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softmothprince · 3 years

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i rewatched angels of death with friends the other day so i blame that

also this is, like, five pages. 2,659 words. so it’s a long ride. enjoy <3

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Her eyes twitch as she keeps from them from rolling, face blank as she stares at the smug bastard in front of her. For the past… whatever time, he’s been standing in front of her and babbling about some kind of bullshit she totally wasn’t paying attention to. She just wanted to take the stuff she bought and go home, where her psycho waits.

While it would be so easy to just shut him down and walk out, everytime she tries to back out of the conversation he just keeps bringing up more questions and random shit. It’s when he tries to pull off what he thinks as a sly move that she finally was done with that and everything to do with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his hand move, realizing what he wanted to try and do when it slid closer to hers. In one swift move, she pulls her hand from the counter and shoves them into her shorts pockets, giving the guy a disgruntled look. Her shopping bag dangles from one wrist, crinkling as it taps against her thigh.

“Even though this was so ‘fun’, I got better things to do than this.” She says, turning on her heel to walk away- only to be stopped when she sees a familiar man waiting across the street.

While hidden by the shadows, she can easily recognize the bandages on his hands and peeking out of his hoodie. She heaves a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck, before exiting the store. She ties the bag closed and lets it hang from her fingers, jogging across the street and towards the waiting man.

“Hey, I thought you-!” She’s cut off when he abruptly stands up straight and jerks towards her.

A strong hand grabs her arm and easily swings her into the alley, tugging her a good few feet away and around a corner before letting go. She stares at his back silently, watching his shoulders slowly move with his breathing, then opens her mouth to say- His palm suddenly slams into the bricks, startling her into jumping back and yelping.

He moved so fast she didn’t see him turn around and become so… close. She looks up at him, eyes widening at the wide grin he wore. While similar to his usual grin, something about it was more… heated. His other hand is loosely holding his scythe (she hadn’t seen it when she first spotted him- he must’ve had it in the alley), mostly resting it on his shoulder with the stained blade reflecting the light.

The wall is hard, cold and unforgiving on her back, but she ignores it in favour of the hand suddenly grabbing around her throat. She gasps, sucking in air quickly in case he decided to tighten his grip and choke her.

“Come on, little bitch. Who’s your daddy?” He growls into her ear, scraping the shell with his teeth and nips at it. His eyes narrow at her silence, making him lean in enough that their noses touch. “I said- who’s. Your. Daddy?”

“Can’t seem to- ugh, to recall anyone.” She gasps, mouth dropping open when he squeezes her neck tighter. “Agh- Isaac-”

“Aww, poor little bitch doesn’t remember. It seems like I’ll have to… remind you.”

With one final squeeze, he feels her fluttering pulse for a moment longer before letting it trail off of her completely. He makes sure to keep eye contact, only letting his gaze travel away when he sees her face turn a dark shade of red. As he turns away to take the familiar walk home, she opens her mouth again.

“You’re being ridiculous, Isaac. You know I belong to you and only you!”

Again, he moves so fast she has to take a step back and somehow presses more into the wall. He doesn’t grab or even touch her, only his breath hitting her face as their noses nearly bump together.

“HE TRIED TO TOUCH YOU!”

Her jaw clenches, bottom lip getting caught by her teeth as she holds back another snarky response. He squeezes the handle of his scythe, using it as an anchor of sorts. To keep him from taking his little bratty bitch right then and there in the alley. As much as he wants to stake his claim, he needs to wait.

With a loud huff through his nose, he spins on his heel and snags the bag she had dropped with two fingers. His shoes scuff against the gravel and stone, kicking them across the path.

“Now let’s go.”

~skip~

It surprises her that they even reached the living room before he pounced. His scythe and the shopping bag is discarded onto the floor as he reaches out and grabs the nape of her neck, dragging her the rest of the way to their room. She nearly trips a few times, but Isaac just jerks her up and pushes her along.

He doesn't even bother to shut the door before he is suddenly ripping and tearing at her clothes. The material of her t-shirt easily rips apart, exposing her skin to his greedy eyes. He wastes no time in running his hands over her breasts and hips, taking care of her shorts next.

She squeaks and tries to wiggle away while yelling: “Isaac! You can't just-”

“Too bad, you should’ve thought of that before being such a brat.” He grunts, letting the fabric drop onto the floor and going to her panties and bra. “I have no patience for this shit anymore so shut up while I do this.”

“Listen-”

“Like you did with that bastard?”

Her jaw almost clicks with how fast she snaps it closed. When she is finally stripped of all forms of fabric, he sits down and yanks her over his lap.

"Hands under your head."

She swallows, moving her hands from where she was gripping the blankets and crosses them to lay her head on her arms. Without warning, he lands one quick slap onto her ass, gripping the flesh and grins with a cackle when she yelps.

“Now, my little bratty bitch, I’m going to spank you and you are going to count each and every one of them. You misscount? I’ll start over. Give me lip? I start over. You do anything I don’t think is good girl behavior, I start over.” He tilts her head back by grabbing her hair and pulling, leaning over to stare into her glazed over eyes.

“Do you understand my rules?”

“...yes.”

A loud slap, followed by him tugging her hair tighter into his fist.

“Yes. What? Address me properly.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hums, rubbing his hand over the red skin. His finger occasionally pressed onto a dark bruise scattered here and there, remembering when he made those little hickies two days prior. Then, a loud smack echoes around them, being drowned out by her yelp.

"Count."

"O-one."

Smack.

"Two."

Smack.

"Thr-ree~"

Her ears ring from the sound of her own voice and the loud slapping of Isaac's palm on her bare ass. She made the mistake of shifting over his lap after counting to ten, resulting in him growling and telling her to start over. There would be no sitting later, she can already tell.

Slap.

"Tw-twen-twenty…" She gasps, nails digging into her palms.

She waits for another one, but is both relieved and slightly upset that he rolls her off his lap and onto the bed. The cool sheets feel strange on her stinging flesh, but she ignores it as her legs are shoved apart to show her soaked cunt. The inside of her thighs were slick and sticky.

"That really turned you on? What a slut." He scoffs, yet a wide smirk spreads across his face when she whines. "You like being called a slut, huh little bitch? My little slut is more like it."

He trails his fingers up her leg and skirts over her hip bone, pressing his palm against her stomach to hold her down when his other hand toys with her pussy. His fingers slip inside with just a small push, obscene sounds ringing in her ears as he moves them.

“I-Isaac…”

“This cunt is mine, you got that? I caused this mess between your thighs and it’s gonna stay that way.” He purrs, leaning down to cover her nipple with his mouth and strokes his tongue in time with his fingers.

He switches to her other breast as his thumb pushes and rubs her clit, growling in satisfaction when she cries out and bucks her hips up.

“Who do you belong to?” He asks, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes.

She swallows and gasps, before closing her mouth with a bratty grin appearing. Though it quickly vanishes when he roughly scrapes his fingers inside her pussy, aggressively rubbing her g-spot.

“I said: Who. Do. You. Belong. To?”

“Yo-you! Please, pl-EASE~!”

His thumb disappears from her clit and he pulls his fingers out, cutting off any stimulation. He digs his nails into her hips, holding them in place while she spasms and growls at him in frustration.

“Not good enough, princess. Up.”

He grabs her wrist and tugs her up, making her straddle his hips while he leans back onto the mattress himself. His clothed dick rubs her pussy and clit, the material of his jeans sending jolts up her nerves, before he shoves her to sit on his thighs.

“Go on, my little bitch. Take out my dick.” He purrs, rubbing and squeezing her thighs. Maybe if she was a good girl, he’ll make her sit on his face and suffocate him with those thighs~

She whines, going to grind against his leg- only to be stopped when he lands a slap onto her still stinging ass.

“What did I say? Do it before I leave you to squirm.”

She knows he wouldn’t. They both know he wants to jump her and never stop. So, with a small pout, she unloops his belt and tosses it to the floor, popping the button of his jeans and tugs them and his underwear down his thighs until she can pull his dick out. It’s an angry red, drooling precum down the shaft, bobbing when she gently touches it.

As she goes to try and stroke it, he grabs her wrist with a narrow glare. It’s a silent threat, but she picks it up easily and nods with another pout. Her knees sink into the bed as she rises up on them, moving to angle his cock head with her hole. Swallowing the saliva threatening to drool out, she slowly lowers down.

His cock pushes through with little to no difficulty, rubbing all the right places. Before reaching the hilt, she stops and pulls her head out from his shoulder, looking into his eyes with a slightly uncomfortable look.

“Isaac it- I can’t-”

“Come on, you can take it.” He grumbles, digging his fingers into her hip and forces her the rest of the way down. The sudden rough thrust almost makes her cum, but his strength keeps her from moving. “You cum right now, I will put you over my knee again.” Isaac’s teeth abuse the shell of her ear, nibbling enough that teeth marks appear.

He bites the crook of her neck next, before tangling his fingers into her hair to pull her backwards. This allows him to lean down and nibble around her breasts, moaning into the valley between them.

“Fuck, I love your tits. I love how they look with my teeth and marks all over them~”

“With how often you bite me, they never look diffe-RENT!”

She chokes on her words when he suddenly lifts her up and drops her back down, slamming his cock deep inside her.

“What was that, little bitch? Got something to say? Go on, say it.” He mumbles against her chest, picking her up again and letting her fall back down.

Her mouth drops open, the only sounds pouring out being moans and curses. He is easily reminded why his favorite sound is her choking out his name.

“That- ugh, that the best you go-got?” She pants, squealing when he suddenly grabs her throat again.

He falls back flat onto the bed, pulling her with him and forcing the angle of his cock to change. And if the loud sob she let out tells him anything, he found that little spot of nerves.

“You may be on top, but-” He jerks her down more, brushing their lips together with a manic grin. “I still own you. Your heart, mind, body- everything is mine.”

She can hear her response in her head, but all that comes out of her mouth is a loud sob followed by begging. Isaac turns his head away, choosing to focus on the skin of her neck that isn’t covered by his hand. He sucks and nips at the supple flesh, traveling down to her collarbone and shoulder.

His teeth sink into her shoulder, making her throw her head back with a loud sob. The hands around her neck and hip are so tight she can feel the bruises already, yet the sting from his bite overpowers them.

“Mineminemineminemi-MINE!” His voice cracks when he cums, hips faltering for only a moment before going back to the brutal pace. “Take it- take my cum. Take all of it. I’m gonna stuff you so there is no denying who you belong to. You’ll be dripping for days.”

The deep groans rumbling from his chest occasionally hitch into a higher tone, before dropping back down. Once satisfied, he slows his thrusts until he finally just presses their hips together, sitting still. They both shake and breathe heavily, fingers unclenching from bruised and bleeding skin, rubbing the spots silently.

With a soft, slightly higher groan, he pulls out and briefly sits up to look between her legs. Her pussy is swollen and red, drooling a mix of their cum onto the bed. He lets out a satisfied sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at it as he looks around the room.

When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, Isaac stands from the bed and leaves his girl trembling and still riding her high. She hums and curls her fingers into the blankets, letting the soft material ground her. The mattress dips again, alerting her of his presence.

His fingers gently tap her thigh, warning her before he presses a wet cloth to the sensitive flesh. Small sighs pour out from her lips, her head rolling around when the cloth pushes against her clit. She barely registers him moving her around, feeling him slip a shirt over her head and a pair of panties up her legs.

The warmth of his body disappears and she feels the bed move as he gets up again, before it sinks beside her and a soft blanket is tugged over her body. The feeling of Isaac touching her cheek makes her eyes flutter open, finding said man (now in his lounging clothes) laying next to her silently.

His eyes look over her face, taking in the sweat and red flush. Without a word, he leans in and presses his forehead against hers, trailing his hand from her face to gently stroking her pulse with his thumb. He could easily choke her like this, see the light disappear from her eyes as she struggles-

He tilts his head, laying his lips softly over hers and huffs in amusement when she mumbles incoherently. Her fingers curl loosely around his wrist, holding it in place around her throat. A silent form of trust. He snorts, moving to grab her hand and lifts it to his lips to press a kiss to it, before curling his arms around her.

“Brat.” He whispers, hiding his face into her hair.

She smiles, nuzzling into his collarbone.

“I’m your brat. Don’t forget it.”

#angels of death #isaac foster #zack foster #x reader #fem reader #isaac foster x reader #zack foster x reader #writing #lemon #possessive #i love them tall and crazy

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delimeful · 3 years

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to taste your beating heart (5)

warnings: blood, miscommunication, imprisonment, arguing

Logan met Virgil-- Anx’s eyes over Patton’s shoulder, and watched as his gaze went from bewildered to guarded in half a second.

In the next moment, Anx had shoved out sharply, pushing Patton away from him hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps-- just far enough to be outside the protective ward, Logan noted.

As though to cover up the fact that he’d just stripped himself of a potential hostage, Anx stiffened up to his full height, fangs bared at them all.

“Careful!” Roman snapped in an eerie parody of Virgil’s normal catchphrase, rising to his feet as Patton narrowly avoided overbalancing.

“No, no,” Patton said, wiping at his eyes without any shame, “it’s my fault, I should have asked first. I always get kind of emotional after thralls break. My apawlegies, Anx.” He accented the words with a flap of his cat hoodie sleeve.

Logan had time to notice the way Anx’s face twisted-- a mix of confusion-amusement-wariness that was familiar from Virgil’s first weeks working with them-- before Roman cut in with a startled shout.

“The thrall is broken?!” he squawked, head whipping back and forth between Patton and Anx. “Since when?”

“None of your business,” snapped Anx.

“Pretty much as soon as I walked in!” cheered Patton, at the exact same time. He paused. “Whoops, sorry, Anx! Did you want that to be... confangdential?”

“Boo,” Roman called, instantly distracted by the bad wordplay, “That was a reach.”

Logan let his audible facepalm speak for itself. “Out of the way, please, Patton.”

Patton obligingly shuffled to the side, and with every step closer Logan took, Anx folded inwards like a snake rearing back to strike. Seeing Virgil’s body bracing for the worst at his approach made something in Logan’s chest pang oddly, but luckily he was well practiced at ignoring such things.

Once at the edge of the circle, he crouched and inspected the activation key. As expected, nothing was out of place. Logan doubted Anx had been awake long enough to even consider tampering with the circle, let alone attempt it.

Now that the ash had cooled, the spell would be vulnerable to outside influence. It wasn’t as big of a concern anymore, seeing as the thrall on Patton had been removed, but Logan wasn’t one to leave things half-done.

… Also, if left unattended, Patton would probably free the vampire without telling anyone even without being under thrall.

Logan set his palm on the activation key and nonverbally cast a warming spell, reactivating the part of the spell that singed any unauthorized fingers messing with his circle. He could add the warming charm into the circle’s layout later, when there wasn’t a twitchy vampire watching his every move.

Despite his efforts to make his spellcasting subtler than usual, Anx still seemed to go still and stiff like hunted prey when the change in the spell sent a mild warmth into the air around them. Those uncanny purple eyes flickered between all three of the hunters for a moment, and then seemed to settle for glaring at nothing.

“So, Draculame, what prompted the sudden change of heart?” Roman asked, arms crossed over his chest.

His tone wasn’t as accusatory as before, but Anx’s bristling only increased, likely at the nickname. It had taken a while for Virgil to realize Roman’s ruder habits weren’t mean-spirited. It seemed like Anx would have to relearn that.

Provided they got that far.

Shaking the rather grim thought away, Logan tilted his head at the vampire. “I’m admittedly curious as well.”

Anx hissed at them, which they probably should have expected. It probably said something about their friend that this had already been standard Virgil behavior before he’d been turned. It was almost nostalgic.

“Now, kiddos, let’s not vamptagonize him!” Patton cut in firmly, ignoring their groans. “It’s almost dawn, so how about we call it close enough to morning and have some breakfast? I’ll make pat-cakes!”

He swanned out of the room without waiting for an answer, nearly hip checking the doorframe as he went. For a moment, Logan half-expected to see Virgil fall in a half-step behind him, like a particularly emo shadow. The absence was jarring.

“He hasn’t slept tonight,” he finally said, capturing Roman’s attention. “Make sure he doesn’t use salt instead of sugar?”

“And meanwhile you will be…?” Roman prompted doubtfully. Logan rolled his eyes.

“Figuring out a way for Anx to safely move to the kitchen, as Patton no doubt wants him there,” he replied, raising a hand to forestall any protests. “I took precautions.”

Roman threw his hands up dramatically, shot Anx a warning glare, and then turned to leave.

“Ugh. There goes my appetite,” he grumbled as he stormed out the door.

Logan allowed himself a sigh and then turned to face Anx. The vampire was still staring at him oddly. “I will be placing a pair of enchanted cuffs on you. They have no chains and they will not hurt you, but if you move against any of us with malicious intent, they will freeze in place.”

“And what am I supposed to do if you move against me?” he challenged automatically, lip curling. “Stand there and take it?”

“The cuffs will not stop you from running or hiding,” Logan told him, “and you’ve proven yourself to be skilled at both of those things in the past 48 hours. None of us are planning on attacking you, but you will have options regardless.”

This wasn’t how he would have reassured Virgil, but this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, the one that trusted him. He couldn’t soothe Anx’s cognitive distortions, not when he was barely more than a stranger.

He retrieved the shiny black cuffs from a nearby cabinet. They hadn’t had a thrall aggressive enough to use them on in months. “If you’ll put your wrists forward, we can proceed. Otherwise, Patton will be bringing breakfast to you, and I’d prefer not to get syrup or blood all over this room.”

Anx eyed him warily for another few moments, but eventually Logan’s patience paid off, and he stuck his wrists out with a growl. Logan reached past the barrier without any trouble and clicked the first one into place. Before he could proceed with the second, Anx’s hand flipped around and grabbed onto Logan’s wrist tightly.

Logan’s head jerked up to meet Anx’s gaze, already shifting his weight to counter a pull, but the vampire didn’t move further, just stared at him intently. “I know what you are.”

He clearly expected some kind of dramatic reaction, but Logan wasn’t in the habit of those, particularly not for such vague accusations. “If you’ll specify?”

“You’re a witch,” Anx said. “I saw you tamper with the circle without any instruments. You have natural magic.”

Logan felt his stomach sink slightly. Logically, he knew that this wasn’t the Virgil he knew, but it still made something in him twist to think of any version of Virgil blackmailing him over his magical heritage. “And what of it?” he asked, as lightly as he could.

“You’re living in the same house as hunters. You’re doing magic right under their noses, you’re going to get yourself killed!” Anx scolded, sounding more like Virgil with every word. “Do you need help getting out?”

Logan wasn’t entirely sure what sort of face he made in response to this endearingly dense offer, but it was apparently enough to make Anx frown with uncertainty. He held a hand out for his other wrist and clicked the cuff on it without any problems, and then deactivated the circle with a simple gesture of his hand over the key.

Anx’s eyes flicked to the door, and Logan tried not to think about him darting out into the early morning sun. He turned and headed to the door.

“Follow me, and you’ll get your answer.”

While traversing the halls, Logan resisted the persistent urge to check behind him. Gone were the slight shuffled footsteps that had previously accompanied Virgil’s presence, replaced by Anx’s supernatural silence, as though he was gliding over the floor without even touching it.

He entered the kitchen, where Patton had evidently wrangled Roman into setting the table. Whether the four plates set out were out of habit or Roman reluctantly accepting Anx’s presence at the table, Logan wasn’t sure.

He cleared his throat, making both of them look up from attempting to draw funny faces with the pancake batter.

“Observe,” he instructed, and then drew a sigil in the air and lit a simple flame in his hand. Behind him, he could practically hear Anx go as stiff as a board.

“Are we showing off?” Roman asked, a bit excited but completely unsurprised. “Should I perform a monologue?”

“Great spell, Lo! No arson in the house, though,” Patton added in a bright chirp. “After all, I have enough ar-sons here already!”

Logan doused the flame by clenching a fist, giving Patton a Look that went blithely ignored. “You two are incorrigible. That was a simple demonstration.”

He turned to Anx, who looked a little shell shocked.

“As we’ve informed you, ‘hunter’ is a title that we use mostly for convenience and ease of access to jobs. We help magical beings just as often as average humans, if not more frequently.”

“We tried out ‘Protectors of the Innocent’ for a while, but it never really caught on for some reason,” Roman added, subtly sneaking a piece of bacon from the serving plate while Patton’s back was turned.

“Perhaps it would have worked better if someone hadn’t only put P.I. on all the business cards, resulting in us being mistaken for Private Investigators and all of our calls being about spousal infidelity for a solid two months,” Logan snarked back, moving past them to retrieve the orange juice from the fridge.

“The printing office charged by the letter!” Roman protested, and then recoiled from the countertop as his next attempt at sneaking ended with his fingers smacked mercilessly. “Augh! Forsaken by those dearest to me! What cruelty!”

“No sympathy for bacon thieves,” Patton chided, wielding his spatula like an instrument of mass destruction. “Go sit!”

Logan seated himself as well, and turned to Anx, who had been watching the banter play out from the doorway with a somewhat dazed expression. “You’re welcome to sit. Patton will likely insist on it, actually.”

“You people,” he enunciated slowly, “are crazy.”

“You get used to it,” Logan assured him with the certainty of someone who had heard this exact phrase from Virgil before. He checked his watch. “It has been some time since you last ate. I can retrieve some stored blood from our refrigerator.”

“Actually,” Patton set a plate stacked high with pancakes in the center of the table with a plonk, “I figured I could just be Anx’s donor for a while!”

Roman, who had just stolen a sip of Logan’s orange juice, did a movie-perfect spit take, and Patton slid the pancake stack swiftly out of range of the spray.

“It will be 55 days before you are viable for another blood donation,” Logan recited the fact automatically, but he was just as thrown off as Roman.

“Not if he drinks from me directly!” Patton retorted, a beacon of cheerful composure.

“What?” All three of them replied, at varying levels of screech.

Anx shot a wild-eyed look at the room at large and took a step back, as though physically distancing himself from the idea.

“Patton, you can’t be serious!” Roman pushed his chair back and stood, looking distraught. “Fangs For The Memories over here might look like Virgil, but he’s proven quite thoroughly that he’s not! We just got you un-thralled, clearly he can’t be trusted not to take advantage of you!”

Logan noticed Anx wince, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from the harsh assessment or Virgil’s name being spoken.

“Me not being thralled anymore is exactly why we can trust him not to hurt me,” Patton said, chin tilted up stubbornly. “He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he fixed it anyway! That’s more than good enough in my book.”

“Well, maybe your book needs some copyediting!” Roman snapped back, exasperated. “So his unbeating heart isn’t as completely shriveled up as it originally seemed! So what? That doesn’t change the fact that he was the one who thralled you in the first place!”

Logan cut in, physically moving between them to break up the beginnings of a shouting match.

“I have to agree that this is a bad idea, for a multitude of reasons,” he started, raising a quelling hand before Patton could protest. “The matter of Anx’s trustworthiness aside, you shouldn’t be directly donating blood to any vampire. It is an unnecessary risk to your mental and emotional well being.”

“Thank you,” Roman said, apparently keen to seize allies where he could. He gestured expansively, looking at Patton with earnest eyes. “You’ve come so far, Pat. We don’t want to see any of your hard work undone. Virgil wouldn’t want that either; you know he’d fight this harder than any of us.”

Patton’s face had softened at their-- Roman’s sentimental worrying, but even bringing Virgil into it couldn’t sway his determined course.

“I know you guys just want me safe, but this is something I need to do. Even if it is a risk, I can’t be held down by this fear forever. And who better to help me than Anx!”

“Literally anyone who hasn’t threatened to kill everyone here in the last 48 hours,” Roman moaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“Besides,” Patton continued, undeterred, “this way we don’t have to worry about our emergency transfusion supply going low! It just makes sense.”

Logan had to begrudgingly agree. Between the hassle of trying to explain why they suddenly needed significantly more blood and the fact that a vampire drinking directly would replenish blood cells at a much higher rate than drawing blood, the best option really was to have a direct donor. He simply didn't want it to be Patton.

Unfortunately, his odds of actually being able to stop Patton were quite low.

“Nothing about any of this makes sense,” Anx grumbled, having retreated to the hall like a skittish feral cat.

The vampire seemed almost more unsettled by the idea than either of the other objecting parties, despite being the only one who directly benefited from the hypothetical arrangement. Nervous about their responses if he agreed, perhaps?

“We can at least give it a shot!” Patton insisted, coming a little closer to Anx and reaching out to gently pat his shoulder. It spoke volumes that the touch wasn't brushed off or rejected. “It could end up helping us both! And if it doesn’t, we’ll just find another way! You won’t be in trouble for messing up, okay?”

Anx blinked, slowly, still looking somewhat unconvinced that this was reality. Still, after a few moments of exposure to Patton’s encouraging smile, he dipped his head in a nod.

“Okay.”

#sanders sides #ts virgil #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #vampire au #ttybh #to taste your beating heart #writing #my writing #well. hope this is good.

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Shame {Harry Potter x Reader One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2328 Summary: After being tortured at Malfoy Manor, you find a little peace and quiet with Harry. Warnings: A bit of Bellatrix torture, a Mean Girls reference.

You refused to cry in front of your cousin Bellatrix, no matter how much she scared you. And she was absolutely terrifying. Girl to girl, she had said, as she pulled your friends away from you. She had you on the floor in seconds, writhing and screaming in pain but you still refused to cry. The only tears that you let go were from relief when the crucio spell had been pulled from you, and she tried to get information. Her wand threateningly brushed against your face, and you could see her lip twitching, just wanting to cast more cruel spells. Being family meant that she was treating you rougher than she would anyone else - you were more of a disappointment. You were born with that on your shoulders just because your father was Sirius Black. Traitor to wizardkind because your father was said to have worked with Voldemort and sold out the Potters. Traitor to The Death Eaters because it was known among them that he didn’t. At least when he was proven innocent, you were able to make friends with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and attempt to aid them in bringing down The Dark Lord.

You didn’t answer any of her questions. You weren’t crying. You weren’t giving her any of the reactions that she wanted to badly out of you, which was just irritating her more. It got to the point where she brought out her favorite knife to use on you - which actually calmed you down. Even if she were to cut you, or stab you, it would still be better than the cruciatus curse.

But it still hurt. Bloody Hell, it hurt. You were screaming in pain as she tore through your flesh, having to stop and wipe viciously to get the blood away to see where she could put the next letter. You didn’t watch. You had your head turned to the other side so you wouldn’t have to see. But your mind was putting together the letters that she was making.

T R A I T O R

“Please - stop - please,” You said as she dug in for the O. Curves were very hard to make on skin with a knife. And she was really trying to make it perfect. You were screaming now. She was going in and in, making it deeper. You were sure at this point that it was written on your very bones. No amount of healing spells would be able to erase it completely. It was carved into your soul.

She finally left you, but you were too tired and in pain to move. Your arm was splayed out, the blood drying and starting to flake off, a puddle of it beneath you. You stared blankly at the ceiling ahead of you, watching the shadows move through the corners like dementors. You wished they were dementors. You’d give anything not to feel.

“Y/N, come on,” You felt someone shaking at your body. Thinking that it was Bellatrix, you hid back inside of yourself. You tried to isolate your mind from everything. You couldn’t take any more pain. You just couldn’t.

It took you a couple of minutes to realize that you were no longer on a cold, hard floor but you were laying on what was a soft bed. You opened your eyes, them feeling like they were swollen shut from the crying that you had done after Bellatrix had left, and through the tears and the dried eye gunk, you faintly saw light beige walls. You blinked slowly. This had to be a trick. Some kind of mind game. Lull you into a false sense of security.

Your name was said against and this time you rolled over to see who it was, expecting it to be one of the Deatheaters, or their sons. But it wasn’t. It was Harry, and he looked more frazzled than you had ever seen him. His hair was always a mess and it seemed like his glasses were always askew, but right now, he was just a mess. He looked like he had been crying, and hasn’t slept for days. But of course he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. You all had been taken by Death Eaters and tortured.

“Harry?” You asked, wanting to make absolute sure that it was him. Polyjuice Potions were a thing after all. “What was the name of Sirius’s dog form?”

“Snuffles,” He said, without the least trace of humor. So it really was Harry. You wiped at your eyes, feeling the dried on traces of eye gunk and tried to get them off. You sat up and looked at him, sitting over your bed, like he was holding some sort of vigil over you.

“You look like you haven’t slept in ages, Harry. Where are we? How did we get out of there?”

“I haven’t,” Harry admitted, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his own eyes, then put them back on. “We’re at Shell Cottage - Bill and Fleur’s place. It’s a long story but ... Dobby saved us. And Bellatrix killed him. We buried him already.”

“I’m so sorry,” You said, reaching for him and took his hand. “Come on, lay down with me, you look like you need this bed more than I do.”

Moving triggered a pain in your arm - you had almost forgotten about what Bellatrix had carved on you but the memories came flooding back. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

“Thanks,” Harry said. He had a second’s look of hesitation, like he wanted to protest, but he did look like he was going to fall over from exhaustion at any second. The bed was big enough for two, and he fit in nicely against you, putting you between himself and the wall. You rolled onto your side, your good side, your hurt arm falling over him. You were wearing sleeves, which made you wonder who dressed you. Oh, you sure hoped to God it was Fleur, and that none of the boys had seen what was written on you.

“How long have we been here?” You questioned, softly. The cottage was quiet, save for the faint noise of someone moving around in the kitchen. You could hear the waves outside. It was a very soothing sound, and it made your body relax. That combined with Harry next to you, laying on his back, his chest rising and falling with his breath. You felt somewhat safe for the first time in weeks. And you chose to enjoy it by reaching over with your painful arm, and removing the glasses from Harry’s face. He allowed you to without a fuss, and you folded them up and set them on the nightstand.

“Since yesterday,” Harry explained, and told the tale of the grand escape - including how he had been the one that had scooped you up after you passed out from Bellatrix’s torturing. You inched a little closer to him as he spoke, eyes wide as you listened to how he had covered your arm with one of Bill’s sweaters before anyone else could see.

“Why?” You asked, self consciously pulling the sleeve down over your hands. The sweater was one of Mrs. Weasley’s, you realized, as you caught a better look. A big B on the front. It was cozy, and warm, and it had a big hand in making you feel safe. “Why did you hide it from everybody?”

“Thought you’d want to tell the others about it on your own terms,” Harry said. “At least you’re able to hide it. Not like it’s in the middle of your forehead or anything.”

That almost made you smile. The closest that you had been to it in a while. You moved closer still, placing your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat through the fabric of his own clothes - another Weasley jumper, another B. It seemed they were all that Bill and Fleur had to spare that were warm enough for the foggy weather outside. You didn’t mind at all, and apparently Harry didn’t either. It smelt of laundry detergent. Clean soap.

“Thank you,” You hummed into his sweater. “Are you alright, Harry? I can’t imagine what they must have put you -”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said, sharply. You were used to these tones coming from him, and hardly stirred from your position. In fact, you brought your hand onto his chest as well, to try to comfort him.

“Okay. All that matters is that we’re out now. And ... and we’re safe for a little while.”

“We’re never safe,” Harry groaned. Hesitantly, he put his arms around you, resting his hands on your sweater, keeping you close.

“I know you feel like you have the world on your shoulders, but we can’t take this for granted. This is the only chance for a breather that we have. Let’s just ... enjoy it for a couple of minutes.”

You held him even closer, and turned your head to kiss his chest through the sweater. He was your savior right now, and you were so very thankful. Your angel with messy black hair and bottle green eyes. You, like many other girls, had a crush on him during school, but you were lucky enough to actually get to know him, which made it grow. You just never said anything because of the stress that he was always under. He didn’t need to know. But this was your moment to breathe, the safest you two had been in a while.

“You got your scar because of me,” Harry said, quietly.

“Stop it,” You said, lightly smacking his chest. “Don’t you dare put that on yourself. I was a traitor to her long before I even met you, Harry. It’s Bellatrix’s fault, no one elses. Why do you do that to yourself?”

“Do what?”

“Take responsibility for everything. I know what I signed up for when I joined your cause, when I became your friend. I can take the burden for what had been to me, honey. You don’t need to do that. You already keep enough on your plate.”

He rubbed at his eyes. You thought you saw some tears there, but it could have been from exhaustion. And then his arms were around you, hugging you. You felt him kiss the top of your head.

“It’s just hard not to,” He admitted to you. And you could understand that. He felt like a lot of the things that went bad were his fault - and he probably blamed himself for Dobby as well.

“I know. But when all of this is over, and it will be over because good will always win, Harry, we’re all going to take the victory together, just as we take the hurt together. And you wouldn’t dare try to take that from us, would you?”

Harry chuckled, and you could feel his chest moving beneath your head. It was a nice sound, because as long as there was a bit of laughter still in the air, there was still hope in the world. There was a moment of silence, only gulls being heard from outside now, as you two held onto each other in there. You could almost believe that there was barely a world out there beyond the beach, and that’s just what your mind needed in order to let your body fully relax against Harry. Your fingers played at the collar of the sweater, feeing how it must have been an older one since it was a little stretched out.

“Are you going to stay with me?” Harry asked, breaking the moment.

“Of course,” You answered, thinking that it should have been obvious. “Haven’t I always?”

“I could never tell if it was because you were stubborn or if you felt obliged.”

“Definitely stubborn,” You said, chuckling. “I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do, Harry. That especially extends to trying to protect the people that I care about. And save the world. The bragging rights are going to be insane.”

That even made Harry laugh a little, his arms resting on you, squeezing you just a little bit. “Is that the only reason?”

You thought for a moment, and then decided - tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. You could get grabbed by the Death Eaters again at any time. And there was the final battle that was upcoming, when you and your friends would have to kill Voldemort once and for all, once all the Horcruxes were destroyed. “Love is the main reason,” You told him, fingers clinging onto his shirt now. You were scared he was going to push you away. But he didn’t. He just held onto you a little tighter.

“That’s a good reason,” He said, and you relaxed against him. He must have been thinking of his parents, you thought. You had heard how his mother’s love had protected him from the Killing Curse in the first place.

“Best reason for anything,” You agreed. “Hey Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“After we save the world and go through all of the celebration parties and stuff - do you maybe want to have dinner with me or something? I think the Leaky Cauldron will probably remain standing, even after this war is long over.”

Harry chuckled at that, a soft and breathy sound, just enough to not disturb the air too much. “Yeah, sounds grool-”

You felt him pause at that. You licked your lips and tried to hold in your laugh, knowing that the shaking would give you away.

“I just tried to say great and cool at the same time,” He groaned.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I think it sounded pretty ... grool.”

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter x reader #Harry Potter oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #x reader #harryp

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bokutoslittlebird · 3 years

Text

Dark Nights

King!Oikawa x assassin!prisoner!reader

Author’s Note : This is the request for a prisoner reader and king Oikawa Au which is literally spiraled into a series. I am not sorry ; Everything will come to a close once the 5th installment is completed ; the request had “torture” and I didn’t realize until halfway through that torture probably wasn’t what you meant, but you’re gonna have to be more specific of what you want because I saw it and went “oh, noncon and maybe some actual hitting.” So, sorry if that’s not what you wanted.

Warnings: death of a minor character [no name OC], blood, dagger, noncon, degradation, kicking, Oikawa gets violent, Iwaizumi turns a blind eye, chains and dungeons, fingering, creampie, no aftercare, choking

Over the river and past the glen stands Fukurōdani, Kingdom in the Mountains that is under the rule of King Bokuto. The ruthless king that stands amongst his army as the bravest and strongest warrior, with his queen Kaori at his side. Deep in the castle, past the kitchen and deep in the dungeons, there sits three people. Amongst those three is a woman clad in all black, a dagger in her hand and a rag in the other, swiping away dark droplets that drip to the concrete floor. Before them, a man without a tongue.

“So, King Oikawa is looking for his bride-to-be, which is why he dared to trespass into the Dark Forest?” A rough voice speaks, his large hand tapping at his chin. His eyes pop open as a thought appears in his head, golden eyes turning to bore into yours. His smile is cunning and terrifying, but you just stare at him. “Maybe someone should see if he got what he was looking for,”

“If you’re suggesting I sneak into his castle, then say it. I don’t like puzzles and riddles, my lord,” your voice is dead, but loud enough to hear over the sharpening of your blade. “It’ll take a long time to get there and get back. Unlike your own kingdom, he has a barrier that is under watch by his loyal dogs.”

“You’re an assassin. Sneaking in is what you do,” he coos, standing from his chair. His presence is behind you, large hands settling onto your shoulders. “I ask of you to sneak into the Kingdom of Aoba Johsai and kill King Oikawa,”

“Excuse me? That’s a bit much,” your voice warbles. Killing a king is harder, much harder, than sneaking under the radar. You would know. “Killing a king isn’t easy, you know,”

“Oh, I know. I know very well, my dear,” his voice is barely audible, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “But, I can offer something if you succeed,”

“Which is?”

“Freedom. You’ll be able to fly again, my little songbird,” his lips press to your cheek, whirling you around to face him. You have to move your head to look up at him, but he’s grinning with lidded eyes. “You’re more than welcome to decline. Personally, I’d prefer it, however, I know you’re the best assassin I have,”

“Best disposable assassin. Why not send Keiji?”

“Akaashi is supposed to protect me. He can’t do that if he’s in another kingdom,”

“Fine, but only if you keep your promise. I’ll hold you to it,” you finally say, huffing as you sheath the dagger. Never one to not rise to the challenge, you turn on your heel to leave the dungeons.

The trip from Fukurōdani to Aoba Johsai would be a day on foot, but you were able to get to the base of the mountains and enter the Kingdom of Nekoma, which allowed tourists from neighboring kingdoms. There, you were able to get your hands on some rations and new clothes, disguising yourself as a beggar woman who’s traveling the continent.

Pathways lead from each kingdom to their neighbor, but you choose to duck into the forest, under the shadows of the leaves and proud standing trees. Go in too deep and you’ll arrive at the center of the Dark Forest, where the ruin of the Karasuno Kingdom lies. It’s an unspoken forbidden place, only those wishing to never leave dare to go there. Crunching dead leaves and twigs under your feet, you manage to find a clearing to stay for the night. Aoba Johsai is farther than you expected, but the reward of freedom encourages you to keep your head up and move forward. It’s not safe to travel at night, the forest is home to all sorts of beasts.

It’s dark, the birds have stopped their chirping as you rest in the tree. Above the ground, away from monsters lurking in shadows, you close your eyes to get some shuteye. A ear-piercing scream rips sleep from your grasp, head whipping to look for the sound. Below you, about 2 yards from your sleeping position, is a family of travelers that seem to be struggling to scare away a bear. Although it is simply a bear, the family doesn’t seem to be prepared for such a disturbance. Against your logic, your morals win as you take out an arrow and put it into your crossbow. It’s small, but your aim is good enough to get the bear’s attention, roaring as it backs up. Lodged in the shoulder, the bear retreats as it quiets down the roars. The traveling family seems to be relieved at the turn of events, but they then become rigid as you drop from the tree.

“We cannot thank you enough, dear comrade,” the man, most likely the father, says. He goes to get on his knees, but he looks to you. “What— how shall we pay you back?”

This could work, you think. “Where does your family travel to?”

“Seijoh, the Kingdom on the Water. Tales have spread that opportunities are booming and the King is kind and just,” he speaks, but then his words stumble. “I do not-! Kuroo-sama is very gracious! I would give my life for his-!”

“You can stop. I don’t hail from Nekoma, if that’s what you think. I’m from neither kingdom, instead just traveling the continent in search of a new life. Perhaps Seijoh would be the way to go? I originally was going to Nekoma, actually,” you spin the tale you’ve made for yourself, which relieves the man. He straightens his back, his height no more than your own. “Would you let me travel with you? I’ll make sure your travel is safe,”

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the person who saved our lives join us,” he bows once more, then turns to the carriage with his family. “Let’s move on!”

“Yes, let’s,” you agree, joining the man on the bench. He cracks the reins and the horse begins moving once more, as you watch for anything else. Travels alone are scary, but with an entire family looking about and a kind stranger by your side, you won’t have to worry. Getting some sleep is your main focus, now, closing your eyes and letting the man know you’re going to rest.

The carriage stops moving, jolting you from your sleep. Before you lies other carriages and caravans, stretched into a line that leads to a large waterfall. The forest is bright and the birds are chirping as a man barks orders at the families and people attempting to enter. You make small conversation with the family, given a cloak to cover yourself from the chill of the morning dew. When it is time to be inspected, you have to give kudos to King Oikawa and his kingdom, noticing how bright and welcoming his entrance is.

“What is your business in Aoba Johsai?” The man almost growls out. A loyal dog of Oikawa’s, from your earlier words, stands before you. His hair is yellow in color, dark lines running from ear to ear. He catches your gaze, eyes narrowing even more, then looks back to the man.

“A traveling family with hopes to start a new life. I’ve heard great and kind things about Oikawa-sama, so I wish to visit the Kingdom on the Water got opportunity,” It’s a believable reason, and then men searching the items the family has give the okay. The guardian of the waterfall steps back, a shallow nod before he barks orders to move. The waterfall is large and can easily drown someone with how hard and fast the water crashes to the earth. A diamond shelf is embedded in the water, two more soldiers standing on opposite ends as they part the water. Barely enough room for the carriage and family, but once inside, the water crashes back behind you.

Aoba Johsai is breathtaking.

The morning sun glimmers across the water, waves gently rising only to be quelled back down. Birds sing along with the fish jumping out of the water, only to then crash back into calming waters. Pathways built of crystal minerals, harvested from the mines of Dateko, and hold countless travelers who have come on news of the opportunities. Soldiers are posted at every archway, checking to make sure nobody has snuck past the soldiers at the waterfall. Security is top notch at this kingdom, you note, as neither Nekoma nor Fukurōdani have such strong protections before entering the main kingdom. The pathway continues into the main kingdom, the town on the water, where fishermen and merchants attempt to sell a fortune for items only available at their stalls. Your awe must have shown, as the man beside you laughs joyfully.

“Never seen such a sight before, have you?” You shake your head. “It’s beautiful. I wish we could’ve been born here instead. Lots of blues, whites, and greens.”

“I noticed the vast greenery. The open area allows for lots of plants to grow, I suppose. Rivers allow for fish to come and reproduce, as well as allow for aquatic plants. A beautiful cycle of life, with a magical kingdom in the center,” you comment.

“Well, no magic. Magic hasn’t been used in over 100 years, you know. Not since Karasuno’s king fell. Um, I think—“

“King Ukai. I remember the story told to me before bed when I was a wee child. The story of the fallen king and his kingdom.”

“Yes! King Ukai, I hardly remember him,” before he continues, he stops. “Ah, we’ll need to get a room at the Rose Inn, and let the horses stay here at the stables. Would you mind settling our horses in? That way you can explore, if you want, before reaching the inn,”

“That sounds lovely! Thank you, kind sir,” you bow to him and grasp the reins of the horses. The inn is right next to the stables, the grunts working to put the luggage into a room for the night. You smile, turning the horses into the stables. A large man stands posted outside the stables, talking with an older man.

“No problems this week? Seems like you’ve had a stroke of luck, good sir,” the soldier says, laughing as the old man laughs with him.

“I hope it stays that way. Oh, ma’am? Need us to keep your horses?” The man notices you and your eye drifts to the soldier, straightening his back as a lazy smirk appears on his face. Not very threatening with the smile, but his large stature makes you wary.

“Yes, my family is staying at the Rose Inn next door. How long can you keep the horses for?”

“We charge by the night. How much gold do you have?” You hand him the bag of coins the man gave you. He counts them, tallying up the total. “They can stay for five nights.”

“Perfect! Thank you! I’ll tell my father, now!” You now graciously, skipping off and past the guard. His eyes trail after you, but you keep your pace to the inn. You’ll have to explore later. That guard sets you on edge.

The inn is graciously spacious. There’s enough room for each traveler and the cost of the rooms is cheaper than most inns you’ve come across in Nekoma and Fukurōdani. There’s sapphire and quartz lights, flames flickering behind them as the light illuminates and projects farther than most candles. It’s innovative technology, and allows for the rooms to be more lit than dirty and dim taverns. Dinner is also better than expected, the menu being more than a sheet of paper. You order at the bar, ordering a plate of their special dinner, then sit at the bar. The men beside you are drunk, but you hope they don’t cause a scene. Something tells you that the security would deal with a bar fight quite brutally.

By the time dusk has fallen, lights flickering on as lower soldiers and owners of shops alight their street lamps, you’ve explored the town. It’s full of trusting people, so you’ve learned quite a bit. King Oikawa has a personal guard and the captain of the guard almost always by his side, whether he makes an announcement or visits down below. One man, Hanamaki Takahiro, seems to willing to joke and hang out with the townspeople, but the captain is much more stern. Iwaizumi Hajime is the name you were told. He’s dangerous, you gathered, and he’s almost always by Oikawa’s side, protecting his king from harm. As night falls, the soldiers rotate so the ones on the streets are now in the castle, as nobody else enters the kingdom after dusk. Disposable soldiers to patrol, skilled protectors inside and around the king where the nightfall can hide trespassers entering the king’s chambers.

Shedding the clothes you were given so graciously, you’re stripping off the clothes of the soldier posted at the inn. The blood flowing from his chest has turned to a large puddle, so you have to trade your shoes for the soldier’s. Larger than your own feet, but you must bear with it. Leaving the alley, you keep your head low and you pretend to patrol. A glance left. A glance right.

You’re stuck.

Soldiers manage to be spread far enough apart, but not enough. They can see where you stand. You breathe heavily and straighten your back. Time to impersonate a soldier through the night and wait for switching times. A brief memory of the dead soldier in the alley flashes, but you push it back. The body is hidden in shadows, even the sunlight in the morn wouldn’t dare shine on the corpse.

Chickens chirp and a rooster crows, soon the other life awake and the sun rises. Shedding light on your position, you look to the gate that leads into the castle. The captain of the guard stands there, opening the gate as soldiers stand tall behind him. You blend in with the other guards, standing straight as you all prepare to trade positions. However, a woman with hair black as night stands before the group. She has an air about her, but she looks familiar. Iwaizumi lets her go, having one of his shoulders go with her. He’s tall and familiar, the soldier from the stables. They pass by, but the woman catches your eye. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief and mystery, but then she’s gone and her soldier follows with her.

“Alright, switch up! You know your positions!” Captain Iwaizumi shouts. Everyone shouts their agreement and dutifully switch places. Eyes face forward, unwilling to look at the captain that seems to have his gaze focused on you. Every soldier goes their separate ways and you don’t seem to bring attention to where you go, entering a room that you and another guard seem to be assigned to.

“Don’t fuck this up, Wakashu,” the soldier beside you grunts. You glance at him, wondering if he’s talking to you, but he thankfully looks to be hyping himself up. Pushing the doors open, you understand why.

It’s the throne room.

King Oikawa sits on his throne as he chats with two people beside him — Hanamaki Takahiro and one of the guardians from the waterfall. Your hair stands on edge, noticing the familiar yellow hair and dark lines, but you attempt to quell your nervousness. The king notices you both, nodding as you both go to positions on either side of the doors. Gatekeepers, essentially.

“It’s sad to see Kiyo-chan leave so soon. I’d hope she would’ve stayed another night to think about her decision,” the king huffs and sighs, brown locks swishing side to side as he shakes his head. “Guess it can’t be helped,”

“She probably thought you were too much of a brat,” Hanamaki snickers. Oikawa huffs again, turning to his guard. “I speak the truth! You expect her to like someone like you? With a shitty personality?”

“Excuse me! My personality is perfect and women should be lining up to be my queen! I thought only Iwa-chan would be mean to me,” he pouts, cheeks puffed out. It’s almost a cute scene. Almost.

Which is promptly ruined.

The doors fling open, you and the other soldier startled by the sudden opening. Iwaizumi and another soldier are huffing as they stop before the throne. Oikawa’s eyes go from friendly to seriousness, his posture changing as he looks down on the captain and an underling. “Speak.”

“A soldier was found dead in the alley,” you and the other soldier immediately go on edge, but for different reasons. “This one found the body,”

Oikawa turns his attention to the soldier, who immediately goes rigid and explains the scene. He also mentions the boots found at the crime scene, which he has in his hand. Coated with dried blood, they’re obviously yours. The guard from the waterfall recognizes them and you panic.

“I’ve seen them before! Someone came into the kingdom with those shoes yesterday morning,” he growls out, then he looks to you, who doesn’t move a muscle. Moving would make a scene, so you of course stay still, but he stares. “You. What’s with the cut on your shirt?”

Shit.

In the dark of night, you didn’t notice the slash in the shirt. The darkened coloring prevented the blood from showing, but the slash showed that something happened. It’s not a cut like dodging a weapon, but more of a stab. Fight or flight response kicks in, so you choose the latter. You got your information, you didn’t kill Oikawa, but it’s better than getting caught. You swing the door open and shut it, bolting down the corridors as you shed the armor. Lighten the load, faster you run. It’s not long until the soldier from before stops you, tall and imposing. You’d remember those stupid eyebrows from anywhere.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He grins, but his grip is strong. You have a feeling he knew you’d be running soon. Footsteps approach behind you, then you’re pulled from the soldier’s grip and forced onto your knees. Chains are placed on your wrists and Iwaizumi grunts.

“Wonder who you’re working for,” he says. Oikawa is behind him, looking at you with the same look he gave to his soldier and Iwaizumi.

“Take her to the dungeons. I’ll see who she works for later.”

The tug of the restraints gets you off your knees, following Iwaizumi and his guard dog, the yellow haired one. Both of them prevent you from running and getting free of the restraints.

In the dungeons, you notice the materials. Similar to the pathway into the town, the dungeon bars are made of a shimmering mineral and you’re suddenly behind the bars. The restraints from before are removed, but your wrists are then placed into more chains along the ground. “Try and get out and see how well that works,” the yellow one grunts. Iwaizumi snaps his fingers and the soldier follows, leaving the dungeon.

“She’ll see soon enough, Kyotani,” the captain says, locking you in. “I’m sure the fight hasn’t completely left her,”

Then they leave. You’re all alone and you’ve failed your mission, but they’re right. You still have some fight left.

Hours pass by as you finally feel the fight leave you. There’s only one guard in the dungeons, but he’s nowhere near you. A thin man with ash brown hair stands posted at the base of the stairs, farthest from your cell. At first, you thought they lacked brains with security in the dungeons, seeing as you’re the only criminal behind bars, but the chains proved otherwise. Each movement you made, every breath you took, every grunt you voiced, the chains knew. They pulled tighter as if they had minds of their own, but they would loosen to their proper place if you were still for a certain amount of time.

Footsteps on marble stairs has you and the guard on alert. Looking towards the stairs, you see the king himself coming towards you. He smirks once he’s outside your cell. Iwaizumi stands next to him, not Hanamaki, and unlocks the door. “Are you comfortable?”

“No.”

“Well, could we help change that?”

“No.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Oikawa grins, crooked with a hint of anger. “I’ll get to the point. Who are you, who sent you, and what was your goal? I’m sure killing one of my disposable guards wasn’t the goal?” You don’t speak, so that angers him even more. It’s quick, the stinging in your jaw and the blood in your mouth the only indications his foot collided with your face. “Once more. Who are you?”

“My name is none of your business and neither is my home. My goal was to send that stupid head off your shoulders. Happy?” Your eyes stay narrowed, but he seems delighted at your answer.

“Treason, trespassing, and murder. I should kill you for this, but I wonder where you’re from,” he then has an unhinged desire in his eyes, grin splitting into something sinister. “I’ll keep you alive until you spill,”

“I’d rather eat your shoe again. What king wears white thigh-high boots, anyways? Your guards don’t respect you, they tolerate you. A worthless king with no pride, that’s all you are. I won’t bow to someone or kneel under their pressure when they have a weak resolve and no power. Admit it, you don’t run the kingdom, your soldiers do.”

A swift kick is administered, Oikawa’s breath heaving as he pants. His face is red with anger, frown evident on his face, but you’re grinning. Blood may be dripping from your mouth, but you know you’re right. He inhales sharply, then turns to Iwaizumi. “Understood,” he nods in response, leaving the keys on the wall as he goes to leave. Iwaizumi also takes the guard posted with him. You don’t understand why, but you don’t have much time to think about that.

“I may seem like a worthless king with little to no pride, but that’s all I have. My worthless pride. My guards and soldiers respect me because I am the power here,” he growls out, hand tugging on your hair that sends you collapsing against the ground. The chains pull in your arms, keeping you down as he straddles you. “You may not bow to me, but I’ll find out who you do bow to. I’ll rip every bit of fight out of you, beginning today,”

“Get off, you pervert!” Your screams echo against marble, reaching nobody’s ears. Oikawa goes to strip away the stolen clothes, eyes narrowing as he feels the dried blood against your chest. Ripping off the shirt, he exposes your breasts.

“Maybe I should take you as my royal lover, seeing as your body is supple and warm, perfect for someone to come to after a long day of work,” he grins, wicked and perverse as he looks at you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Fuck off!” You scream, legs kicking and body squirming. He sighs and shrugs.

“No use, apparently. Then, let’s see how the rest of you feels,” he licks his lips as he shuffled down your pants. He’ll have to get you some other clothes, ones with easier access than the ones of his soldiers. The pants are off and he mocking coos at you, fingers sliding around the waistband of your panties to have them snap against your skin. “Pretty. All white and innocent, aren’t you? That’s what the panties say, but I bet you’d look better in black, since you’re probably not innocent.” He doesn’t get a response, so he continues talking. “I’ll give you some blue ones later, they’ll suit your skin tone and match the bars of your holding cell. Aren’t I generous?”

He’s pulling the fabric down, your legs spread as he does. He expects your goods to be dry, absolutely unprepared, but to his surprise, glimmering strings connect your pussy to your removed panties, falling and breaking as he continues to bare yourself to him. A laugh escapes him, fingers pressing into your folds. “You’re getting off on being manhandled? Seems like you’re the pervert, sweetie,” he coos, licking a hot stripe of saliva against your cheek. It’s disgusting and revolting, but you can’t say anything against it. You’ve been in a similar position before, your body seems to not be able to tell the difference between men.

Oikawa’s fingers delve into your cunt, scissoring as he feels around. Rubbing against your walls, he’s pleased when your back arches and a moan escapes your lips, only for a hand to come and cover your mouth. It’s soon removed, the chains pulling your arm back down. Oikawa continues his violation of your most sensitive area, thumb rubbing against your clit as his fingers move and rub inside you. The building knot in your stomach tightens and tightens, muscles tensing as you feel your orgasm coming on. You can feel it, it’s almost there, a moan escaping— then it’s gone. Oikawa’s hand has been removed, tongue flicking over the wet digits as he moans himself.

“Definitely not a virgin by the way you’re acting. A proper whore, you are,” he doesn’t expect an answer, standing on his knees as he goes to unbuckle his belt. Eyes widen as you realize he’s actually going all the way, but he just smirks down at you. Removing his cock from his pants, you stare at it. It’s almost beautiful, you think, staring at the slender cock and how it seems to just compliment his personality and how he holds himself. A hand wraps around the shaft of it, pumping as his darkened gaze lingers on your spread legs. Well, what’s between them. “Hope you’re ready,”

Although you most certainly are not, he doesn’t care. Pushing his tip into your cunt, he finds it hard to push too far. You’re not relaxed in his hold, tensed at his entrance into your velvety walls. His hand comes to your throat, pushing his thumb on your windpipe. “Any words?”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, eyes rolling as he plunges inside you. Pushing past your barriers and spreading you open wide, he’s not the biggest or longest you’ve ever had, but he’s by no means small. It takes effort to adjust to his length, but he doesn’t allow it. Once he’s in, he’s pulling out only to snap his hips back to yours. Your throat is free of his hold, his hand moving to hook your leg over his arm as his other hand is placed beside you. It’s a horrible thing, finding yourself enjoying his thrusts and how each roll of his hips seem to add to your pleasure. His own moans, much louder than yours, seem to prove he’s finding his own pleasure inside you.

Oikawa’s soon picking up his pace, his lips next to your ear as you mewl from pleasure. “Acting like a proper whore. You’d make a fine lover, chained to my side permanently,” he murmurs, lips pressing to your hot skin. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has a feeling your answer is no. Yet, he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure that he’s soon slamming his hips into you even faster. When he feels his orgasm coming, he leans back and applies pressure to your clit. Your squeal of pleasure has your walls creaming around him and sucking him in. He’s not far behind, rutting his hips against you as he spills his cum inside, your walls milking him of every drop.

When the high passes, he’s removing his limp cock from your hole as his cum oozes out. It drips and plops onto the floor beneath you, but he finds it mesmerizing. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll have to come back.

The shutting and locking of the doors tells you he’s gone, leaving the dungeons and you all alone. With his seed still gushing from your cunt, you have a feeling he’ll be visiting you tomorrow, too.

He wants to break you. You refuse to bend. Each night, you’ll find yourself looking forward to his company.

#haikyuu smut #Mr. Tōru #BB.Kinky #BB.Requests #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #oikawa x reader #tw.choking #tw.death #tw.blood #tw.degradation #tw.abuse #tw.no aftercare

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mdelpin · 3 years

Text

The Red Dragon - Chapter 35 (Final)

Cover Art by @khaoticvex��

AO3 | Tumblr: Ch1 | Ch34

And here we are at the end. 2 years and 10 months and a little over 200K words later.

It's been a long time coming and I want to thank you all for your patience as this was not an easy story to write. I hope you enjoy this final chapter, I tried to get in everything I reasonably could.

Chapter 35

Gajeel gazed at Wendy as she watched the huddled figures of Natsu and Gray sadly. He could tell she was about to go over there, and he held out a hand to her.

“Don’t,” Gajeel warned. He’d directed it at Wendy, but he meant it as a warning to the others as well. “I don’t have the first clue what the hell all that was about, but I do know Natsu doesn’t need us all over him right now.”

“But-” Wendy protested, seeing as Happy had crept closer, but even he was giving them some space, content to rest near them.

Gajeel could hardly blame her. He felt the same urge to comfort Natsu. He knew exactly what it felt like to have your parents ripped away from you unexpectedly. Could relate to the emptiness and shock Natsu was undoubtedly feeling, which was why he also knew that his friend wouldn’t want anyone but Gray and Atlas near him at the moment.

It had been a long, exhausting battle, and it left him feeling battered. It all felt so anticlimactic. They’d finally put an end to Acnologia’s carnage, but he could find no joy in it. His heart felt heavy in his chest and all he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and avoid moving for a while, maybe thinking too.

Whatever they’d just witnessed, and Gajeel understood precious little of it, Igneel had been someone he’d cared about deeply. The fire dragon had always taken an interest in all the dragon slayers, chatting with them and making them feel at home from the first moment they had met him and the rest of the dragons. And he’d always seemed larger than life. Gajeel was still having trouble accepting he was gone, but with Natsu out of commission for the moment, it fell to him to once again be the leader of their little band of misfits.

The battle had taken a lot out of all of them, especially Natsu and Happy. They wouldn’t be flying home for a while. The best thing they could all do for now was to get some rest and recoup some of their energy.

Gajeel moved away from the three dragons, nudging Wendy to follow. He found them a spot where they could sit somewhat comfortably and wait for Atlas to return with Irene and Oliver.

“Do you- do you think he’ll be alright?” Wendy fretted, as was her way.

Gajeel could only shrug, “I’m sure he will, but he’s going to need some time. We all will.”

Wendy nodded and Gajeel changed the subject for both their sakes. “Rogue handled himself pretty well out there, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” Wendy immediately perked up. “Those legs you made him work really well. He fought just as well as he did before.”

Gajeel was about to say something about it to Rogue when he noticed the Shadow Dragon slayer and Sting were still locked in an embrace. “Ugh, you’re all disgusting. I seriously need to find a girlfriend. I’m so tired of watching all of you.”

Wendy smiled, “Well, you should definitely have better luck with that in Talos than you did in Drak Aast.”

In his defense, it wasn’t like there had been that many female dragon slayers in Drak Aast to begin with, and the few there had been were not overly fond of him.

“Oh great, here comes yours,” Gajeel groaned as he noticed Atlas approaching.

The hellfire dragon landed near them and as he crouched down, his tail swished, yeeting Acnologia’s corpse several yards away from them, where it slammed to the ground with a terrific thud.

Atlas looked completely unrepentant.

“Holy Shit! What did I miss?!” Oliver asked, sliding off Atlas’ backside and studying the remains of the clearing in dismay. Irene followed him down in a more dignified manner.

“Everything.” Sting rolled his eyes at the lightning dragon slayer before sitting down near Gajeel. “As usual.”

“Hey! Don’t say that like I do it on purpose,” Oliver complained.

Gajeel had to snort at that. Oliver had always been slightly accident prone, but once they’d arrived at Drak Aast, hardly a day had gone by without him coming to see Wendy for healing. They had soon come to realize he had a massive crush on her and had gone to splendid efforts to make his life a living hell until Wendy had made them stop.

“Oliver!” Wendy rushed over to her boyfriend, using what little magic she had left to check his injuries.

“I’m fine, and even if I wasn’t, you need to rest.” Oliver scolded, wrapping Wendy up in an embrace and kissing the top of her head as he looked the others over. “Wow, you all look like death warmed over.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us got to sleep through the fight,” Gajeel grumbled from where he sat leaning against a downed tree trunk.

Wendy took Oliver by the hand, leading him back to the others.

“Is it really over?” Rogue wondered out loud as he collapsed tiredly next to Sting. He set about removing his metal legs, seeking to ease some of the pain in his stumps after all the running he’d done.

“Yes, it’s finally over.” Atlas assured him. “I’m so proud of all you kids. You put up one hell of a fight.”

“I don’t know about that. If you and Gray hadn’t shown up when you did, we would’ve been screwed,” Sting said, “I know I sure as hell didn’t have much left.”

Gajeel grunted his agreement. His clothes were in tatters, his body covered in bruises despite being as hard as iron. “Tell me about it, I think I’m gonna sleep for a week once we get home.”

“I know you said there wasn’t time to explain before, but-” Wendy glanced over at Natsu and Gray again. “How is any of this possible?”

The dragon looked as tired as they all felt, making Gajeel think he wouldn’t answer, but after peering over at Natsu, Gray and Happy, he launched into an explanation.

“It was Igneel’s idea. When Gray didn’t set off the warning sigils we’d placed in the cave, he became determined to figure out why. He had this theory that dragon souls were being born in human bodies. That was how it all started.”

What followed was a story as shocking as it was tragic, and Gajeel had to admit his estimation of Gray improved greatly in the telling. He’d certainly seen how love made people do all sorts of crazy shit, but he would never have expected Gray to go that far, especially given how much he’d always hated dragons. It filled him with a strange sense of pride, like what he imagined Anna felt when she looked at all of them.

“So hang on, does that mean we have dragon souls too?” Rogue asked while pointing at himself and Sting.

“There’s a lot we still don’t know, but I think it’s likely, given that you’re soul bonded. As for the rest of you, it’s possible? Maybe that’s why some dragon slayers took to the enchantment better than others. If you really want to know, I can check all of you when we return.”

Gajeel let that idea sink in for a minute. It was certainly interesting to consider, but he doubted it changed anything for any of them.

The sound of heavy, unsteady steps alerted them to Gray’s approach. He tottered towards them with a sorrowful expression on his face. Once he reached them, he nudged Atlas.

“Natsu wants you.”

Atlas closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “How’s he doing?”

Gajeel knew the dragon well enough to know that he was really asking.

Does he blame me?

All eyes were on Gray as everyone waited for his response.

“He’s doing better,” Gray said, although his eyes never strayed from the ground. “Still a little shell-shocked, though.”

“What about you, how are you doing?”

Gajeel could see the concern in the hellfire dragon’s eyes and it made him wonder just how difficult this entire experience had been for Gray.

“I’m fine.”

Atlas frowned at the response, and for once he seemed to be at a loss for words. But he tried.

“We always knew he wouldn’t take it well. How could he?” Atlas nuzzled Gray’s head gently. “But as much as I hate to admit it, Igneel was right. We needed to do this. If we hadn’t, Acnologia would have killed them all. Remember that.”

“Yeah.” Gray said, although he didn’t sound very convincing. He watched Atlas walk away towards Natsu, the frown never leaving his face.

Gajeel noticed Sting watching Gray thoughtfully and got a bad feeling. Oh gods, he wasn’t dumb enough to bring that up, was he? Now of all times?! Rogue must have had the same idea because he grabbed on to Sting’s hand like a vise and shook his head.

It was Wendy who got up and approached Gray. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could and cried.

“Wendy?” Gray gawked at her. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m just so happy for you guys!” She smiled through her tears, “Now you can be together, just like before.”

“Well, not exactly like before.” Gray didn’t really feel like smiling, but he tried for her.

He was glad to see them. He’d missed all of them so much and had spent the last few years worrying about them. As he gazed from one to the other, he noticed all the changes with his newly enhanced eyesight, which he was slowly getting used to.

Gajeel looked to have changed the least, at least outwardly. His hair was a lot longer, but the biggest difference, as far as Gray could tell, was in the way he held himself. He exuded an even tougher air than he used to. Wendy looked nothing like the young girl she’d been when she’d left, although the war didn’t seem to have affected her sweet disposition any. Natsu had told him about Rogue’s legs, but it was still jarring to see it. And Sting, well, Sting looked like he had aged the most out of all of them.

“You all look so different.”

“We look different?” Gajeel scoffed, “That’s rich coming from the guy who turned into a dragon.”

“What kind of dragon are you?” Wendy asked. “You don’t look like any ice dragon I’ve ever seen.”

“We don’t really know. Atlas thinks I might be the equivalent of a hellfire dragon for ice dragons.” Gray shrugged his shoulders.

“That magic of yours sure came in handy,” Rogue chimed in, “Although it almost gave me a heart attack at first.”

“Sorry about that, I wasn’t sure how it would work.” Gray admitted, “To be honest, I was kind of winging it.”

“That was you winging it?” Sting finally spoke, peering at him in awe. “Damn! Those soldier dudes were badass.”

Gray nodded absently, becoming distracted by a scent that wafted towards him. It smelled familiar, but also different. He sniffed the air and searched for the source until determining it came from the red-haired woman that stood by Acnologia’s corpse, which had reverted to its human form after releasing all the souls he’d held captive.

“Is that Erza’s mother?”

“Yeah,” Wendy glanced over at the woman sadly.

“Is something wrong with her?”

“Not exactly, she began to dragonify, so she’s worried about how Erza and Anna will react to her appearance.”

“Dragonify? You mean like one of those renegades? Is it going to get worse?”

Wendy must have seen the distress on his face because she shook her head vehemently and immediately said, “No, no, nothing like that. Natsu removed her magic, so it won’t get any worse. But she has some red scales on parts of her body, kind of like Natsu did after-” Wendy’s voice drifted off and she looked away.

“Oh.” It was funny how his guilt over his past actions still lingered, but he chased it away. None of that mattered anymore, and he knew in his heart that neither Anna nor Erza would care one bit about what Irene looked like. They just wanted her back.

“I’ll go talk to her.”

He said that, but it was easier said than done, given the distance between them. Moving was getting easier, but he still felt so awkward. He made his way over to Irene slowly, gasping as she turned to look at him curiously.

She looked just like Erza!

Her hair was styled into two thick braids, and Gray couldn't help but notice that her outfit left just as little to the imagination as Erza’s requips. It was more ribbons than clothing, but that wasn’t even the most striking thing about her. That would have to be her face, or rather the large patch of torn skin that began just below her left eye and covered most of her cheek, revealing bright red scales underneath.

“You must be Gray, it’s nice to meet you finally. I have to say you look a little different from what I expected,” she said with a slight smile before turning back to the corpse and doing something that shocked him so much he forgot all about Erza and Anna.

Kneeling down, she closed Acnologia’s eyes and whispered, “May you find your way to peace.”

“How can you-” Gray stopped himself, realizing anything he said would only sound rude.

“How can I say that after everything he did?” Irene sighed. “I suppose it's because he wasn’t always like that. He was a good man once, before a dragon destroyed his village and killed all his loved ones. It changed him.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t agree with any of the things he did, and I would have killed him myself, given the chance. But even so,” she bowed her head. “I’d like to remember the good that once lived inside him.”

Gray sucked in a breath at her words, causing her to look up at him inquisitively. She stared at him for a moment, recognition suddenly dawning on her face.

“That’s right, Natsu mentioned something like that had happened to you as well. I’d like to say that the dragon slayer spell played a large part in what happened to him, but the truth is, Acnologia’s hatred was boundless. He fed it every chance he got, and in doing so, he created a literal monster.”

Her mouth curved up into a soft smile. “I’m happy to see you chose love instead.”

“I chose Natsu,” Gray said simply, not wanting to get caught up in a discussion of his past and how it may or may not compare to Acnologia’s.

He’d set his hatred aside once he’d finally understood how much pain it had caused Natsu over the years. Deliora was dead, and now Acnologia- who had devastated their lives in even more ways- was gone as well. Gray was content to let his hate die along with them. All he cared about now was being there for Natsu and helping him get through Igneel’s death.

He stepped closer to the body, curious to see what the man had looked like, but his nose instantly rebelled at the overwhelming stench of blood and guts the body exuded. He was about to leave when another more subtle scent caught his attention- a familiar one that was mixed in with the man's. It smelled of rain and those blue flowers that grew at the base of their mountain.

Juvia?

But what would Juvia be doing with Acnologia? He shook his head at the thought. That was ridiculous.

But was it?

Why else would her scent be on him? And what did they really know about Juvia’s mystery boyfriend? What was it she’d said?

Gray tried to remember her exact words, and he let out a groan as soon as he did.

Then Juvia met Logan, and he was very interested in Juvia and Juvia’s friends.

That sonofabitch!

He must have been using Juvia to spy on them all along!

A maelstrom of emotions engulfed him at the realization - rage at Acnologia for using Juvia when she was already vulnerable, guilt for telling her when Natsu was returning, and pity for the loneliness she felt that caused her to get into these situations.

Whatever the renegade had told Juvia to explain his absence, she would await his return.

And Gray knew exactly what it felt like to live in constant wait. Hoping and praying that the one you loved would come back to you. Standing in place while everyone around you went on with their lives. He couldn’t just sit back and let that happen to her. Not when he knew damn well “Logan” was never coming back.

He wanted to scream in frustration, knowing Natsu was holding on by a thin thread as it was. But as much as he loathed the idea, he knew what he was going to have to do, and just how much it was going to piss everyone off.

“Is something wrong?” Irene peered at him with concern.

Gray could only look back at where the slayers were sitting, and past them to where the red dragons were talking to Natsu.

Fuck my life...

0-0

When Erza woke up that morning, she’d barely been able to contain her excitement. After so many years spent worrying about her mother and childhood friends, her wait was finally over.

Lyon had teased her as they’d gotten ready, but he’d taken her to her favorite bakery for breakfast and then they’d gone for a walk around town before work. It was a beautiful day, with nary a cloud in the sky. A soft breeze played with their hair and clothes as she chatted about the welcome home party she wanted to throw for their family and friends.

As excited as she was, it took her a few minutes to realize Lyon had gone quiet, even longer to understand why.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry!”

“You’re fine.” Lyon chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I love to see you like this, and I am excited, too. I’m just feeling a little conflicted. It makes me glad to know Gray is happy. The gods know he deserves to be, but he’s my little brother and it makes me sad when I realize he won’t be a part of these things anymore.”

“I’m sure we’ll still see him.” Erza rested her head on Lyon’s shoulder, smiling when she felt him wrap his arm around her waist. “Honestly, the idea of those two being dragons is terrifying.”

“And just think, you won’t be able to keep them in check anymore,” Lyon said.

Erza stopped in her tracks. Oh gods, Lyon was right! She’d been the only one able to keep those two under control. Who was going to do that now? How much destruction would they be capable of during one of their squabbles now that they were both dragons?

“Relax, I was joking!” Lyon laughed, “They’ll be fine.”

Erza wasn’t as sure of that. She knew that while it would make Natsu happy to have Gray at long last, it would also devastate him to lose his father. She wished, not for the first time, that Natsu would have confided in her over the years. That she could have helped him through some of the things he’d held inside for so long. And more than anything, she hoped that he’d come see her so she could make him understand how much she still loved him.

But maybe it was time to take matters into her own hands. Now that everyone was coming home, she was done with worrying and waiting. If he wouldn’t come to her, then she would just have to go to him.

0-0

“Watch out!” Sting yelled as Gray came within a few inches of colliding with Happy.

Again.

“I’m doing my best.”

Sting held on to one of Gray’s fin spikes for dear life, even though it made him feel like his body was going to turn into a popsicle. He didn’t understand how Irene could remain so calm, and he honestly wished she’d stop interrogating Gray about Lyon so that he might at least focus more on his flying, which sucked royally.

To be fair, the guy had only been a dragon for a couple of hours, but still. Sting had lost count of how many times they’d almost crashed or suddenly lost altitude, and while Gray was apologetic, it did nothing to improve the feeling of impending doom Sting felt.

Although he knew a lot of that had more to do with the fact that they’d be home soon. As much as he’d tried to prepare himself mentally for any outcome, he still dreaded the disappointment he was sure to see on Anna’s face once she learned what he’d done. And he could only imagine how furious Erza and the other guards would be.

Sting knew he deserved all of it. After all, he’d put everyone in danger. He didn’t even want to consider what might have happened if Natsu hadn’t been there to fight Acnologia.

His biggest fear, though, was that the Talos village elders would decide to exile him. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t want to take Rogue away from his home, but he also knew his mate would refuse to stay without him.

Please, please let them forgive me. I will do anything…

Rogue’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Everything’s going to be fine.

He turned his head to glance at his mate, who along with Gajeel rode atop Natsu, and flashed him a sheepish smile.

How did you know?

I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking. I know you… They’ll understand.

I hope you’re right.

I know I am. Have faith in them.

He could feel Rogue’s love pouring into him and it calmed him down some, right until Gray dropped a few hundred feet all at once. It was terrifying enough that Irene finally stopped with her questions.

“Gray!”

“Sorry! I’ve never flown holding anything before.”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you to bring him along.” Sting snapped, thinking back to the tense fight that had ensued when Gray had made his bizarre request to bring Acnologia’s body back with them.

All of them had been against it, but no one as much as Atlas. The fighting had only ended when Natsu came out in Gray’s defense. No one was about to argue with him in his state.

Sting sighed in defeat. Really, who was he to judge about doing the wrong thing for what felt like the right reasons?

“I’m sorry. I get what you’re trying to do, and it’s nice and all, but it burns me up that we’re bringing him home like some kind of war hero.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” Gray hissed. “I just want Juvia to move on.”

“I know. But have you given any thought to how she’s going to feel when she realizes she led him straight to us.”

“It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know!”

“Do you really think that’s going to make one bit of difference to her?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s past is past and nothing is going to change it.” Irene joined the conversation, peering back at Sting with a knowing look. “If this Juvia feels guilty, she’ll just have to work through it while she grieves. Just like everyone else.”

“That wasn’t exactly subtle, Irene.” Sting grumbled.

“Wasn’t trying to be, dear.”

“Ugh, I don’t know if I can handle having two Erzas around again.”

“Oh Sting,” Irene chuckled, “You never could.”

“We’ll land in front of the village gates,” Natsu announced, and the dragons grunted their assent.

All but one.

“Hey, Gray?” Sting called out, trying not to let his sudden panic show in his voice.

“Hmmm?”

“You do know how to land, right?”

“Sort of?” Gray’s nervous chuckle in no way made him feel any better.

Oh well, he’d lived a good life. At least he got to see that fucker die before he bit it.

“I’m not worried at all,” Irene said as she patted Gray’s neck. “And I have to say if your brother is half the man you are - well, uhm dragon, I guess - then Erza is a very lucky girl.”

“He’s better,” Gray said. “I’d have never gotten this far if it hadn’t been for him. But I will forever deny having said that.”

Irene laughed. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“So, uhm, Wendy mentioned you were nervous about Anna and Erza seeing your scales.”

“I was, but almost dying earlier made me realize how silly I was being. I think everything will be okay.”

“Good, because I saw them last night, and they were really excited to see you.”

Sting tuned them out, paying more attention to their surroundings. It had been quite a while since he’d been home, but he recognized their mountains up ahead. They would be at the village in the next few minutes. He knew he was right when he felt Gray tense beneath him and Natsu appeared next to them.

Not a word passed between them, but as Gray made adjustments, Sting knew that Natsu was talking to him through their bond.

He reached out to Rogue through their own bond.

Nice knowing you!

Stop being so dramatic, he’s doing fine.

Sure, for someone who learned to fly in the astral realm, whatever the heck that is.

The sound of Rogue’s laughter was exactly what he needed to hear to relax.

I love you.

I love you too, dork. Might want to hold on now.

In the end, Gray mostly glided down, with Atlas and Natsu on either side of him. It wasn’t a bad landing overall. There had been plenty worse during the war, but Sting still felt the need to kiss the ground after he jumped down.

The village gates stood in front of him, looking slightly different from what he remembered, but still familiar.

Behind him, he could hear everyone else dismounting, as Natsu teased Gray about his flying skills while Happy and Atlas laughed along.

The rest of the dragon slayers joined him in staring at the doors, None of them making any effort to enter. Then Wendy grabbed onto his left hand, while Rogue took his right. One by one, they linked hands and squeezed tightly before taking that first step together.

They were home at last.

0-0

Erza didn’t know how it was possible, but this day felt longer than all the years she’d waited put together.

She’d managed to keep her good mood for most of the morning, but as the hours passed and there was no sign of the dragon slayers, she began to worry. Her mind filled with all sorts of worst-case scenarios, and no matter how hard she tried to dismiss each and every one as ridiculous, another would rear its ugly head to replace it.

She attacked her work with vigor, hoping to distract herself from her thoughts, and that worked for a time, until she ran out of things to do. Lunchtime came and went, but she remained in her office, too worried to be in the least bit hungry.

Where the hell were they? Why was it taking so long?

That sense that something was wrong was stronger than ever. But what could she do? She didn’t know what direction they were coming from, so even if she sent some guards to investigate, what would she tell them? Well, she could always-

A knock on her door interrupted her planning. She looked up from her desk to see Juvia standing at her door.

“Is Erza okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied, plastering a smile on her face. “How can I help you, Juvia?”

“Lyon was called away to deal with a disturbance in town. He asked Juvia to make sure Erza ate lunch.”

“Lunch?” As riled up as she was, the idea of food was unappetizing, so she tried to placate Juvia with another lie. “Oh, yes, thank you. I’ll be sure to grab something later.”

Juvia crossed her arms in front of her chest, and studied her, “Lyon said Erza would say that, and to not take no for an answer.”

“Did he now?” Erza made no attempt to hide her irritation. She’d never enjoyed being babied or handled. It was one of the quickest ways to ensure her wrath.

Just who did Lyon think he was, anyway? She’d taken care of herself just fine for years before meeting him. If he thought he could just come in and-

“Lyon also said to tell Erza he’d asked the cook to make strawberry cake for dessert today.”

Strawberry cake?!

She wanted to laugh at Lyon’s blatant attempt to manipulate her. Like she was so simple that she’d submit to his whims just because he’d asked the cook to make her favorite dessert.

It was just cake.

Sweet, moist, delicious cake with frosting and luscious fresh strawberries on top…

She tried to resist the temptation, but her stomach had already broken rank, grumbling its opinion on the matter, and whether she meant to or not, she was already walking towards Juvia.

“I suppose a quick break for lunch would be fine.” Erza ignored Juvia’s knowing smirk as she fell in step beside her.

“Erza’s friends will be home soon.” Juvia said, putting her arm around Erza’s shoulders and giving her a side hug. “Juvia just knows it!”

“Let’s hope so.”

The dining room was mostly empty, as everyone had already eaten. Lyon was true to his word. There was indeed a strawberry cake, and even better, the cook had saved two slices for her.

“Mind if I join you girls?”

Erza looked up from her dessert long enough to nod at Anna.

“I thought you’d be in your office,” Anna smiled.

“Can Juvia get Anna anything?”

“No, thank you. I was just going crazy waiting at the orphanage, so Andrius offered to watch the kids for a few hours.”

“Didn’t you get any sleep?” Erza asked, noticing the dark circles under Anna’s eyes.

“Not really, I started worrying about Gray, and that got me thinking about Igneel and Porly, which then led me straight to Natsu.” Anna sighed. “That poor boy, I can’t even begin to imagine how he’ll take it.”

“Yes, I thought about him this morning as well.”

“Why is Anna worried about Gray?” Juvia peered at Anna with obvious alarm. “Did something happen?”

“Oh, uhm, I-” Anna bit her lip, clearly not knowing how to respond to Juvia’s question.

Erza wasn’t doing much better. How much could she tell her? When he’d resigned a few days earlier, Gray had told everyone he and Natsu were moving away. She should have realized that meant he had no intention of telling Juvia about his actual plans.

“Anna worries about all of us. She can’t help it. After all, she raised most of us.” Erza tried to defuse the situation by acting purposefully obtuse. She cringed internally at her words, knowing how lame they sounded, but couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Yes, but it sounded like it was more than that.” Juvia insisted.

One of the younger guards, a woman by the name of Alyssa, chose that moment to run into the dining room, slamming into a table and cursing out in pain. All three of them winced in sympathy, but before Erza could ask her if she was alright, the girl yelled out.

“CAPTAIN, CAPTAIN!”

“There’s no need to yell, Alyssa. I’m right here. What is it? Do you have something to report?” Erza kept her composure, but she was tense. Could this be what she’d been waiting for?

“IT’S DRAGONS, MA’AM!”

“Dragons?” Erza jumped out of her chair, quickly followed by Anna and Juvia. “Where, how many?”

“FOUR DRAGONS, MA’AM, HEADED TOWARDS THE TOWN FROM THE NORTH.”

“Do you know if they were red dragons?”

“YES, MA’AM, THERE WERE-”

Erza didn't know what else Alyssa might have said because she ran out of the dining room as fast as she could. If they were red dragons, it had to be them!

She sprinted down the long hallway until she reached the doors, stopping only long enough to pull them open. She heard others running behind her and hoped the door didn’t hit them when she raced outside.

However long it had taken Alyssa to find her was enough time for the dragons to have landed in the grassy area in front of the village gates. Erza could see them clearly now. There were indeed four dragons, three red ones and a blue one with wings and horns made of ice that had to be Gray.

However, she filed that away for later, for as majestic as the dragons were, they were nothing to her when compared to the individuals who stood in a line in front of them. There was one among them Erza didn’t recognize, but once again, the details meant little to her at the moment.

Her eyes filled with tears as she watched them take a step forward together.

“You’re home,” she whispered.

And then, as if a spell had broken once she’d said the words, she yelled them out with all her might, wanting everyone to hear the joy that was in her heart.

“YOU’RE HOME!”

She lunged at them, not paying any attention to which one of them she tackled. Not that it mattered, as they all fell to the ground in a chorus of grunts and laughing complaints.

“Well, it’s nice to see you’re as impulsive as ever.” The sound of her mother’s laughter left her reeling, and she pushed herself up to search for her, taking a moment to see who was underneath her.

She could feel the blood rushing to her face as, to her dismay, she’d landed on the one person she didn’t know. She scrambled to get off him, and in her haste, landed back on the grass. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t even worry about it.” the man said, waving at her with an amused grin. “I’m Oliver, by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Erza nodded at him, too flustered to say anything else. There was a light tap on her shoulder and she looked up to see her mother offering her a hand up.

She grabbed hold of it and found herself pulled into a familiar embrace.

“I missed you so much,” Erza cried, holding her mother close.

“I missed you too.” Irene ran her fingers lightly through Erza’s hair, playing with it as she’d done when Erza was a child. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, sweetheart.”

They separated, and Erza got her first good look at her mother. It horrified her to see a patch of red dragon scales on her cheek, not because it marred her beauty, but because of what it could mean.

“Mother, those scales- are you?”

“Turning into a dragon? No.” Irene assured her. “I used a lot of dragon magic during the war, but Natsu removed the dragon slayer enchantment. It won’t get any worse.”

“If it bothers you, Atlas said he could create some sort of illusion spell-”

“No, you’re perfect!” Erza was so relieved to learn she wouldn’t lose her mother again that she crushed her to her chest in a violent hug.

“I’m not going anywhere, Erza. I promise.” Irene said once she’d regained use of her lungs.

All around them there were sounds of people laughing and yelling greetings and as much as she wanted to hold on to her mother for a little longer, she knew that there was someone else who had been awaiting her return just as anxiously.

“There you are!”

She turned at the sound of Lyon’s voice and saw him hurrying towards her, looking entirely out of breath. “I came as soon as I heard. Did you see your mom yet?”

“Indeed, she did,” Irene answered, moving to stand next to Erza and stopping Lyon in his tracks.

He gawked at her for a moment, seeming uncertain of what to do next, but Erza rescued him. She stepped forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him to her side.

She felt a little anxious, remembering how intimidating her mother could be and knowing how easily flustered Lyon could get when he was nervous.

She really wanted him to make a good first impression.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet Lyon Vastia.”

Erza wanted to tell her everything wonderful about Lyon, but to her horror, she got tongue tied instead.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” Lyon said, bowing his head briefly in a gesture of respect before offering his hand. “I’m Erza’s husband,”

Erza watched her mother’s face nervously. It stunned her when Irene merely shook his hand with an amused smile. “The pleasure is all mine. A little dragon told me all about you on the way here.”

“A dragon?” Lyon sounded puzzled, and Erza could almost work out the second he figured out Irene was referring to Gray.

“You mean it really worked?”

“See for yourself,” Irene said, pointing at the blue dragon that Erza had noticed earlier. It stood some distance away from the crowd of people, along with the red dragon that had become their town’s protector.

The dragon they now knew was Natsu.

Erza tore her eyes away from the dragons to focus back on her mother, and she saw Lyon do the same, but Irene waved them away.

“Go to them, I’m not sure how much longer they’ll stick around.”

“Are you sure?” Erza hedged.

“Yes, we’ll talk more later. There’s someone else I need to say hello to. Assuming the kids let me anywhere near her, that is.” Irene said with a laugh.

It didn’t take long for Erza to sight Anna surrounded by Sting, Rogue, Wendy and even Gajeel. All of them were talking at once while Anna laughed at them and asked them to slow down.

It reminded Erza so much of their younger years, though back then she and Natsu would have been in there too, demanding their own slice of attention.

“She’s even more exquisite than I remember,” Irene mused.

“Aren’t you going to go to her?”

“In a bit, let them have their moment. I’ll have her to myself soon enough.”

She shooed them away, turning to greet one of the village elders.

0-0

“That really is him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’d know that resting bitchface anywhere.”

“And I suppose yours is better?” Erza taunted, but Lyon only snorted in reply.

It didn’t take them long to reach the dragons. Lyon wasn’t all that surprised by Gray’s appearance, having seen the ice sculpture his brother had molded weeks earlier. Although even that paled compared to the real thing.

Lyon found himself mesmerized by the ice that made up Gray’s wings, horns, talons, and the tip of his tail. It was flawless and he couldn’t help but wonder what creations made of it would look like. But he shifted his focus to Erza as she slowly approached Natsu.

He could see the uncertainty on her face, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew how much she loved and missed Natsu. There was a lot of guilt mixed into her feelings as well, but he knew she’d face it as she did everything else.

Natsu relaxed slightly in their presence, but his expression remained guarded and he inched closer to Gray.

“Hello, Natsu,” Erza said, reaching her hand out tentatively. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hey Erza,” Natsu leaned into her hand for a moment, allowing her to pet his snout.

“I know this isn’t the time for long conversations, but,” Erza touched her hand to her heart. “I’d like to talk with you sometime, if that’s alright.”

Lyon watched with bated breath, waiting for Natsu’s response just as much as Erza.

“He wants to talk to her,” Gray told him. “He was just afraid of how she’d react. Now that he’s seen she’s not angry or scared of him, I think they’ll be fine.”

“Well, that’s good. I know she’s missed him terribly.” Lyon said, switching his attention to his brother. “I want to apologize to him for our last meeting as well, but I doubt he’d want to hear that now.”

“Probably not.” Gray agreed, “He’s been doing a little better, but I want to get him home.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Natsu complained, sounding much more like his usual self than Lyon had expected. He refrained from responding with one of his usual put downs, regardless.

Instead, he studied Gray and Natsu closely, pleased to see they already radiated that same bubble he’d always noticed around them. He was sure whatever happened next, wherever they went, they’d be alright. And that was all he’d ever wanted for them.

“Well then, we won’t keep you, there will be plenty of time to talk later.” Lyon backed away and tripped over something. He looked down at it with a puzzled expression.

“Just one thing before you go, though. What’s with the corpsicle?”

“Oh crap, I almost forgot about him.” Gray groaned. “That’s Acnologia. He ambushed them some miles from here. Atlas and I barely got there in time to help finish him.”

“You were in a fight already?!” Lyon sputtered.

“So that’s what happened,” Erza said, “I was wondering why Sting and the others looked like they’d been in a fight.”

“How can you sound so calm?!” Lyon protested, peering at Gray more closely in search of injuries.

“Don’t be such a worrywart. I’m fine. You realize I’m a dragon now, right? Plus, all of us fought him together.”

Lyon wanted to ask more about what had happened, remembering how terrifying that black dragon had been, but quickly realized it was better for his sanity if he didn’t.

“You’re trying to tell me that man is the black dragon that attacked the village?” Lyon examined the body again, feeling decidedly skeptical about what he was being told, and wondering what on Earthland would have possessed them to bring the corpse back here.

“Yeah, he was one of the renegade dragon slayers. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing he was.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I think he might also be Juvia’s mysterious boyfriend. Her scent is mixed up with his.”

“Her scent? Okay, first of all, that’s creepy. How do you even know what she smells like?”

“I just do. I know what you smell like too.” Gray replied crossly, “Would you like me to describe it?”

“Oh no, poor Juvia! She was crazy about him.” Erza interjected, trying to keep them from derailing into their usual pointless bickering.

Lyon searched for any sign of the water mage and found her by the village entrance, watching along with a few of the newer guards.

This was going to break her heart.

“I had to bring him back once I caught her scent on him.”

Lyon immediately understood what his brother was getting at. Gray had wanted to shield Juvia from suffering through what he’d felt while Natsu was off fighting, even if it hurt her.

Erza also looked in Juvia’s direction and sighed. “Just get out of here. We’ll deal with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you’d never planned on telling her about any of this,” Erza gestured at Gray’s body. “Besides, if he really was her boyfriend-”

“Well, that’s a lot to handle already.”

It took Lyon a moment to grasp everything Erza hadn’t said, and he couldn’t agree more with her assessment. He remembered Juvia joyously telling him about how Logan was so interested in everything to do with her, especially her friends.

“Off you go,” Lyon made a shooing gesture. “We’ve got this.”

“Won’t she know about the dragon thing, anyway?”

“No, the slayers have always kept any information about the dragons to themselves.” Erza reminded him, “Even I knew very little, and I grew up with them. I see no reason for that to change, especially now that the dragons want to be forgotten.”

Gray peered at Natsu, who nodded his agreement with Erza.

“I’ll leave it to you then,” Gray said. “Can you tell her- can you tell her I’m sorry?”

“Sure.”

“Natsu,” Erza implored, “Don’t be afraid to call for us if you need anything. We’re still your family.”

Natsu’s expressions softened slightly, and he offered a half smile in response.

They watched the two dragons fly off, Lyon snickering when he saw how sloppy Gray’s flying looked compared to Natsu.

Maybe he should hold off on getting that ride.

His thoughts turned to Juvia. He’d always been suspicious about the man’s refusal to cross the lake to come see her, but she’d seemed so happy. And he’d been glad that she’d finally put her obsession with Gray behind her, so he’d turned a blind eye. And that had almost proved fatal to their friends.

He intended to be a better friend to her while she mourned.

0-0

While they had flown the short distance home, Gray had worried about how Natsu would react to seeing the remnants of the spell, but Atlas had obviously expected that. He’d already removed all vestiges of it from sight.

He’d also dispelled all the furniture in their room save for the bed, which was now large enough to fit both of them comfortably. Natsu’s scarf lay folded neatly on top of it. Gray couldn’t tell if the temperature spell had been removed, as the cave’s heat didn’t seem to bother him anymore.

He was grateful for Atlas' actions, but it was also a tad disconcerting. It felt like his previous life had been erased, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Natsu hadn’t said a word since they’d left and that worried him a bit as well, but he’d left it alone knowing he shouldn’t expect anything different. He had no idea how many memories Natsu had of Igneel in this cave, but Gray was sure he was thinking about all of them.

He could still recall how he’d felt immediately after Deliora had killed his parents, and while he knew Natsu had grieved for his mother, he’d never really known her. This type of grief was different. It would take time to heal, but that wasn’t a huge deal. After all, time was something they now had plenty of.

Natsu made no remark about their room being different, just walked in and curled up on the bed, with his head resting on the scarf. It would have been adorable if it wasn’t for the sadness in his eyes.

Lie with me?

It had been a long, emotionally draining day, and Gray had to admit he was exhausted as well.

Always.

Gray joined his husband on their bed, smiling happily when he felt Natsu coil their tails together. He cuddled him, murmuring sweet nothings and reveling in how perfectly they fit together. They soon fell into a deep sleep.

0-0

Gray woke before Natsu and, deciding to let him sleep a while longer, he ventured out of their room in search of food. Hearing an unfamiliar noise, he tracked it down to a room he’d never entered before. Inside it, Sting was packing up his and Rogue’s belongings into boxes.

“You guys are moving out?”

“Oh, hey man, you’re finally up.” Sting said, looking up from the box he was working on. “Yeah, it’d be kind of uncomfortable for Rogue to make the trek every day, unless he went, you know, shadow form.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Sting waved away his apology. “Anyway, we found an apartment to rent in town, close to that bakery Rogue likes and to the Guard Headquarters. We moved in a couple of days ago.”

“Wait, days? How long were we out?”

“About three days. It's been raining, so I hadn’t been able to grab our stuff yet.”

Three days?!

Gray knew they’d been tired, but damn. “Well, I guess that explains why I’m starving.”

Sting laughed, “You’d better get used to it, you have a dragon’s stomach now.”

“I have a dragon’s everything now,” Gray pointed out smugly.

“Including their sense of humor, I see.” Sting rolled his eyes.

“So what else did we miss while we slept?” Gray asked, leaning against the cave wall.

“Oh plenty. Let’s see,” Sting began counting off on his fingers. “Anna was reinstated as a Village Elder, and she and Irene got engaged. Gajeel and Wendy also rented apartments in town, they’re right next to each other though, so Oliver’s screwed. Speaking of which, he took over your spot in the Guard and Erza moved him into your old apartment.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I'm ever going to use it again. Did everyone else go back?”

“Most of us did. Rogue is going to help Erza part-time while he figures out what he wants to do. Wendy will help out in emergencies, but she’s mostly going to work at the orphanage with Anna and continue to train as a healer. Talos hasn’t had a powerful healer since Natsu’s mom died.”

“Hey, uhm, how is he?” Sting was still looking at his hands when he asked, but Gray could hear the worry in his voice.

“He’s still asleep. He didn’t say much when we got back.”

“I’m not all that surprised by that. He’d already run himself ragged even before we left. Plus, you know- everything. He must’ve been exhausted.”

“He was.”

It touched Gray to know that Sting still cared for Natsu, but he didn’t like discussing his mate with him. It was awkward, and he didn’t want to get caught in the middle of their fight. He’d already tried to get Natsu to talk to Sting before he’d left, and that was as far as he was willing to go. This was something they’d have to sort out for themselves.

So he tried to change the subject.

“Do you happen to know how Juvia’s doing?”

“Well, like I said, it rained nonstop for the past couple of days, but the sun came out today, so I guess she must be doing better. You should ask Irene or Erza. I heard they talked to her.”

That was something, at least, although he wasn’t sure if learning more about who Logan was would help. Gray just hoped that whoever she set her sights on next would be someone more deserving of her affections.

He wondered what they’d done with Acnologia’s body. He knew Atlas had wanted to incinerate it personally, he’d made that much painfully clear during their fight.

“Do you think we could talk for a minute?”

Gray blinked at him blankly. “I thought we were talking.”

“Yes, no, I mean talk about what happened. You know, what I did.”

To his credit, Sting didn’t look away, even though he was obviously uncomfortable.

“Sting, you don’t have to.” Gray tried to wave him away. He’d already forgiven him.

Now that everything was over, he didn’t see the need to carry a grudge. And if he was being honest, if it had been Natsu who had been in danger, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do anything different.

“Please, I need to apologize to you.” Sting begged, “I understand Natsu may never be able to forgive me, but I feel so terrible about how I fucked up your lives. Gods, and after I gave you that if you hurt him speech, too.”

“I honestly don’t think that there was anything else you could have done, and I know Natsu understands that too. If you need to hear it, I’ll be happy to say it. I forgive you. And who knows, maybe with time Natsu will too. But even if he never does, you need to stop torturing yourself and just move on from this whole fucking mess.”

“I know, I’m working on it. I already told Erza and the Elders about what I did.”

Gray sucked in a breath, “Oof, how did that go?”

“About as badly as I’d expected. The Elders wanted to kick me out of town, but Irene and Erza came out in my defense. So, I’m not the most popular guy in town right now, and I’ll be pulling the crappiest job details indefinitely, but I can stay and that’s all I could have hoped for.”

“That’s great.” Gray gave Sting a knowing glance. “This mate stuff is brutal, huh?”

“But it’s worth it.”

Gray couldn’t agree more.

“I’m gonna go figure out something to eat before you start looking edible.”

“Oh, one last thing!” Sting snapped his fingers. “The town is throwing a big celebration tomorrow night, and they wanted to invite the dragons to take part.”

“I’ll let them know.” Gray said, and with a wave he left to check on Natsu, smiling at Sting’s whispered Thank you.

It felt good to let it all go.

0-0

Rogue looked up as Sting entered their apartment, looking sweaty and disheveled and carrying far too many boxes. He got up to help, but Sting shook his head, holding the door open for someone Rogue couldn’t see as they were behind a stack of boxes.

It turned out to be Oliver, looking just as flushed as Sting. He uttered a cryptic ‘Don’t forget what you promised’ to Sting before waving goodbye to Rogue and heading out.

“What was that about?”

“Oh,” Sting chuckled nervously, “I sort of bribed him to help with the promise of distracting Gajeel so that he could spend some time with Wendy without him hovering. So I guess we’ll be having him over soon.”

He put the boxes down and collapsed on their sofa, and Rogue hurried to bring him a glass of cold water.

“You got the fridge working?”

“No, Lyon stopped by earlier and molded an enormous block of ice to keep in there for now.”

“This place is a shithole,” Sting sighed.

“It’s not so bad, and it’s close to the bakery,” Rogue reminded him.

“I’m sorry, love. It’s all my fault that no one would rent to us. I’m sure this place is nowhere near where you imagined us living.”

“Sting,” Rogue said, in fond exasperation. “We’ve lived in a cave for longer than I can remember. We’ve either slept on the ground or on magical furniture designed by a dragon who had zero concept of human comfort. This is fantastic. Besides, I told Erza how much the guy was charging us and I’ve never seen her leave a room so fast. I expect our rent will go down shortly.”

Sting gaped at him and then erupted into a fit of giggles, “Well, when you put it that way.”

“There is only one thing I require anywhere I live, and this place has it in spades.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Rogue didn’t know if Sting was being purposefully dense or not, but considering how rough the last couple of days had been for him, he didn’t mind boosting his ego a little.

“You, stupid. You’re all I need to be happy.”

“And wine?”

Rogue snorted, “Yes, you and wine. Speaking of which, Lyon dropped off a few bottles as a housewarming present when he came by. Would you like some?”

“Fuck, yeah!”

Rogue opened the fridge and pulled a bottle out quickly, not wanting to let too much warm air in. He didn’t bother with any cups, just removed the cork and brought the bottle back to the sofa with him.

Sting had already shifted on the sofa so he was lying on it, his legs slightly spread so Rogue could lie between them. He handed the bottle over while he got comfortable. Sting took a swig and handed it back.

“This is good.”

Rogue agreed once he’d tasted it, although given how little wine he’d been able to get his hands on since they’d left, he wouldn’t have been all that picky about quality.

Lyon, however, had always had excellent taste. Something Rogue had learned during nights spent sneaking drinks in the barracks while riding out some punishment or another.

It became a tradition of sorts for them, and it was one he hoped they could pick back up again, minus the punishments, of course.

Sting ran his fingers through Rogue’s hair, tugging on it and massaging his scalp as they continued to pass the bottle back and forth. It felt wonderful and the combination of that and the wine were making him feel incredibly relaxed.

“You know, it feels kind of strange.”

“What does?” Rogue murmured.

“Just lying here like this,” Sting said. “Not having to worry about being attacked, ambushed, or even seen. I like it.”

“Hmm, I do too. We can do anything we want now. Gives me a few ideas.”

“Oh yeah? Any in particular?”

Rogue heard Sting put the bottle down on the floor and grinned. He turned until he was facing his mate and leaned in for a kiss, sucking gently on Sting’s bottom lip before delving inside his parted lips.

Sting wrapped his arms around Rogue’s waist, pulling their bodies closer as they kissed.

“Hmm, I like that idea.” he said, chasing Rogue’s mouth as he pulled back to peer down at him mischievously.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got plenty more,” Rogue assured him. “And a lifetime to try them out.”

“I’ll be right here with you.” Sting promised solemnly, pulling Rogue back down for a kiss of his own.

0-0

Natsu stood at the entrance to Igneel’s room.

Atlas had told him his father had left him a letter, but he hadn’t worked up the courage to read it until now. He could see the long parchment on the desk, along with the writing supplies his father had favored. Natsu had so many memories of Igneel in this room, working away on a spell or writing messages for the dragons to take with them to the war front.

Knowing he’d never see him there again, well, it was crushing, but he couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Atlas wandered out of his room and eyed him with concern.

“No,” Natsu said, after giving it some thought. “This is something I need to do by myself.”

“Alright, but I’m right next door if you need me.”

Natsu knew that both Atlas and Gray were walking on eggshells around him at the moment, both worried about how he felt about them going along with Igneel’s plan and it saddened him to see it. He wasn’t quite feeling like himself, that much was true, but he loved both of them deeply and he knew that anything they might have done, it had been for his sake. And how could he really fault them for that?

To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find in that letter, but it felt like he was drowning in his loss and he wanted to find the strength to move forward.

And Igneel had always been good at giving him direction.

That wasn’t fair, though. At some point, he had to grow up and decide his own path, beginning with easing the minds of those he held dearest.

“I don’t blame you, you know.” Natsu said, “Although I wish you had told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Atlas’ fire dimmed, reflecting his mood, and he moved to enter his room.

“Hey,” Natsu called out, suddenly worried by how meekly Atlas had been acting. “You’re not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?”

“Always, kid. But I have no plans to go anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re stuck with me.”

Atlas’ smile was but a shadow of his usual one, but it heartened Natsu to see it.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Natsu grumbled, hugging his uncle as hard as he could, just to feel him against him.

Atlas hugged back just as hard until finally pulling away and gently shoving Natsu towards the entrance. “Get in there, already.”

Natsu took one step, then another, and everywhere he looked, the ghosts of his memories comforted him with their warmth.

0-0

“I thought I’d find you here.” Gray huffed, catching his breath from having climbed up the mountain.

“Did you seriously just climb up the mountain?” Natsu gawked at him. “Why didn’t you just fly?”

“Cause I suck.”

To his chagrin, Natsu didn’t disagree with him, but he laughed out loud and that made Gray’s hardship worth it.

Natsu patted the ground next to him invitingly. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Gray plopped next to his mate and gazed up at the sky. It was indeed beautiful to watch as the sun’s last rays mingled with the stars. But he was more concerned with Natsu and he studied him, trying to figure out what was going on. He didn’t feel any of the sadness that had been present earlier.

“Are you okay? You’re acting-” Gray struggled to find a word that wouldn’t be misconstrued.

“I take it Atlas told you I read the letter?”

“Yeah. Do you want to talk about it?”

Natsu nodded, staring off at the sky as he collected his thoughts.

“He told me about everything. Your struggles in the astral realm, how you and Atlas both fought with your decisions, and all the guilt he felt over his mistakes.”

“There was so much I didn’t know about him, and some of it hurt because I never understood how truly lonely he felt over the years. But most of all, what I saw in that letter was how much he loved me and how determined he was that I have the life that he only got the barest glimpses of.”

“And that’s what I want too. I want to live that life with you.”

Natsu rested his head on Gray’s shoulder. “I love you, Princess.”

“I still can’t believe you gave up everything to be with me. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“It wasn’t as hard as you might think.” Gray admitted, and it was true. Once he’d let go of his fears, it had been a simple decision to make. “I love you too, Natsu. So much it scares me sometimes. If there was any chance we could be together like this, I had to take it. I was just worried you’d hate me for it.”

“I could never hate you. You’ve always been everything to me.” Natsu lowered his head. “That’s why I could never really let you go, even when I knew it was what was best for you.”

Gray wasn’t having that. He lifted Natsu’s head so that he could look into his eyes, and see how serious he was. “And now, you’ll never have to.”

Natsu frowned, looking uncomfortable with his next words. “You know we can’t stay here forever, right? We’ll have to move to the island.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? I already figured as much, dummy.”

“We can come visit during the summer solstice, though. I’ll have to leave the island anyway.”

Now that he hadn’t counted on, and it pleased him to learn he’d get to see his friends at least once a year.

“Hey, do you think I’ll change too?”

“We won’t know until then, but it could happen.” Natsu grinned just thinking about it. “That'd be pretty fun. But we’ll definitely need to work on your flying just in case you don’t. That would be a pretty pathetic way for me to die.”

“Jerk,” Gray grumbled at Natsu’s teasing. “You know, I seem to remember you were pretty ticklish as a human, I wonder…”

He pounced, attempting to catch Natsu off guard.

Dragons, apparently, weren’t ticklish at all, but Gray didn’t care because soon they were wrestling around, nipping and scratching as they each sought to pin the other down. It was more difficult than he expected, but that was probably because neither one of them could seem to stop laughing.

And all Gray could think about, besides gaining the upper hand, was just how much he’d missed this. Playing together and just having fun, without the weight of the world constantly on their shoulders. For the first time since Natsu had left him to go fight, he finally felt like everything was going to turn out alright.

They continued until they were both laid on their backs, spent and out of breath.

“I’m so going to get you next time, Flame Brain.” Gray panted, repeating a taunt as familiar as it was empty.

“In your dreams, Ice Princess.” Natsu said with his usual fanged grin.

Gray rolled onto his belly, his attention caught by a movement in the sky. “Hey, is that a shooting star? Hurry, make a wish.”

“I have nothing left to wish for.” Natsu said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he righted himself and gazed at Gray with awe.

Stupid romantic dragon!

He’d never tire of the way Natsu always knew exactly what to say to make him feel all flustered.

Gray draped his body over Natsu’s, hugging him to his chest so that he wouldn’t see the blood he could feel rising to his face. He’d recently discovered that his favorite thing about being a dragon was his tail. He loved how it instinctively sought Natsu’s whenever they touched, just as it did now.

Sitting here, doing nothing more than staring at the stars, it was perfection.

It had taken them years, more than Gray cared to remember. Both of them had made mistakes, but against all odds, they had been granted a second chance to find their home in each other.

And they lived happily ever after…

THE END

Thank you for reading!

#fairy tail #gratsu #stingue #update #the red dragon fanfic #final chapter

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thecagedsong · 3 years

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Forgotten Light Chapter 16: Djinni

A/N: Posting this now so I don’t accidentally go back on my word and post the Tess chapter. Seth is up to Shenanagains of the life-threatening sort, just as he ought to be. Baby tries so hard.

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16

Chapter 15: Djinni

Unfortunately, they could not leave that afternoon to investigate the poisoned pool like was planned, as the Triclops didn’t give them an opportunity. It spent the whole afternoon and evening swinging an uprooted tree back and forth around the confines of their little sanctuary.

“All right,” Seth said, that night, “Need a new plan.”

“The plan is to get some sleep and try again in the morning. This island is big, he’ll go somewhere else eventually,” Warren said, rubbing his eyes, “You’re on Fablehaven’s timezone, right? No way you aren’t exhausted.”

“But the longer we wait to get a good look at the pool, the more likely we lose our clues,” Seth pleaded.

“Believe us Seth,” Vanessa said, “We know and we don’t like this. If it is still there in the morning, we’ll change the plan so that Warren and I act as decoys, luring the triclops away so your group can investigate. Preserves are too dangerous at night if it can be avoided.”

“Maybe too dangerous for you,” Seth scoffed.

“I understand your frustration,” Vanessa said, “I love Kendra too, and at least she knows that you are her brother. I will not face her having lost her brother, the only one she knows even a little bit, to preventable dangers. Sleep. I have potions for you if you need it.”

Seth looked behind her to Warren, who gave him a warning look that his arguing was at an end. He looked back at Vanessa’s dark eyes and firm set features.

“Fine,” Seth said. “I’ll take a sleeping potion, but not one that knocks me out completely.”

“More of a drowsy solution, I promise,” Vanessa said, going to her dufflebag. She mixed some powders and fruit juice, and held it out, “It will not work right away, so you can get back to your room, even if you drink it now.”

Seth tilted his head, “Hey, if you controlled me in my sleep, could you use my shadowcharmer abilities? Shadewalking, speaking to the undead, that kind of stuff?”

Vanessa didn’t answer until he drank the potion, then said, “I do not know. I have controlled wizards and felt their magical cores, but without their knowledge of spellcraft, I was unable to use their magic. Magic is not for the use of mortals. The best comparison would have been controlling Kendra, but her mind was protected, and I could not seize her. I would have to re-bite you and attempt, as Bracken broke off our previous connection. I could not attempt to guess, Seth, and I won’t experiment with you. If your abilities are needed, I trust you to use them well, as I hope you trust me to keep you safe during the attempt.”

“That’s actually really touching, I’m touched Vanessa,” Seth said, holding a hand over his heart, “I must be the most unique thing you aren’t interested in biting.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, “I have bitten creatures of the dark, and they all taste nasty. Creature of the shadows, and teenage boy? That is a very easy pass.”

“You actually taste people when you bite them?” Seth asked, “Who tasted the best? Was it Kendra? I bet it was Kendra. I bit her once when we were kids.”

“And we’re done with that conversation,” Warren said, stopping Vanessa from answering. “Forever. Off to bed before the drowsy hits, scoot.”

“What? You don’t want to know if you tasted better or worse than—” Vanessa started teasing, and Seth was quick to back out of that conversation. Fourteen years old, and he did not need to know biting preferences for Vanessa, and how her boyfriend ranked.

Seth fell asleep, and woke up to the moon hitting his face, almost blinding. He felt refreshed and awake, not a hint of drowsy. It was rare he woke up like this, normally Kendra was awake first. Seth sat up. Or, he tried too, but sleeping in a hammock made sitting up a test of abdominal muscles. He rolled out of his hammock, took note that Tanu was sleeping across from him, Calvin wrapped up in a handkerchief for a blanket on the windowsill, and Seth quietly made his way out of the hut.

He wandered until he realized that the whispers of the undead were getting louder. Then he walked with a purpose up spiral stairs and across rope bridges he stopped before a door carved into what had to be the biggest tree in existence. It felt like the Blackwell, though a little less desperate. Instead of suffering pleas, there were questions about directions.

Left here, and again…or was it right?

A thousand repetitions of this circle should get me out…

Does wandering endlessly truly break up the monotony of eternal existence?

“I see…this is what it means to be a shadow charmer,” Savani’s voice broke his listening, and he saw the woman step onto the platform behind him.

“Yep, walking around in the middle of the night to figure out where the undead are,” Seth said. “And your excuse?”

Savani held up a bracelet of three large shells and several smaller shells, “We have three caretaker homes at this preserve, each designed to better weather certain seasons. This is the winter quarter, even though I should have welcomed you in the spring mansion. This bracelet alerts me whenever someone or something approaches one of the prisons at any of the homes, and will transport me to interfere. I assume you were not planning on releasing these entities.”

“No, just wanted to know where they are,” Seth said, looking back at the door, “They sound different than most of the undead. Like they’re…wandering. They think they are going somewhere.”

“The spirits here are trapped by a maze, just as much as they are by the barrier,” Savani said. “My people learned how to draw unwanted entities into certain designs, tricking them into wandering those corridors rather than through the village. It is a complicated magic, but one that does not require a wizard if you have the right blood and soul.”

“So like, at least they get puzzle books with their prison sentence, I approve,” Seth said, “They sound a little less miserable than the undead usually do.”

“Are you familiar with Djinni?” Savani asked.

“Genies?” Seth said, the name sounding familiar, “A little. My other Grandma tried to make a deal with one, it got to ask her three questions she had to answer truthfully. When she refused to answer one, the Genie turned her into a chicken.”

“I lost one of my staff to similar circumstances concerning the Djinni that rests just inside this door. A spirit that wandered here from the mainland; they were not so easily trapped by our mazes, but fell remarkably easily to four walls,” she said, thinking, “My sister, Alma, engaged in the question game, three for three, taking turns, and learned that the sunset pearl had been taken off the preserve before Djinni asked how to unweave spirit mazes and she refused to answer.”

“They only know about stuff inside the preserve right?” Seth asked.

“Only when asked can she gain access to her sight, which extends to past and a little into the future,” Savani said. “My sister’s remaining questions that she could not ask were about who took the sunset pearl, and the location of the Weki flute that soothes the triclops.”

“I can go in and ask her,” Seth volunteered.

Savani laughed, “I could never ask you to go in with so little preparation!”

“Seems to me everyone fails at the game because they had too much preparation,” Seth said. “You need to let your non-local idiot walk in with absolutely no preparation. I don’t know anything about this preserve or what might free her. Sure I know some secrets, but nothing that would help her get free. And it’s just information. She can’t ask me to do things for her, right?”

“The young always risk their lives for so little,” Savani said, shaking her with a quiet laugh. “Even if I were willing to lose another ally to that monster after losing my sister, something I’m sure you understand, none of your protectors would let you go over them.”

“That’s why we do it here and now,” Seth said, “I’ve negotiated with tougher customers than this. I’ve talked down both the Totem Wall and the Singing Sisters. And I convinced a centaur to let me ride on his back. I’m pretty talented at walking away from these things.”

“That is impressive,” Savani said, “But even with those dangerous consultations in your past, our situation is not so risky. And wandering towards the most secure prison at night alone does not convince me that you have the discipline to converse with this creature. Any word out of your mouth that is not the answer the answer to her question after you enter her chamber is a lie and gives her freedom to leave. You strike me as the sarcastic sort, and that will get you killed.”

“Yeah, some of my wraith friends didn’t get my jokes either,” Seth said, remembering Whiner. “I suppose knock-knock jokes are out?”

“Most definitely,” Savani said, “You are refreshing to speak to. Much like Warren, but less burdened. Does the chill of this dungeon not bother you?”

“Chill?” Seth asked, looking around, “It’s been ridiculously hot since we got here. It finally feels nice.”

“The unnatural dread make many fail to converse with the Djinni,” Savani said thoughtfully. “After speaking, I am a bit more inclined to let you try with the Djinni, and hold back my assent almost solely on the rifts I do not wish to cause with the rest of our allies. Should the triclops still haunt us when they awake, I will allow you to present this plan as an option to them.”

“Sounds like permission to me,” Seth said. He spun and grasped the door handle. In that touch, he found himself on the opposite side of door. Apparently just touching the doorknob was enough to get a mortal inside the prison, though he was willing to bet it would take the caretaker to get out. There was a single door to his right, and beyond that a spiral staircase covered with woven mats of crazy designs. He felt the presence of wraiths and the undead just before him, and it took a bit to figure out that they were trapped inside the mats.

Then a phantom stumbled up the stairs, and he realized not all of them were trapped in mats. Just to his left was a door with another handle and no hinges.

Expecting it this time, Seth reached out and grasped the handle.

“Oh? Two visitors so close together after a century of silence,” the Djinni said. “A baby shadow charmer, no less. I assume you are here to play my riddle game like that last one.”

The Djinni was surprisingly pretty. Usually Kendra got the pretty ones, and he got the cool ones who were half skeleton half putrid guts. The flowing pink dress threw him for a second. But she had white skin, red eyes, and choppy blue hair. Her skin was smooth, except for the bags under her eyes, and her hair looked like it could use a good washing.

Seth nodded to the Djinni’s question.

Then he breathed in, and a hand came up over his mouth to stop him from gagging. His eyes left the Djinni to the ground next to her, covered partially by her cloak. For some reason, when Savani said her sister had been killed by the Djinni, he had never imagined what had happened to her sister’s body. This wasn’t like the zombie farm, or even when Coulter died in his arms. The body was weeks decayed. Skin and organs were liquifying and leeking over the floor, bones starting to jut out on the ribcage and he could only be glad he couldn’t see Savanni’s sister’s face.

“I have a fondness for little adventurers,” the Djinni said with a rosy smile, watching him watch the body. She even threw in a casual caress of her last victim. “I will recite the rules for you if you nod now.”

Seth nodded, suddenly regretting everything. He made himself focus on the Djinni.

“Very well, my rules are simple,” she said, standing up but still leaning against the wall of her prison cell, “You may only speak the answers to my questions and questions of your own. You have as much time as you need to answer. Should you speak else, I may extract a price from you for disturbing me, and as you can see, it includes killing you. Should you speak a lie, I am freed from my prison and will enjoy wrecking the meager protections left to this house on my way out. My sight it limited to this preserve, but it extends to everywhere in this preserve and all the way through the past, and twenty-eight days into the future. You may indicate you are unsatisfied with my answer, but may not ask follow-up questions, I can do the same. Upon being satisfied with my final answer, you will be teleported out of my diminutive abode. Nod if you are ready to begin, little adventurer.”

Simple rules. Follow the rules, and they can’t touch you. He would just have to think through his answers before speaking. Despite what Kendra says, he can think before talking. At least, that’s what Kendra used to say, and probably wouldn’t take long to say again. Seth nodded and made himself remove his hands and accept the smell. The smell wasn’t worse than the zombie farm, even if the body was.

“Then I, Skamboli, ask this for my first question: what are the ways out of my confinement that you know about?” she asked.

Seth thought for a minute, going over each way he thought might work.

“I only know a few,” Seth said slowly, “if I tell a lie, you are free. I assume that if the caretaker released you, you could go free. I don’t know for sure, but I assume if someone busted down your door from the outside, you would probably be freed. Burned the tree prison down, though you might die that way. And…a trained shadow charmer, not me, could probably unlock your door. People have told me that once I learn control over my powers, I can undo locks, but I don’t know how yet.”

Skamboli waited, but nothing happened. “Very honest, I approve. Though a wiser adventurer would not volunteer information about their weaknesses. You may ask your first question.”

Better ask Savani’s questions first. “Who took the sunset pearl?”

Her red eyes flashed white for a second then went back to red. “The dark unicorn goes by many names, but you know him as Ronodin. He stole the pearl on his first visit to this sanctuary.”

That was bad and good. Bad, because Ronodin likely put it where he was keeping Kendra, on the Phantom Island, but good because it narrowed their goals and they were already working on getting to the Phantom Isle anyway. Maybe he could use the horn to send a message to Bracken to pick up the pearl on his way out with Kendra?

Seth nodded at the Djinni, hopefully indicating he was satisfied with her answer. Not looking at the body. She never said he could verbally say if he was satisfied, just dis-satisfied, and didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to talk more than he had to.

“Is there any questions I could ask that you would be unwilling to answer?” Skamboli said. This was the question that left grandma laying eggs for months.

Again, Seth thought carefully.

“Plenty of things I wouldn’t want to answer,” Seth decided, “Embarrassing moments, secrets about our plans against the dragons in the upcoming dragon war that I promised not to share, too much information about my friends and family. Secrets that would result in my death if I shared them with you due to other promises I have made. Really don’t want to share that one, it wouldn’t benefit you at all and would end up with me dead. That one is about my dealings with the Singing Sisters, and wouldn’t interest you at all, so please don’t ask that one. But I would share any of it, if you asked, because I need to take the answers to my questions back to my friends.”

Skamboli waited, then nodded at Seth. Seth hesitated for a moment, because the name of the flute Savani mentioned five minutes ago was already lost from his head. He needed a minute to carefully pick his words.

“Where is the magic flute that can soothe the currently rampaging triclops?” Seth asked at last.

Again, her eyes flashed a blinding white.

“The Weki flute is buried amongst the treasure of the Fairy Queen’s shrine on this island,” Skamboli said.

Uggh, normally they left the fairy shrine stuff to Kendra, though the Fairy King might let him take something from there. Or maybe getting Fairy Struck Tess to ask would be better. Still, much better news than the flute being lost forever. Seth nodded.

“What would convince you to free me from my prison, little adventurer?” she asked, sounding tired.

Seth had not expected that question. What would convince him to free a dangerous being? He took longer to think through his answer to this one than any other. The smell and taste of the last life she had taken all around him, so much worse than the zombie farm.

“A sincere and binding promise to never hurt another sentient being again,” Seth said, at last, and his eyes finally went back to the body. He saw the swollen, distorted face of Savani’s sister, and knew he wouldn’t ever forget it. “But from everything I know, that is against your very nature and an impossible promise to keep.” He looked away and back at her, “Still, if you were able to convince me you’d do that? I’d do my best to help you. I would do my best to convince Savani that you won’t attack her, help find a nice new lair for you somewhere on this preserve. You could have been a lot meaner, a lot stricter and done more to trip me up, but you didn’t, which makes me like you. I have been double crossed a lot in my life though, so I refuse to free you on anything less than a perfect, binding promise.”

Skamboli waited, then nodded, a small smile on her lips. Now it was time for the real reason he had jumped into this encounter, the information that would make it all worth it. He thought over his question a couple of times, looking for loopholes or ways to get more information out of it, and asked.

“Where will my sister Kendra be on the preserve in the next twenty-eight days?”

Again, her eyes flashed white, though this time they softened slowly back to their red. “The future is not certain, but many futures show Kendra at this preserve in 77 hours and making her way to the sacred pool. She will venture into the domain of a wraith, then leave. It grows hazier, but Kendra will also visit the Bridge Cove, then Baga Lao sometime after that. Leaving Baga Lao, she does not return within the time of my sight.”

Kendra. Here. Seth almost said something, almost said thank you, then stopped himself with a snap of his jaw. He nodded.

“That concludes my little game. Congrats, you are the first to pass without retribution in a while. You are right, I cannot promise not to harm in exchange for my freedom. Still, this has been quite entertaining, and in Jighandi even. You have goodness in you, little adventurer, try not to die too quickly on this preserve.”

Seth was transported out. Savani was standing in the little hallway, arms folded, when he appeared. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit

Savani forcibly shoved him out of the prison, where Grandma was waiting for him.

“So, good news, I wisely used my resources and found out vital information on where Kendra is going to be, as well as the sunset pearl and the flute to stop the triclops” Seth said. “Bad news, I’m going to throw up.”

Seth rushed to the edge of the platform and started heaving, losing the dinner he had eaten.

“I understand now what Ruth and Stan warned me when letting you out of my sight,” Grandma Larsen said, putting a hand on his back. “Of all the trouble I was watching out for, you purposefully going to chat up a djinni never even crossed my mind.”

Tears leaked out of his eyes as he threw up some more. It was horrible, he’d thought that after everything, after regularly conversing with the undead for years, after seeing so many people die, he would never loose his stomach over something like a dead body. But the smell…

…he gagged some more, even though there was nothing left. He was sticky and gross and the humidity made it feel like the vomit was sticking to him more than he knew it was. Eventually a glass of water was offered, and he used it to rinse his mouth. He nodded his thanks at Savani, and accepted the wet towel as well.

His breathing evened out and he said, “For Kendra. I did it for Kendra.”

“Seth, you are part of a team now,” Grandma said, “And you aren’t leading things here like you were back at Wyrmroost. We work together, or not at all. Savani told you she didn’t want you to speak to the Djinni, and you disregarded her. This is her home, hers to protect, and you violated that trust. How is what you did any different than Knox going into the dungeons with Tess to check out the barrel?”

“Savani said the only reason she didn’t want me to talk to the Djinni was that she worried about setting off everyone’s ‘protect Seth’ sensors,” Seth said, not looking her in the eye, “I thought I figured it out, but you’re right, I didn’t know, I wasn’t ready. It’s what I thought I had to do, and I’m sorry.” Savani’s sister’s body flashed in his mind again, the way Skamboli stroked sagging flesh, and he pressed his face into the towel.

He was stronger and braver than this. He was. He had proved it over and over, and he’d seen people die. He’d seen his sister poison herself into a frothing, empty shell. He’d seen battle wounds from the battle of Zzyzx.

This shouldn’t be worse than that, but it was.

Grandma sighed and rubbed his back. “What happened? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” Seth said, pulling himself to his feet. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. It just…I wasn’t prepared. I promise I won’t act on my own again.”

“That is not the answer to my question,” Grandma scolded, standing as well, “I don’t care about how Ruth and Stan let you run about and keep secrets, and I don’t care about what you’ve seen before. We are going to confront a demon for training tomorrow, and you have been unsettled and you have been reckless, so we are going to talk until I trust that you can handle what’s going to happen.”

“It doesn’t matter if I talk about it or not,” Seth said, “We need to get me trained so I can get to the Phantom Isle, and we need to do it fast. I can handle a demon, I won’t lose it like that again.”

“Seth, Honey,” Grandma said, and she pulled him into a hug he resisted, “Even those of us who have done dangerous missions on magical preserves our entire lives need people to talk to. People to trust. Time to break down. Mortals aren’t meant for the kind of exposure you and your sister have been through. Special abilities or not. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, I mean it,” Seth said, and his eyes found Savani over Grandma’s shoulders, who had been watching patiently the entire time. “It wasn’t worse than seeing Kendra’s stingbulb kill herself, and I got through that, so I’m okay.”

“Shadow charmers have a reputation,” Savani said quietly, “Of moving and operating in the dark, with demons who seal their secrets sworn in blood. I would recommend letting things come to light, if you can. If you are trying to spare me, I think I have guessed what unsettled you. I had hoped this Djinni to favor the clean and quick kill, but we knew the consequences.”

“I’m sorry,” Seth said, hoping she understood the extent of his apology.

“Ahh,” Grandma said releasing him, “Death. You have dealt far too much with loved ones and friends dying for your age, and you have dealt much with those long dead, the process in between is…unpleasant, unsettling.”

“It smelled really bad,” Seth admitted, closing his eyes and seeing the body all over again. “Worse than the zombie farm. I don’t know how I breathed, much less talked. It was just…everywhere in that small cell. I won’t try something like that again, not without a lot more preparation and talking it out with everyone.”

Savani said nothing for a long moment, “You make raising my own son look easy, Seth Sorenson. I believe your sincere desires, though it will take a while for me to trust your restraint. Gloria, remain by Seth’s side for the remainder of his stay here. He does not understand our magic, and while that saved him from knowing anything that could help the Djinni, it also made him dangerous to the integrity of the Woven Prison.”

“That is acceptable,” Grandma said.

Savani sighed, and shook her head, “That being said, the information you gathered is invaluable and I am also in your debt for asking. I was listening at the door and recorded everything. We will work on securing the flute, preparing for Ronodin’s return, and locating the Sunset Pearl. We will have much to discuss when the rest of our companions awake.”

Grandma nodded, “I agree, come Seth. There is still three hours until dawn, and we need what rest we can, even if sleep is gone. You will be sleeping in my room from now on.”

Seth winced, but it was hardly the worst punishment he could have gotten. Probably better than he should have gotten. The women turned to leave.

Seth went to the room his Grandmother had been using, to laid down in the second bed, while Grandma Larsen curled up in hers. No more hammock after tonight. He thought he had been past his impulse issues. He had been careful at Wyrmroost to not take unnecessary risks, to consult Kendra in most things, and he had felt good. Like he had learned his lesson and finally grown into someone worth trusting with important stuff.

Now it felt like he was back to square one. Back to being the dumb kid that captured fairies overnight and trusted demons.

Seth missed his sister.

#Forgotten Light #Fablehaven #Dragonwatch #Seth Sorenson #Finally I don't start a chapter with a handwritten note #baby seth #tw: gore #I guess #graphic description of a decaying body

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novasintheroom · 4 years

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A Great Idea - Leo x Reader

It’s a quiet sort of night in New York. Manhattan is still busy and loud, but a certain gold calm falls over the city. The distance from the metropolitan area helps too. The skyline looks beautiful from your little rented shack on Long Island, and even better on the hammock in front of it, swinging side to side with the breeze and Leo’s leg rocking it. The blanket on your laps is both to keep warm, and cover him if a nosy passerby looks a bit too close. But the day’s light is fading above, and he is safer each passing minute as shadows cover the land.

Murmurs pass between you. Kisses. A calm that is needed – you, after a long day of college and work, and him just before he starts his patrol with his brothers. It isn’t the weekend yet; you’ll both have to wait three more days ‘til you can enjoy each other’s company without a time limit. But this is still nice. The creaking of hammock ropes against tree bark, the chill of almost-November air, a touch of smoky incense that sticks to the crook of his neck – it’s wonderful.

It’s nice to have his arms around you. To have him near. A year of dating, of shy how-do-I-do-this’s together, of making this strange and unique relationship work. Even as he talks about Mikey’s new obsession of finding a mini El Dorado somewhere in the sewers, and what he thinks the Foot Clan are planning in Brooklyn, you’re amazed that someone like him would even consider looking your way. Someone as strong, and kind, and intelligent as him? You could never hope for better. Eyes like his shouldn’t be that blue.

A feeling overcomes you – certainty. Want. Courage. His voice rises and falls with his next story, but you don’t hear it. And the question creeps up your throat before you can shove it back down, full of all the butterflies and wide-eyed stares in the morning when you look in the mirror and realize wow, I’m screwed: “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

It’s quiet that echoes back. And if it wasn’t for the skip in his swinging leg, you’d have thought he didn’t hear you. The crickets chirp, fireflies blink. His thumb rubs circles on the bit of exposed skin on your hip. A hiccup of time makes you clarify, “You and me, I mean,” like it could mean anything else.

That courage you felt shrivels with each silent second passing. You’re about to apologize, to say it was stupid, that he doesn’t have to answer, when he says, “I think about it a lot more than I should.”

Well, that’s an interesting answer. A breeze drifts by. You use it as an excuse to press closer, to hide your heating cheeks in his side. “Than you ‘should?’ What does that mean?”

Leo hums, tapping a finger on your arm. “I…didn’t expect to ever get that far. In my life, I mean. Always felt like something I couldn’t say out loud if I wanted it to come true.”

You put your chin on his chest, and he smiles at the way your head bobs when you say, “Like a birthday wish?”

He brushes the hair out of your face, taking out a stray leaf that fell in it at some point. “Something like that. I just remember all the times I’d say I found food growing up, and then have one of my brothers take it and stuff it in his mouth before I could get a bite. Or when Donnie says something’s working and then it blows up in his face. I guess I’m superstitious about good things happening; I already pushed my luck asking you out.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out.”

Lips press against yours for that answer.

But his breath fans over your face when he pulls away, and his eyes squint, head ducking. “I think about what it would be like seeing you every day instead of waiting for you to visit over the weekend. And it’d be nice to talk with you whenever…Not have to worry about you all the way out here while I’m in Manhattan.”

“My cooking’s pretty good too. That’s Grade-A wife material if I’ve ever seen it.”

He smiles, rolling his eyes. “I know, I’m getting a gut from eating it too much!”

“I don’t think that’s how your biology works, but go off.” A knuckle knocks on his flat plastron. He pulls you closer with a laugh. It always feels so good to make him laugh. You’d love to keep doing it…Chin back on his chest, you search his blue, blue eyes for hesitancy, or excitement. Both are there. “I think you’d make a pretty good husband.”

His leg twitches, and the hammock swings. “You’d make the best wife.”

Maybe you could have said more. There was a lot to say. But the radio at Leo’s shoulder cracks to life, and Raph’s fuzzy voice asks, “Hey, you on your way back? I’m ready to knock Mikey out; he got a hold of a bag of marshmallows and is bouncing off the walls.”

Leo groans. Muttering “how’d he find the stash,” he clicks back, “Yeah, just waiting for the train at Glen Head. You guys wanna meet me in Queens?”

Donnie chimes in. “We can head over to Brooklyn after; look into that Foot Clan stuff.”

“Good idea.” His hand rests on your head, playing with your hair. They say goodbye, and he looks at you. A sigh comes and goes. “Guess I better head out.”

“Mm.” Neither of you move. It feels weird to, after everything. It’s easier to watch one another; take in these last few moments before having to part. There’s a lot to say…so much to say. But there isn’t enough time tonight for that. So, patting his arm, you swing your leg off the hammock. “C’mon, you need to head out before Donnie starts tracking you.”

He tries to snatch you back – stay, just a little longer – but his sense of duty kicks back in, and he’s up and standing a second later. The katanas leaning on one of the trees are picked up, sheathed back onto his shell, and his hand takes yours to walk the small distance to the forest by the road.

You’re okay to let it go for now. But then his voice asks, through the dark and fireflies, “So…are we gonna talk about it anymore?”

His voice is so quiet and shy, you’re taken aback. “Us getting married?” At his nod, you ask, “Why? Do you not want to?”

“No I…just really like the idea. Do you like it?” He sucks at his teeth. “I mean, you’d have to live in the sewers probably, and I can’t go places with you like other guys. Can we have kids? Do you want kids? Where would we even get married? Are you sure you want to?”

“Leo,” you laugh, “calm down.” Before the treeline, you stop. He’s tall, but his shoulders are hunched; vulnerable. So many things haven’t gone his way in life. Feelings aren’t his forte, but the hope in his eyes is just overwhelming. This is the side of Leonardo only you get to see – walls down, hoping for good things to come. He could ask for the moon, and you’d figure out some way to give it to him – forget NASA and international laws.

You’re so screwed.

“Leo,” it’s a whisper, and he shivers, “If I wasn’t completely sure I love the idea of marrying you, I wouldn’t bring it up.”

He has to take some breaths. Seems you knocked the wind out of him. A small sound escapes – a trembling kind of growl, a churr – before he catches it and clears his throat. His arm bumps yours when you laugh. “Good. Good, I…” All he can do is nod. Squeeze your hand.

You go on your tiptoes and steal a kiss. “You need to go. We’ll talk about it. I promise.”

It’s like he’s shaken awake. He blinks, taking a step for the trees and for the train station miles away. Before he lets go, he turns back with a smile. “We’re still on for Friday?”

“Yup, I’ll be over around five-thirty.”

“What about Saturday?”

“I mean, I was planning on it? That’s what we usually do.”

“And Sunday?”

Hands to hips, you laughed, “Leo, I’d tell you if something came up.”

He smiles, pulling you close. “What about the rest of our lives?”

Oh. He’s being cheesy. The blush rising in your cheeks is hard to hide. “Oh don’t start that, you’re making it weird.”

Still, he laughs. A final kiss goodbye, and he’s gone, shooting through the trees to catch the train to Queens. You stay there, watching the shadows before turning inside when a cold wind blows past. It’s quiet in your home, small and lonely now that Leo left. Yet, your heart feels golden, bright. Him, your husband. And you his wife.

That sounds like a great idea.

#oof im rusty #but it felt good to write this out lol #leo x reader #leonardo x reader #tmnt x reader #reader insert #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #my writing #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader

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nonbinarychaoticstupid · 3 years

Note

do 41 for catradora

ghost/living person au

behold! another thing i banged out and didn’t edit! kjjdnjjhdn this was fun! i decided to call it hello, my old heart after this song because i am cruel

(also... i think after i write the sequel bc i can’t just leave it like that i might expand this at some point or maybe write multiple versions? i like this a lot jejtnjrtnrnnm)

Adora doesn’t remember most of her childhood. Or much after that, really.

Everything up to the age of 18 is a... haze. Memories of life, of friends, of her identity, are either buried so deep she has to struggle to find them, or gone entirely. Faces, names, places, all gone somewhere she can’t follow.

It’s a given at this point, another piece of the debris of a life her carers left her with. She can’t fix it, and she can function without knowing her neighbour’s favourite colour, so why does it matter? It doesn’t hinder her too much, nor does it really make an impact on her functionality. It does annoy her, though, for reasons she can’t really explain.

There are things left behind in the fog of memory she... needs. Things that might explain this hole in heart, this deadening sense of loss that seems to follow her everywhere now. Things that might make everything make sense again.

Specifically, there’s... a memory of the traces of a memory. Someone Adora hurt, or someone who hurt Adora, or maybe both. And the girl who walked by her side for the first 18 years of her life, the girl who vanished at the drop of a hat, the girl she didn’t allow herself to grieve for.

She knows how important the girl was to her. And missing her, dreaming about her without knowing why, hurts more than the loss. There’s something... something between them she has to fix. And it might hold the key to everything.

If she could remember, if she could find those shattered memories and piece them back together, she might remember why they took her past from her, and why Catra vanished. Why Catra died.

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

She doesn’t know exactly why she came here, to the shell of the abandoned home on the hillside. Maybe because it holds her last memory of a memory of Catra, alive and standing in front of her, laughing as she turns to push the door open. Maybe because it’s where she feels her memories... return, in whatever capacity they are able to,

It’s darker than she remembers it. The hole in the roof has since been covered with tarpaulin and framed with a web of crumbling scaffolding, leaving dark, angular shadows climbing the walls and forming ominous shapes on the floor. Adora couldn’t begin to try and decipher the patterns there if she tried.

If she focuses, she can trace the paths they left in the dust together as kids, winding around battered marble columns and up the staircases and back down again, like trails in the snow.

Like...

Adora pushes back the tears. Why am I crying? What is it about this place that-

Oh.

A memory. Of... her.

“You’re trying to remember me, aren’t you? Stars, I’m so sorry, Adora.”

If she focuses, she can remember the first day they came here together, a pair of awkward 14 year olds with too much energy and too little time, and hid in the shadow of the stairs on the left, waiting for the night to pass. The details are blurred together, half-buried under a white haze, but if Adora tries, maybe she can -

She can’t.

“You can. If you want, you can. What they did to you - it isn’t permanent. You can break out of it if you try. It’ll hurt, but you can. I did.”

She shakes the - the memory (a memory, nothing else - something she’ll have to sit and examine later) off.

Adora picks her way across the floor, careful not to disturb the spiderweb of shadows. It feels... familiar, instinctual. Something more than muscle memory. Almost... almost like she’s being guided by the past she can’t reach.

There are memories here. Adora can feel them in the back of her mind, pushing her gently forwards, urging her on.

She makes her way into the centre of the main hall of the building - it was a mansion once, she realises - and tries to picture it as it was before - well-lit, grand, beautiful. She tries to see it how Catra would have (because she knows how much she loved this place, even if she doesn’t remember it), filled with stars and candles.

Adora switches off the torch and stretches out her hands, as though feeling her way forward, except there’s nothing to touch but air. And it feels... heavy. Like she’s being watched.

Except there’s no-one here. She’s alone.

I’m alone. I’m alone... right?

“No.”

A growing feeling of terror rises, unbidden, in her chest, and she whirls around, brandishing the torch in front of her like some sort of sword, doing her best to clamp down on the cry building in her throat.

Nobody. Nobody’s there.

“I am. I’m right here. Adora, I’m right here -”

Adora lets her shoulders drop. She feels... defeated, for some reason. Empty.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. And she can’t leave until something happens. She can’t leave until - until she gets her answers.

“What answers do you want, princess?”

Okay, the voice was definitely real that time.

Adora spins around again, nearly dropping the torch, and - there she is. Or rather, a memory of her - a girl no older than seven, with a tangle of dark hair and vivid heterochromatic eyes, her outline flickering and fading and -

She reaches out to touch her - and is met with empty air. The girl meets her eyes, and something in them looks so desperate that it makes her breath catch in her lungs, and then she just - vanishes. Melts into nothing.

She almost cries out. Almost fucking sobs. Because she was right there, all the answers could have been within her reach, and she just watched the girl she almost remembers melt into dust-

“Not her,” the voice tells her gently. “She’s not real. She used to be, but she isn’t now.”

Adora shakes her head and doesn’t answer.

“There are more of them here. Memories. Kinda.”

“What happened to her?” Adora whispers. They’re the first words she’s spoken in a while, and her voice sounds disjointed and out of place, echoing over and over down the hallways.

Something settles on her shoulder (at least, she thinks it does). “She’s... a fragment. That’s the only way I can think of describing it.” A laugh, one she... recognises. “I think they’re all part of the memories they took from you. They’re shadows. I’m the only real one. Well, real-ish.”

“What do you mean?”

“Turn around.”

Her limbs don’t want to co-operate. Because I’m afraid of what I might see.

It takes a monumental effort to get to herself to rise, turn inch by inch, raise her eyes past the cracked floorboards. It takes even more to comprehend what she’s seeing.

“Hey, Adora.”

Catra. It’s - Catra.

Catra - but not. Not quite the girl she watched disappear from her memories three years ago. Her eyes are slightly hollower, her hair is shorter, and she’s... dead.

Very obviously dead, too. It’s not like Adora could miss a stab wound in the front of her shirt.

But... but she’s there, she’s standing right in front of her, wearing an infuriatingly familiar half-smile, and she wants to cry -

“Ca... Catra?”

Her smile widens. “That’s me.”

“You’re here,” she whispers, and it comes out as more of a sob. She’s here she’s here she’s here she’s here -

“You’re here,” Catra - Catra - echoes, beaming. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

And Adora can’t do anything except let out a small sobbing noise in response.

“Do you... remember?” she asks softly, hesitantly, hands toying with the fraying hem of her shirt.

Adora shakes her head. “Not... much. I remember knowing you.”

Catra nods carefully. Her form has this odd translucent quality to it; she wonders if touching it would cause her to flicker like a hologram and vanish, only to re-materialise again in another place. “That’s something,” she offers. “Better than I’d hoped for, to be honest.”

Her eyes fix on the torch in Adora’s hand, then flick back up. “I’d put that away if I were you. Light kind of... uh, dispels ghosts. That’s what I am. A ghost.” A smile. “I think.”

Adora stuffs it into her pocket without registering the movement. “H-how -”

“How do ghosts work?” Catra guesses. “Not sure. How am I a ghost? Again, not sure.” She shrugs, as though brushing it off. “It’s been... a long time.”

“I missed you,” she says, in a much smaller voice than she expected. “I missed you so much. I missed - I missed knowing you. I-”

Catra smiles, and the movement causes her face to flicker at the edges, like static. “I missed you too. A lot.”

Adora bites back a sob. “Wha- What happened to you? How did you- ?” She shakes her head, shrugs. “Long story.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Adora catches herself staring at the outline of her form, the trails of half-shadows it leaves on the floorboards. In the half-light, she could almost be real. Alive.

She’s dead. She’s dead. It would hurt less if it wasn’t so clearly her fault.

“And - what about you?” Catra asks, breaking into her thoughts (which is a relief). There’s genuine concern in her eyes, she realises.

She really cares about me. I must’ve cared about her, too - I do care about her. I just - why?

“I... also a long story. I think you know most of it already.” She huffs a laugh, blinking back tears. “More than me, at least.”

Catra nods again, slowly. Her eyes flick up and down, taking everything in like she’s seeing it for the first time. And some sort of realisation crosses them, then fades away as quickly as it came.

“Do you want to... come back?” she asks.

“Come back?”

“Come back. To the house. I could... I could show you what happened. If you want. It’s getting late, and Glimmer’ll be worried about you.”

Despite herself, Adora almost laughs. “You’re worried about me getting in trouble with my roommate for coming home late?”

Catra grins. “I’ve interacted with Sparkles before. She’ll be pissed, trust me.”

Adora smiles too, and for a moment, it could almost be - before again. Before her memories cut off and leave her with a white wall of nothing. Before Catra died.

“I don’t know if I can,” she says softly. “I might be... I might be dreaming, or you’ll be gone when I come back, or -”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere,” Catra cuts in. “I kind of can’t.”

She sits down on the floor and crosses her legs, a clear request for Adora to join her. “It’d be easier if I show you now, but I don’t want to make you pass out and have to figure out how to cart your ass back home.”

“Show me what?” Adora breathes. This is it. This is it. I might be able to... to fix things. Finally.

“What happened to me. And what happened to you. It’s a long story, like I said.” She smiles at her, a little sadly, and presses her palms flat against the floorboards as she sits down. Adora wonders vacantly if she can feel it, if her hands are passing through the wood right now, if she’s solid or just a... a ghost.

If she’s really gone.

Thinking about it fills her with an even deeper sense of loss, somehow. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s her fault, even if she knows that’s not true. And it hurts.

For a moment, they sit facing each other under the shattered skylight, and it could almost be - a memory she can’t quite reach. It could almost be just them again, like she knows they were.

“Are you sure you’ll be able handle this now?”

She nods. Once.

Catra gives her a small, sad smile. Her eyes are transparent, filled with guilt and an emotion she can’t quite place.

The room starts to fill with a soft blue light. It creeps up through the floorboards, making the shadows stand upright and wheel towards the fractured ceiling, making Catra seem to glow from within. Adora has to force herself not to stare (then wonders why).

Smoke tendrils begin curling up through the floor beneath them, wrapping around their legs. She swallows her panic in time to see Catra lift her hands from the wood, leaving scorch marks in their wake, and glance encouragingly up at her. It’s... comforting. Familiar.

“Try to relax, okay?”

Adora nods again. “Okay,” she whispers. It’s all she can manage.

The smoke curls up around her torso and expands, filling the entire room with a blue haze. She narrows her eyes against the strengthening glow, closes them entirely - and opens them again when the door swings open and nearly flies off its hinges.

Before she can move, before she can do anything but cry out, Catra’s hands - Catra’s solid, real hands - clamp as gently as possible down on her shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not real,” she whispers. “They can’t hurt us again.”

“Again?”

She turns to meet Catra’s eyes, and for the first time since they saw each other, she looks... serious.

“Again.”

And two kids come running through the door.

Adora almost gasps again, because... because it’s her. Her and Catra, covered in mud and soaking wet and shivering, hair in disarray, eyes filled with sheer terror.

As soon as Catra skids in, past Adora slams the door shut, hinges screaming in protest. She watches it happen as though underwater. It feels... it feels familiar. That fear in their eyes - it’s real, and she remembers it. Except she doesn’t.

“Are you okay?”

Past Catra nods, clutching her wrist to her chest. “I’m fine. Are they gone?”

“I don’t think so.” Past Adora jogs over to her and helps her to her feet, smiling faintly. Despite everything, despite the wound at her temple and the blood caked on the hem of her shirt, despite the rain and the terror in her eyes, she’s smiling.

And Adora... remembers.

She remembers everything at once, a hail of flashing images and thoughts and words and feelings. She remembers emotions she didn’t even know she had experienced - burning, horrific grief, loss, missing her so badly she wants to scream at the sky and quite literally burst into flame, choking on sobs in bed - sheer, unending terror, pushed deep down into the centre of her chest, the need to protect, protect her, keep her safe, because she can’t be scared if Catra is -

Someone is calling her name.

Someone is... Catra is calling for her, holding her against her chest as she trembles, whispering her name over and over again in her ear.

“Adora, Adora - “

And Past Catra... Past Catra is bent over on the wood, coughing and crying her name, letting out choking sobs, a hand pressed over the wound in the centre of her chest. The door has been blown open again, letting in the wind and the rain, and Past Adora is gone.

“I’m-” She sits up, which is much more of a struggle than it should be. “I’m here. What happened?”

Catra gives her a concerned look. “You- passed out, I think. I mean, I know I said you would, but I didn’t expect.... this.”

Her voice has begun to distort again, fading into a soft, static hum. The vision, or whatever it was, has begun to flicker and die into nothing, the threads fraying and unravelling until all that’s left is the girl bleeding out in the middle of the room.

Adora detaches herself from Catra’s fading grip as carefully as possible. Because, fuck, the things she remembers-

“You didn’t see half of that, did you?”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”

Catra’s face falls slightly. Adora can’t even imagine what the experience was like for her, having to relive her death again for the sake of her memory.

“But I did...” She clears her throat, rests a hand inches away from Catra’s. “I did remember. Everything.”

Her eyes light up from within, something that has nothing to do with the faded blue glow sinking back through the floorboards. “You did?”

Adora nods. The movement makes her head spin. She remembers... everything. Especially falling in love with the girl sitting opposite her, watching her with wide eyes. Especially the - the magic they tried to wield on her to make her forget, to make her immune to loving. And the way she tried to escape, to take Catra with her to keep her out of their reach, and it backfired in the worst way possible. She remembers her memories being stolen from her one by one, sucking the grief out of her until there was nothing left.

Most importantly, she remembers waking up in her bed and feeling for the space where Catra should have been the day after they told her she was dead.

“I did,” she whispers.

Silence stretches out between them, and Adora wonders if they could possibly be thinking about the same thing.

Without saying anything, without thinking twice, she blurts, “I love you.”

Catra’s eyes widen.

“We never said that. When you were alive. I always regretted that. I wanted to tell you, and I never got to, and I’m sorry for that. But, stars, Catra, I love you. I love you.”

She’s staring at her like she’s never seen her before, like she did the night - the night they kissed for the first time, the night she can remember with almost perfect clarity now, the night that was hidden from her for so long -

“Adora -”

“I know it’s been - wow, it’s been years - and I know so much has changed, but I just - I have to tell you that. I have to -”

And Catra laughs. Softly. Her hand comes down and through Adora’s, leaving a wave of - of warmth in its wake, and settles against her palm, and it feels so close to getting to hold her again she swears she could cry again.

“I love you too, idiot.”

#sep texxt #ask #blondhairedgoblin #writing #writing ask #she ra #spop #adora #catra #catradora #tw death #tw death mention #tw gore #tw blood #ask to tag #SHES OUT :D #sep's writing

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

JangObi soulmate mark au where all Mandalorians know/can sense when someone is marked with their Mandalor [with Jango leading Mandalore as Mandalor after Jasters abdication and no clan wars]

(this is late because it turned into A Thing. and i love the Thing, but it’s still late.

i combined these ‘cause i got them within a day of each other and i thought, what’s better than an undercover meet-cute? undercover meet-cute with soulmates (ノ*´◡`) also this is a meet-ugly. anyways.

just want to touch on that this ‘verse absolutely includes poly soulmates of many forms and numbers, jangobi just happen to have a mono relationship in this based on the prompts 😌)

“Your sur'gaankar will not share your symbol, you cannot simply look for a match, kih’vod,” Arla teases, poking at Jango’s bare chest where the head of his roughly-drawn mynock leers at them from over his heart. “Marks are companions, not twins; no one soul should be more important than another, so the Ka’ra gave us two. Who knows what your sur'gaankar's is, it could be of something that hasn’t even happened to you yet.”

Seven year-old Jango wrinkles his nose down at his soulmark like it’s personally offended him. And it has. “Why the kriff do you get a beskad from your sur'gaankar and I get a bloody mynock?”

Arla bursts into laughter and hopes their parents aren’t listening.

“I beg your pardon.”

The woman’s grin only widens, leaning right into Obi-Wan’s space, and he hadn’t really counted on running into any supercommandos until Sundari. “‘Haven’t seen your crest before,” the woman repeats, knocking on the painted crest on his chestplate. He had let Master Nu pick it for this assignment, he didn’t want to accidentally end up with a known clan symbol and have to explain any familial relation; she had said it hadn’t been used since before the Coruscant Temple was built, so there shouldn’t be any confusion.

“And,” she had added, tapping two fingers on the side of his neck, “it matches you rather nicely, doesn’t it?”

And he supposes it does, a crane wrapped around a spike of wheat, but he now wishes it were something perhaps a bit less memorable.

“My clan hasn’t been back to Mandalore space in a few generations,” Obi-Wan lies with his best apologetic smile, easily charming the other Mando as he tucks his helmet under his arm and tries to turn back to the ration stall he’d been restocking from. The Keldabe marketplace bustles around them, and Obi-Wan thinks it’s a miracle the woman had even spotted his armour through the crowd, with how tightly species of all sorts press together and jostle them along their way.

“I’m Kryze clan,” she announces, wriggling around an Esperion to plant herself next to Obi-Wan, giving the rations a passing glance before focusing back on her captive audience.

He holds back a sigh, pulling up his mental clan map that he had studied on the jump to Mandalore. “I’ve only been planetside for an hour,” he admits with that same smile as he pays for his box of jerky and taps a little salute to the stall owner. “I thought the Kryzes were further up towards Sundari?”

Kryze bounces along behind him, red hair catching the sunlight quite nicely; Obi-Wan can’t fathom why she’s still following him. “Most of the family is, yeah, I’m the only supercommando. Where’re you from, burc’ya? Your accent sounds funny.”

He gives a bewildered laugh at that; had she never been to the Core? Both ducking into a dimly-lit tech shop, Kryze waves at the Mon Calamari behind the counter like old friends.

“‘Family’s split between Coruscant and Odos,” Obi-Wan decides on, which would explain both his Core accent and why his Mando’a is more slurred than what’s spoken on Mandalore. “You got a first name to go with that clan?”

Kryze’s smile turns playful, not quite flirtatious, and Obi-Wan wonders if she’s already found her starmark. “Bo-Katan, but Haat’ade can call me Bo. And are you?”

He raises a brow through a shelf of droid parts. “Am I what?”

“Haat’ade,” Bo-Katan grins, staying closer to the door while Obi-Wan collects a few upgrades for his speeder. “You don’t seem like a Journeyman Protector, but you’re clearly a fighter. So. Haat Mando’ade?”

“Can I be Haat’ade if I haven’t answered my Mand’alor’s call even once?” It’s an amusing thought, to be seen as Mando enough to qualify for the ruler of Mandalore’s supercommandos; he doubts Bo-Katan would be quite so kind if she knew he wears their armour in deception. “No, burc’ya, one cannot pick and choose from the Resol’nare. I’m as good as dar’manda out here.”

Humming in thought, she skips to join him at the counter to watch him try to haggle a lower price on his goods. “To be fair, you said your clan hasn’t been around other Mando’ade in a while, ‘lek? Hells, do you even know who the current Mand’alor is?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer until he knows he’s not being ripped off by the Mon Calamari, and slips his new goggles around his neck. “Only his crest,” he says, and it’s only slightly a lie: the Republic has little to no sway in Mandalore space, he doubts anyone further than Concordia knows the Mand’alor’s full name. “Tell me, are you part of the recruiting committee?”

Bo-Katan throws her head back to laugh, and it’s a good laugh, bright and sincere, still a little childish at the edges. “No, but I liked the look about you,” she teases, leaning on the counter. “You seemed... warm.”

He lifts a brow again, wondering if maybe she’s Force sensitive. “I’ve never been called that before.” Which also isn’t exactly a lie.

“Mm, maybe I just liked finding another redhead.” She smiles and wrinkles her nose cutely. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t give your name, stranger. Secrecy will only get you so far here.”

“And if I wasn’t planning on staying?”

“Then you should still tell me your name because I asked so nicely.” Batting her eyelashes, she sets her helmet on the counter to cross her arms, the Mon Calamari grumbling but not telling them to leave just yet.

“Vhett,” Obi-Wan laughs, securing his new parts and his credit pouch in his pack so he doesn’t lose them to the sticky fingers in the marketplace. “Benyamin Vhett.”

When he looks back at his new companion, her smile has disappeared for a troubled sort of blankness, as she looks at him even more critically.

Then her surprise and glee is a flash in the Force, so bright it’s blinding as she launches back to her feet, grin returning with such a fury that Obi-Wan doesn’t even stop her from getting right back into his space.

She must find some sort of answer in his face, because she puts a hand on his cheek with her eyes positively shining. “Utreekov!” she exclaims gleefully, “How could you string me along like that?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It figures you’d be just as difficult as him,” she says, spinning around to snatch up her helmet before grabbing his arm and yanking him back onto the street. “You should have told him when you got here, he— Corellian Hells, is this why he’s been disappearing off into Hutt Space?”

Something in the Force tells Obi-Wan to hold his tongue, to let Bo-Katan guide him through the market as quickly as the crowds allow — some citizens even bounce out of their way once they get a good look at Bo-Katan. Obi-Wan’s been a Shadow too long to get lost even in a busy city like this, but he still has to concentrate to memorise the path she takes him, out of duracrete into clay and wood buildings that bake under the sun and whisper history far more alive than Obi-Wan is used to.

She kicks open the door to an ancient-looking cantina that Obi-Wan doesn’t have time to read the name of before Bo-Katan is dragging him bodily inside and shouting over the din, “Mand’alor! I’ve got your sur’gaankar!”

Something like terror lodges in Obi-Wan’s throat as every commando in the cantina freezes and stops talking all at once, staring at them in the sunlit doorway like the second coming of the Sith. Then all heads snap just as quickly towards a table near the back — all except one man lounging at the table who still stares at Obi-Wan with more than surprise, and this is where Obi-Wan’s entire mission falls apart. This is where every commando realises Obi-Wan isn’t whoever Bo-Katan seems to think he is, this is where they call his bluff and he blows his entire cover, and Quinlan is going to make dick jokes at his funeral.

Bo-Katan smirks and marches right for the man, pulling a shell-shocked Obi-Wan through the cantina until she releases him to lean over the man’s table— the Mand’alor’s table. Obi-Wan wonders if he can somehow make it out one of the windows before anyone grabs him.

“So, ori’vod,” Bo-Katan drawls, clearly far from meaning it affectionately, “when were you gonna tell the rest of the Haat’ade that you’d already found your soulmark, hm?”

Ohh, and there goes Obi-Wan’s breathing.

This “ori’vod” blinks, first at Bo-Katan, and then at Obi-Wan, and he just had to be attractive, didn’t he. The Force couldn’t give Obi-Wan one break and make him someone, anyone, that didn’t shine quite like he does in the low-light?

“I have never seen this man before in my life.”

Obi-Wan lets out his breath, mentally preparing himself for the whole cantina to descend on him.

But Bo-Katan just stares back at the Mand’alor and, Obi-Wan looking around at other commandos, everyone seems to be in disbelief of him, and not— not Obi-Wan. Which is just a strange cherry to top his already frankly ridiculous day, especially when Bo-Katan leans closer to her Mand’alor to squint at him.

“So he’s just some other ‘Vhett’, then?”

Obi-Wan licks his lips. “Bo—”

“No, no, I wanna hear what excuse he tries to come up with when we can all feel it.”

Embarrassment prickles Obi-Wan’s neck, and feels even less in control than he had a moment ago; he doesn’t remember learning anything about commandos being able to feel things about their leader, but to be fair, he can’t remember much of any of his lessons right now.

A Mando in gold armour across the table from Jango takes off their helmet, revealing a Rattataki that stares him down with a meaning far deeper than Obi-Wan is privy to just then.

“Mand’alor,” they say, tapping their first knuckle over the left side of their chest, and Obi-Wan’s neck prickles again.

And then every commando in the cantina does the same, tapping the chest of their beskar’gam and nodding towards Jango, as if one entity, as if they had rehearsed it; the prickle turns to a burn, Obi-Wan darting a hand up to his throat as something shifts in the Force.

Bo-Katan finally seems to be catching on that they truly don’t know each other, but instead of angry, she perks up and yanks Obi-Wan closer to the table. “He’s from Odos, he has no idea what’s going on,” she says as Obi-Wan stumbles over his own feet. “Congrats, Mand’alor, I found your sur’gaankar for you.”

Obi-Wan winces before he allows himself to finally meet Jango’s gaze, and doesn’t know what to make of what he finds: a curious sort of trust, disbelief but acceptance, and it’s only when Jango gets to his feet that Obi-Wan realises no one had said his name. That the wheat fronds over his collarbones and around his neck have never bothered him before.

That he’s probably going to have to call Quinlan to finish the job in Sundari.

Mando’a: sur’gaankar — “soulmate”, lit. “picture heart” from sur’gaan “picture” and kar’ta “heart” kih’vod —”little sibling” (’vod’ most often used in fandom as “brother”; ‘kih’ intentionally used instead of ‘ika’) Ka’ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” beskad — traditional Mandalorian curved saber made of beskar. burc’ya — friend (also used ironically or sarcastically) Haat’ade — lit. “true child of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e) Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. Resol’nare — “Six Actions”, the six tenets guiding Mando life ‘lek — “yeah”, short for elek, or “yes” utreekov — “idiot,” “fool,” lit. “empty head” ori’vod — “big brother”, either older sibling or a special friend (used here ironically) beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

#my bbys definitely do not seem the type to celebrate valentines day #but i had to make them try lol #lmk if u are interested in a part two!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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sk1fanfiction · 3 years

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the many faces of tom riddle, part 5

- more myth than man... or not? the mortality of tom riddle and the anatomy of a villain-

That leaves us with Ralph Fiennes’ portrayal of adult Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort in movies 4-8.

I generally find adult Tom Riddle disappointing, even in the books, in terms of character depth. Instead of delving into his motivations and the inner psychology of a villain, we get... slight body horror? And in the movies, it’s even more egregious.

If a story is as good as its villain, adult Tom Riddle is a bit of a let-down, especially on-screen.

“I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost . . . but still, I was alive.”

Perhaps the very first time I watched it, I found this scary, but I must confess that nowadays, Voldemort’s resurrection is more funny to me than anything else. The forked tongue and the nose slits, yes, are supposed to allude to Tom Riddle’s loss of humanity, but I don’t think it...worked out that way in practice.

I know that’s how it is in the books, but ugly equals evil (and vice versa) is a tired trope. not only that, but under the CGI, Lord Voldemort is so difficult to relate to, so inhuman, that it’s hard to (1) see his true depravity (2) connect with him emotionally (3) at least for me, not laugh at him flapping around the graveyard in GOF like an oversized crow.

Now, the reason I’m going on about this is not (just) me being petty. Lord Voldemort is the Boggart for most of the characters in the HP universe, meaning their greatest fear is Lord Voldemort. He represents Fear; as such, he should be utterly terrifying. Now, I don’t mean horrifying in that sense, but Voldemort’s grand entrance should at least feel somewhat unsettling, have some sort of a Gothic atmosphere...

"But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron."

Visually, this looks great. But it’s not scary. And I’m not a purist by any means, but the words are scarier than the book. Darkness induces fear.

“The lack of any kind of visual stimuli increases anxiety, uncertainty, and tension.”

So, having Voldemort’s pale body materialize isn’t as scary as it could be.

Furthermore, I think Fiennes’ overexaggerated expressions would actually come across as properly horrifying/threatening rather than funny if they just left his face alone. Yes, Fiennes does manage to emote the fear and the anger through the CGI, but it’s like he’s too alien to be scary, at least to me. The amount of memes with Voldemort suggest I’m not the only one this way inclined.

I think there’s probably a problem going on with the uncanny valley. (Images from the Mori essay linked).

[When things are still]

[Creepy things are creepier when moving]

Now, I assume Voldemort is meant to be zombie-creepy, or at least that how Harry describes him in the books.

"The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry...and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils...."

Now, we can’t get Harry’s experience of being haunted by Voldemort in his dreams, because what I think makes Voldemort’s countenance so truly frightening to the other characters isn’t his snake-like nose or his red eyes, but the potential. Voldemort is, in essence, the Grim Reaper. You are at his mercy, and you’re probably going to be dead.

“This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.“

And yes, Voldemort can be quite funny and witty, but..

“I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers will give their right hands to perform.” (To Peter Pettigrew)

...it’s still incredibly dark, sadistic humour. Whereas the teenage Tom Riddle we’ve been discussing has just barely dipped his toes into evil, Voldemort is, well... swimming in it. At this point, he think he undeniably enjoys causing pain.

And much of what makes Voldemort scary is subtle.

For example, what I personally consider haunting is the fact that he’s got a cave full of Inferi. A cave full of reanimated dead bodies.

Either he dug them up, which is unlikely... or perhaps, a twenty-seven-or-so-year-old Tom Riddle would lie in wait like a bird of prey, very quietly and patiently, perhaps reading a book, waiting for an unsuspecting Muggle to wander past. Maybe killing is a game to him at this point, when it’s not so personal as killing Harry Potter. Maybe it’s a whispered Avada Kedavra, and then he carries the dead body away to his cave. Maybe he Imperiuses them to walk off the cliff. Maybe he tortures them first.

Shudder.

And I don’t think you can show that kind of horror through any CGI or make-up, so...

You know what is terrifying? Revolting? True crime; real-life people who do unspeakably horrible things. And I think a lot was missed out on, in stripping Tom Riddle physically of his humanity. Yes, Riddle is a monster...

But, as we’ve seen, he’s a human monster, not some eldritch horror from the seventh level of hell or something.

I just think it would be interesting to have this perfectly normal-looking human do all the horrific things Voldemort does. I want to see that sick joy in a human face and feel disgusted. I want to see fear make his bottom lip tremble, and feel a misplaced sense of empathy. (Think President Snow from the Hunger Games -- now, that’s a sick, twisted villain who we can relate to as a human being, but still love to hate -- or what about The Joker?).

And out of everything they chose to CGI, why on earth did they not make his eyes scarlet? That might have made him look at least somewhat menacing, rather than a failed lab experiment.

(Don’t even get me started on his and Bellatrix’s death scenes in the movies-)

Here’s President Snow. He’s got a cute little granddaughter, he sends kiddies to kill each other Battle Royale-style every year, and he poisons all his political opponents. He’s also a master manipulator and has a penchant for white roses. They cover up the smell of the sores in his mouth from eating the poison too, to conceal his treachery.

Heath Ledger as the Joker in Dark Knight (2008), who is, according to NYT (which I totally agree with), the best Joker. Now this is a villain done right, with many Voldemort-like traits. On a scale of one-to-ten, he’s absolutely terrifying. Why? He’s (unlike Voldemort in the movies) incredibly intelligent, shows young-Tom-Riddle-like skills for charm and manipulation, plays with humans like they’re his own personal psychology experiment (and to hell with the Institutional Review Board), and has one, single, very clear goal -- chaos. Like Voldemort, he wears an inhuman mask that’s not horrifying in its own right; but unlike Voldemort, the human is all there -- terrifying, real, and with a bottomless, obsessive desire to destroy. His disordered thinking is all out there for the audience to see. The Joker’s motivation is to enjoy himself; whereas Voldemort seems to lack drive. Why does he want to take over the world -- who knows, with Voldemort? The Joker wants to see it burn.

Let’s try to do the same with Lord Voldemort:

[SLIGHT FLASH WARNING]

I had to go with this because Voldemort isn’t legitimately terrifying in many scenes. And yes, this unrefined anger somewhat speaks to Tom’s immaturity

By this point, seventy-one year old Tom Riddle is a hollowed-out shell of a human being. After decades of building his power, he was defeated by a one-year-old, and ended up slumming it as a spirit for a decade, got defeated again, was a shrivelled-up baby for a year, then finally got his body back.

He’s angry, okay! And Fiennes does a great job of portraying the sheer, destructive, unbridled rage of this character.

The body language. again, since his face is inhuman, this is super important. and Fiennes’ body language is great. Voldemort/Riddle commits to his actions. He is very emotionally-driven.

But yet, he doesn’t feel capable, in the way that the Joker or President Snow do. Yeah, we know anecdotally that he’s incredibly evil, sadistic, and second only to Dumbledore in terms of power, but he loses to a baby, and then that same baby as a teenager. So, we really could have done with seeing Voldemort’s power, cruelty, and evil firsthand a lot more often.

Voldemort is not well-characterized. I don’t understand his motives, and the ones that I do understand are not compelling.

Not to die? Well, he’s already made several Horcruxes. Why not sit back and relax? Why start a war and risk himself?

JKR said that Voldemort’s great desire was to become all-powerful and eternal. But that’s... boring! It does little to tell us about Voldemort, other than that he’s a villain and a wannabe dictator.

Furthermore, the charm, manipulation, and cunning that are hallmarks of younger Tom Riddle’s personality are gone.

Is Voldemort (to return to Jungian terms) all shadow? An empty creature of simple creation and destruction, perhaps? We’ll discuss this further down...

And this isn’t a problem of having a fantastical world with magic and the like. Grindelwald’s quiet, self-possessed, almost coy “So you think you can hold me?” was infinitely scarier than anything that has ever come out of Voldemort’s mouth. It was chilling.

OOTP is my favorite book, and the Ministry sequence is one of my favourite in the films.

This scene where he psyches out Harry, talking so quietly that he could just be a little voice inside his head (and again, during the possession scene)? Absolute perfection.

Why? Because this showcases what’s truly scary about him. Voldemort can get into your head. He can make you do things. And perhaps, if we had seen that more often, we’d understand how scary he is.

I wish this had been his grand entrance, and not whatever that scene in GOF was. Somehow, him screeching “I WANT TO SEE THE LIGHT LEAVE YOUR EYES!” is not menacing. At all.

But, I can’t help but think how much greater the emotional affect would be if he had more human features (think the burned-and-blurred, waxy features from Dumbledore’s memory).

Just imagine these scenes if Voldemort looked human, and spoke as quietly as he did in this one.

Because of the reason that I have little to go on in terms of characterization that I haven’t already covered, we’ll discuss the myth and legend of Lord Voldemort.

I can’t decide if the statue in the films is supposed to be the Angel of Death or the Grim Reaper. He has a skeleton and carries a scythe, but he also has wings. There are so many different interpretations, attitudes towards, and personifications of Death across the world that I don’t want to draw any one conclusion. But I must wonder if Lord Voldemort, with his yew-and-phoenix wand (which carries heavy symbolism of immortality and rebirth) and almost deified figure is meant to be a personification of Death himself? His name, Lord Voldemort, is a shade close to Lord Death.

For years, it has stumped me that wizards and witches are afraid to utter Voldemort’s name, especially since we only see the Taboo in the middle of the last book. It didn’t make sense just based on fear; in the real world, we don’t circumvent Hitler’s name, for example.

Perhaps this may have been obvious to others, but it wasn’t to me.

Here’s a counterargument to myself; why Voldemort shouldn’t look human.

Voldemort, in the Wizarding World, is seen as a literal deity.

I promised to attempt to answer this question in Part 3:

And so, I can’t help but wonder if the opposite is true… if Tom Riddle creates Horcruxes, would that grant him additional magic powers?

In Part 3, I likened Tom Riddle to a sorcerer in Russian folklore, Koschei the Deathless, also famous for sequestering his soul in objects. This source suggests that Koschei was considered not an ordinary magician, but a representative of the ‘other’ world, the world of death.

So, what if... creating Horcruxes makes you... more than human? Now, I could definitely see god-like status being appealing to sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. Perhaps, even appealing enough to kill for. Now, his proclivity for Avada Kedavra makes sense. We know it’s an incredibly sinister spell, but at the same time, it’s a very humane way to kill. Why might it be so horrifying?

Here’s a weird theory.

To the best of my knowledge, no one but Voldemort is seen using the Killing Curse more than once or twice.

Perhaps, ordinary mortals can only cast Avada Kedavra a few times, but Tom, having split his soul and having become in some way a non-human instrument of Death, can cast it however many times as he likes, and that is part of what serves to make him so terrifying.

This makes the idea of Voldemort tossing around Avada Kedavras actually incredibly terrifying, if you take into account what that might mean.

The collective cultural fear of speaking Voldemort’s name supports this theory.

Take the chthonic (underworld) deities of Greek mythology; most notably, Hades and Persephone, the king and queen of the underworld.

Hades, the god of the dead, was feared.

So feared that the word ‘Hades’ (”the unseen one”) was so frightening, that people came up with all sorts of euphemisms to circumvent actually saying it and he was rarely even depicted in art. For example, they would refer to him as Pluto (”the rich one”), Clymenus ("notorious"), Polydegmon ("who receives many"), and perhaps Eubuleus ("good counsel" or "well-intentioned"), amongst many other names.

However, he was not seen as evil; just stern, cruel, and fair. Like most Greek gods, he had an associated cult (the Death Eaters, anyone?)

Another interesting connection between Hades and Voldemort is that Hades was associated with snakes.

Persephone (suggested to have a pre-Greek origin and probably pre-dates Hades), who was also a vegetation/fertility/spring goddess, similarly, was referred to as Despoina (”the mistress”), Kore (”the maiden”), etc, because as the terrible Queen of the Dead, it was considered unsafe to speak her name aloud. In mythology and literature, she is sometimes referred to as ‘dread Persephone.’

--Just like how Lord Voldemort is referred to as The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who... (and if you’re Dumbledore, ‘Tom’.)

Her central myth served as the context for the secret rites of regeneration at Eleusis (which was basically a mystery cult devoted to her and her mother, Demeter), which promised immortality to initiates.

We don’t know for certain what exactly went on, because, mystery cult -- the members were sworn to secrecy -- but it revolved around immortality and rebirth and possibly psychoactive drugs.

Perhaps ironically, in comparison to the Death Eaters, anyone could join, as long as they could speak Greek and had never committed murder.

And that concludes my assessment!

#tom riddle #the many faces of #tom marvolo riddle #character analysis #lord voldemort #character study #tw: murder #the body horror was 1/10 #don't make your character design hilarious if you want him to be scary #i'm not saying voldemort is a vegetation deity #but i'm not-not saying it either

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Blood, Freely Given

CW: Blood, vampirism, referenced dissoci@ted identities, vague referenced severe childhood trauma, brief noncon refs, brief torture references

The automatic double-doors slide open, and their bare feet move over the scratchy mat just inside, smearing mud across the black nylon.

Water drips down from their hair, running in rivulets over the line of their throat, dipping beneath their soaked-through tank top, dripping with a soft pat pat pat pat onto the tile. They move as if floating past the welcome desk at the hospital.

Shadows, thick and velvet, swallow them whole. The shadows feel like arms holding them tight, like the grasp of a lover, like being loved.

When the admin assistant working the welcome desk looks up, light glinting off his nametag, to see who has come in through the door, he blinks as the lights flicker overhead, and for just a second he sees a flash of green hair stained reddish-brown and caked with drying dirt, a haunted blank face and empty glowing eyes… and then there’s no one there.

“Weird,” He mutters, staring as the doors slowly slide closed again. “Fucking weird.”

Outside, lightning flashes and thunder booms right on its heels, a deafening roar of sound that seems to rattle even the solidity of the hospital. The admin swallows, hard, staring out into the total blackness of the storm raging outside the safety of the brick and stone walls that surround them.

He’s already forgotten the half-second of sight, and thinks now only about the thunder and lightning. Water drips along the floor as they walk, ignoring him.

He doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but finding Ryan.

The shadows move around them, twist and dance around their feet like spirits, like animals, like children who never leave them. People look at the water on the floor and wonder why it hasn’t dried, find themselves baffled at the sight of mud dissolving into the puddles, but they don’t see the feet that make the puddles, they don’t see the drip of water from green hair, off of wrinkled fingertips.

They don’t see Ora Collins, because Ora Collins does not want to be seen.

Their cheekbones are pronounced, gaunt in their face. Hazel eyes glow, set into the lines of their face. Their hair hasn’t grown since the last day in the farmhouse, since the moment Ryan’s teeth pierced their skin. A broken fingernail has never regrown. A cut on one leg doesn’t heal, but it doesn’t hurt, either.

There’s a bruise that is now a permanent fixture on their left arm, a memory that might as well be a tattoo.

Dead and not-dead, they follow a heartbeat that pulses in perfect rhythm with their own. He’s upstairs, they know that. Waiting for them, knowing they’re coming. He feels them as strongly as they feel him.

We feel our own. We always feel our own.

Ora’s eyes flutter shut, and they see through his, the sight of the redheaded man covered in bandages and on the bed, the way blue eyes stare with emptiness into nothing, accepting the pain the way someone else has always stepped up when it became too much to bear.

Ora swallows, their throat moving, seeing on Danny’s body now the ghostly marks of times he has cried in the night.

They see, in that breath, that it began as a child used to feed his own mother, a little boy bled to sickness and then allowed to heal and then bled again. They see the fracture in him, how he hid from the reality in order to forget it, not to know. They see how he lost nights and days and no one believed him when he wondered why.

They see a shimmer of him where he lays in the bed, three sets of fingers, three pairs of wide blue eyes, three reasons to scream. They see how he is only alive because Abraham Denner didn’t know until later that he had someone who would step forward to take the worst of it so the others could survive.

Funny, how much more you know when you’re dead.

Ora rolls their head around, small cracks in their spine releasing tension that will build again, and again, and again. Their mouth waters. This place is full of life, and it is their way now to take it.

Nothing matters but blood.

The shadows move, as a woman heavy in her pregnancy walks past them - stops, and turns to look at the presence she just felt nearby - and sees nothing.

Nothing but the flicker of lights overhead, and a spot of red in a droplet of water on a white tile floor.

The woman shudders against instinctive unease and keeps walking, heading for the double-doors, for the storm that pounds rain into pavement, the dim headlights barely visible through a curtain of rain.

Ora can smell the woman’s blood, and knows in an instant that she is seven months pregnant, and her husband is here for a problem with his kidneys, and she will go home to three other children and cry, that the oldest child will hold her and they will tell each other it’ll be okay and neither one will believe it.

They know also that the husband will recover, and come home, and then the future is murkier, more uncertain. But Ora can see the happy day he sleeps in his own bed again.

They pause, and turn, watching the woman’s back as she walks.

They mouth the words, you’ll be okay, and the baby will be fine. He will come home to you. They make no sound, and yet something in the woman’s shoulders relaxes, and she opens her umbrella and steps out into the night with a new confidence that, however terrifying the moment, everything will be alright in the end.

They might be dead, but they can soothe the restless fear of life as easily as they can feed them. They don’t have to be wicked, they don’t have to be evil, they don’t-

They don’t have to be Ashley.

They will not kill like Ashley did, they will not take captives, they will not delight in torture and fear and they will not feed on screaming.

They don’t have to be Ashley.

That is all that matters.

Ora turns back to look ahead of themself, the soft neon lights of the food court on their right, conference rooms and offices on the left.

Ahead, the elevators.

A man waiting for the elevator is suddenly distracted by feeling like a gust of wind hit his back. He drops his coffee cup, spilling it all over the floor. Lights above him flicker as he drops to a crouch, cursing, pulling out napkins to wipe up the spill. While he’s distracted, the elevator doors open, water drops inside in a soft pitter-patter, and they close again.

He looks up in time to see a flash of glowing eyes and green hair, a torn and mud-stained tank top and shorts, spots dried reddish-brown that can’t be anything but blood. He sees a hint of mud-covered bare feet.

He stares, and Ora looks back at him.

He doesn’t matter.

“Look away,” They say in a croaking voice, cracked from disuse. “Look away.”

The man looks down and forgets about everything but his coffee and his sense that something is very, very wrong.

They press the button for the sixth floor and the elevator lurches into motion, shakily. Lights flicker and power drops and jumps back up around them. They don’t care.

Ryan is waiting.

The elevator doors slide open on the sixth floor and three people sitting in a small lobby look up to see an empty box, with a puddle of water on the floor. The doors slide shut again, and the elevator heads back to the first floor.

A bit of rainwater runs down Ora’s cheek like the tears they no longer cry.

Dead people don’t cry.

Nothing matters enough to be worth weeping over.

Ora thinks of Danny’s eyes in the bed, water gathering over the empty places, running down to pool in the shell of his ear and dampen his dirty unwashed hair. They think of Ryan sobbing next to his bed in the first days when a tube down Danny’s throat breathed so he didn’t have to breathe for himself. They think of Nathaniel Vandrum’s hand silently laid on his back as he leaned over, and the two men meeting in the middle, dropping as always their loathing of each other for their love for a man who has had to make the choice to live too many times.

A doctor walking past brushes against Ora’s shoulder and they shiver at the beat of her heart, her pulse, the hint of her blood they can taste in the air.

A nurse comes too close and Ora’s teeth are sharp, begging to bury in soft skin, pull out the life inside, and hand it over to the darkness that made them. Ora moves with the shadows, and the shadows bay for blood.

But this nurse has done nothing but try her best to save the lives of people who don’t know her, who she will never truly know, and Ora turns away.

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That is what matters.

They find the room without hurrying, taking each step slowly. The tile floor is cold, they know this, but they don’t feel it.

Ryan has life beating in his blood alongside the death. He is made of green hills and murder in the darkness. He is made of eyes open to delight in flowers and of eyes slowly closing from a wasting disease that can’t be explained.

Ora doesn’t have the life, anymore.

They wasted theirs, anyway.

All they are is death.

Is this a second chance? Could they start again? They haven’t thought about it. They walked to Tennessee - walked and rode in the back of trucks and cars, shredding the people who tried to hurt them thinking they were weak and leaving the kind ones unharmed, and drove until the car ran out of gas and then found another ride again - and then returned.

The cold silver-colored door handle turns easily under their hand, and when they step into the room Nate Vandrum is asleep on a sort of couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, the light of the machines in the room lining his face.

Lightning flashes through the closed blinds, and thunder rolls.

Ora is a creature made of rainy seasons, lurking in stagnant pools of water, waiting for their chance to slip underneath protective nets and clothes and glide around candles. They are a heavy death, a slow death, but-

They don’t have to cause death at all.

They will not.

Daniel Michaelson, laid out on the hospital bed, flickers his eyes open and turns to look at them. They see what he sees, eyes that glow in the darkness, a pounding hunger that must be satisfied.

“Mom,” He whispers, voice trembling, and Ora tilts their head, wet hair sticking to their cheekbones, mouth watering at the beat of his heart, the hint of his blood. “Mom, no, please-... God, no-”

“It’s alright, Dan. They’re not Mom,” Ryan says, standing in the open doorway to the small bathroom attached to this private hospital room. He’s just come from a shower and heat mists off his skin, his black curls hang over his forehead and stick to the nape of his neck. His eyes glow, a soft gleaming yellow in the shadows, match Ora’s hazel for strength and more. All their heartbeats led them back to him. “And that won’t happen to you again. I promise. I’ll never, ever let anyone take from you again.”

“Ryan-” Danny’s eyes are impossibly wide, as always, and the darkness deepens the scars on his face until they are canyons cut into a plateau, the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, the lines of glaciers tearing up earth and turning flatlands into valleys. His voice is weak, and Nate Vandrum stirs, on the couch, called close to waking by the fear in Danny. “Help me, please, Mom’s h-hungry-”

“It’s okay, Danny,” Ryan says, soft and loving. He moves to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, to tuck a bit of hair behind one ear. “Go back to sleep. They’re not here for you.” His eyes stay on Ora’s as he says, with a shiver of something running underneath him, utterly inhuman and his birthright and hidden from him for too many years, “Calm, if you are living.”

Danny’s eyes flutter shut, and his breathing settles, deep and even. A machine over his shoulder beeps slowly as he settles. Nate, on the couch, breathes out in a long slow sigh, and Ora watches his right hand, curled into a painful fist, relax.

“Can I do that?” They ask, hoarsely.

“No,” Ryan says, with a hint of warmth, watching his brother’s eyes move under his eyelids. “That’s from my father, not my mother.”

“Oh.”

Ryan looks back at Ora, relaxing now that his brother is soothed. “You walked a long way. Is she at rest?”

“Ashley? I ate her heart.” Their voice is flat, decayed, like the taste of Ashley’s black heart on their tongue.

“No… your girlfriend. From before.”

Ora looks down at their hands, the dirt pressed into the lines until it seems like they will never be clean. “I buried Penny like she deserved,” They say, voice low, twining around the sound of the machines. Only Ryan can hear them.

“Good. That’s the last thing they took from us, then, made right.” Ora moves closer to him, and he watches them move. They watch him swallow, the movement of his throat. “Are you hungry?”

He’s beautiful, always. He’s so beautiful, even at his worst. Even tied to Bram’s bed he was beautiful, even screaming for mercy he was beautiful, even now, a predator set free, he is so beautiful.

He tilts his head to the side, and Ora hitches in breath they don’t need at the way the thin light from the machines moves over his skin. The flutter of his pulse.

Their only heartbeat is his.

They want it.

“Yes,” They breathe. “I’m so hungry, Ryan.”

Ryan smiles at them, in the darkness, and reaches out. They take his hand and he pulls them close, sliding his other hand up into their hair, uncaring about it being wet, about the water that soaks him as well when he pulls them close. He pressed the back of their head to move them forward until their lips touch the heat of his neck. He’s so warm.

He’s so warm, and they’re so-

“If you’re hungry,” He whispers, “Then feed. I made you - I owe this, and more, for helping me save my brother.”

Ora buries their teeth in his throat and takes the blood like a sacrament. Blood, freely given and offered, blood that won’t kill, blood that won’t cause harm. Blood that won’t take a life and leave the grieving behind. Blood that won’t run from wrists or backs or legs.

Blood, given to them openly and with love.

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That’s all that matters.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump

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queenmuzz · 3 years

Text

Mors aurem vellens, 'Vivite,' ait, 'venio' Chapter III

Firstfruit Offering

The sun shone in your eyes, causing you to flinch. How long had you slept? Of course, you’d had a long trip, and your body didn’t have the stamina it used to, but surely you wouldn’t be so negligent as to sleep until mid morning? But the way the shadows caused by the pillars stretched out on the marble, you had definitely overslept. Using your staff, you almost ran into the inner sanctum, terrified that you had the sacred fire die out. From your interactions last night, you were almost certain that Vergil was not the type of God to have his rites besmirched. What a dishonour it would be, to be slain for blasphemy on your first day as Temple Priestess!

Thankfully, the flames still flickered, albeit weakly, eating the last of the log, the embers now almost ash.

So you gingerly placed another log from your small stash, as to not smother the little flame. You cautiously began to blow at the base of the charred log, only stopping when the flames began to lick and scorch at the new logs shreds, kindling into a new flame. With a sigh of relief, you slowly got back up. In the light of mid morning, the temple, while eerily silent, was less foreboding than last evening, and the whistling wind seemed less strange.

Even the presence of Vergil, unseen, but ever present was much less terrifying. You could feel him, watching your every move, but not as overwhelming and less judgemental as last night, you still felt him as you walked back to your messy bedroll. After all, he could have just struck you down for sleeping in, for almost losing the fire, he was well within his rights as God within his Temple. But he just remained silent as his shrine statue.

You arrived back to your modest sleeping area, and as you rolled up your bundle, you noticed something. There, sitting at the foot of the bed was a bundle of brown fur. Upon closer inspection showed that there was one...no two...rabbits laying dead. For a brief moment, you panicked, you had heard of feuding families leaving dead animals in the beds of their enemies as a warning. But these ones seemed placed at the foot of the bed, and not where you would have noticed them upon waking. And the way they were positioned, they kind of reminded you of when the barn cats would present dead mice to you and your siblings, as some sort of ‘gift’. Had Vergil given them to you as a ‘welcome present?’ You had to stifle an inward snicker at the mental image of the God carrying the pair of rabbits in his mouth before dropping it at your feet, and you hoped that he didn’t have the ability to read minds. But, even though you still felt like you were being watched, there was no change in the intensity, and so you relaxed, and allowed yourself to utter out a soft ‘Thank you’ into the still air. There was a shimmer in the light, the roots of the giant plant seemed to shift slightly, but then, all was silent. You picked both of the rabbits up, and a knife contemplating on what to do with them. Skinning them would be the first step of course, but what then? Roasting them sounded delicious, but you had no time to turn a spit, undoubtedly today would be busy. But perhaps...a stew? You had a turnip, and some wild herbs that you’d picked up on your travels. Unfortunately, a stew was not a stew worth eating without some bread to soak up the juices, and you were practically down to crusts of bread so stale, that not even an ocean of stew would soften them up....

“Hello?!” A voice rang out, startling you out of your thoughts. You placed your knife down and followed the voice. From what you had heard, no one ever came here, the entire countryside thought land was cursed, and the temple shouldn’t have any visitors. Still, it would be rude as Temple Priestess to not greet the person, even if they were lost.

“Hello? Anyone here?” The voice repeated, more louder, and it came from the common area. Strange, you swore you could smell freshly baked bread.

Ah, there the visitor, a plump, auburn haired woman with a ruddy complexion, dressed in a simple peasant’s dress, carrying a basket, looking around slightly worriedly, and muttering to herself.

“I do hope nothing bad happened to her, if something did….Enrico, I’m going to...” she growled, but whatever her threat was cut off by your appearance.

“AH! There you are! When I heard that my Dear'' the faux deference dripped through, “husband left you all by your lonesome here, at NIGHT of all times, without inviting you to spend the night at our farm place, I was THIS close,” she pinched the fingers of her free hand together, almost touching, “to making him sleep with the pigs. Damn fool…” she brushed the hair away from her face, and looked around. “So, I told him that I was going to come here this morning, and that he either come along, or be in charge of all the chores.” She chuckled, “Guess which he picked? He’s so superstitious, he’d rather have to milk the cows, feed the chickens, AND look after our little son than set foot here. Anyways,” she smiled and gave a curtsy, “I’m Cecilia Elesion, wife of the lovable idiot, Enrico. And I figured to myself, ‘that poor girl is all by herself, a newcomer, with no one lookin’ out for herself, so I’m gonna take a look out for her.’ Rico begged me not to go, but I insisted. It’s ‘bout time someone took care of this Temple, it’s been abandoned for ages.” She took a look around, her eyes trailing the roots that wound themselves the pillars. “Ah, yes...I suppose you could call this a ‘Welcome to your new home’ gift. I made em’ meself!” She handed you the basket, and the gingham sheet that covered slipped off, revealing several loaves of freshly baked bread, some even designed in a braided pattern. This wasn’t the leftover scraps of a farm wife's dough, these were the first loaves. Cecelia was obviously sincere in her devotion.

“Thank you!” you breathed in the scent as you took the basket. After months of bread hard enough to crack teeth, warm fresh bread was glorious. It would make a fantastic addition to the rabbit stew you had planned. It would be your first proper meal since you had left your home village. For an instant, you felt a bit homesick, memories of your mother’s hearty stew. You grasped her hand in thanks, trying to invoke a blessing, but a familiar chill trickled up your spine, and you felt a whisper in the shell of your ear.

“Ah….it appears she has been blessed by my Mother….” Vergil’s voice nearly startled you, unexpected as it was. He’d been so content to lurk in the background, that you’d momentarily forgotten about his presence. You paused for a moment, a frown on your face as you tried to decipher what he said. Eva’s blessing… AHA! The generous woman in front of you was with child, even if she didn’t show it, perhaps she didn’t even know it.

“Is something wrong?” Cecelia asked, misinterpreting your frown for a concern. You hesitated, not knowing how to go around such a delicate subject. As a child, you remember your mother slapping a man when he asked her when she was expecting, even when she wasn’t pregnant. Should you even mention it? You decided, you had been given a message from a God, it wouldn’t do to not relay it.

“I am just a little concerned with you going through all this effort, carrying all this load while expecting.” After all, a pregnant woman shouldn’t exert herself too much. She should be informed of her condition, in order to prepare herself.

Cecelia’s reaction was unexpected. She turned pale, and a tinge of fear passed over her face. “You...you could tell?”

Ah, so she already knew.

“Well, I was told,” you admitted, glancing at the statue. Strange, she should be happy, excited for a new addition to the family, not looking like she was about to burst out in tears.

“No one knows yet, not even Enrico.” she confessed, a sheen of sweat coming over her forehead. You quickly leant your arm to help her down to the floor. “We’ve tried so hard after our only son, so many losses, that this time… this time I couldn’t bear to let him know, I didn’t want to get his hopes up once again, only for them to come crashing down. Our little Credo...he was our miracle child...I had resigned myself to focusing on just him.” She looked at you, dawning horror on her face. “He told you? Does that mean…?” She couldn’t speak further, the poor woman looked like she was going to pass out.

The whisper came again, without a hint of deception, “I have no claims on her unborn child nor her, not for many years, my Mother shall guide her through both their journeys.” His words, while spoken firmly and without empathy, were a relief to you.

Oh, so this was going to be a Priestess’s job? You’d always assumed that it would be a rather insular job, tending to the hearth, offering prayers, not relaying messages like the more outgoing Gods’ priests. You knelt down towards the trembling woman, speaking as soothingly as possible. “It’s alright...He has spoken to me, and he says that you and your child are safe.”

The woman scanned your face, trying to find out if you were truly speaking the truth, or just speaking false words of comfort, before the impact of what you had said hit her.

“You’re...you’re certain?”

You nodded, inwardly relieved as the ruddiness returned to her cheeks. What you didn’t expect was her hugging you.

“Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!” You swore you could hear your ribs cracking, “A thousand blessings upon you. You have no idea how much both of us have been praying to Mother Eva for another child, we were almost planning on making a Pilgrimage to Fortuna. But if you and Him say…” she looked to you for one last confirmation, and smiled brightly. “Rico will be delighted when I tell him. And to think…” her old grin came back, “he’d rather clean up chicken droppings than set foot in this place.” She looked down at the basket, momentarily forgotten, “this is poor payment, but is there anything, ANYTHING you need that our family can provide, we can do it.”

“Well,” you thought. In truth, the fact the Temple was located on lifeless ground, meant you were without much sustenance, so maybe… “Wood for the sacred hearth. I need a supply to keep the flame burning.”

“Say no more,” Cecilia assured you as she got back onto her feet, “you will lack for nothing. We’re just poor humble farmers, but we can provide you and Him the essentials. Whatever you need!”

She gave a curtsy to you, paused before the statue, and clasped her hands to speak a short silent prayer. For a brief moment, you swore you saw the roots quiver, but when tried to take a closer look, they were still. But something in the air was different, other than the smell of bread, there was a vibration, a smell of fresh earth, but then it was sucked up, like water to a dry sponge.

And with that the woman left, a spring to her step, so out of place in such a dour looking place.

*******

Vergil watched as the little plump woman hurried out, singing a merry tune. Mortals got far too excited over small things. While he spoke the truth, that for now, he had no claims on her or her child, in a short amount of his time, he would claim one, then the other. That went for everyone, none could escape his reach. Perhaps that’s why people were afraid of him, that they would attempt to avoid his inevitable arrival to end their pitiful lives. But this was strange. That woman had… thanked him? To him, a God of Death, be given thanks felt...fulfilling. A surge of energy, more potent than life blood coursed through him, and the Qliphoth’s roots seemed to twitch in response.

“Well, that was kind of you.” His sense of puzzlement was dissipated as the voice of his Priestess, who was watching the woman’s receding form.

He stood beside her, still invisible and scoffed, “She provided an offering, I felt it would be poor form to let her leave without being compensated.” “But you didn’t have to do that. You made her so happy!” she placed her hands together, “If you did that more often, perhaps more people would visit your temple!”

“And what makes you think I want people to ‘visit’?”

“Well…” she stroked her chin, “I assumed you would be lonely all by yourself here. After all, that’s what temples and shrines are for, right? To be a meeting point for both mortals and Deities. Us mortals give you offerings and our prayers, and you give us advice, prophecies and sometimes intercede on our behalf.”

She looked outside. “Where I come from, in the wild forests…packs of monkeys and herds of deer travel together. The deer, with their keen noses, lead the monkeys to fresh vegetation with nuts and fruits, and the monkeys, sitting high above the trees, have a good view of the surrounding area and can alert the deer when a tiger is prowling downwind of the herd. A relationship in which both benefit.”

Vergil was annoyed by her simple observation. “I need none of that.” “Well, you’re the only God I know who doesn’t appreciate or encourage worship. Lady Trish has people flocking to her for her for rain-bringing storms, Lord Dante practically has entire battalions marching through his temples, praying for victory. Even poets and writers make the pilgrimage from miles to beg the gift of inspiration from Lord V-”

“DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!”

The roots of the Qliphoth rippled with energy, and he had to control them from jerking. Just the mention of that cursed name brought back memories that he could not bear. In response to his rage the roots demanded blood, lifeforce, something to sate their ever ravenous hunger. And they sensed the Priestess, standing there, so weak and vulnerable. Easy prey.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke apologetically, but refreshingly not with overly emotional supplication. Just her calm voice, startled at his outburst but without the expected fear, was enough to let his rage subside. She stood there, unaware how close she was to death, her eyes staring through him. She still couldn’t see him, of course, he would not allow it, but her steady and firm stance was unafraid of his wrath. Perhaps her expecting death in such a short time left her without fear.

No, he ordered them to stand down, and they reluctantly complied, she has no idea of what she speaks of, he thought, and besides...she still has more use to me alive than dead...for now.

Still, his rage hadn’t truly subsided…did he really need her, another priest that would eventually stab him in the back? “I need no one.” He hissed, his voice sizzled through the temple like a winter’s wind. “I need no worshippers….I need no priestess.”

And without allowing her to respond, he left, not even looking back. She would no doubt leave after his outburst...any sane person would. He was fine with that.

He did not need her.

He did not need anyone.

All He needed was power.

#Devil May Cry #Vergil x Reader #Mors aurem vellens 'Vivite' ait 'venio'#Sorry for the delay!

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