#and i need to do eidolons for everything they drop

[alwaysjustmina]

Whispers of Rain

Chapter 15: I Can Hear You Say My Name

This is it for this arc - some of you may want to yell at me with how it ended but trust the process and that I know where I am taking this. I hope I didn’t lose anyone on this journey, this arc was one of the hardest things I have ever had to write.

I don’t know if anyone noticed that the chapter titles really tell you about the chapters you are reading, Rain by Sleep Token, really had the best words for this story.

Thank you again to:

@papaslittlesunshine for beta reading this story (if there are any mistakes in this last chapter, it is all my fault! I wanted her to read this along with all of you!)

@midnight-moth for listening to me go on and on about this story

@kamonart for the beautiful artwork

And to all of you dear readers, the comments and the kudos, truly mean the world to me. I am so excited everytime I see someone saying something about something I wrote. It always blows my mind you all like it.

What’s next? Next I am starting to write for Raindrop April, some shorter stories I need to get out and have been putting off while writing Whispers. I will pick back up the next arc in the SITO world sometime mid April, posting at the latest at the beginning of May.

Read below the cut or here on AO3

The car ride to Ifrit’s estate was quiet as both Rain and Aether were lost in their own thoughts. Aether thinking about his baby brother and wondering what he would want to do first when they got topside. He couldn’t wait to show him the world, to rebuild their bond. He was hopeful once Ifrit was taken care of, the memory loss would vanish, that maybe there was a tether there that could be broken by death.

And let’s not fool ourselves, the only way Dew would be safe, the only way they would all be safe is if Ifrit was dead. Dead and not able to reappear in some lower circle of hell. They had an incantation to make sure that didn’t happen.

Rain’s thoughts were plagued by Dew and what he was doing, did he read the letters? What did he think of them? Would they survive this together? He tried to push thoughts of Eidolon to the back of his mind, if this was his last moment he wanted to only think of Dew. He ached for him, he missed how they were. The feeling so strong in the pit of his stomach, the butterflies that still showed up when he looked at him. How his belly still did dips and turns like he was on a roller coaster, did Dew still feel that way when he looked at him? Or did he think Rain had left him to rot here?

How did they end up here? All he wanted was to be Dew’s, to be his mate, his partner, his lover, Dew was his everything. His world started when he first looked at him and Dew looked back, it ended when he saw Ifrit dragging him away and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He would wait forever for Dew, they would go at his pace. He just hoped it wasn’t too late for them.

As they got closer to their destination they went over the plan again. They were going to infiltrate the estate, with the intel they had, they knew Ifrit was onsite today and not a lot of staff would be there. The security scouring the area for Dew and Eidolon. There were only a few guards with him and the regular staff that they were assured would not hinder the two of them. They had also seen the atrocities that Ifrit had plagued upon others.

They would arrive close to lunch when Ifrit took his meal out on the veranda. He had no company coming over today, he hadn’t had much in the way of friends and since the festival his image had dropped in many fellow denizens of the pit. This was another reason he was dangerous, he had nothing to lose with his fall from his lofty heights. Everyone was vying for the top spot left vacated by his forced demotion, which only fell further every day he didn’t have Dew and Eidolon back in his grasp.

The only weapons that they were able to use were their powers, it had something to do with the incantation. Made weapons wouldn’t end him. Rain was still worried about how his water magic would kill Ifrit, but he had made sure he was ready. He could whip the water from his body, douse his flames, and drown him. Aether was only there as a backup, if Rain failed he could step in and make sure Ifrit was taken care of once and for all.

It was eerily quiet as they crept in through the abandoned tunnels under the estate, vermin scurrying away as they made their way to the door that opened up to the basement behind casks of wine. Mildew and must flooded their system with each breath they took, the dankness of the basement permeating their pores.

They crept behind the barrels, making their way up the steps and out through the pantry that opened up into a hall. They saw no one as they moved along, almost as if they were all expecting their arrival.

As they neared the veranda, they could hear the scrape of a fork on a plate, a wine glass being set down. Ifrit was there and they were ready.

But so was Ifrit, “Rainy, woah this took so much longer for you to come than I thought it would. I was beginning to think you didn’t really love our Droplet.”

He didn’t turn around, continuing to eat and drink, his every motion showing he wasn’t worried about the threat that Rain posed. When they rounded the table to stand in front of Ifrit, he finally looked up.

“Oh, Aether, you too? Really? How boring of you.” Laughing he took another sip of the red wine.

“Ifrit, this is your execution, carried out by the injured party, you will not be returning back to this plane after your death. This is your true death, final.” Aether spouted off the speech he was told he had to say. “In the event Rain dies before you, I will finish the job. We will only use our powers, do you understand the terms?”

“Oh even better, a true death duel! Does this mean Rainy can be done too? If I end him, he won’t be able to be with my Droplet.” There was no hint of nervousness in his visage, he was gleeful.

Rain and Aether both knew of this possibility but had signed up nonetheless to take care of Ifrit. With a nod to Ifrit’s question, Aether started the incantation, locking them all in until one side was done. Dead.

Ifrit pushed away from the table, ready to start and end this fight. There was no doubt in his mind that he was stronger than Rain, that he would have Dewdrop in the end. Rain was an ant that he planned to squish. He leered at Rain as they each accessed the other, finding weak spots, ready to pounce.

When Aether was done, Rain was surprised when Ifrit didn’t jump to start his attack. Instead he stood there just looking at Rain with a smirk on his face.

“Did he tell you how much he enjoyed our time together, Rain?”

Rain didn’t answer, instead he started pulling his power up quietly pulling mist to coat the porch floor slowly freezing the ground to make it slick and harder for Ifrit to move. Their bodies coated in rain, the water droplets falling heavier and heavier.

Ifrit threw the first bolt of fire at Rain, which was quickly doused with the water. They found themselves volleying back and forth, one trying to tire the other out. When that didn’t work, Ifrit continued his tirade as Rain started to pull the water from his body. He could see him start to flag as soon as he did it.

Rain stalked closer to Ifrit, his hands shaking as he continued, the face before him starting to sink into his bone structure, the flesh becoming less supple. While Rain didn’t relish the thought of killing someone, he knew this was the only option.

“Did - Did he tell you?” Ifrit cursed his voice, he knew Rain was beginning to get the upper hand and he was losing.

Rain again didn’t answer all his thoughts on his powers, he wouldn’t give Ifrit the benefit of him breaking his concentration.

“He could be pregnant, did you know that? What are you going to do when you have to see me in our child everyday? He will always be partly mine, he will never be just yours, Rainy.”

A child? No, that couldn’t be right, right? Dew would have told him. The image of Dew and Eidolon whispering in the corners and the horrible nightmares Dew had been having. Was it beyond the torture of what Rain thought, was he plagued that he could be carrying Ifrit’s child? Why wouldn’t he tell him? Rain would have supported him?

Ifrit’s plan worked, Rain lost all concentration on the task at hand. He could hear Aether shouting at him, but all he could see was Dew being forced by Ifrit, the image playing over and over in his mind. It allowed Ifrit to regain some of the upper hand, he quickly threw bolt after bolt of fire at Rain, when that didn’t work he sent a wave of fire crashing over all of them. Aether to the side wasn’t affected but Rain was engulfed in the flame. His water magic quickly eliminated the threat to himself, but not before he could smell hair burning on his body.

He advanced quickly to Ifrit, throwing up waves of water knocking him off of his feet, causing the bolts of laser focused fire to fly erratically in every direction. It didn’t stop Rain from pouncing, the slow pull of water from Ifrit before was nothing to Rain’s furry, he pulled it out in record time, and when before him was a desiccated man, he began to flood his lungs with all the water from around them. Not letting up.

“You are a sick fuck! You will never touch Dewdrop again. Never!” Rain shouted between tears and fury.

“He will never be yours again, do you hear me Ifrit? NEVER!”

He watched in satisfaction as Ifrit struggled for breath, the weight of the water on his flooded lungs cracking all of his ribs. He could feel his lungs expanding and expanding outwards as more water flooded them. Never giving up the relentless pursuit of drowning him in the driest parts of hell. His eyes bulged as he gasped for breath, but he would never find air again. The disbelief present on his face, that Rain had beat him. That he could be beaten.

Ifrit died in front of him. The water that flooded him moments ago fled his body to saturate the ground, finding serenity in being able to give back to the world again. Ifrit’s body slowly started to disintegrate into ash. It vaguely passed Rain’s mind how weird it was that he had flooded him with water only for him to break apart like a fire had engulfed him in the bluest hue of its ember. It wasn’t slow, if he hadn’t been watching he wouldn’t have believed that was what had happened to Ifrit. His eyes peered up at Rain, unfocused, in the glassy glance of death. They were the last thing to break down. His death stare would haunt Rain to think about them later.

Rain collapsed to his knees, he was finally done. Ifrit wouldn’t hurt them anymore. He wouldn’t hurt Dew. Dew could start to heal from Ifrit’s depravity. The tears wouldn’t stop, he felt the joy of it being over, but the weight of what he had to do plagued him. He knew it needed to be done, there was no other option, but the questions of what had happened to Dew, now flooded his mind. Where did they go from here?

Moments fled by incredibly fast as he kneeled in disbelief, surprised he hadn’t heard Aether yet shouting with joy. Why hadn’t he heard Aether yet? Why was it so quiet?

Rain quickly turned around to see Aether slumped on the side, a blackened hole surrounding his heart. The errant fire beams Ifrit shot off had hit him. Rain had never moved so fast, flying to his side trying as if that could slow the inevitable.

“Aether, hang on. We will get you to a healer. Hold on!” He cried, reminiscent of last year when Rain was in a similar position with Aether shouting at him.

Aether grabbed his hands, pulling him closer to whisper in Rain’s ear. “It is too late. Rain, it is ok, please watch over Phantom. Tell him how much I love him. Make sure he gets to safety, please promise me this?”

Rain watched as color drained from Aether’s purple eyes, slowly lightening to a white, his body so very cold as Rain held onto his hands.

“No, don’t give up! You are going back with us!” He cried.

“Promise me Rain, please! Promise me you will get him home!”

Rain shook his head back and forth in disbelief. How could this be happening, they had won this. They couldn’t be in this position, not again. They couldn’t lose anyone.

Aether’s voice was getting lighter as he repeated himself over and over.

“I promise, Aeth, I promise. I am so sorry!” Aether gripped his hand tightly before it grew lax, at peace with the promise that Phantom would be taken care of. He was at peace in death, he would gladly give his life for Phantom to have a chance. He was partially to blame for all of this, if he would have spoken up long ago, maybe Ifrit wouldn’t have gotten this far.

“Thank you, Rain” The last words he spoke before he too started to disintegrate in front of Rain. His body turning to ash, caught in the confines of the incantation. He was gone permanently.

Rain didn’t know how long he sat on that veranda besides the ashes of Aether’s body, sobbing for everything Ifrit had taken from them, before he picked himself up and started back towards Dew and Eidolon. Going home, going home to Dew.

*******************************************************

He didn’t just leave the estate, he made sure everyone was out, finding the bedroom where Dew was held along the way. His scent still on the unwashed sheets, intermingled with what he assumed was Eidolon’s or Ifrit’s. The thought of both, either, with Dew made him vomit in the attached bathroom before he closed the door quickly.

There was no one in the house, they had all fled either before the fight or during. Easier for Rain to do what he knew needed to be done.

After he exited the room he left for last, Ifrit’s study, he lit fire to the place. Carrying some documents and a leather bound journal he hoped would give them some insight into what he had done to Eidolon. Aether had been informed Ifrit wrote in it consistently, so he wasn’t leaving it behind.

He watched the fire burn from the car a few miles away on a hillside. Loving that Dew’s elements, both fire and water, had finished this place and the ghoul in the end. The color of the fire against the blood red sky, turned the image in front of him a shade of orange, all the colors of a sunset trying to fight for dominance. Rain found something in the orange, a peace knowing that the ghoul known as Ifrit, his plague on this land was done.

*******************************************

Driving back to the house was a drawn out process, he had contacted Copia and told him where to open the portal and when. He didn’t question Rain when he said he was bringing back Aether’s brother but not Aether. He knew the time for questions was for later, he could hear the tremble in Rain’s voice. He told him not to worry, they would take care of everything and be waiting for them at the allotted time when they came through to the abbey.

It was dark again when he got back, much like when they had left earlier. The house had lights on in almost every window, as if welcoming the warriors back from the war, he thought with a grimace. Only one warrior, and not much of a warrior.

He dreaded having to tell Eidolon and Dew about Aether, knowing his brother would never forgive him and the rage that would follow once he shared that news. He must have sat in the vehicle for at least a half an hour before forcing himself to exit.

He walked slowly to the door, dragging his feet. He just wanted to get them home, to rest, pick up the pieces of his shattered being. He was surprised when he heard the front door creak open and Dew’s head peek out of the frame. Rain didn’t even recognize the sound of Dew’s gasp and his feet on the ground before their bodies crashed together. The exhaustive weight of what just transpired hours before found Rain’s knees buckling. Dew held him as he sank to the ground, clinging to one another in desperation. There were no words, there didn’t need to be any, there was time to talk, time to listen, time to put their life back together. Time.

The only thing that broke them apart was when they heard Eidolon, suddenly standing beside them, asking where Aether was.

Rain’s legs trembled as he rose back up to his feet, pulling Dew along with him. He wasn’t ready to let go yet, knowing everything was about to change again. Their eyes locked, Dew picking up on Rain’s hesitation.

His voice trembled as he spoke the words that would seal any future dealings with Eidolon, “I-I am, I don’t know how to say this, I am, fuck.”

“What, spit it out, it isn’t like you killed him too,” Eidolon responded with a huff, exasperation evident on his face at having to deal with Rain again.

When Rain didn’t meet his eyes and didn’t speak for a moment, Eidolon continued, “You didn’t right? He is still in the car right?”

“AETH,” he shouted, running to the vehicle. When he saw no one inside, he turned back to Rain, fury evident on his face.

“You can’t tell me you are this inept that got my brother killed, that YOU KILLED HIM?”

“The spell, it-,” stumbling over his words, he tried to get it all out, taking another breath he steadied himself and continued, “The spell, if anyone in the circle was hit, it ended them. Ifrit was erratic at the end and one of his bolts hit Aether.”

“I tried, Ei-,” that was all Rain could utter before he felt his head swing back with the force of Eidolon’s fist. He fell to the ground again, flinging Dew from him so he wasn’t caught in his fury. His fists pummeled him again and again, not stopping. He could hear Dew shouting at Eidolon, trying to pull him off of Rain. Rain stopped feeling the fists on his face, assuming Dew had finally been able to put Eidolon off of Rain. When he finally opened his eyes back up, he could see Dew standing with Eidolon to the side, his arms around him, whispering in his ear furtively.

Eidolon broke out of Dew’s grasp and knelt down beside Rain, whispering for only him to hear, “You are so fucking useless, Rain. I can’t believe you still exist. I will find a way to make everyone see how useless you are.”

As they stood there in silence, the portal suddenly appeared to the side of the home. The faint outline of the abbey room visible through the center. He didn’t realize time had flown so fast already.

“That’ll be Copia, we should go before it draws attention,” Rain mumbled, bending to retrieve the satchel he brought back with him from Ifrit’s house. When no one moved his gaze stumbled over them ultimately landing on Dew.

His eyes were red and bloodshot, when did he cry? Of course he cried, one of his closests friends had been killed. He wished not for the first, or surely the last, time that he could remove all the pain Dew had to endure in the last few months.

“Please go, this will be the only thing I ask of you, I want you to be safe. I will bring up the rear to make sure you both get through,” Rain begged quietly.

He watched as Dew nodded and grabbed Eidolon’s hand to walk towards the portal. The swirling purple and black lights glistening like the sun through Dew’s hair, the outline of his body illuminated by the otherworldly light. It was only then that Rain noticed Dew was clutching a small package of letters in his other hand. There was no time to question what they were, but he could only assume they were what he had left Dew with. His mind screamed at him to ask if he read them, what he thought, did he still love him? Eidolon and Dew were through the portal in the blink of an eye.

Dew was home. Finally.

*************************************************

As Rain stumbled into the summoning room, he saw Dew to the side of the room first. His eyes watching as Rain gathered his bearings from the trip. Their friends were all there waiting for them, Copia was there.

He could hear Dew talking quietly with Mountain to the side, as he too looked at Rain with grief. When he moved as if to go to Rain’s side he shook his head, Dew needed him more right now.

He found Copia watching him also, he moved to tell him that he could close the portal, this was everyone, but Copia shook his head.

“Rain, you can’t stay. We already got a summons. You have to go back.” His solemn tone leaving no room for questions from Rain, he knew this was a possibility.

They knew that there were forces at work that didn’t want Rain to go back to the pit and take care of Ifrit, the delay on being able to go was proof of that. They had discussed before going that something like this could happen, they hoped it wouldn’t but were prepared.

“I understand. Can I say goodbye?”

Copia looked to the portal before answering, “You have less than a minute before guards will be sent through. I’m sorry, Rain. We will work on everything we can from this side.”

Before he threw his arms around Copia, he handed him the backpack with the documents and told him to keep it safe. In the hug, he tried to convey everything he could in mere moments. “Please take care of him,” he whispered in his ear before he turned around to stumble across the room to Dew.

He made his way to Dew’s side, to break the news and say goodbye, but he found he couldn’t tell him.  He reached out absentmindedly to caress Dew’s face and when Dew pulled back from the touch, his hand quickly dropped to his side.

“I will move all of hell to be back with you as soon as I can.  I promise.”  He vowed as Dew looked on with confusion.

“What do you mean?  We are here now.”  

“I have to go back, ‘M sorry I don’t have time to explain, Copia will be able to tell you more.”

“Don’t go,”  Dew begged as the tears started to slide down his face again.

Everything in his being was screaming at him to stay, to run away with Dew, to never come back. They’d find them anywhere though, there was no escape.  The best he could do was leave Dew with the people who loved him.  He tried to take in that one last look, memorizing his face, the tilt of his head as he begged, the way his lips puffed out as he cried.  He wished he could see his smile.

“It’ll be ok.”

“It’s not ok, Rain.”  It’ll never be ok again, he sobbed to himself.

His time was up.  

As he drew away from everyone, he looked at all of them one last time, saving Dew for last. He tried to keep him in his vision until the last second, the portal swallowing him from his sight.  He hated that the last thing he would see was Eidolon moving towards Dew to comfort him.  

**********************************

“You have been summoned back to answer for your crimes against Ifrit Coal and Aether Lucent.”  The sound of the key in the cell door was the last thing he heard before he broke down.  Pain and grief his only companion in his exile.  He was pretty sure that was what he deserved.

#rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #raindrop #fan fiction #ghost fan fiction #ghost band #whispers of rain #cw character death #mina writes #chaptered fic #finished fic

[angelasscribbles]

Eidolon Chapter 9: Affliction

Series: Eidolon

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: None right now, busy being haunted

Rating: MA

Warnings: HORROR

Word Count: 2,211

My other stuff: Master List.

Three hundred years ago……

“You turned her into what?” Merida was livid. Incensed didn’t begin to cover it. This was what came from trusting a witch.

Lucretia looked bored, “You wanted a spell that kept her away from her lover, didn’t you?”

“Yes! But I assumed you would banish her or something!”

“If banishing is what you wanted, you should have said so.” Lucretia gave her withering look, “I did as you requested! Your desires shaped the spell! Very little of it was in my control!”

“How will this keep her away from him?” Merida demanded, “This will just put him in danger! She’ll kill him!”

“She won’t go near him because she loves him, as he loves her.” Lucretia watched as Merida winced as if from a physical blow. A cruel smile twisted her lips as she pressed the advantage, “Isn’t this what you wanted? For them to suffer for the crime of loving each other? Because you gave yourself to an old man with no fire in his veins to satisfy your lust for power and position and they chose fire? Because she’s still young and beautiful and the bloom on your rose has started to fade? Because he dared to seek pleasure in the arms of another?”

“Shut up!” The queen hurled a vase across the room.

The witch side stepped it easily with a smirk, “Be careful that your jealousy doesn’t come back to take what you love most.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lucretia shrugged, backing out the door with a cold smile, “Everything comes with a price to be paid, my queen. Everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She screamed, but the witch was gone.

~~~~~~

The night was quiet. The townspeople were scared. Men had been dying unexplainable deaths.

She slipped through a darkened stable, having just made a meal out of the stable manager.

The witch was standing in the doorway. Rezna jerked back, ready to run.

“I’m not here to hurt you, my dear.” She soothed, “I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” She cried, “Do you know what you’ve done to me? I’m a monster now! I need sex to feed! To live! And I can’t control it! I….I’ve killed people!”

Rezna dropped her head into her hands, horrified. She sobbed noisily, “I have to get away from here before he comes back!”

She couldn’t kill the man she loved. It was the one thing she couldn’t allow to happen, no matter how strong her need to feed. She gathered her skirts in her hands and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Lucretia hissed at her, “Don’t you want to know why this was done to you? At whose request? No, at whose command! And how to take your revenge?”

Rezna dropped the fabric from her hands as she turned back to the witch, “Tell me.”

~~~~

Mourning bells pealed through the early morning air. The king was dead.

Another unexplained death.

Yes, he had been old. But healthy.

His oldest son was scheduled to be crowned the following day. The crown prince was only fourteen.

Merida drummed her fingers on the windowsill. She would not miss her husband. Still, cold fear slid through her at the thought of what she had unleased on her own people.

At least she would have Gawain. She would be there to comfort him when he returned to find his intended had disappeared.

She loved him. They would be happy together. It would take time, but he would come around.

The door to her private chambers squeaked open.

She spun quickly around, “I said not to disturb me!”

“Oh, but you disturb me, my queen. You disturb me very much.”

Fear prickled down her spinal cord as she faced the girl she had ordered cursed. “How did you get in here? Where are my guards? Guards!”

“Sorry, they’re dead.”

Merida paled.

“But that’s on you, isn’t it? You’re the one that ordered this curse on me! You’re the one that made me this way!”

Merida took a step back as she shook her head, “N-no, I don’t know who told you that but-“

“Don’t lie to me!” Rezna hissed, “I know the truth!”

The witch had shown her in a crystal, Lucretia’s memory reflected in the enchanted stone.

The queen drew herself up with false bravado, “What are you going to do about it? I��m a woman. Your powers only work on men.” She hoped.

Rezna’s eyes glittered with unnatural brightness. The smile that curved her lips was the most terrifying thing Merida has ever seen, “But you have sons.”

“What?” The blood in her veins turned to ice as panic suffused her entire being.

“You heard me. I can’t hurt you, but your sons are fair game.”

“You….you would kill children?”

“Michel is young, but he’ll be a man soon. I’ll wait. Then Andros, a few more years for him, I think. And your daughter? She’ll live, but someday she’ll have sons of her own. And I’ll take them too.”

“No!” A horrified exhale.

“You didn’t know that part of the curse is immortality, did you? I will stalk, and kill, every male Rys descendant for the rest of eternity. My curse is now your family’s curse as well and you have only yourself to blame!”

“No!” She gasped again, but Rezna was gone.

The queen collapsed against the wall and slid to the floor.

The witch. She needed the witch.

~~~~

“Why should I help you?”

“This is your fault! I only wanted her gone! I didn’t ask for….this!”

“It isn’t that simple. I told you; everything comes with a cost! The price of my help was my freedom, the price of the curse itself is your sons.”

“You planned this? You planned this from the beginning? But….the blood oath-“

“I swore a blood oath not to hurt you! I am not hurting you, or anyone for that matter. The innocent girl you had cursed is the one doing the hurting. And I can’t say I blame her. What you had me do was deplorable!”

“But…but you weaponized her to hurt my innocent children!”

“I empowered her to take her rightful revenge!”

“But my children are innocent!”

“So was she! Yet you forced me to curse her!”

“You have to help me! There must be a way to protect my children!”

“And why would I do that? Why would I help you?”

 “I’ll give you power!”

Lucretia scoffed, “I have power.”

“Political power! I can add a clause to the charter that stipulates in the absence of a Rys, a Nevrakis would be next in line for the throne!”

“You don’t have the power to do that, you were queen consort, and now queen mother, nothing more.” Lucretia headed for the door.

“My son has the authority and he’s only fourteen! He will sign what I tell him to!”

“Really?” The witch stopped and turned back to regard the queen with curiosity.

“Really! I swear it!”

“Hmmm.” Lucretia tapped her chin thoughtfully. “He’ll sign anything you tell him to?”

“Yes! Please!”

“Then I’ll take your offer of succession plus the added caveat that burning witches inside the borders of Cordonia will henceforth be illegal. You will publicly renounce the idea that witchcraft is real, and ban witch hunts, witch trails and the practices of burning and drowning alleged witches.”

“But-“

“Those are my terms.”

Merida’s fists clenched at her side. What choice did she really have? “Fine! I’ll do it!”

“We will swear a blood oath before I perform any magic.”

“Of course.”

“One more thing…”

“What now?”

The witch stepped closer to the queen, lowering her voice, “What you’re asking is blood magic. It will require blood.”

“Whose?”

“Yours, for starters. We will need a small amount of the blood you wish to protect into eternity. Don’t worry, we won’t need much.”

“That’s fine. I’ll give it.”

“But-“

“But?”

Her eyes glittered with malice. “What you are asking for is a powerful spell, something that will protect your descendants into eternity. That’s a long time. It will require a great sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Yes. Sacrifice. I told you, everything has a cost!” Why were mortals so stupid?

“But I’m giving you rights of succession and making Cordonia a safe haven for witches! What more do you want?” Merida cried.

Lucretia scoffed, “Those agreements are the price of my services. The spell itself requires payment. Magic of the magnitude you seek is not free.”

“What sacrifice? I have money, lands, what does it require?”

“Normally it would require that which you love most. But since your children are the thing you’re seeking to protect….I think the dearest desire of your heart will do. Yes, it will do nicely.”

The queen stared at her for a long moment as she processed what was being asked of her. She blanched; her stomach rolled with nausea, “You can’t mean-“

“Yes. I’m truly sorry. But only a great sacrifice can kindle great magic.”

The witch was truly sorry. The knight was innocent, as were the young princes. His life for theirs. And ending the witch hunts would save hundreds, if not thousands of lives. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

All of it could have been avoided if not for the jealously and entitlement of one woman.

Merida sucked in a deep breath and dried her eyes. She had to protect her children, “I’ll have Gawain arrested the moment he returns to the palace. He’ll be in the cells until….you need him.”

~~~~~~~~

Rezna skirted the walls of the palace, clinging to the darkness, hiding from prying eyes. She could easily defend herself, but she had no wish to kill unnecessarily.

She shouldn’t be here. But she had to see him.

She had fed in the small village down the road to ensure satiety. She wouldn’t approach him, wouldn’t speak to him. She just wanted to see him, for a moment. She knew he had returned by now; it had been a fortnight since he left. He’d be looking for her.

He couldn’t find her. Her heart ached.

They should be planning their wedding. She should be wrapped in his arms, celebrating his return and their engagement.

The pain burned through her; hot, angry tears rolled down her face. She wiped them away in frustration. She would have her revenge on the queen, but it was of little comfort.

Merida had taken everything from her, not just Gawain. She could never go home now. Never see her mother or her siblings again. Her parents, her grandmother, would grieve her, never knowing what had become of her.

She would never have children.

She was nothing more than a ghost now. Never able to form any human relationships, confined to the shadows, forced to kill to sustain herself.

But she could endure it all if she could just lay eyes on him one more time. See for herself that he was okay.

She made her way through the darkened palace hallways to the guard quarters, creeping quietly to his door.

He wasn’t there.

His armor was.

She searched the palace.

His screams drew her down the narrow stairs into the dank underbelly of the palace. Into the cells.

She found him, but it was too late.

The cell door was left open. The prisoner was dead. A chalice of his blood sat on a makeshift altar. Candles were positioned at each of the five points of a glowing star carved into the floor.

“No!” She flew to him, pulling the restraints free and cradling his head to her chest as she rocked back and forth chanting, “No, no, no, no, no….”

“What are you doing in here?”

Her head whipped toward the voice, her eyes already glowing red. She was covered in Gawain’s blood.

The guard’s eyes widened in fear as he took in her appearance. He stumbled over his feet as he tried to back out of the room.

She was on him before he could turn to run.

She tore through the palace in her grief induced rage. By morning not a single man was left alive within its walls.

The enchantment of her magical seduction was dispensed with as she fed on their pain and terror, no longer hiding in the shadows.

Terrified witnesses spilled from the palace into the town and by the next night, an angry and determined mob had amassed.

She was overpowered and bound with iron shackles too heavy for her to break. She was forced into the throne room and sealed up in a makeshift wall of bricks, the mortar mixed with salt and selenite.

Water, mixed with salt and other protective minerals was brought into the throne room and poured onto the floor.

The wails coming from inside the wall were heartrending. The queen mother ordered the throne room sealed and another one built.

The hallway was cordoned off and staff ordered never to go down it.

Not that they wanted to.

It took fifty years for the wailing to stop and another fifty for the stories to fade to the stuff of myth and legend. Ghost stories, campfire tales.

A hundred more, and the entire thing had been forgotten entirely.

Until a young prince decided to do some renovations.

#eidolon #angelasscribbles #choices trr #liam rys #drake walker #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #horror #spooktober #spooky #creepy #gothic

[boyslit]

Hyacinth

Redid her hair and added color and detail and filled out much of her character template so I feel more confident sharing :3

Name: Hyacinth

Rarity: 5★

Pronouns: She/They

Species: Long-life human

Title: Flower of the Fanghu

Path: Preservation

Element: Wind

Combat Type: Shields/Retaliation

Faction: Xianzhou Alliance

Introduction: As the architect and keeper of the gardens aboard the Xianzhou Fanghu, Hyacinth is a steadfast caretaker, a landscaper with a keen eye for beauty and symmetry, and a truly gentle soul. It's said that even thorny and poisonous plants take care not to harm her while she tends to them.

— Ability

Basic ATK - Necessary Restraint - Directs roots below the enemy to grow upwards and crush them into the dirt for X% of ATK.

Skill - Silk Hiding Steel - Unleashes a fierce gust of wind, turning normally soft, harmless petals into razors to strike the enemy. Does x% dmg/ATK and causes Bleed for 1 turn.

Ultimate - Fortress of Thorns - Obedient thorns grow up around the party, shielding them from harm and doing damage to the enemy when a shielded ally is attacked. Shields x% of Hyacinth's (def?hp?) for 2 turns and enemies take 45% dmg when attacking a shielded ally. Enemies receiving damage from Thorn Fortress have an additional 30% base chance to acquire Bleed for 1 turn.

Talent - Thousandfold Blossom - When an ally's health drops below 40%, Hyacinth shields them with a temporary wall of blooming plant life for two turns ( that also heals a small amount of health. - Eidolon addition)

Technique - Sanctuary - Creates an area of effect and enemies caught within the area are ensnared by thorny vines, taking damage and being afflicted with Bleed for 1 turn at the start of the battle.

— Eidolons

1. Morning Mist - Increases Hyacinth's Energy Regen Rate by 6%

2. A Time For Growth - Shields applied by Thousandfold Blossom restore a small amount of health to shielded ally as long as the shield lasts.

3. Hardy Cultivar - Increases Hyacinth's base def by 12%

4. Careful Pruning - +2 to skill and basic

5. Shears of Justice - Extends duration of Bleed applied by skills by 1 turn.

6. Steadfast Protector - +2 to ult and technique

— Character Lines

First Meeting: It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Hyacinth, Architect of Gardens upon the Fanghu. If you've come for a tour of our many beautiful gardens, I can arrange one of our best guides to lead you.

Greeting: It's good to see you again. I was about to take my breakfast in the Five-Corner Garden. Would you care to join me? The mist over the ponds and the unfurling morning blossoms are exquisite at this hour. We might even see some water-skating insects if we're lucky.

Parting: Oh, dear… it's quite late, isn't it? Time seems to fly at your side. (giggle) Don't worry. Plants do not rush to grow, nor should we. We will meet again soon, I promise.

About Self - [Gardens]: Most of the gardens you see aboard the Fanghu were designed by my hand. When I was younger, and there were fewer areas in need of my care, I tended everything by hand. These days I need a fleet of assistants to keep every garden flourishing.

About Self - [Lifetime]: I'm quite glad to be a long-life species. Imagine if I had to reincarnate every several hundred years, and someone else took over managing my gardens meanwhile? (shudder) … it simply doesn't bear thinking about.

Chat - [Flowers]: Are you familiar with night-blooming toad flower? No? It's a fascinating sight. If you're free some evening, I'll gladly accompany you to view it.

Hobbies: Do I do things besides gardening? Well, of course! One must have a balanced schedule, after all. I enjoy a bit of painting when I have the time. My watercolor technique leaves much to be desired, but it's a relaxing hobby nonetheless.

Annoyances: (quietly) They want how many wirebloom stems for the festival? I've told him time and time again those are in extremely limited quality because they only bloom every five years! … (clears throat) I'm very sorry, I didn't see you there. Can I help you with anything?

Something to Share: I know there's a rumor that the plants themselves refuse to harm me, but the truth is I simply have several hundred years' experience with handling them. That, and very high-quality gardening gloves.

Knowledge: There are over seventy species of trees aboard the Fanghu, alongside 47 species of shrubs, 168 species of flowers, ten types of vining plants, and 56 varieties of crops. There are, however, still some species of fruiting vines I've yet to get my hands on that will flourish well alongside our current crops.

About [Sushang]: Sushang… Ah, yes, the Cloud Knight girl. I know her parents better than she, but I do recall seeing her chase butterflies around the Mirror Pond Garden as a child. She seemed a sweet girl.

About [Luocha]: When I see him in the market, he's usually found a new plant or seeds to offer me. Now, often they aren't compatible with the ecosystem here, but I'm flattered he remembers to set something aside for me with so many other, better-paying customers around.

— Combat Lines

Battle Begins - Weakness Break: Stay your advance.

Battle Begins - Danger Alert: On your guard!

Turn Begins I: It is time to prune the rot.

Turn Begins II: Root and Vine, heed my call.

Turn Idling: (humming peacefully)

Basic ATK: Hmph! Not another step!

Skill: You should have run when I gave you the chance.

Hit by Light Attack: No matter… it will heal.

Hit by Heavy Attack: Ugh!

Ultimate: Activate: I believe that's quite enough. (2x: That's quite enough.)

Ultimate: Unleash: It is time to taste the nectar of retribution! (2x: Taste the nectar of retribution!)

Talent: I will not let you fall!

Downed: (weakly) To the soil I return…

Return to Battle: You will not get the best of me again.

Health Recovery: Thank you, my dear.

Technique: These grounds are off-limits to your kind.

Battle Won: Thank goodness… is everyone alright?

Treasure Opening: My, what a lovely selection… are you… sure it's alright to take these?

Successful Puzzle-Solving: (delighted chuckle) Child's play.

Enemy Target Found: Hmm, an invasive pest.

Returning to Town: Ahh… I could do with a cup of tea underneath my favorite wisteria tree.

#my oc stuff #my art stuff #oc tag #honky Stars #oc: hyacinth #do i maintag. I'm scared lol #ok here we go #honkai Star rail #hsr

[islandofsages]

Hi! Could I request Albedo (or anyone else if you prefer) x artist male reader.

The scenario being someone came into their studio before hours and painted over some previous sculptures the reader did or the stranger messed with an incomplete sculpture. The reader sees what's happened and rants to Albedo and seeks comfort from him.

🦇

summary: in which empathy holds you close.

characters: albedo x artist male reader

tags: relationship not specified, canon compliant, hurt/comfort, fic format

warnings: embracing, reader is sad

author's notes: damn 🦇 anon your timing is impeccable i was literally writing an albedo comfort fic wtf are you spying on me?? jokes aside that's why i was quick to finish this aside from wanting a request for so long LMAO anyways i hope you like this <3

edit: i forgot to mention that i gained some inspiration from vandalize by one ok rock LOL ive been dabbling in so much sonic content lately pls

word count: 1.0k

FEM/FEM-ALIGNED DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

You can feel the weight of the world resting on the top of your shoulders, and yet you muster up the strength to make your way to Dragonspine - with your usual posture too, instead of a more slouched-up one although all you want to do is lie down. Even now, you have no idea what you’re not curled up in a blanket and sobbing silently into your sheets. Perhaps you just need a shoulder instead of a blanket.

You don’t know who did it - it didn’t seem to matter at the time anyway - but the damage has been done and your head is in ruins; just like how your work in progress was ruined by some unknown harlot. You know not whether the perpetrator truly intended to vandalize your heart by leaving such a mark or if they were forced to - but, again, it matters not. Your heart is in pieces and here you are, seeking the doctor who could hopefully aid you in piecing them back together.

When you finally reach his little lab, a surprising sight greets you; the chief alchemist is currently pondering something, his right hand cupping his chin and his eyes shut tight. That itself is not surprising but rather, it is the absence of the Spark Knight. You see this as a sign and make your way deeper with a relieved sigh. With all your leftover strength, you walk over to where he is standing.

“Hey, Albedo,” you greet him. At first, he doesn’t notice you and barely hears your greeting, though you don’t blame him - you’re barely making the effort to really assert your presence. At that point, you are an eidolon, transparent and lacking. Plus, he seems to be very immersed in whatever he’s thinking of or imagining. You can’t help but wish that you are in his thoughts. Finally, after a few moments, he opens his eyes and his arm casually falls to his side when he sees you.

“Oh, (Y/N). What brings you here?” Even hearing him say your name slightly melted away your worries. But it was not enough to wipe the frown off your face. You sigh tiredly for what seems like the umpteenth time today. You find it hard to let out everything in your mind though you possess the words. While you answer him with your silence, he drags a nearby chair and offers it to you. You let your weight drop you down on the seat.

“Did something happen? You may tell me anything - I will listen to you,” he speaks - so many generous offers today, you think to yourself. But it’s not strange, no; rather, you just don’t think you deserve such kindness. You mean, you are apparently horrible enough to deserve having your work and heart being vandalized in such a manner. You shake your head in defeat. Why did you come here in the first place? Is this not futile? Is this not pathetic?

“...I don’t wanna be a burden to you, Albedo,” you merely say. Ironically so, because you came here to seek comfort and yet here you are pushing it away. Is it not strange, the way human beings work? Is the fear of being a burden to someone else really the reason why you don’t want his help? You vaguely recall someone saying that this is a type of mental resistance…

“But you are a burden to me. And so is everyone else who has the honor of existing.”

“Huh?” His answer catches you off guard. He always had such a calm disposition and acted like a caring older brother to others…to think that he thought so all this time. You feel your melancholy deepening though you are not surprised - Albedo has always been quite the blunt and honest person. You appreciate him for that fact at least.

“Even our names carry weight - how could one not be a burden? Is it not a gift to have your load be felt by others and to leave a mark of your existence? Is it not an insult to have no freight?” he elaborates and you feel your muscles relax; you didn’t even notice you were so tense, especially because you felt like you’ve been slumping all over the place. For the first time that day, the corner of your lips quirk up slightly. Tears threaten to escape from the corner of your eyes.

“Tell me, (Y/N). What happened?” he reiterates, his tone growing gentler with every syllable. You can no longer take it; tears stream down your cheeks. He fetches a handkerchief from a table nearby and, once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he wipes your tears away. He rubs your back as you choke on hiccups and shallow breaths. You try your best to speak.

“Someone…my sculpture…it’s ruined…” you confess in between sobs and instinctively lean into Albedo, your head on his shoulder. He continues to rub circles on your back with his left arm while his right arm pulls you closer to him; an embrace you needed oh-so-badly. 

“We’ll find whoever did such a thing to you,” he assures you. Though you want to tell him that there’s no need to put that much effort into such a small incident, you lack the energy. All that crying has left you more vulnerable and exhausted than usual. It took so much of your strength to let all that out, you find it funny that some find it a sign of weakness to cry - this was the strongest thing you did so far.

You let out a low “Mm” in response and shut your eyes, ending your small breakdown there. You can feel Albedo stroking your hair and you relish in his warmth. Deep somewhere within your heart, you don’t want him to know that you’ve been sculpting his figure - that is why you were hesitant to let him investigate your art studio. But his touch has proved that there is nothing to fear, nothing to be shy about. Especially when a portrait of you sits in a hidden corner of his little lab. You two have already memorized each other’s every little facial detail.

Just as art is a form of love, love is also a form of art.

#genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #queerplatonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x m!reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #albedo x reader #albedo x male reader #albedo x y/n #albedo x m!reader #albedo genshin impact #albedo genshin x reader #albedo genshin #albedo #🦇 anon

[hyacjnthus]

did someone ask for *dramatically takes off sunglasses* nico di angelo angst? nope, nobody asked for it

it’s been sitting in my google docs drafts for like months so here you go. read it on AO3

_____

who is in control? by plantedpluto

_____

For demigods, Friday was going great. It was just before Capture the Flag when Nico had followed Will into the infirmary to tidy it up. They both knew, especially with the skills those had learned from the Giant War a few weeks ago, people could fight brutally and Will might be stuck there for a while.

As Nico was flipping through the pages of Lou Ellen’s file - mostly potions-gone-wrong related injuries, screams erupted from down the hill, and Cecil Markowitz came barreling into the infirmary.

He was coated in water, a few cuts on his arms and a bite that looked like it came from a fish. Something wasn’t right. Something big wasn’t right.

“It...It’s Percy!” Cecil winced, waving his hands frantically as he talked. “He’s destroying the camp, summoning everything from the ocean!”

Will took Cecil by the shoulders to set him down, then looked back at Nico. He had a look that Nico knew anywhere, but now was the time to ignore it.

“You cannot be serious,” Will said, his voice hard.

“Will, you know what he can do.” Nico explained, a tinge of panic in his own voice. “If anyone can stop him, it’s me.”

Before Nico could leave, Will gripped his wrist, pulling him closer, and connected their lips together. Will had that warm and reassuring feeling, somehow more than usual. When they reluctantly pulled apart, Will hugged him. That only made Nico’s abrupt departure even worse.

To hide the fear, Nico sent a joking salute to the room with a smile, then left with the faux emotion dropping.

The scene was utter chaos. The magma of the lava wall had turned black into what he assumed was obsidian, a few cabins - including his own- crumbled to their individual materials, centre hearth completely extinguished with Percy standing over it, enveloped in water.

Nico hadn’t been very good at math, just now being tutored by Will to catch up, but he did try to calculate in his head the best plan of action.

Why was Percy doing this? Attacking camp with his powers? How were the gods, including Poseidon, just sitting there watching as their children avoided being slaughtered? Thank the gods there hadn’t been any casualties, but some were in such critical condition that Nico could feel their life force draining.

Prime example, Lacy from the Aphrodite cabin was whimpering on the ground, several cuts and bites on her skin. Nico knelt to her side, carefully running his fingers along them.

“Lacy,” Nico whispered, “It’s going to be okay, you’ll be just fine”

She picked her up under the knees and behind her head. He pressed his fingers to her neck and thanked the gods once again that she wasn’t dead. “Miranda!” he shouted at the closest child of Demeter. She looked inharmed, yet still in shock.

“Oh my gods, Lacy…” she muttered. “Nico what—“

“Take her to the infirmary, tell Will it’s critical, I’m going to stop Percy.” he explained before parting ways.

As Nico reached the middle, standing in front of the hearth, Percy’s white glazed eyes flickered to him when Nico drew his stygian iron sword. Riptide reflected in the water, glowing bright in the sunlight.

“Percy!” he called, purposely gaining the son of Poseidon’s attention before he could choke Pollux anymore. “What in Hades are you doing?”

Percy said nothing but let Riptide clatter to the stone. Was that a sign of surrender? Did he somehow begin to fear Nico when they were forced to fight against each other?

Nico placed his hand on the ground, summoning stone to lift him to almost Percy’s height, a few skeletal soldiers climbing their way up the sides, blocking Nico from the oncoming shark Percy decided to flick his way.

“Percy, stop this!” Nico begged, more soldiers replacing the crumbling ones. “You're destroying your home, what is wrong with you?”

Again, Percy would not answer, but his eyes flickered from clear, sea green to white and hazy. He was fighting for control, he was fighting against his power, he was fighting against what possessed him.

“Eidolon.” Nico whispered to himself. He needed Lacy, to charmspeak Percy out of his daze. Just as he heard Piper had done. But the oldest of the children of Aphrodite were gone, except for…

“MITCHELL!” Nico called to the splintering cabin ten. No answer. He called again, a boy stumbling out that he could barely see. Nico turned to Lou Ellen who appeared beside him, ready to fight, “Retrieve Mitchell, guide him to Percy for charmspeak.”

Lou Ellen nodded and a few warriors leapt from the top, fell to 201 individual pieces, then reassembled in a moment to follow the daughter of Hecate.

“I can destroy you alone, without destroying Percy Jackson.” Nico stated.

“Can you, son of Hades?” the possessed Percy asked, his voice like ice water. It made Nico shiver, almost like he was feeling someone die.

Yet, he really was feeling someone die. He was feeling himself die.

Nico could barely breathe. He felt like someone was squeezing his throat, someone repelling him closer and closer to Percy. He was forced to his knees, a feeling of heaviness towards his head. The chaotic nature of the sound around him seemed hollow until there was none, and tears streamed his face.

He could see his hands becoming paler, shriveling up like raisins when his blue and red veins depleted in colour in accordance with his leaking eyes, ears and now, nose.

Nico forced himself to his feet, fighting Percy’s control, pushing his palms firm on the stone to resist being smashed back down. He felt like he was doing push-ups with ten bricks on his back.

Getting to his feet, almost too weak to fight, he willed the undead to tear away the stones and crawl between the cracks close to Percy.

With one final thrust of his hands, an order, the undead attacked Percy and Mitchell whispered something in Percy’s ear. The son of Poseidon and Hades slumped down at the same time, undead crumbling to a pile of bones, retreating with the sloshing water back to the ocean.

__________

Nico felt himself get pushed up from behind, then laid gently across Percy’s knees. The eidolon was gone and he was captured in Percy’s sea smelled embrace. Percy tried to reach out for enough water to heal him, but no amount of ambrosia and nectar could replace all the blood that Nico lost that was now seeping into the grass.

Nico had minutes to live.

Percy studied Nico. His skin was transparent to the point where his veins were clearly visible under his pale tone. Dark blood seeped from his ears, starting to dry in clumps. A few tears escaped his eyes along with dark blood from the outside ring, eyes sunken in. Drops of blood from both nostrils slid down onto his lips and chin, which in turn spilled sideways as he was held.

“You controlled me,” Nico muttered.

“Not on purpose, I promise.” Percy said, feeling his eyes well up with tears. He furiously swiped them away, then stroked the hair from Nico’s bloody face.

“You’re Percy.” Nico enunciated, like he was reminding himself he succeeded. More glistening blood seeped from his lips as Percy nodded. “Your face…” he whispered deliriously. “Can I hold it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Percy said, drawing Nico’s hand to his cheek, holding it there.

“I didn’t realize the blood—“ Nico tried to pull away, but Percy kept his hand the way it was. If this was the comfort he needed, Percy could oblige.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Percy urged. Nico didn’t say anything to that. His breath hitched in his throat, Percy realizing he was forcing his body to stay alive for longer, for what he needed to say.

“I’m scared to die,” he finally croaked.

“You’re going to Elysium,” Percy insisted. “You are. You’re dying a hero’s death.”

Nico laughed precariously. “I’m not scared for me.”

Will, Percy realized.

He was terrified of leaving Will alone. He knew how much the son of Apollo had been through; losing his brothers in the Battle of Manhattan, becoming a counsellor for tons of his siblings at fourteen, losing and saving more after the Battle with Gaea - no teen like him needed to live like that.

For the first time ever, Nico sobbed - hard. Tears dripped down either side of his face, spilling down to his ears. More blood escaped his lips which only made Percy’s heart clench more.

“Please, don’t let him be alone,” Nico begged, his breath shallow and almost gone. “Don’t let him ever be alone...please.”

Percy let his forehead touch Nico’s when the son of Hades’ body went slack, and his pupils contracted like he’d been having a staring contest with the sun.

Not for one minute did Nico di Angelo fixate on himself, he was afraid for Will. Nico didn’t fear death, he feared the loneliness he knew his love would feel, and that pain hurt him more than the wounds that had slowly killed him.

#warning: major character death #nico di angelo #percy jackson #will solace #solangelo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo

[starforgednegativespace]

Part One: Animus

I had been on Animus less than a stellar day and already felt like I'd been gargling with lava. Even within the relative shelter of Rampart, the planet-side mining complex where I'd come to meet my contact, the air was barely breathable. Decades of disrepair had left the air scrubbers barely functioning; apparently the locals were used to it, but even the recycled air on Rune Song tasted how I imagine a cool summer breeze would taste by comparison.

In the warm rain, Rampart's wide streets, asphalt peppered with sickly coloured dust, shone under flickering neon lights from overhanging signs for drug bars, pubs and brothels; everything a miner risking their lives and health could want. I walked through the darkening streets, hands jammed firmly in the pockets of my deep red flight suit, one hand gripping the barely functioning bolt pistol in my left pocket, concealed under the bulk of my belt pouches and rain-slicked overcoat. I was tired. Being a spacer, you have to deal with local times being different in settlements than the ship time your body gets used to, and right now I should've been wrapped up in my bunk aboard Rune Song letting the Six-Ten-Ten handle things, but instead I had planet under my feet and an early evening appointment I had no right to be keeping to keep. I stifled a yawn, pushed my rain-soaked mauve hair back from my face with my free hand, and pushed open the door of Kenji's saloon.

The saloon air was warm and smelled like stale liquor and just the faintest hint of the pervasive toxicity of Animus. Behind the bar, a bent-out-of-shape old timer with sharp, angular features and a bad prosthetic arm was pouring liquor for grim faced miners, while a couple of disinterested looking girls wearing revealing outfits which showed the toxic scarring on their thighs and collars pulled silver from eager locals for games of Traust. Some patrons gave me a quick look, and few looked long as I entered, turning back to their drinks and gambling, muttered conversations lost under the distorted electronic jazz sputtering from the jukebox in the corner. I opened my jacket, shook some rainwater from it, and scanned the room. Over in the opposite corner from the jukebox, sitting alone with a pair of drinks, was Shepherd. She nodded, full lips curling slightly into what you'd charitably call a smile, motioning for me to go over. I scanned the room again; none of the people here looked like Ikaro's goons, and none of them had the air of mercenaries about them. My grip on the bolt pistol relaxed, and I headed to her table, dropping into the worn synthetic-leather booth opposite her.

"Kiri Quint, in the flesh" she purred, raising a slightly grubby glass to me. "How long's it been?"

"Too long, Shepherd" I replied, courteous as I could muster, and reached for the second glass. Her hand slapped mine away. "Sorry, I assumed..."

"The good liquor doesn't come cheap round these parts," she shot back. "I'm sure Kenji has some forge-spawn piss the locals love so much with your name on it." She motioned to the bartender, then pointed to me. The bartender nodded and started pouring what I assumed was some cheap local faux-liquor into a plastic tumbler. Shepherd smiled that tight, half smile again. "It's on me."

"Still a saint, huh Shep?" I pulled the hip flask from my inner pocket, unscrewed it and took a pull of the burning liquor within. Shepherd's eyes narrowed. I offered her the flask. "This is the good stuff."

Shepherd declined the flask with a wave of an immaculately manicured hand.

"No offence, Cutter, but I don't know where you've been"

The bartender, Kenji I assume, brought the dirty plastic tumbler over, dropped it in front of me and grunted, eyes giving me the once over. He glanced at Shepherd like he was waiting to be dismissed, then slinked away when she continued to ignore him. I picked up the tumbler and sniffed it.

"Smells like hydraulic fluid. You trying to poison me, Shep?"

I forced a laugh, took a sip and grimaced.

"Always willing to try new things, huh?" Shep smirked and sipped her drink, long lashes fluttering slightly over the glass as her eyes stayed on me. I exhaled, stifled another yawn, and looked around the dingy tavern. I motioned with my finger.

"This yours?"

"Mostly. I have a controlling stake in operations on Rampart. With that comes, I guess you could call it a stewardship of the local entertainment. It's a symbiotic relationship."

"Oh, I get it, you pay the miners salaries then take it back through whatever means necessary?"

She smirked again.

"Pretty much, yes."

I took another sip from the dirty cup of cheap synthesized booze and fished around in one of the many pockets of my flight suit until I found the crumpled pack of nic-rods. I put it to my mouth and Shepherd, right on cue, was there with a light for me.

"Thanks." I blew stale smoke to the side. The nic-rods were old, and I barely smoked unless I was very, very tense; and right now I was just that. Shepherd had that way about her. Always had, even back when she was calling herself Hal and sporting a man's body.

"You're welcome. I know yours isn't working."

Rust-dammit

"You heard about that?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. If Shepherd knew, then that meant Ikaro probably knew, and if Ikaro knew...

"I like to keep tabs on my favourite Spacers. I have to admit, I was impressed when I heard our little Cutter was Ironsworn now." She put her drink down and lit a nic-rod of her own, blowing sweet-smelling smoke towards me. "Relax, Kiri. She doesn't know. Vlada Ikaro and I are no longer associates."

Associate was one way of putting it. Executive assistant to a blood-thirsty warlord was a more accurate description.

"Nobody leaves Ikaro" I said flatly. My hand slipped back into my pocket to make sure the gun was still there, my instinct to get up and run from this place was overwhelming. Cut and run at the first sign of trouble, like I always did. That's why they called me Cutter back then.

"You did. I never got the chance to tell you how much it amused me to learn that you took her cargo. Her ship too. The sheer audacity of it."

"I earned Rune Song."

"I'm sure you did. For what it's worth, Vlada and I parted company on rather better terms. We came to an amicable agreement."

"How much of your share in Rampart does she get?"

That was maybe too far. Shepherd sucked her teeth and put her glass down. Guess I hit a nerve. But my point still stood. Nobody leaves Ikaro. Not really. "Look, I was surprised to hear from you. I had no idea you were even in this sector, having a Herald track me down came as kind of a shock, not least of all because this whole set up seems a little unglamorous for your tastes."

She seemed to loosen up a little.

"You'd be surprised; far end of town there are some really rather lovely subterranean apartments. Clean air, access to all the best shipments, the works. And far less getting my hands dirty in the process than organising wet-work for Vlada Ikaro. No, I do well here."

"Here's to moving on." I raised my cup and drained it. "Now, why don't you tell me why you asked me here?"

Shepherd raised her glass, took a sip, and stubbed the half-smoked nic-rod out in a copper ashtray.

"I need a courier. Someone capable"

I narrowed my eyes

"You have silver to pay for Heralds who can track me down, why not use one of them?"

She smiled that slight, tight smile again.

"The Heralds share information. I need someone who can afford to be more discreet. Someone who would get the job done no matter what..." Wait for it...  "Someone Ironsworn."

There it was

"Why all the secrecy, Shep? What's the job?"

Shepherd's eyes lit up like she couldn't wait to tell me some wild secret. She leaned in close, so close I could smell the expensive booze on her breath.

"You want to know why I picked this world to settle on? Why someone like me would choose to cool their heels in a rusty mining colony on a toxic shithole like Animus?" I nodded. " Let me ask you this, Kiri, when you were landing here, did your nav-com take you on an unusual trajectory?"

"Yeah, I figured atmospheric disturbances or something. It's not uncommon for a world like this"

"No. Port control have orders to steer ships away from a particular region of near space. You see, up there..." she pointed upwards. "Orbiting right above our heads, just out of atmo... is a fucking precursor vault."

By Iron, I swore. I unscrewed the cap of my hip flask and took a long pull. Precursor vaults were scattered throughout The Forge; unimaginably ancient relics from a long-dead race of technologically advanced beings who once ruled this region of space. Rumours of tombs filled with relics of incredible power and technology were common among spacers. Some people thought they were myths, but those people had never flown the drift and seen the horrors of the forge up close.

"What's the job?"

"I need you to take some cargo to Paradox Station at Hera, I have a contact there who'll give you the co-ordinates to a deep-space research station where the cargo goes. A simple delivery job with a stop-over, but it's long distance and I need someone I can trust and someone with an Eidolon Drive. And if I recall, Rune Song is equipped with such a drive..."

I nodded again and stubbed the nic rod out.

"That kind of distance is gonna cost, Shep. At least -"

"Twenty thousand silver, ten up front, ten on completion."

Twenty thousand silver was a lot of money for a simple cargo run. More than double what I was going to ask, and what I was going to ask was double what the job was worth. There was a lot I didn't trust about this whole situation, but Rune Song needed repairs and I was down to my last few silver. Shit, it was worth it.

"What's the cargo?" I asked.

#ironsworn #starforged #ttrpg #solo rpg #actual play

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Eidolon 11 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

11: Alternative Paths

The police officers told him they needed to ask him a few questions. What they forgot to mention was he would be locked in a small, remarkably bare room for five hours with a police officer who was dead set in viewing him as a suspect. Danny had never been more relieved to get out of a room before in his life. Yeah, he understood family members needed to be questioned due to the statistics surrounding such crimes, but seriously! Did someone as scrawny as him really look like he could have hurt Winston that badly without getting any sort of injury in the process?

However, he couldn't really blame them for being suspicious, especially when it came to his whereabouts the previous night. How do you rationally explain you were chased by a murderous robot-ghost-thing? The obvious answer was to avoid the topic all together. He hoped he was convincing enough when he said he and his friends had taken a walk in the evening and returned to Sam's house to watch some movies. He specifically avoided mentioning the park. There was no telling what the officers would think if they learned he might have been around when it got torn up. He was actually kind of surprised no one in the precinct had mentioned it.

A few times during his interview, he had nervously flattened his bangs a few times, hoping to hide the cut he had suddenly remembered getting at the beginning of his terrifying adventure. The officer interviewing him had noticed the motion, which caused him to leave it alone the rest of the time he was in the room. Surprisingly, Danny wasn't asked about it. A little wary after he was finished and allowed to exit the room, he touched the spot only to find smooth skin. It took a lot of self-control to not dash to a reflective surface and examine his forehead. There was no use in making the officers more suspicious. As weird as a missing cut was he could wait until he got home to check.

Scratch that… he could check after he found a place to stay for a while. As he was about to exit the station, an older officer kindly reminded him of the fact his house was currently considered a crime scene. After apologizing for a lack of effort from the staff for trying to contact his family and promising to personally look into it in the morning, he directed Danny to a nearby phone situated at the front desk.

Danny was a little surprised at the kind attitude of the officer as he had been dealing with a special type of dick for the past several hours, but it was a nice change. Shaking his head a little, he moved to the phone to call Sam, praying she was still awake as it was approaching midnight. Both of his friends told him they wanted an update, but with it being late and he being emotionally, physically, and mentally drained, the only topic he wanted to discuss involved where he would be staying for the night.

As he was dialing her number, the door to the station opened and a tall man strolled in. The newcomer was tall and rather thin. He wore a clean black business suit which appeared to be expertly cared for and rather expensive. Gray hair had been slicked back into a neat ponytail, and calculating cold blue eyes surveyed his surroundings. Danny dropped the phone in surprise as he realized the man in front of him was the one and only Vlad Masters.

The sound from the phone brought him to Masters' attention, causing the man to adopt an unsettling grin. "Why here you are! I've been looking all over for you!" The tone of his voice and his expression adopted a semblance of concern, but it did not reach his eyes. "I was so worried after I found out what happened to Winston. My condolences, but I'm glad you're safe and sound."

"Don't talk about Winston like he's dead!" Danny snapped. "Look, can you just go away? If you haven't realized, it's been a pretty bad day for me, and I don't feel like talking to you right now."

"Of course. How inconsiderate of me. After everything you've been through today, you must be exhausted. Come, I'll make sure you're well taken care of."

It took Danny a moment to grasp the implications of Vlad's statement. "Wait… what? There's no way I'm going with you!"

"Poor boy, you must be more tired than you realize." The businessman pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a dramatic sigh. "Don't you remember? It was determined that you would be placed into my care if anything were to happen to Winston."

"That's news to me!"

"Excuse me, but what exactly is going on here?" The sound of the officer's voice made him jump. He had forgotten there was another soul in the room. However, he couldn't be more relieved. Being in the room alone with the businessman was an unnerving thought. It was even more relieving when he realized the officer seemed to be equally suspicious.

In a truly professional manner, Vlad introduced himself and explained his relationship to Danny as well as his involvement in the custody battle. Again, he mentioned how he was now to act as a guardian in Winston's stead.

"I already told you, I'm not going anywhere with you!" Danny growled as he glared at the man. Something was very wrong with the picture. Winston didn't trust Vlad, and there was no way he would let him fall into the billionaire's hands.

"You have to forgive the boy. We had a little spat the last time we saw each other, and I'm afraid he hasn't forgiven me," Vlad apologetically explained to the officer.

"Spat? You broke into my house?"

Before Vlad could respond, the officer held up his hand to halt the brewing argument. "Mr. Masters, do you have some sort of proof you can take the boy?" Vlad's expression quickly changed from shocked to insulted as the officer spoke. "Surely a man of your standing can understand our position. With the way Mr. Wolfe was attacked, we cannot rule anyone out as a potential suspect. With you being involved in a custody battle and Danny's status as a minor, we are rather uncomfortable sending him on his way like this. I'm also fairly certain you weren't notified of the situation…" The officer's eyes narrowed as he appraised the man. "Which leads me to wonder how you found out."

"One of my staff members was going to drop off some papers at the house when she saw the police cars and asked what happened" Vlad explained with an impatient air. "But that's not important right now…"

As he watched Vlad begin to argue with the officer, Danny couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude. For whatever reason, the officer did not seem to believe Vlad's story and generally seemed concerned for his wellbeing.

Everything seemed to be going in his favor when Danny was nearly bowled over by a sudden blast of cold air rushed by him. Startled, he started looking around to find some possible source… and open window, a vent, something to explain it. While he tried to wrack his brains for some other answer when the normal explanations were ruled out, he noticed the officer stumble slightly. He didn't think anything of it until the man rubbed his forehead and excused himself for a moment.

Rather unsettled by the officer's display and being left alone with Vlad, Danny moved back to the phone to attempt to resume his call. Though he was able to reach Sam's house this time, a presumed butler answered and informed him that "Miss Samantha is asleep and no longer taking calls for the night." While Danny was pretty sure it was a lie, he went with it and asked the man to give a message to her when he could.

Displeased by the turn of events, he was about to try calling Tucker when the officer returned to the room. Something did not seem right as he looked at him. The man's posture seemed stiff, and his eyes were unfocused and reddish. Wait… Danny blinked and rubbed his eyes before checking again. The man's eyes were actually red! Weren't they brown before?

"Sorry for the inconvenience." The officer's voice had an unusual mechanical quality to it… almost as if the words he was saying weren't actually his. He held up a document of some sorts as he spoke again. "It seems like someone did verify this earlier, but just forgot to place it somewhere it could be found."

"Does this mean everything's in order?" Vlad asked with a voice filled with hardly concealed delight.

"Yes. You can take the boy. We'll be in touch within the next few days to let you know how Wolfe is doing."

"Splendid! Come on my boy, it's time to go!"

Danny backed away as Vlad beckoned to him, nearly tripping over the desk in the process. His mind was screaming all sorts of warnings at him. The entire situation felt wrong, but he had no idea how to escape it. Vlad was blocking his way to the front door, and he doubted the few officers left in the building would appreciate a desperate search for the rear exit.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded as his eyes darted between both men before he pointed at Vlad. He knew he probably wasn't going to get an answer, but he hoped he could stall the man long enough to come up with some sort of plan.

"Pardon me? Whatever do you mean?"

"Y-you know what I mean!" While he tried to keep the anger in his voice, it was quickly giving way to panic. Vlad kept moving towards him wearing an increasingly predatory expression which was really creeping him out. Strangely, the thought of accidently falling through the wall crossed his mind. Unsettling as it was, it was a far better situation than the one he was currently in. "The officer's not acting right!"

Vlad replied, but his words were drowned out as a strange coldness started to seep into his body, quickly filling every aspect. He tried to escape, thinking it was somehow tied to where he was standing, but his legs wouldn't respond. They felt heavy and strangely detached; his arms were beginning to feel the same way. He tried to yell out without any success. He soon realized his mind was being pushed further away from the sensations of his body and into something like a dark crevasse to be stored and forgotten.

But the coldness was not finished. It briefly brushed against his mind and seemed to whisper in an almost familiar voice, "Relax… It'll be safer for you and me if you do…"

Danny's last conscious thought before the darkness completely took him was to wonder if he was ever going to wake up.

….

When he came to, Danny found himself lying on his back and staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling. His mind felt groggy and his body heavy. Though he wasn't sure, he felt as if he had been asleep for quite some time. Sitting up, he tried to remember how he got where he was… only, he didn't know where that might be.

Looking around, he realized something wasn't right. The room he was in was rather large. It was a bedroom, not much different from Sam's, only it didn't have any posters or the same dark decorations. In fact, the room was mostly white save for some wooden furniture. Even the four-poster bed he was sitting on had a white comforter and curtains. The only real decoration in the room was a painting on the wall directly across from him which seemed to show military conquest with… a paranormal influence. It was rather grotesques.

The blank room gave him an uneasy feeling. Although it definitely wasn't, it gave him the feeling he was in a jail of sorts. Unnerved, he slowly got up and moved to the room's single window. After moving the curtains aside, he cursed as he realized the glass was heavily frosted, preventing him from seeing any scenery. His next move was to try the door, but it was locked.

After a panicked few minutes trying everything he could think of to attempt to open the door, he placed his back against the door and slid down it. What was he going to do? The better question was what was going to happen to him? With the room being blank, it gave him no indication of what he should expect. He should, he supposed, be thankful for it, but the wait might be too much for him to handle. What was the old adage? The suspense is worse than the actual event? He really hoped that wouldn't be the case.

xxxxxx

The sound of one of her parents calling for her to come into the downstairs wafted through the room, however, Sam was dead set on ignoring the summons. There were far more important things on her mind than dealing with whatever new 'daughter improvement project' they had come up with.

She was incredibly worried about her friend who neither she nor Tucker had heard from in a little over two days. At first she thought it might be due to being overwhelmed by suddenly finding out the man who raised him had been severely attacked and/or the police being jerks, but a call earlier in the day really concerned her.

She had been thinking about calling the police in the morning (while skipping class due to a feigned illness), however they beat her to the punch. Around eleven, she had received a call from one of the detectives asking her if she had heard from Danny. She told him no right before demanding to know what was wrong. Though it took a little bit of coaxing (and a reminder of her parents' influences), the officer admitted they had no idea where the boy was. He disappeared after his interview with another officer, and though they hated to admit it, after failing to contact him or anyone else who might have the boy, he was being labeled as a missing person. Her immediate response was to insult the competence of him and the rest of the force as the boy had gone missing from underneath their noses, but after she calmed down a bit, she promised to help in whatever way she could.

Sam sat down on her large purple clad bed and stared up at one of the posters on the ceiling as she tried to understand the situation. Her friend, who seemed to attract terrible and odd events, was now missing. Danny had tried to contact her the night he disappeared, but her family had forbidden her from further calls when she had returned home that night after they learned about the attack on Winston. Somehow, they had gotten the notion whatever had harmed Winston could attack her if she continued to talk to Danny. Though it was kind of nice to know they cared, they had taken it way overbroad.

But what was strange about the situation was there was no security image of Danny leaving the precinct. The officer had explained to her they had installed cameras a while back after someone had tried to break in to the office in an attempt to steal their guns. Due to safely concerns, they regularly had them checked, but the night Danny disappeared, they had a major malfunction. There was an image of him entering the entrance area, but after a few minutes, the image distorted so badly they could not make heads or tails of it. It also seemed to return to normal rather suddenly after a while, but Danny was long gone by then.

A look at the clock told her she was going to have to wait a while before she could contact Tucker. Unlike her, he had been forced to go to school. She had no idea if he already knew Danny was missing, but no matter what, he was going to help her try to find him. Tucker was the probably the only person in town who could possibly get an image off of the damaged security tape, and the only other person (besides her) who Danny had trusted with his issues. They had to try and do what they could to help him.

…

"So, any luck?" Sam asked the boy currently sitting on her rug surrounded by any number of other electronic equipment. He had been staring at the screen of his PDA with an intense look for quite some time.

She had managed to contact Tucker mere moments after he was finished with his classes for the day and explained the situation. After freaking out a bit, he told her he would be over soon after he made a quick stop. He arrived about forty minutes later looking more determined than he had ever seen him while carrying a bookbag filled to the brim with tech supplies she had never seen before. After asking if he needed anything, Tucker quickly went to work with his task.

"…Whoever did this to this footage is really good…" he eventually replied after a few more minutes of silence.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked hesitantly. It was rare to hear such a tone in Tucker's voice when it came to technology. He could usually work his way around a system in a few seconds, minutes if it was more complicated, but this was really causing him problems.

"It's hard to explain… Usually, people just modify existing images when they don't something seen, but this guy actually managed to replace some of the footage with an error screen…"

"So… it's gone… Like completely, gone? You can't trace it or anything?" There was no way for her to hide the hint of panic in her voice. If Tucker couldn't bring up anything, no one could… which meant they weren't going to have anything to use to find Danny.

A small laugh escaped Tucker, which caused her to stare at the boy. "Jeez, Sam, you shouldn't think so little of me. Who do you think I am? This guy, though good, made a small mistake. I guess he got interrupted or something because he started just covering up the image after a while instead of changing it. To most people, it's nearly impossible to catch, but it's there. Just give me a little bit of time…."

"A little bit of time?" Sam repeated as she watched him frantically work with his PDA. "How long are we talking about?"

He hit a few more buttons on the screen before he looked up and smiled. "Does 'now' work for you?"

"Tucker, you're amazing!"

"I know, I know. But it's nice to have my fans remind me."

Sam pulled down his hat in response as she sat next to him on the floor. "Anyways, do you have the entire footage?"

"I couldn't get part of it due to the replacement… but it looks like a little less than half was just modified…. So, let's see what no one wanted us to find…." He pressed a button on the screen and a fuzzy image began to appear. On the footage, they could see Danny backing away from someone standing near the door. It was difficult to make out, but judging from Danny's posture, he did not seem to be happy to see the person. After a little bit, Danny stopped retreating and followed the unknown man out the door.

Without any prodding, Tucker tried to see if he could clear the image a little or at least clear up the image of the suspect. After frantically trying several different techniques, he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. According to him, even though the person had changed methods, they were still able to damage the rest of the footage.

"I'll continue to work with it when I get home," he promised. "This is going to require some big guns for me to get something useful out of this. But don't worry; I'm not going to give up. After he saved our lives, I think this is the least I can do for him."

…..

Tucker had been booted from the house as soon as Sam's parents caught him being there. Thinking back, she was a little surprised he had managed to sneak past them in the first place since they were particularly good at catching people going up to her room. They had punished her in response by having her stay in her room for the rest of the night, which didn't bother her in the least bit.

Around seven in the evening she received a call on her cell. Noticing the number, she picked it up as quickly as possible, hoping her parents didn't hear it ringing. "Did you find anything?" she asked the caller as a form of greeting. The caller's reply was spoken too quickly and frantically for her to understand. "Whoa, slow down Tucker! I can't understand you!"

"Sam… it's worse than we thought!" came his panicked reply. "I managed to identify who was in the police station with Danny."

"Yeah? Well, who was it?"

"It was… Vlad Masters…."

Sam barely registered the phone slipping from her fingers and landing on the floor. How could she be so stupid? She knew that man had an interest in getting hold of Danny and should be the first logical suspect, but she didn't realize he would have stooped so low.

Angry with herself, she reached down to grab her phone so she could calm a frantic Tucker but stopped midway as a thought crossed her mind. How were they going to be able to get Danny back from a man who had mastered in lies with an unimaginable fortune to back him up?

=============================================================

I just wanted to point out that the way these officers are depicted is due to experience. The ones in the borough where I grew up were usually nice, but if they had it in their minds you did something wrong, you could be treated like trash. But at the same time, they're the reason why my childhood bully wasn't excepted into the NFL - they slapped him with assault charges when he decided to get into a fight while he was in college. I have mixed feelings. The officers from the neighboring borough were wonderful.

#Eidolon #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp au #dp #alternate universe #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #fantasy #paranormal #supernatural

[artisticflutter]

AU August - Day Thirty: Bad End

So, I have no idea what to do for my free day. Give me a moment to think about it and I’ll be back lol. Also yes, thank you dumb ban, I’m back on the archaic fandom texts.

Series: Final Fantasy IX Rating: M Genre: Romance, Drama, Adventure Pairing(s): Zidagger Summary: Tomorrow they go to Terra to face Garland. Tomorrow… Tomorrow might be his last day. Warning: Spoilers for those who haven’t played the game obviously, connected to Day 12, and contains some lemon zest. Yes, that lemon. Look, it's almost September, gimme a break haha!

He could sleep; or maybe, he didn’t want to sleep. Staring at the red moon astride the blue moon of Gaia, he felt himself shiver.

In the past, he would never tremble at the thought of going hom--... back to Terra, but things had changed surprisingly fast. All those times, he had been simply watching Gaia grow, keeping tabs on Kuja, and making sure everything was on course. Maybe this was just what happened when you could be around actual people instead of - well - no, they were people, but they weren’t ‘alive’ yet as the Black Mages had become. They would if the fusion was completed, but he was having doubts.

Even if the fusion worked, it wouldn’t last. Thousands of years traveling the stars, devouring planets to keep a dead planet ‘living’, but this planet was already alive. Why couldn’t they just live like those on Gaia instead of maintaining the futile pursuit of immortality? And to let Gaia be taken over by Terra now, what would that mean for the people he met, the people he fought, and… her? To be immortal without her, after the smiles, the laughter, the tears, the anger, the…

He placed a hand on his chest and bit his lip, dropping his gaze and shutting his eyes.

Tomorrow, they would go to Terra and face Garland; but tomorrow, it didn’t matter what he would want. Garland’s design was to save Terra - Zidane’s design was to follow his will, and no doubt his defiance would be dealt with swiftly. Though Kuja had been ‘free’, Zidane couldn’t say the same for himself. He never worried about Garland possibly deactivating him somehow, but there was little doubt in his mind that he would leave the capability. The moment he stepped one foot on Terra with this group he’d come to be part of? Garland would know Zidane no longer sought to restore Terra by his method.

Garland would take his soul.

A cold pit settled in his chest and he shook, but he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or maybe cry.

If he lost his soul, that was it. Years of training, and he really wanted to give it all up for a planet that didn’t birth him yet he’d never felt so alive either.

“Zidane?”

Snapping his head up at her voice, he tried to quell the feeling growing more prominent. He didn’t want to worry her; also, he was supposed to be her protector. He couldn’t do this to her now.

“Dagger? Why are you awake?” he asked, keeping his voice level. “We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I know, but I couldn’t bring myself to sleep.”

He watched Garnet - well, Dagger as her alias had long since come to be - cross over the short blades of grass and settle down beside him, tucking her legs up to her chest. Not the most dignified way for a now Queen to sit, but they weren’t in Alexandria. Hell, why would it matter if they were; the social rules royalty often put upon themselves confused Zidane, but whatever. With her sitting besides him he went back to looking at the moons.

“They’re beautiful tonight… the moons, I mean,” she said softly, combing back several strands of her short brown tresses. Silently, Zidane nodded in agreement. Even before everything had begun, he always thought the night sky looked beautiful with the twin moons, but at the moment, he couldn’t say anything. If anything, the evening felt ominous and he could only focus on the red moon. “... Zidane, what’s wrong? You’ve never been this tense before.”

“Nothing’s wrong… in fact, tomorrow, I’ll have completed my original mission by bringing you to Terra.” It drained him to smile and even risk glancing her way. “After that, who knows? Maybe Garland will let me finish off Kuja. He’s outlived his usefulness I’m sure…!”

He would’ve started laughing, but a small hand resting upon made him pause.

“Zidane… please, what’s going on? You haven’t made cruel jokes like that since Lindblum.”

“... Has it really been that long? I could’ve sworn I made one at Ispen’s Castle.”

Looking Dagger’s way, she shook her head. “No, I remember. You were so angry after Kuja survived Alexandria’s destruction… you were also angered when I couldn’t speak.”

His eyes narrowed. Annoyingly, he did remember that - it had been bad enough things had managed to escalate almost to a point in Kuja’s plan, but Zidane had made Garland aware that Kuja had temporarily acquired the Eidolons (look, he would’ve gotten them back if he hadn’t still had control of the Invincible at the time). What made that time worse was trying to figure out his feelings, but his own truth had come to light. Dagger had been furious and blamed him since he could’ve saved her mother if he’d have stopped Kuja sooner - and that was true. He’d gone to Treno to push his feelings aside, regroup, and would’ve kidnapped her again if Kuja hadn’t chosen that moment to attack with Bahamut. The way she clung to him after he saved her and that younger Summoner, Eiko, things had clicked.

And when Dagger couldn’t speak, that was pretty much that first time he literally couldn’t do anything. In that moment, he truly hated his predecessor and himself - for all he could’ve done, but didn’t do, all because he waited for orders when he could’ve acted himself.

If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have realized that.

His eyes drifted away from her. “... Dagger, if you need to fight me, are you ready to do that?”

“... What?”

His mouth thinned.

“When we go to Terra tomorrow, Garland will know I’ve strayed from our goal.” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to protect you anymore once he’s done with me.”

“‘Done with you’? Zidane, what does that mean?” Her hand squeezed his as the fear rose into her tone. “But, bringing me to Terra was your mission. Why would he punish you for that?”

“It’s not for that mission’s failure. I…” Zidane’s voice trailed and he took a moment to breathe. “... I can’t let Garland fuse the planets. If anything, I think it’s time to abandon Terra, but Garland’s will is absolute. He won’t let me live… once he knows I’ve betrayed him too.”

Garland’s will was absolute.

His voice died and silence filled the space between them. Seconds turned to minutes, and in that time, the first thing to change was just how tightly she held his hand. Once several passed before he chanced glancing her way through his bangs. She wasn’t looking his way - her eyes were fixated on the moons, and it was almost beautiful how the moonlight reflected off her silent tears. He didn’t mean to make her cry, but he didn’t know what to say. It was only the truth, and yet, he squeezed her hand back, holding on as much as he could without hurting her.

“You’ve grown, Dagger. I’m sorry I can’t--”

“Don’t…!”

Her sharp and sudden demand silenced him quickly, and he watched as she closed her eyes and tried to fight back more tears. “Please… don’t say you can’t.”

The request left him at a loss of what to say, if he could say anything at all. Honestly, there was nothing he could think of that would comfort her - and lost to his thoughts, the feeling of her lips against his and her tear-stained cheeks pulled him back to reality hard.

Oh…

Their fingers becoming untangled, he brought his hand to rest on her back and draw her in closer, deepening an already desperate and messy kiss.

But that’s what it was, right? She didn’t want to lose him.

He didn’t want to lose her either, but his time was about to run out.

She settled on his lap and he soon fell back. 

He supposed if he had to have one final memory of her, he could accept this one - of her hands bare upon his skin, of his hands drawing in each of her curves, their clothes slowly and steadily being stripped away to leave them bare beneath the moons. He thinks her hands grab and scratch with a little more force than intended, but he knows he’s barely any less and wondering if his hands may remember her better than his mind depending on where he touched. Or maybe he could remember the taste? Of her lips as they kissed again, or of her flesh when he lightly bit her throat and chest and moved downward. Zidane could see her crying still as he stole away that last of her physical innocence, but his eyes hadn’t been dry for a while either.

“I love you…”

She said it first - a lump developed in his throat as they rocked together, no space left between them. He couldn’t say it - he wanted to so badly, but the peak came first.

There beneath the moons with only his cloak draped over both of them, Zidane continued to sit holding the exhausted young woman in his arms and lost to slumber. He couldn’t stop gazing upon her because there was nothing more significant to him and his thumb gently cleaning the marks from her face. She didn’t need to cry over him anymore.

“I love you, too…”

But Garland’s will was absolute.

“... I’m sorry.”

#au august #au august 2021 #final fantasy ix #final fantasy ix au #scribbling do #ffix #ffix au #au yeah august #angel of death #angel of death au #zidane tribal #garnet til alexandros #garnet til alexandros xvii #day 30: bad end #but not really #cuz he hasn't had the moment yet #that shows garland's will doesn't control him anymore #but like #let them have this moment #of gloom #and lemon #lemon #haha #i used that tag #omg #zidagger #the power of friendship #the power of love #zidane knows what it means to live finally

[lukecastellandeservedbetter]

17. Me and Mine, You and Yours

a/n: this one hurt. Shoutout to @theartofimaginaryfriends for letting me bounce ideas off of her at random times during the day. 

Read the others!: Masterlist

Luke was sipping his coffee and trying to relax a little. He had been up since before dawn, after being plagued by nightmares all night. No matter how hard he tried to recall them however, he couldn’t pull the images forward in his mind. 

One thing was certain though. 

He had a really bad feeling about Kansas. 

He remembered being in Kansas when he was younger, before he met Thalia or Annabeth. It wasn’t kind to young demigods. He spent his time fighting karpoi, running around looking for some kind of shelter and avoiding authorities when the monsters got a little overzealous trying to eat him. 

But this feeling wasn’t like it was back then. It was darker, twisting his stomach in knots, and shot pain behind his eyes whenever he thought too hard about it. Every nerve in his body tensed for battle, every muscle coiling in anticipation to run. A cold draft he couldn’t escape sent shivers down his spine and caused goosebumps to rise up and down his arms. 

He got the funny feeling Piper wasn’t sharing everything about what she saw in her blade. 

As he watched the sunrise, the other demigods slowly got up. Jason was first, closely followed by Hazel and Frank. He figured it was a Roman thing. Next was Annabeth, then Leo, and then Percy. Finally, they arrived in the drop off spot, and Leo went to grab Piper so they could dish out roles. 

“I need to finish repairing the ship,” Leo told the group. “And Annabeth, I’d love it if you stuck around, since you’re the only one who kinda understands how this works.” 

Annabeth looked at Percy apologetically. 

“I’ll come back to you,” Percy promised quietly. “Promise.” 

Annabeth nodded and kissed his cheek and turned to Luke as Leo and Frank went at it. “You’ll be with them, right?” 

Luke shrugged. “Yeah, I can tag along. You can never have too many guys with swords.” He offered a small smile, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of his head, telling him something was off about this whole stop. 

The four of them- Jason, Percy, Piper and Luke -made their way through the fields after Leo dropped them off, walking all the way to the highway. “We should get off the ground,” Piper commented, sounding just as anxious as Luke felt. 

“I’ll get us a ride,” Percy grinned. 

“No, I got it.” Jason told him. 

Jason whistled, and Percy closed his eyes, concentrating. Luke raised his eyebrow watching them, glancing at Piper. “Who do you got?” He mumbled. 

Piper looked up at him and shrugged. “Who is Percy, uh, calling?” 

Luke shrugged and looked back at the boy. Suddenly, the temperature dropped a little as a horse made of clouds burst down from the sky. Not far behind, a familiar black pegasus followed suit. 

“Blackjack,” Luke said, surprised, looking at Percy. “He’s still around?” 

Percy looked at Luke just as surprised. “You remember him?” 

“Well yeah, he was my horse,” He frowned. “It was a pain in the ass trying to keep all the monsters away from him.” 

Percy regarded Luke curiously and looked at Blackjack, who seemed nervous, and aggressive, around Jason’s horse. “Hey buddy, it’s okay, they’re friends.” Percy told him, petting him carefully. “Feel like taking me and Luke for a ride?” 

Blackjack glanced at Luke. “He’s on our side,” Percy told him. “It’s okay.” 

Luke couldn’t hear what Blackjack was thinking like Percy could, but he seemed relatively okay with the idea of taking Luke. He just hoped it wasn’t because Blackjack was planning to buck him off. 

They headed out, Percy and Luke in the air on Blackjack, Piper and Jason on the ground on Tempest, until they found the 32 mile marker. They touched down and dismounted. “You’re right, no sign of the wine dude,” Percy said to Blackjack, looking around. 

“Excuse me?” A voice called out. 

Luke recognized the god, not by his looks, but by how he carried himself. 

Bacchus or Dionysus, the guy was an asshole. 

Luke tried to focus on the conversation, but he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Piper tried to charm Bacchus, Percy was running his mouth, and Jason was trying to remain diplomatic. He could see them talking, and hear the sounds of their voices, but the actual words seemed muffled, like the world was slipping away from him. 

Panic seized his brain. His blood ran cold, his breathing turning ragged as the almost familiar feeling started taking over his limbs. He would have cried out if his voice hadn’t tightened around the lump in his throat, as if someone was slowly crushing his windpipe, letting him breathe just enough to survive. 

“-a trap.” Bacchus’ voice broke through the barrier in his ears, and with that the god was gone. 

Luke felt like he was drowning. He watched Percy and Jason draw their swords, and he could faintly hear a woman telling Piper to choose between the two boys. When she refused, the boys turned on each other and started fighting. 

‘Watch, Luke Castellan,’ The same woman’s voice chimed in his head, clearer now. ‘Watch as I take those you care about away from you, destroy them just as you destroyed my son.’ 

Luke tried to fight harder, but Gaia and her spirits were stronger, more ancient than Kronos. Kronos had allowed him to regain his body at different points, so he could regain more strength. 

Gaia was in no such position. 

Luke watched his own hands reach for the Imperial Gold blade in his sheath, pulling it free, out of his control. ‘And once they reach their demise, you will receive yours.’ 

For a horrified moment, his eyes found his reflection in the blade. They were solid gold, and he was sent into a deeper spiral, his mind spinning faster. He banged harder on the cage in his mind, begging for a crack, for a weakness, anything. But the panic was too strong, and he wondered foolishly if he would somehow suffocate himself before the gold blade could even touch his skin. 

He watched helplessly as Piper panicked, looking between the three demigods, trying to figure out who to save, how to save them, and as Percy and Jason fought each other, equally matched in skill, all of it a muffled blur. He stood there, unable to move his legs as if they were stuck in the ground, and were trying to pull him beneath it, his hand raised, the tip of his sword ready to plunge into his Achilles Heel under his arm. 

Jason hit the ground. Percy got up, raising his sword. 

“Eidolon, stop.” 

Piper’s voice rang clearly through the haze and for a moment, Luke’s limbs felt lighter, connected to his body again. The ocean he was drowning in receded, if just for a second, and he felt like gasping for air. He managed to regain enough control to drop the sword before his hands when rigid again, the spirit taking over once more. 

“You’re spirits from the Underworld, and you’re possessing Percy Jackson and Luke Castellan, is that it?” 

“We will live again,” Luke found a voice that wasn’t his own, joining Percy’s in unison. 

Piper seemed to be focusing on Percy more, her voice drifting away as Luke’s mind once again fell underneath the waves of control. 

Smack. 

A stinging sensation on his cheek seemed to pull Luke out of it entirely. His body was exhausted, and his knees buckled as he crumpled to the ground. A pair of warm hands grasped his bicep, steadying him from completely face planting. 

“Luke? Luke, answer me,” Piper said softly, concern laced in her tone. 

“I’m-” His throat closed around the word ‘fine’ and he choked up. 

He could feel the hot pressure of tears pressing against his eyes and he shook his head, his body shaking. 

“I know it’s scary,” Piper cooed, and Luke couldn’t even be bothered to resist the Charmspeak Piper was laying on him. “But I need you to get up, and walk with me and Blackjack, okay? He can’t carry you, Percy and Jason at the same time, and I’m not leaving you behind.” 

“Are they okay?” He whispered, his heart hammering, avoiding looking at her. 

“They’re alive.” Piper assured him, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “C’mon, you can sit down when we get back to the Argo II. I don’t want to stick around if they decide to come back.” 

Luke nodded and let Piper help him to Blackjack who seemed to understand Luke was barely holding on. He offered his neck for Luke to hold onto, and between him and Piper, they managed to get the three boys back to the ship. 

#Luke Castellan's Second Chance #luke castellan #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #jason grace #Piper McLean #pjo #Heroes of Olympus #hoo

[wootensmith]

Harellan

He hadn’t sought out the Lavellan clan members who’d arrived before the Inquisitor. He’d longed to, wanted to ask them how she was, what had happened when she came home bare-faced and bringing strange tales with her, how she’d convinced the few of them who came to make the journey on her word alone. But after a brief conversation, the same he had with all new arrivals, he’d let them go and they seemed to be grateful to be out of his line of sight. He resisted prying and left them to Abelas’s care.

Months later, a few days after the Inquisitor had found him, he caught sight of her speaking with a clanmate near the gates of Andruil’s waste. She appeared troubled as the man spoke. When the clansman noticed they were being watched, he said, “I’m sorry, Hahren, I can’t.” He slipped quickly away, hurrying toward the training yards. The Inquisitor looked after her clansmate and then turned and caught sight of Solas standing just beyond the stone owl and smiled uneasily. He met her, feeling he’d accidentally interrupted something vital. He wished only to wipe the discomfort from her mind. “It makes me glad to hear him call you ‘hahren’. You have more than earned their respect,” he said. A bitter laugh burst from her and she shook her head. “He calls me ‘hahren’ because he refuses to use ‘lethallan’ any longer and he’s too frightened to call me ‘harellan’. Especially here. It is not a compliment.”

He watched the man scurrying between the small watchfires for a few moments before he disappeared into the city. “They think you have betrayed them?” “Is it such a surprise, fanor?” she asked gently. “The stories that guided us— our whole history, our place in the world, our hopes for what was to come— they have endured centuries. You tried yourself to change them. What hope did I have of succeeding where you and the world have failed? Deshanna was kinder. She just believed I’d gone mad. The others think the Andrastians sent me to poison them with lies.” She touched her cheek as if to trace the absent vallaslin and then flushed and dropped her hand, embarrassed. “I’m not certain which is worse,” she admitted.

“Ir abelas, Vhenan. I never wanted you to lose them. I wish that you had not told them.” “I had to try. I thought— they were my home, Solas. My family. If anyone in the world should believe me… but I asked too much of them.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the sorrow in her voice like a blow. “What did you want from him? Whatever he refused, perhaps I can do it in his stead.” She shook her head and her eyes filled. “I asked him to send Deshanna a message. To beg them to go to Skyhold until the end. But he does not trust me, even now, even seeing this place and you. For all he calls me hahren, he thinks I mean to harm them. Deshanna sent him to watch me, to shield me from the madness she thought I would succumb to. She told him that what I’d done in the Inquisition obligated them to protect me in my hour of weakness. That is why he came. And he stays because she orders it, not for love of me. I am a traitor, after all. To them. To Sera. To you.” She broke into a sob and fled before he could respond.

He was uncertain how to help. A message to Deshanna was easy enough. Whether she would believe it or the dream he constructed that evening would be another question. But if the Inquisitor’s clansmen would not do it themselves, he would make the attempt. What to do about her loss was something much harder. What betrayal could she possibly believe herself guilty of? She had been a kind and loyal friend to Sera. And to him— she had kept his secrets better than he had kept them himself. Brought him another way. Was trying to save them all. Harellan. How can she think herself so? The eidolon was dark and cold when he returned. He thought her still absent, somewhere in the shattered library or with Abelas in the training yards. But he heard a rustle from the crown before he could leave to search for her. She was in Vhemanen’s small room. It had been emptied when Vhemanen left for Skyhold. Solas had packed everything movable for her himself, wishing the riches of Elgar’nan’s foolish vanity had any use for his friend. It was chilled and barren. The Inquisitor sat on the cold carven tile, staring at the wall. He could just make out the soft sparkle of unlit veilfire, but the lamp sitting beside her was dark. He wanted to offer to light it. To show her what she obviously longed to see, though he had no idea if Vhemanen had left them or someone who was here centuries ago. He folded himself into a seat beside her instead, stared at the shimmer on the wall and wondered what she thought she could see in it. “I sent Deshanna your message,” he said. “I hope she will listen to it. I fear my cousins have already sent her dark rumors of you. She will think you are using me. Or that you, too, are mad. Or both. But perhaps— perhaps she’ll save them somehow.” She didn’t turn to him and he glanced at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She had been crying a long while. He looked back at the veilfire traces. “If she does not believe the written message, then I will find her in sleep. And each of your clan. Until they believe or flee to Skyhold to stop the dreams. I am sending Loranil to lead them there.” “Thank you. I think. Your method may be— a little harsh, emma lath. But if it brings them to safety— thank you.” He brushed her swollen cheek with his fingertips. “I do not feel like being gentle today,” he admitted. “Not when they dismiss you so easily.” She shook her head a little but did not argue with him. “I admit I can see how it happened, that they think of you as a harellan, as false as that may be. Because it was the same when I tried to tell the clans what they’d forgotten. But Sera? And I? How could either of us believe you betrayed us, Vhenan?” She finally looked at him, the glow of the mark flashing over the veilfire for an instant as she turned and then gone again. “Because all of me is a betrayal. From the very beginning. It was— simpler to ignore in the Inquisition. We were all far from home, from our peoples. Except— except I had the two of you. And it was easy to forget, in my clan, that there were other ways of being. Because I was enough to them. Then. I was right. Dutiful. Part of them. And then I tumbled from the Breach and into the human world.” She rubbed her knee and stared at the wall again. “They’d never want me. The humans. I was a necessary tool for them, and I always will be. For as many statues and parades and treaties they have about me, I’m just a thing. Not theirs. It didn’t matter so much to me, because except for our friends, none of them needed to know me. It wasn’t worth the energy to persuade the Empress or those like her that I was more than the anchor. I do not mean our friends. Cassandra and Dorian, Vivienne and Blackwall— they might not ever understand everything I do or am, but they accept me anyway. Love me anyway. The same for Bull and Varric. But you and Sera— I had to be more. And I failed. Every day, I failed.” “No,” he protested, reaching for her. “Yes. There is no way for me not to fail you both. Sera— wanted me to blend in. Because that’s how she survived. To cut out the parts that struck the City elves and the humans as odd. It was safer that way. The invisible elf is the perfect elf. The invisible elf gets things done. Strikes in the perfect moment. Betters the lives of all the others in quiet leaps when no one is looking. Sera is good at that. But me— everything I know, the way I speak, the paths I choose, the way I move and see and breathe— are not her ways. And no matter how I tried to bend myself into her shape, it was always just a matter of time before I did the wrong thing and the lie fell apart.” He caught her hand in his and pressed it tightly. “Sera loves you anyway, too, you know.” Her eyes filled again. “That makes it worse,” she said. “That I can never be what she wants. Or what you want. That I am and will remain undeserving. And outside. Ever outside.” “Tel vindhru. You are exactly what I want.” “I’m not, though I have tried harder with you than any other. I wanted to be part of you and yours before we even met. All of my clan did. We chased old stories and repeated rituals we did not understand. Because we wanted to be you. But even now, after learning all that I have, it escapes me. I cannot pretend anymore. For a while, when it was just you and I, I thought I might be sufficient. That maybe I could learn enough to get close to what you missed. That I could be your home, even if I was not the same as the family you remembered. But then, when we met the Sentinels— then I knew how very far I was from anything familiar. The way Abelas saw me… I realized it was the same way that you did when we first met. That I was— alien to you. That I would never be…” She trailed off. “Hare—” he cried and stopped himself before he could make a worse mistake. “This is false, Vhenan. I do not wish you to be anything but what you are—” “You did. For a long time. Maybe— maybe you stopped. Or maybe you gave up. I know you loved— love me anyway. But I’m not enough.” She let go of his hand and waved at the wall. “It is always like this. I find only the edge, the shimmer of things. The bare shape of letters and words and stories, but I will never catch their meaning.” He waved his hand and the lamp sputtered to life. “It is only because the world has become so dim and muddled. A little light and—” “No,” she said and her tears began again, glittering in the aqua veilfire. “It doesn’t matter. Because I was raised in the dark. These things you show me, that I dig up— they are corners. Fragments. I’m so far from seeing. You tell me it just takes a little light when I’ve only just realized I don’t even know how to open my eyes. I always feel I am pretending. Play acting. Not real. There will always be this— rift between us that I cannot close. How can I? My life is just a flicker to someone like you. A season. Lost among so many others.” She wiped at her eyes, suddenly drawing herself in again. “But it matters not. There are not many days left to fail you. And you are home, back among your people. More at ease than I’ve ever seen you. That makes me happy.” “You have never failed me.” He turned her face toward him, away from the cold, dead veilfire remnants in the wall. “Never. A flicker? No. If you had been only a flicker, that would have been enough for me to adore you. More than enough. I know my life must seem— terrible and vast to you.” He sighed, pressed his forehead to hers. “At certain periods, it has been. Time— does not move the same for me. There were decades of uselessness. Frustration. Boredom. And then ages asleep, just watching. Uthenera can be what you wish it to. Fantasy. Learning. Oblivion. There were entire centuries that I chose the latter.” He traced the fine web of the anchor at her temple. “I would not lie and tell you that you were my first or only love. There have been others. Just as I know there have been others in your life before me. Though they had many times your number of years, they all fell away. Made their quiet impressions upon my life and then moved on to other lives. They were flickers. None of them made me wish to alter my path the way you have.” She shook her head. “They were on your side. They wouldn’t have wanted you to change.” “They did. A few of them. You told me once, that you would always be on my side—” “I am, I try to be, but I can’t be, not the way you want. If I hadn’t been able to find another way, I couldn’t have joined you, Solas, though it would break my heart.” “Ar eolasa, Vhenan. But what I couldn’t speak then, what I desperately craved, was to be on your side. You are not a flicker. A tree of lightning, a searing comet, perhaps. Something that illuminates the world and lays plain everything that was hidden or wrong. You truly did change everything. I’ve seen eight ages, my love. Civilizations rise and collapse and rise again. Forests dwindle or march across vast plains. You think you aren’t important because of your brevity? I spent all those thousands of years trying to make the world worthy of someone like you. And yet you speak of failure. When all of mine steals your breath, your faith, your clan—” She covered his mouth with her fingertips. “I wish to belong to your people, emma lath,” she whispered, “But without those things you mourn, I would not exist at all.” “I know. I told you, you change everything, even how I think of my past.” He grasped her shoulder. “A rift does not flow in one direction, Vhenan.” He pulled from the anchor and the Veil trembled, slid open. “Solas! This is perilous,” she cried. The Fade slid around them, enveloping Vhemanen’s small room. He could feel the terror pulsing from the Inquisitor. “Have no fear, fanor. The Evanuris sleep still and I can still hold the anchor. I would not bring you here to harm you.” She was not soothed. He released her shoulder to hold her. “Do you remember when we were here together?” he asked. “We were whole, both of us. Not just the way I remembered before the Veil. Utterly whole. Did you not feel it then?” “I— yes, of course. But it was— a moment only.” He shook his head. “Bellanaris. All of my thoughts live inside it. This is our home. This is where we are most real. Soon, your clan will learn the truth of what you told them. Perhaps I am a fool to think the Fade will reveal what has so long remained out of your— our reach. That we will all, at last, be wholly who we should be. That there will be no rift between the people of the waking world or the spirits who inhabit the Fade any longer. But if the breach between us remains, I would leap into it to meet you, Vhenan.” He slid his hand around hers and loosened his control, let her again feel everything. “I cannot replace your family, nor do I wish to. They will want you back sooner than they realize. No matter what happens, you belong with me. How could we not be one people? You are my heart. You belong with me.”

#solas #lavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age

[alma-berry]

Kit’s Secret Fire Message # 19

Masterlist   1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Kit stared at the crowded mess in front of him and sighed a long, heavy sigh.

Thirteen scared, dirty and starved looking kids huddled together, barely touching but obviously drawing comfort from one another. Most of them cried when Kit woke them up, even though he tried to be as gentle as he knew how. With Mina, Kit didn’t have to try and earn her trust.. it was more the other way around. As much as he loved her, he was rather wary of forming any attachments to her when she was firstborn. He didn’t know if Jem and Tessa would still want him after they realized how much work raising a child will be.. not that Kit was an authority on the matter. Tessa had children before, but that was over a hundred years ago, she could possibly forget the nightly crying and feeding routines, and the amount of attention an infant demanded of its surroundings. But they never gave him a reason to doubt their love, and Mina never gave him a chance to go a foot away from her as soon as one of them entered a room.

Now the small group was hiding behind Ty, who was evidently trying to hide how uncomfortable that made him feel. Kit studied him more carefully and wondered if anyone else would have noticed Ty’s discomfort. It was clear to him in the way his fingers trembled at his sides, the small crease between his thick eyebrows and how he bit his lower lip every few seconds.. but he kept his general expression almost completely blank. His eyes kept darting between the kids and the darkness that led outside the hall.

He’s still scared, he doesn’t trust himself after what happened. The realization sent cold anger through Kit’s blood. Ty didn’t feel comfortable in these social situations, but he tried with the Eidolon demon that disguised itself as one of the children. He put himself in a vulnerable position so he would be able to protect the child, and when he turned out to be a goddamned shapeshifter from hell, Ty probably felt helpless; stripped out of his own powers, his ability to see what others couldn’t or wouldn’t, to deduce the unimaginable. He was a fighter betrayed by his most trusted weapon.

And Kit helped it happen. He could have been the mediator, talk to the child who wasn’t even a child and maybe let Ty do what he did best - detect. But he couldn’t risk the chance that he wouldn’t.. it wasn’t just his life on the line, it was thirteen other children’s, and Ty’s. Ty’s, the one person who’s life mattered the most.

Kit could feel the demonic energy in the room like it was a thick cloud surrounding them. It was palpable and absolutely unknown to him. Kit was fighting demons on a regular basis for almost three years, yet he never had this physical awareness of them that he had as soon as they entered the cave.

He knew what it meant, but his anger and frustration resented him for lingering on the realization. His powers were growing, evolving.. and his erratic feelings probably only increased it.

Ty’s deceptively calm voice shook him out of his revery.

“We should split.”

“What?” Kit’s voice was louder than he meant it to be, and some of the kids jumped, startled by his violent reaction.

“We have to get going, it’s not safe here, and-“

“What does it have to do with splitting?” Kit interrupted before Ty could finish his sentence. He was still agitated by the tired, haunted look on Ty’s face and he couldn’t care less about scaring off these kids. Some distant part of him knew he wasn’t acting like himself, that this unmanageable fury was wildly misdirected. He was surrounded by terrified children that got snatched out of their beds, their families, some of them even taken from hospitals. They were in a really bad shape as it was, and Kit’s behavior was making it a hundred times worse. He imagined the weight of Mina’s tiny hand in his and schooled his expression into a controlled absence.

Ty didn’t let any sign that he noticed Kit’s odd outburst. He was still fighting his own tangled emotions.

“We can’t risk running into the demons when the Kids are with us. We have to split. You will take them back where we came from and I will find the demons and-“

“No.”

Kit’s voice broke no arguments. He made it as firm and authoritative as he could, mimicking the rare moments he got to witness Jace being the mature, strong head-of-the-institute that he was in front of others. There was no way he was letting Ty go alone and face whatever was out there. The place reeked of demons, and Kit could still faintly feel the pulse of that energy he felt around the Eidolon demon.

“Why not?” Ty cocked his head, suddenly aware of Kit’s rigid posture.

“I’m not leaving you to go and get slaughtered by-“

“Kit!” Ty gasped in shock and quickly pursed his mouth to a tight frown. “I’m not a child, I’m more than capable of fighting whatever is out there.”

His voice was calm, almost detached, but Kit wasn’t fooled for a second. His patience was wearing thin, but he willed his voice to convey more than the shattered fear that boiled inside his veins by the thought of Ty leaving him.

“Ty, I’m not saying you’re not capable of fighting. I know full well what you can do, and I have absolute faith in you.” He took a deep breath before continuing his words, knowing what they meant and what Ty will make of them. He promised himself to be honest with Ty, and though he couldn’t give him the entire truth at the moment, he could at least give him this.

“It’s not you that I don’t trust, it’s me. I don’t trust that I won’t run straight back to you and leave them alone halfway. I don’t trust that I will be able to see you walk away from me without knowing that I will see you again. I don’t trust myself, so there’s no fucking way I’m leaving your side until we’re out of here.”

He was panting so hard he could feel raw pain in his lungs. The sheer panic and rage of his emotions made his head dizzy, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Ty’s. He was looking at him like he hit him in the gut, the naked intensity and bewilderment made Kit’s heart drop to a numbing silence.

Finally, he was able to look away. He felt ashamed of his weakness, but couldn’t find it in himself to regret his words. He glanced at the shocked ensemble of children in front of him and muttered “Uh.. sorry for using that word. I’m American, we don’t have that much of a filter.”

“Okay.”

Ty’s voice was barely a whisper, and Kit looked up to find him standing dangerously close to him. His anger evaporated like it was never there at all, and he couldn’t remember the mechanics of breathing as Ty took Kit’s hand in his. It was warm and strong, and the reassurance in his eyes told Kit everything his words didn’t. He wasn’t looking at him, but everything about him said that he understood. He understood enough to give Kit what he needed, and it was the promise that he will stay.

It was a cruel sort of joke, that Kit would be the one unwilling to let Ty leave when he himself left him so long ago. The thought burned a bitter taste in his tongue, but it hardly mattered, not while Kit felt the steady pulse of Ty’s heartbeat through their joined hands. He squeezed Ty’s hand once, acknowledging his gesture, and turned to face the mob of kids that were gaping at them with a mix of fear and incredulity.

“Let’s get the hell out of here”.

**

The silence was so profound Kit felt like screaming just to break it. It was unbearable, the collective heavy breathing of all the small bodies that surrounded him melted to a jagged hum in his veins that grew louder with every passing minute.

They moved in unison, trading worried looks and hasty hand gestures as they tried to find their way back into the main entrance. Kit had a bad feeling, everything about this place felt off and bone-chilling. But something about the long corridors and vast clearings felt too foreign, too risky to keep for long.

It was clear they made a mistake on one turn or the other, he could tell by the lack of creepy mannequins or historical artifacts. They went in deeper than they meant to, and Kit wanted to put his fist through the wall for forgetting to mark their way when they first entered the caves. He was supposed to be the one with the mundane knowledge, as he couldn’t really expect Ty to know Hansel and Gretel and their trail of breadcrumbs.

He was bringing up the rear at the long walk through the narrow hall when the temperature dropped imperceptibly. If the feeling wasn’t familiar, Kit wouldn’t probably have noticed it.. but as it was, he stopped walking and whispered a low “Stop” that easily carried through to Ty.

It was only a few seconds before Kit could see her.

A young woman had solidified into a barely visible white in front of him. He didn’t have to ask who she was, he read the stories about the young woman who got murdered on the caves centuries ago, and while the mere suggestion of ghosts was enough to exhilarate the swarm of tourists that regularly visited the place, he for once, wasn’t excited. He was sure they would have felt the same if they could have seen the sunken, broken cheeks on her bloody face.

When he came to think of it, Kit was surprised she was the first ghost to appear to him. This place was so ancient it was almost inevitable to find more than one soul that got trapped in the circumstances of its death. Something about that thought, and about the livid fear in the ghost’s half translucent eyes made Kit’s voice pressed and somber as he understood what she was about to tell him.

“You’re too late, I know..”

Her eyes were infinitely sad, and Kit could only guess for how many years she was trapped in this cold, suffocating purgatory, wandering amongst the oblivious strangers.. whispering her story to those who could never hear it.

He felt his heart soften and harden with a quiet desperation.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I’m sorry that you’re here. Thank you for warning us, and I hope that you’ll be able to find peace.”

He could barely hear his own voice but knew she could. With a tight nod, she disappeared into the feral darkness right beyond the reach of his witchlight.

Kit braced himself for the questioning eyes of his silent companions and sought out Ty’s tall figure amongst the crowd.

“They’re here, probably in the next room. We’re out of time.”

Ty’s eyes didn’t waver from Kit’s collar bones. There was a cool calmness to him that reminded Kit that after all, he was a Shadowhunter through and through. No matter the countless differences between Ty and every other Shadowhunter Kit had ever met, the steel in his silvery eyes held him upright, and quieted the beating of Kit’s heart.

Ty didn’t bother to mention the ghost, he understood and probably felt no need to state the obvious. He only nodded, lost in his own thoughts.

“We have to figure out a way to keep them here, and safe” Kit whispered.

Something dark glinted in Ty’s eyes and scanned through Kit’s weapons belt, and then his own.  

Kit held his breath, letting Ty figure out what was unraveling in his brilliant, beautiful mind. He needed Ty to know that he trusted him implicitly, that his earlier outburst was exactly what he said it was, and to repay him for staying by his side even though it made absolutely no sense.

Eventually, Ty straightened and whispered at Kit’s direction.

“I can make a Malachi Configuration. I know it would put us at a disadvantage for lack of weapons when we face the demons, but it’s the best option I can see. It would keep them safe, no demon will be able to touch the seraph blades. They will be safe until we’ll come to get them back.”

He was right, this was the best option they had. A Malachi Configuration will trap the children inside a cage and will stop them from running away as much as it would stop anyone else from entering it. Not even the other Shadowhunters could brake it, it would have to be the person who made it, to begin with.

Kit looked at Ty and thought about his earlier words, of how he planned to go and face the demons himself. It wasn’t something Ty would usually suggest because it was obviously a suicidal move. Ty was many things, brave and smart and far too kind for his own good, but he wasn’t self-sacrificing. Kit knew that it was only the encounter with the Eidolon demon that made him act this way, like he had to pay for his mistakes. No, this time, Kit will have to ensure Ty would come back.. because if he won’t there will be thirteen kids trapped in a seraphic mobile prison cell that Kit won’t know the first thing about how to brake. But that scenario wasn’t optional, not by a long-shot. Kit knew it wasn’t very Shadowhunter-y of him, they were an endangered species, after all.. but he couldn’t care less. He lost too much in his life to be able to entertain the thought of losing Ty.

Kit handed him two seraph blades, hilts first, and asked with a twisted smile “How many do you need?”

Kit explained to the small group of children what they were about to do, while Ty readied the Adamas made weapons in his hands. They had to do it quickly, for the sound of thrusting blades through the stone floor was bound to attract attention.. and if not that, then the chime-like sound symboling the lock of the configuration will probably do the trick. As soon as Kit got a firm and convincing promise from every single one of the children that they would not try to set a foot outside the lines he indicated, he stepped back and let Ty do his part.

At the first blade that speared the ground, Kit drew out another of the angel’s blades from his belt and whispered a name into the echoing thunder.

The noises grew louder on either side of the small passage, and he wished Ty would get it over with so they could leave this claustrophobic place.. he had no desire to fight off demons in a place so small. These corridors are made for scared, gullible tourists or secretive make-out sessions. He entertained the second thought for another moment of sweet, dazed sunlight until he realized the bright light in his eyes came from between the blades that marked the ground. With the sharp bell-like sound that indicated his work’s success, Ty turned to Kit. Sweat plastered the long bangs of his hair to his forehead, and Kit felt the tense throbbing of his heart, begging him for some kind of release.

Ty seemed to feel his tension and scanned him for any cause of his distress. When he found none, he searched his face for answers. Something must have given him away because Ty closed the small distance between them as if sensing Kit’s need for his closeness.

Kit stared at his boots, not daring to look up, but he didn’t step back. He knew he was endangering everything, everyone, by simply standing so close to Ty.. but he was so tired. Tired of keeping his distance, of trying to lock his feelings in a place they couldn’t hurt anybody but himself. Who was he kidding? He didn’t even manage to do that.. he wasn’t Will Herondale, and he didn’t want to be. He was Kit. He was the person Ty looked at with a violent blush in his cheeks and asked him to believe that he was the opposite of nothing to him. Kit knew what the opposite of nothing was, and even though it felt impossible to even imagine that he could be something to Ty, he couldn’t not feel the truth in it.

His heart was hammering thunderous beats as he reached a shaking hand and gripped the hem of Ty’s shirt, and pulled him closer.

They stood there, Kit still staring at their feet, barely an inch from touching. The softness of Ty’s breath on his forehead, the heat of his body, the smell of his sweat and skin and phantom touch pulsed through Kit like fire, threatening to bring him to his knees.

It took everything he had to walk away. Everything he was, every silent promise he ever made to his dead father, to his baby sister, to the damned endless night he had cursed for half his life, all sang through his unwilling ears. His legs were two leaded bricks, but he managed to take another step backward and breath the shattered remains of his desire.

He lifted his eyes cautiously, just to find them mirrored in Ty’s. He took him in, the white light that fell on his profile lit his sharp bones to an almost blinding outline of his features. Kit was mesmerized for a split second before he got swallowed by the darkness in Ty’s eyes. It held the same expression he knew his eyes must have had, all fire and loss and unbidden desperation. His lips parted by the force of Ty’s gaze, unwilling to release him.

It was the coiling crackle of a flame that finally broke them free. That, and the roaring sound of the crowd of demons headed straight their way.

#kit herondale #Ty Blackthorn #christopher herondale #tiberius blackthorn #kit's secret fire message #ksfm #THE KIT HERONDALE SUPPORTIVE ARMY #kitty blackdale #kitty #blackdale #kit rook #kit herondale blackthorn #tiberius nero blackthorn #KIT TY #kit #ty #kit x ty #Ty x kit #herondale #heronthorn #kitty fanfiction #kitty fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #herondale poetry #tsc #tsc fanfic #tsc fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles

[angelasscribbles]

Eidolon Chapter 7: Connection

Series: Eidolon

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: None right now, busy being haunted

Rating: MA

Warnings: HORROR

Word Count: 1,933

A/N: I have chapter 8 done and chapter 9 almost done. It might be over by chapter 10. Hope to have everything done and posted by Halloween.

My other stuff: Master List.

The redheaded witch turned at the rustling sound behind her. She knew she was alone in the woods.

There was only one creature at the palace that could have found her without making a sound.

Olivia took in the sight in front of her. The creature looked for all the world like a normal woman. Naked, and crying. The short hairs on the back of her neck stood up as dread crawled down her spine, “What is it?”

“Drake….he didn’t use the amulet….I tried to stop…..”

Olivia turned on her heel and sprinted for the palace, her heart pounding in her ears. The adrenaline dumping into her system gave her the extra speed she needed to clear the edge of the woods and make the palace entrance in what had to be record time.

Guards moved aside as she flew through the hallways and up the grand staircase.

She burst through the door of Liam’s room, panic crushing her chest, tears stinging her eyes.

“Drake!” She cried as she dropped to her knees next to him, “You stupid, stupid man!”

She checked for a pulse. He was alive.

Barely.

She opened her third eye and scanned his aura. It had been severely depleted, but there were thin fragmented wisps still clinging stubbornly to him.

Finally, his intractable stubbornness paid off. He might yet live.

She murmured a spell over Liam to break the effects of the elixir and wake him. He sat up in alarm, “What happened?”

“It’s Drake! I think I can save him, but I need your help!”

Drake could hear his friends, but not respond. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, he couldn’t wake up.

“Goddamn it, Drake! I fucking told you!” Liam’s voice.

Then Liv’s, “Help me move him onto the bed.”

He sank in and out of darkness.

A glass was held to his lips. A slightly bitter and faintly sweet liquid slid down his throat. He felt his life force reattach itself. But it was weak.

They still didn’t know he could hear them.

“That’s it. That’s all I can do. Now we have to wait for the replenishing spell to work. His aura has to regrow itself.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m not sure. Hours. Days. Weeks. I’ve never done one before.”

He slid into darkness again.

She was there, in the darkness.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Live. Please live! I love you.”

The queen sat at her table on a dais in the front surveying the room while she sipped her wine. She was looking for someone. The someone that made her pulse race. Not her husband.

Merida Theron Rys had married for duty and political expediency, not love. King Brawen Rys was a decent king by all measures, but he was old enough to be her father, and then some.

She’d done her duty, she had borne three heirs for him and she was done. Done gracing his bed, done letting him touch her. She didn’t care if he had affairs. Let him. As long as he left her alone, she was happy.

But she was still a youngish woman. Maybe there was a hint of grey here and there, the errant strand of silver that she plucked out and tossed away, but she was still young enough to burn with want and desire. To crave the touch of someone closer to her age, closer to her type, someone who excited things within her.

Her eyes widened and a smile curved up her lips as she spotted him across the room. Sir Gawain Brunswick. Knight of the Realm and a member of the Royal Guard.

Tonight, his armor was gone, replaced with a simple tunic and cloak in the colors of his house. He was the younger son of a poor, minor house so he’d made a way, and a name, for himself with the sword. 

He glanced up toward the dais, catching her eye. She smiled at him. He nodded then turned his attention back to the ballroom full of eligible young women. Many of the young noble women vied for his attention.

Merida did not miss the way his face lit up when the serving girl approached him. Nor did she miss the way his eyes followed her as she retreated, the desire clear for all to see.

She burned with jealousy.

At the end of the night, the serving girl slipped quietly out of the ballroom and down the hallway. Gawain followed discreetly behind her. Merida followed quietly behind him.

He caught up with her halfway down the hallway to the servant’s quarters. The queen pressed herself to the wall around the corner, listening.

The younger woman giggled as Gawain pulled her into his arms, “Why are you running away from me, Rezna?”

“I don’t want to get caught!”

“We’re doing nothing wrong!” He protested.

“It’s a well known secret that the queen fancies you. I don’t want to get fired, I need this job!”

“I’ll take care of you! Marry me, Rezna!”

The girl giggled again, “Why would you want to marry me when you could have your choice of any lady at court, the queen included?”

“They don’t interest me!”

“But I know you’ve lain with many of them, including the queen.”

“Once!” He told her, “And most of her ladies in waiting as well but that was different!”

“How?” She teased, a lilting quality in her voice. She knew she had his heart.

“You are the only one I love, and I haven’t looked at another woman since the first time you glanced in my direction! I mean it, Rezna, marry me!”

He nuzzled into the side of her neck before stumbling backwards down the hall and pulling her through the door into her bedroom.

Merida wiped away the tears of rage from her cheeks and made her way back to her own quarters. Her rooms were royal, luxurious, sumptuous. He could be here, sleeping in the softest feather bed, eating the freshest fruits, drinking the finest wines, with her. But instead, he was in a cramped room with a small hay stuffed mattress cavorting with a servant. A peasant.

It was her fault. The girl.

“Ralto!” She screamed for her guard.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Fetch me the witch from the cells. Bring her to my rooms.”

Liam tossed and turned in the bed in guest room across the hall. He had pretended to drink the elixir to calm Liv down. She was distracted taking care of Drake in his room.

He gave up on sleep and kicked out of the covers, getting up to pace the floor.

She would come. She had to. He needed answers.

“Liam.”

He wasn’t even surprised. She always just appeared like that.

It was the first time she had appeared to him while he was wide awake though. There was no mistaking this for a dream.

“You’re real.” He breathed out.

“Real enough.” She replied, stepping forward.

He took a step back.

Regret flittered behind her eyes, “You’re scared of me now.”

“I…I just want answers.”

“I’ll give them to you but…” She took another tentative step toward him.

He didn’t move away this time, “But?”

“I need to feed first….I’m sorry. It isn’t my choice. This is how they made me.”

“I have no desire to end up unconscious…or dead.”

“You won’t. I promise. I couldn’t kill you if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”

“Why?” He asked as she took another step closer. His breathing accelerated as the magic enveloped him, “Why am I immune to it?”

He wasn’t immune to all of it. Her nearness sent desire crashing through him, it made him reckless, heedless of his own danger. Sweat broke out along his brow and across the palms of his hands. He couldn’t resist her. She would drink from him, she would deplete his energy, drain his lifeforce, but not all the way. He wouldn’t die.

“I’ll tell you everything.” She promised as her hand caressed his cheek, “Now that I’m almost whole again. Now that I have my memories, and my voice, now that I can stay solid for a period of time after feeding. But I must feed, Liam, I have to! I can only go so long without it, or I lose control and attack indiscriminately.”

“As opposed to when you attack me? That’s targeted?” He already knew it was. She had sought him out from day one.

“Do you experience it as an attack?” Her voice was crushed velvet across his skin.

He shivered, “No.”

He gave her what she wanted willingly.

Her eyes glittered as she brought her mouth to his, “Please. I need you.”

He pulled her into his arms, surrendering to her, as he always did.

He drowned in his desire for her. She fed. This time, she stayed solid, in his arms, after it was over.

He pulled her close and held her, just like he would a real lover. His hands ran over her arms, “You killed those men.”

“I did. But I didn’t want to!” She had been too weak, when she first escaped her prison, to reach him. She’d had to take whoever came when she called.

“You said that before. That it wasn’t your fault. What wasn’t your fault?”

“Any of it!” The words exploded from her mouth with vehemence, “I asked for none of this!”

“My friend….Drake….”

Her bottom lip quivered. Fresh tears filled her eyes, “I didn’t mean to!”

“You feed on sex? Desire?”

“Yes, desire, and the things that come with it, or the things it can turn into. Desire is the bait, once ensnared I can feed on many things, but I prefer to feed on that which brings pleasure to the victim.” All strong emotion could be traced back to the life source, a bridge to the aura.

“But you can control it?”

“I can’t!” She insisted. She had to feed. And she had to feed on men’s sexual desire. It was all part of spell that had been twisted to curse her.

“But you never hurt me. I don’t die.”

“Because you can’t! You are immune! The only choice I make is to seek you out, so that I can feed without killing.”

He felt an inexplicable disappointment ping through him, “Is that the only reason?”

“What?”

“It’s commendable that you seek out the one man that you can’t kill. That tells me that you have a conscience, that you really don’t want to do what you do. But is that the only reason you seek me out?” He held his breath, like an idiot. Was he really concerned about whether or not a succubus, one who had almost killed his best friend, had feelings for him?

He felt like a fool. Yet, he was concerned about exactly that.

“No.” She whispered, “You are not the only man in this palace that is immune to the effects of my….attack.”

“I’m not?” His eyes turned to stare into her hers, stunned amazement coloring them.

“Your father is immune as well.”

Liam drew away in shock, “So this is a genetic thing?”

“Not exactly.”

“But Drake…you didn’t kill him!”

“I almost did.”

“He’s not immune?”

“No.”

“You said you can’t control it, that you must feed.”

“That’s correct.”

“But you stopped. Liv said you stopped just short of killing him.”

“I…did, didn’t I?”

Was that hope he saw in her face?

She talked far into the night. She told him her story, as she remembered it.

He fell asleep holding her.

When he woke up, she was gone.

#eidolon #choices trr #angelasscribbles #paranormal #ghost stories #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #horror #scary stories #creepy #spooktober

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part v}

*goes into hiding for 23455 years*

– – –

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst YEEEET

Word count: 6.2K

Notes: masterlist - {previous} - {next} -- me: *doesn't update for 67 years* *updates* *doesn't update for 67 ye

– – –

And when I fall to rise

with stardust in my eyes

In the backbone of night, I’m combustible

~ King of The Clouds, Panic! At The Disco

– – –

“I got you caramel popcorn.”

You look up from where you’re tying your boots and raise an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

A plastic box filled with the sticky treats lands on the couch next to you. “Caramel popcorn. You like it, right?” Keith runs a hand through his hair and plops down too, giving a small wince. He’s trying very hard to hide the fact that he’s still feeling pretty beat up, but he��s not very good at it. Or maybe you’re just very skilled at reading him.

You cautiously take the box, pop off the lid and pluck one grain from its siblings. “I do like it.” With a flourish, you stick it in your mouth and smile at the sweet taste. “How’d you know?”

Keith looks down. “You probably mentioned it while I was… out.”

Your fingers, halfway down the box already, freeze. “Say what now?”

He shrugs stiffly, the shirt draped over his lanky frame only barely moving with him. He’s lost so much weight while he was sick, and it’s affected him more than he cares to show. He still tires easily, needs a lot of sleep. He gets nauseous faster, and gets dizzy when he stands up too abruptly. Over the past few days he’s been getting better, staying up with longer intervals between naps every time but he still isn’t quite back to normal.

And it’s bothering him. You can tell it’s bothering him. He tries to help you in any way he can, though those aren’t many. You’ve had him buy groceries a few times so you could come straight home from work–but that was often quite late in the evening, and you right now you’re just about to leave for work.

“I keep getting these flashes of memories that aren’t mine. And–well–you’re the only person I’ve talked to for about two weeks, so I figured they were yours.” He gives a nervous laugh. “Well, practically the only person. I’m guessing it wasn’t the grocer who leaked some of his memories into my brain.”

“No. ‘Cause that would be weird,” you say, carefully removing your hand from the popcorn and placing the bucket on the low coffee table in front of you. Suddenly you feel cold again.

“Look,” he starts, and you firmly keep your eyes on the bowl of popcorn, not wanting to meet his, “I don’t know what you did or who you went to for whatever it is that cured me. But I do know that you saved my life, and I’ll forever be in your debt for that.”

“Keith–”

“No, seriously. I don’t need to know everything. That’s completely fine. But I don’t want you to get hurt because you were trying to help me.” And he sounds so sincere, like he means every word, and you look away and purse your lips and tug at your shoelaces because he’s really not making things easy for you.

Whenever you think you finally have your thoughts out in a row, Keith swoops in and says a line like that one and makes everything foggy again. He could have drop-kicked you in the stomach and you would be less confused. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You wonder if he’s doing it on purpose–if he knows you’ve been tasked with a mission that’s nothing short of impossible.

Not impossible in the literal sense of the word. In fact, it would hardly be a challenge at all; Keith’s still weakened and even without your knives you could overpower him in half a second. No, the impossibility of the task lies in a more complicated and nuanced territory: your morals. Your feelings towards him, to be exact, and how much you can ignore them. If you even want to ignore them, and up til now that’s not looking very likely a possibility.

The portal pass Prince Lotor gave you sits untouched in a locked drawer in your nightstand. At night, when the only sound filling the air is the nightlife of the city, you can feel it pulsing beside you, beckoning to be used. It’s tempting you, whispering for your touch, begging to return home. As far as you know, portal passes don’t have expiration dates, but you’re still hoping that the call will eventually weaken until you don’t even notice it anymore.

No, giving Keith up to the Below isn’t an option. But he’s growing stronger every day, and at one point he’s going to leave. He’ll leave, and you won’t be there to protect him anymore, and that means he’ll be fair game for any Bounty out there who caught word of the prize his capture will grant.

And really, you just want him to stay.

You want him to stay because your life has been infinitely more interesting since he showed up. You want him to stay because you took care of him for a week while he was dying, and you’re the reason he’s here, alive, in the first place. You want him to stay because you’ve grown to like him–and because he understands you in a way no one else can.

“I’m not hurt,” you assure him. Your fingers ghost over his briefly before you pull them back to your lap. “I won’t get hurt. I promise.” He gives a tentative smile and you zip your hoodie up over your t-shirt. “Let’s focus first on getting you all healed up, all right?”

“I’m fine!”

“Keith, you tripped over your own shoelace and immediately knocked yourself out. You almost threw up after going out onto the rooftop.” You tug a soft hat over your ears and, after a small moment of hesitation, grab a last small handful of caramel popcorn and cradle them in your palm. They really are good. “I’ll be back this afternoon. If anything’s wrong, call. I might not pick up right away but I’ll call back.”

He sighs, tugs at a strand of dark hair. “Okay. Bye.”

You snatch up your keys and open the door. “Take a nap,” you smile over your shoulder. You don’t stay to see his reaction.

– – –

The day goes by as most work days go by, and you huff out a breath when you sink onto a chair around lunchtime. “I’m taking my break,” you tell Emmie–the real Emmie–and she nods. It had been pretty weird to see her and the others for the first time after the whole Bountyhunter fiasco. You were pretty sure none of them noticed how you stiffened when they’d greeted you first thing in the morning, and even if they had they would probably just think you had a rough day or something.

Your phone buzzes and you jump. Before picking up, you glance at the caller ID. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, did I get it right? I always forget when you have your lunch break,” Allura says.

“You got it right. I’ve literally just sat down.”

“Fabulous. It’s the hospital, you know. Messes with your perception of time.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I wouldn’t know.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t.”

You shake your head, but a smile tugs at the ends of your lips. “Did you just want to chat or did you need anything?”

“Nah, I just wanted to chat. We haven’t talked in ages! And also you won’t tell me what you’re doing or what’s going on or who is staying in your apartment… you know. Breezy stuff.” Her tone is light, but you can tell she’s a little pissed at you for ghosting her, and you honestly can’t blame her.

“Allura… I’m really sorry about that. My life’s just been really messy for the last two weeks or so. I’m working on it, I promise.”

She sighs, and you imagine the way her lips purse as she glares out into the distance. “You know,” she says suddenly, “I think I’ve been a pretty good friend so far.”

It takes you aback, and you choke out a startled laugh. “You have been. I mean, you are. You’re the best.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Maybe I could help.”

You lick your lips, lightly kicking at an empty cardboard box on the floor. “It’s hard to explain. I–it’s–it’s complicated.”

“Right.”

“Listen, I want to explain it. I do. You deserve to know what’s going on, but… I’m afraid of what you’ll think if I do tell you. And I’m afraid–” You only just manage to cut yourself off and swallow the words about to tip from your tongue. You let your head fall back. “Okay. What if we meet up tonight? After work? And I’ll explain what I can, okay?”

She’s silent for a moment, then says, “Fine. Okay.”

Silently, you let out a breath you’d been holding. “All right. Uh, how about the park? Let’s say half past eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

You switch your phone to your other ear. “So, uh, see you then? I guess?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye,” you say, but she’s already hung up. You growl, squeezing your eyes shut and raking a hand through your hair before rubbing your temples. “Fuck.”

Is this whole ordeal worth jeopardising your friendship with Allura? No. But then again, how much of a choice do you really have? What are you going to tell her? Oh yeah, I’m actually demon, and I kind of saved an angel that I then later learned is on the lam so now I’m harboring a fugitive. It just doesn’t ring very well.

But you’re going to have to tell her something. She’s starting to get suspicious–she has every reason to. Maybe you’ll just have to improvise a bit.

A glance at your watch tells you that your break ends in ten minutes, and you haven’t even had your lunch yet. You stand up and make your way to the snack dispenser, logging in a coin and, with a fair amount of shaking and punching the already-battered sides of the machine, plucking out a pack of raisins and a chocolate granola bar. Not much of a lunch, but oh well. Keith would have your head if he knew these were your only nutrients of the day.

Then you shake your head and frown. Since when do you care what Keith thinks?

As you nibble on the granola bar, you contemplate your phone that you laid on the coffee table in front of you. Part of you wants to call your home phone. Just to see how Keith’s doing. What he’s been up to (in the whole five hours that you haven’t seen him). Stupid, you tell yourself. Stop it. He’s fine. He’s a grown angel, for Hell’s sake. He can take care of himself.

Really, you just want to hear his voice. It’s comforting. He has a nice voice.

But you mentally scold yourself. Just because you decided you won’t turn him in doesn’t give you an excuse to get all cuddly with him. So you lick the last of the chocolate from your fingers, straighten your blue work shirt and stuff your phone in your back pocket. Tony allows phones in pockets as long as they’re switched off, so you make sure you do just that before you push the door open and resume your shift.

“Keith?” You shout his name before you even properly entered your apartment, and you’re greeted with an irritated hum from where he’s half passed out on the sofa. “Have you just been sleeping the entire day?”

“Hm.”

“Good for you. Wish I could get more than four hours’ sleep a night.”

He cracks open an eye. “You only get four hours’ sleep a night?” Oh. Not as unconscious as you thought.

“No, no,” you quickly lie, “nah, I was exaggerating. I get plenty of sleep. Don’t worry.” You kick off your shoes and drop your keys in their little box. “But you sleeping is good. It means you’ll feel better soon.”

“Hey, hey,” he says, suppressing a yawn and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “don’t change the subject.”

“Keith. I told you I’m fine. Drop it.”

“No.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He looks at you, squinting with fatigue, but his eyes are determined and glint. “You look like crap. You’ve been working your ass off when you look like you can barely stand on your feet. I didn’t want to say anything because–well–I figured it wasn’t my place to tell you you should rest,” he adds, a bit awkwardly, but voice still firm.

“It’s not,” you say, eyebrow still raised and feeling your shoulders stiffen with ever word falling from his lips.

“But you should. Rest, I mean. I don’t know why you won’t take care of yourself, but I don’t want–” He catches himself before the end of his sentence, and when you narrow your eyes you think you can spot a faint blush dotting his cheeks. “Anyway. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Sure.” For some reason, it’s easier to be curt when he’s worrying about you instead of the other way around. Though you don’t think you’ll actually stop being worried about him until he’s a hundred percent back to normal, but him reaching out and voicing his concerns about you has your emotional walls immediately shoot up.

Up until now, you hadn’t realised how much you’d started to let them down.

You grab a cup and fill it with water, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen as you gulp it down. Keith’s gaze is still fixed on you, and you pointedly direct yours at the floor.

“Y/N–”

“Keith. Drop it. Seriously.” You set the empty cup down on the kitchen table, maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I’m actually going out tonight.”

He frowns, and again there’s that flash of concern that has you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m just meeting up with a friend. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but you don’t have to wait up for me if you want to go to sleep early. God,” you add with a scoff when he purses his lips, “don’t look so disapproving. What are you, my dad?”

“Y/N–”

“I’m going out.” Your voice is quiet but icy, and you can see Keith knows he won’t change your mind.

He closes his eyes briefly. “At least eat something before you go.”

“I’ll get takeout on the way or something.” You turn on your heel and, after a split second of internal debate you pull your scarf from its place on the coat hanger and wrap it around your face. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

You don’t even wait to hear his answer.

Allura’s waiting for you on your bench, her purple scarf pulled around her cheeks and her hair piled atop her head in a bun. She looks up when you approach, then shifts a little to the side to make room for you. Her eyes are narrowed, though you suspect that’s due more to a mix of fatigue and a protection against the cold wind than it is anger against you.

“Hey,” you say, sinking onto the bench next to her.

“Hi.” She crosses her ankles and looks away briefly before focusing her gaze on you again. Her brows furrow slightly. “What happened to you?”

You freeze. “What?”

“I mean, why do you look like that?”

A hesitant laugh rolls past your lips. “Like what?”

“Like you haven’t slept, eaten, or seen sunlight in a week. No, don’t even–hey, look at me.” She grabs your wrists and forces you to look her in the eye. With every second she scrutinises your face the worry in hers grows, and she reaches out to tentatively touch the tender skin beneath your eyes. “Have you been overworking yourself?”

“No,” you say, deflated, though it comes out more like a whine.

“How much sleep have you been getting a night?”

“Allura, stop it. I feel fine.” It’s a lie, and she doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t need you fretting over me as well.”

She leans back. “What do you mean, as well?” Her lips purse and she takes your hands in hers. “Y/N, what is going on?”

You sigh, cursing yourself and this entire situation internally. You have to think very carefully about what you’re going to say and how you’re going to say it. You bite your lip, and after a moment of silence you say, “Remember when I called you a while ago about that fever?”

She nods slowly. “And I told you to sweat it out, and you said that wouldn’t work, so I told you to go find my uncle.”

“Right. Well, I did,” you sigh, thinking back to the strange excursion that was the trip by Coran’s shop.

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did.” She raises an eyebrow, rolling her hand in a Go on gesture. You exhale, fumbling with the words in your mind before speaking them out loud. “It wasn’t for research purposes. I needed it because… a friend of mine–well, he’s more like an acquaintance, really–was very sick. And no, I couldn’t take him to the hospital,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth to say something.

She frowns. “Why not?”

You cringe slightly. For some reason, you don’t think He’s not human is going to cut it. “I just couldn’t, okay? Please just–just trust me on this. Listen,” you say, lowering your head into your hands, “there’s some things I really can’t tell you. I just can’t. But I’m trying my best.” Your voice catches and you’re surprised to find your eyes sting. You angrily wipe the forming tears away.

“I’ve known him for a while,” you continue. “But we never really… talked before. Because we come from… different places.” What a way to simplify it.

“So he’s, like… some kind of famous, rich, bourgeois-esque guy? Is that what I’m picking up here?” She’s trying to lighten the mood, you know she is, but the laugh you manage to grit out is bitter anyway.

“That’s one way to put it.”

It’s silent for a while, and the tension that cloaked the air before starts to fade. Allura can be quite hot-headed sometimes, but she doesn’t always manage to stay angry for long–though in this case, she would have every reason to. You’ve been avoiding her, even if you had a good reason.

Then she sighs. “I’m trying to understand, Y/N.” You glance at her, keep your mouth shut. “But it’s hard. And I’m not sure if this is just you being your mystical self, or if there’s something really weird going on, but I don’t like it. At all. Not if this is how it makes you act and feel.” Again she shoots a pointed look at your face. “But you’re asking me to trust you, so that’s what I’ll do.”

Your eyes, that narrowed as you looked down at the ground, snap open and you turn your head around fully to look at her. “Seriously?”

She nods. “Yeah. Seriously. And I don’t like it,” she repeats, shifting to sit on her hands and glaring out into the darkening evening streets, “but I trust you to not do anything stupid. Or, well, anything very stupid.”

And it makes you feel good. A huge weight seems to fall off your shoulders and you breathe a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Allura.”

“Well.” She sits up straight and hooks an arm over the back of the bench, turning fully to you, her mouth curling into a wicked grin. “Now that we worked that out, you’re going to tell me about this guy, because I want to know who you’re risking our friendship for, God damn it.”

Your head tips back. “Allura. Please. Don’t.”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” she tuts. “None of that. You owe me this. Fine, I’ll start easy. What’s his name?”

You slowly roll your head until you’re looking her in the eye. “Keith.”

She nods, grin turning smug. “Where’s he from?”

You flinch. “…Somewhere up north.”

“Ah. Touchy subject?”

“Eh.”

“Fine,” she huffs, “then answer this one. Why would he come to you now if you’ve never even spoken before? You made it sound like he was in serious trouble.”

“He was. And, well… I guess he came to me because he had nowhere else to go.”

Allura hums. Then, “You sound like you care about him.”

You start. “What?”

“You know. You took him into your apartment, you stayed home from work for a week to take care of him, you almost fucked up our friendship for him… that’s not just because you felt sorry for him.” She says it so breezily, the words more a joke by now than anything, but you still wish she hadn’t said them–if only because they ring so true.

“I barely know him,” you protest weakly.

“But you want to. Get to know him, I mean.”

“Fuck, Allura, I wanted to talk, not for you to tell me how to lead my love life,” you groan, sliding along the backrest.

She wiggles her eyebrows. ‘Who said anything about love?”

“Oh my god.” You jump up, dusting off your coat and giving your scarf a vigorous tug. “I’m gonna go now. Again, the coming days–weeks, maybe, I don’t fucking know–might be weird. There’s a bunch of stuff Keith and I need to sort out. I’ll call you eventually, but it might be smart if you kind of stayed out of it? I’d appreciate that. As a personal favour.”

“Uh, sure,” she says, looking equally taken aback and somewhat smug by your sudden flustered and rambly state. “Why’s that?”

“You know. I was already manipulated into thinking you were being tortured to get information out of me, so. I’d rather that doesn’t happen again. You know what, just pretend you don’t know me until I call you, all right?”

She freezes for only a fraction of a second, then scrambles up and grabs your sleeve.“Say what now?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”

“That absolutely is a big fucking deal, Y/N.”

“Figures. I’m really sorry you got sucked into this mess, Allura. You deserve better friends than me.”

Her lips purse, and before you know what’s happening she’s pulled you into a hug. “Please be careful,” she whispers into your shoulder.

You wrap your own arms around her and squeeze. “I’ll try.” Welcome to my shitstorm of a life, you think wryly, then you gently free yourself from her embrace. “I’ll call you when this is all over.”

She nods, and you’re about to walk back to your apartment when something occurs to you. You spin around again, mindlessly rubbing your forearm. “Hey, one last thing.”

“Yeah?”

You bite your lip, hesitate. “Your uncle Coran. He might be able to answer some of your questions. He’s… a special guy. I think he knows more than he lets on.”

Allura gives a small smile, then nods. “I’ll think about it.”

Your living room windows are dark, and that should have been enough to make you suspicious. Keith doesn’t put out the lights until you’re home.

But your mind is still occupied with everything you told–and didn’t tell–Allura, and you’re just feeling good that everything went the way it did. You won’t have to worry about her getting hurt anymore, and the light feeling of maybe everything will be okay after all is the reason you don’t notice anything’s wrong until you turn the keys and open the door to be greeted with darkness.

You freeze. “Keith?” No answer.

Slowly, you flick on the light switch beside you, blinking hard to force your eyes to quickly get used to the light. Nothing. The sofa looks eerily clean and made up. The blanket you gave him sits neatly folded on one armrest. Your heart speeds up, and you make your way over to the kitchen. The fridge’s contents have been rearranged. The tub of caramel popcorn is in the cabinet where you keep your sweets. He’d put it there before leaving. It’s a small gesture, but one so sweet and innocent and final that it makes a fist clench over your heart.

Somehow you sense that this is it; he’s not coming back. This isn’t one of his impromptu errands. He cleaned up after himself, made sure everything looked exactly the way it did before he even set foot in your apartment.

But it doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s empty.

Keith was never much of a presence. He wasn’t loud or brash or in constant need of attention, but he would quietly come sit in the armchair next to you when you were reading on the sofa, or he’d join you at the kitchen table and doodle on a notepad, one foot tucked under his butt and the very tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. His company made your apartment feel that little more alive.

Made you feel that little more alive.

And it’s not that you can’t handle yourself on your own. You can do that just fine. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy having him in your home. Another presence like you, to remind you that you’re not alone.

And it just feels weird. Why would he leave so suddenly? Without even giving you a warning? Without saying goodbye? It doesn’t make sense, and you sink down onto the sofa, fingers absentmindedly trailing over the fuzzy blanket. The room’s too clean for him to have been kidnapped or murdered; that would have looked way messier than this. No, he went by choice.

It’s late. It’s late, it’s dark, and if Keith really doesn’t want to see you again you don’t stand the slightest chance to find him in the nightly streets.

And yet, half a minute later you find yourself–all the while cursing and scoffing at yourself under your breath–outside once more, narrowing your eyes against the chilly evening wind. You hesitate for a moment, not quite sure of where to go, then you decide to just make your way to the nearest underground station and figure out where you’re headed from there. Keith knows this city, but you know it better.

So that’s how you end up in the underground at half past ten P.M, brain working at a thousand miles per hour, looking for a runaway angel that you know you have a very slim chance of finding. The cart is surprisingly crowded, and you have to crane your neck to find an unoccupied seat. You plop down beside a reading student.

The grind of the track below you makes it hard to think, so you let your head tip against the backrest of the seat and close your eyes with a sigh. A hand comes up to rub your eyelids. “What am I doing,” you whisper to yourself. The student casts you a half-curious look, but wisely doesn’t say anything.

If Keith doesn’t want to be found you doubt you’ll find him–but what if someone else does? What if someone who knows about the price Lotor fixed on Keith’s head finds him and recognises him? He’s in no shape to fight. He can barely stand upright for more than half an hour. He’ll be handed over to the Below, and then… You don’t want to think about what might happen next.

So you have to find him. You don’t know where to start, don’t know if you even can, but you have to at least try.

Your gaze flicks up to the screen where the route is all stippled out. You’re almost halfway, with four more stops to go until the final destination. None of them ring any bells at first, but then one catches your eye. You bite your lip, leaning slightly forward.

It could be. It would make sense.

You could be wrong, of course. But there’s a feeling in your gut. You’re jittery and fidgeting with the buttons on your coat and when the train slowly stops to a halt you’re the first through the doors. Your destination is clear in your head and you round corners without looking, confident that your feet will carry you where you want to go. After all, you’ve walked this route more times than you can count.

The factory is as silent and still as it was the first time you slipped through its broken gates and between its walls. You can hear faint voices coming from a room on the ground floor; laughter, music, chattering. Probably just a private friend get-together. Keith won’t be there.

It feels weird to retrace your steps from that night. The room where your painting still gleams proudly against so many others–an angel and a demon, red wings dripping from their backs. The painting makes your gut twist in a funny way, so you don’t stay very long admiring it. Then there’s the hole in the wall behind it leading to the staircase. You hop through, start climbing the steps at a leisurely pace, keeping as quiet as possible.

Only then do you start to think about what might happen if you do find him.

Up until now, you had only thought about the possibility of not finding him. But what if you do, and he explains why he left and tells you to go away? Or what if he doesn’t want to talk to you at all? Would you be able to let him go that easily?

You almost stop and turn back. Almost. But there’s something about him. Something about him that makes you feel a certain way, and you’d tried to push it down and ignore it but you don’t think you can do that anymore. And with every step you take your heart beats faster until you’re running the last feet up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

You half expect to see him as soon as you walk through the doorway, but of course that doesn’t happen. You slow to a halt, unsure of where to go first. You take a step forward, and the hollow sound echoes in the hallway. You clear your throat before calling out. “Keith?”

Maybe not the smartest move if you were going for discretion, but you threw caution into the wind when you stepped onto the dark top floor. He’ll be here or he won’t, and you’ll figure out what to do then.

Another step, and you peek through the first doorway. “Hello? Keith?” Nothing. You steel yourself. You’ll go by all the rooms. You won’t leave until you’ve combed through the entire floor.

And then you hear him softly say your name behind you, and you whip around. He’s leaning against a doorway, a faint smile tainting his lips, sweet and genuine but a little sad, too, and all you want to do is run to him and wrap him in your arms and press your lips against his–

But you don’t. “Keith. Hey.”

“Hi.”

You’d wanted to be a little less forward, but just the relief of seeing him caused your verbal filter to completely disappear. You step towards him, your hand reaching for him despite him standing too far away. “Why are you here?”

He raises a brow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What–I came to find you, obviously,” you scoff, the words coming out sharper than intended. You screw your eyes shut, your shoulders bunching around your ears. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m just–I’m glad I found you. I was worried.”

He looks down, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Right.”

You bite your lip. “Keith.” His eyes meet yours, and you hesitantly close the distance between you until he’s a mere step away. “Why’d you leave?”

A shrug. “Don’t know.”

“Don’t believe you.”

He sighs. “I just–I feel like I’m being a burden. You’re looking more tired and sick every day and I’m just so useless.”

You start, recoiling slightly out of pure shock. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve noticed it, you know.” His jaw sets and his eyes grow cloudy. “How you try and leave the room every time I’m there. Or how you work overtime to make sure you have to spend as little time with me as possible. Or how every smile you give me is forced. They never quite reach your eyes.” His fingers twitch. “But I don’t blame you. I get it.”

You throw a look over his shoulder. The room he chose is empty bar a filthy pillow that looks like it came straight out of the trash and a blanket in the same state. “So you’ll just live here instead.” You kick an old, empty beer can out of the way. “Real homey.”

He shrugs again. Then he shivers, and it’s that small gesture that completely shatters you. Tears form in your eyes. “You wanna know why I did it? Pushed you away?” You don’t wait for an answer. “Because I actually like you way more than I should. And I was scared of what would happen if I let myself get close to you. I still am. But,” you add, nudging his arm, “that doesn’t mean I want you gone or living in a dump like this.”

“So you came to look for me.”

“Yeah.”

Now he smiles, rubbing his eyes. “You found me pretty quickly. That’s rather embarrassing.” With a sigh, he lets himself drop to the floor and props his elbows up on his knees. “Can’t even run away right.”

You scoff, sliding down the wall next to him. “Don’t sound so disappointed. I, for one, am glad I found you.”

His fingers ghost over yours. “Me too.”

And it might just be that you’re very tired because you’ve been on your feet since six A.M, or that you’re so happy and relieved to see him in one piece after running through all the possible horrible scenarios in your head. Whatever the case, you figure that if it isn’t clear now that he’s more to you than just an inconvenient guest, it might never be, so it wouldn’t mean anything if you were to take his hand in yours.

So you take his hand in yours. He stiffens for only a split second, then relaxes. After a while, he whispers, “How’d you know I was here?”

You hollow out your cheeks. “I didn’t. I wasn’t sure, I mean. But… I don’t know. I had a feeling, I guess.” You shoot him a pointed look. “You’re not gonna get sick again, are you? Last time we were here you almost died. I’d like to not have to try and find Coran’s shop again, ‘cause that was a complete disaster last time.”

Keith giggles. “I wasn’t planning to.”

You shove his shoulder with yours. “Moron. Don’t scare me like that again, all right?” The insult is kind of cancelled out by the fact that you’re still holding hands.

“Okay.” He bursts into a coughing fit and you throw him a sideways look, letting go of his hand to awkwardly pat him on the back.

“This is exactly why you need to come home,” you scold softly. “You’re not better yet. Come on.”

He casts you a look, hesitancy painted across his features. You raise your eyebrows slightly. “What?”

But then he shakes his head and pushes himself up again, holding his hand out for you to grab. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

You take it and let him pull you up, and then you’re face to face. Close. Closer than ever before. For a second you’re just standing, holding onto each other’s hands like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. You want to kiss him. You want to kiss him. Your eyes flick down to his lips, ever so briefly. You want to kiss him.

“Let’s go.” Pulling your hand out of his feels so wrong, but you do it anyway. Reluctantly. You shove your hand in the pocket of your hoodie to hide its trembling. “We’ll take the underground.”

The ride back is not awkward. You wouldn’t call it that, but there is a kind of tension hanging in the air between you and him and you decide that you don’t like it. Another part of you whispers that it’s probably for the better. The tension means you won’t make any rash decisions. It means that you’ll think about the words you say and the things you do, important or not.

Maybe it won’t make a difference in the end. Maybe it will. At the moment it doesn’t really matter, because it’s late and Keith is half asleep in his seat, and you only allow yourself a brief moment to look at him–really look at him, study the little details of his face that would normally be clouded by lines of worry or fatigue. When he sleeps he looks so peaceful, without a care in the word. His skin smooths out. His mouth hangs open ever so slightly. He snores a little. He looks younger and, somehow, free.

But then your stop is announced over the loudspeakers and you startle as the train slowly grinds to a halt. You nudge Keith with your foot. “Wake up.” He groans, blinks a few times before hoisting himself up, softly muttering under his breath.

Your apartment looks exactly as you left it–which is to say, eerily clean and tidy. You pull a face and immediately march over to the sofa, where you shake out the neatly folded blanket and deposit it on a heap in a corner, after which you give the cushions a good shake. Keith stands in the corner of the room, hands in his pockets, a bemused smile on his lips. You crinkle your nose at him. “It felt too… orderly.”

“Because you’re not orderly.”

“That’s right. It didn’t feel like home. Like some unwanted cleaning lady came in and reorganised my entire apartment. I hated it.”

“So you’re mad at me for trying to tidy up your house?”

You roll your eyes. “Not mad. Not about that. If anything, I’m mad because you fucking ran away, but that’s forgiven and forgotten. Look, I’ve made your bed.” You point at the rumpled sofa and try to hide your mounting grin.

Keith shakes his head, laughs, and it’s a sound you will never grow tired of. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

There’s a silence, but this time it’s not awkward in the slightest. The tension’s still there, but along with it is a kind of quiet understanding. A little sad, maybe. A little longing. But it’s something you’ve both accepted as impossible, and at the moment, that’s okay.

Because he’s back. And he’s okay. And really, that’s all that matters.

#keith kogane #keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith vld #keith voltron #keith kogane vld #keith kogane voltron #keith vld x reader #vld keith x reader #keith voltron x reader #voltron keith x reader #vld keith fic #vld keith fanfic #voltron keith fic #voltron keith fanfic

[confictura2517]

Without the Void - part one

Started a small fanfic inspired by my idea that Umbra and his Operator would spare in the transference room. Not sure where I’m going with this, but we’ll see lol. Hope it’s good! 

(Sorry for the crap picture quality)

Transference happed in a bright flash of light and energy, as Berylian leapt out upon the battle ground in a wave of void energy. He landed running, black boots drumming, as he sprinted for cover. Gunfire cracked in the dry air, giving it a foreign, yet familiar, scent one he was unaccustomed to directly inhaling. The wind touched his face, paired with the splash of water drops from the small water hole to his right. Berylian slid behind a large rock, looking back as he straightened. Sliding behind cover, he straightened and looked back.

Behind, a blast of energy announced the flight of radial javelins rippling outwards, impaling the closest assailants. Their guttural growls and dialect were lost in pain filled screams as the missiles sliced through Grineer armor unhindered. The smell of blood joined the other scents.

Berylian held his breath at the scent of blood, feeling how it made his stomach twist up in knots. He centered himself, swallowing down the discomfort, and turned upon the Vomvalysts that had drawn him out. They winged past him, small energy bolts shooting towards him. Berylian slid aside and aimed, sending a stream of void energy in one’s direction. The Vomvalyst briefly quaked, then turned white, before vanishing.

The soft plop of a sentient core landing in the dirt was Berylian’s reward, and he turned upon the second.

Around him still came the sounds of fighting and dying. Close by, the grey form of Umbra leapt elegantly passed, bullets sparing through the air where he’d been seconds before.

The second Vomvalyst vanished, core dropping, and Berylian hurried to collect both. He scanned the trees growing up to the left of the watering hole. A small flash of dark metal, hovering away in the foliage, made him turn and race after it. The glimpse had been nearly lost in the fading daylight, as the sun slipped behind the horizon over the plains. Berylian loved to watch the sunrise over Eidelon, hence their arrival upon its plains sometime earlier. He’d similarly needed to visit Old Man Suumbat for several gems.

Upon leaving the large gates, ones that Berylian couldn’t look at without recalling flashes of the Orokin, they’d only travelled a short distance before being set upon by a Grineer patrol. Even from the transference room, Berylian had been able to feel the anger which instantly encapsulated Excalibur Umbra. Berylian relaxed the transference, allowing Umbra to more freely rampage after the Grineer, moving like a great righteous hurricane with his swift Skiajati. Sudden laser bolts slamming into Umbra’s back, and the unexpected pain that came with it, had made Berylian to flinch as he felt the impact through his frame. Umbra turned, allowing Berylian to spot the incoming Vomvalysts. In the moment of distraction, a Grineer opened fire, bullets piercing into Umbra’s shoulders, with the sickening thunk Berylian so hated.

Reacting upon instinct, Berylian transferred from Umbra and set upon the Vomvalysts., allowing Umbra the freedom to hunt the remaining Grineer, without the pesky sentient’s harassing him.

Now, Berylian dodged into the trees, moving light on his feet. He slid around roots and rocks, ever keeping the bobbing Vomvalyst in his sight. The cool of the wind felt alien on his exposed face, and the sound of crickets and rustling leaves was so much louder than when he was one with a frame. Brown, dried grass brushed against his legs. The sensations bordered on offsetting, but he centered himself quickly to remain on task.

Ahead, the Vomvalyst suddenly paused, releasing several shots. Berylian slid to the left and responded in kind.

Suddenly, there was a rumble. Beneath Berylian’s heel, the dirt crumbled away. He lost his balance and stumbled backwards. Something big and cold, made of living flesh and armor, impacted the rear of his shoulders. The contact was so unexpected that Berylian twisted, blindly releasing a blast of void energy. The force knocked both himself and the other thing backwards several strides.

The ghostly white Vomvalyst burst away, escaping into the night.

Berylian caught his breath as he turned and laid eyes upon the thing which had so suddenly materialized.

Not materialized. He realized with a jolt. Burrowed.

Rising to its mangled legs from the eidolon soil was a Ghoul. Its fleshy body seemed to glisten, twisted metal armoring and weapons gleaming in the dying sunlight. With a torrent of guttural shrieks, it flew at Berylian.

Berylian sent a beam of void energy straight at the thing’s head. The Ghoul did not waiver in tis attack and swung one knotty arm at him. Berylian ducked. The edge of the Ghoul’s forearm plating clipped him in the head. The headpiece Berylian wore dug painfully into his skin. Startled by the impact, he released a second blast.

The Ghoul dropped its sword. Both mutant hands rushed for Berylian’s throat. He aimed his amp, but no energy answered.

Mutated fingers clawed around Berylian’s neck, power of them knocking his slighter body backwards. Stars filled his vision, and not ones from the quickly darkening sky overhead, as he was slammed painfully against the ground. Small rocks and scratchy grass dug into the back of his suit. The Ghoul leered over him; its foul breath hot on Berylian’s face. His elbow hit the forgotten Grineer sword hilt, and he looked at it wildly, but hesitated. His fingers clutched the burly wrists connected to the hands suffocating him.

Berylian had felt the sensation of choking before. The memory was sharp and painful, the panic that came with it like fire in his blood. His vision fragmented between seeing the stalker looming over him, and the reality of the ghoul. No! Berylian would have screamed if he could breathe.

A paralyzingly howl split the plain around them. The energy it caused made the air feel like electricity. Berylian saw white light from the deafening sound. Before him, the ghoul was sent careening over Berylian’s head and it hit the ground. The impact jolted the Ghoul’s hands from his throat. Cold air slapped Berylian as he choked in several breaths. The stars dotting his vision began to clear. He gasped, staring up at the now dark sky overhead. Storm clouds were gathering. Moonlight escaped through a thin spot and edged the overcast in silvery light which illuminated the sparse trees surrounding the short area. Rocks looked like glass, the nearby watering hole like Fortuna coolant.

Coughing made Berylian roll to his knees, hand touching his throat. His jacket had protected his skin from damage. Suddenly, there was a sharp zing of flesh being cleaved, and warm drops splattered across Berylian’s face. He jerked at the unexpected contact, realizing it was hot, Ghoul blood running down his cheek. The understanding twisted his stomach into a thousand knots. This, and the shock from memory of the stalker, made him heave.

Cool, bone-breaking strong fingers, ones that were now impossibly gentle, gripped Berylian’s shoulders. Wiping his mouth upon his sleeve, Berylian turned to meet the angry, concerned tilt of Umbra’s helm as the Warframe studied him.

“I’m fine,” Berylian coughed.

Unconvinced, Umbra’s hands quickly patted down Berylian’s arms and chest, ascertaining himself in his own way that the Operator was telling the truth.

“I promise,” Berylian added, but didn’t stop Umbra.

Upon finding no injury, Umbra abruptly scooped Berylian into his arms and began to walk with long, swift strides to the water hole. He paused, gently setting Berylian down on his feet, and stooped to dip his cupped hands in the water. Lifting a handful of water, he washed the blood from the Operator’s face.

Berylian held his breath as Umbra did, willing himself to not hurl again in front of the Warframe. Normally he had better control over the reaction to blood, but the sensation of the Ghoul’s blood seemed to burn his skin. The cold water helped, but his skin still seemed to be pulsing where the substance had dripped. He glanced back into the trees and saw the remains of the Ghoul now gutted and strewn across the dry grass. The cleaves clearly delivered by Umbra’s Skiajati.

Umbra finished his self-appointed task and gripped Berylian’s shoulder. Berylian looked up into the expressionless helm, and swore he saw anger and concern written across it more plainly than any frown of lips or crease of a brow could convey.

“I promise,” Berylian replied. “I’m fine. I didn’t have any energy for a void beam.”

Umbra nodded once and let go. Berylian felt gentle pressure in his mind, originating from the sensation of the transference link. Realizing what Umbra wanted, he obliged, vanishing in a burst of energy and light. Umbra stood alone now upon the plains, surrounded by the wreckage of the attack. He silently summoned the archwing. It appeared above, adhering to his body as he leapt skywards. The thrusters roared as he streaked back across the plains towards Cetus. The cold air washed across his armor, sending river lets of Grineer blood streaking across his dark body. They reached Cetus quickly, and Umbra boarded the drop ship to return to the orbiter.

Siting within the Transference room, Berylian frowned at the unexpected action, but did not raise protest. Instead, he severed the link and stepped from the pod.

“Operator, is everything – is that blood?” Ordis’s voice spiked aggressively.

Berylian looked down, realizing Ghoul blood streaked his jacket. “No,” he quickly replied and hurried to the personal quarters to change. Ordis began ranting about safety, words which Berylian hardly heard as he quickly shrugged out of the jacket and pulled on a fresh one.

“ – What madness might have possessed you to put yourself in harm’s way – I will slaughter the Grineer who – I am so sorry, though, I do say that the Grineer – Must pay for trying to harm the Operator – “

“Ordis I’m fine,” Berylian quickly interrupted. He was about to continue when he felt the unmistakable shudder of the Orbiter’s plating as the drop ship reattached. Moments later, the entrance to the personal quarters folded back and Umbra strode in.

Instantly Ordis’s voice filled the room with sharp reprimands, interrupting himself with angry threats, at the sight of the Warframe. Grineer blood made red trails across the dark armor, smeared by the wind of the archwing. Burns marked the impact sights of bullets and lasers alike. The bioflesh making up Umbra’s body was already starting to form small ridges and bumps where bullets had penetrated. Soon, Berylian knew, the bullets would be forced back out of his flesh as the wounds automatically knit themselves closed. Blood had soaked into the grey scarf wrapped snuggly around Umbra’s neck.

“ – How could you allow the operator to be placed in harm’s way?” Ordis was screeching. “He might have been lost again - you useless - ”

A formidable growl, rising in ire, rippled out of Umbra, silencing Ordis’s insults instantly. The cephalon made several scratching noises, like a tape resetting, as his demeanor became reserved once more.

Umbra gently brushed past Berylian to the somachord station. He lifted a small screen lying there and turned around, typing out words across it, before holding it out to Berylian.

Accepting it, Berylian read it.

What happened?

Feeling suddenly sheepish in light of the incident, Berylian explained.

Umbra took the screen back, erased the question, and wrote a new one.

Why did you not utilize the Ghoul’s discarded weapon?

Berylian frowned, thoughts rushing back to the moment, and recalled the fallen sword. He gave a helpless shrug. “The Orokin they…they only taught us with weapons used by the warframes.”

The tilt of Umbra’s helm betrayed surprise, mixed with a sudden loathing. A soft growl left him and he typed aggressively upon the screen.

You do not know how to use weapons yourself?

“I understand the theory, the application of them,” Berylian explained guiltily. “But – no – the Orokin were only interested in us learning to control the warframes. We can use the void; they never saw a need to give us weapons.”

Umbra was shaking his head and typing before Berylian finished. Just as my void abilities, yours require energy. Were you being drained of such energy; how would you survive? If cut off from your Warframes, from me, how would you defend yourself without energy?

Berylian could only manage another shrug of the shoulders. But he swallowed, implication of Umbra’s statement sinking in. Even Ordis seemed silenced for once.

After a pause, one during which it seemed Umbra felt his point had been made, he typed again.

Does any weapon in the arsenal catch your eye?

There was a tongue-tied pause. Berylian sucked on his cheek, considering the question. “The Skana?” he looked up. “Every tenno’s first Warframe used one. That or a bowstaff.”

A dash of humor was exposed in the hold of Umbra’s shoulders. A bowstaff would be too much too soon. You are not tall enough to effectively wield one. The Skana is a sound choice. It is a light and quick blade, and not too large, yet effective. You must learn to wield it.

“You’re going to teach me?”

Umbra’s demeanor almost seemed offended that the Operator had to ask. He held up the screen after a moment of pointed typing.

Yes. I will fetch the Skana.

“Wait, now?” Berylian jumped to lay a hand on Umbra’s arm as the Warframe turned to leave. “But you’re injured.”

The regal angle to Umbra’s helm announced he considered himself to be fine.

A glance at the still bloody exterior of Umbra’s body, and the ridges forming where his flesh sought to force out the bullets, made Berylian quickly lie; “I’m tired. Can we not start upon the morrow?”

“Yes,” Ordis bustled. “The operator requires rest.”

Umbra hesitated, angle of his jaw showing reluctance to stand down.

Berylian pretended to yawn.

Demeanor clearly stating that he saw through the façade clear as glass, Umbra nodded once. Tomorrow.

#warframe #operator #excalibur #excalibur umbra #fanfic #headcannons

[meowthatimclean]

Write Off Wednesday: Stranger

A/N: Hi enjoy some shadow hunter fan fiction (this is based on the books not the tv show. If I ever base it on the tv show feel free to shoot me)

The boy with the blue hair grinned as he was allowed access to Pandemonium, the current hotspot for young adults surprising given most people only visited once. He smirked realising he had everything to do with that. It had been weeks since the Shadowhunters had turned up and tried to kill him and he’d been trying to lay low lest to not alert them to the fact he was still alive. Though looking out into the crowd it appeared he hadn’t been too successful: there, dressed in a fraying t-shirt and jeans stood the fiery red-head who’d inadvertently saved his life. She stood in the throng of sweaty people barely dressed and in some kind of monster getup, looking around widely. Before he could even think about it he was marching over, grabbing her arm and towing her gently into the storage cupboard where she’d witnessed him die. He expected her to struggle when she realised a demon was towing her into a private room but she didn’t, she just continued to look bewildered.

“What are you doing here again?” he asked and then took a large step backwards as he realised that she was friends with Shadowhunters and this very much could be a trap.

“Where is Simon? What have you done with him?” She demanded, glaring at him with her arms crossed sternly. He struggled to marry the image in front of him with the lost looking girl in the middle of the dance floor.

“What, because I’m a demon it had to be me? For your information, I don’t like my men unaware of what I am,” Clary’s eyes narrowed at his blatant disregard for her friend but she seemed to believe him as she unfolded her arms and threw them up in exasperation.

“I’ve been looking for him everywhere. He gets kicked out of the institute and just runs all over the city apparently”

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” he asked cutting her off, causing surprise to flicker behind her eyes. Guess it’s not everyday she gets asked to hang out with a demon.

“Just to see if he’s outside I mean,” he added quickly so as to not throw her off and to justify his actions to himself. “You’re clearly not a normal shadowhunter and I can assure you I’m not the only demon here so walking with me will have its benefits,”

“Fine,” she sighed “but only because I might come across Simon,” and with that she’d marched out the room and was weaving through the crowds to get to the exit. She confused him, she was most definitely a shadowhunter no one else could hold a room or incite the icy panic within his gut the way a shadowhunter could. This, however, wasn’t the confusing part. She also incited the warm pull of temptation in the way that a human would. How could a shadowhunter, the very being created to destroy him, tempt in such a way.

Strolling along the street outside the club they both kept their eyes on the masses crowing in the smoking area and queuing to get inside.  The river stretched on to their left as they walked the path beside it. The silence between them was almost comfortable as he looked for a potential fight and she prayed she’d see the familiar face of her friend.

“So… Jace tells me you’re an Eidolon demon, what’s that like?” she asked awkwardly. He wondered why she felt the urge to fill the silence and then wondered if she wasn’t quite as comfortable as she was.

Thus, he explained to her how his shapeshifting worked and why he found himself at pandemonium night after night. He tried to leave out the details of his sadistic lifestyle but Clary read between the lines.

“so you come to pandemonium to eat people?” she asked sounding horrified.

“well when you put it like that I sound evil, I do have some redeeming qualities you know, for one I’m a vegetarian”

“Oh so you don’t eat people?”

“No no I eat people, I just don’t eat meat or anything that comes from an animal,” he explained almost laughing at the expression on her face.

“Look, I appreciate that as a human your mind is clouded and biased, but for me it’s simple. Humans are destroying themselves, I’m simply speeding up the process. My logic is simple: quadrupeds are simply better and I’d rather live amongst them,” he went on to explain. His answer seemed to have stunned her into silence as they didn’t speak again for the rest of their walk.

Drunk teenagers ran by and raised voices surrounded them as they finally completed their loop and arrived at Pandemonium again. She glanced around one last time and he took the opportunity to look over her once again. She really was pretty, not in the angelic way that Isabelle had lured him in with but in a human way. He didn’t have to be cautious around her, or at least he didn’t feel that he had to be but her fierceness squashed his urge to corrupt.

“What’s your name?” she asked him suddenly. He blinked in confusion as he realised no one had ever asked him that before and so he had no answer for her. Normally people were content to know he was an Eidolon demon and that was enough.

“You can just call me stranger,” he smirked and then winked at her as he walked off into the shadows leaving her standing with the streetlights highlighting her.

“Stranger” she repeated to herself as she tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. She was fairly certain the presence of a demon was supposed to make her cower in fear or trigger some sort of badass biological urge to murder him. Instead she just felt comfortable as if she could spend days in his presence trying to make sense of him.

****

Clary was awoken to scuffling and clanging outside her door. At quick glance at the clock as she through on a hoodie told her it was barely three in the morning but the dread that filled her provided her with more energy than she’d have liked. Following the commotion, she was led to a part of the institute she’d never ventured into before. Church sat outside the door where the noise seemed to be coming from and he mewled and wound himself around her legs as she approached, the softness of his fur doing little to comfort her. She had no way of knowing but she was certain she wasn’t going to like what lay in wait behind the door. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and took in the situation before her.

The cold stone walls rose high surrounded Clary in a circular room mocking her inability to avoid them. She shivered as a breeze touched her skin and she wished she’d gotten dressed properly before leaving the warmth of her bed. Jace stood in front of her, his golden hair stark against the grey backdrop. She couldn’t help but smile as he met her eyes, they still barely knew each other but he’d become a welcome comfort to her, she always knew he’d be there when she needed him. Tonight, he was dressed all in black: his shadowhunter gear, a sign that Clary should’ve taken as proof she wouldn’t like what happened next.

Behind clary in an iron wrought cage that loomed over the shadowhunters in the room stood, stood the boy with the electric blue hair. He was barely fighting back, just making snide remarks at the warrior guarding him and grinning devilishly when he was rewarded with a reaction from them. Ignoring Jace’s explanation or sounds of protest, Clary strode towards the cage and sat down in front of it.

“Hey stranger,” she joked as he followed suit and sat crossed legged in front of her. She expected him to at least attempt to manipulate her into fighting on his behalf but he didn’t, he simply sat staring.

“Why don’t you try to escape?” she tried again to make conversation and was again rewarded with nothing. Sighing she rose, annoyed with herself for thinking a demon could be different, that he could be more than a ruthless killer, that he could be trusted by a shadowhunter.

“Do you want me to die?” he asked as she was half way across the room. She turned and walked back over to him, mostly to provide herself with more time to think. Not wanting to answer but knowing she must she spoke quietly.

“How many innocent teenagers have you killed?”

Seeing stranger drop the eye contact Clary knew there were too many to count.

“Then I think it’s necessary” she stated. She was suddenly filled with a sense of confidence, as if she would be able to kill the boy herself. She was a shadowhunter after all; it was her duty.

“Clary! I haven’t killed anyone since our walk together two weeks ago. I swear I haven’t. I’ve wanted to but everyone I see has your face and I can’t kill you Clary, I could never kill you. You can trust me just please believe in me,” he begged. She was shocked by this revelation.

“Why are you saying this?” she begged starting to feel distressed now as if his life was entirely in her hands, and she supposed it was.

“Because I need you to understand that not all demons are the way these shadowhunters are going to present them. I have thoughts and convictions too remember, I’m not just a mindless killer. The tide is turning Clary and I need you to decide which side you’re going to be on,” his eyes stared up at her pleading and she realised they were a deep black, as if they were a body of water at night and she could just topple into them without realising.

“We’re different Clary”

She started to reach for him, to run her fingers through his electric blue hair and see if he was really electric. To see if this connection she felt to him would consume her and turn her to dust. She didn’t get there though, no, as she did a gasp left her mouth and she staggered away from the cage as quickly as she could.

Stranger stood, staring blankly at Clary as Jace’s seraph blade protruded through his abdomen. Black ichor poured from the wound and from his mouth as the eyes that bored into Clary gradually lost their focus. She heard herself screaming and felt strong arms pull her to them. She didn’t bother to pay attention to who held her she was too busy struggling to get to Stranger. He’d been nice to her, he’d shown her that Jace was wrong: demons could possess good in the way that warlock and downworlders could. That good didn’t necessarily come from humanity.

She collapsed as he disappeared, as if their stories were more intertwined than either of them knew. She couldn’t help but think as she drifted out of consciousness that his life hadn’t been in her hands after all.

#write off wednesdays #original work #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters #city of bones #fanfiction #cassandra clare

[krixwell-liveblogs]

Worm asks

Have you tried to give D&D alignments to The Travelers yet, and if not how would you classify them?

Hmm.

Trickster: True neutral

Sundancer: Neutral good

Ballistic: Chaotic neutral

Genesis: ???

Noelle: Lawful? good

Oliver: Chaotic nerd

Gurer’f abguvat vaqvfchgnoyl njshy tbvat guebhtu, ohg V’q qrsvavgryl yvxr gb frr yrff uvagvat znxr vg guebhtu gur fperravat gb Xevk

Sharks: Fher guvat. V’ir orra ehaavat bss gur vqrn gung vs vg’f va gur sbezng bs na ubarfg dhrfgvba, va beqre gb nibvq nabgure Fpragyrff Zna vapvqrag, ohg V pna svarghar vg vs crbcyr jnag?

As usual, translate here.

While you’re checking out all the Simurgh fanart, you should listen to this theme someone made for her: (google Simurgh Husr, first result. Hopefully sharks can just replace this with the actual link) Same person who made that Leviathan theme linked way back.

https://soundcloud.com/user-371879520/simurgh

This was really nice. I like how it does sound like a good melody while at the same time exhibiting some of the pattern-defying nature of the tune. 🙂

I think you miiiight have jumped to conclusions from an ask that simply asked you if you could list the Traveler’s cape and civilian names. Miiight have. Also, I’m pretty sure most of them where refered to by their civilian names in previous arcs.

It’s certainly possible.

It’s not so much that I jumped to the conclusion as that the ask opened my eyes to the possibility of it, which I hadn’t considered before. From there, I had to reevaluate things and consider how things would change if it turned out I had gotten the two mixed up. Ultimately I think I’d prefer for Cody to be Ballistic, but I’m still not sure either way (even with this ask heavily implying it’s Luke).

As for names, most of their names did show up (all the more reason for an ask about matching names to capes being kind of odd if it wasn’t trying to set me thinking of something), but I can’t recall Ballistic’s being one of them. But you know how my memory can be.

That smurf song you posted definitely says “dab dab dab” several times, despite the video being uploaded to YouTube in 2009, and the song supposedly being from 1978. So that’s suspicious as hell.

I… think that has to be the bits where it actually says “tramp, tramp, tramp på en smurf” (“stomp, stomp, stomp on a smurf”).

Either way, now we’re all forced to consider the concept of the Smurfs dabbing, so thanks for that. 😛

“Dragonberry” was Scarfgirl’s old character on City of Heroes, a MMORPG with a superhero theme that no longer exists. I know you’re not reading the chapter comments, but if you ever go back to read the early ones, you’ll see that quite a lot of the early readers were City of Heroes players who had an interest in superhero fiction. That’s why Scarfgirl’s art is signed “Dragonberry”, because it’s how people knew her back then.

Ah, interesting. Fun to hear a little about the fandom’s early history. 🙂

I’ve had many names, myself. Once upon a time I used to make a different name, if not more, for just about every site I was on. One of the names that stuck with me the most was Elementarion, which I used in the game Godville and a few other places (not every Elementarion that comes up on Google now is me, though), because I found long-time friends while using that name.

Though for some reason I wonder why 😛, nobody seemed to want to type it out every time they wanted to mention me. I’ve been called almost every short form of Elementarion there is. El was the most common (made watching Stranger Things kinda odd the first time around, even though I’d long abandoned the name), but I’ve been called Ele, Elem, Eleme, Elemen, Element…

A couple other highlights I remember were Hiatus (in a browser game I don’t remember the name of), OldHeavens (NewGrounds) and Barbute (ArmorGames).

It wasn’t until I came up with Krix Jace, later Krixwell Jace, that I started stabilizing my name.

1. Do you think people ever submit misleading questions just to fuck with you?

Some, probably. And that might be a good thing — if there are some asks that deliberately imply things that are wrong, it makes it harder to trust accidental implications of things that are right.

2. Have you ever noticed that Danny and Eidolon have never been in a scene together?

Hmmmmmm 🤔

Still no Travelers interlude… do you still think you’ll get one, or has this dashed your hopes?

Ahaha

Yeah, no, I’m counting this as everything I asked for and more. 😛

Sharks:

http://www.nospoiler.com/y/WenCYI_Bn7I

Sent in by “ewerwqer”. “Simurgh Scream” by person257 Don’t… Open it with headphones on. Trust me. Don’t.

I’m scared.

*disconnects his headphones*

…not as bad as the description sounded, but yeah, probably a good idea to not use headphones. It’s a well put-together bit of mind noise, nice work. 🙂

Worm fanart

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

By Winkle92

Oooh, there are more of these? Awesome! They’re all going in my backgrounds folder.

I love how Behemoth just kinda peeks around the corner of the image border. It’s okay, don’t be shy!

(Also I just discovered I can do slideshows. Neat.)

K6BD ask

My favorite part is the Master of Aesthetic saying “she is an idiot, and a loathsome schemer!” and YISUN is all “YEP, YOU GOT THAT ONE RIGHT 😀 😀 :D”. With Aesma standing right there.

YISUN is the type of person who has “precious trash babies” in every fandom they’re in. 😛

I feel like you all need to know, even if you don’t care about MLP:FiM, that the final episode of the show proved us all wrong.

The show’s resident Skitter is not Queen Chrysalis, the villainous, scheming ruler of a hive full of insect ponies.

Nor is it Twilight Sparkle, the mainest character and socially awkward brainiac who leads a team of five other main characters and always does her research if she can.

No, because of this one episode, it becomes clear:

It’s Rarity.

…

Okay, that’s just a joke, Twilight is still the best fit among the Mane Six, but Rarity using spiders for her fashion did immediately make me think of Taylor.

Twilight – Taylor

Applejack – Brian

Rainbow Dash – Rachel

Rarity – Lisa

Fluttershy – Alec??

Pinkie Pie – Aisha??

(Spike – Shatterbird??????)

K6BD patron comments

1. “What happened to Hansa” is addressed in the Prim story so that’s still out there if you want to know.

Ahh. That would explain why it was left unexplained in Aesma, aside from acting as a noodle incident if you haven’t read Prim.

2. As you observed, the word “demon” has appeared very rarely in the comic, outside of epic title drops & an instance where drunk Allison used it in place of “devil”. It’s used in some of the bonus texts but without a clear definition. Can you speculate further on what it might mean?

The priests seem to call Aesma a demon in the sense of a being of evil, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a definition that’s relevant to the comic’s title (and what appears to be Allison’s “name” in some sense, though the Demiurges do seem to have misinterpreted other parts of the prophecy and Zoss didn’t unambiguously use it as a name). It may be more about inner demons, Allison killing her fears, doubts and insecurities as she grows into the role of a king/queen of the cosmos. Six billion might be hyperbole, in that case, but still.

Alternatively, the prophecy and name might actually refer to Zaid, who could easily end up being the final villain of this thing even if he’s not actually Zoss’ intended successor. In that case, “six billion demons” might refer to humans, if Zaid gets really nasty with his own species. We know very little about Zaid’s base personality beyond “kinda sleazy boyfriend”, so a lot of developments are plausible on that front.

Though there are other parts of the prophecy, as well as illustrations, that do fairly clearly indicate Kill Six Billion Demons is Allison and will be flanked by White Chain and Ciocie, so it referring to Zaid is unlikely.

3. I think the author once said that there are still Aesma-worshippers active in Throne. What do you think they’re like and what would she think of them?

(Somehow the flesh sellars come to mind.)

Well, clearly they’d be Slytherins, if they understand her teachings. Aesma might treat them as ants, if she were still around, but bask in their adoration.

4. Kalpa — a Hindu / Buddhist concept meaning a really fucking long time. Besides in the story you just read, the term has also appeared in the comic at least once so far.

Good to know. I think I kind of just assumed it was Throne’s equivalent of a year, however long it might be.

5. Panopticon — a prison design envisioned by philospopher Jeremy Bentham, allowing all prisoners to be observed from a central point.

Makes sense. When I read it in Aesma’s story, the word’s construction was clear enough that I figured out what it was immediately, before I finished reading the sentence. It very clearly means a place from which to see everything.

6. Root — penis.

Yeah, I figured that one out. 😛

7. To offset the unfortunate scarcity of Cio in your life lately, here’s some of the old concept art:

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

(The quantity of arms was somewhat uncertain.)

Oooh.

Her arms and legs look so spidery here. I suppose that might be why she was introduced with the Coat of Arms.

Can Skitter control her?

8. Not related to K6BD but Abaddon has also been working on a tabletop mecha RPG and here’s the very nice cover art:

Ooh, you’re right, this looks very nice. It kind of gives me a K6BD x Steven Universe x Star Wars vibe. And a little bit of RWBY with that one guy that reminds me of Tyrian. I can definitely see the resemblance between this an K6BD in terms of character design style, despite the genre shift.

I particularly like the blonde in the lower left.

In the interest of transparency, I should also mention that the patron has said he probably won’t sponsor full liveblogs of any of the other bonus texts, but has sent me a few recommendations and links to some of the ones I’ve passed (besides Prim). I might read some of those on my own time, though, especially the second Aesma story. If I do, I will of course let you know and discuss any particularly notable observations.

Between: PB7