#By destroying the Realms in a single swoop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maggicktouched · 1 year

Text

My Drabbles: Me and the Devil I've had this idea in my head a while, and I finally broke down and let my inner head convince me to write it out so maybe it'd stop plaguing me. I'm probably absolutely rotten at writing Matt Murdock, but at this point I write so little actual content I don't care as long as my brain focuses on something for long enough to string coherent sentences together.

It had to be foul play. That was what Midori had said in her letter. The Magical Division of the Central Park Zoo was one of the most heavily guarded facilities in the witches’ world. It had to be, given its incredibly close proximity to the human world. A security breach could mean anything from the space warping spells malfunctioning and physically overtaking the mortal realm, or a dangerous creature destroying the city. Either were very bad for the humans of New York City, and they’d never had a single issue before.

Until she’d gotten the letter.

Beck had seen wildfires dozens of times in her life wandering the forests on the west coast of the country, but fire was not an element she underestimated. She’d never been this close to a blaze so large. The heat was suffocating, even well outside the range where the flames could touch, but worse even was the roar. It took no real, discernible shape, but it sounded alive. Claws of crimson dragged against the metal frame of the warehouse and it screeched like a dying thing. Orange teeth ground wood and plastic and fabric to ash in its maw. And it roared. Roared and roared like a lion. Roared and never wanted for air.

Beck swallowed and pressed forward, out of the shadows cast by the fire and into its blazing light. She knew the beast that had caused this inferno was inside, watching her. She had to contain this before it took half the city and everything got much, much worse for everyone, but doing that without spooking the creature was a delicate task.

“You’re going to fry like a chicken leg if you take another step. Forget this. Leave the mortals to their doom. Come away!” Angrboda was alive with a rage nearly as hot as the warehouse fire. Beck knew it was to cover up the fear she was feeling, and fought to keep the emotion from sinking its teeth into her. If she panicked, there was a good chance more people would die.

“If I can get closer, I might be able to calm her down.” She replied. Silently, pressing her thoughts back across the distance between them. Boda was hidden on a rooftop a few buildings away. Against the night, she was completely invisible from this distance, but Beck knew she was watching carefully. Just as Habrok was circling in the air above, calling to her. He didn’t like this plan either.

But it was best for everyone. Well—maybe not for her, but she would endure. She always did.

Her hand lifted to press against the air near the flames. Her education had included some spells for fire manipulation, mostly for safety purposes, but she had displayed no natural aptitude for them, and they certainly had not covered anything of this magnitude or intent. Still, she took in a deep breath, focused on a thread of energy, and pulled her hand back. A little too hard.

The fire rushed out of the building and licked at the iron wand she was holding. Immediately the heat was too much to bear, and it clattered to the concrete as she cursed. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and her knees were weak.

Ok. That wasn’t a great approach. The beast had clearly felt her and lashed out.

Maybe she could soothe it from here. At least a bit, and maybe then she could mold the flames.

Beck held out her hands, palms facing the sky, and breathed. The smoke threatened to choke her, so she called Habrok down from the sky. He swooped in front of her and circled, then dove again, and each time the smog cleared a bit.

The next time she took a breath, her voice cut the air clear and strong. It pierced the maddening snarl of flames and circled in the night air, high and then low, steady and gentle. She did not sing words, kulning did not use them. It didn’t need them. Instead, she called out to the beast like a shepherd in the hills. The hypnotic tune seemed to cool the air around her a bit, and she closed her eyes, thinking of rocky mountains and calm streams flowing from their peaks; she thought of the home where this creature belonged. Its ashen earth, its pristine sky, its serene stillness and the magic that permeated every rock and tree and creature that lived there.

This time, she lifted her hand, never stopping her song, and ran it over the flames like a man stroking his dog. They twisted and flickered, alive beneath her touch. It burned, but not as badly as it should have. Closer they crept, and louder she sang. They encircled her hands and she could feel the anxious energy in them now. Beck lifted both hands and parted them, and they cleared a small path to the missing door to the warehouse.

She went to take a step closer, but her singing came to a strangled stop. Stars exploded in her vision, and the song turned to a scream of alarm as she sailed through the air. The thing that had hit her was much much larger than her, and its weight dragged her down nearly as fast as it sent her flying. Her control broke, and with it, her spell over the beast in the blaze. It screamed along with her as she was pinned to the ground.

Her head twisted away just in time to dodge a fist. Without thinking, she flexed her hand and her wand came flying toward her. The man jerked his head to the side, not quite looking at the object, but clearly noticing. He rolled off her just in time to avoid its sharp edge slicing open his face. Then, before she could even get a decent look at her assailant, he did the unthinkable.

His fingers closed around her wand.

Beck let out another cry, this one mixed with shock and violation and anger. She was scrambling to her feet, panting, her own magic ripping through the air around her invisibly. It took a savage grip on every living, breathing thing in a mile’s radius and a chorus of cries filled the air. The creature in the warehouse responded first, howling a terrible shriek above the growl of fire. Then the yelps and frantic barks of dogs, the yowl of cats, the buzzing of insects, and the cries of birds.

But it didn’t last long. Her magic spoke through her wand too, along with the hundreds of witches that had wielded it before her. By the time she stood to face him, he was yelling out in pain, his knuckles white around the metal, his whole arm shaking as the power flowed through his mortal body. A body never meant to contain that manner of power. White tendrils of light curled up his arm and began to crawl over his chest, and he was writhing, but couldn’t move to come after her again.

She’d kill him, if she didn’t get ahold of herself. Against her better judgment, she brushed aside her rare fit of rage and swallowed the sickening feeling inside her. The light faded from the man, the wand dropped to the ground. She thought maybe he’d stop, maybe they might square off. She could explain herself if he just let her.

He was dressed in a costume of some kind. There were stubby horns on his head like a young billy, and his entire outfit was a blood red. His mask covered his face, even his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was enraged.

He rushed her again, before she could think to stop him, and this time his fist connected with her face. She stumbled, but caught herself on a chain link fence that rattled in protest. Beck hissed, pressing a hand to her eye, and managed to evade his next attack. He’d likely been counting on the blow to stun her, but she’d taken too many punches in her life to flinch.

She fought the rising tide of panic that screamed at her to shift. He was twice her size now, but as a bear his pretty little costume as well as his skull would crack like an egg.

“Fight! Kill him!” She heard Angrboda snarl in her mind. “I’m coming for you.”

“No!” She shrieked, both aloud and in her head. He hit her again, this time in the gut, and as she sagged forward she sank her human teeth into the side of his jaw—the only part of him that was exposed, as she tried to kick him off of her. She was no match for him. He didn’t even flinch, and she could taste copper in her mouth.

Once more he had her on the ground, but he was behind her, and now his elbow was around her throat. She could hear her familiars panicking in her mind, she could hear a shrill cry, but her vision dimmed quickly. It didn’t matter how much she kicked, how hard she squirmed, how she dug at his arm, he didn’t budge.

“Stay away.” She urged her familiars in her head. “Stay away. I can’t lose you too.”

From her spot on the ground, she could see something small rising up from the flames and disappearing into the night sky, and with the last of her breath she squeaked out a cry. She gave a silent bid to Harbok to follow it, and the world went dark around her.

She woke to a pounding head and a sore throat. The world was alive with sound. Feet stamping, keys of keyboards clicking, people talking in the distance, heavy doors rolling open and clicking shut. She could smell waste and alcohol and artificial flowers that sought to wipe out the other two sickening aromas.

Her eyes fluttered open and the world swam. The sound that came out of her was broken and frightened, and a second later, a hand pressed against her shoulder. Before she could think, she flinched—her eyes instantly screwing shut once more. It caused a stab of pain to radiate through her skull.

“Hey. Hey you’re ok sugar.” It was a woman’s voice. She smelled like stale alcohol and perfume. “Come on now. Can you sit up?”

Cautiously, she looked at the stranger. She was fairly young, but Beck wasn’t great at assessing the age of mortals. An adult, obviously. Well past her twenties. Maybe in her mid thirties or early forties? Her hair had been straightened at one time, but was frazzled now, and her make up was creased and cracking in places as if it’d been applied days ago and not washed off. She was pretty, but the state she was in didn’t say anything promising about the situation they were in.

“There ya go. You got it.” She coaxed, helping the young witch into a sitting position. The entire world swam and she felt nauseous, like she might throw up, but she held it in. Beck had seen the expression of pity on many faces in her life, and she hated it. She must look like shit.

“You and your boyfriend have it out? He gave you quite the shiner.” She tilted up Beck’s head, tutting.

“No. A random jackass on the street jumped me.” She said. She barely recognized the sound of her own voice. Beck looked out the iron bars of the holding cell and swore. This was the last thing she needed right now, and she didn’t have a lot of time before someone realized where she was and shit got ugly.

“Jesus. What’s the world coming to?” The woman took a seat on the hard metal bench in the cell and leaned her head back against the wall. Her eyes cut to the left to look at Beck, but she could barely see out of her right eye with how swollen it was. “I’m Jasmine, by the way. They got me in on solicitation. How ‘bout you?”

“Barbra.” The lie was instant, automatic. She’d lied about her name a million times in her life. “I go by Babs. And honestly? I have no fucking clue.”

They didn’t say anything else for a minute, and by the time she had mustered up the energy to try, someone walked into the room. He looked about the same age as her fellow prisoner, but he didn’t wear it as well. He was thin and his cheeks were hollow and his beard was short and dotted with a half dozen pimples.

The man was gentle with her, to his credit. There were burns on her hands that needed to be addressed, but thankfully her glamour charm had concealed them to the mortals. She hissed when he pressed the tips of her abused fingers to the electronic pad again and again, confused by whatever the results he was getting.

“Marge!” Beck flinched when he shouted, but he didn’t stop. “Marge this computer’s fuckin busted again!”

They tried four more times, then attempted to use actual ink (which she was certain was not good for her concealed wounds) and then finally conceded that whatever they wanted, they weren’t going to get. They took her picture, asked her half a dozen questions, and she lied every time.

Her saving grace was that she had no record. She didn’t even have a birth certificate. In the human world, she did not exist. Maybe it raised more red flags, but it also bought her time. She could lie until she found a way out of here.

She had to find a way out of here. Before someone came to get her out and everything went tits up.

When she returned to the holding cell, Jasmine was gone. Court, they said, and she’d be going that way soon. That left her alone with a man sleeping off a drunken stupor in the corner, and a watchful officer typing away on his computer outside the cell. Beck took the small semblance of privacy to look herself over. Her ribs were bruised, and she knew her throat was too. And her eye. God, for a guy in a onesie, he could throw a fucking punch.

She should have turned him into a shrew. If she had only had a half second to think.

Beck shut her eyes and sat cross legged on the bench. She pushed out her thoughts to her familiars, “Are you two alright?”

“The beast sleeps. But it is only a matter of time.” Habrok answered gravely.

Beck nodded.

“I followed our little friend.” Angrboda said, swiftly changing the subject. Beck resisted the urge to sit up a bit straighter as she listened. “He attacked two other people and nearly ripped his footy pajamas jumping over a fence while running after a third. The man running away called him ‘The Devil’ but the first one just called him Daredevil.”

“Dramatic.” Beck mumbled aloud, then caught herself.

“He’s an attorney.” The feline continued. In her mind’s eye she can practically see the cat haughtily curling and uncurling her long, silken tail. “A shitty one. I’m guessing from the state of the office. Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law.”

“Which one is he?”

“Murdock. Matthew Murdock.” She said, and Beck could tell by her tone there was something she was dying to spit out.

“What is it?”

A snort of laughter rang through her mind. “He’s blind. You got your ass handed to you by a mortal that can't even-”

“Blind?!” Again her tongue got the better of her, and the officer at the desk looked up, alarmed. Beck gave him a sheepish smile and got ahold of herself. “There’s no way. The guy dodged a flying wand coming at him from behind. He knew exactly where to hit.”

“There’s all types of aberrant mortals these days. Maybe he’s one of them. He certainly isn’t a witch. I’ve made sure.”

Beck bit her lip and tried to think. That was shocking, but not nearly as important. An idea was forming in her head.

“Hey!” She called, standing to walk to the front of the cell. When the guard didn’t look up she gave a little whistle. “What’s your name?”

He still didn’t look at her. “Officer Smith.”

“Smith. I want to call my lawyer. Now.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. His rolling chair clanged loudly on the cement walls, and his keys jingled as he pulled them free. He took her out of the cell and down the hall to a small room with a phone, and Angrboda slowly and carefully read the phone number off of the sign in front of the building. Her head was still spinning a bit, and the incessant ringing made her wince, but blessedly it was answered fast.

“Nelson and Murdock, how may I direct your call?” A woman’s voice said briskly.

“I need to talk to Matthew Murdock.”

“He’s with a client at the moment, can I take a message?”

“No. No this is an emergency. Tell him that he can answer my call, or the first one I make when I get out of here is the city papers to have a long, thorough discussion about his—moonlit activities.” She wasn’t normally so harsh, but she needed to get out of here fast. It was a miracle Harper hadn’t burst through the door already and ripped the whole station apart.

“One moment please.”

There were footsteps, whispers she couldn’t discern, and a hasty apology in a congenial masculine tone. The voice of her attacker. It made her heart start to race with panic that she forced down. He took the phone, she could hear him breathing.

“Mr. Murdock. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“Trying to burn down a city block generally gets people on my bad side.” He replied sharply.

Beck laughed. “You thought I was—I thought attorneys were supposed to believe everyone was innocent until proven guilty.”

“I saw you.”

“Well we both know that isn’t true.” Beck stopped herself, blind jokes were beneath her, and would only lead to more hostility. “Listen, we need to talk, and I’m on a bit of a tight schedule. The employees in this shithole you dropped me in aren’t exactly accommodating. So I doubt a phone conference is an option. Get here as soon as you can and I’ll tell you exactly what you saw.”

“Why should I help you? You don’t have any proof of what you saw.”

“Can you say that for sure? I found you, didn’t I? Surely you’d like to know how.” She said smoothly.

He went quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again his words were cold as ice. “Maybe that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

So he wasn’t one to be cornered. Good to know.

“Fair enough. Then let me give you this incentive: there’s more than one devil wandering the streets of this city, and if they find me before you do, things are going to get very, very messy for the lovely employees of this fine establishment. Tick-tock, Matthew.” Beck hung up the phone and let the threat dangle. The officer took her back to her cell and shoved her inside.

All she could do was wait.

He arrived in a suit with a frown on his face and a pair of little red glasses on the bridge of his nose. In one hand was a briefcase, and in the other was a long, slender stick that they both knew he didn’t need to get around. He filed into the meeting room behind her and shut the door.

“Barbra Fry.” He greeted, his fingers wandering over a handful of papers without looking at them. Was that for show as well? Beck mirrored his irritable frown. “You have five minutes.”

“How much privacy do we have?” Beck asked, unable to stop how nervous she felt. She didn’t like being caged, and she didn’t like being watched.

“Attorney client privilege. They can’t listen to this meeting. Now what do you want?”

“Isn’t that a nifty rule.” She said, leaning back in her chair and curling her hair around her finger before wincing and stopping herself. “They can’t get around that?”

“You’re wasting my time. Given your complete and utter lack of a record and your burnt off fingertips, I know this isn’t your first run in with the law.”

“My fingertips are burnt off because I was burned last night, jackass.” She hissed.

“Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before setting half of Hell’s Kitchen on fire.” He snapped. This wasn’t going well. “Three minutes.”

Beck took a breath and tried to settle her racing thoughts. He swore they weren’t listening, but she still lowered her voice.

“I don’t know what you saw or—felt or whatever your situation is here. But you’ve got it the wrong way around. I can’t tell you all of the details here. I don’t care if you say they aren’t listening. But I haven’t ever hurt anyone.”

“The flames were coming from your hands.” He hissed, like he thought she was lying and detested her for it.

“No, they weren’t. If I had control of that fire, why wouldn’t I have burned you alive when you rolled off of me? If you know what I can do, or if you even suspect what I am, then surely you’re smart enough to realize that I could have hurt you back there. I could have killed you. But I didn’t. And I didn’t start that fire.” She gave him a hard look, because at this point she couldn’t tell if he was acting or not with his bumpy paper and his glasses and his eerie ability to navigate everything without fumbling.

“You’re lying. Your heart is racing.”

Beck made a frustrated noise in the back of her sore throat. “My heart is racing because I’ve been kept in enough cages in my life. They make me nervous. Even worse, I may not hurt anyone, but I wasn’t lying when I said that other people will if they find out I’m here. My ex and I have a—complicated relationship. And she’s not known for her niceties. If she finds out I’m here and sees me in this state… she’ll hurt people.”

He sat back in his chair. Five minutes had to be up, but he wasn’t leaving. After a moment he pressed. “Your ex?”

“Harper Byrns.”

“Harper Byrns? The Harper Byrns? Jesus why didn’t you just say Tony Stark?”

Beck smacked her fist on the table in frustration and let out a shrill, yelp of pain. It was the first time she saw him soften a bit. He bit the inside of his cheek, but it was there, a glimmer of concern. When she spoke again, she was trying desperately not to cry.

“Goddamn it for once in my whole life I’m not lying. And even if I was, the thing that set those fires is still out there. My familiar is watching her, but it is only a matter of time before she spooks again and another building goes up in flames. Next time it might not be an abandoned warehouse. Please. I am begging you for your help.” She said shakily. Before he could respond, she tried to sweeten the pot. “I can pay you anything. Anything at all. Name a number, and you got it. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Please.”

He sighed irritably and nodded. “They don’t have much to hold you on. I can get you out.”

Beck could have collapsed from relief. He gathered his papers and left the room for a moment, then returned with a bag of her things. Most notably her wand. He wasn’t touching it, thank the spirits, but he didn’t give it back. Instead, he put the entire bag of belongings into his briefcase with a firm look, as if he dared her to argue. She didn’t, even if it bothered her.

He took her to a taxi parked behind the building and opened the door for her, which she was grateful for, but the ride to his office was relatively silent aside from the driver, who was singing along softly to music in a language she didn’t know.

“Did they-” He clenched his jaw, as if the words coming out of his mouth were physically uncomfortable. “Do you need to go to a hospital or something?”

“No!” She said, unable to stop the fear from her voice. Instinctively, she put her arms to her chest to protect the wounded flesh. “No! No I don’t… No. Please.”

The driver of the taxi glanced in his mirror, and Beck shut her mouth. There was a slight tremble to her body that she was barely containing. He must have done it to soothe her, but when Murdock reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, she flinched away from him, violently.

Goddamn it.

“You ok back there, lady?” The older gentleman asked. The car slowed a little as if he might stop, but Beck nodded hastily.

“Sorry. I mean, yes. Yes I’m fine.” She answered, looking out the window. God the city here still made her sick.

A few minutes later the driver pulled into a spot in front of the building Boda had described to her, and to his credit, once more, Murdock helped her out of the vehicle. Standing up from a sitting position made her ribs burn from where he’d punched her but she hid it well enough.

“Don’t—enhanced normally heal quicker?”

“I don’t know what that means.” She muttered, slowly tackling the steps one at a time. He was walking behind her, as if he was afraid she’d fall, but she didn’t like not being able to see him. “But to heal faster I’d need a spell or a potion to fix me up. I don’t have either of those. I’m just lucky Boda was able to pull my glamour charm over the burns. I’d have much rather woken up in that cell than the hospital.”

Murdock grunted, and Beck was too out of breath to hazard a guess at what it meant. They went up one more flight of steps before blessedly reaching the office. A blonde man was talking to a slender woman at a desk when they walked in, and they both looked at her with unconcealed horror on their faces that made her wince.

“Oh my god!” The woman was on her feet in an instant, and Beck took an instinctive step back when she rushed forward, only to bump into Murdock and jump a bit. These people were going to give her a heart attack. The woman froze, and Murdock raised his hands as if to show he meant no harm, but she knew what those hands were capable of. Boda was silent in her head, but Beck could practically feel her disapproval. This wasn’t the smartest plan, but in her defense, it’d been the best one she could think of. At least for the population of the city. Besides, even if she couldn’t help being jumpy, she didn’t actually think he was going to beat her up again. Probably.

Murdock scooted around her and took the other man by the arm, leading him into a room to the side. She could see them through the half-closed blinds of the window talking heatedly, but couldn’t hear what they were saying.

“Please, sit down. Can I get you anything? Anything at all. Water, coffee, soda, tea? I’ve got some bagels in the kitchen or-”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie. She was in one of the worst positions that she’d been in for a very long time, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it together.

“Mrs. Fry. This way.” Murdock said as he finally emerged from the other office. He ushered her into another room and shut the door behind them, muttering to the other two that he wasn’t to be disturbed.

“Beck.” She said, gingerly sitting down. His brow furrowed. “My name is Beck. Beck Tandy. But don’t think that’ll get you any more information on me. Witches aren’t exactly—keen on paperwork.”

“Witches. Right.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. “Is that who is starting the fires? Witches?”

“Uh–well, maybe? And no. Look, can you uh, can you maybe not stand over me like that?”

He considered her request for a moment, and then went to sit in a chair behind his desk. Beck let out a soft sigh of relief. He still looked annoyed with the whole situation. He likely didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame him for that.

“The thing starting the fires is called a uuniorava. It is a small, but very dangerous magical creature that kind of looks like the lovechild of a bat, a ferret, a squirrel, and a porcupine. About the size of a large housecat. They’re native to a certain mountain range in Sweden, but the magical division of the Central Park Zoo was given permission to house a mating pair in hopes their offspring might boost the dwindling natural populations.”

“The—magical—division… of the central park zoo.” He said slowly, rubbing his temples. “You know this isn’t easy to swallow, right?”

“I can take you there, if that’s what I need to do to prove it. And I can explain more later. The important thing right now, is that a week ago, the zoo experienced an unprecedented security breach. My friend Midori runs the place, and the board is trying to pin all this on her. But she thinks someone on it is responsible. They want her to take the fall, and the animal brought in dead or alive. Which means dead. Uuniorava have some extremely valuable alchemical agents when—processed but it’s very illegal to kill one without cause. We think someone set her loose so they’d have an excuse to send poachers after her. Now every time she spooks she burns down half a city block, but she’s just an animal. She’s scared and separated from her mate and just trying to protect herself. When you came across me last night, I was trying to part the flames and get inside the warehouse. I knew if I could calm her down, she could douse the flames. But she flew off. So she’s still loose in the city and until someone catches her, the city is still in danger.”

Murdock’s fingers were drumming on the desk. It was a lot to take in, and to his credit, he wasn’t completely freaking out. Though he did look pale in the face. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the plastic baggie with her things.

“Why you? Do you work for the zoo or something?”

Beck grimaced. “Uh, no. Dori is my best friend. She’s amazing at her job, but animals are my thing. Plus, she’s under investigation for all this shit.”

They lapsed into total silence for the longest minute of her life. She could hear the clock ticking, the muttering of his associates outside the door, the distant beeping of a car horn wandering in through the open window.

“... It really wasn’t you.” He said, as if he was only just allowing himself to believe that. “God. And I…I’m so sorry. I don’t normally just-”

“In your defense, it feels like a pretty honest mistake. Right? Trust me, a black eye, a swollen throat, and a few bruised ribs is nothing. You might have even saved my life. If I’d have gotten in there and panicked, she probably would have burned me to death.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had to reassure someone that had hurt her. It wouldn’t be the last. At least it was partially true this time.

“You can’t go back out there like this.” He said, deathly serious. “Let me take you to a doctor. I know some people that would be discreet about it.”

“No.” She snapped. “I don’t need a doctor, but that bag in your hand could do me a whole lot of good.”

Reluctantly, he handed over the plastic bag of her things. He even opened it for her, but she noted he was extremely careful not to make the mistake of touching her wand again. Beck reached in with a soft hiss of discomfort and pulled out a small, fawnskin bag. She reached into its charmed pouches, fingering through each space until she found her potions and pulled one loose.

“Can you, uhm.” She extended the jar of salve to him.

“Of course.” He twisted the cap, but it didn’t budge. He had to try two more times before it popped off. “That’s a hell of a seal.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Trust me things are enough of a mess in that bag. And this shit isn’t cheap.”

She took a bit in her hands and waited for it to soften from the warmth of them. The cool cream smelled of cloudberries and dandelions, and it offered instant relief to the hidden wounds on her arms. As she rubbed it in, she gave him a cautious look. “Can I ask? You can say no, but it’s kind of killing me.”

“No. I can’t see.” He said, not even needing to hear the question. “But I can sense things. Hear them, smell them, feel them.”

“Like my heart racing.”

He nodded slightly. “Yes.”

“So why the whole, goat-man costume? Cosplaying baby Baphomet?”

For the first time since their unfortunate meeting, he smiled and it looked genuine. “It’s a devil.”

“How very—Cristian.”

He chuckled. “I was raised a good Catholic boy.”

“Yikes. Now you’re chasing criminals in red spandex and getting hickeys from witches. Which—by the way—I don’t know who covered that with makeup, but they did a shit job blending it.” She crossed one leg over the other and flexed her fingers, the burns weren’t healed entirely, but enough that she could physically use her hands without it being agony.

“Damn. The lady at Sephora promised me this foundation was my shade.” He said, and Beck felt a little less on edge now that he wasn’t so tense. “I’m not going to turn into a monster or something, right?”

“I’m a witch, not a vampire.”

Their conversation drifted for a while, and Beck tried to tell him what she could. He apologized about a dozen more times for the night before, and Beck brushed him off every time. She was tougher than she looked, she assured him.

They lingered around his office for several hours, waiting for the sun to go down, and when the city was swathed in darkness, she stood.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there. And for lunch.” She said, pulling her bag over her shoulder and standing to her feet. “I meant what I said. Give me a bill, and Harper’ll write you a check. Whatever you want.”

“I’m not taking your money.” He insisted. “Are you really going to go back out there alone? I could help you.”

She shrugged. “Teamwork isn’t really my thing. Besides, she saw you last night, and will probably spook again if you show back up. Trust me, getting me out of that police station helped plenty.”

“They’ll want you to make an appearance in court. Even if it is just to drop the charges.”

Beck snorted. “I’ll be long gone by then. And I have a sneaking suspicion all records of me being there will be too.”

#;;my drabbles #i actually like this drabble's content even if i don't think i portray matt well

0 notes

dinogoofy · 3 years

Text

Scorpion/GN!Reader.

Might kiss you, might rip out your guts.- part one

If you think you've read this before, you've read the earlier version! I've edited and changed enough of the story to need a new post about it, so here it is!

A short summary would be that this is a enemies to friends to lovers fic between a winged reader and Hanzo Hasashi. It will be split in 2 or 3 parts!

I also feel like I should clarify that Hanzo is only referred to as Scorpion because the reader does not know his name until the next part.

MAJOR TW FOR DESCRIPTIONS OF GORE

You could still remember it.

The arena. The smell of the blood, the stench of death. The bodies you saw wheeled out in masses of champions. Blood spattered weapons and walls. A picture was clear in your mind of the horror you felt. Of the anxiety and fear you had to push down every moment you remained in that coliseum. After all the training you had been through, nothing could've prepared you for this.

Being a renowned half breed, one of earthrelm and outworld, you and all your feathered glory was never under the radar of the Gods. After spending your life in earthrelm with your mother, Raiden believed that he could trust you. He had tracked you down and informed you of the details months earlier. Asked you to ready yourself the best you could, earthrealm couldn't lose this. And there you were, stalking the hallways before your battle.

You were nervous. Who wouldn't be? You were a hunter, not a fighter. You tracked your targets from the sky, taking them down before they had a chance to truly fight back. Your fighting style had never been meant for a closed in fight like this. You had almost told Raiden no for that reason, but with the fate of Earthrealm in as the prize, you couldn't do so with a clean conscience.

You remember the little girl, the servant who was being harassed by a separate contestant. One that was sure to die, if you got your hands on him at least. You had separated him from her, roughing him up just a bit so that he'd run off. Keeping at least one person out of harm's way. You had no idea of the powerful ally you had just made.

When the arena was ready for you, it was safe to say that it was more than a bit overwhelming. The cheers deafened you, the bright white outside blinding your first steps out of the dark corridors. You had splayed your wings wide, trying to make yourself look bigger than you were. You kept your head high as your enemy entered the arena.

When scorpion's form stalked into the arena, your stomach had dropped. He was confident. He knew he was going to win. You hoped you didn't look as afraid as you were. He was a renowned powerhouse. Strength, agility, he had it all. You were at a disadvantage, the huge wings that sprouted from your back becoming a curse. It was nothing you couldn't handle however, you had been in tighter spaces than this.

Hadn't you?

The fight started quickly. You weaved out of his range and dodged his attacks. It was wearing you down. After narrowly missing a particularly nasty kick, you knew you couldn't keep this up for forever. Lifting yourself into the air to try and get an upper hand was easy. You circled the arena around him, preparing to swoop down on him from a nose-dive when-

"GET OVER HERE!" The blade pierced though your right wing, through the muscle and into the bone. A scream of pain ripped through your throat as you were yanked back onto the ground.

A string of explicit words left your mouth as the blade was yanked out. You got your feet just in time for Scorpion to charge at you again. You couldn't dodge this time. He managed to land a punch, but when you blocked the second you had a horrific realization that you were too close to him. There was no chance to evade the attacks easily now, he could just yank you back to where you were. You blocked his blows as best you could, landing a few hits of your own, when he reached a hand out and grabbed your wing.

The excruciating pain had burned itself into your memory. His hand lit up in flames in a split second, charring your wings. You cried out in pain, trying to push him off of you, but he remained unmoveable. Your wing caught fire, and the flames tickled and singed the feathers of the other one.

The pain was all you could think about as your lifeline burned and faded, and you hardly noticed when his blade ripped through your throat. He dropped you to the floor, the fire starting to burn out all the while you gasped and gurgled for air.

It went black quicker than you expected. You had died. What a pitiful ending. Slaughtered in the arena, killed while fighting a pathetic fight. All your years of training, and still you weren't good enough.

The first breath that came back to you felt awful.

The room was quiet. Muffled cheers and screaming was heard from outside the dark brick walls. You brought a hand up to your throat, wincing from the pain that erupted from the charred wing as you stretched. The wound was closed. It was healed. Small, delicate hands steadied you as you sat up. Kind brown eyes watched you with concern. It was the servant girl from earlier. You tried to speak, but let out a horrendous series of coughs. You took a deep breath when they finally stopped.

"I… I thought I was… What happened?" She gave you a tight-lipped smile, showing you her blood covered hands. Runes were carved into her skin. The child had revived you with a magic you couldn't recognize. Your intreage turned to concern as you reached out for her. Holding her hands gently.

You never learned how she knew such powerful magic, and you didn't press her about it. In fact, she never spoke. The servant girl beckoned you to follow her, and led you through tunnels underneath the raging battlefield. Twist after turn, corridor after another, she stopped at a small, empty room.

Three, dead end entryways sat in the circular surroundings. The small girl sat down, giving you a smile, before plucking a sharp, glass dip pen out of her pockets. Out of all the horrors you had seen, your stomach churned and wanted to revolt at the sight of the kind girl cutting along her hands.

Stroke after stroke, she created runes on the backs of her hands, connected them to the ones on her palms and intertwined their meanings. When she had finished, she pocketed the pen again. You went to call out to her, to ask if she was alright, but the words died in your throat as she slammed her hands onto the floor.

With a bright flash, blood ran from her hands, trailing across the floor in dripping, intricate lines. The streams of blood ran straight up the corners of the doorways, lining all three. She sighed deeply and the center doorway lit up.

It was a portal. To home. To earthrealm.

It was beautiful. The chance to leave it all behind. To go home. To rest and recover and… and live.

You couldn't leave her like this. Not without a thank you. Not without something of worth. The girl looks up at you as you move to stand in front of her, hands glued to the floor. She smiles, and in a raspy, broken, almost intelligible string of noises, she speaks.

"F… feather…?" You teared up at the sorry sound of the sweet girl's voice. And knelt down to her, careful of the lines of blood. With a wince, you plucked a feather from your one, good wing, one the size of her forearm. You gently set it in her lap, but she shook her head.

You understood what she meant. With a shaky breath, you finally look over at your charred, destroyed wing. The pain was easy to ignore as long as you avoided the sight. But know there was no ignorance, no pretending it never happened. Your bad wing twitched in a motion that had you crying out in pain, but amongst the remaining, once soft down that fell, a single, black, ashy, sooty, burnt feather fell to your knees. You gingerly pick it up, and give her a skeptical look before setting it in her lap with the other. She smiles again, softly. And bows her head to you.

You turned to look back at her after you stepped through the portal. She finally stands, and bows to you again as the portal closes.

You never saw her again. In fact, you never saw Outworld again. But even though you didn't believe that a feather offering would ever be enough to thank her, you did not forsake her gift to you. It took years for your wing to heal, for the feathers to grow back. A patch of scarred skin still remained where Scorpion's hand had touched you, but with the addition of many different salves and medicines gifted to you by kind strangers, the fluffy, beautiful feathers returned to you. Flight, However. Was harder to take back.

You read almost every book you could find- created every exercise, every lesson you would need. But the burns left behind nerve damage along with the scars. It hurt to move the places that weren't numb. But you couldn't lose this. You couldn't lose your flight. It was the one thing you would refuse to give up. Eventually, and you did mean eventually, you had it back. You were a little wobbly, sure, but once you got up there… once you got in the sky, floating along the wind currents, relaxing in the cool air… It was almost like you have never lost the ability in the first place.

You never fought again. Nor did Raiden ever ask you too. You imagined he still believed that you were dead, but it was none of your concern anymore. You left that life behind. It took years to heal both emotionally and physically from what happened, and in the meantime you realized that the life you had before… it really wasn't for you. You didn't want that pain again. Didn't want the chance to have everything taken from you again.

You sighed, flipping onto your back to glide along with the wind, wingspan on full display. You had taken up traveling after you had learned to fly again. Hopping country to country, island to island, exploring the beauty of your own realm. But all this traveling had started to wear away at you. You longed for home. For your old friends. For family. But you refused to settle back down, traveling despite your homesickness. You'd find a place eventually, but only once you had seen the world. You didn't want to die a second time without experiencing all the lands had to offer.

This time, you didn't actually know where you were traveling to. You had just been cruising along the wind current, relaxing in the sky. The lands below were lush and beautiful, the sky a cloudy grey. A nice, cloudy day had always been your favorite to fly in. Days like these being a kind reminder of the days you were young, and energetic, and still learning the sky. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, the tenseness in your back completely disappearing as you glide. For a moment, all you felt was peace.

Your heart rate spiked as a scream sounded off in the distance. Your wings faltered, and you bobbed in the air. Regaining your steady glide after a moment. You frantically searched the ground, shaky hands flexing into fists. You spotted a Cliffside, eyes immediately focusing in on the small form hanging onto the edge.

It became harder to focus. You started to panic at the sight of a small boy holding on for dear life. One of his hands slipped away, and you flinched, almost dropping into a dive by reflex, but you had to stop and think as his final hand remained.

You debated with yourself on if you could carry him, or if trying would kill you both. He would die from that kind of fall. You could die from that kind of fall. Could your bad wing take it? You didn't know, but you were running out of time. You dropped into a nosedive as his strength gave out.

The adrenaline almost put you into autopilot, the wind against your face becoming your only sensation. You hadn't gone this speed in years. The base of your bad wing started to tingle at the thought, reminding you of just how numb the rest of it was.

Stop. Calm down. You can do this.

Your panic cooled into a still determination as you grew closer. The boy faced up towards you, eyes wide and panicked and scared. You fought the wind with your arms, finally looping around his waist.

You caught the little boy just 20 feet from the ground. He clung onto your shirt tightly as you started to slow, wings struggling to lift you up after how fast you were falling, after a few, difficult, sore, flaps of your powerful wings, your weight slowly carried you into the gravelly ground below the cliff in a heavy thump. Your knees buckled at the landing, and you cradled the boy underneath you as you collapsed onto your elbows, panting for breath. Your wings surrounded the two of you like a limp cage.

Your bad wing twitched as you struggled to relax it again, and the soreness started to set in. Shit. You really should've practiced that dive in your self-taught physical therapy. Then again, you never thought you'd have to do that ever again.

"Are you ok?" A little voice asked. You opened your eyes to peer at the scared, worried face underneath you. You tried your best to muster a tired, pained smile, and sat up, letting him go. He didn't move far, crouching beside you. You realized that he couldn't have been much older than a six year old.

"I'm fine. I just need a moment…" You mumbled. "Where are your parents, kiddo?" He frowned for a moment, sitting down beside you with his knees underneath him.

"My grandmaster is somewhere in the forest, " He gestured towards the lush greenery of the field around him. "-but I think I might have to search for him." He said, glancing up at the cliff. You nodded in response. Grandmaster huh? You analyzed his clothes. A ninja in training maybe, you didn't know how you hadn't seen it before.

"Don't worry. I'll help you." You smiled up at him while splaying and retracting the bad wing back and forth. After a tense moment, you collected yourself. Making sure that your bag was still secure on you after the fall, and standing. The bad wing drooping limply while the other folded behind you. The boy stood with you, gazing at your wings with wide eyes. You chuckled at his curiosity, holding out a hand for him to take. He stared at it for a moment, and then back up at you.

"Well? Let's go find him." You nudged your hand forward again, and he smiled, taking your hand. You smiled back at him, trying hard not to grimace at the painful soreness of your wing.

Glancing around, you managed to pick out landmarks you had noticed while flying. Creating a path in your mind of how you could make it back up to that shady, tree covered cliff, you tugged the boys hand lightly. He quietly followed beside you as you walked.

You wandered away from the gravely clearing and into the forest around. Helping the child pick his way through the bushes. The short journey took only about twenty minutes. Mostly consisting of following the edges of the cliff until you could find a slope, and a path that he recognized.

He only let go of your hand when the two of you had to climb a steep side of the path. He quickly scaled it, turning towards you. You smiled up at him, stretching your wings to boost yourself up there out of reflex, but you stopped. Wincing at the soreness once again. The boy looked at you quizzically, and you shook your head at him. You slowly climbed the slope, and continued on. Soon enough, you were moving through the flat patch of shady, woody, land just before the Cliffside clearing. The boy took your hand again.

"Thank you." He said softly. You smiled at him again, squeezing his hand, but not speaking. "...I'm Takeda." You were taken aback for a second, and determined whether or nor you should be giving the child your name. It couldn't hurt, could it? Your voice cut clear through the silent woods as you spoke.

"My name is..."

You started to trail off as a man silently emerged from the brush on Takeda's side, knives at the ready for just a moment. His eyes locked with yours, and then widened. Shocked at the sight of you, his defense faltered a bit, but still remained. You, on the other hand, bristled. Huge wings defensively folding around you and the boy.

You wished it was rage that invoked such a reaction, but it was fear. Your eyes stinged with watery tears that you desperately tried to keep under control.

"Takeda, get back." You commanded, pulling him closer to you by his hand. Takeda tried to speak, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. The awful flashes of memory, the smell, the pain, all of it was running through your mind. Your bad wing twitched and almost retracted back into your body, but you painfully forced it still, desperate to protect Takeda.

"I'm not here to fight you, and I'm certainly not here to hurt Takeda." Scorpion spoke, gaze soft. He hesitated for a moment, but sheathed his weapons. He held his hands out to show you that there were no tricks. Bullshit. You didn't back down, keeping an angry stare set squarely on him. You could see it in his eyes that he knew that you weren't convinced. Takeda quickly put himself between you two, and you almost reached out to yank him back.

"This is my grandmaster," He spoke in a loud voice. Your eyes widened, flickering back and forth between him and Scorpion. It didn't seem like he was lying, he didn't seem like the kind of kid who would lie- but a child being trained by the deadliest member of the Shirai Ryu? You looked squarely at Scorpion with suspicion, looking him up and down. Your defensive demeanor never let down for a moment. You scowled at him, but when Takeda came back over to you, and reached up for your hands again…

You gave Scorpion a warning look, and relaxed your wings. Feathers smoothing out and wings folding behind your back. You squeezed Takeda's hands gently.

"I thought you were dead?" Scorpion's voice was clear and unwavering, but the question portrayed more than his voice would give away.

"I wonder why." You spit the words like venom. Your bad wing twitched again, this time it felt a little more painful than the twitches normally did. You hissed as you held it still. Takeda frowned, looking like he was about to tear up himself. Scorpion's face fell in a guilty look. This supposed new persona of his had to be a trick. Takeda turned to face his grandmaster. Speaking a few quiet words to him in Japanese that you didn't understand. You were to focused on the pain in your wing to care anyway.

You gazed fondly at the little boy, and sighed. It was clear to see that he was indeed Scorpion's student. You were no longer needed. You inwardly scolded yourself for becoming so attached to the boy so quickly. Sure, you had been longing for a connection… for a family… but this, this was not the place, nor the time.

You looked around, the clearing and cliffside edge was close enough that you could see it through the trees. In an almost dejected manner, you started to make your way over to it. The cliff would provide a great spot to make returning to the sky much easier.

"Will you be able to fly?" Takeda's voice called out to you. You stop in your tracks, turning just slightly so that you could see him, and stretched your wings. You winced as you did, the movement bringing back the soreness and pain you had glimpsed while climbing the slope earlier. You pressed your lips together, only glancing at Takeda before looking back at the sky that shone between the leaves.

If you couldn't leave, where would you go? You certainly couldn't stay here. Not with that Man. Not with Scorpion.

"The Shirai Ryu will extend our kindness to you, if you will accept it." You side-eyed Scorpion as he spoke. Fully prepared to decline before you saw the worried look on Takeda's face. You fully turned towards the two, wings low behind you.

"What does that 'kindness' entail exactly?" Your voice came out just above a whisper, but the malice behind it remained. Scorpion's serious face was a contrast to his student's.

"I am offering you shelter at the fire gardens until you have re-gained your strength." You looked at the boy, and then back at the man who killed you, and then at the sky. Who should you trust? Takeda? Or your own broken body? If you took a fall-

You took a deep breath, bit your fear back, and approached Scorpion and Takeda.

#scorpion x reader #hanzo hasashi #scorpion #scorpion imagines #mk scorpion #mkx #mk imagine #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #enemies to lovers #if you are still reading the tags i applaud you #part 2 is coming soon i promise

160 notes · View notes

awsugawara · 4 years

Text

bnha hcs with an artsy s/o [1/?]

i’m going to make this a mini series, so expect to see this AND haikyuu characters too :) i will also do the k-pop hcs too, so look forward to that !

note: your quirk will be the same all around, if implied you have one!

Quirk: AMBIENT ILLUSION - with a single touch of your hand or glance, you are able to make your opponent think that they’ve been taken to another “realm,” but in actuality their body movements mimic those in the illusion; it’s a quirk that can be used for good or for bad; your creativity isn’t limited, but the side effects are headaches, nausea, and sometimes insanity for a short period of time until your stamina runs out or unless someone knocks you out

Hero Name: Chiaroscuro or Chiasu [for short]- referring to the major contrast of light and dark in an image; in italian it is said to literally mean light-dark

enjoy :)

---

s. aizawa

> teacher x teacher scenario tyvm

> you were a popular teacher at U.A., teaching in some of the general studies classes as an art teacher

> students in class 1-C, D, and E would flaunt how cute/hot and talented their pro hero of an art teacher was

> midnight was gossiping about you with present mic and aizawa overheard

> he knows you have your own agency, so how you double that plus being a teacher was beyond him

> “oh midnight! i was actually looking for you :)”

> aizawa-seeing-a-cutie.exe has stopped working.

> for someone who is low energy and stoic for the most part, this was new

> got more acquainted with the other teachers, but you were really close with aizawa

> funny thing is,,,you and aizawa met up a lot after school and you eventually started dating

> the other pro heroes at the school only found out is when midnight had walked in on them kissing

> the students found out about the relationship when aizawa walked you to your next lecture class as he left class 1-A with present mic

> aizawa glared at them and as soon as he left, your students pelted you with questions, until the teacher told them to quiet down

--- k. takami

> keigo is like a SIMP for you

> he practically with go out of his way just to buy you new art stuff

> “babe...i don’t need anymore sketchbook paper...i have an office at the school and they supply my paper-”

> “you can never have enough, my dove”

> you work at U.A. as an art teacher and met keigo when you were walking home from the school

> you had a run in with a villain, who was on a mission to kidnap you and he swooped in to save you

> your art was scattered all over and some destroyed and keigo caught a glimpse of them and noticed your U.A. badge

> “you’re a teach at U.A.?”

> keigo walks you home, if you chose to stay late to work on your art

> when you first started dating, he was wondering why you would stay so late, and you had to explain your quirk to him

> he wants to be your #1 source of ideas, but he gives you space when you’re truly at an artist roadblock

> when he took you flying for the first time, he vowed to take you every now and then because seeing how your eyes lit up at the city below made it worth while

--- t. shigaraki

> shiggy treats you like glass

> i see him as someone that really admires you and your quirk, let alone your ability to be able to create such fine pieces of art

> you were a lone wolf, who met dabi, who introduced you to the league

> when shigs laid his eyes on you for the first time, he was SMITTEN

> childishly rants to kurogiri when you and dabi are out patrolling

> “why do they always have to go with that burnt piece of shit”

> #getrekteddabi

> shiggy sucks at socializing and it doesn’t help that you always have a resting bitch face™

> you’re actually a softie and a sweetheart at heart, but you notice shiggs advances and are quite confused

> “uhm...hello, tomura-senpai,,,is there something i can help you with?”

> rip shiggy from the CUTENESS

> one day when you didn’t show up at the base and dabi did, shigaraki and kurogiri gave him a look

> “oh, if you’re looking for Chiasu, they’re at home sleeping...idiot stayed up painting again.”

> shiggy left after demanding dabi to reveal their location

> when he got there, he rang the doorbell and questioning why he came because this really isn’t something he does

> “hmm? tomura-senpai? what are you doing here?” **rubs sleep out of your eyes**

> he felt his heart leap

> “i came to see my s/o after being told that they stayed up working. now, are you going to let me in or am i going to have to force myself inside your house?”

--- dabi

> you were at witz end with your life as a pro hero

> you weren’t depressed or anything,,,just bored,,,no ideas or fighting spirit

>one day, you had happened to run into dabi committing one of his oversized fires

> he tried reading you, but all he got was just your stoic, almost sad, expression

> you hadn’t moved and he was walking toward you, stopping and moving his face down to your level

> “well, well what do we have here?”

> you hadn’t remembered much from that day, but you hadn’t run into dabi and the only time you really left your house was to get more art supplies and food

> when you were trekking home on the same path, dabi stepped from the shadows in front of you

> you just gave him a blank look and tried to side step him, but obv he didn’t let you

> what happened next was probably the most shocking,,,he embraced you

> you didn’t know what to do other than cry...for losing your fighting spirit

> after that day, dabi would check up on you frequently and eventually he convinced you to stay with him, so he can stay with you

> it took about 2 months to get you to smile and boy was that worth it

> you were grateful of dabi for sparking [pun not intended] your creativity

> “if you’re so grateful, why don’t be mine?”

--- h. toga

> innocent is how toga would describe you

> her attraction to you was much more different than the times where she’d feel the need to cut someone up

> she wanted you in one piece, unharmed

> so she dragged you to be apart of the league of villains with her

> shigaraki was skeptical letting in a quirkless civilian into the league, but he found your ability to design and draw potentially useful

> dabi likes to mess with you to rile up himi

> “you lay another burnt hand on my s/o, i WILL cut you”

> himi doesn’t like the fact you’re close with some of the LOV members, so she whisks you away to her room or somewhere that’s not the base

> if you go to school and you’re adamant in finishing, himi will kinda leave out the villainous aspects of her life so you can finish

> if you go to school and you really don’t care for it, she’ll try to convince you to become a full fledged member of the LOV rather than an associate

> the mission with the yakuza was probably super nerve-wrecking for you after you saw it on the news

> you were greeted with a toga at your door that evening and you just glomped her and expressed how concerned you were, knowing what her role in the mission was

> himi met you online and then began kinda figuring out when you went to your fav cafe and art store and what you like to buy and the such

> attentive, but psycho was how you described her at first, but just accepted that aspect of her

---

k. chisaki

> for someone who looks like a plague daddy- doctor none of the members of the yakuza would have imagined him dating a cutie with a QUIRK

> for starters, you kinda once over the media on the yakuza, more so concerned with your art

> so when you accidentally ran into kai one evening, you kinda just shrugged it off and continued to walk home

> he was so confused like didn’t you know who he was?????????

> nonetheless, he saw you again, while you were making your way home from the convenience store with your [fav. drink + snacks]

> “oh hey! i remember you!” **insert tense kai** “you’re that guy from the other day! how are you?” **cue confused kai**

> you didn’t really have much of a reaction when you FINALLY put two and two together on

> “you’re a part of that villainous yakuza, right?” **insert tense kai** “it’s okay i won’t tell, i like you too much to turn you in :)” **cue confused kai**

> he wasn’t sure whether to be more concerned about the fact you’re letting him, a villainous yakuza go, or the fact he is starting to develop feelings for you

> regardless, kai had “kidnapped” you more like you willingly agreed to stay with him, hidden away somewhere, where you were safer

> he allowed you to continue your artistry, but he made sure to stay away at least from that aspect of your life

> he wanted you to feel like you had those forms of freedom with the line of work that he was involved in because he loves you very much

> BONUS: you held a grudge on kai for keeping eri hidden away from you and for what he did to her and got a couple of hits on his ass, but you stayed with her and aizawa after kai was arrested

---

sorry some of these are short or kinda are,,,,idk bad? ^^;

#bnha headcannons #aizawa x reader #hawks x reader #bnha x reader #shigaraki x reader #overhaul x reader #kai chisaki x reader #himiko toga x reader #dabi x reader #keigo takami x reader

522 notes · View notes

lightdancer1 · 2 years

Text

A preview of the next chapter of Sins of the Fathers:

The worst part, Azulon decided upon awakening, was that this nightmare was an entirely self-inflicted problem. For all his other faults, he was not blind enough to see this even in a dream. She had swooped down upon a force of his guardians like a demon from Yama's realm, clad in all-black armor, blue fires blazing beneath her feet.

She had landed neatly as she pleased, his soldiers too unmanned to fire back.

"I am the Scourge of Agni!" Her voice echoed cold and clear and loud. "If you had not committed such sins, Agni would not have sent me among you!"

He saw her draw back her breath, the black armor having an almost blue sheen to its back, and her eyes began to glow a brilliant blue as it did with her charged Firebending. There was that booming sound, inexorable and devastating.

And then that blue fire lanced out again, in a spiral fashion that brought fire and ruin with it. In a single sweep of her head his granddaughter destroyed forces, the survivors either fleeing on fire or simply running.

Her steps echoed like peals of thunder.

Slow and inexorable, as if a Goddess walked toward him clad in black armor with blue glowing eyes.

She said one word.

"Burn."

He awoke to the smell of scorched flesh and the look of hate in glowing eyes, shivering.

#atla aus #sins of the fathers

5 notes · View notes

miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Text

God of you

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30280023

--.--.--.--.--

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

--.--.--.--.--

When they met for the first time, it was an accident.

Langa had gotten lost, to be true. His own blizzard out of control, icicles sparing right through whoever was dumb enough to get close, an avalanche of cold, merciless snow burying those who lingered. Pain and death and desolation, and a young, lost boy right in the middle of it all.

Where was he? Who was he? What was he doing here?

(What was he doing to himself? To others?)

Scared, aimlessly walking down his own frozen path, he started to feel his heart slowing down. The cold freezing him from the inside was familiar, and it horrified him

(Could anybody see him? Hear his silent cries for help?)

His name was Langa. This storm was his creation. And that was all he knew.

Then, suddenly, a strange, painful sensation in his hand. He looked behind him, and the bleeding red was like a jab to his eyes, used to only white and light blue.

And it didn’t stop there. Tan skin, bright eyes, colorful robes that covered very little for the unforgiving weather surrounding them. Looking at this person was an entirely new experience, evoking a feeling deep in his chest and down to his stomach that he didn’t know how to name yet. It was scary. It was exciting.

“Jeez, dude. Look at the mess you’re in. Are you okay?”

His hand, his hand, it hurts! But then, as he got used to the feeling (too surprised to snatch it away), he noticed that the stranger’s fingers cradling his hand weren’t trying to provoke damage. It was a soft, mushy sensation. Pins and needles at first, but… enticing, now.

“What… are you doing?”

The other man smiled a bit, tightening his grip. Langa felt an irresistible compulsion to turn around and completely face him, so he did.

(He was confused and didn’t know more than his name, but he still thought it wasn’t like him to deny his impulses.)

“Trying to warm you up”, he replied, fingers rubbing at his palm in soft, circular motions.

Warmth. That was the feeling, in his hand, in his stomach, surrounding his chest. It was… He wasn't sure what it was, yet. But. He liked it?

“Trying being the magic word; you’re freezing,” he followed up with. His smile turned into a worried frown. “Can you even feel my fingers?”

They were all Langa could feel, to be honest. His throat was dry.

“How did you even get here, the closest village is about two hours of walking.”

“I… I don’t know.”

The other looked at him in silence. Seemingly trying to decide on something, he finally sighed and gently tugged on the hand still in his possession.

“Well, come on.” At Langa’s confused stare, he smiled, broader than before, and tugged again. “I can’t exactly leave you here by yourself, now can I. My home is a bit far, but if we can make it there by sundown, my mother will have dinner ready and hopefully we’ll warm you up enough to keep you from death. My name is Reki, by the way.”

“Reki…”, he repeated. It tasted sweet, on his tongue. The warmth in his hand was climbing up his arm, and now he felt it on his cheeks. “I’m… Langa,” that much, he knew. Everything else, he’d have to figure out.

But there, walking behind Reki, cold and warm fingers intertwined, he thought that maybe it wouldn't be scary, the meantime.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Kyan family lived in the village’s outskirts. Owners of a field (a big one, at that), they weren’t doing bad enough that they couldn’t afford to take Langa in.

He learned a few things, staying with them. The feeling of a warm, hearty meal (Mrs Kyan was a very good cook). The sensation of mud between his fingers (as the only man, only Reki worked the fields; as an unpaying guest, Langa helped). The quietness of a night without snow storms (it was always warm, inside the house.)

(But that might be just because of Reki.)

Langa didn’t mind his fleeing memory (questions about who was he and where did he come from seemed to dwindle with every afternoon spent trailing after Reki as he completed his chores), nor the hard work (there was something about this man, Langa couldn’t help but think, that he made everything fun). But the dark looks of worry Mrs Kyan and Reki would get, as winter seemed to get worse and worse, kept him awake at night.

So he tried. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing, only that it seemed to work when the ice covering the Kyan’s crops would get thinner with each passing day, despite the surrounding lands being completely white with thick snow. And he made sure to do the same the following winter, and the one after that.

And with that relief came back Reki’s brilliant smile, growing with each warm meal his sisters finished, with every happy laugh line furrowing his mother’s forehead. It’d only grow brighter as he held Langa’s hand between his and claimed what a good luck charm this weird foreigner was, that ever since they took him in, winter seemed to pass them by and leave them untouched.

Privately, Langa thought there was no one to thank other than Reki himself. Because it was him who unknowingly gave him the tools to morph his strange, almost uncontrollable powers into something malleable and useful.

It was Reki who taught him about warmth, and that was enough to help melt his unforgiving frost.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

His memories eventually returned, but it was too late by then. Too fucking late.

Because when they did come, it was just after war had taken all warmth from him.

Reki was gone.

The… the idea didn’t… Langa just couldn’t…

Reki was gone.

War had come, and he’d been called to fight. As the only man in his family, there was really no other option. And even when Langa had raged and shook, insides freezing over despite it being summer, demanding he took him with, Reki had stayed firm. As firm as he was when he found a strange man lost in a blizzard and took him home. As firm as he was when the villagers looked at them walking around, pointing at his strange, delicate features, his white skin and blue hair, and spoke of curses and demons. As firm as he was when people noticed his crops remaining healthy throughout the winter and spoke of witchcraft, or blessings, or miracles, and did their damned best to either hurt Langa or steal him for themselves.

The same firmness that made him feel secure and steady despite his blurry past and uncertain future, caused him now such unfathomable despair.

Because Reki was gone. And he hadn’t taken Langa with him.

When warnings about the dangers of war hadn’t been enough to stop him, Reki had played dirty. He spoke about his mother, too old to work the fields, and his sisters, some of them even approaching marriageable age and a little bit too tempting to those seeking to harm young girls, or to take advantage of the Kyan’s prosperous wealth.

Fear made him desperate to go with Reki, but duty forced him to stay. So he did, and he worked the fields in summer, and fixed the roof when it broke during the storm season in autumn, and kept ice off the crops during the harshest days of winter.

And when spring came, so did his memories.

And so did news of Reki’s death.

Reki was gone. And Langa was eternal.

He was a God, he knew then. A young, lost one, who after straying too far from his realm had gotten stuck in mortal lands. And then, after meeting Reki, he couldn’t leave.

Because a God that forgets themselves and loves a human might not return home as long as their dear heart remains in life.

But now Reki is gone, the warmth he shared with Langa taken with him, far beyond where he’d ever be able to reach.

He was a God. He could blow mountains away with a single breath, destroy villages with the swoop of a hand, could will the cruelty of winter away or force it to stay with scarcely a thought.

But he couldn’t bring his love back, couldn’t keep that heat blaring brightly inside himself. Without Reki’s warm palms protecting the flame, it died off like a candle left outside during a storm.

Langa’s pain, his broken heart, brought fore disasters previously unheard of. Lands freezing so completely, life couldn’t survive there. Winds so cruel and cold they’d cut anyone stupid enough to brave them. The battlegrounds in which Reki’s blood had been spilled were promptly destroyed, the strength of the blizzard he sent there opening the earth below worse than an earthquake. The only place left untouched, after Langa’s rage simmered down into heart wrenching despair, was the Kyan’s household, abandoned but for himself after their scared inhabitants had decided to migrate away from all the destruction.

Reki was gone, and Langa’s hands (and his heart) were cold again.

He had forgotten just how painfully numbing the chill in his bones was.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eventually, Langa’s despair became too much for anyone to handle. Life on earth was going to be no more, unless someone stepped up and did something about it.

But there was only one thing that could melt the God of Snow, and Winter, and Cold. A person that was long gone, lost forever.

But what’s forever for a God?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was the God of Dreams and Nightmares that searched in Langa’s memories for his beloved. The God of Youth and Strength the one who built his mortality, piece by frail piece. The God of Spring and Beginnings that breathed life into it. The God of Tricks and Determination who travelled far beyond anyone else’s reach, to steal back the soul needed to tie it all up together.

(Because Langa wouldn’t accept it, unless it was real. It was no good, if it wasn’t this one.)

And so they worked together for the first time ever, resolutely, tirelessly. Until they could softly place this new human (this old being) on Earth and will it to live.

Until one bright August 8th afternoon, thousands of years after his death, Kyan Reki, all of ten seconds after his second birth, opened his eyes and cried.

And all the way across the world, a God heard him. And his heart started beating again, slow but steady. And his love, his never dying love, drove him (eager and willing) away from his Godly lands and into mortal ground again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He didn’t recognize him by looks, but touch. So it wasn’t until hours after their introduction (hours after Langa, itchy mortal skin covering his godly one, had entered that classroom, tired and cold and still so fucking lonlely), when this bright eyed boy had offered him a hand to get back on his feet after falling off his skateboard, that he felt it again.

When their hands touched, the warmth in his fingertips traveled fast and vicious through his arm and shoulders, until finally settling over his chest. Surrounding a heart that was beating wildly, desperate to reach out to its other half.

And Reki, who was mortal but also a little bit more (built by the Gods themselves, from pieces and ashes and stolen remains), gasped in syntony with Langa.

Trying times would come, the presence of a strong God and an existence that wasn’t fully human nor godly drawing the attention of other powerful beings. Beings that, following Langa’s example (curious as to what exactly was tempting enough, to drag one as grand as him down from his frozen throne), donned mortal skins and meddled with their affairs.

Some would try to help, some to harm, others just to observe. It really didn’t matter, to Langa.

Because he had Reki’s hand in his again, his flame now a burning fire in his veins, and he wasn’t going to ever let go.

#my writting #Renga #Kyan Reki #hasegawa langa #reki x langa #langa x reki #langa is WHIPPED #but what else is new am i right?#I don't even know what's this #reki is a ray of sunshine #renga fanfiction #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 the infinity fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

atomic-taco-muffin · 3 years

Text

The Lost Princess Chapter 38

Warnings: same as the last chapter

Rating: SFW

“A scattered dream that's like a far-off memory.”

“A far-off memory that's like a scattered dream.”

“I want to line the pieces up--yours and mine.”

It was your birthday yet again in Daybreak Town. All of the foretellers gathered together and released lanterns for your birthday.

“How long do you think we’ll keep this up?” Aced asked.

“Till I get my daughter back,” Ira said.

“But we don’t even know if she’s alive. How do you know that you’ll get her back?” Invi said.

“I can feel it in my heart. She’s alive and she’s happy. And she will return.”

~~~~

Xehanort smirked at the sight of the lanterns entering Scala ad Caelum.

“So, he’s still hopeful of his daughter. He won’t be for long,” he said. He summoned his Keyblade and broke one of the lanterns.

“That girl will fall into darkness. She just needs a little convincing,” he said.

~~~~

Roxas walked through the basement corridor. He saw two capsules with familiar faces inside.

“...Donald. ...Goofy?” he asked. He turned to the door at the end of the hall and entered. DiZ was standing in a completely bright room in front of a single large capsule.

“At last, the Keyblade's chosen one. The protector of the Spirit,” he said.

“Who are you talking to? Me? Or Sora?” Roxas asked.

“To half of Sora, of course. You reside in darkness. What I need is someone who can move about the realm of light and destroy Organization XIII.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“I am a servant of the world.” DiZ laughed.

“And if I'm a servant, then you should consider yourself a tool, at best,” he said.

“Was that... Was that supposed to be a joke?” Roxas asked as he summoned his keyblade.

“'Cause I'm not laughing!” he said. Roxas ran up to DiZ and struck through him. The Keyblade created a wave of data through DiZ. Roxas, surprised, stood straight.

“My apologies. This is only a data-based projection,” DiZ said. Roxas screamed in anger, and futilely struck DiZ repetitively with the Keyblade. DiZ vanished and reappeared behind him while Roxas caught his breath.

“Come, over here,” DiZ said. Roxas stared at DiZ.

“I hate you so much...” he said.

“You should share some of that hatred with Sora. He's far too nice for his own good,” DiZ said.

“No! My heart belongs to me!” Roxas ran and cut again through DiZ. DiZ disappeared and the capsule glowed. The mechanical petals opened slowly and revealed what they contained.

“Sora...(Y/N)...” Roxas said. There, you and Sora were sleeping soundly in the capsule.

“You're lucky. Looks like my summer vacation is...over,” Roxas said. Roxas turned around and faded to white.

“Sora? (Y/N)?” he asked.

“Huh?” you asked.

“Who's there?” Sora asked.

“Sora! (Y/N)!” Donald said.

“Wake up, you two,” Goofy said. You and Sora woke up and the capsule opened again in front of Donald and Goofy. You and Sora stretch and the other two laugh at how small your clothes have gotten. You and Sora jumped out of the capsule in front of them and grabbed them in your arms.

“Donald!” you said.

“Goofy!” Sora said. The four of you laughed and hopped in a circle. Jiminy Cricket climbed on Sora's shoulder, yawned, and stretched. Odile did the same thing on your shoulder.

“That was some nap!” Jiminy said. Jiminy hopped down to the floor.

“You mean, we were asleep?” you asked.

“I guess we musta been, or I don't think we'd be so drowsy...”

“When do ya think we went to sleep?” Goofy asked.

“Uhh...” Donald said.

“Let's see...we defeated Ansem...” Sora said.

“Yep,” Goofy said.

“...restored peace to the world...found Kairi... Oh yeah, and then we went to look for Riku. And my brother gave me Odile and showed me memories of my parents. I think that's right so far,” you said.

“Then what?” Donald asked.

“What does your journal say, Jiminy?” Goofy asked. Jiminy took out his journal.

“Gee, there's only one sentence... ‘Thank Naminé.’ Hmm... I wonder who that is,” he said. You, Sora, Donald, Odile, and Goofy looked at one another and shook your heads.

“Some journal that is,” Donald said.

“Well, what do ya say we find out where we are!” Jiminy said. You and the group walked to Twilight Town and entered the Usual Spot.

“You know, I think I've been to this town,” Sora said.

“Me too,” you said.

“What's it called?” Donald asked.

“Hmm... Guess we must've imagined it,” Sora said. Hayner, Olette, and Pence were boredly lying around the room.

“What do you want!?” Hayner asked.

“Uh, nothing. Just wondering what was back here,” you said.

“Now you know. This is our spot.”

“Umm...” Pence said.

“What?” Sora asked.

“You're...new around here, right? I'm Pence.”

“Hayner. Nice to meet you, but we got stuff to do, so catch ya later,” Hayner said as he left.

“My name's Olette. Hey, did you finish up the summer homework, yet? Independent studies are the worst, huh?” Olette said.

“Homework?” you and Sora asked. The two of you looked at Donald and Goofy, who shrugged.

“Hey, what're your names?” Pence asked.

“Oh. We’re Sora, (Y/N), Donald, and Goofy,” Goofy said.

“And this is Odile,” you said. Odile popped out and looked at everyone.

“Aww, she’s so cute!” Olette said as she scratched under Odile’s chin. Odile purred at the feeling.

“You know, we just met someone who was looking for you,” Goofy said.

“He sure seemed in a hurry. He had a black coat on so I couldn't see his face, but he had these big round ears,” Pence said.

“The King!” Donald said.

“Where'd you see him?” Sora asked.

“At the station,” Pence said.

“The station! Thanks!” you said.

“Well, we'd better get back to that assignment,” Olette said.

“Later,” Pence said. Him and Olette lef the Usual Place, leaving you, Odile and the trio by yourselves.

“Oh boy! The King's trying to find us!” Donald said.

“Yeah, let's get to the station!” Sora said. The five of you entered the Sandlot and found Seifer, Fuu and Rai.

“Hey you, where'd you come from?” Seifer asked.

“Uhh...” you said.

“You here to pick a fight with us or something?”

“Fight? We're not here to fight,” Sora said.

“Yeah, you big palooka!” Donald said.

“Okay, smartalecks... Time to teach you how to behave in my town. Bring it!” Seifer said. Him, Fuu, and Rai took defensive stances. Odile stood in front of you and the trio in a hostile manner.

“Calm down, Odile. We’re not gonna fight these guys,” you said.

“Man, what a jerk,” Sora said. Donald nodded and the five of you continued your trek to find the station. The five of you continued to Central Station and were suddenly surrounded by Dusks. You all fought them, but were overwhelmed and became exhausted. Mickey appeared on the ledge of the station. As the Dusks striked again and Sora held up his Keyblade while you held onto your dagger and Odile, Mickey swooped down and destroyed the remaining Nobodies with his own Keyblade. You and Sora were amazed. Donald and Goofy pushed you and Sora down and out of the way.

“Your Majesty?” Donald asked.

“Shh! You gotta board the train and leave town! The train knows the way,” Mickey said as he held out a pouch of munny.

“Here,” he said. Sora took it and Mickey ran to Market Street.

“Your Majesty...” Donald said.

“The King... Was that really him?” Sora asked.

“It coulda been... Yep, I know it was!” Goofy said.

“Now we know he's okay!” Donald said.

“The king was locked in the realm of darkness, right?” you asked.

“Uh-huh,” Goofy said.

“But we just saw him,” Sora said.

“Yep,” Donald said.

“And if the king is here, that means Riku’s here!” you said.

“He’s gotta be!” Donald said.

“Well, (Y/N) and I are gonna go look for Riku. Then we can go back to the islands together. Kairi’s there waiting for us! What are you two gonna do?” Sora said.

“Gawrsh, Sora. Do ya have to ask?” Goofy said. You and Sora giggled. Odile nudged your cheek, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? What is it, Odile?” you asked. Odile moved around, asking about Vanitas.

“Vani...I don’t know. I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. But as long as I have you, Odile, I think he’ll be okay,” you said.

“You really care about him, huh?” Donald asked.

“Of course. He was my best friend and my brother. I have to know if he’s okay.”

“Hey, what do ya say, guys? Let’s stick together for one more journey,” Sora said. You all nodded in agreement.

“To...where again?” he asked.

“We hafta board the train!” Goofy said.

“Oh yeah.” You and Donald sighed while Odile shook her head.

“C'mon!” Sora said. The four of you ran inside the station.

“Wait up!” Hayner said. Him, Pence, and Olette caught up to you.

“Hey, Sora, (Y/N)...” he said.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing, but...”

“We came to see you off. It just seemed like something we oughta do,” Pence said.

“Oh...really? Thanks!” Sora said. Suddenly, there was a ringing sound.

“You should hurry and get your tickets,” Olette said.

“Right,” you said. Sora took out the Munny Pouch at the teller and Olette noticed.

“What is it?” you asked. Olette took an exact copy of the Munny Pouch.

“They're the same,” Goofy said.

“Yeah,” Olette said. Sora looked to both pouches and shrugged.

“Four tickets, please!” he said. The teller gave him four tickets.

“I can't help feeling like we won't see this town again...” Sora said.

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're thinkin' too much,” Goofy said.

“Yeah, you're right!” You and the Trio boarded the train and followed it to Master Yen Sid’s tower.

~~~~

A girl was walking along the halls of a castle, trying to find her sister. She soon found her, reading a book in the seating area. She walked over to her and looked at her.

“Ugh, what do you want?” the sister asked.

“Father wants to see us,” the girl said. The sister groaned and followed the girl to their father’s office. The girl knocked on the door and waited for her father’s response.

“Enter,” he said. The two girls entered and saw their father at his desk.

“You wanted to see us?” the sister asked.

“Yes. A spirit has awoken. Find her and bring her here,” he said.

“A spirit? I thought that we were the only ones,” the girl said.

“Well, you’re not. Now go and don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yes, father,” the two girls said. They walked out of his office and walked down the halls.

“Should we ask Uncle Xigbar for help?” the sister asked.

“No. I think we can handle ourselves. Besides, it’s just one spirit. We’re far more stronger than she is,” the girl said. The sister smirked and summoned her weapon.

“This is going to be fun,” she said.

to be continued...

#kingdom hearts #kingdomhearts #kingdom hearts imagine #kingdom hearts x reader #kingdom+hearts+imagine #kingdom+hearts+x+reader #kingdomhearts imagine #kingdomhearts x reader #kingdomhearts+imagine #kingdomhearts+x+reader

4 notes · View notes

foxsstoriesarchive · 3 years

Text

Legend of the Demons

The Legend of Demons

~~~

“In the times before the great undoing, a mythical Phoenix swooped the underground causing an eternal fire to light. That, was the beginning of life.”

~~~

The Realm of Demons (Known as Ura) had come to life only when the seven fallen princes were banished to a barren underground land. The sun didn’t shine, yet it appeared that the land was naturally lit up with the fire that burned as well as odd crystals that soon enough would be harvested to create an eternal light source. Each prince began plans for what they wanted to do with the land, and upon arguments they came to a solution. They were to create seven cities across the land, each city ruled by one of the princes. Six in a circle with the final seventh city built around the burning fire that never seemed to go out; Shortly named the Infernal Fires. To build these cities took time and they had to gather followers. With their fall however, roughly 2,400 angels came with them. With more buildings created, the cities grew into something like metropolises, brimming with life and energy. Each city had its own rules, yet main rules governed the Realm of Demons, keeping a neutral ground for all. These rules weren’t as strict as those of angels, and were almost nothing alike to the human ones. Many demons inhabited the cities. From Demons of Fate, goblins, Incubi and Succubi, Wandering groups of Demons visiting from other realms that decided to settle. Demonic familiars, Drudes, elemental demons, demons that were born from a union of a demon with a human. The mischief makers, the chaotic. The dangerous and the ones not to be underestimated. There were many demonic races within the realm that came together, making the Realm what it is known as today. The seven cities and their princes are known as; Plamerium, the city of Greed and led by Mammon. This city is what you could compare to Las Vegas the most. Bright with many lights, there are a lot of casinos and flashy buildings here where demons can waste their time away making bets and deals that to a rational human might be beyond understanding. Everything is fair game here. The more you own, the wealthier you are, the better for you. The more you gain in this city, the better your position is on the hierarchy and the billboards. Azepolis, the city of Lust and led by Asmodeus. Azepolis is known for its high population of Incubi and Succubi, whom find it the most attractive place to live. If you’ve ever heard of the ‘Red Light District’, imagine this the huge version of that. Plenty of places to visit if you wanted a ‘good time’ although you coming out of there alive might not be guaranteed. Lust for sex, lust for life, this is how the demons of this city roll. Vakadeium, the city of Envy led by Leviathan. Envy is a powerful one to tamper with, and oftentimes in this city there is a lot of stealing. Finders keepers as they say, although it’s not always about just the taking of people’s physical items. From statuses, abilities, to even powers and traits, this town is known for being a huge masquerade of thievery. Everything and nothing belongs to everyone, it’s a constant fight to see who can collect the most. Visit with caution. Liosontry, the city of Gluttony led by Beelzebub. The city of food! Everywhere you go there’s places to eat. Restaurants, demonic versions of fast food restaurants. And the food? The food is well known for being addictive, making the individuals want to eat more and more. Even with demons having a rather quick metabolic system, the amount of food consumed really could leave you in chair for days. Luckily a lot of demons are good with burning down toxins. Now, anyone up for a pig leg? City of Straka, lead by Amon and the city of Wrath is the home to some of the most dangerous demons in the Realm of Demons. Even by the realm’s standards, some of the demons that live there are outlawed due to how chaotic they are, destroying things in their path. The demons living here have a notorious tendency to escape to the human world, which causes grave danger for the supernaturals living peacefully with the humans around them. There’s no love, just fury and hatred. Enter at your own death wish. De’Klaco, the city of Sloth belonging to Belphegor. The

quickest way the the best way. This city is filthy in more ways than one; The demons living there are known for their laziness and procrastination. They want to play but not put any effort into what they do, which leads to half-assed efforts from them and oftentimes unfinished businesses. These demons can’t be trusted with anything and honestly are the worst when it comes to productivity. They’re sly too, they know how to get things with the least effort to put into it. And finally the central city Stellatinam, the city of Pride led by no other than Lucifer. The city of pride, the excessive belief in one’s own abilities. There’s a strong Victorian theme running throughout the city,- Horse carriages pulled by demonic steeds can be seen trotting through. Those living in the town are often rather prideful of their abilities, but it’s also known as the least dangerous city to live in. Not to mention that this city is built around the Infernal Fires of the realm, protecting them and of course, priding themselves in being so close to the ‘treasure’ of this realm, reminding them to burn as brightly as those flames. The city has a fancy feel to it and while formal clothing is often seen outside, who knows what kinds of deals go behind doors and windows of the buildings. Would you dare to visit?

~~~

It is known that sometimes other supernatural races might visit the realm when they need something to be done. But the most interesting thing is the fact that in the Central city, Stellatinam, there is a main building that holds every single file of every supernatural living on Earth. From where they came from, to the main points of their lives, all information seems to be noted down about each person. The place is run by demons who sort and file out sheets, keeping in check with any newcomers and timestamping actions that happen in the individual’s life. After all, someone has to take care of the beings on Earth after the increased supernatural apperances, and Lucifer seems to have taken it onto himself, alongside his daughter. The archive building is perhaps one of the most important locations within the City.

~~~

Over time, the Infernal Fires began giving birth to demons. It is a very rare Occurrence that roughly happens every thirty or forty years, producing a single demon each time. No one is quite sure how this happens or for what reason, but these demons tend to have unique traits unlike most of their kind. It is sometimes said that the souls of demons that died return to the flames in hopes of one day coming to life again. Whether this lore is true, no one knows. One thing is well known though, is that demons born from these fires are often born curled around a large crystal of some sort. The colours differ but more often than not, they're called the demon's 'soulstone'. Whether they are kept or not is up to the demon to choose. Their usage is still being studied, but they seem to be connected to the demons in one way or another. Concept Realm of Demons ideas;

1 note · View note

bi-outta-cordonia · 4 years

Text

Ebb and Flow

Last chapter moved kinda quickly in terms of progression and maybe there’s a miniseries lodged somewhere in all the development I’m shocked we didn’t get to see. Hopefully there’s more hiding in the later chapters. We’ll see!

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (if you squint, now complete with light touching!) sfw, all ages. Tags include: Tyril has secrets, that’s why his hair is so long, because it’s full of secrets, also he’s still grappling with some of that juicy early onset sexual tension with Ashala, maybe he’ll deal with it one, maybe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Salt of the air, taste of the fury on the tongue. The high winds rise as the sea roll low. Clutch the vessel starboard and let Honerva flow!”

Tyril’s ears twitch along to the melody, lifting and bending easy from years of involuntary practice. The priestess—Nia—her song is familiar to him but also completely foreign. Parents of Undermount sing the same tales to their restless and misbehaving children, not as an upbeat shanty but rather as a warning to the wise. Honerva is a goddess that demands much from the mortals that traverse her realm. Stay humble but maintain vigilance. Stay the course but do not ignore the many weaving paths that make up the sea. Honerva may grant safe passage or she may dash a ship full of innocents against craggy stones, whichever mood strikes her first.

Nia does beautifully as her voice ebbs and the sailors whoop heartily. She offers a dainty bow and heads back to her bunk beneath deck with Threep still perched on her shoulder.

Much like the odd whims of Honerva, the air shifts as soon as familiar magic cuts through the thin barrier around him. He often erects a small shield when he stands on his own, nothing like the ones he forces up in battle. It’s just enough to give the humes pause as they walk by him—perhaps they’ll turn away so he doesn’t have to stomach looking at them. He knows how they take to him all too well. Better to steer them clear of him before something unpleasant unfolds.

Even so, there is no guarantee that all the walls around him will remain in tact. Ashala Venralei is impossible to miss and her magic is advanced enough that crossing into his doesn’t give her the overwhelming need to be elsewhere. She quietly folds her hands one over the other and leans against the wooden rails.

“Honerva is not a gentle goddess yet humans have such cheerful songs about her,” she says.

“I see,” is all he says. “I didn’t think you’d know of the stories surrounding her.”

“Did the mage miss the morning ritual I conducted prior to our departure?” she teases, head turning completely towards him. He glances at her from the corner of his eye and frowns heavily. “Perhaps I am more elf than he cares to admit—I practically begged for safe passage. Honerva changes moods as often as Mal changes the details of the stories he’s already told. We should be grateful that her temperament has not changed yet.” Her lips quirk. “And that Mal’s stories are amusing. We move amongst seasoned travelers, it seems.”

“Ah, you speak not of I, lowlander,” he corrects. “Undermount has been my home for decades until now. What stories Mal provides come from his adventures. The ones I provide belong to me yet seem to surface whenever it suddenly becomes the fancy of one extremely nosy lowlander.”

She doesn’t laugh and it irritates him in a way. Instead, he watches that sly smile of hers crack across her face, golden eyes as bright as the beaming sun. What little she conveys with her body he can read upon her face.

Sometimes.

“You could always stop me yourself,” she says. “Two days out from port and you’ve yet to spend time with anyone aside from myself. A choice, I presume?”

Tyril doesn’t answer for a long moment. In the skies above, a flock of gulls circle and swoop down towards the sea to scoop up fish for their meals. White feathers shine wetly as they beat their wings and head back to land. He averts his gaze and stares at the distance ahead of him—nothing but miles and miles of endless sea, the horizon almost indiscernible between the place where the sky meets the water.

“I don’t…” He stops and narrows his eyes. “All that I could say about the life I’ve grown accustomed to matters little compared to the reality I embrace now.” He stands taller but takes a shaky breath of the salty air. “Stories of the past often matter greatly depending upon the context but my stories are nothing. Just the ramblings of…”

He grows quiet, bowing his head a bit, and he dares not risk a glance towards the woman beside him. His old governess would give him a whack on the knuckles for such weakness. First and foremost are the lessons of propriety—how to maintain veneer with ease and how to trick one’s enemies into believing the face displayed for them. Of all the sickly sweet smiles and taut smirks, nothing delivers more emphatically than the look of unwavering curiosity brimming in Ashala’s eyes.

Slowly, Tyril turns his head towards her and meets that gaze with his. She exudes smoke and ash, chokes the world around her into a violent submission for it has walked its course over her. She will walk her own path to save a man unrelated to her by blood but in between, the natural well of magic in the world will tip in her bend and the elements all around her will move aside for she refuses to be moved by them.

“You are…” he starts, resting his chin upon his hand. Her eyes flash—a warning or amusement? He isn’t entirely sure. “A strange creature.”

Ashala shrugs. “You are blue. And tall.” She squints at him. “And horribly gruff. I expected elves from the city beneath the stone to be a lot more refined.”

“I can be if I choose so.”

“But you choose not to be in any given moment.” Her head nods towards the door leading to the bunks beneath deck. “Save for when you interact with Nia, of course. Imtura seems unbothered but Mal does everything in his power to crack the frosty exterior you put up.”

He chuckles. “And you seem to think I exist for the sake of reciting old stories. You and Mal are no different in that sense—you are both bothersome. Only he seems to do it because nothing else in this world could possibly entertain him more.”

“You have a vein that pops up on that rather large forehead of yours when you get riled up,” she says. His fingers twitch and his jaw works. He will not rise to the bait. He is better than this.

Better than the coy smirk that tugs at her lips when he does reach up.

And much better than the playful glint in her eyes as he silently tucks his hair behind his ear, very much avoiding the spot on his forehead where the vein could be.

He will not think about this later.

“Is there something in particular you desire, lowlander?” he hisses. “Or have you come to pester me for yet another story?”

She remains silent for a long moment. Her golden eyes sweep back over the water and take in the sight of clear skies all the way in the distance. Her body closes off, turns away to face completely forward. There is a blankness about her face and his brow furrows.

“We all carry secrets, Tyril,” she says quietly. Ashala’s head remains high despite the strange air settling between them. Before the words leave her mouth, he knows the question sitting on her tongue. “Undermount is your home, yet the minute you called out the next destination, there seemed…there was a hesitation on your part.”

His lips press together. “I see.”

“Your skill is unparalleled. Of the five of us, it is clear your training as House Starfuy’s heir—” His jaw works, “—has granted you the boon of power beyond imagining. Knowledge, tactics—there is much to speak of regarding you but we respect your need to hold such truths to your being. Perhaps there is something we are unaware of that is too painful for you to recall—something that would leave you vulnerable.”

He sighs and lays his arm flat against the railing.

“No, it…”

Memories flood the empty space within his mind. Meditation keeps it clear but there are nights where he is restless, tossing and turning as events of the past play out in the form of nightmares most unimaginable. Where there is wisdom there is pride most evil, most corrupting of those that cross its path. His mother—her face is there but hazy. Fanciful feasts, the boisterous laughter of men and women dressed in the finest of silks as servants present delicacies from far and wide—

There was a man whose lips he can still taste—

The woman with straw blonde hair that smiled so beautifully—

House rankings, climbing the rungs of hollowed out ladders that snap so easily but mend just as well if only he would think.

Climb faster.

Push harder.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again.

“It’s…far too complicated to explain at the moment,” he finally answers. Weight presses on his shoulders and a knot forms in his belly. He remembers a sensation like this back then, only it was much more constant. “In some ways, I envy the life you’ve led.”

Ashala offers nothing at first, her eyes never straying from the horizon slowly moving in the distance. “You’ve been surrounded by luxuries most of your life. Your knowledge of our—of your culture is far more extensive. I cannot fathom the idea of envying one born to nothing.”

“I...I was not lacking for anything, no. You assume correctly in a sense. Even the happiness was constant for a time.” Quiet again. At the very least, she does not push. “Everything moved towards a single goal and that was the most exhilarating aspect. To be able to provide for the house meant just as much as being a part of it. Climbing the ranks was a ruthless game but standing atop the other children brought glory beyond compare.”

“You were heir,” Ashala says.

A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Everything I could ever want at my very fingertips—and now? Now, I travel the world committed to a mission that the others of our kind would rather blatantly ignore.” His head shakes. “What good does it do to only partially stop an evil that would destroy us all? Why stop at splitting the shards and why not completely cleanse the world of the Court’s influence?”

Ashala hums but does not respond immediately. Her head turns and she observes him quietly.

“Then it was pure altruism that saw you abandon such a lucrative role?” His eyes dart away and he knows the exact number of whacks on the knuckles the gesture would earn him.

“I’ve been away from Undermount for a long while,” he says. “It’s been months at best yet I know the exact number of whacks I’d get for being so loose with my feelings.”

“Oh? How rare to see such a sight,” she says, hand raising to point at the corners of his mouth twitching. Tyril jerks his head away and snorts, drawing a small laugh from her. “A rare yet delightful thing to see. Perhaps I was mistaken about your ability to express any emotion aside from disinterest and disgust.”

“You could stand to repress some of yours more often,” he fires back. “Humes are widely regarded as loud creatures—you are an elf. Some stoicism would make you tolerable at the very least.”

Her laugh is a full-hearted cackle. None of the heat nor venom of his words take for she finds any slight instance of his annoyance enjoyable. Heat floods his cheeks and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips as she howls with laughter.

“To have an elf accuse me of not being stoic enough!” she wheezes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Would you believe that humans find me to be the most unapproachable creature that walks this land? The children would often run from the pull of my magic lest it would swallow them whole. I suppose those in possession of magic naturally terrify the folk who have so little experience with it.”

He nods. “Much of yours was self-taught, however. Being able to conceal it is one of the first lessons a proper instructor should’ve taught you, but…” He coughs. “I suppose I could…show you. It would be a useful skill when we face certain enemies.”

She quirks a brow. “Now you instructing me? Perhaps it is a moment I eagerly await if only to see the bitter disdain on your face when you realize how difficult it is to teach me!” His eyes roll but she ignores it. “You still didn’t answer my question, Tyril.”

“It was…” He pauses for a long moment. “It was mostly for that reason, yes. But in truth, it is like you mentioned before. There are some secrets I would still prefer to ‘hold to my chest,’ as you say. It isn’t…it isn’t the most pleasant thing to recall, not now. I…”

Again in an instant—

The faces of hundreds who looked upon him with hope—

That looked broken and angry when he turned his back on them—

There is no shame in doing what needs to be done—for doing the right thing. Pride is not the only source of his sense of self. It makes up only a small portion of all of him but the thought still eats at him—the question of what could’ve been always lingers no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it isn’t important to know the answer.

Tyril crosses his arms and gently smooths his fingertips over his bracers. His head bows and he stares at the water violently lapping at the hull as Imtura’s ship cuts through the sea.

“You don’t regret this,” Ashala says, pulling him from his thoughts.

“No, not at all.”

“But there are things you wonder about. Things that you cannot change or reverse as a result of your actions…”

He stands still for a moment before nodding once. “All that I do here matters more to me than the circumstances that put me on this path. I chose it, yes. There are factors that led me here, that is also true.”

She stares at him for a long while, that piercing gaze stirring something a bit unsettling within him. It’s like looking into the base of a flame all consuming, a void all encompassing. Ashala Venralei—would he ever tell her the truth about her name and all the reasons why no person in Undermount would ever consider stringing such words together to form a child’s name? He knows what Tyril is—Orthonus, Livienna, Myhri, and Rashki.

“The child born from ash and dreams”—to get to where they needed to go, Ashala’s parents burned a considerable bridge that meant that home would never be a place they could return.

“We will stop the Shadow Court,” she says and she does something dangerous—far too dangerous—

She reaches across and lays a warm hand on top of his. He swallows and stares into her eyes once more, something far more uncomfortable welling in the pit of his belly. It’s a warmth and a storm in one that starts in his gut before it shoots through the rest of him in uneasy webs.

He wills himself to nod curtly. When she graces him with a warm and genuine smile, he quivers.

It must be luck she turns on her heel and leaves him before she notices.

#playchoices #choices #blades of light and shadow #bolas #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #tyril #tyril the mage

38 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

February 18, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Today felt like a breather between the real, final end of the Trump presidency and the ramping up of the Biden years.

The Senate acquitted Trump of incitement of insurrection on Saturday. In response, the former president issued a statement reiterating all his lies in the months since the election. Then, last Tuesday, he lambasted Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell for blaming him for the insurrection. McConnell, clearly the winner in this exchange, didn’t even bother to answer.

Trump broke his post-trial silence yesterday, calling in to the Fox News Channel to acknowledge the death of talk radio host Rush Limbaugh. “He was with me right from the beginning. And he liked what I said and he agreed with what I said. And he was just a great gentleman. Great man," Trump said.

Limbaugh’s passing felt like the end of an era.

Meanwhile, Democrats in Congress and the Biden administration are unveiling proposals for the future. Today, Democrats offered a proposal for providing a path to citizenship for most of the nation’s 11 million undocumented immigrants, and Secretary of State Antony Blinken formally offered to restore the Iran nuclear deal that Trump abandoned.

As we dive into the Biden presidency, I have some observations:

It is much harder and more complicated to build something, as the Democrats are trying to do, than it is to destroy something. This means it will be harder to give a clear daily picture of the Biden administration than it was of the previous administration. The status of the $1.9 trillion coronavirus relief package, for example, is not clear right now because it is being marked up in committees, as such a bill should be. While the contours are likely what they were when they went in, what will emerge and then be put into a draft bill is not yet clear enough that we can talk about it definitively.

Biden also appears to favor making a number of changes in different programs to achieve a goal, rather than moving a single large piece. On the table right now, for example, is the question of the forgiveness of up to $50,000 in student loan debt. Biden said yesterday he did not favor excusing more than $10,000, but White House Press Secretary Jen Psaki said tonight he has asked the Department of Justice to look into whether he has the constitutional power to excuse the debt, something that is not at all clear.

My guess is that his administration will try to avoid legal questions by getting rid of predatory lending and chipping away at debt in limited, clearly legal ways, rather than facing the issue in one fell swoop. So, for example, the coronavirus relief bill contains rules that will prevent for-profit colleges from taking advantage of military veterans. It will be important to look at the big picture of Biden's policies, rather than taking stock of them in pieces.

There are two big questions the Biden administration is going to have to negotiate. One is the conflict between the constitutional role of Congress and the increasingly powerful presidency. In our system, it is Congress that is supposed to pass the nation’s laws. The president’s job is to make sure the laws are executed. But the presidency has taken on more and more power since at least the time of Richard Nixon’s administration, using the president’s direction of the executive branch to determine where the money Congress appropriates goes, for example, and sending troops to engage in military actions without a congressional declaration of war. As the Senate under McConnell has increasingly refused to act, more and more power has flowed to the White House.

Biden is an institutionalist who values the role of Congress—he was, after all, a senator for more than 35 years-- and yet the refusal of Senate Republicans to agree to any Democratic legislation means that he has launched his presidency with a sweeping range of executive actions. This runs the risk of alienating not only Republicans, but also those of his supporters who worry about the concentration of power in the presidency. His apparent refusal to use an executive order to cancel student debt without a firm declaration of legality from the Department of Justice suggests he’s trying not to push this boundary too far.

And yet, how can he preserve the power of Congress to pass legislation if it refuses to? How can the Democrats pass popular legislation if the Republican senators refuse to budge? Observers note that Biden’s coronavirus plan is exceedingly popular: 64% of voters want to see it happen. But Republican lawmakers are all opposed to it. It’s a conundrum: how can the Democrats both preserve the power of Congress and, at the same time, actually pass popular legislation over the obstructionist Republicans who appear to be out of step with the American people?

Democrats are committed to passing the coronavirus relief measure with or without Republican votes, and they predict they can do so by the end of next week. But then they are hoping to pass a $3 trillion infrastructure package, and there is little hope of finding Republican votes for it. The Democrats can pass an infrastructure bill through the budget reconciliation process or by getting rid of the filibuster, but doesn’t it set a bad precedent to spend almost $5 trillion by partisan votes alone? They would prefer to negotiate with Republicans.

The question of how—or if—that can happen is tied to the other big question the Biden administration will have to deal with, and that is whether it will be the Democrats or the Republicans who manage to advance their plan for voting rights. While the first measures Democrats introduced in this session of Congress were bills to expand and protect voting, Republicans in state legislatures across the nation are considering measures to limit voting. Expanded voting rights will encourage lawmakers to vote for laws that are popular; voter suppression will make that less important. What happens in state legislatures will echo at the national level.

So there is a lot on the table going forward.

But for today, it is a bit of a wonder that the news is no longer absorbed by the latest outrage from the presidential administration. The big story continues to be the disaster in Texas… along with the landing of NASA’s Perseverance rover on Mars, where it will explore the Jezero Crater. Almost four billion years ago, this was the site of a lake, and the rover will look for microfossils to bring back to Earth. It will also look for signs of life, and record sound on the planet for the first time ever.

Biden was quick to claim the theme of Perseverance for today’s nation. “Congratulations to NASA and everyone whose hard work made Perseverance’s historic landing possible,” he tweeted. “Today proved once again that with the power of science and American ingenuity, nothing is beyond the realm of possibility.”

——

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Biden Administration #Letters From an American #Heather Cox Richardson #corrupt GOP #criminal GOP #budget reconciliation #political

1 note · View note

storiesofwildfire · 4 years

Text

Guilty of Treason

{ closed starter for @fandralxthexstabulous }

♔—- Things went better than Loki could have hoped. Ridding Asgard of Odin after the Elves invaded had been a surprisingly simple task. The attack on Asgard, losing Frigga, and losing all control over Thor ( he would never believe Odin loved him enough to be impacted by the news of his own death, so he didn’t even count that as a possibility ) in one vicious swoop knocked Odin into a state that even the almighty All-father didn’t seem capable of pulling himself out of. It was almost sad, really, how long Odin had managed to keep him on a relatively short leash, only for him to truly crumble when the going got rough.

Complacency. That’s the only way Loki could explain what happened to a once-great conqueror. He’d grown old and complacent in his rule over Yggdrasil. So many years passed without a single person challenging his power that he truly tricked himself into believing that there was no one who could.

Even Asgard’s defenses hadn’t been kept up to par over the thousand years of peace, making it easy for the Dark Elves to not only invade but destroy half the realm in their process.

Taking up the role of Odin was... less desirable. Loki had a plan in mind for how he could eventually shed the Odin disguise and take the throne as himself, but it would take some clever work on his part and some time to build up a positive mentality and memory of the second prince of Asgard. So many of them seemed to forget everything Loki had done that positively impacted Asgard because of a few incidents that... well, Loki could explain rationally, but did he truly want to? Especially when it came to discussions of Thanos?

But unveiling himself would have to wait. Asgard needed a strong leader to help rebuild, to reset defenses and ensure they were actually functional this time around, and ensure the citizens were not only moving forward but working towards being happy again. His children needed to be freed from Odin’s prisons. Preparations needed to be made in the event that Thanos became an immediate threat. Eventually, he would come, and Asgard would be Yggdrasil's best hope of beating back the Mad Titan. So much needed to be sorted out and, unfortunately, that meant wearing Odin’s face longer than he wished.

One problem that needed to be dealt with in the swiftest manner, however, was in regard to those who helped Thor commit treason. In all fairness, Loki did owe them, as their treachery was the tool that ultimately led to his being freed of the dungeon, but Odin could not easily overlook such a thing. Three times Sif and the Warriors Three committed treason in Thor’s name. Running off to Jotunheim to face Laufey after Thor’s failed coronation, the four of them running off to Midgard to bring Thor home from banishment, and now this...

Odin had been lenient with them the first two times, shifting the blame onto Thor and Loki respectively, but Odin was not known for allowing rule breakers to roam free. He liked to present himself as a fair and just king and he fooled most people into believing in that persona, but he had never been shy about holding criminals accountable. Sif and the Warriors Three’s earlier treason had also caused extreme trouble for Loki his first time around on the throne, so dealing with them in a constructive manner seemed an important task. But what to do with them?

In truth, there was an extremely petty part of him that wished to throw the lot in prison. Well, not all of them. Each held a different level of respect and like in Loki’s eyes and Sif was definitely at the bottom of said list. Hogun wasn’t much higher purely because any time Sif said anything negative about Loki or insinuated something to be his fault, Hogun was right alongside her, agreeing and ready to condemn him on nothing more than his natural dislike for the younger prince. Seeing those two locked up in Asgard’s dungeon, even temporarily, would have been so incredibly sweet. Petty, true, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Volstagg had Loki’s sympathies more than any of them. While Volstagg did occasionally tease Loki, he was never truly unkind or cruel. Volstagg had a big heart and a massive brood of children and Loki identified with that paternal nature. A powerful warrior but often unable to deny his friends, it was loyalty and blind faith more than anything that often led Volstagg to actions with horrible repercussions. Taking Volstagg away from his children was something Loki couldn’t really bring himself to do. He knew what it was to have children, to love them, and to watch as they were ripped away and kept from his reach. He didn’t wish that on anyone, especially not a genuinely good man such as him.

And then there was Fandral... and Loki’s feelings for Fandral were very complex. Deep-rooted longing for the swordsman’s affections sprouted when they first met and never truly faded, but there were certain decisions and events that pushed a wedge between them and turned some of those feelings down a bitter path.

In the end, Loki went easy on Volstagg. No prison, no banishment. Instead, he was confined to his family’s estate so he could be with his wife and children, but he was still seen as receiving punishment for going against the king’s orders again. The other three? Banishment seemed the easiest way to deal with them. As much as part of Loki wished to hide Sif and Hogun away in the dungeons, imprisoning them while letting Fandral and Volstagg off easy wouldn’t reflect well on the king, so instead, they were separated and banished to various realms under the same understanding of Thor’s banishment. If they could prove themselves worthy of it, they could return home.

Fandral, as it turned out, was sent to Midgard. Loki chose Midgard purposefully because he knew that Fandral had lived on Midgard before. He managed to establish something of a life for himself there, so surely, he could do so again. It was Loki’s way of silently being lenient with the swordsman without making that leniency obvious.

Weeks passed after Loki’s sentencing. Volstagg confined to his home and the rest of them spread across the realms. Loki didn’t think much about any of them, truly. He had far too much sitting right in front of him to pay mind to. Wasting time thinking about people who probably didn’t even think about him seemed like a foolish way to spend energy or trains of thought.

It wasn’t until Loki truly started going through Fritjolf’s reports and files thoroughly that Loki’s attention pulled back to a certain blond swordsman currently restricted to Midgard. It wasn’t obvious straight away. Most of Fritjolf’s agents used aliases and codenames while working, even on the reports that they delivered to the spymaster, in order to protect themselves. They wouldn’t be very good spies if they didn’t protect their true identities. That didn’t bother Loki as he read through the reports. The intel was all he cared about; it didn’t really matter who obtained it...

Soon enough, though, Loki did pick up on a pattern of one particular agent. Multiple codenames showed up numerous times, often named after wildlife, but Fox managed to capture Loki’s attention. It took quite a bit of digging through records and timelines, but after a while, matching up Fox’s reports to areas and times Loki knew Fandral to be in said areas unveiled itself flawlessly. Even Fox’s current reports all came from Midgard, in a similar area around modern-day England...

Could Fandral truly be a spy? That would explain so much about the way things transpired between them and why Fandral always seemed to keep part of himself hidden from public view. Loki always wondered why Fandral acted so differently when they were alone...

Against better judgment, Loki decided to pay Fandral an unexpected visit. Revealing the truth of what he’d done to Odin and why was risky, to say the least, and leaving Asgard unattended also wasn’t the brightest idea, but Loki left a clone of Odin to sit upon the throne and had enough people in his council that he trusted to keep Asgard going for a few days while he slipped away. Gods, he could use a break anyway, and if things didn’t go well with Fandral, he could at least go and visit his son. Seeing Jor would brighten his mood, surely.

But he took to backward means of travel, deciding for the sake of time to open a small portal between realms that would let him step through to some abandoned farmland in England, just to ensure no one saw the process of magic. From there, a tracking spell would do nicely to lead Loki straight to the banished warrior and apparent spy. He did little to hide aside from shifting his attire to something passable for modern-day Midgard. A pair of dark, form-fitted trousers, a simple belt with gold detailing around the clasp, a light sweater in a lovely shade of green, and a jacket. He didn’t need so many layers, but it was cool this time of year and walking around in anything less would gain him some pretty odd looks.

His spell directed him towards a rather impressive and clearly old estate. It’d been kept up over the years. Clearly, there were people that cared deeply for this land, but why would Fandral be in a place like this? What had he gotten up to during his time on Midgard? Aside from literally being the legend of Robin Hood, that was?

‘Fandral?’ A simple spell that would deliver a message to a single person in the way of words forming in the air before them and then fading. Fandral used it to contact him a few times. ‘I’m outside your... home? But you probably already knew that if you were paying attention. Would you come and meet with me, please?’

He didn’t bother stating who he was. Asgard might have believed Loki was dead, but Fandral should have been familiar enough with his magic to know who was reaching out to him now.

#fandralxthexstabulous #c; fandral #( thread ) guilty of treason #( main verse ; post tdw ) you've ruined everything #( long response ) if it were easy everyone would do it #{ uhhh??? have a fucking novel I guess XD Didn't mean to let this get so far away from me #but #loki had a lot to say on how much he wanted to punish Thor's friends apparently }

30 notes · View notes

paulieshore · 4 years

Text

Obey Me / SCM Au Series

Warnings: conflict of interest, triggers, drama, angst

Words 3176

I do not own the rights to these characters, characters belong to:

· Obey me! Shall we date

· Star crossed myth - Voltage

Note: The beginning of this story is flashback to an earlier time, to aid the series.

Chapter 9: You Already Have

An event happened shortly after Fates passing, when the departments were first established.

The warlocks of earth rallied against the heavens, demanding more then what they were owed. After the fight against the dark ones, they threatened to raise chaos once again. This threat was taken seriously, considering what had previously transpired. Many believed this was the perfect time to speak their demands and strike. All the realms were in a healing process after the great battle, one warlock in particular (Mordred) led a violent protest against the heavens. Many were angry at the gods for not aiding soon enough, or not being compensated enough for all that was lost.

Mordred in specific; despised the gods, he who was once a faithful and devoted mage. His wife and two of his three children were killed in the slaughters, leaving him and his son behind. Grief led to anger, anger to hate, he wanted nothing more than revenge against the heavens. So badly, that he sold his soul to a disciple who had escaped from the battle of the dark ages, in exchange for darker magic.

One enough, to challenge a god.

Mordred caused quite the stir on earth, he felt humiliated and mocked by the gods. He thought the more ‘darkness’ he unleashed, sooner or later, the gods would have to meet his demands. He was arrogant, the magic he wielded fed false confidence to his soul.

Said darkness consumed him, leaving alone his son; orphaned. (will come back to this part another time)

Zyglavis and Leon as newly established Ministers were the ones who were to deal with the situation, the warlocks were ruthless; Mordred was a strong tyrant. However, because the confrontation was ongoing in the human realm neither Leon nor Zyg were able to truly realise their powers.

* It is forbidden for gods to do so, limiting them to using lesser power. Due to the fact; taking into their god forms and using their true potential could ultimately destroy the human realm. *

They were heavily outnumbered as it raged on, the fight looked as though the warlocks had the upper hand. The dragged fight took its toll on Leon and Zyglavis, without rest; they were exhausted beyond measure. Until, the darkest hour, a bright light shined, a young angel in a suit of armour appeared. Swooping down with six pure white wings to aid, with one massive flap from his wings he sent numbers of the warlocks back. The situation turned and Leon, Zyg and this angel fought side by side dwindling the forces.

* Angels are able to use their power without unbalancing the human realm. This angel, who was not asked nor told to help. Came and assisted, selflessly. When most angels preferred nonviolent ways, or not to involve themselves at all in ‘dirtying’ their hands. *

The battle was over, the angel subdued Mordred with great effort.

“Boy, what is your name?” Leon was breathless, eyeing up the young stranger.

He ran his fingers through his raven black hair, fixing it to one side “My name is Lucifer, sir.”

“Your Fate’s boy, correct?” Zyglavis approaches Lucifer, who was nearly as tall as him.

He looked off in thought and smiled, cheeks tinting pink when he nodded to Zyg’s question.

“I will be sure you are greatly rewarded for your bravery, Lucifer. Your mother would have been proud.”

The pride of the heavens, was indeed worthy of his name.

Lucifer was appointed to serving both Ministers of each department, not even the messengers of heaven had the privilege to serve both departments.

Now, back to our story time line…

Mammon had you thrown over his shoulder, the pain in your head was too much; passing out. Asmo carried an unconscious Solomon too, they rushed to get as far away as possible from the building.

“Where now?” He turns to Asmo, catching his breath.

Asmo gasps for air, and looks at him unsure.

…

“I will have you two strung up for a thousand years for this!”

Lucifer and the others appear, barrelling down the side walk towards them.

Even though they knew there was going to be hell to pay, they were relieved the others showed up.

“What’s wrong with them?” Belphie asks with a look of concern

Setting eyes on two mundane individuals slung over their brothers’ shoulders, each seemingly out; limp.

“We don’t have time for this, we gotta goooooo!” Mammon tries to get everyone moving.

Similar black mist that surrounded the suite, starts closing in on all of them, like a whirl pool. The warm dawn light thrashed out by the black cold mist, spinning.

“What in the hell?!” Satan turns around watching the mist spiralling crazily.

“Like I said, we need to go!”

“I don’t think ssssoo”

Another body takes form not far, sick colour hair, and another marking on this one’s cheek. He was draped in a blood red cloak, “You have sssomething that belongsss to uss” He hisses pointing to the unconscious girl. His eyes void, hazed over with a look of murder.

“That marking...” Lucifer’s eyebrows pinch together. Another one? He thinks, considering this wasn’t the one they ran into the other day. He immediately had his guard up, Diavolo warned them… DAMMIT! He was right, they led them right to Y/N! He was cursing himself.

A moment later, a bolt of light shot through the crowd with great speed. Like the rays set off the sun, inserting between the brothers from the disciple.

Leon appears from the light; blocking, “If you want her, come and get her!” He challenges; confidently.

The disciple’s eyes widen and darken even more, without warning he throws black balls of light towards Leon.

!!!

As Leon prepared to counter…

Lucifer swoops next to him, in demon form; wings stretched back. One single flap of his wings and it sends the balls right back with a wave of force.

“Youuuuuuuu!” The fiend spits, dodging his own attack; ricocheting back.

Lucifer and Leon momentarily make side eye contact, side by side; ready for this fight. No words were needed, a memory arises in Leon’s mind.

He can’t help but feel angry and …. What is this feeling? His heart slightly aches.

Heaven

He folds his arms and tilts his head to the side.

“Crow...”

The King watched as Leon and Karno battle Crow, throwing black and white lights at each other; destroying things inside the suite.

“I wonder which path this one will take...”

Karno aims and makes a crucial hit to Crow, causing him to drop to his knees holding his chest. “This isn’t over yet!” He mutters and disappears.

Leon then taking off just as quickly as Crow did.

Kivy watched for a moment longer, Karno fixing the devastation inside. Then he waves his slim and delicate looking hand over the water, another scene begins to unfold.

“It seems old habits die hard…. Lucifer…”

Zyglavis approaches, “My king, should we aid?”

Kivy shakes his head, “No, I see no cause too. No-one is to interfere, understand.” Tapping the stone around the reflecting pool. His eye’s never leaving from his once favourite creation.

“The curtain rises, the stage is set. How fascinating, so many possibilities…? But only few endings, our very actions; set course. The end is nigh…...”

Zyglavis face scrunches in confusion as he watches the King talking, and smiling to himself.

Devildom

Diavolo stands on the balcony, hands behind his back.

“Barbatos, did they go to her?”

Nodding, “Yes, there is only two outcomes to this…”

Diavolo turns to face Barbatos, both seemed to have been thinking of something.

He faces away again and looks out to the outskirts of Devildom, observing the change up above. The sky darkening and swirling, denser than usual “We could have ended this before it started, but father refuses to do anything other than sleep!” Slamming his fists down to the banister, shaking it with unfathomable force.

“Perhaps it’s time for your coronation, my lord” Barbatos says with a smile, bowing his head.

Back in the Human Realm

Leon stands next to Lucifer, blocking the attacks.

Lucifer orders his siblings, “Move and go quickly!” as he counters attacks back.

The disciple did not let up, flailing his arms, with each; more black balls flying into range.

Lucifer was blocking and winging them back, Leon was throwing gold lights of his own. A gust of wind begins to blow, stopping anyone from leaving the area.

Leon couldn’t allow the girl to leave with them, not when he was so close.

Behind the disciple, Karno appears with a snap and throws an arrow of light into the back of the assailant. He screams an ear bleeding pitch before disappearing into mist, gone with the wind.

…

The air goes still, like the calm before the storm.

Lucifer and Leon take steps back from one another, fiercely staring each other down. One on guard, the other fighting the urge to teach the traitorous boy a lesson.

Karno; cautious as he approaches, placing himself between the two “Is she alright?” Looking to Mammon with anxious eyes.

Mammon hesitates for a moment, unsure how to respond, when he feels her slowly start fidgeting on his shoulder. Carefully placing her on the ground, holding her arms for support as she sits on the pavement.

Your eyes flutter, “Whoa, what the heck happened?” Your head felt of static, one minute you were in pain, then nothing. Waking up outside, face to face with Mammon.

Mammon looks to Karno, “Yea, I think she’s good.” Releasing your arms and standing up straight.

…

Leon, without taking his eyes off Lucifer, “You’re coming with us little girl and that’s an order”

‘Was that Leon’s voice?’ Your head spins around and you take it all in; all the brothers were here and Karno and Leon. – Uh oh

“I think it’s clear Y/N doesn’t want to be at that house any longer, or she wouldn’t have left it to begin with” Satan simply states.

Leon’s face turns, glaring from Lucifer’s, to him.

When their eyes met, Satan for the first time ever felt the sheer meaning of ‘if looks could kill’. He instinctively took a step back, biting his cheeks from continuing. Not even Lucifer gave him this feeling when he got angry, this one was truly powerful and very dangerous.

Karno slowly side steps towards Leon, ready to stop him “Settle down, I think there’s been enough violence for one day…”

…

While everyone’s attention was centred, behind Mammon; Crow appeared without noise.

Your head whipped back, when you felt his presence spring up. Pointing, you tried to warn him but before anyone could react in time.

Crow threw a massive black orb; into Mammon’s back “DIEEEEE!!”

Mammon jerked forward, clenching his hands tightly. Knuckles gone completely white “Urg!!!!!!!”

!!!!!

“MAMMON!”

Far from Devildom, in ruins of an old fortress

The Dark King raised his chin and smiled, the chaos feeding his soul.

“Crow, Servillah, I will be sure to reward you beyond measure for your hard work”

*SNAP*

A cloaked figure appears before him.

“So, you’ve returned, my son.”

He pulls down his hood, and kneels down on one knee “I have, my lord” Raising his head, smirking.

“Tell me Partheno, do they suspect you?” The Dark King rises from the crumbling throne.

“No, I am the god of love and beauty after all” rising as he glides his fingers down his face “they consider me like one of them. Can you believe the insolence of them!?” His face twists into a repulsive frown.

Partheno quickly regains face; shrugging his shoulders, “What a pity though, such a pretty little thing she was...”

‘I would have liked to have had her as my little pet, she seems to have charmed those demons. I wonder how she could have pleased me’ He thought to himself

“Do not stray from our goal now! We have come so close after so long; we will make them all pay. We will rise from the shadows and conquer all the realms; you may have what you want then. The mortals have lost their ways of surviving, they’ve grown too comfortable in times of peace. Their deaths will breed life to a new age!” He stumbled back and sank down into the throne.

Partheno carefully watched his lords weakened state.

A part of him felt conflicted, to be born of darkness; wishing to be out in the light. Did he really want to betray those gods, who seemed to believe in him?

Did he really want to see her die? This mortal, who treated demons like friends, and showed promise. He didn’t have many interactions with you but he didn’t feel angry at you like the rest of the world. A part of him actually wanted to be closer to you, but alas; you were merely a lamb being led to slaughter.

Heaven

Kivy was still staring at the pool, like a cat watching fish swim.

“Oooh, so it’s this one. How amusing…”

He watches as Satan steps away from Leon’s stare, and smiles wide.

“To be feared and loved, what I would expect from the next King.”

He watched as Crow stabbed Mammon in the back, he nearly laughed.

“What irony hmm”

His face darkened, thinking back to how they turned their backs on him. On the laws of their people, because their little sister loved a mortal.

Broke his sacred law to save that mortal, and then when he punished her, they betrayed him.

His own creations, HIS children, for what?

To fall from grace, and live a pointless existence. Lucifer’s anger towards him birthed Wrath, replacing Lilith with what, another brother? Then that young prince Diavolo, aided Lilith, giving her a happy ever after.

He clicked his tongue and stared down with disgust.

That was when he established the law, that no-one was to monopolise any of those that served the heavens. No mortals, no demons, no filth.

Their loyalty belonged to me!

“Altair, come to me!” He said with anger in his command.

Altair materializes before him “Yes, my king!”

“Send for Scorpio, immediately. I’ve grown bored of watching this.”

Watching Lucifer below festered feelings inside him he did not like, feelings he hadn’t felt in eons. He would call upon his new favourite and vanquish these feelings.

Altair scurried away quickly, shaking his head... ‘He really is a twisted king’

Human Realm

Your ears were pounding and your stomach dropped.

Mammon yelped in pain; his lips began to fade blue, almost instantly upon impact. You watched so many emotions flash in his eyes, fear, sadness and relief as he locked onto yours.

It was as though time slowed down, Mammon’s eyes widened slightly, before his own tears fell. Crumbling to the ground, he whispered your name, over and over again. You quickly scrambled to him, carefully cradling him in your arms. You were afraid, hand shaking as you touched his face like it was made of porcelain. One wrong move and you would shatter him into a million pieces.

As chaos broke out around, all your focus was on Mammon.

Flashbacks started flooding your mind.

The day you made a pact with him.

That time he made you eat Beel’s custard, how easily he forgave you about Belphie’s situation. The oath you, Levi and Mammon pledged together.

All his crazy text messages and demanding phone calls, your tsundere. All the laughs you shared, the jokes and the banter. A years’ worth of memories avalanched into your mind and flowed tears forth from your eyes.

“H-hey b-buddy?” You whispered, trying not to sob loudly; keep calm for his sake.

He slowly blinked his eyes, tears also escaping; fighting to keep them open.

“Y-you’re going to be o-okay, y-you have too! You’re the GREAT M-Mammon after all!” your lip quivered

His lips moved but no more sounds came out, only cool air.

It wasn’t hard to see he was fighting to breathe; his chest rising and jerking before each exhale. You felt the warm blood oozing from his back, like a river of red slipping through your fingers as one hand compressed the wound. Drenching your lap, and pooling around the two of you.

Little to either of your attentions, figures and lights of all sorts were flying around. When Crow appeared and assaulted Mammon, Levi, Satan, Belphie and Beel launched into attack. Servillah appeared not long after, with other shadows and creatures. Hell broke loose, Asmo did what he could as he held on to a still unconscious human. Karno and Leon back to back flinging powerful strikes, protecting you as you held your friend close.

Lucifer flew into a fit of rage just after he watched his little brother drop.

Mammon the idiot, Mammon; his first sibling. His troublesome; adorable, idiot. Who constantly found ways of entertaining him with his little schemes.

While he watched his brother fall, two memories flashed; before rage blinded him.

Remembering the first-time little Mammon smiled and praised him, genuinely.

“Of course, MY brother is so strong and so cool. Lucifer, brother, you’re the bestest!” Mammon’s big doe eyes gleamed with admiration, as he placed a hand atop of Mammon’s head and ruffled his hair. “I’m going to be just like you when I get bigger, just you see big brother!”

…

“You’re serving both the departments!? MY brother?! You truly are amazing Lucifer!” A not so little Mammon yells “I can’t wait to tell everyone!” his brother beamed with pride as jumped with celebration.

The look on his face only moments ago, when he was struck; was just like Lilith’s. He failed again, his worst nightmare; rage took hold.

“Mammon just hold on; I’m going to save you, okay!” You tore your eyes from him briefly, to a busy Karno.

Cold finger tips touched the tears on your chin, trying to pull your gaze back down; Mammon smiling weakly. His lips moved and even though he didn’t say anything you made out clearly what he was trying to say.

‘You already have, thank you’

He gave you a half smug smile before his hand dropped; his eyes still open. Time truly did stop, the moment you realised so too did his heart.

“M-Mammon?”

“MAMMON!?!”

The House of Gods

Everyone was watching, Huedaut was using Leon’s private pool to observe what was happening.

The King had directly ordered all to stand guard and not to intervene. He tried to emotionally; un-attach himself from the scene below, until...

“Mammon!” He didn’t think it possible; to feel his heart break even more so.

Like his very soul was being chewed and spit out relentlessly, again and again.

*SNAP*

Hue disappeared from the mansion.

To be continued

Stay tuned Ch10: I’ll do anything

Like, comment, reblog - series also on Ao3

11 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Happy Halloween! Have an angsty semi-ghost story to, erm, celebrate.

Summary: S3 divergence. Rumpelstiltskin sacrifices himself to defeat Pan, and Storybrooke returns to normal. But it will take more than a sacrifice to lay the darkness to rest, and in the midst of the paradox of it having no true host, it clings to the nearest desperate soul – the young woman on her knees in the street, howling with her loss.

Belle knows there’s darkness within her. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is getting Rumpelstiltskin back…

Rated: M

NB: Character death.

=====

No One Mourns The Wicked

Belle stands alone in the cemetery. There is no grave. There was no body to bury. There wasn’t even a funeral. Rumpelstiltskin gave his life to save them all, and the world has already all but forgotten his sacrifice, taking their precious and petty and pathetic little lives for granted again already.

No one mourns the wicked. Belle knows that. She’s known it for years. It was the cautionary tale drummed into her all through her childhood. No one mourns the wicked. No one lays a lily on their graves.

Belle would lay a lily if she had a grave to lay it on, but she has nothing, no memorial to the love she has lost.

She should be sad. She should be mourning the loss of the man she loved and the man she got to spend so little time with. Even a lifetime together would not have been long enough to fit all of her love into, let alone the scant few weeks they had together in the wake of the curse breaking.

Belle is not sad. Belle is not mourning. It’s the age-old adage brought true: no one mourns the wicked. Belle is not mourning, but not because Rumpel was wicked. Belle is not mourning, because in this moment, she feels wicked herself.

No, Belle is not sad. All she can feel is anger at those who dare to forget the sacrifice that Rumpelstiltskin made for them. They bury it under the list of imagined wrongs that he committed against them; deep down, they’re glad he’s gone so that they no longer have to worry about the prices – always fair and just prices, not that they see that in their self-centred stupidity – that he will come to collect from them in their deals.

Something is stirring within Belle that she has never felt before. This seething anger is crystallising into something darker, much darker. Something that was not there before has now taken root inside her, clawing and gnawing and taking her pain and her loss and turning it into something tangible, something dangerous. She knows that it’s happening, and a small, scared part of her is terrified at the thing that she is becoming inside her own mind.

Rationally, she even knows what it is. The Dark One must always have a host: the poor, unfortunate soul who killed the previous host. In sacrificing himself and taking his own life, Rumpel has created a paradox, and the universe hates such things, seeking to rectify them as soon as possible. So, the Dark One has taken root in another host.

A host with such powerful negative emotions washing over her as she collapsed to her knees in the street, overcome with grief and pain and sadness and not one single person helped her, or even thought to ask if she was all right. Because hey, Pan was gone, and they got rid of Rumpel in one fell swoop too; they should be celebrating! Leave the Dark One’s whore on the ground where she belongs.

Belle wants to make they pay. She’s already hurting so much; her heart aches with her loss. Every time she sees them going about their business without a care in the world, it drives that pain a little deeper. Every time they speak to her as if nothing has happened and as if Rumpel wasn’t so hugely important to her, they twist that knife a little deeper. Are they doing it on purpose? Perhaps before, Belle would have given them the benefit of the doubt, but now she sees the world through a darker lens. An evil lens, that twists everything in front of it to evil too.

Belle is in agony now, and the blinding pain in her chest that takes her breath away every time she remembers Rumpel’s smile, that one that was just for her with nothing but love in it, is unbearable.

She needs to make it stop. She needs peace. But she’ll never have it, not whilst there is so much unfinished business that will never be put to rest until Rumpel is mourned. Not whilst this darkness is growing inside her.

Belle sits down on the cold ground. The part of her mind that is still her own is telling her that this is not the best idea; that she needs to be free to move on and live the rest of her life. That by doing this, she is simply trapping herself in a prison of sadness and pain and hatred, and she will never be rid of it.

The more primal part of her mind, a new addition since Rumpel’s death, is telling her that this is the only way for her to live now, and that if she goes ahead with it, she’ll feel better again. And if she only feels better again for a short time, then that’s all right. There will be plenty more opportunities to seek short-term relief. Right now, all she wants to do is to stop the pain of Rumpel’s loss from gnawing on her bones like a starving rat.

It’s simple enough math when one thinks about it logically. The source of all her problems and all the horrible things that she is feeling is the fact that she no longer has Rumpel. So, in order to buy herself a reprieve from that loss and a balm for this hurt, all she has to do is have Rumpel by her side again.

Magic can’t bring back the dead, she’s known that since long before she even met Rumpel and was exposed to his particular brand of magic. Magic cannot create life where there is none, but the deepest, darkest magic that Rumpel was a master of and everyone else feared, well, that can do all sorts of things.

It cannot create life, but it can perhaps create a facsimile of it.

Belle opens her bag and takes out the book of spells she found in the pawn shop, mixed in with all of Rumpel’s other magical things that were brought through to this realm with the curse, and she opens it to the right page. Ideally it should be performed on the grave, but there is no grave; there was no body.

Sometimes she wonders if Rumpel really is even dead, or if this thing that has begun lurking in her heart, the ever-present darkness that she had so lamented in his own time, is keeping him tethered to life. After all, the Dark One is immortal. Everyone knows that.

She hopes that this is the case. If it is, then her idea will work. There’s no body, there’s no grave, but there might still be a spirit, and if she cannot have her true Rumpel by her side, then a spirit will have to do. She cannot raise the dead, but she may just be able to lift their spirits.

Belle places her hands on the cold grass as she reads the incantation. A plea to the earth to release the soul from the body – not a problem, the body was destroyed, and the soul was freed with it at the time. That part shouldn’t be difficult.

Onwards to the next step, a sacrifice of blood to link the living and the dead. Belle picks up Rumpel’s dagger. His name is still etched into the side, as stark and clear as it ever was, but sometimes, if she holds it in just the right light, she can see her own name beneath the letters, ever so slight and faint, but undeniably there.

Something evil has taken root in her, and for all she had wanted Rumpel to be free of it, now that she feels its power coursing through her veins, Belle can quite see why he found it so intoxicating at the time.

She pricks her finger with the point of the blade, squeezing out a drop of blood and watching as it falls to the cold ground. The second part of the spell is complete. Now, for the grand finale, a wonderful denouement to her plans.

She takes Rumpel’s shawl from round her neck, the shawl that had been Bae’s. She wonders if perhaps she ought to have consulted Neal before embarking on this course of action, but she knows that he would only try to talk her out of it, and besides, he has his own problems to worry about. He’s grieving his father, yes, but there was too much bad blood there that never had a chance to be put right, and he has the living to worry about. Belle does not bear him as much grudge as she does the rest of them. Maybe she’ll spare Neal when the time comes.

When the time comes to do what? The voice in her head that’s entirely her own keeps asking her where she’s going with this plan and what she hopes to gain from it, but then her anguish drowns it out, and the moment of clarity is over.

Belle lays the shawl down on the ground over the drops of blood and presses her hands down against it. Something from life to bring the soul forth, and a final incantation.

There’s an unnatural breeze in the cemetery, and the pages of the Grimmerie flap wildly before the book slams shut with the finality of a spell cast from a place of such venom and pain that it will hold and stick for as long as it possibly can.

“Belle?”

Belle smiles, for she recognises that voice. It sounds whispery, far away, speaking to her from beyond the veil, indeed, but she would know Rumpel’s voice anywhere. Her Rumpel, the one she fell in love with back in the Dark Castle, the impish trickster with his quips and snips. The man Gold had been just as wonderful, but right now, it is her Rumpel that her heart aches for.

“It worked.” She almost can’t believe it, but then, Rumpel’s spells have always been kind to her. She thinks of the protection spell for the town line that he left for her. “It worked!”

“Belle, what’s going on?”

His voice is stronger now, and Belle almost doesn’t want to turn and risk ruining the illusion. What if she’s just imagining things now as a coping mechanism to deal with this grief?

But she must turn. She has to see him.

He’s there.

He’s not quite right, but he’s there.

His leathers and silks, his scaled, slightly gold-dusted skin, his claw like fingers, his dark, slate-grey eyes. It’s all there, just as she remembers from the old times, although he’s faded, his colours washed out like fabric that’s been laundered too many times. He’s not all there, but he’s there enough, and that’s all that Belle needs.

“Rumpel!”

She scrabbles to her feet and runs over to him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He doesn’t feel quite right either, a little like holding air that’s just a bit more solid than the rest of the air, like it might vanish into vapour at any moment.

But he’s there, in her arms where he should be.

“Belle, I don’t understand, what’s going on? What happened?”

“I brought you back!” Belle says, and she can’t keep the giddy excitement out of her voice. “Well, not entirely. I know that you can’t bring back the dead. But I called up your soul. Look!”

She takes his hand, dragging him over to the site of her spellcasting, squeezing tightly in case he vanishes out of her hold as soon as she looks away from him.

“Oh, Belle. Oh, Belle, please tell me you didn’t...”

Rumpel shakes his head as he takes in the blood-stained shawl and the Grimmerie on the ground. His expression is mournful.

“Belle, my love, you should have let me go.”

“Why?”

Rumpel just stares at her. “What do you mean?”

“Why should I have let you go? Why do I have to accept misery for the rest of my life? Everyone else is getting their happy endings; what did I do that means I don’t deserve mine?”

“Belle, you do deserve a happy ending. You deserve every happiness in the world, but you’re not going to get that from this… shadow.” He indicates himself.

“But I am happy,” Belle protests. “I have you back, that’s all I need. I’m happy now.”

She doesn’t realise that tears have begun to fall until Rumpel reaches out to brush them away.

“Are you really?” he asks.

“Yes!”

“Belle, what you’ve done cannot be undone. The Grimmerie’s magic is too powerful for that. You know I only ever used that book for my darkest spells, and what you’ve done…”

He breaks off, looking into her eyes intently, and Belle knows that he can see it, the darkness inside her, the darkness that they now share.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh, what have I made you become?”

Belle shakes her head.

“You haven’t made me become anything. I did this of my own free will. What you have made me, Rumpelstiltskin, is happy, and I couldn’t bear to let go of that happiness when it was cut short. I thought I’d lost you forever when you went to Neverland. I know I said that I would see you again, but there was a part of me that knew I maybe wouldn’t. I had you back for a day and a half and then I lost you again, for real this time. I had a day and a half of happiness with you!” She gestures towards the town beyond the cemetery gates. “Everyone out there will have a lifetime of happiness thanks to you! You gave up my happiness with you so that everyone else could have theirs! That’s not fair, Rumpel! I’m reclaiming my happy ending from you now!”

“Belle, this isn’t a happy ending!” Rumpel is pleading, but the darkness is clouding Belle’s vision now and she doesn’t care. She’s got him back, and that’s all that matters. “Summoning this shadow, this vision that I am, it will not bring you happiness! All it will do is hold you back from finding something good and true.”

Belle turns her gaze back on him, and he takes a step back with the force of the look she gives him.

“We had something good and true, Rumpel. We had true love, and you were just starting to see that and accept that we would be together forever. So many paths, but the only one you wanted was the one where you and I were together. So now, we can tread that path. Now, we can be together.”

“Belle, it’s not the same thing, this is…”

“I know it’s not the same. I know I can’t bring back the dead, no one can. But this is as close as I’m going to get, and if I have to settle for a shadow then I’d rather have that than nothing at all!”

The force of her emotion seems to have got the better of him, and he just gives a slow nod. He goes to pick up the dagger and the Grimmerie, but his hands go straight through them. By linking his soul to her blood, she is the only thing he will be able to interact with in this world.

Belle stows the items back in her bag, and they begin to make their way back towards the pink house that Belle has only recently come to call home. The silence between them is tense; Rumpelstiltskin’s soul does not appreciate being roused from the sleep of the dead like this, and Belle feels that he still does not fully understand why she had to do what she did, to save her breaking heart and her sanity.

For her part, Belle cannot understand why Rumpel is so upset with this course of action that she’s taken. He was taken from life before his time; certainly, he went on his own terms, but Belle knows that if she died of anything other than old age, she would welcome a second chance to be part of the world again. Well, it’s not exactly the same as being alive again, not able to interact with the world. Maybe it’s a case of all or nothing; maybe he would prefer death to this state of halfway between.

The part of Belle’s mind that is still clinging to the light in her heart tells her that she needs to let him go, that this cannot be anything less than torture for him to be here but not here, that she would not enjoy it if it happened to her.

The part that is giving in to the darkness tells her that right now, she needs him with her, by any means necessary, and maybe he should have thought about the consequences before he took himself away.

He did it for the greater good, she thinks. He was the only one who could save us all, and that was the only way. We would all be dead if it wasn’t for him.

The thoughts don’t help her, not when she thinks that she would rather everyone, including her, were dead, so that she doesn’t have to live with this pain anymore.

There’s a storm in the air as they walk side by side through the town. Ironic, really: the forecast had been for sunny skies. There’s not a single head they don’t turn as they pass through, the townsfolk all gawping at the sight of Rumpelstiltskin calmly making his way through the town, a vision of the impish yet all-powerful sorcerer he had always been in the Enchanted Forest, all of the fear that Gold inspired now increased four-fold as Rumpelstiltskin returns.

Belle smiles. That should scare them. They’ll think twice before thinking that they’re free from Rumpelstiltskin now. Oh yes, they thought they’d got rid of him, so relieved when he removed himself from the picture.

Now they’ll see. Now, they can’t escape fate. Now, they’ll pay.

Pay for what, a part of her asks. She brushes it aside. She can work that out later.

They thought that they were free of the Dark One, but Belle knows better. What darkness didn’t die with Rumpel lives on in her. It’s not something they’ll ever get rid of, and Belle’s going to make sure that they don’t forget it.

Belle is tired. She stares out of the window at the steel grey sky, wishing that she had the energy to do something, to feel something, anything. Anything except this darkness eating her from the inside and making her numb to the world. At first it had fed just on her happiness and positivity, leaving her with only pain and rage and grief, but now it’s taken those as well. She’s just a shell of her former self, exhausted by evil.

She wonders how Rumpel managed for three hundred years, before she comes to the horrible conclusion. Rumpel had something to fight for. He was determined to get back to Bae. Belle has nothing similar. Everything she could have fought for was taken from her, and she brought it back in shadow form, the shadow that hovers beside her, stroking her cheek softly with one claw. She doesn’t turn to look at him; she doesn’t have the will.

“You’ve got to let me go,” he whispers, and she’s heard the words so many times now that sometimes she hears them even when he’s not saying them. “It’s not too late, but soon it will be. Let me go, my love, and you’ll be free. You’ll move on, and you’ll be happy again, and you’ll love again, and you’ll fight this darkness. Please, sweetheart, let me go whilst you still have the chance.”

Over the last few years, the shadow that she brought back has become more and more tangible, more and more able to interact with the world around it. What began as a ghost is becoming frighteningly close to real, to breaking that cardinal rule of magic: you can’t bring back the dead.

Soon there will come a time when even if she lets him, he won’t be able to go. Ghosts are souls with unfinished business on earth, unable to move on until that business is resolved. Rumpelstiltskin had no unfinished business when he died, but as soon as Belle grabbed his soul from the beyond and tethered it to her, pulling him back into life, she gave him some very unfinished business in the form of herself. The longer he stays – well, the longer she keeps him here – the more complicated that unfinished business will become.

She knows she has to let him go. He’s told her so every single day from the day she brought him back, so far in the past now that she can barely remember it. But just as he is becoming more inextricably linked back to life, Belle is becoming more inextricably linked back to him. He once described magic as a crutch he didn’t know how to live without.

Rumpelstiltskin has become Belle’s crutch, and she doesn’t want to know how to live without him. Without him, she fears that the darkness inside will simply swallow her whole. It has already consumed so much of her. Rumpel assures her that this is not the case, that letting him go will let the darkness go as well. Belle isn’t so sure, and it’s not a risk she’s willing to take. For as long as he is with her, she can fight against this darkness. It’s a losing fight, but it’s still a fight.

“Come on.” Rumpelstiltskin’s hand closes over hers. “Let’s go outside. Fresh air will do you good.”

Belle nods, and she lets him pull her up out of her chair and guide her out of the front door with a gentle hand on her back.

Storybrooke is so different now to how it was in its heyday. Belle remembers walking through the town with Rumpel having just brought him back. There were so many people around, all the shops were busy and bright and full of life.

There’s no-one here now. Everyone moved on. In dribs and drabs at first, then in an exodus when it became clear that the darkness was rapidly spiralling out of control. Belle didn’t care at the time. She quite enjoyed having the entire town to herself and Rumpel. He saved it, after all, why shouldn’t it be theirs after that sacrifice?

Now though, the sight of the place, fallen into such disrepair in the intervening years, leaves her chilled. The weather doesn’t help. The sun hasn’t shone since that first day, when sunny skies had been forecast and she had brought them a storm of darkness instead. Belle doesn’t miss much, but she misses the sun.

She leans closer into Rumpel’s side as they make their way down the main street, past Granny’s – long since boarded up, neon switched off permanently. Belle knows where they’re going. They always find their way back to the cemetery in the end.

She shakes her head.

“No, Rumpel. Please. I can’t. You’re the only thing I have anymore. I can’t let you go.”

“If you let me go, sweetheart, then there’ll be room in your life for more things. For light, and for living. You can’t stay here in a dead town with a dead love. Please, let me go. For both our sakes.”

“I don’t want to lose you again. I already lost you too many times. I can’t go through that pain again. It’s going to destroy me, Rumpel!”

She’s gripping his arms in an iron grip, gazing desperately into his face and hoping that he sees her fear. It’s the only thing she feels anymore, the fear of losing him completely. Why can’t he see that’s why she can’t let him go?

Losing him again will destroy her, if losing him the last time didn’t already, when the darkness crept into her heart and began to eat everything around it. Something logical in the back of her mind tells her that she can hardly be more destroyed than she already is, and maybe Rumpel is right, that losing him for this final time will be the first step in putting herself back together again.

“You’ll find me again, love. I’ll be right there waiting.”

“No. Please, no. I don’t want to wait. I want you here with me now. Forever.”

This time, Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t say those fatal words of ‘what have you done?’ They both know what she’s done. They both knew it was only a matter of time before the magic would weave itself into them so intrinsically that she would never be able to let it go. Belle can feel the finality in her words, and the darkness deep within her smiles to itself. Now, they will never be apart.

They’ll be stuck here in this ghost town forever, neither of them able to move on, but they’ll be together. They’ll never lose each other again.

“Belle.”

He feels more solid now as he takes her in his arms and she crumples against him, all of her pain and her rage and her grief coming rushing back in a flood now that she has truly past the point of no return. The darkness continues to creep through her veins as she cries for everything that she has lost over the years, including Rumpel.

Because she never really brought him back. Magic can’t bring back the dead. She doomed his shadow to walk the earth, and in doing so, she’s now doomed herself. He’s still just as lost to her as he always was, even as she feels his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps.

“It’s ok,” Rumpel says. “The darkness is like that. Believe me, I know.”

They stand in the cemetery in the twilight for a long time, two lost souls manipulated by darkness, bound to each other and the earth.

They can’t move on, so they stay where they are. They can’t let go, so they keep holding each other.

A brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.

Henry watches the New England forest slide past the yellow bug, almost on autopilot. It’s been so long since they left Storybrooke that it almost feels like living there was in another life. So much has happened since they all got out and left it for the ghosts, but he’s never been able to put it fully out of his mind, not even now, with a family of his own and so much more life under his hat.

He’s never been back since they left; as far as he knows, no one has. Still, the road is familiar, and he doesn’t need a map to find his way. Not that Storybrooke was ever on any commercially available maps in the first place, but this intuition guiding him back to the place he was never really able to stop calling home even after everything went wrong there is, well, kind of creepy and reassuring at the same time.

After Belle went… He trails off the thought, wondering what the right word is. After Belle went mad? After Belle went dark? Neither of them really fit, because what happened to her was so tragic, it deserves more than a simple word to express it. None of it was her fault; any more than it was Rumpelstiltskin’s fault. The darkness got into her, the nearest desperate soul who needed its siren call, and she let it in readily, in so much pain and so full of grief that it was a balm to her, a solace. Once it was there, it took root, and took over, like a parasite, feeding her pain whilst feeding off it at the same time.

She never became a new Dark One, not whilst Rumpelstiltskin was still around in some shape or form, and Henry has to wonder what became of her in the end, after everyone around her stopped trying to help and just packed their bags and left her, a lost cause. Some people can’t be saved, they said. People have to want to change before they can be helped.

It’s more complicated than that, Henry knows it is. He’s seen so much in his life, especially when it comes to the dynamics of family and friends and good and evil. All he has to do is look to Regina to know that things are never cut and dried when it comes to darkness. Regina was the last to leave. The town had always meant so much to her, and she was determined to stay as long as she could. She’d bargained with Rumpelstiltskin’s ghost, and he had tried to bargain with Belle, and they had both told her over and again to let him go and to step out of the darkness.

The last time Henry saw Belle, she was almost as much of a ghost as Rumpelstiltskin was, and he wonders what that means for them now. He wonders how much of Storybrooke is even left now that the magic that brought it into being has long gone.

Henry shivers as he crosses over the town line. The orange paint has long since faded and the sign is so covered with overgrown foliage that it can barely be seen, but he knows exactly where he is. It's as if someone walked over his grave. Ironic, really, since he's likely the only truly living thing in the town now. As he enters the town proper, he can see how abandoned it is. Everything has gone back to nature; perhaps the magic imbued in the town has started to wear off and it is returning to the untouched Maine forest it had always been before the fairy tale characters landed in it so unceremoniously, over half a century ago now.

There's not a single building that looks maintained in any degree, and the electric connections have long since gone. Despite everything, all Henry can feel is a deep sadness. He still has so many memories connected to this town. Some are good, some are bad, but it was such a formative part of his childhood and so many things happened here. He can't help but grieve the loss of its otherworldly vibrancy.

Jacinda had offered to come with him; they could bring Lucy along and go on a road trip to see the place where Henry grew up, but he didn't think that would be a good idea, with the possibility of vengeful ghosts roaming around. Now, he's not so worried about the ghosts. He simply doesn't want Jacinda and Lucy to see the place that he held so dear in a state of such disrepair.

Still, he didn't come here simply for a nostalgia trip. He came here with purpose, and he's going to fulfil it.

It's time for Storybrooke's ghosts to find peace at last. Maybe no one could help them at the time, when everything was still too fresh and raw and the darkness was still too untamed, but now, with so much time having passed, he thinks they deserve a second chance. They deserve to be mourned.

Henry continues to make his way through the town, out into the quieter residential areas where his grandfather's pink house sits. It too is abandoned and broken, and Henry feels his heart sink. He had entertained visions of it being the only place left in the town with any degree of life in it, but then, when he thinks about what he came here to do, he realises how silly such a notion was.

He's at a loss now, unsure where to find them if not in the place Belle had turned into her own Dark Castle, her own little hermitage. He abandons the bug in the driveway and considers stepping inside before deciding against it. He never went into Belle and Rumpelstiltskin's home before, and after the ghost returned, it became almost sacrosanct. He can't break that now.

He walks back into the town on foot, turning his collar up against the chill wind that has started to blow. He hadn’t particularly noticed the cold before, but now the weather is definitely taking a turn for the worse. Henry wonders if it is doing so purely in response to him. After all, the sun has not shone in Storybrooke ever since Belle brought Rumpel’s ghost back, and it certainly shows no signs of breaking with tradition now.

He can feel someone watching him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but he doesn’t turn to see what, or who, it is. So much time spent around fairy tales and stories has made him canny when it comes to the classic creepy tropes. He keeps on going, straight ahead. He never felt any fear of Belle or Rumpelstiltskin before he left the town. It was everyone else who was nervous, but Henry knew that he had nothing to fear. He and his father were about the only people who knew they’d be safe; that no matter how vindictive Belle might become in her darkness, Rumpelstiltskin would never allow anything to happen to Neal or Henry.

He comes to a halt in front of the cemetery gates. They’re open – wide open. They’ve been left like that purposefully, not just left to fall apart like the rest of the town. Strangely enough, this is the only place that feels even remotely alive, and Henry knows just why that is.

After all, Belle was more ghost than alive by the end. They’re probably more at home here, doomed never to move on and join those beyond the veil, however much they might yearn to.

Whoever it is, they’re still watching him, just over his shoulder as he steps into the cemetery and walks through the unkempt graves.

“How have you been?” he asks. “Did you get lonely after everyone left?”

“No.”

Henry glances to his side. It’s Belle, there but not there, almost translucent, everything about her in tones of grey and sepia and yet just a little bit too close to real to be a ghost.

“I had Rumpel,” she continues. “I always managed to convince myself that I didn’t need anyone else.”

Henry wants to ask what she is – shadow? Shade? Ghost? Spirit? Are all those things the same thing anyway? Did she die; is there a skeleton somewhere in this ghost town, or did she simply turn into a ghost? He suspects the latter, the darkness consuming her so much that there was nothing but her soul left. It seems rude to ask, so he goes for a different tactic instead.

“Where’s Rumpel?”

“Around. We’re always around.”

“You can’t move on, can you? You’ll be stuck here forever.”

Belle shrugs. “It’s not so bad. We have each other, that’s all we really need.”

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable… you know… elsewhere? In the great beyond, or whatever comes next?”

“Yes.” Belle’s voice is soft and could so easily be mistaken for the wind in the trees. “But that can’t happen, Henry. We’re stuck. We always will be. I made sure of that, in my own way. I thought it was what I wanted at the time. That’s the thing about darkness. You always think it’s what you want at the time, and it’s only much later that you realise that everything comes at a price.”

“Surely there has to be something I can do to help you. Every curse can be broken by something.” Their story is so tragic, their terrible fate borne not from a desire to do evil but from desperation, pain, loss. The same beginning as so many tragedies.

Belle shakes her head. “No one mourns the wicked.”

She’s gone then. She doesn’t vanish suddenly or fade away. She’s just gone, as if she was never there at all.

And Henry knows what he has to do.

It doesn’t take long to find what he needs; there’s more than enough tree branches around the place. Attempting to cut them takes longer as all the saws and blades in the hardware store are so dusty and out of use now that they just fall to bits as soon as he tries to use them. It takes him a couple of goes with the twine as well, until he finds some in good enough condition.

It’s not exactly a marble slab with names and dates and meaningful words on it, but nonetheless, it’s a marker, something stuck in the ground to show the world at large, even in this wholly abandoned place, that someone is dead and someone else cares that they are. Two little wooden crosses, even though there is nothing to bury.

He feels like he ought to say a few words, but none are forthcoming. What can he say that will encompass the decades of hurt and isolation that they’ve been through? So, instead, he just sits there on the ground and thinks, until he feels the warmth of the sun creep up over his back, and he smiles.

He knows what that means, and he can’t avoid giving in to the cliché. He turns to glance over his shoulder as the clouds over Storybrooke begin to clear for the first time in so very many years.

Belle and Rumpelstiltskin smile at him for the brief moment that they’re visible before they’re gone, gone for good this time. For that brief moment, everything is bright and colourful again, the grey and the sepia is banished to the past and they’re bathed in the light of whatever comes next.

Peaceful and free at last.

By the time Henry has walked back to the bug, it’s a truly beautiful day.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Rumpelstiltskin #angst #with a sort of happy ending #ghost story #season 3 divergence #dark!Belle #ghost!Rumpel

29 notes · View notes