pretending nothing happened. People are going to start looking for me.”

The text from Adrian rose to the surface of her thoughts, and Amy grimaced. Her friends were coming for her, whether she liked it or not. And they would not be happy when they learned about what she’d done. They already knew who she was with, which would just make things even worse.

She realized that this would likely be goodbye. After they escaped Mydiea, she and Gaius would have to go their separate ways. “Where are you going to go next?” she asked, clenching her hands into fists.

“Considering we somehow managed to survive, I think we should go to Russia.”

“We?” Hope swelled in her chest.

Gaius looked at her again, his expression softening. “Didn’t I tell you this was never about being the hero?”

“Well, you kinda were the hero, whether you like it or not.”

He was clearly trying to maintain a serious expression, but ultimately failed. As he rolled his eyes, his lips pulled back into a grin. Gaius got to his feet, closing the distance between them. “As I said before, you are absolutely insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Still here.” Her voice was a whisper, the memory of him saying he loved her burned into her mind.

The horrors she had committed were forgotten for a moment as Gaius pulled her to him. “Because you are also irresistible.”

She smiled, running her hands up the back of his neck into his hair, pulling his face down to meet hers.

Somehow, in this moment, she felt like everything was going to be okay.

They pulled away after a minute, and Amy turned to walk toward the cave entrance, stopping just out of the sunlight’s reach. When she saw what the island looked like, her steps faltered, and a quiet gasp slipped past her lips.

All signs of life on the island were gone, leaving behind little more than destruction. The houses that had been built were gone, the trees growing around them blackened and strewn around the ground.

The once crystal blue waters were now black around the island, changing back to the original color in the distance. Amy stepped back into the cave, unsure what to say or do. She had destroyed Mydiea.

“How do we get back to the mainland?” Her voice bounced off the walls, and she turned back to Gaius. “Is there a way?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I have no clue. The boat might still be there, but I feel that is little more than wishful thinking.”

Amy swore under her breath, walking deeper into the cave, squatting beside the stream. A smell unlike anything she’d ever encountered before hung in the air. It was as if whatever darkness, whatever evil had been inside her for so long, had destroyed the land.

Once, she had felt the constant confliction between good and evil. Now, she wasn’t sure how to feel. She couldn’t say she was good, but she wanted to believe that she wasn’t evil, either.

“How long was I unconscious for?” She started to reach for the water, but pulled her hand back, an instinct warning her that this was no ordinary stream anymore.

Gaius leaned against the cave wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. “Half of the day, at least. The sun will probably set in a couple hours.” He eyed her ripped clothing. “I didn’t think we would make it in here in time.”

“Why didn’t you just let me die?” She knew that the question had been a mistake when he stared at her. “I did so many horrible things. So many people died because of me.”

“It amazes me how often you seem to forget about my past. I am not exactly an upstanding person.”

Amy sighed, wishing he would just tell her that she should feel bad. It would be better than trying to make excuses for her sins. Death was supposed to be the way this had ended. She had been ready for it, had wanted it, and instead she would have to continue living with a new weight upon her back.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said, her fingers once more hovering inches away from the blackened water. “You could have just left me there.”

But there was no need for him to answer. They both knew why he had saved her, and she wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet. There was still time for him to change his mind. A few days together wasn’t enough time to make the decision to stay. She had always known the time would come for this little journey to end.

“I guess the idea of living in a world without you made me a bit sad.” There was some of the old, sarcastic Gaius in the comment, and Amy fought back a smile.

It would take a long time for things to return to normal. Perhaps they never could go back to the way they had been, but she had to admit she missed seeing this side of him.

She remembered their reunion, and turned her head back to look at him. “Now you understand the reason why I spared your life. It seemed just a tiny bit of a waste to kill you.”

“Nice to see that you’re back to making those terrible jokes.” He shook his head, his lips quirked up in a smirk. “It would be a shame if I never heard one again.”

Amy finally gathered up the courage to touch the water, and immediately withdrew her hand when she felt the evil that lurked beneath the surface, that seemed to be intertwined with the island itself. Whatever she’d done to rid herself of the power had not destroyed it forever. It still existed outside of her body.

Suddenly, the island felt unsafe. She feared that staying here too long would not be good. Trying to hide the fear, she rose to her full height and walked past Gaius, back toward the cave entrance.

The air felt heavier than before, reminding her of the Death Island they’d visited when trying to defeat Rheya. Something evil lingered here, and Amy wanted to get far, far away.

“Do you think anyone survived?” A large part of her already knew the answer, but the smallest part wanted to believe otherwise.

Gaius took a place by her side, shaking his head. When their eyes met, he frowned, reaching up to brush his fingers across her face. “We both know the answer to that question already.”

“What about everywhere else?”

He sighed, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“Are you sure you want to stick around and deal with the aftermath? It might just make you look even worse.” Amy felt the guilt wash over her at the idea of hindering Gaius’ mission to redeem himself.

Why had she dragged him into this mess?

“There is nothing else I’d rather do for the next thousand years.”

A smile slowly spread across her face, and she tried to think of how to respond to that. After a moment of silence, Amy pulled him closer. “Are you sure spending a thousand years with me won’t make you regret choosing to save me? I can be quite annoying.”

“I think I can manage.” He leaned down to kiss her, and all she wanted to do was forget about everything but this brief moment of bliss.

It was strange, laughable, to think of the circumstances. She’d fallen in love with the one person she never, ever should have. Gaius had done horrible things. He had killed her. And countless others. The list of his wrongdoings went on and on, and yet…

Amy held his face in her hands, kissing him harder. Now would be the perfect moment to say those three words. They had survived, and he had told her to wait to say it, but now she found it difficult to admit the way she felt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips, thinking about what she had almost done.

Gaius shook his head, pulling her body closer to his. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t yourself.”

“But I was.” Her actions weren’t excusable. She knew that, deep down, she had been drawn to the pull of power, to the darker instincts within. “It’s like you said. I was still myself. I had several bad days.”

He sighed, studying her face without a word. Amy thought about all she had done, of the bloodbath that likely remained in a vampire club not too far away. People would hunt her down. Of that, she was certain.

“I can’t believe I was going to change you again. After I knew what those years of being trapped did to you.” Amy tried to pull away, but Gaius continued to hold her. She shook her head, still wishing the sun had finished her off. “Don’t try to make excuses for me. It was wrong.”

“I am not making excuses for you. As someone who spent thousands of years making the wrong decisions, I can understand. You did horrible things, but you are not beyond redemption.”

She almost wanted to laugh at where they were now. “I guess we have one more thing in common now, at least.”

Using humor to deflect from the guilt she felt would only work for so long, but Amy didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to think about it right now. Not with the knowledge that just beyond this cave, the world was in rot and decay. Mydiea might never be inhabitable again.

“You think there’s still room for me on your journey to redemption?” Amy knew that her friends would eventually find her, but she had no intention of going back. It was too late for that.

Gaius glanced at the world beyond the cave, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “My opinion hasn’t changed. I still believe that you are too good for me. It would probably be best for you to return to Adrian and Kamilah.”

She reached up for his face, forcing him to turn his head back to her. “I am not too good for you. You are the only one who understands me. I choose you.”

He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you, Gaius Augustine.”

When they kissed, she finally felt complete. The hole that Jax’s death had left no longer felt so big. Amy couldn’t stop herself from crying, the tears traveling down her face as she held Gaius in her arms.

Slowly, their kisses grew more desperate, and Gaius slid his hands under her shirt. They were cold, the damp cave causing a chill in the air, but Amy didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him.

“Amy…” Gaius’ throat bobbed as she stepped back to unstrap the katana from her back, letting it fall to the ground. “I—”

With a smile, she placed a finger over his lips, shaking her head. “We still have time before the sun sets, and I really don’t want to spend the next few hours overthinking every single thing that’s happened.”

He nodded, placing his hands back on her body. The cold that hung in the air sent shivers down her spine, but she savored the feel of his hands on her bare skin as he slowly undressed her.

Once they’d finished ridding each other of their clothes, they began to kiss again. They took a few steps back, and Amy gasped when the freezing cave wall pressed against her back. With a quiet chuckle, Gaius pulled her away, his hands at the small of her back.

“Do you want to stop?” He gently bit her neck, running his fingers along the curve of her waist. “Now seems like an odd time to do this.”

She shook her head, trying to control her breathing. “Don’t stop. This is the realest I’ve felt in days.”

The sound of the stream still echoed in the cave, accompanied by the occasional gasp as they focused on each other.

A splash echoed in the distance outside the cave, and the island itself seemed to be falling apart. Gaius turned his head in the direction the sound had come from, but Amy pulled his lips back to hers, their bodies flush against each other.

If this was how they would spend their last few hours, she wouldn’t have it any other way. She hadn’t expected to leave the island anyway. The cave could collapse on them, and she wasn’t entirely sure she would care.

“I need this,” she said, running her hands down his chest. His muscles tensed the lower she went, and Amy bit her bottom lip, locking eyes with him.

Memories of their night together on the boat flashed through her head. In that moment, it had been all about satisfying a physical attraction. Even the other times they had had sex before focused largely on a need for release.

This time felt different.

Gaius breathed heavily when she wrapped her hand around his shaft, capturing her lips with his as she began to move. “Amy.” Hearing her name in that breathy tone made her feel more than any touch ever could.

He groaned as she picked up her pace, digging his fingers into her hips. They stumbled backward, her back hitting the cold cave wall again. Ignoring the chill that went through her, Amy tugged him closer, moaning when her tongue grazed his teeth and he kissed her harder.

One of his hands traveled between her legs, their restrained gasps filling the air as they drove each other to the edge. When she felt like she was about to finish, Amy buried her hands in Gaius’ hair, bucking her hips toward him as she finally reached orgasm. A breathy laugh slipped past her lips when he pulled back to look at her, grinning.

“God, you drive me wild.” His hair fell in his face, and she pushed it back, her heart still racing.

“Mm, seriously, I think you need to get a haircut.” She weaved her fingers through the dark strands, cutting off his response with her lips.

Amy broke off the kiss after a minute, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she moved to kneel in front of him. He tangled his hands in her hair as she tilted her head back to make eye contact with him, trying her best not to smirk.

Breathy curses bounced off the cave walls as she took him into her mouth, and Gaius groaned quietly. He let her continue a few minutes longer before pulling her to her feet, holding her in his arms.

“I look forward to many more moments like this,” he whispered in her ear, his cool breath making her shiver.

Amy felt her stomach clench, the anticipation enough to make her knees weak. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cave wall as Gaius focused his attention on her chest. Those three words she’d finally gathered up the courage to say played on a loop in her head, heat rushing to her face in a mixture of shame and desire.

When he grabbed one of her legs and brought it up against his hip, her eyes fluttered open. For the first time in twenty-four years, there was no voice in her head. She could truly enjoy the moment without worrying about losing control.

“Gaius.” His name was her new favorite word. She kept repeating it as he slowly pushed inside, mouthing it as he started to move.

Once they left this island, there was no telling what might happen. They could find themselves face to face with death the moment their feet hit the mainland.

Darkness still existed here, lingering in the shadows as the island slowly succumbed to the poison that had lived inside her body for so long. Amy feared what she would see when they left the cave. Something told her that it would not be a pleasant sight.

“I love you,” she said again, her nails digging into his back as Gaius hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He leaned against her, pressing her further against the wall. She hardly noticed the cold anymore. “I love you too.”

After they finished, they slowly got dressed and sat beside each other, letting the steady flow of the stream fill in the silence.

Amy laced her fingers through Gaius’, unable to stop herself from smiling. She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“I still don’t understand why you changed back into your old outfit. What was wrong with the one I bought you?”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Nothing was wrong with it. I just prefer this one.”

She couldn’t help it. Amy started to laugh, ignoring the glare she received in response. “How many times do I have to tell you that you look absolutely ridiculous?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are the only one who thinks that?”

“Trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

He scoffed, turning his head to look at the cave entrance. The sun was beginning to set. “Are you ready to leave Greece as fast as we can once we arrive? Once people figure out what happened, they will come for us.”

“It’s still not too late for you to go your own way. I won’t take offense.” A small part of her worried that he really would accept the offer. Staying with her would put both of their lives in danger.

There was silence for a moment before Gaius answered. “If I’m completely honest, I was a bit miserable before you showed up.” His eyes were full of regret when he looked at her. “You were the one who convinced me I had something more to live for. I owe you my life. Were it not for you, I don’t know if I would want to even try to redeem myself.”

“As a wise man once said, ‘goodness is a choice.’ You can’t give me all the credit. At the end of the day, every decision you’ve made has led you here. You want to be good. I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“I’m not so sure the others will see it that way.” He eyed up his gladius, sighing. “They seemed to be convinced that I will always be the evil man they knew. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I will eventually give in to my darker desires yet again. You said it yourself. You know who I truly am.”

All the horrible things she’d said and done while under the influence of Rheya’s powers would haunt her forever. Amy wanted to apologize again, but she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. There was no taking back what had already been said.

“We can keep each other in line,” she said, watching the black water flow deeper into the cave. “If I start to slip, or if you do, we can stop it. Or both end up destroying the world together. Who knows.”

He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall behind them. “Has anyone told you that your sense of humor is quite morbid?”

“Maybe once or twice.” Her smile faltered when she thought about Adrian’s message again. “How long do you think it will take before Adrian and Kamilah find us?”

Gaius kept his eyes trained on the ground, his grip on her hand tightening. “If they know about what happened in Ireland, it won’t be long. And if what happened at the club has already made news…I think they’ve already found us.”

She shuddered at his words. The idea of leaving Mydiea no longer appealed to her. Leaving this island would signal the beginning of a life on the run. From now into the foreseeable future, someone would be searching for them.

“Great.” Amy wasn’t sure she wanted to face her friends. Lily might be a bit more understanding, but she knew that Adrian and Kamilah would be less than happy.

Maybe they wouldn’t guilt her too much for what she’d done with her powers, but they would most definitely be horrified to learn just what her and Gaius had been up to while they were together.

“Are you certain you want to come with me? You will have a better chance at earning forgiveness if you go with them.” Gaius was frowning when she looked at him. “They can protect you in ways I cannot.”

She shook her head, scooting closer to him. “I don’t need protection. I’m not some helpless child. I defeated The First. I overcame the darkness twice.”

He grinned, a laugh bursting from deep in his chest. “That you did.”

“So, I’m sorry to say, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.” The sky outside was growing darker, and Amy felt butterflies in her stomach as the nerves settled in. “I just hope you’re prepared to deal with them.”

“Whatever will be, will be.” He glanced at the cave entrance again, and sighed, rising to his feet. “We should probably prepare to leave.”

Waves lapped at the shore when they emerged ten minutes later, the water looking even worse in the darkness. Amy swore she heard rumbling from deeper inland, and shivered. She began to reach for the katana, but stopped herself. It was silly. There was nothing left alive on Mydiea.

Miraculously, the boat was still where they’d left it. It looked like it had been damaged a bit, but it would have to do.

As they pushed the boat out into the water, chills ran down Amy’s spine when they stepped into the sea. The black water lapped at her calves, and she could feel the energy that radiated from the island.

“Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled, ignoring the way the hairs on her arm raised.

Evil remained here. And it was much worse than it ever had been before.

Gaius nodded, and together, they climbed into the speed boat. The motor rang out in the silence, and Amy shuddered again as she watched the island slowly fade away.

Before she turned away, she thought she saw a shadow standing on a cliff, watching them speed away. She shook her head, telling herself that it was her imagination. It was over. The island would slowly wither away, taking the darkness with it.

They spent the trip back to Greece in silence. Amy couldn’t stop thinking about everything she had done, knowing that she had spiraled out of control in so little time. It would haunt her forever.

Eventually, land appeared once more, and she let out a sigh of relief. It felt good to be back on the mainland. The world seemed undisturbed, safe from what she had done on Mydiea.

The relief she felt was temporary, however. After Gaius helped her climb out of the boat and the two of them started walking toward the city, she sensed a shift in the air. Before she’d even looked up, Amy knew who waited for them on the railing separating the beach from the streets.

Still, it didn’t stop her from wincing when she finally looked up and saw Adrian, Kamilah, and Lily watching her.

#choices: stories you play #choices fanfiction #gaius augustine #gaius x mc #gaius augustine x mc #bloodbound #bloodbound 3

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jillianreneewriting · 3 years

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A Wicked Game, Chapter One

Hey! So I’ve decided to publish the first chapter of my novel here, just wanting to try something new since Wattpad ain’t it anymore. Enjoy!

Andromeda’s POV

She has the exact likeness of Selene. Save for her olive-toned skin, the youthful glint in her deep blue eyes, and what’s more, she was alive. The young woman in question balances on the balls of her feet, rocking onto her toes, as she reaches for a leather-bound journal. From her view down on the floor, in the dark room, the journal appears to at the very least look similar to Selene’s. The very same one that she and her sisters have been looking for - for weeks now. Her fingertips claw at the binding of the book, nearly causing her to fall when she is unable to grip the book to pull it down.

It’s late. Or is it early? It’s been hours since Andromeda was last able to gauge the time of day by barely glancing out the window beside her. All she knows is that one glance out the windows allows her to see the sky enveloped in a velvety darkness, nothing else visible but shadows and the blue tinged twilight.

Nevertheless, one thing is certain. It is much, much later than Andromeda had anticipated staying up. Time had run away from her - an occurrence that had been becoming more frequent in the past few weeks. Andromeda abandons the hauntingly beautiful view outside the large windows, in favor of the chair positioned beside the very same window she’d been gazing out mere moments before.

Andromeda instinctively pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to figure out how to get up to the book without alerting her sisters. She recalls her evening promise to the pair of sisters, how she had guaranteed to be in bed at a reasonable time, at the very least in her room. Clearly her sisters were catching onto her unhealthy coping mechanisms. With a sigh, she pushes the small wave of guilt away for breaking her own promise.

She lifts back up onto her toes, attempting to get a better look at the bookshelf she’s been reaching for. No matter how hard she might try, there’s no way she can stifle the groan that she responds with, upon realizing that the journal - is most certainly not Selene’s. It’s not the centuries - hell - eons-old spellbook that Selene had been given by her mother, as was the tradition in witch customs.

It’s leather-bound, and even has nearly identical golden-bronze foil that Selene’s spellbook has always been covered in for as long as Andromeda can remember, not that her memory was always correct, nor complete. The only object missing from the journal, proving that it is far from the correct book, is the center, embossed semi-precious crystal. Andromeda recalls how she had seen the closed journal on the table one morning, remembering how the crystal caught the sunlight and sent it in hundreds of different directions, making the room warmer as she had felt as though she were freezing.

Andromeda can’t help but feel her veins flood with absolute ire, her head dropping into her hands as she sags onto the couch a few feet away from her. The cold draft blowing in from an open window somewhere in the house swallows her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms quickly rise, Andromeda shuddering momentarily in response.

Earlier the cold air might have made her rush to her room to get warm. Instead, she realizes, the air is no longer cold enough to raise the small hairs along her arms, instead it’s a mere gust of cool wind about the room. There’s nowhere else the damned spellbook could be. They had already lost the most important thing that was in Selene’s possession. She feels her jaw automatically tense, clenching in frustration, fists tightening as well.

She suddenly begins to feel a wave of exhaustion take over, most likely from the pent up frustrations she has kept from what little of her family that remains. She is nearly certain that the complexity of the sudden waves of emotions have to be caused by the different relationship she had with Selene compared to either one of her other sisters. For once, Andromeda welcomes sleep with nearly open arms. Just for a moment. She thinks to herself, knowing that the second her eyes shut, she will slip away into an obscure, muscle-aching slumber.

---

“She’s still making a mess out there, isn’t she?” Cressida mutters to her twin, keeping her eyes closed, trying not to allow herself to fully wake up just yet. She can still sense the jet black darkness resting just outside of the window, knowing that once she blinks the sleep from her eyes, that she won’t be able to easily fall back asleep for some time. The only response she gets from her sister is a few grumbles and the reminder to leave her alone muttered under her breath. Cressa can’t help but let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a light-hearted one. She can just about feel the anger radiating off of their sister through the walls of their one-room, hoping that the intensity might die down soon so she might get some real sleep soon.

She knows just how Andromeda is feeling right now. She feels the need to prove herself, she feels the need to find their mother’s book all on her own. Cressida twirls a few already curly strands of red hair around her index finger, concentrating deeply on her own racing thoughts.

She can’t help but wonder what would happen if Andromeda actually managed to find the oldest piece of magic within the manor that they had practically torn apart searching for. Is it possible? Could it mean something? Would she be the one who has to open it first? What if someone else finds it and she is meant to, and opens it first? Cressida grits her teeth, trying to ignore the swift thoughts passing by in her head, attempting in earnest, to fall back asleep.

The most she manages to do before the sun starts streaming through the parted blinds across the room, is to pull the blankets over her head as if she were a child, and roll over onto her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut - willing herself back to sleep.

---

Viper isn’t genuinely asleep, nowhere near the calm darkness of dreams and harmonious memories. She hasn’t been all night, unlike her twin - who appears able to sleep through nearly anything and everything. Not because of her younger sister stressfully searching for their late mother’s magical journal, but because of deafening thoughts that grow louder with each passing second, making her feel the need to slam the pillow over her ears.

She can hear the springs of her twin sister’s mattress beside hers, as she tosses and turns, making Viper wonder if she might be having the same sleeping problem as she currently is. She’s about to open her mouth to call out through the darkness of their shared room. She quickly thinks better of that decision, realizing it might be more of a disturbance to try to talk to her sister, however softly, when the springs finally stop creaking.

Viper doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until she finally exhales just as her twin falls silent once more herself. She wishes that she could block out the dark thoughts just as everyone else around her appears to be able to do. Finally she decides to simply give up, sitting upright in her bed, combing her fingers through her silky, straight hair that sits just above the nape of her neck.

----

When Andromeda is roused from her shockingly soothing rest, the first view her eyes adjust to, are of her two older sisters in the same room as her. The only difference is that they’ve clearly been awake for some time, and they sit ladylike at an antique table in the center of the room, the legs of the table and the chairs digging into the aged rug beneath them. Not surprisingly, Viper’s hair is calm, undoubtedly taking mere moments to brush out, having it rest so short on her neck, unexpectedly blonde compared to just about every family member they had ever met.

Her hands are folded delicately onto the table, as she locks eyes with her twin. Cressida’s hair definitely must have taken a great deal longer than Viper’s. With her auburn-coppery hair that just so happens to also be thick, and twice as curly. Her hair rests against the middle of her back, swinging a bit when she lifts her arm to elbow Viper.

With a second soft nudge from her twin, Viper clears her throat, gesturing towards Andromeda, to join them. Now they all perch around the same centuries old table that has been in the same place in their house their entire lives. Viper glances down and watches as sunlight hits the table just right; bringing out the ageing scars brought about by the three of them as children. Some are complete carvings into the underside of the dark and mismatched wood stains, others are simple permanent ink spills from over the years that their mother had been unable to get to in time.

Viper has to exhale slowly to help re-focus her attention. It is far too early for this bullshit. She absentmindedly traces each of their initials underneath the table

“We have an obligation to find that book. Whether or not it gets buried with Selene. We must work together, or else we may never find it - certainly not in the length of time we currently are working with. We have to be willing to start as early as possible. We have to find it before Eleanor arrives.”

“I stayed up all night in here rummaging around, I about knocked the entire bookcase onto myself and would have if I wasn’t careful. If that book was still in this manor, on a single acre of this land, don’t you think we might have at least found some sort of clue that she would leave behind? You know that she was expecting her death, it’s the one vision she could never see, same as when we were children.”

Cressida and Viper exchange a glance, full of both worry and fear, but also with the thinnest layer of optimism and hope. Andromeda looks at them confused, and they quickly turn their attention back to her, hoping that she might not have noticed the silent conversation occurring between the two.

“Selene would never have left a power vacuum this strong - not on purpose. You know how protective of the family magic and heirlooms she was. She must have left it with someone else,” Andromeda insists, leaning her forearms onto the table. Viper fights the urge to tell her to take her elbows off the table, a rule she has always found to be odd. All Viper can appear to think of is everything and anything that she wants to tell Andromeda, but doesn’t know it would be safe enough to let her know about her history.

Selene might be dead now, but that doesn’t mean that everything can just change with a snap of her, or anyone else’s fingers. Not until they find out which of them is the rightful heir, and in order to do that, they have to find the gods-damned book. Viper feels her chest tighten at the idea of telling her everything, of helping her remember everything, and the relief that would finally wash over all three of them, the tension finally gone. Yet, she is roughly pulled from her fantasy by the conversation continuing.

“Who else could she possibly send it to? She specifically outlined in the will that we were to have possession of the journal.” Cressida is the only one to respond to Andromeda’s inquiry. Viper sits there quietly, looking back and forth between the two sisters, not wanting to interject just yet.

“We’re not her only family. Eleanor herself is coming. She’s made sure that the entire town is aware, and then some, of her looming presence. She’s up to something, that we know thus far. What if she has the book?” Andromeda retorts, already impatient, pushing herself up from the table.

“What are you insinuating?”

“I’m simply suggesting that perhaps our aunt has access to the book, and that’s why she never came for either the funeral or the will reading because she knew she would have to give us the journal at some point.”

“Then why come now?”

“Something must have changed.”

Viper runs her fingers through her surprisingly short hair, finger grazing the back of her neck as her hands fall from her hair, thinking, and worrying. It’s finally no longer an ungodly hour of the morning. Andromeda notices this and leaves without another word - to get ready for the day, so she might be able to make a trip to town.

She throws her closet doors open wide, taking no more than a few inhales to find the dress she plans to wear, or rather, tunic. She takes it, and tosses it onto the bed, knowing to curb Viper’s motherly concerns and tendencies, that she’ll still have to wear a corset underneath. Why can they never make these laces be in the front of the corset? Why make life so much more complicated than it needs to be?

The more that she gazes at the soft fabric of the casual men’s garment, the more that she longs to touch it, to feel it hanging off her body, wishing that women could get garments such as that. Her thoughts grow scattered quickly, no train of thought in sight as the telltale sound of someone walking to a stand outside of her bedroom door can be heard. A few moments later, and there’s a knock at her door.

Andromeda sighs, as she begins to button up her tunic, from bottom to top, thankfully in the front, unlike her corset. How she had managed to tie the laces on her own she has no clue, she’s only been able to a few times. She pulls her hair all onto one side so that it can’t get in the way. She quickly follows the movement by pulling her hair off of her neck, and into a small piece of ribbon. One more glance at her reflection in the mirror, and she goes to answer the door.

“Viper, what are you doing here?” Andromeda asks, confused and startled, as to finding her sister standing mere inches in front of her. Viper looks her up and down, lips pressing into a thin line. Andromeda can nearly see the worry lines creasing in her sister’s forehead.

“I need to ask you to do something for me.” Viper doesn’t wait very long, if at all, before going and sitting on the bed, leaving Andromeda in the doorway of her bedroom. Andromeda frustratingly presses her lips together, gesturing for her to continue what she had to ask her.

“Go on.”

“Take Cressida with you,” she insists, gesturing back to the door she came through. She then pulls out a small leather pouch, the initials obvious, yellow embroidered “S,” “A,” and “M.” Selene Andromeda Mejia. Andromeda doesn’t love seeing the all too obvious reminder that Selene had decided to name her after herself in a way or another. Viper shakes the bag so that Andromeda can hear multiple coins clinking within the bag.

“Is that all?” Andromeda responds, incredulous, as Viper pushes the bag into her hands. Viper hesitates at first, wondering if she should bring up the thoughts racing through her mind. She decides against it, at least for the moment, and shakes her head.

“That’s all for now. Try to be quick, I don’t want to have to worry about you or Cressa catching a cold right now.” Andromeda simply puts the small bag of gold, silver, and bronze coins into the deepest pocket of her coat. She reaches into her other pocket, and tugs on her gloves, as she walks out towards Cressida.

---

The hard cobblestone street is cold beneath their feet, as Andromeda has her hair done up off of her neck, and Cressida’s auburn hair whips around in the frost-bitten wind. The pair walk in silence, only the occasional cleared throat or cough to remind the other that they weren’t alone. Andromeda, for the most part, keeps her eyes trained to the ground, watching her own feet move among the iced over, snow-covered ground. It isn’t until she looks over at her older sister beside her, that she realizes that her gloves are worn through in the fingers. Practically useless. She stays silent about it though - they both do. The closer they get to the heart of the town, the warmer it starts to become, and the louder it grows.

Andromeda slips a hand into the coat pocket that holds the bag of coins, still standing beside Cressida. Just as she notices the fabric vendor has a few extra pairs of gloves for the season, so does just about everyone else, and the pair is nearly knocked to the ground as everyone near them push past them to get into line. Cressida grabs a hold of Andromeda’s arm, helping to keep the two of them together and to stop her from falling.

Without another word, Cressa holds a hand out to her younger sister, bending her fingers to gesture for her to give her the money bag. Andromeda remains close to her sister after placing the bag in her open palm. Cressida walks off away from Andromeda, letting her know that she’ll be right back to reassure her. She can see her sister milling about the other vendors as she walks up the rest of the way toward one of the fruit stalls. Well, not just any fruit stall. Cressa glances around her, searching for one, in particular, the strawberry stand. Where Aaliyah stands every weekend, usually with her aunt, sometimes completely alone, and Cressa is hoping for the latter.

She sees the stand, but no one tending to it whatsoever, and she can’t help but begin to fear the worst. Until she catches a glimpse of caramel brown hair just below the top of the stall, a young woman bent over, trying to pull boxes full of ripening strawberries out from underneath the countertop of her stall. Cressa drops the bag of coins onto the tabletop, somewhat patiently waiting while gently tapping a foot against the cobblestone below.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right with you!” Aaliyah’s honeyed voice soothes over Cressa’s ears, such a reassuring sound that makes her smile - even if she doesn’t want to. Even her soft feminine grunts as she tries to get up without hitting her head, and without falling, are precious. As is common for the young woman, she is so beautiful, worth obsessing, daydreaming, and losing sanity over. Her dark skin glows a honeyed brown under the bright rays of the sun, with her slightly darker hair gently sitting against her shoulders, a few tendrils curling and plastered to her forehead and temples.

Aaliyah has yet to realize that the patron in front of her is Cressa until she clears her throat. The other woman glances up for a moment, then looks back down at her full basket of fruits, and then the image of Cressa before her finally registers. She lifts her head once more, face lighting up, the pointed tips of her ears turning a bright red, as she lifts the ledge into the stall, inviting Cressida in. She humors Aaliyah, and lets her glance around, making sure no one is watching before she brings a hand to her jaw, pressing her lips to Aaliyah’s, quickly grabbing the coin purse off the counter so that no passerby can simply grab it, assuming it’s unattended.

Without a single gesture, Aaliyah’s lips part so that Cressida can take the lead and deepen their kiss, kissing her as if she might never see her again, as if she hadn’t seen her in months. Which was true. They don’t pull apart until one of them nearly trips over a chair leg in the back of the stall.

“I heard about your mother,” Aaliyah starts, pulling up two chairs from under the storage area of her vendor, making Cressa sit. Cressida can’t help but be distracted by her soft plump lips a few feet away from her, even though the gorgeous girl is offering her condolences, begging to help them. “How are you feeling? Do you or your sisters need any help? Is there anything I can do at all? I can bring fresh fruits and bread by tomorrow-”

Cressa cuts her off gently, realizing where she’s trying to go with her series of favorable questions, and quickly leans forward, palms flat against Aaliyah’s knees as she moves closer - kissing the corner of her mouth. Before Aaliyah can let the cup of tea slip from her dainty hands, Cressa takes the steaming mug of liquid from her sun-kissed hands so that she is unable to drop it in favor of lacing her fingers through Cressida’s thick curls, rather simply being able to just bring her hands into Cressa’s hair, no tea problems in sight.

“We’re fine. There’s just a surprising amount of loose ends that we need to tie up before any relaxation can happen, and Eleanor is supposed to arrive soon.” As soon as tomorrow even. Cressida doesn’t dare linger on her thoughts, rather - her fears, knowing that Aaliyah will quickly pick up on them if she isn’t careful.

“That bitch is coming back after the funeral?” Cressida can’t help but laugh at the innocent-looking woman as the vulgar language leaves her mouth. Yet, she also agrees with every word hanging in the air. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious! She left you all to deal with the hard shit, but then once everything is calming down, she returns? What reason could she possibly have to return?” Cressida shrugs.

“I adore your enthusiasm, thank you, Aaliyah,” she responds, picking up the mug she poured for her and taking a small sip to test the heat and the strength of the taste. Perfect as always. Cressida can’t help but smile softly to herself, as Aaliyah quickly jumps up as a knock is heard against the counter of the stall. Time begins to slip away from her, fast enough that she forgets that she didn’t come alone.

---

Andromeda walks from stall to stall, a handful of loose coins in her closed fist which resides in her pocket. She has one bag full of fruits and vegetables, some breads and dairy products, yet she still hasn’t been able to make it back over to get her sister the gloves she knew she would like, that at the very least would keep her fingertips much warmer than they were being kept at the moment. Kicking up a small bit of melting snow, Andromeda begins to walk over to the strawberry stand, where she is aware that Cressida will most likely be.

“Aaliyah?” She calls out, leaning her head into the stall. She watches as the girl in question’s eyebrows shoot upwards, before collecting herself and walking to the front desk, having Andromeda sign her name as she accepts the basket of fresh strawberries. Then she turns her head over her shoulder, calling out to someone in the far back of the stall.

“Cressa, Dromeda is here!” Aaliyah’s sweet voice calls from the front of the stall, gesturing for her to hurry over to them, and she does, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek as she does so, promising to see her the next time they’re in town. Cressida tries to ignore Andromeda’s open mouth, gaping at her, for the gall to kiss Aaliyah right in front of her.

---

“What was that about?” Andromeda asks as they walk not-so-silently back home. Cressida can feel her heart in her throat, hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with more issues while they have yet to figure out their pre-existing family drama with their beloved aunt.

“That was nothing, she was just an old friend, Aaliyah,” Cressida quickly insists, as Andromeda slows their pace down.

“I’m not going to judge you if you’re in love with her, Cressa,” she insists, a hand on her shoulder.

“Well that’s not something you have to worry about, now, is it? Because I’m not.” Andromeda looks like she’s about to open her mouth to argue with her sister, but upon second thought appears to know better, and closes her mouth promptly, returning her focus to the street in front of them. She is aware that they have exponentially worse problems to worry about, all three of them, not just Andromeda, nor her and Aaliyah. She can’t bear to hide her love for Aaliyah from anyone, but for now, she knows she’s going to have to for just a little while longer.

#a wicked game #first chapter

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fheythfully · 4 years

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an idea is like a virus [SHB AU]

What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate.

[My Inception inspired AU is here! First thing I’ve written in a year so I am a little rusty. Click the read more or read on AO3.]

She does not mean to sulk, of course, but--she thought they’d miss her more. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, realizing that the time she spent worried about their sudden collapses and departure of souls had not been met by equal concern on their end. When the Crystal Exarch led her to the audience chambers of this world’s Crystal Tower and let her know of this world’s perils, she had been ready to bear the burden. She had set out for the sands of Ahm Araeng in search of Alisaie only to be met by ungodly heat, more unbearable even than the deserts of Thanalan on summer’s midday, and a quick greeting by the girl before her figure disappeared into the wilds and an assurance that she had it under control. At first it had been pleasant, although surprising, to suddenly find herself with an excess of time on her hands before the next amaro transport would be by to take her away in search of Alphinaud. She wandered the stalls of Mord Souq, tasting the strange delicacies of the local tribe and taking in the sights of the crystallized emptiness to the south. She did not get a chance to bid farewell to Alisaie before her departure, though the girl’s friend, a kindly hyur woman, let her know she’d pass on the message. Alisaie has been busy, she told herself as the rolling sea of browns and golds blurred below her in the ascent of the amaro bearing her away. It only makes sense that she would have duties she cannot be pulled away from, especially in a hard place like this.

Kholusia looks enough like Vylbrand that it makes her queasy to see the state it’s in, especially once she spots windmills in the distance looking so much like her parents’ farm. The relief she feels upon seeing Alphinaud is nearly physical in its intensity, her soft spot for the boy she’s watched grow into a confident young man leading her to embrace him in sisterly affection. His body tenses under her touch and he pats her on the back, a touch awkwardly, before drawing away and laying out his master plan on how to infiltrate Eulmore. He talks with his hands, eyes on the glittering city in the distance, and soon enough the realization dawns upon her: he’s grown without her presence even further into his own. There is an assertiveness in him that had not been there before and a near dismissiveness she’s sure he does not mean, but it burrows under her skin anyway, leaving her feeling out of place at his side in a way that she has not in years.

Encountering Thancred and his young charge, the quiet girl named Minfilia, is uncomfortable to say the least. She knows he’s been here the longest of all the Scions, five years spent on his own adjusting to a new world and new dangers and politics that seems even harder to navigate than Ishgard’s had been. But the man has seemed to grow colder in his age, more abrupt rather than cunning and frustrated with everything--Minfilia defying him to find her, especially, and everything to do with the girl in general. She tells him he is being too harsh one night after he spends a good half a bell berating his silent charge over a misstep in battle she’d done, and Thancred levels her with a look she had not expected to see since Lahabrea’s possession.

“Don’t presume to know what it’s like for us, when you’ve only arrived now that our battles are nearly done.”

She does not speak to him much after that, for what could she say to dispute the truth of his words? The First seems to indeed be on its way to recovery due to no small part of what the Scions have been working towards all this time in her absence. She fights their battles, assures their victories; it is a relationship similar to the one she’d had with the group at the time of Ifrit, Titan and Garuda: she is their sword, and they wield her thus.

Staring up at the ever blinding skies, she misses Tataru. She misses Aymeric who had a cup of tea and a chat ready for her even amidst his busy work rebuilding Ishgard. She misses Lyse and the spars they’d have, the blonde boldly stating she needed time off to stretch her limbs. She had forgotten what it felt like to be an accessory and not part of the team.

The whimsical, near frightening colours and inhabitants of Il Mheg are not enough to thaw her relations with Urianger, who remains as unreachable as ever. Under the towering ancient boughs of Rak’tika she watches Y’Shtola hesitate to bid farewell to the family even she has now found for herself, lingering with one last gaze over Slitherbough as they depart. The other woman is politely friendly but the chasm suddenly between them yawns wide, and she watches Y’Shtola get smaller and smaller on the other side. She watches all the Scions disappear into the horizon away from her and feels small herself, an outsider to this group of people who’d found themselves perilously lost in a world not their own and built themselves a new life to survive.

Beside her, the Ascian wearing the body of the late Garlean emperor tsks . “So much for friendship, hero .” The two of them sit apart from the rest of their group, a fire burning low between them, and she tells herself the suspicious glances cast their way are for his sudden appearance at her side. “So what happens when you kill all the Wardens, then? Will you be set aside like a rusty blade?”

She ignores him and pokes a stick into the dying embers of the pit. Emet-Selch laughs at her silence, gaze so heavy on her she can feel it burning a brand into her skin.

They return to Ahm Araeng and she speaks to the last remnants of her Minfilia. The sullen, quiet girl bearing her name and visage does not reappear at her side when she emerges. Urianger, when she finds the rest of the Scions, shakes his head when she asks about Thancred.

The less that is said about Ahm Araeng and the Warden there, the better.

She listens silently when Y’Shtola and Urianger pull her aside and tell her what she already feels within: the light is consuming her alive. She has become the Warden of the First Reflection.

There is nothing to be done to save her. Nothing in the books of the Crystarium, in the abyss of Allagan research spanning the depths of the Tower, and even the Exarch shakes his head, lips downturned, when he is consulted.

At last, she is a dead woman walking.

She thinks that, all things considered, it has been a long time coming.

The Light within her blurs together all senses and experiences, even memories; she remembers walking for what she knows is the last time through the Crystarium, entirely alone as she makes ready to depart. Bereft of weapons and gear she has the sensation of having flown somewhere, or perhaps she walked, but somehow she has found herself underwater in a city the likes of which she has never seen before. Or maybe it’s not entirely true; she thinks she’s dreamt of it before, or perhaps is dreaming now, walking streets as silent as a graveyard as she seeks out Emet-Selch and his offer of a dignified death.

Is she still breathing? Is she still living? She is not worthy of it. She feels the Light within her churning and hungry, straining against the threads of her soul and mortal shell holding it back. It’s only a matter of time before they snap and in a moment of sudden clarity she is overwhelmingly glad that the Scions are not present to see their vaunted Warrior of Light turn into a monster.

Blearily, she spots a figure before her. Unlike the others it does not move out of her way, but instead stands tall and stubborn in her path until she has no choice but to force her limbs around it. She hears a sigh, and then harsh fingers grip at her shoulder.

It is so unexpected and sudden that it grounds her. The corona of light that has been dimming her vision flares and she blinks, having no choice but to face the figure insisting on her attention.

“Really?” It speaks, a woman’s voice, drawling and mocking and in Common and not the strange language she’s been unable to make out from the other inhabitants. “This is how you’re going to die? Walking to certain death like a martyr, happy to let a villain take your life into his hands? You disappoint me, hero.”

She’s lost for words, no small part due to being directly addressed in such a manner in what feels like a very, very long time--since she had come to the First, perhaps. It clears the fog up in her brain somewhat, some flickering semblance of self sluggishly batting away at the Light cocooning her thoughts.

The tongue in her mouth feels heavy, marble-like. “I have no other choice.”

The figure’s hand, still gripping her skin as if she is not burning its flesh on contact, tightens. “No choice? Don’t make yourself even more pathetic than you already are.”

On habit alone she tilts her chin and purses her lips. Stubborn to the end, apparently. “So what, you have some better ideas on how to not die and consume all of the First? I’m all ears.”

The mouth under the hood smiles in a way she knows it does not mean it. “You really think he won’t destroy this Shard after your timely death? Is this all it took for you to lose your brain?” A laugh, somehow familiar, and she bristles further. The city around her sharpens in its clarity and her chest expands in a deep, angry breath ready to let the stranger have it--and then another hand comes down upon the stranger’s, prying it away.

Emet-Selch stands before them, grasping the stranger’s arm. “That’s enough out of you,” he directs at her hooded companion. There is a certain flatness to his tone, a bite in his words she has not heard even directed at her. In response the figure shakes her arm free and moves to entwine her fingers with his, smiling mockingly, until the man slaps her fingers away in disgust. “Leave us be. You have no place here.”

The woman lets out a dismissive laugh. “I have no place to be here? Steps away from where you murdered me, and where you are about to do so again? Your humour has me turning in my grave, Hades.”

She’s submerged in the heavy silence that descends. Enough time for a single breath, and then the woman turns towards her again. Pale hands reach up to draw back her hood--and something within her screams that the action is wrong, she should not be witness to any of this--and then to remove the delicate white mask that sits perched across her nose and cheeks. She throws it aside on the ground and stomps it for good measure, until motes of aether rise up as the mask simply dissolves on the paved street.

“Astra,” Emet-Selch says, barely constrained fury shaking his voice. “Get out.”

The woman’s lips turn into a pretty pout. “You can make me leave any time you want, Hades. You’re just not wanting it hard enough.” To her she sends a conspiratorial smile, as if they are old friends sharing a secret. “That’s always been the case with dear Hades, you know. Forever wanting things but never knowing how to go about getting them the right way.”

A streetlight down the road goes out. She suddenly realizes she does not even know the name of this place, hidden deep on the ocean floor. She wets her lips. The sense of wrongness inside of her grows. “Who are you?”

Astra raises an eyebrow at her, eyes wide. “We look so much alike, and still that is the question you ask? You just keep finding new ways to disappoint me.” To Emet-Selch, she shakes her head. “You broke her so thoroughly, dear. I’m very hurt.”

Somehow, she is still breathing. Still living. The Light within her writhes, but she wants to know more: the city standing tall and desolate around her, this man named Emet-Selch-and-also-Hades, and the woman Astra before her, with such pale hair and eyes yet still undoubtedly her .

“Why do you look like me?” The hints of a demand enter her tone. “What is this place?”

“You finally start asking the right questions!” The lights around them all begin flickering, but Astra’s excitement is palpable as she claps her hands together and grins at her, all teeth. “I’ll help you out with another one: how did you get here?” At her confused silence, her grin stretches until she can see the canines peeking out, like a mummer’s mask at a horror show. “Try to remember, now. How did you get here, to the bottom of the ocean, to this gloriously dead city of Amaurot?”

She opens her mouth to answer, to say she flew to the coast of--somewhere, or took a boat, or-- “I don’t know,” she says instead. “I don’t--I don’t remember.” She frowns. “How can I not remember? Is it the Light?”

A cold hand settles on her cheek, curiously soft and at odds with everything the woman has been so far. Pale eyes swim with pity as they stare into hers. “Sweetling, the only Light within you is the blessing you’ve been carrying all this time.”

With a furious sound the ground beneath them cracks. A cacophony of noise follows as around them the buildings begin to cave into themselves; trees erupt with their roots torn wild from their carefully curated placements and somewhere beyond her sight, she hears the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the bubble of air surrounding the city.

She’d nearly forgotten Emet-Selch’s presence. With a hiss he tears the woman away from her, clutching her wrist in his hand with strength that will leave her with far more than bruises. “You damned woman,” he seethes and his form begins to shift, as if he’s been hiding a monster of his own beneath his human shell this entire time. “If only you would stay out of my way--”

Her wrist must be broken, but Astra only laughs. The city around them continues its rapid collapse. “As if it’s my fault you can't bring yourself to kill me,” she says, and with barely a flicker of her other hand, drives a knife of aether straight into his heart. “Fascinating, considering you had no such qualms the first time.”

Ella watches the life leave the Ascian’s eyes, and has a moment to wander if it had been the way Lahabrea had fallen, too; did you not need to sunder the soul, to ensure an Ascian did not merely jump into another inhabitable body? But no--Emet-Selch sags to the ground and Astra uses a toe to poke his body with a sigh.

She turns her eyes towards Ella, the knife of concentrated aether still sparking with magic in the palm of one hand. “He remembered me very horribly, I’ll have you know. I didn’t have one unkind bone in my body. Not to mention this manner of speech. How self-obsessed can one man get, to make his once-lover sound so much like him?” She tuts and shakes her head. “Guilt does such funny things to memories we hold dear.”

She approaches closer. The strange city of Amaurot around them has fallen, a tremendous wave of water coalescing behind the woman’s form.

It will be upon them in seconds.

“It’s time to wake up,” Astra says. She’s close enough that the Warrior can count the very faint freckles upon her nose, as if this strange duplicate of hers had even that tiny detail down. “You’ll be very confused, and very alone, and the void between worlds will be a frightening place indeed. But rest assured that your friends are waiting for you on the other side, and that this has been nothing more than a very real, and very bad nightmare.”

The touch of aether is hot and electric against her neck. Astra’s smile is trembling. “Make sure you kill him for good for me, will you?”

There is no chance to reply. The knife cuts her open.

#i need to stop taking such long breaks between writing because i feel tired and rusty af #maybe i should go find a prompt challenge #but i am happy to have finally written something aaaah #my writing #ffxiv #ffxiv shb #final fantasy xiv #emet-selch

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bri-anne-not-neville · 4 years

Text

dancing under red skies - one

the wolf that waited at the edge

"I want everything back, the way it was. but there is no point to it, this wanting"

Margaret Atwood

In life there are these moments. These crystal clear moments where you knew without a doubt that nothing would ever be the same again. And all of that happiness you had once felt so intensely would be eclipsed by this tight darkness that wove itself around you, that pushed against you until you thought you might suffocate from the pressure. And there it would stay, a perpetual reminder of what you may never have again.

This was one of these moments.

When you stand solemnly, head bowed, maybe in prayer, as a body is lowered into the ground. And you only vaguely register the hysterical sobbing of the people that loved him. That loved him the same way you did, maybe even more.

And you'll grip your mother's hand tightly, perhaps, to reassure her because between the screaming and the tears she's definitely not breathing right, but maybe it's to make sure you can still feel things. Just to make sure that you're still rooted so irrevocably to this Earth nothing can steal you away. Not even this grief.

I hate crying in front of people, but today, I cry, and I cry, and I cry. I let the tears slide down my cheeks and I don't care who sees it. Because I will never see my dad again.

While my tears are silent, save for the sporadic breathy hiccups that force its way out of my throat, my mother's is the opposite. Nothing about her suffering is silent. She clutches at her throat like she can't breathe. She bends over lower with each wail like she can't believe the coffin is being lowered into the ground without her.

My mother wraps her arms around herself and grips the bare flesh of her forearms so tightly the little half moon crescent's left behind bleed. My aunt Emily's hands hover precariously above her shoulders.

And as I watch my mother come undone I know I will never forget this moment.

By the time my mother composes herself everyone is gone, save for my aunt, and her fiance. Emily clasps my mother's hands in her own, and Sam stands protectively behind her. Not for the first time I wonder how they ended up together, he's so much larger than her, and his face seemed forever stretched into a scowl.

I could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

"Come home… Eva, you know you aren't safe anymore…" Emily's usually pleasant voice came out in a harsh whisper. Her large doll-like eyes glistened with unshed tears. She was still so beautiful despite the large crooked scar that traveled from temple to chin.

Sam's voice came out in a low grumble, too quiet for me to hear, at any rate. My mother's head bobbed along to whatever they were saying lethargically. I knew what they were talking about had to be important, and that I should want to know more about it but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Instead I circled the freshly churned dirt.

Golden leaves crunched beneath my feet noisily. Parts of the soil were moist and while I was walking primarily on solid ground I couldn't fight the feeling that I was sinking.

The wind picked up and sent a swirl of red brown leaves spiraling. In the distance the horizon was an unbroken line of trees that twisted and reached unanimously for the sky. Save for a large dark mass of fur.

At first I thought it was a bear, and my heart dropped in the pit of my stomach. But on further examination it wasn't a bear at all.

It was a wolf.

However, It did very little to calm the incessant beating of my heart. My instinct was to run at first, to gather up my broken mother and finally go home, but the wolf wasn't moving. He sat there patiently, like maybe he was waiting for something.

I inched closer until I didn't have to squint to make out the details, the fur on his chest was a light brown that traveled down his back into a brown so dark it could have been black. His eyes were a burnt orange, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Its large head tilted to the side, akin to that of a dog. His ears twitched and large rounded eyes met mine.

Come closer, they begged. Come see what I'm hiding.

Without thinking I took a step, and then another. Forever inching closer to the edge. You're going the wrong way, my brain pleaded, turn around, turn around, turn around.

"Maggie!"

Like that the spell was broken, I whipped around so quickly it hurt my neck. Sam was glaring in my direction, at me or behind me, I didn't know. Emily watched cautiously; her face unreadable. Tears still fell freely down my mother's cheeks, but she was using her stern, I-am-your-mother voice.

"Don't go wandering off, you know better than that." Her words startled me, or maybe not her words but the annoyed undertone that punctuated the silence.

"I-I'm sorry… but…" the words were slow and apologetic, I pointed half-heartedly to the expanse of trees that stretched across the skyline in front of me. There's a wolf. I want to say, and I don't know why but I think he wants me to get closer. My mother's brows furrow together in confusion, and Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow as if to challenge my sanity.

When I look again the wolf is gone, trees spill across the horizon in uninterrupted waves of mossy green. Maybe grief was making me crazy.

When we get home that night nobody does much talking. Save for Emily's occasional idle chatter, Sam grunts out a response, but my mother is too heart sick to do even that, instead she picks at her food and stares blankly ahead.

"I think I'm going to head up to bed." My voice is a little hoarse from misuse, and I have to clear my throat to make the words come out clearly. Normally, I wouldn't be allowed to excuse myself, and I wait for my mother to say something, to call me back to the table. But she doesn't even flinch. I carried my uneaten plate of food to the kitchen, it was a shame I wasn't hungrier, Emily really was an amazing cook.

"Oh, sleep good Maggie." Emily gave me a sympathetic smile as I rounded the corner back into the dining room, my mother nodded numbly along with her. I couldn't blame her. I had never seen two people more in love than my mother and father. I lost a dad, but she lost something so much more.

My room was a mess, usually I keep it very clean, but the past few weeks had been a frenzy of crying and screaming and breaking things. As a result, my favorite belongings lay strewn across the floorboards. My latest sketchbook lay motionless face down underneath a few of my old stuffed animals and t-shirts.

I shrug off the black dress I'd been wearing previously and change into pajamas, I don't bother picking it up. I leave it on the floor and I let it rot. Hot tears prick at the back of my eyes but I force them down. I don't look at that dress, the dress that meant my dad was gone for good now.

I curl up on my bed and wrap the covers around myself, and for the first time since I heard the news I pick up my sketchbook and I draw. I've been drawing for what feels like forever. Since I could hold a pencil I was doodling. My father always doodled along with me. My fondest memories are of us painting together.. He bought me every single sketchbook I've ever owned.

"Don't know where you get that talent from girlie," He'd say, but he'd pick up his brush and he'd try anyways. His colors would be muddy and he liked to flick paint on me but every time without fail he'd set his canvas up to mine and asked what we were painting. "I sure as hell can't draw, and don't ever tell her I said this but neither can your mother. We're the same in that way."

"And how are we the same, Daddy?" I would ask, and even then I wanted so desperately to have something in common with him.

"Well, Maggie," He'd humm softly and glob a disgusting brown on his pure white canvas, he'd scratch his cheek and his lips would quirk up. His eyes crinkled at the edge and he'd make his voice soft for me, "we're cave dwellers you and I."

I didn't realize I was crying until the tear stained paper ripped. I pressed the eraser into the paper hard. And for a moment I have an insane urge to rip every single piece of paper out of my sketchbook. But this is the last thing my dad ever gave me; did I really want to destroy it?

Yes, a part of me screamed. A part of me wanted to split the book in two, I wanted to feel the resistance of something held together by more than glue break beneath my fingertips.

Instead I snap the book shut and toss it to the floor, out of sight, out of mind, right? I don't want to do something I'm going to regret.

I flick the bedroom light off and I put on my headphones, I press play and I turn it up to full volume. I let the music scream at me, at first it hurts my ears but slowly I become desensitized to it. The vibrations travel down my spine in ripples of magnetic shock waves. I let myself get lost in the music, in the loud screaming, in the rasp of the lead singer's voice. And for a moment I can almost pretend everything's okay.

I'm at the cemetery again, it takes a long time to register that maybe I shouldn't be. It's dark out now and the tombstones are bathed in shadow and moonlight, birds dance across the stone. A devastating tango.

I search for my father's grave; the stones stretch upwards for miles. A sense of urgency abruptly fills my bones, away, get away, my brain screams. I take a step forward, the mud gripping my shoes makes it hard for me to move. It's like wadding through water, but I force myself to take the next step. And then another.

I don't know how many steps I take until I finally crest the hill, but I make it to the top, sobbing and breathing and muddy but at the top all the same. And there at the end of all things was the dense wood. Shrouded in darkness, the watery moon shone directly on a dark mass of fur. A spotlight made of bone and blood.

The wolf took a tentative step forward, my heart hammered dangerously in my chest. I could feel every angry beat. The wolf took another step, and then another. Gradually his soft padding turned into a break-neck run.

I tried to take a step backwards, but the mud was working and winding itself up my exposed legs pulling my down. Angry music screamed in the background.

This is chaos.

Still the wolf angrily charges forward, not deterred by the music or the sinking even though the mud tries to take him too. He's so close now I can see every little detail I'd missed earlier.

Finally, he stops in front of me. Nose to nose we stand. He's so much bigger than I thought he'd be, and even if I wasn't sinking, he'd still tower over me. His wet nose presses against my cheek.

And it's enough. It calms the thump, thump, thump of my heart.

I bolt upright, the headphones are slightly askew and my head hurts from crying. I push them down until they rest around my neck and I press a firm hand to my chest. Be still, I pleaded. Each inhale is sharp, and it takes a long time for me to calm down.

My free hand twitches at my side, asks, no begs for me to draw the wolf. To try and capture him, even if it's only a small part of him. It doesn't have to be whole, nothing's ever whole at first.

My hand twitches again, and again until it's almost painful. I don't bother turning on the light, I rummage hap hazardously for my sketchbook, but for some reason I can't find a pen. I have more pens than I know what to do with.

I rummage through drawer after drawer slamming each one closed when I can't find what I'm so desperately looking for. I slam my fist against my desk in unfiltered anger and let out a cry.

Slowly, so slowly, a single pen rolls across the flat mahogany surface of my desk and I cry even harder in relief.

I snatch the pen up, and I clutch it to my chest tightly. My fingers tips turn white from the pressure, but I have to know it's still here, that it won't disappear at any moment. I plop on my bed and I get to sketching, they're scratchy outlines at first. But that's what every drawing starts off as. A line.

I chisel away at the details, I get it wrong multiple times. The leg is a little too large, the head's too small. I keep chipping away though, I think of my father's unfailing determination. Slowly it becomes the wolf that had waited patiently at the edge. For what, I would probably never know.

#paul lahote #this is a twilight fanfiction i swear #i don't know why im posting it in tumblr #i want attention #twilight bois #twiliiiiight #i should probably put some serious tags in here huh #HUH #wolf pack #i wanna be a wolf #no im not a furry #my grandma was supposed to bring me a digorno's pizza but it's been hours #i am probably going to starve #if this is the last thing i post #i love twilight #and i dont care who knows it #dermot kennedy could get it #and alex meraz #okay gn

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 4 years

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Tales of the Wildermere: Darkness Bound, Chapter 1

Warnings for violence, kidnapping, non-consensual/psychically-induced forced arousal, and injury in this chapter. Proceed at your own risk.

Dorian Ash didn't enjoy this place, even though he was in part made from it. Even though he spent the better part of his time here. The Wildermere was a hazardous realm, full of things that can follow you back to the real world if you weren't careful. It was not an easy realm for mortals to access as a rule, but they still had a tendency to stray here sometimes, stumbling on access points in their dreams. Occasionally they found themselves trapped, perhaps caught up in the illusions and memory fogs of the place, perhaps captured by dream-feeders or other, more terrifying creatures, and sometimes simply lost, unable to find their way back to their bodies and awaken.

And there were predators from outside this realm, predators from the other side of the proverbial sea, that also hunted here. He had been on the trail of just such a predator for some time, a powerful, elusive creature that used this place as its stalking grounds, tagging victims to abduct later out of the waking world.

Tonight, Dorian was here to stop the creature, whatever the cost to himself, and to save the people it had abducted, if they were still alive to save. It was a part of who and what he was. A faction of the Dragons friendly to humanity had created him long ago to be a protector, a guardian to the mortals, eons ago when they had removed themselves from the human world to retire to the cliffs and aeries of the Wilderland, the world that existed on the other side of the Wildermere. It was his purpose, his drive. It was in his blood.

The stone in his hand looked like a cut garnet, and it gave off a faint glow and a softly melodic hum whenever he turned in the direction of a deathly frightened human in need of help, however far off that human may be. Dorian remained alert. In this place, wherever a terrified human was, there were sure to be predators close by. They were drawn to mortal fear like moths to flame.

The glow and hum grew steadily stronger as he neared his quarry, and as he pushed through the brambled underbrush that crowded the twisted, nightmarish trees of the forest, he saw the young woman curled up in the roots of an ancient oak.

She was dressed all in white, with luminous, pale skin, vibrantly blue eyes in a sculpted, somewhat angular face, and a fall of waist-length hair the color of ravens. She had her arms wrapped around herself as she rocked and trembled, murmuring unintelligibly. He approached her and lowered himself beside her as nonthreateningly as he could manage, and she looked at him with wide, clear eyes.

“A-are you going to hurt me?” she whispered in English.

“No,” Dorian said gently. The accent of his youth still tinted his words, a hint of old Scandinavia, though it had come from a different world altogether. “I'm here to help you get home. Come with me.” He offered her a hand.

She hesitated, then reached for his hand, clasping it with her own.

Her hand was cold, like that of a corpse's, and very solid, unlike the humans who became lost here, and it pulsed with energy black as the furthest reaches of space. Dorian tried to snatch his hand away, but the woman gripped it with surprising strength. She flowed to her feet, and the image of the raven-haired beauty melted into that of a sensual nightmare. Her skin turned several shades whiter, white like bleached bone, the hollows beneath her cheekbones and around her eyes dusted with grey, and her features became sharp, angular, though her lips remained full and inviting, their shade deepening to the color of blood. Her eyes were jet black, and a pair of twisting horns grew from her head. She was fully six feet tall when she rose to her feet, and a pale, leathery tail flicked about her legs. The sheer white shift mutated into a skimpy leather bodice which crisscrossed with strategically-placed straps that barely covered her small breasts, a skirt made of writhing, fluttering shadows that was almost indecently short in the front and trailed long in the back, and a pair of black leather, spike-heeled boots that reached halfway up her thighs and gave her enough height to be a sliver above eye level with Dorian. Only her hair remained the same, still long and black and impossibly glossy.

A tidal wave of lust crashed over him, and he gasped, struggling to hold it at bay.

Still gripping his hand painfully tight, her claws digging into his flesh, she stepped closer to him, brazenly crowding him with her body. He held his ground and snarled at her, and she smiled, reaching up to touch his face with her other hand. “Such a beautiful man,” she purred, gliding one black-clawed finger over his cheekbone, tracing the stubble-dusted line of his jaw. “I think I might keep you.”

Dorian’s body became instantly, painfully hard at her featherlight touch, somehow made all the more intense by the growing pain in his hand as her claws gouged deeper. Frantically grasping for the last shreds of his control, he gnashed his teeth at her and jerked his hand free, heedless of the way her claws rent his flesh or the bright red drops of blood that blossomed on his skin. The instincts that guided his steps and provided him with insight honed in on a crystal-clear fact: this creature was the one he had been hunting.

His purpose here was at a head. His intended nature took over, and whatever seductive magic the demoness was using on him shattered like brittle glass. She took a step back, surprise flickering across her features.

“Found you, demon,” he growled, and bared his teeth in a way that only distantly resembled a grin.

He let the change take him, shifting form as quickly as the demon woman had. It was easier in this place, with its far more malleable reality structure, than it was in the real world. Urged by curiosity long ago, he had once looked at his shifted form in a mirror. He knew that he maintained his height and build, but the color of his skin had deepened, taking on a metallic, gold-dusted bronze hue. A pair of enormous, black-feathered wings, each tipped with an obsidian claw, sprang from his back and beat the air, and his fingers also tapered into claws. His eyes burned golden in a face that now had bony ridges accentuating his cheekbones and the line of his brow, and he bared gleaming fangs at the woman, a low, animalistic growl rippling from his throat. His fingers closed around the long, wickedly sharp dagger that he had strapped to his leg. It was a gift from an old friend. A demon killer.

He just had to get close enough to use it on her.

The demon laughed. “Oh, magnificent. I knew I liked you.”

She hurled herself at Dorian before he could register that she had begun to move. Her claws raked towards his face, and he threw an arm up to block them, taking a row of long, bloody furrows down his forearm that seeped a deep scarlet into his torn sleeve.

He whirled and thrust the blade at her, but she spun out of the way, shadows whirling and whipping around her like living things. He followed her movements, matching her speed, striking and pivoting and dodging in a blindingly swift, deadly dance. Tendrils of shadow leapt out from her, reaching for him, but he scurried out of reach. The tendrils followed, darting towards him like serpents, and he slashed at them with the dagger, disintegrating them in a sweep of light, shadows fracturing and scattering like an explosion of dark glass.

The demon gasped in pain, and the shadows still undulating around her suddenly swept around her, concealing her from sight. An instant later, she was a dozen feet away, leering at him.

Star Queen's Fire! Few creatures of flesh and magic could move like that, even demons, even Dragons, and certainly not that quickly. Teleportation spells were possible, but it took hours of planning and careful quantum-geometrical calculations to pull off, and even then they were often highly dangerous even to innately magical beings. The risk of coming back wrong was too great. Dorian had seen the aftermath of some botched teleportations; he wouldn't wish that fate on his worst enemy.

And this Damiana had transported herself in the blink of an eye, none the worse for wear. What was this creature?

She prowled towards him, a feral grin twisting her lips and baring her fangs. “Oh, you beautiful, foolish man. You believed I was simply a night-wight, didn't you? A mare. A skulking little imp that sits on the chests of mortals and drinks up their fear like fine wine. But I am more than that. I am Queen Damiana of the Night Realms. I created nightmares, and all the intoxicating pleasures they bring.” She tilted her head and regarded him, hungry eyes traveling over his body. “Have you no desire to taste my delights?”

“Not interested,” Dorian rumbled, and started forward.

“But I have so, so much in store for you,” she murmured. She threw a hand out, and a ball of inky energy hurled towards him with astonishing speed. He tried to dodge, but it followed him, whipping around and striking him in the chest with the force of a freight train. He felt several ribs crack under the strength of the blow and flew backwards, slammed into a tree, and tumbled face down to the ground, the breath knocked out of him.

She was on him lightning-fast, pouncing on his back with an avian shriek, tearing at his wings with her claws. Agony ripped through him, and he screamed and bucked, thrashing his wings, and she tumbled off. He leapt to his feet and drove forward with the dagger, his eyes flaming molten gold, and she vanished in a puff of darkness again, reappearing several feet away.

“Give it up, handsome,” she crooned. “You're not going to prevail. I have the upper hand. I always have the upper hand.” Her lascivious black eyes roamed over his body again, and she licked her lips. “What a fine plaything you're going to make. I am going to greatly enjoy breaking you.”

She sent another wrecking ball of dark energy towards him, and this time, he danced to the side, stabbing at it with his dagger. The shadowy sphere parted like water, disintegrating around the blade in a spray of shrapnel that tore thin ribbons of blood all the way up his arm and lashed at his face, but the tremendous force it had generated still carried forward, unstoppable. It wrenched the dagger from his hand, snapped his wrist like a twig, hit his stomach, and sent him hurtling through the air, hitting another tree with enough force to split its trunk. He flopped bonelessly to the ground, his face in the dirt, the breath torn from his lungs even as he tried to choke out a cry of agony.

She held her arm out and he felt cold shadow-tendrils wind around his body. With a quick motion, she turned her hand palm-up, and the tendrils flipped him onto his back, twisting around his arms and legs and immobilizing them. Her fingers curled into a fist, and he found himself being dragged towards her, struggling and snarling but unable to break free.

He had one last chance. It was a terrible risk, but he was out of options.

He closed his eyes, reached out with his senses, and connected with the Wildermere.

The Wildermere is psychically connected with all dreamers, though it was created by beings much older than humanity-- older and more powerful even than the Dragons. For reasons he might never know, the Old Ones had created the Wildermere to serve as a bridge between the human world and the Wilderland, accessible to the mortal human minds that created an anchor point by which the denizens of the Wilderland could enter into the mortal world. Though it has an ostensible kind of stability to it, a strong human mind can still shape it to a degree-- at least until the Wildermere takes note of it and turns its hunger on the human.

Dorian wasn't human. In fact, he was in part made of the same stuff as the Wildermere, fashioned to be a champion of humankind, a being of immense will and mental strength who could walk between all three worlds at will. When his mind touched the world around him, it responded instantaneously, reaching back and entangling with him until it became an extension of his own consciousness, and he an extension of it.

It was not a thing he cared to do often. The Wildermere was sentient in its own right, and furiously hungry, ever greedy to expand and grow. If he did not keep full control of himself, he would be consumed, reduced to a dream-lost ghost forever haunting the forests, moors, marshes, and deserts of the place.

He lifted his head and locked his eyes on Damiana, and the root systems buried in the forest floor sprang to life, reaching up through the soil and lashing themselves around her, much in the same way she had ensnared him with her shadow-tendrils. She screamed as she was dragged to the ground, writhing and straining, her hold on Dorian falling away as he turned the hunger of the Wildermere on her, feeding it on her power, her darkness, weakening her. He rose to his feet, retrieved the dagger, and stepped closer, his face an implacable mask.

All at once, Damiana stopped struggling, and her features hardened into a mask of grim determination as she dug her will deep into the Wildermere. He felt the world around him respond to her in the same way it had to him, recognizing a being birthed from it, longing to re-merge with it.

She was strong. She was nightmarishly strong, and he wasn't certain if he could defeat her. If she took control of the Wildermere, he was finished. Dorian felt her will press back against his hold on the roots, and he shoved back with his own will, beads of sweat forming on his skin. He took another step forward, his lips peeling back in a snarl. The Wildermere roared in his head, its consciousness rushing through his body, chewing at his mind, trying to consume him. He held it at bay, forcing it to bend to his desires.

One step closer. Another step. Another.

He saw panic flash through her features as he loomed over her, and felt her double her efforts. Dorian dropped down into a crouch and raised the dagger.

She stared up at it in horror.

He plunged the dagger down.

She shouted a word and vanished within a swirl of darkness before the blade could touch her.

Dorian swore acerbically and spun, eyes sweeping the forest. The Wildermere surged within him like an incoming tide, bursting through his defenses. He would need to push it out of his mind soon or he would be lost.

The demon woman was gone. He could feel that clearly through his connection to the realm.

He sank to his knees, grimacing, and with a monumental effort of will purged the Wildermere from his mind. It poured out of him like a river emptying itself into the ocean, merging with the world around him once again. He let his human form flow into place once more so he appeared once again as a dark-haired, well-built man in his late thirties, with chiseled cheekbones, a dusting of beard growth on his jaw, and amber eyes.

He knelt there for a moment, panting, his many injuries throbbing jolts of pain through his whole body, too exhausted to consider moving.

A voice drifted on the wind. A woman's voice, moaning softly, the sound strained with terror-laced need. Dorian whipped his head around, on high alert. He retrieved the stone from his pocket and saw that it was still glowing, still humming. Whomever the stone had been guiding him towards was still here; it was likely that the demon had been tormenting the poor soul, and he had stumbled on her while searching for her victim.

He dragged himself to his feet and started in the direction of the moans.

He found her bound to a tree with her arms over her head. She wore a sheer white shift-- exactly like the one that Damiana had worn in her disguise-- that revealed the lovely, generous curves of her body. Her head was bowed as she whimpered, spilling a wealth of golden hair down over her front.

She jerked her head up as Dorian approached and stared at him with wide blue eyes set in a delicate face. Soft, mewling sounds left her lips as she tried to shrink away from him.

“Don't be afraid,” Dorian murmured. He moved closer, still wary. This woman was probably the real victim and not another illusion, but he needed to be sure.

Gently, he brushed a lock of hair away from her face, letting his fingers graze her cheekbone. Her skin was warm and soft and human, partially immaterial as most mortals are in the Wildermere. She gazed up at him with frightened eyes, but her jaw was set in a way that hinted at courage and defiance. In that moment, every fiber of his being awoke with the deeply-ingrained instinct to protect, to shield, to heal. Her fear and suffering tore at him like the claws of the creature he had just fought.

“What are you going to do to me?” Her voice broke on the question, but she kept her eyes locked with his. Whatever the demon woman had done to her, she had not been broken.

“I'm going to help you get home,” he said. “I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you. I promise.”

A sob tore from her throat, and she lowered her head. He passed a hand down her silken hair, pushing a soft, soothing energy through his palm. She trembled, but some of the tension left her body, and she leaned into his touch. “Help me,” she whispered. “Oh, God, please get me out of here.”

“I will.” He used the dagger to cut her bonds, and she sagged into his arms as if the ropes had been the only thing holding her upright. He held her for a moment, stroking her hair, then asked, “What's your name?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, and a frown darkened her lovely features as she noticed the cuts on his face and his rapidly swelling wrist. “Angelica. You’re hurt.”

Gods, she was beautiful. She seemed lit from within like her namesake, sweet and untainted even by this nightmare. Again, he felt a surge of fierce protectiveness towards her, and a burning attraction that he refused to give quarter to. This was not the time or place. There may never be a time or place. She seemed to belong to an entirely different world than his own dark, violent home.

Still, though, it had been ages since he had been with somebody, sharing lives and intimacy with love and trust.

He shook his head, partly to clear his mind of that train of thought, and partly in reply to Angelica’s statement. “It’ll heal.”

“But I should--”

He shook his head, then gave her a reassuring smile and held out his good hand. “It’ll heal,” he said again. “Come with me, Angelica, and I'll take you home.”

She hesitated, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth, then relented and took his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Better you don’t know.”

She stopped walking and glared at him. “Okay, mister tall, dark, and mysterious. I won’t press you for your name if you let me take a look at... all of this. I’m a medical student; I’m starting my ER residency next year.” She reached for his arm. “I... heard you fighting that creature. I don’t know how you beat her, but I’m grateful you did.”

Dorian let her take his arm. “Your gratitude is appreciated, and I promise to see a healer to make certain everything mended properly. I’m sure your medical knowledge is sufficient for the care of humans, but my physiology is different. My body heals itself very quickly.”

“Can’t hurt to look anyway.” Carefully, with hands that still shook a little, Angelica turned his arm this way and that, peering at the cuts, probing his broken wrist with expert fingers. Though his skin was still streaked with blood, the wounds themselves had already closed, leaving light scabs, and the bones in his wrist and his rib cage were slowly, nearly imperceptibly shifting back into place and fusing. He would need to sleep to heal fully, but he was in no danger now.

“See?” Dorian said softly. “I’ll be fine. Angelica, we need to move.”

“You should at least let me put that arm in a sling. It needs to be immobilized or it won’t heal properly.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“Angelica,” he said, “will you please come with me before something else tries to take a turn at us?” In his present condition, he wasn’t sure if he could handle another attack, let alone protect the innocent woman accompanying him. They didn’t have time to wait around while she fussed over his injuries.

Her glare could melt a glacier, and even Dorian shifted uncomfortably under it. “Fine. Be an idiot.”

She fell into step beside him, marching with her chin up without so much as a glance his way, and he guided her through the forest, searching out the soft, moss-covered paths that would be gentle on her bare feet. A glimmer of insight ignited in Dorian’s mind as they walked-- Angelica had wanted to feel useful, to feel like she could contribute and take an active part in this situation, instead of being the damsel in distress that had to be rescued. She had felt powerless, tied to that tree, unable to defend herself from the demon’s torments, and wanted to reclaim her sense of power.

He reached out to touch her arm and said, “Keep watch as we walk, please? Medical professionals have an uncanny way of noticing tiny details that are out of place, and I might not notice these things since I’m searching for the portal.”

Her eyes widened a fraction as she looked at him, but then the determined, clinically detached expression returned to her face, and she nodded. “I’m on it.”

They walked side by side for a ways, Angelica scanning the forest for potential threats while Dorian split his attention between watching for signs of stalking predators and homing in on the way out. The portal burned bright on his senses as they drew near it, and he turned to look at her. “Go through. You'll wake up, and this will seem like only a bad dream. It would be better if you believed that.”

She looked at the drifting, twisting white tendril-lights of the portal, then back at him. “Was it a dream?”

He hesitated, conflicted. On the one hand, she would be safer if she didn’t delve too deeply in this world. But on the other hand, once a mortal crosses into this place, they always bring back a piece of it with them. And there are... things... in the Wildermere and beyond that might be attracted to that. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Stay out of this place, Angelica. Don't step through any more mirrors in your dreams. They always lead here.”

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds, then asked, "Will I see you again?”

He shook his head. “No. It's better that way. You don't want to be a part of my world.”

The flash of irritation returned to her eyes. “Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want.”

“You shouldn’t want it. My paths always lead here, in this place. It isn’t a good place.”

She nodded, lowering her eyes for a few seconds, then glanced back up at him, tremulous smile playing at her lips. “Thank you. For saving me.”

He gave her a faint smile in return. “Go. Don't look back. Don't hesitate; you might accidentally leave a part of yourself here.”

Angelica turned to face the portal, took a deep breath, and stepped through, leaving Dorian standing alone in the forest.

#whump #whumpy fic #hero whump #original characters #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: kidnapping #tw: forced arousal #Darkness Bound #fic #not roleplay

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