#spread my ashes on scorched earth thanks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiliinstinct · 3 months

Text

Chapter 26:

Rating: R Pairing: Nalu FF.Net || AO3 [Ch: 1] ||| [Prev] | [Next]

Next update is Upon us! Thanks to @phoenix-before-the-flame for their awesome Beta work, as usual. Next Update: February 12th February Post Dates: 26th March Post Dates: 15th and the 28th (Yes, my Birthday!) Warning: The beginning of this chapter contains sensitive material in violence, blood and gruesome visuals. You've been warned.

---

Dark fire consumed the world. Its raging swirl lifted off Natsu’s scaled skin, twisted from his claws and burned the smokey air around him. Dirt encrusted his gaping wounds as he stood before Kage. The man staggered on his feet as ash covered him from head to toe.

Their battle was intense. Lucy had disappeared into the forest at the Draconis’ command. Her safety was top priority (the only priority his mind hissed furiously-). Those thoughts governed his frame of thought as he weaved in and out of the scorched landscape, cutting the shadow users' attempts to flee at every turn.

He had threatened Lucy: a mistake he would soon regret.

The fight spread with fire devouring trees as their blood soaked the ground with streaks of red. Howls of anger left the pair to be swallowed in the empty sky. The only source of light came from an orange moon that mirrored the heat of Natsu’s magic. A part of Natsu knew something wasn't right, but there was no time to question it. No time to stop and look.

There was only his prey who whimpered as he was cornered and lifting a shaking arm in a desperate try to defend himself. His control over shadows sputtered out to reveal the frightened man he truly was. Natsu purred, pleased by the scent of fear and stepped forward. An all-consuming need pulled at the core of his being, demanding to rip out the throat of his prey and to feel the final screams of Kage’s life cut out as teeth and flames tasted his wretched flesh.

He wanted - no, needed - to leave him as nothing but a rotting, burnt corpse on the dying forest floor. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine.

There was no one else to fight, no one to defend Lucy and keep her from harm. Natsu had no choice. He HAD to do this.

To himself, he chanted this reasoning like a mantra as he grasped Kage’s neck with a taloned hand. Kage’s desperate scratching and pulling against his forearm meant nothing as the Draconis’ eyes bled to gold, staring coldly into the Shadow users streaming eyes. Natsu had already made peace with what came next, before he had a second to think about it.

His vision tunneled and the world faded away, there was nothing left but the slowly dying struggles of the body beneath him. For it was no longer a body full of life and an unknown future. It was a corpse. It was always fated to be a corpse.

Corpses don’t deserve pity.

He finally had him.

Tongue lashed out over rows of sharp teeth, tasting the tang of his own blood as a triumphant grin twisted his lips. Bordering on the edge of madness, he watched as Kage’s shadows peeled from Natsu’s skin in burnt husks, crawling off his wounded flesh. Whimpering, the corpse’s skin cracked and broke under the onslaught of the mighty flame Natsu wielded and his grip tightened, marveling at the sight.

A rumble of satisfaction ran through him as the smell tainted the air. His fire ate away at the one before him with each pulse of magic in his palm, a slow, excruciating death. He wanted it to be quick at first, but no, this mongrel deserved no mercy and he gleefully watched as even Kage’s blood over heated, sizzling away to nothing.

His body hung limp in Natsu’s steady grasp and the Draconis wondered if he’d succumbed to the slow death too soon. Or had his crushing grip choked the life from him? He flexed his fingers, feeling the bones shift beneath him: broken. A hoarse, mad laugh burst through his chest as he felt more splinter in his grip.

The body became nothing. Just the dust in the wind. The ash in the air. The crushed earth beneath his feet. His lips curled into a sneer and he felt triumph. This is what he deserved! This was the power he held for those who wronged him this-

He blinked and the mangled body beneath him twisted. The edges of his vision swam in and out of focus. The broken bones and murky shadows faded to a mangled body, scorched nearly beyond recognition and lumped over the ground in a familiar pose that brought memories of a golden girl back to the surface.

Blinking again, screwing his eyes shut tight, Natsu reopened them and realized this wasn’t Kage.

It was the unnamed man he'd followed into the forest all those months ago. A man who imprisoned a golden haired girl and forced himself upon her.

Another despicable wretch that deserved the fate given to them. He dropped into a crouch to peer into the burnt out sockets. This was a man whose face he never knew and whose death tasted sweet on Natsu’s tongue. He threw his head back in a laugh so loud it broke through the haze, manic and crazed.

There was no remorse, no guilt, no horror.

“It's what you deserve!” He cackled, forked tongue swiping against his teeth. The fangs gleamed in the moonlight, it's orange glow fading to cold white light, “It's what you ALL deserve, disgusting pieces of -“

A whimper- quiet, pained and wracked with sobs pierced the air. It blew through the smoke and fire and sent a chill of ice water through his veins.

The once wicked laugh cut off as pupils grew wide. Natsu jumped to his feet as a creeping, dismal fear coiled around his heart. It gripped so tight he lost his breath. Looking away from the carnage, his glory, his reality came crashing down in sharp, jagged pieces.

He met his gaze with Lucy who stood at the edge of the clearing, hands clasped over her mouth.

She was ragged. Clutching the tree for purchase, Lucy gasped for air making his heart sink at the sight. A rotted arrow stayed buried in her knee as blood dribbled down her leg. Her clothes were torn, burnt at the edges and crusted in mud. Whimpering again, his attention turned back to her face as she grimaced in pain, paling to match the white of the moon above.

The smoke was gone- blown away with a sudden wind as the moonlight illuminated the world around them. He no longer smelled the stench of one or two corpses. Instead, the scent of many crashed into him like a raging avalanche.

There were dozens. Bodies broken and contorted, all staring at him with the glassy, empty eyes of the long dead. Lucy quivered as she beheld the massacre and retched at the sight. His throat swelled shut, eyes stinging with hot, horrified tears that threatened to spill down his heated cheeks.

What had he done? He didn’t- He couldn’t remember.

”Wait.- Lucy, I didn't- “ He reached for her, voice turning to the hoarse whisper of a man whose wounds were catching up with him; Blood welled in his throat. Stepping towards her, he tripped over a dismembered arm, ”I was protecting you-“

She didn't see him. Not really. Her gaze looked around them, through Natsu. The horror and disgust that distinguished her features was palpable. She whispered words that struck him as sharp as the arrow that pierced her skin.

She stepped back. Away from him. Closer to the shadows of the trees.

“You're a monster... you killed them. You...”

“Lucy please-”

Her shriek pinned him to the ground heavier than stone:

“G-GET AWAY FROM ME!”

She took off through the underbrush, her golden light swallowed quickly by the shadows. Natsu struggled to follow, but he couldn’t stand, his legs wouldn’t move.

He was tired. Everything hurt. Where did this pain come from? His body quivered as he attempted to stand, but he slipped against the bodies, eviscerated beyond recognition. The stench rose to greet him, making him dizzy with nausea.

He choked on his own bile, reaching out in vain, “I didn't want... I'm -”

Blood welled in his mouth and he spat it out, only for it to refill in an instant. His neck felt sticky as red dripped down his neck and heaving chest. His wounds were fatal. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe -

“Wait!” He struggled to scream, “No, come back! Don’t leave me! I'm sor-“

He needed to get to her. He had to. He needed-

“Lucy!”

The world tilted on its axis as her name echoed through the air as his final breath took him under the weight of all his sins.

Natsu crashed to the floor of his bedroom, gasping for air as tears flowed down his cheeks. Everything hurt, his body sang from nerves firing along the scars of his back and he winced as he bit his cheeks in a poor attempt to silence himself.

His head pounded behind his eyelids. Whining pathetically, his sobs wracked through Natsu's frame, unbidden and unwanted. Pain flared in his chest, reigniting the raw feeling in his throat, but he didn’t dare move himself to the comfort of his bed. Instead he curled in on himself, quivering against the floor as it chilled his heated skin.

The clear floors that remained from Lucy’s insistent cleaning provided a strange solace and he sought to ground himself through it. He almost wished he could sink into it and be swallowed to get away from the emotions welling in his chest. But there was no escaping into the night to sleep in another's bed, no checking on the safety of someone else. There was just pain tearing through his healing body and stabbing into his bottom lip as he struggled to contain himself.

Lucy... that look in her eye, he tried to blot the visual from his mind; to think of anything else that would ease the frantic pounding of his heart. But that expression morphed from its former horror, to the pained smile she gave in a different dream he tried to bury in his memories: The sad understanding as he'd run her through with his own hands.

Did they mean something? Natsu wiped his eyes and groaned, not wanting to know the answer. If anything, he'd rather not think about any of it.

He didn't know how long he laid there, but as time passed and he gained control of his breathing, he grew aware of the chirping birds and bugs outside his window, almost drowned out by the loud snores of his current watchguard. Right...It was Elfman’s turn. The draconis felt a twinge of relief at the larger man’s deep sleep. Him resting through Natsu’s night terrors was a blessing.

But these were clear signs of daylight. Had he slept all night, or napped during the day? He wasn't altogether sure, feeling disoriented and unaware of the passage of time. He could shamble to his door and ask, but that required energy he didn’t have.

Not now, when the floor felt so nice. Sucking in air, he blindly reached for the blankets on his bed and tugged them over his body. This would be his bed for now.

Somehow, the hard surface felt more comforting than anything else.

It would be hours more before Mirajane came with his lunch, confused by his position on the floor, but having the mind not to press him for details when he peeked tiredly from his blanket nest with red rimmed eyes. Instead, she opened the door for Wendy to follow after and left a warm-cooked meal upon the table.

“We think it's time to start using those muscles!“ She excitedly explained, smiling gently as Wendy observed him from the floor, the concern obvious on her young face. ”We can't let those limbs stiffen too much after all.“

”... am I free to leave then?“ He rasped, barely registering Wendy's light touch along his bandages, soft magic poking and prodding along his body for any sign of issues.

”Aunt Porly wants to see you first before deciding,“ The Air Draconis whispered, leaning close to check his temperature. She gripped his jaw gently and tilted his head to press a finger against the bandage wrapped around his neck. He shuddered as the healing magic flowed from her fingertip, sinking into the one wound that refused to close properly.

Natsu opened his mouth and Wendy peered at the sides, squeaking at the sight. The bits of flesh he’d bitten when he woke revealed more than he wanted to admit. She pressed her full hand to the side of his neck and sent out another wave, stronger this time, to hook and close whatever he had reopened internally. He fought the urge to shy away, beginning to really hate having anything close to his neck.

Wendy sighed and pulled away, lips pursed tight together, “But Makarov at least wants you to go on walks now.“

”... what am I, a cat?“

”Yes/Cats Don't go on walks!“ Mirajane and Wendy spoke at once, one all smiles and the other quite bewildered.

“Huh...” Natsu drawled distractedly, biting his raw lip in thought, “... what did I mean then."

Mirajane, ushered him to his feet, brows knitted together as she looked him over. She answered with a helpful smile that didn't meet her eyes. “I think a dog, dear.”

“Are you……okay?” Wendy asked once he sat down, hovering from side to side as she continued to check his vitals, “Everything looks to be healing fine despite a few small issues. And your aura's getting stronger each day, but you... you feel off?”

“Nah, m'fine.” The lie fell from him with practiced ease as he eyed the meal placed before him. Mirajane's cooking never failed to impress and today's lunch did not disappoint just from looks alone. The smell was heavenly and almost washed all his concerns away in an instant, giving Natsu the perfect excuse to dodge the rest of Wendy's questions, “Just hungry!”

Diving into a hot meal rather than talk about his woes was as simple as breathing and he dutifully ignored the shared looks passed between the two over his shoulder.

But if Natsu wasn't willing to talk, they knew better than to press him. Instead, Mirajane remade his bed, ruffled his pillows and tittered about cleaning his dishes while Wendy continued her check up. Something about the domesticity of the scene settled in Natsu's bones like a heavy weight. What was once a source of comfort among his family felt strangely off, as if he was missing something.

A flash of golden hair appeared in his mind's eye and he spoke with a mouth full of soup, swallowing the hot liquid when he only managed garbled words.

”Is Lucy coming today?” She did say she would join the rotation, but it had been days since he'd last seen her. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was starting to wonder if their last encounter had scared her off.

Then again…

He felt the ghost of soft lips feather against his cheek. She was so close then, barely any space between them as her scent surrounded him, calming his racing heart. His fingers tangled with hers, so small in his grasp as he tugged her close. And yet he felt the inexplicable urge to have her closer still-

He choked on nothing and began to eat in earnest. Nope. Nothing was happening or happened. Best not to think about it.

“Uhm.. maybe?“ Wendy hedged, pursing her lips together in thought, ”I wasn't told who was decided today, erm...”

Mirajane's following laughter made a sense of danger crawl up Natsu's spine. “It's so cute how often you think about her.” And her following giggle had him choking all over again.

“I think about a lot of people!” His protests went ignored as Mirajane's giggles grew in volume. As he waited in consternation for an answer, he drank the rest of the soup without further prompting and frowned. At the same time, the taller woman finished her cleaning, placing a now dried mug back on its shelf.

“She spent time with Levy and Cana yesterday,” She finally answered, eyes sliding along the walls of the room before landing on Natsu's scowl. Without further prompting, she grabbed a rag and moved to wipe his face, ignoring his protests. She hummed quietly, “but I think she mentioned something about taking a shift this evening with you.”

Natsu didn't have a chance to respond as Wendy interrupted with a poke to his ribs that sent his nerves firing a jolt of magic through his body. A streak of fire flashed atop his skin in a brief instant, forcing the pair to step back when he yelped. She retracted her hand and ran soothing air across his heated skin instead, allowing the waves of healing magic to soothe him from head to toe.

“Sorry!” She explained through her bottom lip quivering, ”I just wanted to test how sensitive it still was. If it's still like this tomorrow, Aunt Porly might not let you walk like we've planned.“

That was news the draconis didn't like, as he snorted a puff of smoke and flame through his nose to show his disdain. So what if his body wasn't still up to snuff? His magic was responding to him instinctively again and the two healer draconis weren't so amateurish with their abilities. Despite the need to still recuperate, he doubted a walk along the paths would over extend him that much.

“If she doesn't want me burning down my own hut,” He threatened darkly. Annoyance made him curl his lip. “she better let me out.”

“None of that,” Mirajane chided with a light smack to the back of his head. It wasn't enough to hurt, but his head rang all the same, “you're too old for tantrums and none of us have space for you anymore.”

“I can sleep outside!”

”Please don't,“ Wendy pleaded, ”besides, how can Lucy visit if she doesn't have a place to go?“ They both fixed him with pointed, knowing stares.

He didn't quite like the way the two of them were using Lucy as a way to calm him. And he especially didn't like it when he realized it was working. Not only had his shoulders dropped, his breathing had gone back to normal. The realization was enough to make him pout as he crossed his arms.

”I don't really know how, but you two are being unfair,“ he accused, perplexed when they laughed, “And I don't like it.”

Despite the claim, Natsu realized the teasing barbs served a purpose aside from raising his ire. Not only did his mind settle from his errant thoughts, but his mood rose to positive levels that made it easier to think. Despite the chill of his nightmare hovering behind him, he didn't feel the grip of his sharp claws, nor did it distract him for the rest of the afternoon.

Wendy made quick work checking his vitals and testing his flexibility, muscle tension and reflexes. By the time he was ready to throw a pillow or two at her and Mirajane for their teasing, she finished her tedious work, doused him in another wave of healing magic that settled over his eyes like sleeping sand and exited with a promise to see him in the morning. She'd bring Porlyusica along then, and just the reminder of finally being allowed out of his house invigorated him.

Mirajane, however, stayed longer, ensuring he rested as the healing worked its magic. He managed to sleep in his bed, listening to Mirajane lull him to rest with a song on her tongue. It reminded him of simpler times when he was younger, ill or frightened by the new world around him.

A simple comfort. One that was the safety of his own home. He fell into a-thankfully- dreamless sleep and woke when dinner was brought along and Mirajane switched off for the day.

His body felt like a stone when he awoke, still under the influence of Wendy's magic, but he caught Mirajane on her way out, promising with a nod of his head to finish the meal she'd left him once he was able to move. He was surprised to catch the scent of Laxus in the air when she opened his door, her voice rose an octave in surprise as she greeted her partner on the street. He strained his ears to catch their conversation and frowned when it was too jumbled by village chatter to make sense.

However, that distraction led him to miss something and the moment Lucy's scent hit his nose he froze, realizing too late who Mirajane's replacement was.

”You must really be out of it to have missed me coming in.“ His friend chided when she closed the door behind her. Her voice carried a soft, amused lilt, ”did you sleep well?“

Tongue-tied, he reworked his jaw to jostle the sleep from his bones, body heating at the sight of her.

”You're here.“ He lamely said, voice a confused monotone.

”I was able to make time today.“ Her eyes softened as she nudged his shoulder, ”Come on, you need to eat, I could hear your stomach rumbling while you napped.”

He wanted to call her out for an obvious lie. No way that had happened after all, but the smell of the food, Lucy's warm grin and the way she fluidly moved through his room left him far too comfortable to argue. In a matter of minutes he'd shuffled from his bed and returned to his earlier seat, feeling like his life had shrunk to doing the same two things since he was injured.

Unfortunately, though his stomach rumbled at the bowl before him, another part of him was mildly annoyed; it was the exact same dish he’d had before. With his throat damaged as it was, he was placed on a diet of liquids only; the current dishes of thicker stews being a step up from where he’d started as Wendy’s healing magic patched his damaged vocal cords a little more each day. He should be thankful, he knew, but the dish choices were beginning to be too repetitive for his taste.

And even as he dutifully ate his fill each day he was still gnawed by hunger after each meal. How he longed for a thick cut of meat or a fresh caught fish roasted by his own hand….

Which led him to his current actions as he reached across the table to grab the parchment he’d written on days ago, carefully stacked together in case he needed to write yet again. He swept the blank ones aside, and eyed the old ones with a curious glance before his gaze settled on the nearby candle Mirajane had left lit on the table.

Perfect.

Lucy hardly paid him mind as she sat across from him, instead rummaging through her bag to find whatever it was that she needed. Another inkwell perhaps, the one she had left with him was near empty after their last encounter.

She didn’t notice when his fingers wrapped around the waxy pillar, staring intently- hungrily- at the little flame that flickered atop it. Natsu smirked, pushing it over with a single finger.

He intently watched the little fire as it grew, slowly eating through the messily scrawled pages, curling in on themselves as they fed the heat that licked across them. His mouth watered at the sight and his stomach rumbled.

When the crackle of burning parchment met her ears, Lucy squealed in surprise, flying to her feet. Her bag clunked to the floor as ink splattered from a half opened bottle, leaking out against the floor. Whoops. Guess she’d have to bring another replacement for that one, too.

Lucy paid it no mind, hurried rushing to his small kitchenette to frantically fill a glass with water, “Are you TRYING to set your house on fire?!”

He didn’t bother telling her of his earlier conversation with Wendy and Mira, but chuckled at the reminder. Letting the fire travel higher still, he licked his lips and held a hand out to Lucy before she could douse the parchment with the cup she’d filled. His mouth opened wide, fangs glinting sharply as his tongue reached out to taste the lingering ash and embers of the paper before he stuffed the flames, stack and all, into his mouth and swallowed it down.

The effect was instant, his body humming from the addition to his magic as his chest rumbled in appreciation. “That hit the spot! Way better than boring soup anyway-”

Water splashed against him as Lucy slammed the mug on the table, frantically grabbing at his jaw as she pried his mouth open, “Oi- Usshie ,stawp-!”

“What is wrong with you?!” She cried out, panicking, she searched the inside of his mouth for any signs of burns and grimaced as ashy breath blew in her face, “ugh, I can’t believe you’d just… are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Natsu wrenched himself from her grasp, rubbing at his jaw in pain as he watched her in consternation, “What's wrong with me?” He repeated, coughing lightly despite the warmth that flooded his limbs, “What’s wrong with you? I do that all the -”

He paused, eyes widening in realization, “Oh shit, I’ve never eaten fire in front ya’ before have I?”

Lucy gawked, “That’s normal?”

“Oops,” He muttered, laughing sheepishly, “Uh yeah. Draconis thing. Can eat the element we’re attuned with: tastes pretty good actually. Even Wendy and Porly can do it.”

He couldn’t help it. The look on Lucy’s face as it changed from aggravated panic to frustrated relief was too good. He hadn’t meant to freak her out over something as simple as having a snack, but his laughter shook his shoulders as he wheezed, tasting the remnants of burnt parchment in the process. “Don’t laugh at me for not WARNING me you could do that!” She snapped, but after a few more seconds of catching her breath, she began to laugh as well, muttering under her breath. Through the laughter, he finally resumed his actual meal, promising he’d give her ample warning next time he chose to eat fire out of nowhere. “Like it matters now,” She muttered bitterly, swatting his shoulder, “I already know you can do it!”

While he accepted the point, he still couldn’t resist the cheeky smile he gave her, spooning his soup into his mouth as she resumed her earlier wanderings around his room. Apart from the new ink stain on his floor ( and a bag that Lucy bemoaned the loss of) Mirajane had kept it spic and span already, but it was clear she was looking for something to do as he continued to stuff his face. However, it gave them both the time needed to stifle their laughter as it continued to sprout between them at random intervals. It was when he was halfway through his dish that his mind wandered back to earlier musings and he looked to Lucy curiously from the lip of his bowl in consideration as she flitted about still, rearranging his vests by color.

”If I asked you to let me out, would you?”

The question fell from his mouth, voice hush and almost hesitant, already fearing her refusal. He knew he could force his way out. He’d tried once and almost succeeded. He had half a mind to just waltz right out the door, shambling with his new bowl of soup in hand, but the lull of sleep still pulled at his eyes. But Natsu didn’t want that, not when it was Lucy watching over him.

Briefly he wondered if Lucy would ring that damn bell if he attempted. He didn't see it on hand, but that didn't mean it wasn't outside waiting to be used at a moment’s notice. He had a brief thought of hunting Freed down later when he was free. That man was the first atop Natsu’s very long list of petty revenge that he wanted to enact. He’d regret the day he suggested they use a bell to keep a Draconis in line.

”Hmm, asking nicely?“ He was surprised when Lucy considered his question. She left the vests in a rustle of fabrics to take a seat across from him, turned her gaze upwards as if in deep thought. She tapped a nail softly on the tabletop, ”If I agree to let you stargaze with me later, will that suffice?“

That... was better than expected and his eyebrows shot into the fringe of his hair in surprise. ”Seriously?! That’s all I had to do? Ask you?“

”Yup! But this is a one time offer.” She smiled, but then he realized it didn't quite reach her eyes as she looked away again, ”That is.. if you still want to after...“

Her voice trailed off and she rubbed her shoulders, appearing almost as uncomfortable as she'd been during her first weeks sharing a space with him months ago. The expression pulled at Natsu and he scowled, nose scrunching at the sight.

”After what?“ He prodded, clearing his throat as he willed it to behave. He can have trouble speaking later, damnit!

Silence spread between them, and rather than wait awkwardly, he gulped down the rest of his soup. The sleep had fallen from him the moment he'd noticed something was wrong and now he couldn't stop himself from noticing every little thing that was off about the romni before him.

Her eyes were dulled, almost somber and her complexion seemed paler than usual. The way she pulled in on herself, looked as if she was attempting to become smaller by the second and her gaze couldn't stay in one place for longer than a few seconds. It was strange to witness, knowing her focus was far better than his own and not knowing what caused her look so solemn was beginning to tear down his nerves, brick by brick.

'Who upset Lucy?' He wondered, 'And how am I gonna get out of here to punch 'em for it?'

Attempting another bite of his meal, he was surprised to meet nothing but air on his spoon, frowning as he realized he'd unknowingly finished it. All that hard work Mirajane had done just for him to not enjoy it!

Deciding Lucy was more important than an unenjoyed meal, he shoved the bowl aside and continued to wait, trailing his tongue across his teeth as he considered how to pull her from her thoughts.

He didn't have to think for long, as she finally shook herself with resolve and fixed him with a guilty stare. “I want to ask you something, but I'm afraid it's going to upset you. I'm pretty sure it's a sensitive topic, but... should I not ask?”

Ask what? How was he supposed to know the answer to that if he didn't even know what she wanted to say? Natsu couldn’t help the incredulous look as he leaned back in his seat, eyeing her in obvious confusion.

He muttered under his breath and growled, agitated, “No offense, but that's the weirdest thing I've heard ya' say in months. If it upsets me, I can just change the subject and not answer, yeah? That's my business. If it's bothering you, that's yours. So just ask.”

Honestly, what was it with her and everyone else always making things more difficult than they had to be?

Lucy's laugh was like music to his ears, even when subdued. She wiped her eyes and sighed, “that... somehow makes me feel better. You're good at that.”

He ignored how her words made his chest feel lighter, not resisting the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Just saying what I think, that's all.”

She nodded, looking more relaxed than she had, ”All right, then, if you don't want to answer: don't. And then I can be the one to sneak you out for a bit this time, deal?“

That was more like it. His grin was all teeth, enjoying the idea of her breaking the rules for once.

”... can you tell me who Igneel is?“

The crack of splintering wood shot through the air, silencing Lucy with a flinch as she ducked her head away shamefully. The grin froze into place and he felt his entire world drop out from under him. His fingers dug into the grain, nails gouging scars into the small table.

”How...” He started, voice dry and cracking, “how do you know that name?”

Her gaze was back on the ceiling, looking far too guilty for his liking, but he couldn't manage another sentence to console her. Not now with that name ringing in his ears. His body felt hollowed out, too hot and cold all at once, and the corners of his eyes began to sting with a familiar wetness he refused to acknowledge.

”You... said it... when you were being operated on." She admitted, explaining what others had said when she posed the question to them.

Realizing what his ailing body had done against his say was embarrassing enough, but everyone else was aware too?

Splinters dug into his skin beneath his clawed fingertips and Natsu fought back the urge to snap. The air inside his house grew stifling from rising waves of heat lifting off him. It was his first sign of emotional overload and he fought to contain it. To breathe and back away.

Isn't that what he always did?

”You don't have to answer-!“ Lucy began but he held a hand up, quivering with too many emotions to separate from himself. He inhaled deeply, fighting back the warmth that pricked the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t cry. Not after only hearing just a name. The seconds trickled by as he willed the sweltering heat in the room to disperse to normal room temperatures.

”My Dad.“ He said, voice wavering with every breath, ”... I was calling for my Dad.“

In just one breath, the world and ocean itself crashed in on itself in his heart and Lucy hid behind her hands. He could hear the apology before it fell from her lips and fought through the lump in his throat to stop her.

”... don't.” He interjected, not recognizing his own voice for the first time in years, tired and weak., “Just, don't. Please. Can we just go see the stars now?”

Natsu reached across the table to pull her hands from her face, desperately searching her eyes as he asked, “Please?”

They said yes louder than her voice ever could.

They waited in tense silence for the sun to sink well below the horizon before they attempted to enact Natsu’s escape. At first, the two wondered where they could go that would keep him hidden enough, but every idea was struck from their minds the second they thought of them.

The beach?

“Everyone could see us and you're in no condition to walk through the sand.” Lucy pointed out.

The forest clearing?

“... that's even farther out! Plus there’s barely anything nice left after what happened!” Natsu barked non quizzically, eyebrows raised in judgment at Lucy's flushed face, “besides do ya' really wanna go back to where that asshole attacked us?”

“Uh, no... not really,” She winced, “That was stupid, huh?”

“No,” He muttered, scratching the back of his neck and awkwardly looking at a speck on the wall, “Just ... being your weird self.”

Other suggestions came and went with Natsu's voice progressively becoming hoarse until Lucy demanded he merely nod or shake his head in response to her ideas. 'I'm not becoming the reason you can't talk tomorrow!' She had said.

He grumpily agreed, crossing his arms as he fell quiet, mouth practically burning with the want to say his piece. More ideas came and went and just when the two thought they would never find the perfect place, Natsu struck gold. The perfect location.

That he couldn't explain without Lucy cutting him off with a hand to his mouth, hissing angrily at his inability to not cause further damage to his vocal chords. He recalled her last visit where she did the same, and her outcry of disgusted horror when he licked her palm, running to his kitchen to clean her hand while he almost popped a stitch with laughter at her reaction. The temptation to see her reaction again was irresistible.

As if sensing his train of thought Lucy pulled back just in time to witness his tongue peeking between his lips. Her face burned red and she held her hand tightly to her chest. A weird reaction, but he chalked that up to Lucy being Lucy.

”Were you going to lick me? Again?!“

He went to answer, but she snapped, ”Shake yes or no!“

Gods, was this his fate until he was fully healed? Seriously? Not bothering to hide his disdain, Natsu shrugged and rose to his feet instead. If that was how she was going to be, then he wasn't going to answer. Instead, he stopped by the front door and mimed the motions of her following him.

'I'll show you the way, you keep me hidden,' He tried to emphasize, hoping she'd piece it together on her own.

But Lucy was smart. Smarter than him on a good day, he'd wager. Not a second later, she was opening the door and muttering a quiet word under her breath that caused a swirl of magic to burst through the unseen barrier of Freed's runes. Natsu stared, mystified and grunted when he realized the words felt foreign on his tongue and he couldn't put together what she'd said to repeat it himself.

”A passcode Freed gave.“ She explained, winking proudly at him, ”and it only works for the one he gave it to, so good luck trying it yourself! Once we get back, I'll have to put it back up for him.“

Damn them. They really thought of everything, didn't they? Another reason to smack Freed with a pillow, right along with Makarov later when he was recovered. He'd have fun bombing them with feather attacks, he was certain.

But he hadn't much time to consider that thought further as Lucy grasped his hand and gently tugged him out the door, passed the barrier that had been the bane of his existence for nearly a full week and the sense of freedom brought a smile to his face.

He’d foregone his shoes, not bothering to waste time searching for them and after a week of smooth wooden boards beneath his soles. The quiet crunch of gravel beneath each step was a welcome change.

This was so much better. He was almost giddy, were he fit he’d dart off down streets like a child. The air outside tasted so much better than he remembered. He didn't think about it when his fingers curled around hers and he began their slow trek along the path, keeping close to the shadows as they made their way up to the decrepit keep.

If they were going to stargaze as he enjoyed the fresh air, then why not do it from the top of an abandoned watch tower that still basked in the last vestiges of sunlight as the stars began to blot the sky one by one?

This wasn't the first time Natsu climbed this particular watch tower. Like the clearing in the woods, he had many places he liked to go when he just wanted to exist and nothing more and this was the best view of the entire village without any obstructions from the landscape below.

Today felt as good a day as any to stop existing, especially with the thoughts now tugging at his mind left and right. Teetering on the edges of his perception, Natsu could feel the hints of his nightmare slowly creeping in on him, but over-shadowed was the echoing of a name he'd tried to keep to himself for years.

Igneel was a name he wanted to forget. (It was a lie, but maybe one day he'd believe it.) The fact Lucy now joined the ranks of those who knew of it left him feeling off-kilter. Others knew from when he was a child and unable to control the words spewing from his mouth when he'd wake cold and alone in his home, desperately for any source of comfort, but the name so rarely left him now that hearing it again brought back every negative emotion he fought desperately to hide.

Lucy's grip on his fingers served to ground him, but the moment they began to climb the tower, each thought came rushing in as if a dam had burst. He wanted her to go first, to ensure her leg could handle the ladder up, but she refused. ”Let me take care of you this time.“

Despite the cold chill that ran through him when his hand slipped from hers, her order warmed him from the inside out and became the only barrier he had against the errant thoughts still igniting in his mind.

He stood to the side when he clambered to the top, making room for Lucy to join him. The dwindling light of the sun caresses the edges of his hair while the wind whipped it about in the cool breeze. Distantly, he realized a few of his bandages had come loose as they fluttered in the air current, but he paid no mind to fixing them. The sunset was far too hypnotizing.

But as it sank away beneath the horizon, he felt a distant pang in his chest that tightened with an unknown emotion. It was nostalgic, in a way, but effervescent, just beyond his reach of understanding. He tore his gaze away, the dull sensation fading as he watched Lucy make it up the final rung.

The wind caused the temperature to drop, but his magic had already begun to replenish itself, faster than his body could heal. It kept him warm, but he caught the sounds of Lucy's teeth chattering. He frowned, irritated. He’d led her up here, how fair was it to let her freeze from his own suggestion?

Lucy wasn't prepared for the way he grabbed her, hands snapping out like a viper to drag her into his hold where his body heat could warm her better than the thin fabric of her dress ever could.

”H-hey! Natsu, you're injured, you can't be-'' She squeaked as he pulled them to the floor, keeping her seated between his outstretched legs. Wrapping his arms securely around her middle, rested his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes. He felt Lucy stiffen, too scared to move, afraid she might knock against a wound and-

Colour crept up her neck as he inhaled against her. The slow expansion of his chest was close, it felt as if it were merging with her own. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, but her mind stretched in too many directions, threatening to overwhelm her. She sputtered, tumbling over her words.

“Natsu- what are you, you really can’t-!” She fell silent when his annoyed breath fanned over her cheek and sharp teeth nipped the edge of her ear in reprimand. His action cut her off and he rumbled softly at his quiet victory. It was a no win with her if he tried to verbally answer.

This was quicker, and it got the response out of her he wanted.

That was better. He pointed out to the sky where there was more night than sunset and spoke an octave lower than usual, just enough to get his point across.

”You take care of me, and I keep you warm,“ He muttered, ”Fair enough?“

”....... I can't believe you bit me.“ Her reply was breathless and for a second, he thought he caught a rasp in her tone.

”... you're not getting sick, right?“ He asked.

“No!“ Her elbow nudged him just enough to serve as a warning and she stubbornly looked to the sky. If not for the way she sat stiff as a statue, he would have laughed at the way her face had turned tomato red.

He'd take her word on it….. for now.

What more could he do to chase the errant thoughts plaguing his mind away? Pulling her close worked better than their held hands and he found himself distracted by the golden gleam in her hair rather than the stars sparkling above them.

A comforting silence fell between them, one that Natsu reveled in. He wasn't certain what thoughts rampaged through Lucy's mind, or what she did during the times he couldn't see her, but in that moment, it was just the two of them. Much as it had been in the forests after the landslide. He could properly ascertain her safety for himself and the restlessness that was ever present shrank to non existence.

Almost too comforting, in fact, as his eyes began to drift shut as the sun finally set and the glow of the waning moon shone above them. He struggled to stay awake, annoyed at his body for becoming exhausted so quickly.

Luckily, for him, Lucy provided the perfect distraction, fiddling with the loose bandages. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Do what?” He mumbled.

“Bite me,” She muttered, ears so red he could feel the heat coming off her in waves, “It’s not something you should do to just- ugh, never mind. Would you like to see more constellations?”

Although confused by the sudden change in topic, Natsu smiled into her hair, eyes shining as he watched her point to the stars above, “... are they different from last time we were on the beach together?”

“Of course they are,” She lectured, voice warm with recollection, “the stars move and change just as we do. You just have to know where to look.”

His eyes widened in curiosity, feeling a strange familiarity with the words. “That makes sense.”

They fell into a companionable embrace, with Lucy pointing to different constellations, naming each one she recognized. Natsu watched, eyes blinking from weariness as he rested against her shoulder. It melted away their myriad of thoughts that tangled their emotions and mired them in emotions they weren’t ready to traverse. This was a comfort, a moment of peace. A little world just for them. It was perfect.

Lucy squirmed in her spot from time to time, biting her lip as she struggled to remember each cluster of stars. The memories of her childhood faded away in the fog of her mind; She looked above as if they were family, but the names were shadows of their former selves and she constantly questioned the accuracy of her words.

But Natsu sat and listened with quiet hums of encouragement, surprisingly patient as she considered each star. Despite her earlier embarrassment of his lack of personal space, Lucy found herself sinking further against him, basking in the heat his body presented.

Spring still kept a chill in the air, despite the warning of summer already looming close and while she probably didn't need Natsu acting as her blanket, she quietly appreciated it. Their moment of peace as she pointed out her next favorite constellation served as the distraction they both needed from errant thoughts.

“There's Centaurus,” She mumbled, pleased to finally remember the name, “One of the larger ones you can see this time of year and the smallest... Oh! There he is!“ She changed direction, pointing a little further away, eyes gleaming, ”Old Man Crux!“

Natsu snickered into her shoulder, voice a low rumble in his amusement, “Old man, huh? He got a beard like the geezer too?”

Her pout was unmistakable, feeling embarrassed, ”Don't make fun of me. I was taught these when I was little, and seeing them as actual beings was how I remembered them.“

Another rumble followed, “Not makin’ fun, just.. noticing... that's all.“

”Keep that up and I won't share Corvus or Musica with you,“ she snipped without any heat. When Natsu's reply was to nuzzle against her shoulder as he chuckled, she decided to turn her attention back to the stars, eyes already scanning for the mentioned constellations.

But something, just under her inner voice, quietly tugged at her. A gentle pull that led her gaze to an altogether different cluster. A familiarity she couldn't name warmed her soul and a soft spoken voice seemed to call out to her.

'You can introduce us, can't you?' The voice urged and Lucy was pointing it out before she could consider it further, ”And that one... the maiden, Virgo. I haven't seen her in awhile.”

When did she last take the time to study the stars she once knew so well?

She could hardly remember, but the pull faded with her acknowledgment and Lucy felt a little more brave than she had moments ago.

“There ya' go again,” Natsu mumbled, sounding half asleep, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck. She was almost offended. His wounds needed all the rest he could get and the fact he was relaxed so much filled Lucy with pride, but... there was something else, something the star above seemed to share strength with her to do.

“I'm so sorry,” Her voice came out in a half-breath, chest heaving as tears stung the corner of her eyes. She didn't wait for Natsu to respond. A part of her hoped he had fallen to sleep and would miss it entirely, but the need to get it out into the air was too strong to deny herself, “for bringing up bad memories.”

The look upon his face when she'd said that name, she knew it well.

The broken emptiness that came from a loss you couldn't stop and still wrestled to accept. Her clan was gone, but even he held a loss so deep inside that his silent need for comfort couldn't be contained even in sleep. It was all too easy to feel that guilt rise up, threatening to strangle her with its many tendrils.

A part of her knew the apology was more to make herself feel better, but she hoped, if Natsu heard it, he'd take it for what it was and not mistake her apology as a way to bring the topic up again. The way his gaze broke when she asked was more than enough for Lucy and she didn't wish to witness a repeat of it.

Lowering her hand, eyes still watching the Virgo constellation above them, she listened to Natsu's breathing even out behind her. The way his breath ghosted the back of her neck and his arms loosened their hold around her waist. All signs of rest, but the fact didn't calm her nerves. Everything felt jittery, both inside and out and Lucy struggled to name the cause of it.

“Sometimes... I wonder why you or anyone else put up with me,” She admitted quietly, allowing the freedom of Natsu's sleep to say the words she kept hidden, “but I suppose Porly was right.. It's unfair if I decide to leave just because I feel guilty over how kind all of you are. So, I'll think on it a little longer, okay?” Natsu snorted quietly behind her, his head lolling slightly in his slumber.

Maybe she wasn't half as brave as she felt.

Maybe it's better this way, She thought, sighing as she curled in on herself, holding her legs tight against her chest. 'But... how long until I have to wake him?'

They had to go back eventually, if only to keep her replacement from knowing what she'd done. Perhaps allowing him to walk out before Porlyusica had given the go ahead wasn't the greatest of plans, but Lucy couldn't bring herself to regret the decision. He had done the same for her, after all.

For now, she'd let him rest, and enjoy the stars above in silence. The stars of Virgo blinked back, as if agreeing with the idea and she peered upon each constellation through her lashes, turning her focus inward to the depths of the magic that curled around her soul.

She still couldn't use it properly, not yet, but the ability to access it was a comfort. One she hadn't properly thanked Natsu for yet. Vowing to thank him when the time came, she visualized the golden glow of her abilities spreading out to envelope her, fingers curling to play with its energy.

Once upon a time, Makarov asked if she had learned to speak with the stars as her clan did and she had to deny it. Now, she wondered... if she focused harder, could she hear them again? She knew now what the voices were that gave whispered warnings in the back of her mind, but could she bring them out herself?

“Tell me how to hear you.” She pleaded quietly, urging her magic to spread further out like a beacon, “Please... Virgo, you spoke once, didn't you? I actually heard that? Let me hear you again.”

Silence ticked by with crickets chirping a chorus beneath them, but the constellations above merely blinked in answer. If there was something to say, it wasn't now. Lucy drew the magic back in, panting from the exertion and sighed.

“... next time, then.” She hoped.

Natsu didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but he remembered Lucy's quiet voice, and what he thought was an apology. The words had slurred on the tip of his tongue and when he had meant to reply, had turned into a soft snore. The position wasn't the most comfortable, but the shared heat, fresh air and listening to a voice that wasn't lecturing him had soothed his bones in more ways than one.

And while he still felt the bitterness of past memories on his tongue, he wanted nothing more than to shove it back into the depths of his mind to stay buried. His sleep was both restful and an attempt to run away from exhausting memories. Thinking too much was always tiring and Lucy's voice served as a lullaby for the Draconis.

Unfortunately, his sleep wasn't long, as a familiar scent traversed the wind and knocked against his nose, forcing his eyes to open. Lucy was still in his arms,a pleasant surprise despite her being stiffer than she had been before, but wide awake. She'd stopped talking at some point. (To give him more rest, he figured.) And the natural smell that came from her was unchanged.

So why did he smell blood? And Erza? (It took him a couple, nose scrunching moments to realize it wasn't hers, but the fact he couldn't pinpoint whose it belonged to was just as frustrating.) It called for him to awaken as he swung his head, swiveling to and fro to judge distance and location.

The front gate and coming up fast. Relief at Erza's safety was short lived as he caught more scents on the wind, pulling a low growl from his throat that startled Lucy from her reverie.

“What is it? Did you have a nightmare?” She asked, but he didn't have the attention to answer, pushing her aside gently to drag himself to his feet.

He wobbled at first, tightening his hold on the old railing as he trusted it to support his weight. He was still disoriented from his inopportune nap, but while this watchtower was not in use, it still had a good view of the main gate and as the scent grew stronger, he knew he had to see for himself what was happening.

The current warriors on duty already leapt into action, opening the gate and casting orders. Their voices echoed in the distance, but Natsu caught the words with relative ease. Informing Makarov was paramount, of course, but that wasn't the news he wanted. His hackles raised as he tried to spy Kage in her entourage, his old anger refueling from his failures.

Lucy said something, but he didn't catch the words, too attuned to the group below them, but he was aware of her hand on his shoulder. It was gentle enough, but sent a shudder down his nerves regardless: the wounds still too sensitive. Her hasty apology was felt rather than heard and he grunted his acceptance.

“Erza's back.” He said, unsure if Lucy had even asked, but she moved by his side quickly enough, attempting to see the commotion down below as well.

He doubted her ears could catch what he did, however.

“Is she okay?”

“Smells like it.” He said, nose wrinkling in disdain as Kage's scent finally struck his nose. “She got the bastard!”

While he assumed Lucy would be happy with the knowledge, her silence spoke volumes. His own mood had dampened as rage began to fuel the fire in his mind. Kage was wounded, he could tell that much, but Erza had brought him back alive: something the Draconis wanted to rectify as soon as possible.

What reason could there be to leave the asshole alive after his attempts on their lives?

But as much as he wanted to dart off, the aches of his body refused to allow it and Lucy grasping his wrist grounded him enough to reality. He wasn't supposed to be out yet. (As if he'd care about that.) But Lucy stuck her neck out for him. He didn’t dare risk getting her in trouble. Still growling, he pulled her and himself down just enough to hide from view and still keep an eye on the events down below.

He didn't care if he was caught but Lucy... something told him she needed a win and this was the best way to get her one. “Stay down.“ He rasped.

”You don't need to tell me that!“ She hissed in return, ”we shouldn't even be here. Maybe we should head back...“

”No. Their path is right under us,“ He shook his head, knowing Lucy could piece it together faster than he could. Ignoring her as she began to ramble concerns under her breath, he stretched his neck as far as his wounds could allow and tried to piece together what was happening.

It was definitely Erza, with Kage bound on a makeshift sled of wood and vines trailing behind her. But the blood came from two sources and while he could care less the extent of Kage's injuries, he didn't recognize the other man limping beside her with a brown hood draped over his face. One who smelt eerily of starlight beneath the stench of blood.

First she left Kage alive and now she was bringing strangers into the village? What was Erza thinking?

Gooseflesh prickled atop his skin as the wind picked up, Lucy pressing herself closer to his side to escape the chill but it was something else that made him shiver.

There was a fourth scent just behind the three, one that Natsu hoped for once in his life was his nose playing tricks. But the taste of iron- sharp as a blade- cut through the muddled scents of the forest standing on the edge of woods just outside in wait.

The metallic tint that struck him sent signals flaring in his mind as his fingers dug sharp indentations into the watchtower rails.

It was familiar, dredging up memories of his youth and yet he couldn’t place a name to the scent that made his stomach churn. It didn’t matter though. No matter who it was, the troubles this held in store for him almost made his magic flare out of control. The urge to ignite the forest was rising, roaring to be followed.

What Natsu wasn't aware of, was that familiar scent had caught his own, holding a steady gaze up over the gate to the unused watchtower, a studded brow drawn close in confusion. The tall man's red eyes widened as memories of a childhood long gone flickered in his mind.

Now this was interesting. The one left on the edge of the forest, outside of the village, couldn't stop the smirk that split across his face.

‘Looks like we're gonna have a change of plans,’ Gajeel thought.

#nalu #fairy tail #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #natsuxlucy #ft fanfiction #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #Kili's Writing #My Writing #cw: gore #cw blood #cw: corpses

38 notes · View notes

cloudbattrolls · 11 months

Text

Make Of Me

Thrixe Varzim | Present Night | The Ruins of An Unnamed Forest

Thrixe beheld the ashy ruins of what had once been a forest, blackened stumps and scorched piles of leaves, exposed rocks dusted with ash. He was the only troll - person - for a mile, he was pretty sure; he couldn’t sense anyone else.

Archimedes hid behind his legs, hissing.

Though in most respects a normal gryphon, the pet he’d made shared his sensitivity to the state of growth in the world around them. They could both feel that this forest hadn’t been destroyed by any natural blaze; it confirmed what he had heard.

That someone called the Torch had razed it.

Some forests did need fire to grow. Yarrow loved burned earth; some seeds only germinated after a fire, and sometimes dead growth needed to be cleared so new life could thrive.

This forest, however, had been young. Not ready to feed an inferno yet.

Torch, he thought with slightly morbid amusement. You ruined this place. But I guess I should thank you. Overgrowing an existing ecosystem is bad for everyone. This, though…

Thrixe walked into the first space between the stumps, and he began to sing.

“I’m…made of bones of the branches the boughs and the bough beating light..”

First; the soil. Nothing could grow without a strong base, nutrients and insects to make a living system again. He reached deep into the earth with his power, feeling out the survivors, tempting them back to the dirt near the surface.

Bacteria and insects thrived again, buried eggs hatching, crawling and wriggling through the earth, and he nudged the nitrogen to begin replenishing.

Then the air itself. It still had traces of smoke; he had altered his lungs slightly to cope with it better, growing a temporary skin-shield over his gills.

He sprouted tendrils weaving into the air, absorbing the toxins and fostering the oxygen, cilia sprouting to filter it and catch particulates dangerous to life. He grew more out of the few remaining microorganisms in the air, using their life as a base for his own, clearing away the acrid smell and tainted gases.

Eyes glowing a bright violet-white, he took a breath.

“Well my feet are the trunks…”

He reached for the roots, shriveled and starved of nutrients - the ones that were still alive - and he regenerated them, encouraging new growth. Not too much - he didn’t want the restored trees to crowd each other out, to have no room to grow further.

He was setting the place back on its course, not allowing it to rapidly choke out again.

Tendrils extended from his legs into the earth, tilling it, taking dead plant and animal matter and turning it to rich compost that he fed directly to the new roots he made. He extended several feet underground and into the air now with his gleaming pink and violet network, further using the existing life to spread himself.

He smiled a wide, slightly jagged smile in giddy in anticipation.

From the mouths of his many extensions he continued:

“And my head is the canopy high!”

The trees burst back into growth with a creaking and crackling of wood and sap, a thunderous cacophony as they went from withered to blooming, shedding their ashy skin for fresh bark and flowers. Stumps became fertile, springing up with mosses and lichens. Small plants pushed through the ground.

As the trees settled, their new wood hot from the change that had sprung it into being, they blinked with scattered violet eyes, woven through with veins of grayish pink. Starfish tendrils rippled among the soil, spines dotting the leaves of the underbrush.

“And my fingers extend to the leaves in the eaves, and the -“

Thrixe as the forest breathed, felt the moons on himself, rustled in the breeze…and with a choir of content sighs, took himself out of the plants, let them fade fully back to their natural selves. His extensions faded to nothing, and he had only one body again.

A bit sad, just the one. It was fine! He had nothing against it, it was the one everyone knew him by. The one he always had to appear in for everyone but Zanzul.

Or Vallis, but Vallis hardly counted as company, he thought with a roll of his eyes.

Archimedes had already taken off, no doubt hunting some small animal. He hadn’t raised anything from the dead…but it had been tempting. He was a bit tired, though. It wouldn’t be good to push himself.

Thrixe flopped on his back, lying on the newly grassy ground.

“Brightest shine, it’s my shine…” he finished the verse softly, looking at some ivy and marigolds that still glowed faintly pale violet.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Didn’t he sign his works as a painter? It didn’t hurt to leave a small trace of himself behind, not enough to interfere with the forest life.

No one would ever know it was him, that’s what mattered. No troll he loved would ever know what he could be like, as long as he let it out safely and away from their sight.

A bug crawled on his left fin and it flicked involuntarily, tickled by the tiny feet. The skin-shield over his gills had since dissolved, and they shone violet, rippling slightly.

Yes, he could show small parts of himself, if trolls were all right with it. But he had to ask first, had to be careful.

He looked at his black-tipped claws, which had been that way for a while, and he was fairly certain extra fins were coming in on his arms and legs as well. No, he wasn’t the only seadweller with such things, but he wondered how much else he had to grow.

Uryali had had tendrils in his fins, and permanent extra eyes…he definitely didn’t want those. Maybe there was a way to at least choose which traits he got, since the process was probably impossible to stop entirely.

He got up, shaking dirt out of his curly braid, and looked back at his work. This place should thrive now, he hoped.

Archimedes flew back to Thrixe, and he hugged his furry, feathery pet before letting him go to fly alongside him.

He walked away, leaving the forest to flourish once more.

#cloud writes #I actually had the idea for this months ago but only now finished it. even though it's not all that long #thrixe varzim #horrifying man. but at least he wants to use his powers responsibly #song he sings is the queen's rebuke by the decemberists #Torch is Platar btw he belongs to Lard

4 notes · View notes

allthebrazilianpolitics · 2 years

Text

In Brazil, the World’s Largest Tropical Wetland Has Been Overwhelmed With Unprecedented Fires and Clouds of Propaganda

The sky turned a deep orange as ash swirled into the flames consuming Brazil’s Pantanal, the world’s largest tropical wetland.

Hyacinth macaws and toucans took flight as anacondas and giant otters plunged into rivers in an attempt to escape the inferno engulfing their home.

“I had never seen such a massive fire,” says Lourenço Pereira Leite, a lifelong traditional fisherman from the Pantanal. “My plants burned. I’ve always cultivated crops. I plant and harvest manioc, squash, bananas. But everything died.”

In 2020, satellites and aerial surveillance from scientific institutions like Brazil’s National Institute for Space Research (INPE) and NASA’s Earth Observatory, and monitors on the ground from organizations like nonprofits SOS Pantanal and the Disaster Rescue Group for Animals, detected tens of thousands more fires than usual burning in the region. Farmers and ranchers intentionally started many of the blazes, an act that fell in line with far-right President Jair Bolsonaro’s agricultural expansion plans, clearing more land for planting and pastures in an ecosystem dried to tinder by the worst drought it had endured in almost 50 years.

Even before the fires started to wane, the devastation was palpable. What was once lush and green, home to more than 4,700 species of plants and animals, was burned black and dotted with the charred bodies of caiman, tapir and giant anteaters. Jaguars with paws burnt raw limped across the scorched ground where rich grasslands and water-filled pools once abounded. According to a study published by Nature, 17 million vertebrates were directly killed by the fires.

And the fires returned the next year. Although the flames of 2021 razed a smaller portion of the wetlands—just half of what was lost in the record-breaking 2020 fires, thanks to community monitoring and volunteer firefighting projects—they still added another layer of destruction, as did this year’s fires, which again were fewer than last year. There has been no time for the Pantanal to recuperate. The devastation from the fires and drought has left communities in the biome close to ruin and the environment that supports them on the brink of disaster. Many of its residents say it is dying.

But Brazil’s federal government paints an entirely different picture. Despite evidence collected on the ground, viral narratives spread by Bolsonaro and his allies in both government and agribusiness insist the Pantanal is thriving. They tout cattle as key to fighting fires and proclaim, without proof, that Brazil is a leader in sustainability. With Bolsonaro up for reelection on Oct. 2, conflicting narratives presenting the Pantanal as either an environmental success story or a treasured landscape devastated by the flames of greed have become not only fodder in political campaigns, but also symbols of the possible futures for the nation’s vast rainforests, wetlands and savannahs.

Continue reading and see more pictures.

#brazil #politics #environmentalism #environmental justice #brazilian politics #pantanal #jair bolsonaro #fake news #mod nise da silveira #image description in alt

8 notes · View notes

the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

Text

Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #daminette #angst #major angst #psychopath! Damian Wayne #grieving! Marinette Dupain-Cheng #faked death

69 notes · View notes

smallblip · 3 years

Text

Gift for @free-pancakes both because she drew me the loveliest thing for this au and also because I love her. The bed’s cold without you😔 please come back home🥺💖

A thousand burning suns III

Her parents named her Mikasa after the strong resolve of the Ackermans. If anything, Mikasa lives up to her namesake. After all, she’s what remains of her family. She thinks about this as her fingers skim the scorched wall of her family hall- the spot where Levi’s portrait once resided.

Her fingertips come to rest on a spot where the paint is stubborn- in it, she sees the greys of his irises.

I found your daughter. She’s grown now. She says, the last grain of anger slipping through her hands like sand. He had left her alone. Alone to bear the responsibilities of being an Ackerman. And yet, Mikasa finds herself wondering if his daughter looks anything like him. I will fulfil my promise to both of you…

—

The girl is a strange mix of of her father and her mother. Behind her smile, a resolve that can only be an Ackerman’s, and behind her calamity, a storm that can only be conjured by a Zoë. And Mikasa’s breath is caught in her chest when she realises the girl has eyes are that are grey like Levi’s.

Mikasa draws her sword before her- the girl with the fire that can change the world. And her tribe kneels behind her- with her.

I am Mikasa Ackerman. Princess of the old tribe of Hizuru. Sister of Levi Ackerman.

And I pledge my allegiance to you.

—

“You don’t look like my father…” the girl says. She has the bluntness of both her parents combined and Mikasa rolls her eyes.

“My father had two wives...”

“Politics?”

“Foolishness.” Mikasa corrects. She doesn’t yet know what to think of the girl. All she knows is that her place is beside her. She doesn’t dare second guess her own decision. To do so meant the destruction of her people. “Just like your parents…” she adds.

And the girl laughs. She understands- there’s no denying that she’s the product of said foolishness. But a foolishness so beautiful she grows up with stories that furnish her parents’ absence. The girl grows up on love that transcends the melancholic ache of loss.

And Mikasa sees this. She sees this in the way the girl speaks to her following. Gentle like her mother, with a strength only Hanji wielded. And she feels the guilt clawing angrily at her guts. She had hated Hanji. Hated her brother because of Hanji. She never understood how a princess from across the sea with wild hair and the most boisterous laugh she’s ever heard had managed to bewitch her brother. The Ackermans have always been loyal. They’ve always been. Her father- to his dying breath- had been loyal, even her mother who had charged into battle with him. But everything changed when the Princess from the port kingdom set foot on their shores.

She remembers Hanji’s smile, which she regrets not reciprocating enough. But Hanji never minded. Even when Mikasa’s scowl intensified as Levi continued to get closer to Hanji.

This woman will be your downfall. The words never quite materialised, but Levi hears it nonetheless- he sees it in the disappointment on Mikasa’s face when she catches him slipping out of the queen’s quarters in the middle of the night.

But she holds her tongue only because she’s never seen her brother quite so-

Alive.

Her brother who has only moved at the whims of the crown. Her brother who had never been selfish. Her brother who had taken the blame for all her mischief, her misdeeds since they had been children.

Mikasa holds her tongue.

—

“You are a pain… Just like your mother…”

Mikasa says to the girl one day. And the girl laughs, the same rambunctious laughter, so much so that Mikasa aches. But Mikasa maintains her frown, chides the girl when she rides off in front of her. She’ll have to learn that a leader follows their own orders.

And Mikasa can’t help but think of Hanji. Of her carelessness, her inquisitiveness, her insatiable appetite for the world. Of the bouquet of gardenias and hyacinths that Hanji had given her when they rode out to the valleys.

Mikasa learns gardenias mean you are lovely, and hyacinths mean please forgive me.

The supply routes have been compromised. The guards have overrun the underground but the girl insists on dropping supplies. “They won’t last the week,” she says, resolute, “we are doing this.” It’s a close brush but the girl makes swift work of the guard before he can swing his sword.

“Focus Mikasa…” the girl teases and Mikasa, past her own shock, shakes her head in annoyance, “you’re a pain just like your father!”

But the supply routes have been recaptured. The guards will try again, but for now the vigilante network can hold them off. The girl- her resolution- the reason people have sworn their loyalties. She demonstrates the brilliance of a thousand burning suns.

You are just like your mother… Mikasa says again later when the girl leans her head on her shoulder. Thank you…

—

Levi grew up in the underground. His father sent someone to fetch him and his mother when he realised Kuchel had borne him a son. He meets his step-sister for the first time at his parents’ wedding. Little Mikasa Ackerman, hiding behind her mother’s dress.

And Mikasa remembers looking at him- the boy from the underground- raven hair like hers, but eyes that have seen much, much more. She remembers the thirteen years between them. She remembers her hand in his when they had announced her parents’ deaths, and later, Kuchel’s death to an unknown disease. She remembers the smug lift of his lips when he had owned up to breaking one of the vases in the palace when it had been her. He was beaten. She sees the extent of the wounds this kingdom can inflict. And she knew it’s her and Levi against the world.

But he falls in love with the Queen, their Queen, of the crown her family has sworn to protect.

Hanji is expecting…

Levi says to her one day. And Mikasa waits in anxious anticipation. She doesn’t want the words to come. Because everything will change.

The child is mine…

The world stops spinning. Mikasa wants to cry. She lets a tear slip when he tells her she has to run away. When the baby is born she has to run away to her mother’s tribe. To fight their wars and serve as their Princess. And they will protect her. They will keep her safe.

But all Mikasa has ever known is her and Levi against the world. Her heart sinks.

And it aches when she finds Hanji alone one day, looking at the stars, and Mikasa can think of nothing but her own anger and Hanji’s impending doom.

But Hanji calls out to her, with a smile that has never wavered in her presence. And Mikasa goes to her, sits with her, and listens as she talks about the stars. But her eyes stray to the slight curve of Hanji’s belly.

“You want to feel her moving?” Hanji asks when she catches her looking.

She nods, and Hanji takes her hand in the warmth of her palm, placing it on the swell. There’s a smile that breaks on Mikasa’s face when she feels the baby move. This child, made with so much love that death will trail in her wake. This child can only be brilliant.

Mikasa looks at Hanji, and she realises she has never admitted how beautiful her Queen is. She understands why Levi would fall for her. There’s a certainty in her steps, comfort in her mannerisms, and a charm that comes easily to her. There’s a slight curve of her lips- this smile- just for her brother’s lover.

Hanji cradles Mikasa’s cheek in her hand and the warmth spreads and Mikasa will regret not apologising to Hanji. Not telling her she’s sorry for being so cold. For acting out. But the moment has passed and there’s jauntiness in the way Hanji smiles back at her-

“I hope you get to meet her one day…”

—

After they take the castle, people are shouting through the streets- the king is dead, the king is dead, the king is dead! And the kingdom thaws from its endless winter. The night begins with music, with a steady flow of wine, with dancing.

The three flags raised above the walls bear witness to the festivities. They represent the alliance of three kingdoms-

The flag of the Zoës, her mother’s people, who have sailed across the sea to fight her war, to fight in memory of her mother,

The flag of the Hizurus, a tribe revived and restored to its former glory by its Princess,

And the Wings of Freedom- the flag of the resistance.

The throne room needs to be cleaned out, but for now, Mikasa leads her inside, fetching her a crown from the vaults. The girl knows it was her mother’s. The crown now sits on her head.

Welcome home, Princess.

—

Your mother loved this place. She called it “Little Sea”.

Mikasa tells her when they are at the lake. The weather is mild enough to sit on the grass and they are talking about everything. When Levi and Hanji had been killed, their bodies were burnt so as to avoid attempts at martyrdom. But the servants had scattered their ashes into the lake.

I want to tell you about your parents- of Hanji Zoë and Levi Ackerman.

Mikasa says. And she does. She tells her how her father, who never had any interest in girls, fell in love with Hanji Zoë. Oh how terrible he had been at wooing her, how clumsy he had been. Oh the suffering of everyone who had to bear witness to her brother’s attempts at romance. But she fell for him regardless. And it feels nice to finally admit that it was a love that was meant to be. That had to be. It’s a good love, she thinks, and Levi deserved a love like that.

“Your mother… She made my brother very happy… I’ve never seen him so happy…”

“I heard he wore a perpetual frown…”

“The ugliest one…” Mikasa giggles, “but she made him smile…”

The girl beams, and Mikasa sees Hanji- her effortless charm and the sense of comfort that follows. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Hanji.

As the sun sets, the girl, the last of Mikasa’s family, reaches her hand out to her. Mikasa takes the girl’s hand, looking back only to set the bouquet down where the water meets the earth. For all the words left unsaid-

Camellias for admiration,

Blue salvias for I think of you, and

Hydrangeas to mean thank you for your forgiveness.

[all parts in Masterlist]

#levihan #Levi x hange #Levi x Hanji #Mikasa Ackerman #Levi Ackerman #Hange Zoë #Drabble #mine #blipcakes

102 notes · View notes

falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11- Much More

Summary: Deciding to let Geralt handle the child surprise on his own and rekindle your friendship with Yennefer while against all odds, fight with mages by your side, it’s time to protect Sodden from Nilfgaard.

Warning: blood, fighting Nilfgaard soldiers, angst, reader going a bit feral, eyy more backstory ft. Geralt

Masterlist

The next morning, in the early hours of the dawn did you, Yennefer, and a handful of willing mages set off in lifeboats for the distant shore. You sat in silence within the tight cluster of other bodies seated all around you, every mage dressed very distinctive from one another, their outfits less then ready for battle if you're being completely honest.

You could almost laugh, what exactly did these magical people have in mind when the time came to stopping Nilfgaard? They travel in their fancy robes and attire like it's time to go to court. But you digress, they may look like a fashionable lot, but they do know how to use their powers for destruction if need be.

Hopefully they won't shy away from turning a soldier to ash.

The boat ride lasted longer then you'd have liked, honestly why didn't you just fly across? Oh right, you wanted information about what's going to happen and you know, Yennefer.

Cursed that damned djinn.

Once the boat safely rested against the sandy shore did you get out with the rest of the other mages. Not caring in the slightest to help them pull it fully onto the grass beyond the sand, though you could have done it with one hand. Instead do you follow Yennefer as Vilgefortz questions her relentlessly about many things she simply brushes off, disinterested and annoyed.

It's another boring cluster fuck of hours before you can hear the telling noise of people as they prepare for battle. Once you find your way out of the woods do you notice the great castle-like structure of the Elven keep upon Sodden's Hill, it's crumbling white stony walls sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the land. On the other side, a long bridge pathway leading to the other edge of the great pass, exactly where Nilfgaard is planning to go.

You follow the mages as you all make your way down to the grassy hill towards the tents below, Tissaia meets up with another mage, a man who welcomes you all with open arms, clearly he did not expect such company. But by the looks of it, is desperately going to need every single one of you.

You walk in step with Yennefer, Triss to your back as you shift your gaze from the spread out mass of tired refugee villagers, orphans, and scared old men. The atmosphere is dreary and tense, they all know what's coming and the sight of your group makes some of them even more nervous.

"These people," Starts the robed mage as he walks in line with Tissaia, "they have been pushed from their homes. They've seen the scorched earth, the fields of corpses stretching between Gemmera and this river. Such cruelty."

"It's Nilfgaards way." Replies Tissaia, "There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable." If that isn't the truth.

"But it's all any of us have left. We have to defend it."

"That's heroic." States Sabrina much to your surprise.

You turn to her, "And stupid." They all stop and stare at you in puzzlement like you'd just kicked a helpless puppy and laughed about it, letting out a sigh you shift your scarlet eyes upon the man and Tissaia, "Take the children and hide before they get here so they may avoid more terror and death."

His brows furrow, "There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard. They have come from beyond the mountains to destroy the world." You stay silent, it's not worth arguing over at this point. He's already made up his mind.

Saving the slightly awkward moment, Triss steps in, "You still believe it can be saved?"

Everyone looks to the mage as he stares off into the distance, a look of hope in his bright blue eyes, "I suppose I do." He smiles before turning back to your group, "With some help." And just like that do you all make your way into the keep to further make use of your talents.

Countless arrays of glass bottles are set out and filled with some type of strangely smelling blue rock, arrows are constructed and set out up by the ramparts as you watch from your perch high atop a castle ledge. The preparations are made throughout the whole entirety of the day, the villagers and mages alike all working tirelessly together in a hopefully fruitful attempt at saving this dying stronghold from the Nilfgaardians.

The sun has kept herself hidden from the world hours ago, the beautiful welcoming blanket of darkness settling across the land for the time being. Your favorite time of the day. You watch as the mages and other villagers find their company with one another on a last night of peace before blood is most likely spilt tomorrow when the soldiers arrive.

Against all odds the atmosphere is quite happier and light, people telling stories over fires under the stars as they take their minds off of the impending doom. You've placed yourself a couple feet from Tissaia and Vilgefortz as they sit side by side on a stone ledge with their feet just about touching the ground, a drink in their hands as they reminisce about better times in their lives. You hold one knee up, your other leg dangling freely as you listen to Yennefer and Triss as they walk into view.

Triss snacks on an apple as she points towards your direction, "Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?" A small snort escapes you as your heightened hearing catches her jest. Not a second later does Vilgefortz happen to get up, leaving you and Tissaia alone, Yennefer parting from Triss as she stops in the grass. Unsure of where to go next, Tissaia takes this as a cue to raise her glass, "The ale won't disappoint. We should enjoy it while we can."

Yennefer turns to the two of you, a stoic expression crossing her features as she walks over, "It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." She quips bluntly before sitting down in between the both of you.

Tissaia hands her a spare glass, "Must you always be so fatalistic?"

"It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die." Replies the violet eyed mage before taking a sip of the ale, still rather unenthusiastical about everything.

You chuckle, "Well maybe you two, I on the other hand plan on tearing these dogs to pieces."

Tissaia laughs, "All the more reason to live tonight."

Yennefer sets her mug against her lap, "Mmm. Like you." She retorts, looking knowingly in the direction of Vilgefortz as he converses with some soldiers. You look to Tissaia, a smile upon her slender face as she stares almost adoringly at the raven haired man. The three of you look to one another and begin laughing like young school girls who just found out about their friends secret crush.

It feels nice, oddly so.

Your laughter slowly dies down, a more heavy aurora laying over the three of you as your smiles vanish from your once happy faces. Tissaia sighs before excusing herself from the two of you, no doubt heading to seek out the man of the hour.

You sit back in a comfortable silence as a light breeze caresses your face before turning an eye to your friend, "Are you ready?" Your voice is steady and calm yet holding so much, Yennefer quickly turns to face you, her eyes full of apprehensive wonder, "To die." You finish with a raise of your brow, "If destiny decides to finally take us out that is."

She pauses for a moment to think it over as she watches some kids run by in the firelight, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

"But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." You point out as she frowns, her eyes downcast in the nearby fire light.

"But I've no legacy to leave behind. No family." She says sadly, "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." A tinge of disappointment in her voice as she sits next to you, feeling rather defeated with her life.

"You still have so much left to give." She looks to you now, a kind warm smile pulling at your features, "I know it, and I'm not just saying that because of well, you know. I've never really thought about it but you're kind of like me in a way."

She slowly nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, not sure where you're about to go with this, "How so?"

You shrug, "We're both half of something, two pieces that make us a whole being of vitality and raw power. You're half elf, I'm half vampire, two incredible immortal races that should not be fucked with." You playfully nudged her shoulder, "We don't always get what we want in life, she can be quite the bitch you know, and even though I'll never have a true heir of my own. Well I guess, if I can keep alive some of the good in this world while defeating the evil, that's good enough for me. My legacy is hidden within my actions and who I help along the way, it's all it needs to be."

She furrows her brows, "Thank you Y/N." Sincerity in her voice.

You let out a breathy laugh, clearly confused, "For what?"

"For deciding to come with me to this place, you could have left and fucked off to wherever you chose next. But you decided to stay, and well...maybe I do enjoy having you in my company....no matter how how scary those eyes of yours are." She teases.

You smile, "Not the djinn talking?"

"No. Not the djinn. I swear it." Says Yennefer honestly.

You softly hum in agreeance, "So do I. I think it just makes us want to protect one another, perhaps that's how we're drawn in. It's like I'm a beacon of light and you're a moth," You laugh, "or something like that."

"I think so too. Hopefully we don't end up dying, or well, I don't end up dying that is. Guess I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready." Inquires Yennefer uneasily.

"Is anyone ever? I can't die just yet anyways, I still have to see Geralt again, tell him I'm sorry for leaving and probably punch him for that damned wish. Gods I feel horrible..."

"You had every right to say what you did, and don't worry, I know you Y/N. You'll survive. I'm sure of it."

You lean back into the grass, your arms holding you up as you stare up into the dark starry night sky, "Thanks, very motivational. But hey, since we're out here and unsure for the inevitable future.....got any stories?"

Yennefer takes another sip of her mug before setting it down in her lap, "Got a few, but I'd honestly rather hear something from you." She lightly kicks your boot, "Is there any truth to Jaskier's ballad about when you and Geralt fought a Bruxa? From his tale, it appeared to be quite the story."

Rolling your eyes you scoff, "Oh yeah, that bard loves to make our hunts seem so glamorous and amazing, the famous White Wolf almost got his balls slashed off from the nasty fucker."

She hums in interest, "Do tell." You look at her with the most unamused face you can muster, she simply laughs at your lackluster reaction, "Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me all the gory details, I'd rather enjoy hearing about how your Witcher almost lost his prized jewels."

You stare a her before making a gesture for her to hand you the half filled mug in her lap, with a smirk she generously hands it to you, "Now. I can tell you the story." You add before taking a hearty chug, setting the mug down next to you in the grass as you let out a little hiccup, "Alright, so for this specific hunt we though it best to leave Jaskier or he would have without a doubt been killed on the spot, and blah blah we all would have sorely missed him." You lightly chuckle at the dark thought, "Anyways, the town nearby had been recently dealing with a very dangerous problem hiding in some nearby abandoned ruins of some burned down village...."

(Cue flashback)

It's daylight as you walk down an old dirt road leading to a recently destroyed village, the townsfolk living just across the river had told you and Geralt how some vengeful bandits took it upon themselves to burn and pillage the place after some hero wannabe killed their leader with a lucky arrow to the head. The next thing they new, every wooden house had been set ablaze in the dead of night as they raced outdoors to listen to the terrified screams emitting from within the woods.

The mayor claimed it was a horrendous display of revenge, only a lucky few had survived the torment, but something even worse then petty bandits had loomed over the land in the following month, brought upon by the lingering stench of death and blood. It had begun with high pitched shrieking in the dead of night, right were the ruined village was, some brave souls would investigate the next day to find the mutilated corpse of a male traveler.

More people would go missing for another month before you, Geralt, and Jaskier happened to stroll into town one autumn afternoon. No one at the local tavern, nor the mayor herself, would know what beast was taking all the men hunting for it. So with a suspicious curiosity did you accept her offer of coin in return for the death of the mysterious beast. The next day, with lack of a certain bard, did you and Geralt set off to explore the destroyed grounds.

You kick a loose rock and watch as the little boulder skids across the muddy trail while keeping pace with Geralt, "So, any idea what this hungry fucker might be?" You ask, turning to him with a wiggle of your brow, "I have a few ideas."

Geralt hums, turning an inquiring golden eye in your direction, "Considering this place has gone to shit in the past two months, dead bodies everywhere, could be a ghoul....or a wraith...maybe even a werewolf." His voice gravely and filled with a tinge of dark humor.

You chuckle, "A werewolf huh, now that would be quite the battle to witness, me and the notorious dogman, claw to blade. I'd have its head on a spike in an instant..."

"Would you now?" He teases.

"I would!" You lean in to lightly smack his arm, "What? Don't laugh...grrr ugh okay fine....after it put me through a couple rounds, I'd get there eventually. Then you'd be there to celebrate my victory with loud cheers of praise before taking me on the grass to thoroughly show me your ever loving gratitude." You cackle as he coughs awkwardly on his own spit, sending you an surprised but very amused facial expression at your more sensual implications.

"Right then and there, in front of the headless beast?" Wonders Geralt as you nod, a smile breaking out upon his handsome face, "Y/N, you are quite the woman."

"Course I am, best thing you've got." You sass with confidence before stopping dead in your tracks at the scent of something decaying. Geralt watches in curiosity as you sniff the cool air, your scarlet irises dancing across the burnt ruins of the village now that you're both so close, you raise a brow at him, "New flesh. Someone was just recently killed."

Your feet are quick as they take you past charred wooden houses and broken glass, all the way through the mess before you stand a few feet away from a large half caved in house, its entrance gone as it stands looming over all the other destroyed ruins. You turn to Geralt, "The dead one sleeps in here, the blood is a couple days old." He nods as you cautiously enter through the broken door, your eyes adjusting to the shadowy darkness as you walk into the room.

It's one large area with a crumbling ash covered fireplace at the far middle end of the wooden structure, you walk a couple more feet before stopping, Geralt coming to a halt at your side. "Nothings here." He confirms, his eyes still looking over the ashen room.

You shake your head, a smile upon your lips at his terrible observation skills, you turn around to face him before taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his head towards the rafters. His eyes immediately lock onto the incomprehensible corpse of a man, or at least what was left of him, only his guts and a single arm hanging from the ceiling.

"That's lovely." Muses your Witcher bluntly as you release your touch, he lifts a brow to you, "Definitely not a wraith or a ghoul. I'm not even sure a werewolf would have done this, that is the charming work of something incredibly violent and depraved. Some creature that would not care for their victim in the slightest, and the victims...all men.." He looks to the side, trying to think for a moment, "just men. And it showed up after the burning, but then it decided to stay...now it kills for food and apparently pleasure too. Maybe this is a..."

"Bruxa." His golden eyes lock onto your causal stance, he sets a hand on his hip as you simply shrug, "I could smell the bitch before we crossed the bridge, wanted to see if you figured it out first. Wow Geralt, what a monster hunter you are, very good sleuthing work." You tease with a slow clap as he rolls his eyes, motioning for you to follow him out of the dying house so he doesn't have to spend another second in this gloomy old place.

Stepping into the daylight he turns to you, the ghost of a humored smile gracing over his lips, "I would have gotten there eventually." He sasses back, using your own words against you, "Maybe this Bruxa is a family friend."

You scoff, "I wish, these type of bloodsuckers are more feral and less elegant, they're a subspecies so I won't feel bad about killing it, not that that's ever stopped me before. But still, they're deadly cunts who kill whatever has a heartbeat, only silver will take them down." You take a step forward, pushing your pointer finger against his leather armored chest, "So you better be on your guard tonight, I'd rather not travel alone with the bard until he dies." You snort, setting your arm down once again, "Or I kill him first."

"I'll be ready." Confirms Geralt with a knowing tinge of confidence, much to your amusement at his self-assuredness, "The sun doesn't set for another couple hours, why don't we head back into town and tell our bard of the plans, hm?"

"Yeah alright." You reply, beginning to walk back the way you came, "Jask is definitely not joining us tonight. That idiot would be dead in a heartbeat, I mean seriously...these nasty bitches whole thing is appearing as harmless attractive women before...blah!" You pounce at Geralt, squeezing his muscular bicep before letting go just as quickly, "You're ass is dead. And torn to shreds like a piece of meat in a starving dogs cage, not a pleasant way to go at all."

Geralt chuckles at your dramatic antics as the two of you travel back to the town; Jaskier was luckily fine with staying behind, unsurprisingly he happened to have found himself a lady friend, who was all too satisfied once learning her new lover would be staying the night once more. Soon enough, dusk had settled over the land and you and your Witcher began the hunt.

Taking silent steps through the forest as you both walked across the beaten down trail leading into the sad abandoned village, the two of you go to stand behind a large oaken tree while your eyes wander over the broken houses. Your silver dagger clutched tightly in your hand as the other one presses against the rough bark.

Geralt's armored back touches yours as the two of you watch from opposite sides of the tree, "Y/N you hear anything?" Whispers Geralt.

"No."

"Smell anything?"

"No."

"See anything?"

"Ask me something again and I'll shove a stick up your ass."

"Noted."

Another fifteen minutes would go by before your superior hearing would pick up the supposed sound of something brushing past some leaves from the treetops across the destroyed houses. Your hand grips the dagger tighter as you listen more intently, it moves slowly, a branch creaks as it sits atop it. Then the wood creaks again, more leaves are brushed aside as you suddenly realize where this fucker is headed, the town!

"Oh, fuck." You whisper yell, not even aware that you just said that out loud.

"What? What is it Y/N, did you hear something?"

"The bitch is in the trees, she's going for town." You pause searching for your words, "Uh, be ready I'm going to lure her out into the open." You rush before taking a step forward, stopping to turn towards a confused Geralt as he studies your face, "Don't, uh...get bitten or killed. Love you, good luck."

He's left to his thoughts as you swiftly race across the muddy yard in a blur before jumping onto a half standing thatched roof, you stay low as your crimson irises scan the tree line in search of the Bruxa, it doesn't take long before you spot a beautiful pale black haired woman looking in the opposite direction as she stays perched on a thick branch. You smirk, your fangs showing in the moonlight as you decide to be as boldly annoying as you can.

Rising to your full height, you stare at the beautiful bastard before yelling, "Hey! You big ugly horse fucker!" The Bruxa immediately snaps her attention over to you, her yellow eyes glaring down at you before she turns from an attractive young woman into a terrifying lady demon.

She screeches, jumping down from her perch before making a hasty beeline in your direction, you jump, just as she narrowly misses your face with her long sharp nails. You gently land upon the muddy ground, the growling Bruxa eyeing you hungrily as she stands once again, her body facing you with great malice, lips curling in a snarl, hands balling into angry fists.

You smirk, feet planted firmly in the earth as you grip your dagger tight, "Come on you pale faced cunt, come get me." You taunt as she hisses in fury before darting in your direction, you twist to the side, slashing her arm as you skid in the dirt, facing her once more.

Her face whips around to find yours as she grunts in pain, the silver burning her skin as she charges you once more, this time you launch yourself into the air. Just as she grabs for your feet, missing them by mere inches while you quickly flip above her head, you land, facing her. But before she has time to attack you once again, Geralt races out of the tree line and slashes the back of the Bruxa with a fury enough to turn you on if not for the current circumstance. A blood curdling scream rips through the frosty air as she whips around with lightening speed, grabbing Geralt's sword less arm before thrusting him across the yard to your left.

Her feet move inhumanly quick as she follows her downed silver haired prey, instinctively you throw your dagger, it makes a strong thwack sound as it sinks into the pale flesh of the feral vampire's thigh. She stumbles back, falling to the ground as she screams in agony, all before standing up once again and keeping as still as a statue, staring you down like a wolf to her prey.

You ball your fists, not sure what to do now since your only weapon is gone, you shrug, "No hard feelings?" You jest before she growls, her feet bounding against the earth as she quickly tackles you to the ground faster then you're able to blink.

Damn, vampires are fast.

She bares her fangs doing her best to chop at your exposed skin, her hands trying to claw desperately at your everything as you hold her forearms tightly in your grasp, droplets of spit fall upon your face as you grimace in disgust. Geralt where the fuck are you? She angrily struggles in your fists as her face desperately snaps at your own, inches apart she just misses your skin, a moment later do you sigh in relief as she's ripped from your grasp and thrown across the rocky ground.

You jump to your feet, only to watch in awe as Geralt and the Bruxa fight with one another in the center of the destroyed town, she slashes and bites at him as he punches and gets in some hits with his silver sword. But soon enough does she have him on his back, his sword only a few feet away, just out of reach as she pounces on him in a fury.

Instantly she tears at his black pants, ripping them open from his lower right hipline to his knee, he kicks her away before she lunges for him once again. Geralt scoots back just as she smacks her taloned hand right where is crotch was, not even a split second ago.

"Y/N!" Shouts Geralt with wide eyes, "My sword."

Wiping blood from your nose you take swift steps forward, he braces for the worst right as you grab a fistful of black hair, yanking hard as you pull her to the ground, your other hand closing tightly around her throat as her yellow eyes expand in surprised rage.

You pin her down, squeezing tight as she squirms from beneath you, her thin muscled arms reaching for your neck as you force your face away from her sharp nails, "You get your fucking sword!"

He lets out an annoyed huff before scrambling for the fallen blade, grasping it in his strong hands as she digs her claws into your clothed arms, you yelp in pain, losing your grip on her neck. She shrieks again before you suddenly get cracked in the forehead by the bitch's own skull, you see stars as she uses this opportunity to kick you in the chest, hard. You let out a breathy gasp before stumbling backwards across the dirty path, your head falling onto Geralt's boots, he looks down as you stare up at him in a daze. Your labored breaths coming out as a wheeze.

You blink, trying to focus on his blurry physique, "Fucking ouch." You growl through clenched teeth as he hastily pulls you to your feet.

"Watch out." Warns your Witcher before leaving your side to tear into the furious Bruxa.

"Thanks for the forewarning, very helpful." He ignores your annoyed jest, conveniently slashing off the head of the damn bitch before your very eyes. He's breathing heavily as he towers over the bloody mess, golden eyes finding your irritated ones as you pick up your silver dagger, "Great work, bravo, well done." You deadpan, giving your man a less then enthusiastic round of applause.

Lowering the weapon to his side he glances down at his slashed pants before finding your eyes once again, "Almost got me." Chuckles Geralt with a small smile.

Rolling your eyes you break out into a grin, "Oh yes, then we would have really had a problem."

Yennefer snickers as you end the tale, an amused laugh falling from your lips as you sit up once again, "After that we told the town, which of course they were surprised but nonetheless ever grateful, giving us a nice bag of coin. Geralt got some new pants, Jaskier got some more writing material, and I got a solid reminder that I am not invincible when it comes to creatures like a Bruxa. Vampires, huh."

Yennefer nods, shaking her head as she smiles, "That's...more then I'd ever encountered. Better you then me." She muses.

You sigh, a small tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips, "Those were the best times though, hunting, traveling, being with those two idiots. I do miss them, a lot actually."

Her lavender irises fall upon your saddened gaze as you watch people converse happily with one another, a mother tucking her child into a makeshift straw bed, you suddenly feel much sadder then before, "You will see them again, I know it Y/N."

Shifting your scarlet eyes to her shadowed face, you lightly tap the edge of your mug, "Hopefully I won't see a Bruxa again, fucking cunts. But yes, thank you for the words of encouragement and...friendly counselling, I'm going to bed." You scoot off of the grassy ledge, standing on the soft earth as you turn to Yennefer, "Right here's good enough. Also, not to worry, I don't snore."

She watches as you lay upon the ground, others doing the same as the night progresses, deciding to follow your example she moves to lay a couple of feet from you, pulling a foresty green blanket from out of a nearby bag, "Won't you get cold?"

Laying on your back you look up at the stars, "I've never felt cold before actually."

She lays down, an amused burst of air flowing out of her nostrils, "Right, half vampire. Well, goodnight then you odd freak of nature." Playful sarcasm dripping from every word.

You lightly chuckle, "Night, you insane fucking witch." The two of you share a humorous moment together before falling into a comfortable silence, the both of you trying your best to fall asleep before the sun rises, bringing danger on the fiery horizon.

—-

You awaken to the shouting of men nearby, opening your eyelids do you raise yourself up into a sitting position as a massive fiery orange ball of light begins its decent from the great blackness of sky. Right in your very direction, you can hear it sizzling as your eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry just as Yennefer throws her blanket to the side, reaching out her hands just in time to abruptly halt the death ball of enchanted flame before it can incinerate the whole yard of sleeping people. Her face is pained as she throws it to the left in mid-air, the tiny sun bursting into a beautiful explosion over the trees, safely away from everyone else.

In an instant are you up, both yourself and Yennefer screaming for everyone to rise and prepare for the beginning assault. The grassy grounds are covered in racing frantic bodies filled with frightful screams. Another fireball would be thrown at you all, and deflected just the same, nothing more coming about for the rest of the night. Nilfgaard keeping you all on your toes till the dawn.

Now here you are in the early hours of the morning, the sun illuminating the landscape as you follow the mages around the castle while they figure out a plan of attack. Everyone keeps low behind the walls as you'll quickly walk down some stairs, no roof to keep anyone adequately hidden.

"Stay low. We don't know what other tricks they may have." Warns Vilgefortz as you follow behind him, more mages rushing to a halt on the stone steps as you all look out over the forest in the direction that those damned flames came from last night.

"Maybe it's over." Says Triss, but you know better. This is just the beginning.

"No. Fringilla's just getting started." Whispers Yennefer.

"It hasn't been two days yet." States Sabrina, "How is Nilfgaards army here already?"

Vilgefortz gets up, "Doesn't matter. We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms. We have to fight."

You chuckle, "There's only 22 of you left, those other cowards fled in the night like little mice chased by some housecat. Guess some heat was too much to handle." You quip as one mage stands, claiming with confidence that's he's not going anywhere, others agreeing as well. You suddenly feel uneasy, sorcery in the woods, snapping your attention over to the forest your crimson eyes go wide at the sight of white mist flowing throughout the trees, "Uh, what the fuck?"

"There coming!" Shouts a mage in fear.

"It's starting!" Exclaims another in excitement.

I hate magic.

In seconds is everyone up and moving to their assigned stations right before your very eyes. Leaving you alone to watch the strange unnatural fog slowly make its way closer and closer to the stronghold.

Times seems to go fast, in the next twenty-five minutes has the archers and people with slingshots wrecked havoc upon marching Nilfgaardian soldiers in the woods. No doubt giving them an explosive ending before their time in battle has even begun. Yennefer directs the mages assault from her position high up in the tallest tower with the best view. Your eyes shift from the nearing wood line where the real danger lurks to the grassy courtyard below where people are hustling back and forth, racing to their duties. You walk upon the castle ledges, high up above the sweating foreheads of the mages and archers as you make your way over to the tallest part of the Elven Keep. Gliding up to her level, you softly land with atop the wooden landing.

She appears quite distraught and panicky as you study her body language, she turns to you, tears in her lavender eyes, "Vilgefortz, he's..."

What is that fucking swooshing sound?

"Portal!" You shout, turning your body to look over the other ledge, just as you'd sensed, a large swirling portal has materialized from the earth. A second later do you watch in horror as arrows fly up from its center, thwacking into nearby mages and villagers. Killing them instantly.

Fearful tears fall from Yennefer's eyes as you feel a surge of rage forming within you at these grisly acts of violence. She quickly regains her bearings enough to telepathically speak to Tissaia before the heiress is cut off by something or someone in the woods. You can hear as more and more mages are being slaughtered from beyond the Keep's walls as they run to the stronghold for cover, Yennefer calls out to them but it's no use, they're already dead.

A gate has been breached!

You want to do something but you can't bear to leave Yennefer's side in such dangerous times, but hearing the screams and wails of agony from the brave people around you is enough to shift your mind. You must help them, now is the time.

"Triss! The gate! Can you buy us time?" Shouts Yennefer aloud, though you know she's speaking telepathically to Triss.

Tearing your eyes away from dying Nilfgaard soldiers and mages alike do you place a comforting hand on Yennefer's shoulder, she snaps her attention to you, almost startled, "I'll help Triss. Be careful, Yenn." She tearfully nods as you lend her a small smile in return.

Your feet move inhumanly fast as you run atop the castle roof, jumping down to the wooden balcony where the archers are, you race past them before bolting down the steps and into the grassy courtyard where a gate has been breached. Many armed villagers and a few Nilfgaard soldiers are currently fighting with one another, their swords clashing in desperate fury.

Across the courtyard is Triss who's struggling to cover the opened gate with thick vines as a couple dark armored soldiers get themselves tangled up in the process. A look of pure determination crosses your face as you unsheathe your silver dagger, your legs move quick as you take out a few soldiers on your way to aid Triss in her fight. Knowing you can't do much from behind the gate, you scale the stone wall with ease, falling to the grass below, you land atop the soft earth with the grace of a dancer.

A pained scream rips forth from Triss' throat as a Nilfgaardian soldier thrusts his flaming torch into her neck, in an instant have you sunk your blade into his skull, pulling the bastard away as you look down at Triss from behind the vines. Her screams of agony pierce your sensitive ears as she looks at you through glossy pained eyes, but the thudding of quickly approaching heartbeats alerts you to turn around.

Your scarlet irises lock with the green ones of a rushing soldier, his sword is bared as he charges you, adrenaline and hate coursing throughout his entire vessel. He swings the blade to his left in your direction, twisting around past him, you shove your dagger through his jugular and right back out again, a red spurt of blood bursting forth as a couple droplets dance upon your face.

The fresh scent is almost intoxicating, driving you into a more primal feeling, you turn with fire in your eyes to face three more ugly old bastards, weapons drawn and ready to strike. You hiss at them, bearing your fangs as pure fear flashes across their faces. In a blur do you end their pathetic lives before they even have a chance to realize what hit them. You hear another scream and race to the aid of a fallen mage, slicing through more Nilfgaardian men in a fury of blood and broken bones.

She fearfully thanks you, her eyes dazed as she carries herself to safety, though there is no safety here as moments later does your ear drums burst with the sounds of explosives shattering throughout the battlements where all the glass bottles of blue stone where being kept.

Oh, fuck.

Stones fly past your head as white smoke emits from the destruction, you can smell the blood and hear the cries of the ones most unlucky enough to be so close. No one alive is around you for the time being as you stand among the dead, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, some trickles of unfamiliar blood falling down the side of your face and hands. More red dripping off of your sharp silver dagger as you stand in the evening sunlight, the smell of smoke and blood on the breeze.

"Can anyone here me? Is anyone out there?" Calls Yennefer from inside your head, likewise to all the other mages, "If you can hear me, you need to get to the front line. More Nilfgaardians are coming to the woods. We can't give up. We can still fight." Her voice is tired and desperate, heavy with emotion as she makes a last fleeting effort to protect the Keep.

You catch her scent and the sound of her erratic nervous heartbeat as she emerges from the broken gate of vines, white fog pushing to the side as she walks into the daylight. She looks rough, her face and chest dirty, her left hand coated in her own blood from a wound at her side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Races three unfamiliar heartbeats.

Three more men rush out off the bushes and whitish thick mist, heading straight for her, she thrusts her opened palm into the air. Twisting her hand, the men fall dead one by one at her beautiful display of chaos.

Her lavender eyes trail across the battlefield, landing on you, you're speckled with the ruby red blood of dead Nilfgaardian men. A mess of red coating your lips as a trail of it wanders down your chin to your throat from when you let yourself have a little taste of Nilfgaards finest.

You slowly walk over to her side, she swallows, her throat is dry, nonetheless you lend her a hopeful smile, "You're ability to still look this good covered in dirt and blood is honestly impressive." The tiniest of smiles gives you a small sign of hope on her face, "I've cleared this area but as you've said, more are in the woods. I can still hear them, they're close."

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse as she lowly nods, her voice becoming distant as she looks out into the wood line, "I need to find Tissaia."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer

183 notes · View notes

thereluctantinquisitor · 3 years

Text

WIP Whenever!

Thank you for the tag @frenchy-and-the-sea, and for sharing your own wonderful WIP (which curious folks can find HERE - seriously, GO FORTH AND ENJOY).

I’m currently trundling away at a new project, so I figured I’d just go ahead and post the (current) chapter 1!

I will tag: @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @dafan7711, @captainsaku, @rufinagertrude, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug and anyone else who has something they want to share (just tag me so I can see it!)

Chapter 1 (1800 words)

For many centuries, the blessed temple of Callifae, the Broken Bride, stood proudly atop its noble grassy plateau. The goddess, whose likeness emerged, brilliant, from the forward face of the temple, cast her watchful gaze over the quiet city of Vezarine with eyes of smooth, pale stone. When the sun set on a clear day, there was said to be a moment when those all-seeing eyes shone with a honey light; a perfect imitation of the goddess’ golden stare.

On this day, the second of Torrens, night had already arrived. The sun - gentler, now, against the summer-scorched earth - had vanished long ago. But still, the Bride’s eyes glowed.

Vezarine was burning.

In the warren of streets below, a cloaked figure peeled out of an alleyway. His chest rose and fell in a rough, staccato rhythm - the breaths of someone who had been running, climbing, hiding, fighting, for far too long.

The wide, two-storey building behind Xaraan was already blazing. Its wood groaned and cracked in the heat, slowly buckling beneath the weight of itself like a body held up by broken legs. Backing further into the street’s exposed centre, his footsteps crunched against a thick coating of ash and blood. When the upper storey gave way with a shudder that shook the ground beneath him, he simply watched, silent. Cold. It had been a workshop, once. A tannery, if the smell was any indication. A smell like cooked fat and burning hair.

Sivaan, the third of the sister-moons, hung low in the sky. She joined the fire to bathe the city red. The raid was almost done.

He had to move quickly.

---

Elsewhere in the ashen streets, a lone figure stood among the licking flames, the crimson mantle of her station whipping out behind her, tossed by the wind and smoke. Beneath her heels, the cobbles were stained black. Narrow rivulets trickled along the grooves in the stonework, drawn towards its gutters by the street’s gentle curve. Calayne, the Scythe of Erentis, watched the pattern as it slowly spread from the soles of her feet.

She was where she belonged. The poison at the centre of the web.

A sharp signal - her raised fist - led to a pattern of blasted horns, their low, reverberating sound rolling through the broken city like thunder. Irethani soldiers began to flood back onto the main streets, peeling out of buildings and alleyways, some wiping blades on their dark cloaks, others pleased by the gore trailing in their wake. A patrol group joked lightly beneath the red moon’s gaze; playful remarks about how considerate she was, to mask the worst of the stains. We have become too used to this, Calayne thought as her soldiers swept past, saluting, smiling at their conquest. It was not the first time such treacherous words had crossed her mind. They were as dangerous as any blade. She would do well to keep them sheathed.

“Scythe?”

Calayne released a slow, calm breath. Soon. Soon she would be rid of it all. The blood. The guilt.

That wretched name.

For now, she turned towards the familiar voice. Her dark hair, long and grey as night, swept past her face. “Report, Xaraan.”

Xaraan, the last of her officers, hesitated at her tone before snapping quickly to attention, right fist upturned against his stomach. “The city has fallen, Scy---ah, Overseer. Those who did not raise weapons against us have been gathered in the square by the catchers. Vezarine’s leader and high priest have barricaded themselves in the temple, along with their servants and a large number of cityfolk.” He hesitated, his luminous eyes flicking towards the statue of the goddess. “Should we send the burners?”

His question was first met with silence. How many this time? She had been informed before embarking that Vezarine was home to thousands. Then, after a sharp demand, Xaraan confirmed the estimated body count. It placed the dead, alone, at about the same number. The pleasure in his voice would have encouraged her, once. She would have basked in it.

Instead, she frowned into the smouldering dark. The numbers the Rhaiz had given her had been wrong.

She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Never again.

“Forget the temple. Give the signal to retreat.” She was careful to keep her voice flat. Expressionless. Fire, its smoke thick and dark, licked from rooftops in the distance. “We are done here.”

Xaraan, perhaps misreading her soberness, suddenly remembered proper protocol. Hurriedly, he placed himself directly in front of her, his feet in line with hers. As one might expect after a raid, the man was dishevelled, his light hair tangled at his shoulders, blood streaked across the front of his leathers. The dark markings that streaked down past his eyes in a mimicry of spilled ink only made the wideness of his gaze - its faint luminosity - more pronounced. He is still young, she thought absently. Then, that very same realisation struck her like a blow to the chest.

Had she not noticed that before?

“Overseer… the prisoners?” There was an edge to his voice, now. Uncertain. Fearful. That was the trouble of a man in his position. Even if he felt he knew the answer to his question, he was forced to risk her ire by asking it anyway.

This time, however, he could breathe freely. “Take the ones already gathered in the square. Leave the rest to sweep the ashes.” It was, truly, the least she could do. For Vezarine, yes, but also for her own soldiers. Unfortunately, she doubted it would be enough of an offering to spare them from the Rhaiz’s anger, once the dust had settled. She had been carving away at their leader’s patience for over five seasons. What might have once been a victory in his eyes was now a failure. Another bleeding gash to be stemmed.

Of course, Calayne was far too valuable to use as salve for his wounded pride.

No. She would dig her fingers in and tear.

In front of her, Xaraan - a far more likely sacrifice - hesitated, his amber eyes widening, betraying his surprise. Fool that he was, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve. It was a dangerous place, to keep such a vital thing. “But... Rhaiz Sathan’s orders were to take as many---”

Her patience was nearing its end. She cut him off with a glare.

“The Rhaiz’s orders have changed.”

A gust of hot wind blew past them both, forcing Xaraan to flinch and blink away the ash and dust. Distracted, his hand raised in front of his face, he made his first mistake. “I -- they have? I didn’t hear any...”

He stopped himself before she even had to speak. Of course, it was already far too late. A year or two ago, he would have been dead where he stood. The Scythe of Erentis had not earned her name for leniency.

“You are not in a position to be informed of anything.” Calayne’s gaze sliced across, ending his next sentence before it began. It carried with it a terrible, icy anger. The one that had borne her through decades of conquest. The one that had lifted her all the way to commander, then higher again to overseer. It gave weight to the words she spoke next, each laden with implication. “Do I need to remind you of your place?”

It was difficult to tell when one of the Irethani felt true fear. The other denizens of Erentis had developed noticeable tells for such things; vast swathes of their skin drained of colour, their voices shattered like glass, their bodies reshaped in ways that were impossible to ignore. But for her people, it was a subtle thing, best told by the lips. Xaraan’s, for example, had just turned a sickly pale shade of grey, his dark blood fleeing towards his stammering heart. “No, Overseer.” His gaze quickly fell to her feet, hands pressed hard to the tops of his thighs. A child’s trick to conceal a tremor. “I will sound the victory. Give your orders to the patrols.”

She made Xaraan spend a few more moments writhing beneath her stare. He had begun to question her more and more of late. Perhaps she had been a fool to allow such insubordination to fester and embolden him to the point of recklessness. It would see him killed under another’s command. Anger tightened her fists at her sides, but this time it was not a weapon to be aimed. No - it seemed her distractions had been as dangerous as her actions. For too long, her mind had been... elsewhere.

It remained a poor excuse for such carelessness.

Eventually, she released him from her glare with a sharp nod. “Go. Deliver my order.”

Xaraan’s relief was palpable. He exhaled it in a shaky rush. “Yes. Of course.” He gave a final salute, then turned to flee. But just when she believed their conversation over, the young man hesitated. Turned halfway back, his pale hair whipping in the fire-lit air. “The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today, Overseer.”

Calayne did not even have time to sharply repeat her order before he turned on heel and vanished into the thickening smoke. Sycophant, she thought at his retreating back, but swallowed the word like bitter tonic. It was self-preservation, obvious and infuriating, and nothing more. She should not scorn him for that.

The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today.

Calayne’s gaze lowered, drifting to a body discarded by the roadside. Human, she believed. Male, broad of stature, perhaps in the middle of his lifespan. He was sprawled, half out of his doorway, head resting in a dark pool where his home met the city street. A few feet away was an old scythe, flecked with blood on its curved edge. A common farming tool, raised as a weapon against an army. He had managed a single swing – one futile strike – before it had been kicked from his grasp and his throat opened to the night.

The sting of the cut burned on the underside of Calayne’s arm. Her dagger still dripped a slow, pensive red. She had not planned to kill that night.

“You are more deserving of the name,” she murmured to the corpse. Yes. The Scythe of Vezarine. Had he lived, had his aim been true, perhaps it might have been so. Perhaps it might have been better for them both, if a new legend had been born from these ashes.

Something like an invisible chain tightened around her neck, heavy and cold. She turned away from the corpse to face the smouldering city.

He should have stayed inside.

#wip whenever #original fiction #stonebreakerseries #(but not really)#i need a TITLE HJKFDHSKJL #reluctant writes #thank you for the tag <3 #and for sharing your words!

25 notes · View notes

kumeko · 3 years

Photo

Title: goodbye my hopeless dream

A/N: For the Sylvgrid BB, for watercolorvigilante’s heartbreaking work. I love the angst of separating the Faerghus Four.

Summary: Five years ago, Sylvain had thought they could fix it all. That they could bring Dimitri to the Alliance, that they could end the war and save everyone. Yet…Felix lay face down, Ingrid sobbing on her knees, and Dimitri frozen forever mid snarl. He wasn’t sure how he could pick the pieces up after this, but he had to try.

…

Something was burning. Sylvain stuck his lance in the dirt carelessly, ignoring every lesson he’d ever learned about proper weapon care, and closed his eyes. Something was burning. Possibly someone, the air was full of fat and smoke and his throat grew drier with every breath. There were dozens of small fires nearby, the only outcome in the middle of a battlefield, where mages scorched the earth and fiery arrows rained down on their ashes.

He opened his eyes. Before him spread a war-torn field, survivors picking dragging themselves off the fields and to their respective armies. Something bitter filled his mouth as he saw the bodies strewn across the field, blood pooling in the mud. Crows cawed as they perched on bare trees, their beady eyes taking in the field, and vultures circled above as they eyed their food.

Five years ago, the Battle of Lion and Eagle had been nothing like this. Five years ago, they had all been just kids fighting for bragging rights and victory letters to send home, for stories to seduce strangers and that shiny glory that had seemed all too important at the time.

Five years ago, he had been in with the Kingdom, not the Alliance. Now his Golden Deer family were scattered across the field, helping each other back. The Empire was long gone, Edelgard leaving behind the wounded and the dead alike. The Kingdom was torn apart, shredded into pieces. And Dimitri…

Sylvain shivered at the memory. The one-eyed, raging monster he’d seen hours ago hadn’t been any friend he’d known. The only thing that had motivated him was a long-nursed hatred, one that Sylvain hadn’t seen for all the years he’d known him.

Or maybe he had avoided seeing it, just like how he was now avoiding the dead spread around him, trying not to look at their faces. He didn’t want to see another classmate he used to sneak out with, another beauty he’d flirted with in the shadows.

He was certain Ingrid was doing the exact opposite. She’d always had a masochist streak and unlike him was probably all too intent on memorizing every person she’d killed.

Sylvain looked up. It had been hours since he’d seen her Pegasus. “Ingrid?”

Dread filled him and he yanked his lance out of the dirt. This was Ingrid he was thinking of. She was unkillable. Even Felix’s hardest glares and Sylvain’s worst lies hadn’t done the job.

“It’ll be fine,” he muttered. Whistling, he waited impatiently for his steed to gallop over. His horse’s silken mane was matted in blood and dirt. Grabbing the saddle, Sylvain slung himself over. “I bet I look just as bad,” he murmured, patting his horse’s neck once before squeezing his thighs. “When we find Ingrid, I’ll make sure she gives you her special mixture.”

His horse nickered and quickly trotted through the field. Sylvain scanned his surroundings as they moved, searching for the pure white Pegasus or even just Ingrid’s blonde hair. As he looked, he avoided checking the bodies, refused to check the bodies.

There was no need.

Ingrid wouldn’t be lying in the dirt like that. Not after all the times she’d yelled at him for his slovenly room.

Instead of blonde, he spotted pink. He turned his head.

Ingrid would have stopped.

Sylvain gritted his teeth and guided his horse across the field. A tired, limping Hilda looked up blearily. With her stockings torn, hair awry, and a nasty cut along her chest, she looked as bad as he felt. She even dragged her axe instead of carrying it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He slipped off his horse, wrapping an arm around her waist as he helped her out of the ditch. “You’ve looked better.”

“I’d say you’ve looked worse, but that’s a lie.” Hilda grinned crookedly as she leaned on him. She felt impossibly small, nothing at all like the mischievous woman who was Claude’s right hand. “Glad you made it.”

“Me too.” Sylvain swallowed. “Did you see Ingrid?”

He held his breath as she frowned and shook her head. “No…not for a while.” Noticing his face, Hilda squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a strong bitch.”

Sylvain couldn’t laugh at the old joke. They’d exchanged it many times after Ingrid had scolded them or knocked them on their asses during practice. “She’s really strong.” His voice came out more of a whisper than he’d intended.

“The strongest,” she agreed, pulling away. Leaning on her axe, she patted his back. “You go find her.”

Sylvain hesitated. “Your chest—”

“Needs Marianne’s loving attention,” Hilda interrupted, winking. Though, with the dirt streaked on her cheeks and her pale skin, she didn’t look half as flirty as she acted. “I can make it back from here.” She forced herself to stand a little straighter but for all her acting, she couldn’t hide her wince. “Who knows, maybe Ingrid’s there already. She’ll be too busy nursing me to health to take care of you.”

Hilda waggled her brows. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t muster the energy.

Ingrid would have helped her regardless.

For all of her faith in him, he’d never been half as good as she’d hoped and not even a quarter as good as she was. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, letting his guilt and fear chase him as he vaulted onto his horse once more, spurring it through the field as though death itself were after them.

Hilda wasn’t critically injured, at least. She could stand and she could joke and one of the others would find her in no time. They’d laugh about it later and she’d tease that he had tunnel vision when it came to Ingrid. The dense idiot that she was, Ingrid wouldn’t understand until maybe years down the road, when he told her everything.

He clenched his fist. “Ingrid? INGRID!”

The only response were the grunts and moans as other survivors crawled, hoping someone, anyone could come to their rescue. He’d save them all after he found Ingrid. He’d personally pick them up, carry them to Flayn and Manuela. He’d even wrap their bandages himself.

He just had to find Ingrid first.

“Sylvain!”

A familiar gold caught his eye, and for a moment Sylvain thought Ingrid before realizing it was Claude’s torn cloak. He pulled his reins tight, heels digging into his horse as he came to a stop just beside the tired leader. Byleth wasn’t by his side for once. Maybe she was out there, picking up her former students.

Maybe she’d already found Hilda.

“Claude.” Sylvain tried to smile. It came out like a grimace. “Have you seen Ingrid?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Claude chuckled wryly, pulling his gloves off his fingers. His arms had small burns on them, the attacks of enemy mages, and Sylvain tried not to think how much that must have hurt as he loosed arrow after arrow. “No, not yet.”

“Hilda’s that way,” Sylvain blurted out, unable to stop himself. He jabbed over his shoulder. “She’ll need help.”

“Oh.” Claude blinked, resting his hand on the flank of Sylvain’s horse as he looked. His dragon wasn’t with him. Sylvain tried not to wonder why. “I’ll get her then. Thanks.”

They stood there a moment, neither of them moving. Sylvain’s horse panted, nostrils flaring as he caught his breath.

“I…I didn’t think it’d end like this,” Claude admitted quietly, barely audible over the wind. “Edelgard…I knew she wouldn’t listen, but Dimitri?”

It was like a gut punch, remembering Dimitri. When he and Ingrid had heard Dimitri had survived his execution, they’d sworn to bring him over to Claude’s side. Dimitri had been a reasonable person, after all. He should have been reasonable now.

Goddess, why hadn’t he been reasonable now? Sylvain thought, looking away. “I thought he’d come around.”

“Me too. We could have avoided so much…” Claude trailed off. It wasn’t like simple bloodshed could describe everything they’d experienced here today.

“Maybe next time,” Sylvain croaked, licking his chapped lips nervously. The air was still far too dry. It was hard to breathe. “We can talk to Dimitri again. Maybe after he’s had time to calm down.”

Claude snapped his head to him, his expression unreadable. After a few, heart-pounding seconds, he pointed to his left. “Is that a Pegasus?”

Immediately, Sylvain jerked his head up. Further up the hill, almost at the treeline, he could just make out a white horse. A pure white horse, sitting on the ground.

It had to be a Pegasus. It had to be Ingrid’s. He squeezed his thighs, urging his horse into a gallop as he hastily shouted, “Thanks!”

He really did have tunnel vision. Sylvain couldn’t tell anyone, even himself, how he got to Ingrid, what the route was like, anything really. He just kept his eyes fixed on the white horse, watched as its sides became wings and the saddle on its back took on the familiar markings of Ingrid’s. There was no blood on it, as far as he could tell, no injuries at all aside from a few ruffled feathers.

That was good, right? It must have been tired after the long fight. Maybe Ingrid was letting it rest before heading to camp. “Ingrid?” he called out as he reached, jumping off his horse without even waiting for a response.

The silence worried him. She wasn’t beside her steed and she’d never abandon her partner. “Where is she?” he murmured, patting her Pegasus’s nose. Her partner whickered, turning to his right and further up the hill. A bright green cloak stood out amongst the bushes, a familiar coil of blonde braided hair crowning it.

Ingrid.

She was kneeling next to someone. He could just make out their legs, still and unmoving. Of course, she was taking care of an injured solider, the bleeding heart she was. He’d bet the farm that she hadn’t even thought to look for him before doing that.

And if she was doing that, she couldn’t be that injured. Sighing with relief, he jogged to her. “There you are.”

Ingrid looked over her shoulder, cheeks stained with tears. “Sylvain,” she rasped, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for—” He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe after he saw Dimitri lying in front of her. His chest squeezed and he stumbled the final few steps to her side.

Unlike the raging man he’d seen hours ago, Dimitri was utterly still and calm as he lay there. His bright, blue eye stared unseeing at the sky, his mouth half-open as though mid-way through a roar. Ingrid whimpered and Sylvain stared at the lance stuck in Dimitri’s chest.

Luin.

Bile rose in his throat and Sylvain barely crawled forward more than a few steps before he vomited in the bushes. Oh no. Oh no no no. He could just picture it now. Dimitri and Ingrid. And Felix—Sylvain couldn’t stop himself before he looked for a familiar fur-lined jacket.

There was a sword in his hand. He’d died as he’d lived. Sylvain vomited again.

“It’s my fault,” Ingrid sobbed, curling into herself. “I’m sorry.”

His heart broke a second time at the sound. Wiping his mouth, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled back to her side. Sylvain forced back his uneasy stomach, forced back his growing numbness and pain, and gathered her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. “It’s not.”

“It is,” she repeated, apologizing over and over even as she pressed into him. “It is.”

And he couldn’t argue with that, not when her lance was in Dimitri’s chest. It wasn’t like five years ago, when she’d been crushed after they’d changed houses—no one could have predicted the looming war, the fact that they’d be disowned by their own families for something as simple as following their beliefs.

It wasn’t like years ago, after Glen’s death, when Dimitri had broken down, Felix had hardened, and Ingrid had holed herself in her room. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault then. They’d been just kids, taking on more than they should have.

Now, there was only Ingrid.

And Dimitri’s blood was on her hands.

Bile rose once more, pricking his tongue, but he forced it back down. She’d break if he said anything else. She’d break and then he’d break with her. Sylvain buried his face in her hair and shook his head. “Not true.”

“I…I did it,” she sobbed, her fingers digging into his sides.

“He would have killed you.” He realized the truth of his words as he said them. Dimitri would have killed her. The others from their house might not have. Annette and Mercedes and maybe even Dedue could have been talked down, but not Dimitri.

Dimitri hadn’t been himself for a long while.

Maybe he’d always been like that. Felix had been right, calling him a boar.

“He would have killed you,” he repeated, stronger now, hugging her tighter. Sylvain could hear her breath, hear her heart beat like a frightened rabbit. She was alive. She was in one piece. She’d made it through. “You had to protect yourself.”

“I could have injured him,” she mumbled, pressing herself closer as though to hide away from it all. “I could have knocked him out.”

“Anyone else, sure, but not Dimitri. Never Dimitri.” Sylvain closed his eyes. Even before it all, Dimitri would never let himself get captured. Killed, sure, but never captured. “He’s too strong. Was too strong.”

The was stung, burned on his tongue like an ember. Felix had been loyal. Dimitri had been a friend. They’d never be anything else anymore. They might never be anything but the two, angry bodies on the grass. It was hard to remember their smiles when all he could picture was their pale, frozen faces.

“I should have tried,” she insisted, shoulders shaking as she cried. “I should have…I…he’s dead, Sylvain. Dead. They both are and I…”

“I know, I know.” Sylvian stroked her hair, pulling back just enough to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Years ago, she’d done the same for him when he’d killed his brother; he wasn’t sure when he’d started looking at her differently, but he was certain the roots of it had been then. He hoped it brought her twice as much comfort as it had given him, this warmth, this forgiveness and love and gentle acceptance.

She wailed, a wordless cry that sounded more animal than human. He remembered the maids talking about banshees and their mournful screams, and it had to sound something like this. Still stroking her hair, he let her cry it all out, his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Dimitri or Felix. There was probably a better way to help. Mercedes and Annette had been good at it. He should have learned from them when he had the chance.

He should have done so much more before this all happened, but he’d been barely able to help himself for years, let alone others.

And now it was just them.

No, not just them. Sylvain bit his cheek. That was what had caused this war in the first place, this stubborn belief that they had to stand alone. That was why he and Ingrid had left the Blue Lions in after all, for Claude’s vision of unity. There was Raphael and his hugs, Hilda and her jokes, even Marianne and her quiet companionship.

He could try again. Better this time, in fact. Ingrid hiccupped and he pulled away slightly, still keeping her in the circle of his arms. Now that he was looking at her properly, he could see the cuts on her arms, the gash on her side. Small injuries, for fighting Dimitri, but injuries nonetheless. Sylvain knew every trick in the book when it came to convincing Ingrid to do something that was good for her, even if it was something as unrelenting as guilt.

“Let’s go back to camp together,” he suggested gently, brushing her hair out of her face. Her puffy eyes, still red from her tears, started to slide away from his, to where Dimitri’s corpse grew colder with the passing minute. Before she could, he carefully cupped her cheek, forcing her to stay still. “We need to get patched up.”

“But…Di…Dimitri and Felix,” she mumbled, not fighting him for once.

“We can get them later.” Sylvain didn’t even have to try this time, he just smiled. She’d always been able to draw those out of him, even if she never realized it. “I’ll come back.”

“Me…Me too.” Ingrid shook her head. “I’ll help.”

He bit his lip before reluctantly nodding. There was time to argue about that later. “Okay. Can you stand?”

She nodded. Sylvain wrapped an arm around her waist, slowly hoisting her up as he stood. Keeping his grip firm, he called for his horse. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to fly, so let’s take my horse, okay?”

“Sure.” She sounded distracted, but he didn’t think much of it. With everything that happened, it was hard to focus. As his horse stopped beside him, he let go and quickly adjusted the saddle bags and straps. “You get on first.”

Ingrid didn’t reply and when he turned around, she was beside Dimitri once more. Silently, he cursed himself as he ran back to her side. “Ingrid!”

She didn’t respond, unbuckling her cloak instead. Gently, she spread it out over Dimitri’s body, covering him like she used to put blankets on them as kids, all tired out from practice. Leaning forward, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cold forehead. “Could you give me your cloak?” she asked, her expression unreadable.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate before yanking what was left of his off and draping it gently on her shoulders. Ingrid shook her head, pulling it off. “It’s not for me.”

She moved a little further into the forest, to Felix this time, and tucked the cloak around him. Her fingers shook as she brushed his hair out of his face. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered something he couldn’t hear before getting up.

“Let’s go back.” Ingrid grabbed his hand now and this time he didn’t let go.

“Yeah.” He didn’t ask her what she said. Sylvain had his own, private words for them, things he’d never repeat to anyone. When they reached his horse, he still kept his grip tight as he hopped on first. She raised a brow, the closest to a positive expression he’d seen so far. Not bothering to explain, he helped pull her up, settling her on his lap in a side-saddle manner.

“I haven’t ridden like this since we were kids,” Ingrid commented, a little stiff as she looked at her dangling feet.

“Not since you realized knights had to ride on their own.” He waited a second before asking. “Just this once?”

“It’s silly.” Yet, she didn’t jump off, didn’t protest, just leaned against him.

He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around her, taking the reins and urging his horse into a gentle trot. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” She closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

#sylvgrid #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #claude von riegan #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #hilda valentine goneril #felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fanfic

13 notes · View notes

weakzen · 4 years

Text

No Take Backs

Her offer affords him some fun advantages, Mason supposes.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m series: part 1 of 7

AO3 version

also submitted for @otomefandomevents wayhaven week 2020 ♥ day 1 – dawn/dusk

Mason leans over the walkway railing and takes a long drag from his third cigarette.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the familiar and all-too-brief sting that burns down his throat and explodes across his lungs. Smoke chokes him with overpowering and comforting acridness, blanketing his face in soft heat when he finally exhales.

But it's still not enough to cover the sickly sweetness of fresh-cut grass blasting through the air to coat his tongue.

Or to shield him from the scorching light melting his clothes into his skin. Or muffle the unrelenting, jumbled blare of air conditioners, lawnmowers, TVs, radios, and every other goddamned electronic object in the vicinity.

A piercing shriek from one of the kids playing nearby stabs into his ear and he flinches slightly.

Or that too.

Mason groans as a headache begins to rumble at his temples. He sucks down another long, deep drag and steadies himself against it the best he can. The fatigue makes it difficult. Annoyingly more difficult. Exhaustion weighs on him, subtle yet heavy, trapping his mind and his every little movement beneath a sense of sluggishness.

Though—at least it's starting to lessen somewhat, now that the sun is finally fucking setting.

He ashes his cigarette over the balcony with a flick of his thumb.

And at least it's not as boiling hot as it was earlier, he supposes. And summer's almost over, too.

Thank fuck.

But it'd be better if that storm would finally roll in to cool everything off.

He squints up at the cloudless and faintly hazy sky. Far above the town, the wind continues to whip in from the west. And every time it shifts to slice closer to the ground, he catches the scent of rain.

Sure is taking its fucking time getting here, though.

With a final drag, Mason pushes off the railing to crush his cigarette into the ashtray she'd placed on the windowsill by her door. The one she insisted he use if he 'absolutely had to smoke here.' The one that she grinned over, then told him he needed to stop being a butthead, right before she snorted herself into a cackle at her own stupid pun while he stared at her and wondered why exactly he found her so attractive.

Shaking his head at the memory, Mason lights another cigarette and resumes his perch.

As he waits, the sun slinks closer to the trees. The kids scream endlessly. His headache builds and his cigarette burns shorter.

Obnoxious cawing bursts from somewhere behind the apartments too, joining the rest of the noise crushing in around him. Probably those birds she's always feeding.

Mason rolls his eyes and huffs out another cloud of smoke.

His eyes scan over to the parking lot, to that gleaming silver shitheap of hers, the low sun highlighting every scratch and painting every pockmarked dent in deep shadow.

Where the hell was she, anyway?

Frowning slightly, he glances back at her building, to the grassy courtyard below, the cracked sidewalk, the concrete stairs leading up to the second story, the chipped white railings that bend along the exterior walkways in front of a wall of red brick and a row of doors and windows. His gaze slows as it passes one window in particular.

That nosy fucker is watching him again through a slit in the blinds. He glares hard and directly into the eyes widening behind the glass.

The gap immediately snaps shut.

Mason chuckles a little as the fucker's heartbeat spikes.

Then his chuckle breaks into a loud laugh when he hears the panicked sound of a body crashing into a table.

He takes another drag on his cigarette, smirking as he shakes his head.

But… his amusement doesn't last. And when it finally fades, it just leaves him with a scowl and even more irritation than he felt before.

Where the fuck was she?

…And why was he even waiting for her?

If she couldn't be bothered to show up on time, then fuck it. Her loss. He isn't sticking around. Mason grabs his jacket from the railing, whips it over his shoulder, and strides toward the stairs.

He makes it halfway down them before the realization slams into him that something might have happened to her.

That could explain why she's late today.

His hand snaps out to catch the railing, jerking his movement to a sudden halt at the bottom of the steps. Annoyance twists uncomfortably in his chest, drawing his brow into a furrow when it briefly claws up into his throat.

And if something did happen to her, then it would be entirely on him.

Adam would never let him hear the end of it, just stern glares and disappointed frowns forever—and Mason doesn't even want to think about what Agent Black would do.

And… he doesn't want anything to happen to her, either.

She is one of them after all.

Annoyance still coiling inside him, Mason exhales deeply and almost flicks his cigarette away into the grass.

Then he groans even more deeply and runs back up the stairs to smash it into the ashtray before he takes off.

–o–

He traces her usual route home back to the station, but only finds the night shift volunteer at their desk and Officer Bobblehead in front of the copy machine, singing to herself while she dances to the rhythm of spewing paper.

Scoffing in disgust, he tries the Square next, staying only long enough to guarantee she isn't there before he immediately veers away from the nauseating confection, greasy food, and overwhelming wave of people. He lands at her boxing club after, where there's nothing but stale sweat, grunts, and the echoing cracks of fists hitting bags.

And when he sends her a text to ask where the hell she is, he receives no response.

Mason frowns heavily, annoyance clawing at his throat again as he runs his hand through his hair.

Then he pushes out of town, into the woods, up to the trail that she likes to run by the lake.

Branches whip by him in a blur of green. His feet trample ferns and bounce off moss-covered logs. The rich aroma of damp earth and organic decay invades his lungs as he opens his senses fully to the rustle of every leaf, animal, and insect. The forest howls with life, tearing into him with such a vicious, primal resonance that his body trembles beneath the sheer force of it.

But he pushes on. He cuts through the roar with focus sharpened for one thing only.

Until he finally catches it at the very edge of his hearing, soft and quiet beneath the screaming.

A familiar heartbeat that makes his own jolt in recognition.

Immediately, he turns and streaks toward it. It's calmer than its usual tense tempo, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything good.

He spurs on faster.

Blazing through gaps in the timber and sunken banks of mist.

Over tangled deadfall, slick boulders, and the wide creek he clears easily in a single bound.

Light begins to flicker between the trees. And Mason bursts through the edge of the forest, his momentum carrying him forward—but something even stronger slamming him back, forcing him to skid to a halt, one hand scraping a long trail through the dirt behind him.

Sunset bathes the lake in brilliant red as thousands of sparkles glitter across the water. A felled tree rests on the shore, its trunk worn smooth by time. And in the middle of it, she sits with her back to him, her arms spread out to her sides while her hair ignites like a flame in the light.

Something catches in his throat then.

Smoke, maybe. From that fire up north.

He clears it away and pushes himself up, wiping his hand on his pants. Then he folds his arms, a slow smile spreading across his face.

If there's one good thing about summer at-fucking-all, it's the sleeveless shirts and cropped tops.

His eyes draw over the muscled slope of her bare shoulders and arms, down the curve of her side, briefly dipping into the band of exposed skin above her jeans before sliding back out and around the swell of her ass, only to repeat the journey up the other side. Her hat ruins the effect somewhat, a big black circle silhouetted atop her head that blocks part of his view.

But, all in all…

Mason bites his lip. The image is almost enough to make him forget about how goddamn annoyed she's made him.

Almost.

He kicks a branch out of his way and strides towards her.

“Finally,” he barks out as he nears. “Could've let me know you were gonna be late tonight. Or texted me back.”

She gives him a lazy glance from over her shoulder, followed by an even lazier smile. Oversized sunglasses conceal her eyes.

“Turned my phone off,” she replies, then shrugs slightly. “And I didn't realize we were meeting, sunshine.”

Mason scoffs and stalks across the shifting jumble of rocks and splintered wood that pass for a beach. He tosses his jacket down and plops onto the log beside her, facing the other direction.

“Yeah, not like I don't come over every night to tuck you in when it's my turn to babysit,” he says, glaring at her from over his shoulder. “Some of us have a schedule to keep, sweetheart. Try to be a little more considerate.”

She only laughs, her head falling back with the motion while her tits bounce enticingly. Mason presses his lips together as he watches, his irritation crumbling away.

Just a bit.

“Oh, of course. I'm so sorry,” she says a moment later, her voice even huskier than normal with amusement. She rolls her head to the side to glance at him again, her smile broadening as she tugs her sunglasses down slightly, just enough to meet his eye. “I completely forgot all that smoking and brooding aren't gonna take care of themselves. Next time, I'll be sure to send a text.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs again, turning away as his own smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Apology accepted.”

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder into his.

As she pulls away, he follows, spreading his arms out behind himself too, until their shoulders press faintly together and his hand nearly touches her thigh. Heat rolls off her body—and excitement too, a skittering little thrill that prickles electrically across his skin to bury itself in his stomach. She gives no outward indication of it though, other than the smallest hitch in her breath and the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.

Mason smirks slowly, temptation urging him to lean even closer and draw his finger up her leg to put a deeper crack in that facade, but…

He finds himself more content to just leave her undisturbed, to let her keep relaxing into the moment.

…And to enjoy it himself.

Cool moisture drifts off the water behind him, but it flows over his back pleasantly, softened by the sunlight and her warmth. A lazy breeze presses through the air, brushing against his cheeks and ruffling his hair. He briefly catches the tang of rain on it again, before it disappears beneath her scent and the pines and the distant smoke of wildfires.

The forest rustles around them, and his gaze passes over it appreciatively before ambling up the mountains that cradle the lake. The craggy, purple behemoths tower into the sky above, their snow-capped peaks bathed molten orange in the sunset.

He closes his eyes to a vision of their afterimage.

Waves lap against the shore. Birdsong slows in the trees. Her heart beats in a steady, soothing rhythm with her breath.

And that's all he hears.

Even at the very edge of his senses, he can't detect any other people.

He sags slightly as tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying uncoils from around him.

For a long moment, there's just… peace.

And the world isn't scraping him raw.

–o–

He doesn't open his eyes again until some time later.

When she shivers against him and the pink glow of twilight surrounds them both, the first smattering of stars visible overhead.

Mason leans over to let his breath tickle hot along her neck. “Need me to warm you up?” he asks, teasing his lips against her ear.

Another shiver ripples across her body, and she turns to smirk at him.

“Eventually.”

She looks at him for a moment longer, her smirk softening into a quiet little smile, but he can't see anything more of it behind the sunglasses.

“Should probably get home before it gets too dark,” she adds, pushing up from the log.

He grunts in reluctant agreement.

As she stands, she raises her arms above her head to stretch, her joints cracking from the effort. His eyes follow her movement, roaming appreciatively once more along the lean lines of her body, slowly tracing around her familiar curves as he bites his lip. She picks up her ratty denim jacket from where she was sitting on it, shakes it out a few times, and slips it on.

Mason almost groans.

Then she slings her backpack over her shoulder and glances down at him. With a sigh, he pushes himself up to put on his own jacket and join her.

They walk alongside each other in silence, rocks crunching beneath their feet as they follow the dusty, packed trail that hugs the curve of the lake. Frogs croak from the water, joined by the chirp of crickets and the sharp chittering of bats overhead. A sliver of moon hangs in the darkening sky with them, while the air rapidly begins to cool below.

She pulls her jacket tighter and folds her arms.

Without looking, he lazily throws his arm over her shoulder and tugs her closer. A moment later, her arm circles around his waist, her hand slipping beneath his jacket to curl hot against his side.

His lips quirk in a faint smile as she shifts into him, her body heat bleeding through his clothes and into his skin. Her touch always pleases him, of course, but right now he's more grateful for the shared warmth.

Already, the cold slices him deeper. Sounds grow louder. His vision stretches further, into even sharper detail, while his limbs glide with powerful fluidity. And within it all, he feels far more alert and awake than he has all day, his body thrumming as nightfall gradually returns his strength and draws his senses to a heightened pitch.

…Which only makes it even worse when they finally reach the fork in the trail that breaks away towards the trees.

The little wooded path that cuts back into town.

A frown catches on Mason's lips. At least her apartment isn't far from there.

They turn to take it, eventually emerging onto an empty, dead end street.

The springy dirt of the forest floor blends into a blanket of windblown pine needles before yielding to crumbling asphalt that makes their footsteps snap echoes against the buildings. Electricity crackles in the power lines above, surging down to spool in the streetlights with a shrill whine, readying them to spill their ugly orange light everywhere. In the distance, dogs bark, children shriek, sprinklers sputter and hiss, and the din of heartbeats pound against each other, rising in volume, tangling around the tinny blare of electronics, fragmented conversations, grating laughter, shouting, arguments, screeching music and more abrasive noise than he can clearly identify until it all becomes a jagged and overwhelming roar that tears into him painfully.

Mason inhales and tenses against it reflexively, his jaw tightening—

But then Alex shifts closer into him, stroking his side with her hand briefly before giving him a soft squeeze, and all of it just… fades away.

Disappears beneath her touch and her quiet presence and her calming heartbeat.

His brow furrows deeply as something swells in his chest. Something strange and light and somewhat uncomfortable, if only because of its sudden appearance and unfamiliarity, but... it's not entirely unpleasant.

It's not unpleasant at all.

Frowning, Mason drags his hand back through his hair and exhales a quiet sigh.

The weird sensation lingers for a while, floating gently inside him as he uneasily enjoys it—until she suddenly turns sharply, and he nearly stumbles to keep in step with her. Annoyance jolts through him, a reprimand snapping hot and immediate to his tongue, but… then he realizes they've only arrived at her building.

And all she's done is lead them up the walkway toward it.

He frowns, his irritation fading as he blows out a breath.

Then his frown pulls even harder as she disentangles from him.

She shifts her backpack around to unzip the front pouch. And as she does, a black shape swoops down from the trees to land on the wire that stretches between the apartment and the utility poles.

The crow caws down at her.

She chuckles and holds her hands up, fingers extended and empty. “Don't have anything for you right now, bud.”

It caws obnoxiously a few more times, seeming to understand. Then it flies away with a piercing screech and an annoyed flap of wings.

Chuckling again, she shakes her head and pulls out her key ring. “Yeah, you're welcome, you little bastard.”

“Why the hell do you feed those things anyway?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as they continue up the sidewalk.

She shrugs. “Because they're smart and a little ridiculous? I dunno, they're fun to watch. I like them,” she says, then purses her lips. “Except for when they're cawing right outside my bedroom window at five in the morning, but… well, even that's a little funny too.”

His lip curls. “Ugh, if you say so.”

They head up the stairs to her door. She stops outside of it for a moment, then turns around to face him.

“You know… I do have something for you, though.”

Mason immediately smirks.

“Yeah? I have something for you too, sweetheart.” He slides his hands over her hips, thumbs brushing over her bare skin, before he hooks his fingers into her belt loops and tugs her closer. “You want it in there—” he asks, his voice rumbling low as he skims his lips along the length of her neck to press a few quick kisses to her mouth “—or out here?”

Her heart beats faster as her lips move to keep kissing him, but then she just smiles against his mouth and breathes out a quiet little chuckle. “Probably in there,” she says, resting her hand on his arm, “but… let's take care of my thing first.”

He shrugs and gives her a parting kiss before he leans away, letting his fingers flick free of her belt loops. “If that's what you want.”

She glances at him for a moment longer, then inhales deeply and shifts her bag around to unzip the front pouch again. Her hand slips inside and returns with an unexpected object that she holds up between two fingers.

He raises an eyebrow.

“A key?”

“Yep.”

“To what?”

“My apartment.”

Mason tenses slightly, shifting his weight.

“Why the hell would I want that?”

“So you can let yourself in.”

He scoffs and glances away, running his hand back through his hair. “I don't need a key to do that, sweetheart.”

“Probably not,” she agrees, and he can hear the faint grin in her tone, “but it would help me out if you did. You're scaring the shit out of the neighbors with all of your skulking and your scowling and your glaring and your general… you-ness.”

A laugh bursts from him and he glances back to her. “I don't see how that's a problem.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but some of us still have to live here.” She huffs a stray hair out of her face and leans against the door, resting her foot against it too as she lets her bag slide to the ground. Then she folds her arms. “You know, I still can't believe no one has complained to the landlady about all of the smoking… and the noise.”

He smirks and chuckles again. “Sounds like I should keep scaring them so they don't.”

She cocks her head and fixes him with a look that not even her sunglasses can hide. His smirk widens.

“I like this building. I don't want to move. And I'm tired of you banging on the door every time it's locked until I come and answer.”

Mason angles himself towards her, licking his lips as he brings his arm up to rest on the door above her head. “Yet you still let me in every, single, time,” he drawls, his voice low and teasing as he grins at her.

She stares up at him. “Do it again and I won't.”

The telltale combination of reactions ping loudly and immediately against him—the nearly imperceptible crack in her voice, the subtle shift of tension in her stance, the faint and brief spike of her pulse.

He leans down toward her, his grin sharpening. She inhales slightly as he approaches, but holds her ground and his gaze. Pressing his face in close, he teases his lips up her neck again, to her ear, her head tilting to the side to allow it.

“You should know better than to lie to me of all people, sweetheart,” he whispers against her, his words brushing hot across her skin.

She inhales again, more sharply this time, as a shiver ripples down her body. Heat prickles across her face quickly after, and he lingers for a moment to savor it before pulling away to enjoy the view of her flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, well…” she begins, then huffs in that usual way she does whenever she rolls her eyes. “If I didn't answer, then you'd probably just creep around behind the building and start pounding on my bedroom window instead.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “That does sound like more fun, now that you mention it. Less of a walk for both of us, too.”

She groans a loud noise of exasperation, but the smile playing at the corner of her mouth undercuts it slightly.

Then, with a shake of her head, she pushes away from the door and holds the key up to him by the tip.

“Well—do you want it or not, sunshine?”

They stare at each other for a moment. But even with his vision, the only thing Mason can see clearly on her face is the faint movement of her eyelashes brushing against the twin reflections of him and the hand she's extending towards him.

He glances down at the key, and back up to her face.

“I don't need it.”

Her breathing stills for a moment and her lips press together slightly. Something rolls quietly through her chest to bump something uncomfortable into his.

But she inhales deeply and it's gone.

Then she simply shrugs.

“Okay,” she says, her voice unusually flat. And she slips the key into the front pocket of her jeans.

Alex turns away from him—

But his hands snap out to spin her back toward him.

Then they're pushing her hat from her head and her sunglasses up into her hair and curling around the back of her neck and her waist as he leans in to kiss her hard.

His mouth muffles the sound of her surprise, but not the way it reverberates against his skin—and not the heated rush of arousal that quickly follows as she kisses him back.

A moment later, her arms loop around his neck and he yanks her tighter against himself in response. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth while his fingers tangle into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Her arms circle him tighter, squeezing, as she presses into him fully, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach him better, and he slides his palm across her lower back and down to her ass, where he squeezes too, lifting her slightly in encouragement.

She moans into his mouth—and he can't help but do the same in return as her desire crashes into his electrically and bursts pleasure across his body.

Fuck, he wants her.

Mason pushes her against the door, her tits crushing to his chest, his cock grinding into her hips, and he presses his thigh between hers, dragging it upward to the sound of her gasping moan. He captures her lips again immediately, unrelenting, and kisses her deeply while he glides his hand over her bare stomach, across the hot and silky expanse of her skin, before he teases his fingers down the front of her pants.

He slides them in past her jeans, past the band of her underwear, until his fingertips and knuckles brush into soft, warm hair and press on a little further still. She sucks in a breath, her stomach rolling exquisitely beneath his touch as her hips rock forward to match it, grinding pleasure from his leg. He smiles against her mouth briefly before kissing her again, rolling his hips in time with her movement while his thumb dances circles around the button on her jeans. He lets her anticipation spiral with it, winding it tighter inside of her until she's ready to spring.

And when she is, he clutches the front of her jeans and pulls them up into her instead.

She arches against him, a moan tearing from her lips, her pleasure crackling white-hot between them and surging straight into his cock.

He inhales deeply in excitement, breathing hard against her lips, anticipation making his own limbs tremble faintly—but despite it, despite the alluring scent of her arousal on his tongue and how much he wants to stay, how much he fucking wants to push his fingers down even further and slide them back up inside of her, he forces them out of her pants instead, to leave her even more wanting. He teases them away across her waistband as she shakes with breathy, groaning laughter against him.

And then he clenches them hard around her hip when she catches his lip between her teeth and nips down

Pain and pleasure singe fire across his body, burning free a guttural snarl that rips past his own teeth. He smirks sharply against her.

Then goes for the throat.

To that spot of hers they both enjoy so much.

As he moves his mouth mercilessly against her, as she moans and shudders beneath his teeth, as they grind together, her pleasure arcing into him on waves that amplify his own throbbing need, his fingers play against her stomach, teasing along her waistband once more.

Then he carefully slides two of them into her pocket.

And pulls out the key.

Mason doesn't understand why.

But he knows immediately what to do next.

He glides his hand down from her hair, his palm pressed flat and wide, fingers trailing over the bumps of her spine, past her thrumming heartbeat, dipping in to the curve of her back before finally settling on her ass. Once there, he grabs her again, groaning as he squeezes a firm handful of her, partially for pleasure, but mostly to shift her weight as he urges her hips forward. Chills ripple across her body as he continues kissing her neck, grazing her with his teeth, dragging his tongue across her pounding pulse and the intoxicating taste of her skin, until her nipples harden and dig into his chest wonderfully, and her fingers claw into his shoulders, and her thighs clench around his, and she moans so deeply into his ear that he knows she's focusing on nothing but him and the pleasure he's giving her in the moment.

Then—in one quick motion—he slips the key into the lock, turns it, and throws the door open.

A gasp tears from her lips as she falls backwards.

Her pulse spikes, surprise flashing with it as her hands scramble at his shoulders to keep hold. Her foot kicks up off the ground as she plummets, her body almost parallel to the floor before he snaps forward in a flash and whips his arms around her to catch her.

She stares up into his eyes as she jerks to a halt, gaze wide, cheeks flushed, arms clinging to him desperation while she breathes heavily and her heartbeat thunders against his chest.

He just smiles.

And holds her there for a long, enjoyable moment, taking in the stunning view of her knocked off balance in more than one way.

Then he pulls her back upright and against him.

She takes a deep, steadying breath, her hands sliding downward from around his neck to rest on his chest—right before her eyes suddenly snap to the door. He chuckles slightly, and reaches around her to tug the key from the lock, her gaze following his movement closely as he holds it up in front of her between two fingers.

“I guess it could come in handy for some things,” he says, smirking.

She raises an eyebrow and huffs a loose hair out of her face. “Guess so.”

Mason slips the key into the front pocket of his jeans.

Her eyebrow shoots up even further.

Still smirking, he bends to grab her things from the ground, then flings that hat of hers over the top of her head into the living room like a frisbee. She watches it fly by and immediately gives him a look that only makes him chuckle in response.

When he swings her backpack behind himself like he's about to do the same, she sighs deeply.

Then she grabs him by the front of his pants and yanks him inside.

Mason slams the door shut behind them, grinning widely as he tosses her bag away with a heavy thunk and presses himself against her again. Her jacket quickly follows the bag, and he groans appreciatively as he runs his hands over the soft and bare skin of her arms and sides. He grabs her waist, squeezing her slightly as he leans down to start kissing her again—but she only lets their lips brush together before she weaves her head away to fix him with another look, raising a pointed finger between them.

“One rule,” she says, pushing her fingertip firmly up against the bottom of his chin. “You better not smoke in here.”

He smirks and pulls her finger away.

“Can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow with dangerous intent—but a gleam of playfulness flickers in them too.

“Then give it back, asshole.”

“Make me,” he replies, his smirk slowly widening. “If you think you can.”

They stare at each other for a moment, amusement twitching at the corner of her mouth as tension builds between them.

“But I have some doubts about your capability,” he adds.

Her heartbeat spikes as her eyes flash wonderfully.

Then her hand whips toward his pocket, but he catches it and spins her around instead. He pins her wrists together against her stomach with one hand as he hooks his chin over her shoulder and holds her body tightly against his.

“Nope,” he growls into her ear, bending them both forward so he can grind his cock against her ass. “It's mine now.”

A frustrated noise rumbles low from her chest, vibrating into his. He chuckles deeply and starts kissing down her neck.

“Fuck you, sunshine,” she says, hissing her words through a laugh as she tilts her head to encourage him. “Give it back.”

“No,” he replies, smiling briefly against her before continuing his kisses. As he does, he roams his free hand down the front of her body, stopping along the way to grope her tits before moving onward to pry her fingers from around her keys. He tosses them away with a jangling clink. “And don't worry—” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low and rich tone as he slides his hand down to cup the heat between her legs “—you'll be fucking me soon enough.”

Mason rolls his palm against her firmly, excitement swelling between them both as she sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I promise,” he adds, then nips down sharply on her neck.

She yelps out a surprised moan and arches into him, her thrill of pleasure crackling hot across his skin to buzz euphorically inside of him. He inhales deeply and groans, her scent filling him too, as anticipation and sheer, overwhelming want for her jolt straight into his cock.

He quickly scrambles his hand downward to tear at the laces tying their boots. Another one of her rules. Shoes off by the door.

The last fucking things keeping them here.

As he rips the knots free, as he reaches to peel his boots off and kick them away, she laughs quietly against him, shaking his body with her own while she squirms beneath him in less of less of a struggle and more of a sly, calculated grind. Her movement stokes pleasure as much as it puts him on guard—but not nearly as much as it pulls a broad smile across his face.

For a brief moment, that strange sensation returns, spreading softly across his chest.

And distracting him just enough for her to twist free from his grasp.

She bolts upright and her hand races toward his pocket again—but he recovers faster, swerving his hips so she lands somewhere much better. In a flash, he grabs her by the ass and crushes her against him, trapping her hand between them both directly on top of his cock.

Mason smirks deeply.

“Find what you're looking for?”

Cheeks flushed, she flashes him an answering smirk before giving him a good, long, and very generous squeeze.

“Maybe.”

He can't help the groan that rumbles low in his throat, or the way his eyes shutter closed and his hips roll forward into the heat of her touch.

He also can't wait until his jeans are finally fucking gone and there's no goddamn awful barrier between them.

She takes in his reaction through half-lidded eyes, a smile growing slowly on her lips. “I'll get it back eventually, you know.”

“I wouldn't count on it, sweetheart.”

And with enough said, he curls his hands under her ass and picks her up.

Her arms and legs wrap around him immediately, her lips finding his just as quickly too. She barely manages to pull her boots off with her feet, kicking them away to clatter down the hallway before they're both at the bed and he's leaning over to drop her onto the edge of the mattress. He takes only the time to rip free of his jacket before he presses himself against her again, kissing her deeply as her arms and legs lock around him once more. He remains halfway on the floor as their mouths move together, her tongue gliding hot against his, and his hands sliding across every part of her body he can reach, completely unwilling to move or break away from her at all, even as she fumbles at the hem of his shirt and tries to pull it off him.

Eventually, she succeeds.

And eventually, he moves away from her lips to kiss down her neck, down her chest, her stomach, groping his way along the entire time, until he guides his fingers to finally unfasten the button on her jeans. When he tugs her zipper down after, an idle question rolls across his mind.

One that asks if he can keep her waiting on the edge for as long as he waited outside her door earlier.

Mason smirks into her skin—and yanks her pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.

Then he skims his mouth up her inner thigh, determined to find out.

–o–

Mason returns to the Warehouse around dawn the next morning, his patrol complete.

Shoulders hunched, he swipes his key card at the hidden door before he jams his hand back into his jeans and stalks inside. His other hand remains curled in his pocket, absently fiddling with the key nestled in his palm, spinning it slowly as his fingertips trace idle laps along the bumpy ridges and smooth metal warmed by his touch.

As he passes by the living room on his way to bed, he makes the mistake of glancing inside.

Felix catches his eye and immediately flips backwards off the sofa from his upside down perch. In a flash, he appears in the doorway, swaying off the frame under his own halted momentum.

“What exactly are you so pleased about?” he asks, grinning.

Mason pauses by the door, then shoots him a smirk.

“It was my turn to babysit. What do you think?”

Felix's eyes narrow as a wide and sly smile unfurls across his face. “I think there's more to it than just that.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “Think whatever you want.”

“Oh, I absolutely will,” he replies, his amber eyes gleaming.

Shaking his head, Mason continues down the hallway toward his room while Felix's gaze drills a hole in his back.

“Night,” he calls over his shoulder without looking, raising a hand to wave.

But not the one holding the key.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven week 2020 #twc mason #twc m #mason #the detective #felix hauville #twc f #zfic #alex/mason #alexandra black

56 notes · View notes

soul-eater-novel · 4 years

Photo

«-first // archive // Ramsus-kun Scanslations

★ Chapters 0-1 complete translation

★ Chapters 2-3 complete translation

★ Chapters 4-5 complete translation

★ Chapters 6-7 complete translation

★ Chapters 8-9 complete translation

★ Chapters 10-11 complete translation

For your reading pleasure and enjoyment, below the cut are the full rough English translations of chapters 12 and 13 of the official 1998 Suikoden I Soul Eater novel (volume 2 of 3). Individual page translations can be found in the chapter 12 and chapter 13 tags.

Chapter 12: Hope Remains

They hurried along the dwarven mountain road. After leaving the Village of the Elves, they had ridden for one full day then spent another crossing over the mountain on foot. In this way, it had taken two days total to reach the wide basin that comprised the Dwarven Village. Their party of six was now returning back along this same route after meeting with the chief elder of the dwarves.

The burning mirror was indeed a weapon invented by the dwarves. The elder had told them that the dwarves believed the blueprints for it had been stolen from their large vault⁠—normally a source of pride⁠ for its impenetrability—but the identity of the thief or thieves was as yet unknown.

When Valeria noted that she had heard a man named Kage had stolen the blueprints on General Kwanda’s orders, the elder was livid. “Kwanda! That insolent bastard! We won’t stand our blueprints being stolen, or shoddy knockoffs of our work!” His eyes burned with rage. “The burning mirror is a terrible weapon, immensely powerful. It cannot be destroyed by ordinary means... but our windfire cannon can be used to shatter it in an instant. We’ll get to work constructing the cannon right away to show that bastard what happens when you mess with the dwarves. It would besmirch our good name to let some sneak thief just get away with this!”

Although they had not been able to obtain any reinforcements, they had been promised a means to destroy the mirror. So they hurried on their way without a moment’s pause to rest.

“Young Master…” wheezed Gremio miserably. “Couldn’t we take a break? This mountain path is… just a little… too much for me…”

“Sure, take a break!” Valeria spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “As long as you don’t mind being left here.”

“I-I could live with that…”

“Hang in there, Gremio!” Tir cheered him on kindly. “Everyone is toughing through this together.”

“We need to get back to the elf village to evacuate everyone immediately. The dwarf chief said he could destroy the mirror, but we have no idea when the cannon will be ready.”

“You gonna beg that old man to evacuate the elves?” asked Viktor. “He didn’t seem too keen on cooperating last time.”

“Oh, please don’t talk like that.” Kirkis replied forlornly. “He may be hardheaded, but the elder chief has done everything in his power to protect our village.”

“Ah, point taken. Sorry, Kirkis.” Viktor shut his mouth and they hiked up the mountain path in silence.

When they finally reached the summit there was no time to enjoy the beautiful view from the mountaintop and they all hurried on. But no sooner had they begun their descent than Kirkis stopped cold.

“What is that?” He pointed toward the wide swath of forest to the southwest. Surrounded on all sides by the forest, something gleamed atop the roof of Pannu Yakuta castle.

“It can’t be! The burning mirror?!” shouted Valeria. “They’ve completed it already?!” Everyone tensed.

“Hurry!”

The six of them tore down the mountain path at full speed. But even when they reached their horses at the foot of the mountain, they would still need half a day at minimum to reach the elf village. Tir stole a glance at the burning mirror. It sparkled with even more intensity than it had just moments before.

There’s no mistaking it—the mirror is already gathering heat from the atmosphere.

“Damn it!” Tir swore. “Will we make it in time?!”

Running, Viktor called, “It’s autumn, ain’t it?! So maybe it’ll take longer for it to gather heat!”

“But look!”

Gremio pointed to the sky. The sun broke through a gap in the clouds and shone upon Pannu Yakuta castle. Receiving the light of the sun, the mirror sparkled brighter than ever.

“Shit!” groaned Viktor. “It’s gathering heat from the sunlight?!”

Kirkis screamed as a dazzling light shot out of the mirror. It all happened in an instant. The light hit the western forest, reached the elf village, and the center of the village exploded violently in a pillar of flame. The flames roared. Only later did the thunderous roar of the explosion and the pillar reached their ears—as they stood stock still, dumfounded. To Tir it sounded as though the very trees themselves were screaming.

“This is crazy… it’s crazy!” Kirkis mumbled. The tragedy was so great it left the rest of them speechless, and all the while the flames spread across the forest. Black smoke billowed into the sky.

“You musn’t give up hope, Kirkis” said Tir, gazing intently at the spreading flames. “Some elves may have escaped the fire. Let’s hurry!”

Kirkis gritted his teeth. “You’re right.”

The band of six galloped onwards, hoping against hope for the safety of the elf clan with all their hearts.

- - -

“This is horrible…” Valerie’s voice echoed hollowly among the trees reduced to scorched earth.

They pushed their horses, and by the time they arrived at the forest, the fire had burnt itself out. No trace of the forest remained; only scorched fields stretched out around them.

As they moved forward, the ground grew harder in spots beneath their feet—Tir guessed they were stepping on the roots of the elves’ giant tree.

Because the tree had borne the full brunt of the mirror’s onslaught, it hadn’t been so much burnt down as it had been completely obliterated. It seemed that some scorched sections of its root system were all that remained. There was no sign of a single elf—the acrid stink of charred tree and the wind whistling were all that surrounded Tir and the others.

“If the forest looks this bad, then the elves must have all...” Gremio murmured and trailed off, dismounting. The others also dismounted but no one else said a word. Kirkis walked across the scorched earth and up to the roots of the great tree.

“Why...” Kirkis slowly sank, his knees on the ground. His slender shoulders shook, and his weeping dyed the burnt field in shades of sorrow. “Why did this happen…?” He sobbed. “Was everything we did in vain?”

Gremio stood by his side. “Kirkis…”

“We did everything we could... but there’s nothing left here...

Everyone and everything I wanted to protect is gone…”

He stood, wiped his tears, fumbled in his pockets, then took something out. Seeing the glittering object in the palm of Kirkis’ hand, Gremio started. “Oh. That’s...”

“I was planning to give this ring to her once the war was over… and now... she'll never wear it. Oh, poor Sylvina…”

It fell from Kirkis’ hands and struck the roots of the great tree.

Tink…

The ring that should have adorned Sylvina’s pale, beautiful fingers tumbled along the charred forest floor and was lost amidst the dark ashes of the trees charred by the Empire’s attack.

Tir gripped his staff tight in his hands.

Even if he tries to bury his feelings beneath the ashes, Kirkis must be so angry with us for not being able to help him like he asked us to.

Gremio picked up the ring. “Kirkis… you mustn’t throw this away.” He took Kirkis’ hand and placed the ring in it, his voice gentle. “This ring represents all your hopes. And you mustn’t ever throw hope away. As long as you have even just a little hope, you can go on living… I think elves and humans are the same in that regard, don’t you?”

“Gremio…” Kirkis gazed at the ring now back in his hand, then looked up at him. “Yes… yes, that could be true.”

“It is. Please, as long as you draw breath, always remember what it feels like to hold hope in your heart.”

Kirkis rubbed his eyes dry and raised his head. “W-would it be all right if we stayed here just a little longer? If any of my friends managed to escape into the forest, I want to be here for them…”

No one was going to refuse Kirkis’ request. Listening to Kirkis’ footsteps as he walked out of the burnt forest, Tir and the others surveyed the forest and the surrounding fields.

The setting sun cast an orange glow over the blackened forest. Eventually Tir and the others returned to the remains of the forest once the sun had set, and rested among the great tree’s roots. Kirkis was also tired from walking the forest, and was resting against a fallen tree in a stupor. But it seemed like no matter how long he waited, his fellow villagers were unlikely to reappear.

“Kirikis…” Valerie began somberly. “We’ve waited here but no one’s come. That probably means there are no elves nearby. Unfortunately we don’t have time to wait for any elves who were far away enough to avoid the attack.”

Kirkis stood. “Yeah…”

“Please don’t lose hope, Kirkis...” Gremio urged, his voice kind as could be. Then he turned to Tir. “Young Master, let’s return to headquarters. We can no longer decide how to proceed in this fight on our own.”

Viktor grinned in response. “No need fer that—look!” Viktor jerked his chin up, pointing to the northwest where a group of horse riders were galloping towards them, weaving their way through the trees that were now little more than charcoal.

“Lord Tir! Are you unharmed?!” Called the man in the white halfcoat, waving his arm.

“Mathiu!”

Tir leapt on his horse and raced towards the riders. Mathiu was galloping their way, with Pahn, Lepant, and Varkas following close behind.

Mathiu looked around them, aghast. “Lord Tir, what in the world happened here?”

“It’s a long story...”

Tir relayed the events at the elf village, the dwarven village, and told them all about the burning mirror.

“I see… So that’s what happened...” Mathiu looked down at the ground for a time, but then spoke to Tir in gentle tones. “You did everything you could do, Lord Tir. Thank you.”

“I really didn’t accomplish anything. It’s still uncertain whether or not we can get the kobolds to lend us their strength, and neither the elves nor us are strong enough to face the Empire on our own.” Tir hung his head.

“What happened to the elves is truly saddening.” Thundered Lepant in his robust voice. “But, Lord Tir, you have no need to worry about the size of our army!”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Master Tir,” explained Pahn, “right before we left the castle, Humphrey and Sanchez arrived, leading a bunch of soldiers.”

“Aha! So they’re finally here!” boomed Viktor behind them. Tir turned to look and saw that everyone had lined up on their horses without him noticing.

Viktor grinned happily. “So, how many troops did they bring?”

“About 5,500.” Varkas answered cheerfully, looking at Tir. “They met others along their way, and now their ranks exceed 6,000.”

“Master Tir, that’s more than enough to take on Kwanda! We’ll leave ‘em in the dust!”

“Um, I’ve been wondering…” interjected Gremio. Just how did you all get through the Lost Woods? I thought it was impossible to find without a guide or someone to lead you.”

“Quite so. We were actually entirely flummoxed, stuck on the other side of the Lost Woods…” replied Mathiu. “...until two elves who came out of the wood kindly offered to guide us.”

“Two elves?!” Kirkis exclaimed, leaning forward eagerly. “Where are those elves now?!

“I believe they are waiting in the Kobold village—” Mathiu started to say, but was cut off by a voice distantly calling from the north.

“Heeeeeey! Kiiiirkiiis!!”

A figure came racing across the burnt fields at an unbelievable speed. He sped along faster than a horse, quicker than the wind, blue clothes and long azure hair whipping in the wind. As the elf drew closer, they could also see someone on his back, long purple hair streaming out behind them.

“That’s Stallion—and he’s got Sylvina with him!” Kirkis turned to everyone, his eyes shining. “Stallion is the fastest elf in the land… and to think we always made fun of him for only ever using that speed to run away...!” Kirkis choked up. Tears welled in his green-blue eyes. Even though tears wet his cheeks, Kirkis laughed and spurred his horse forward into a gallop.

When they were only a short distance away from each other on that burnt plain, Stallion let Sylvina down off his back at the same instant that Kirkis leapt off his steed. And so, the two embraced.

“With speed like that, I can certainly see how he could escape the burning mirror…” Gremio said, his voice filled with admiration. As everyone watched, Kirkis took Sylvina’s hand and slipped something into it. Tir and the others had a good idea as to what that something might be. Everyone’s hearts were warmed at the sight.

Mathiu turned to Tir. “What next, Lord Tir?”

For a moment, Tir couldn’t answer. But it wasn’t because he was uncertain—it was because he was so happy he could hardly speak.

We have a glimmer of hope after all.

He raised his face and answered. “Okay! We march on Pannu Yakuta!”

Chapter 13: The Big Battle

At Tir’s order, the Liberation Army began to move. They all drew courage from Humphrey and Sanchez joining in the fight against the Empire. The Liberation Army’s spirits rose even higher when Kirkis, Sylvina, Stallion and Valeria also volunteered to fight alongside them.

Nevertheless, the fact that Kwanda Rosman had completed the burning mirror instilled a deep unease in their hearts as battle drew nearer. Tir was especially worried that if their army made a misstep, they would meet the same fate as the elf village.

That was when Valeria proposed her plan to Mathiu.

“Once every three days, General Kwanda sends out a patrol to check on the status of the surrounding area. It takes five days for the patrol to circle the forest and their route is predetermined, so we could lie in wait to ambush and capture them without giving away our own position.”

It was decided that Mathiu would send out Varkas to capture the patrol at once. The main force lay concealed in the forest that ran along the base of the mountains to the east and they set up camp in the forest near Pannu Yakuta castle. Mathiu called everyone together at the camp for a war council meeting while their main force got some rest.

Pahn, Lepant, Gremio, Cleo, Viktor, Humphrey. These brave leaders of the Liberation Army met with Mathiu and Tir, along with Valeria and Kirkis, which made ten altogether. They had all sat down at the big table. Everyone looked around at each other. Mathiu spoke first.

“It is imperative that we capture Pannu Yakuta, but of course the burning mirror prevents us from doing so. As we’ve seen from what befell the elf village, the mirror’s power is absolute. If they turn the mirror on us, that’s the end⁠—us and our army will be ashes in seconds flat.”

“Hrm…” rumbled Lepant thoughtfully. “How can we deal with the mirror?”

“I’ve got an idea!” Kirkis quipped cheerfully and took a stand. “I think the mirror’s weak point is how it collects heat from the atmosphere. If it’s unable to do that, then they can’t use it.”

“But, Kirkis…” This time Gremio piped up. “Since it’s autumn, it certainly is difficult to gather heat from the atmosphere, but they can still use the mirror by harnessing the power of the sun.”

“Yeah, what do we do about that?” wondered Cleo. "It would be best to do battle when the temperature is low and the sun is not shining, correct?"

Mathiu nodded. “Yes. That iss what I was thinking as well. Waiting for the weather to grow colder only gives our enemy further opportunities to go on the offensive. Let’s attack the castle tonight. What do you say, Lord Tir?”

“I think that’s a good plan.”

“Then just leave the tactical side of things to me.”

Mathiu stood and briskly assigned everyone their duties. Lepant was in charge of the advance team. Forest surrounded Pannu Yakuta castle, but it seemed there was a path to the northern side where they could move their troops through quite a wide swath of the forest. Lepant would take up position there and challenge Kwanda to do battle. Pahn and Valeria would each lead a group of soldiers and lay concealed on either side of the forest. Lepant would lose to Kwanda’s army on purpose and then retreat, luring Kwanda and his forces out into the forest, where the other two parties would make their move, cutting off Kwanda’s retreat. Humphrey would act as commander of another party, playing things by ear and acting as needed as the plan unfolded.

“I see. What a splendid plan. Just as I’d expect of our tactician!” Lepant cried in apparent satisfaction, but Kirkis hadn’t been assigned a role, and his expression grew stormy.

“Lord Mathiu, what shall I do? I want to help out, too.”

Mathiu did not sugarcoat his answer. “Kirkis. I’m grateful you feel that way, but I am afraid I cannot use you in this battle.”

“Why not?!” shouted Kirkis.

Tir didn’t understand the reasoning behind Mathiu’s words, either.

Of course Kirkis would want to fight against Kwanda Rosman, the man who destroyed his entire clan…

“Is there some reason we can’t use Kirkus in this battle?” Tir asked, bewildered.

“Yes, just one…” Mathiu placed both of his hands upon the table and stared at Tir. “Lord Tir, before you departed the castle you and I spoke about Kwanda Rosman. We both agreed that he is not a man inclined to senseless slaughter...”

“What?!” cried Kirkis, his voice filled with grief. "How can you say that?! He just used the burning mirror to destroy my entire village!”

“I am well aware,” said Mathiu, now holding Kirkis’ gaze. “I understand your feelings. Painfully so. But, Kirkis, grudges have no place in this battle. We intend to capture General Kwanda without killing him to find out what drove him to this atrocious act, whether it was by order of the Emperor, or by his own design. We must first establish that before taking any further action.”

They all fell silent, then, admiring Mathiu’s ability to believe in the humanity of others, even enemies.

“I understand, Mathiu...” Kirkis said quietly. “I despise Kwanda. Words are not enough to describe how much I hate him. But I am a member of the Liberation Army now. If you say we are to capture him alive, then I will abide by that.”

Mathiu smiled, bowing his head. “Those are the words I’ve been waiting to hear. Now that that’s out of the way, I will assign five hundred archers to you. Please hide in the forest with Lady Valeria, and let loose volleys of arrows immediately after we have cut off Kwanda’s army’s line of retreat.”

“Yes, sir!” Replied Kirkis, his spirits back at full force.

Now that all the roles were divided up, the war council was over. Mathiu dictated that Cleo and Gremio’s units would cover their bases by protecting the rear and that Viktor’s unit would stay with Mathiu on standby.

The camp burst into activity. The soldiers were pumped up for the oncoming battle. This was Tir’s first campaign and electric energy coursed through his veins.

Night fell at long last, a pervasive chill invading the forest.

To avoid detection by the Kwanda army, they lit no fires in the camp. Under the cover of night, the troop of foot soldiers led by Pahn left the camp first. Then went Valeria's calvary unit and Kirkis’ archers. Once the night had worn on, Humphrey’s raiding party and Lepant, leading the main body of soldiers, also left the camp.

- - -

“Show your face, Imperial General Kwanda Rosman! You will pay for your crimes!" roared Lepant. He had gathered his troops at the front gates. If the impressive formation advancing out into the field with blazing torches was any indication, Kwanda Rosman was also preparing for battle.

Braziers burned here and there and on the other side of the sturdy, high stone walls of the castle, the whinnies of horses could be heard.

“You hear us, Kwanda?! Or are you pissing yourself in your bed, scared shitless ‘cuz we’re out here?!” Shouted Lepant again, earning laughter from the soldiers.

Perhaps no longer able to endure these insults, Kwanda appeared above the gate of the multi-storied castle. “Just who do you think you are? Are you aware this castle you’re causing a ruckus at is under the protection of one of the five imperial generals, Iron Wall Kwanda?!”

In line with his nickname, Kwanda’s entire body was covered in sturdy armor. Even his head was protected by a helmet, only allowing a portion of his face to show. He wore the title of imperial general without shame. The brazier fires glinted off his silver armor, turning it red.

Lepant, however, continued unleashing his torrent of abuse upon the unflinching Kwanda. Mathiu’s strategy was to turn Kwanda’s quick temper against him and, of course, lure him out of the castle.

“Here he is at last! The cruel demon who exterminated the elf tribe! I am Lepant of Kouan, now leader of the Liberation Army vanguard! The autumn breeze carried the ghosts of the elves to our doorstep, where they whispered in our ears their desire for revenge. Resign yourself to death, for we bear the grudge of the elves, and we will destroy you!”

“Liberation Army? You’re nothing but rebels! Perfect. I’d been meaning to squash you like the bugs you are sometime...” Guffawed Kwanda as he descended the stairs. “Thank you for saving me the trouble of tracking you down. Prepare to face Kwanda Rosman’s wrath!”

At that moment Lepant also brought out his unit in order to draw out Kwanda’s forces.

The castle gates opened with a grating sound. Kwanda was framed by the gates for a moment, astride his horse with his long-handled battleaxe at his side. Without waiting for his regiment, Kwanda leapt through the gates alone.

“Damned Kouan bumpkins! You’ll help me clean the rust off this axe of mine!”

“Bastard! You’ll bow before my gleaming blade Kirinji and beg the elves for forgiveness!” shouted Lepant, pushing his horse into a gallop. The two men collided with the electric force of a lightning bolt. The flames glinted from their raised blades as they dueled, the sounds of their clashing blades echoing in the night.

“Take that!”

Weaving through Kwanda’s assault, Lepant lunged with his blade, stabbing it towards Kwanda’s flank. But Kirinji was repelled, ricocheting off Kwanda’s golden armor. He wasn’t even scratched.

“Fool! This armor was hand-forged by the dwarves! Your dull blade couldn’t even hope to dent it!” Bellowed Kwanda, raising his battleaxe. Flustered, Lepant turned his blade to the side and it bit into the handle of Lepant’s axe, halting the blow.

“Guh!”

Lepant was hit by the full force of the weight of the battleaxe coupled with Kwanda’s physical strength. He managed to somehow stop the blade of the axe, but his horse could not bear the weight and abruptly dropped to its knees.

“Oh no, Lord Lepant!”

Perceiving he was at a disadvantage, Lepant’s unit surged forward as one at the same moment that Kwanda’s soldiers also moved to the front. The two sides clashed and erupted into chaos. The soldiers’ roars, screams, and the pounding of the horses’ hooves filled the grasslands.

Finally, Lepant called out to his soldiers. “Retreat! We’re pulling out!”

“Running away, are you?!”

Lepant retreated from the battle on the field, fighting as he withdrew. Kuwanda’s assault had left many soldiers injured and now the only thing they could do was believe Mathiu’s plan would work.

Lepant’s unit eventually retreated down the path that ran through the forest. Kwanda’s large force followed them right in, torches blazing.

“Kwanda Rosman! You razed the Elves’ sacred forest to the ground and that is a grave crime indeed!”

Valeria’s mounted unit chose that moment to leap out of the forest to Kwanda’s right. Pahn’s foot soldiers also came rushing out of the forest to the left at the same instance.

“General! Surrender quietly!”

They had swooped down and attacked Kwanda’s two units at the rear of his forces, but Kwanda had been chasing Lepant so eagerly that he did not seem to realize he had been ambushed. As the sounds of the commotion reached him he finally turned to his aide and demanded, “What’s going on back there?!”

“They’ve ambushed us and cut off our path of retreat!”

“Wh-what...?!”

Kwanda turned back to break through the enemy ranks. Lepant knew as soon as Kwanda turned away from him that Valeria and Pahn had launched their attacks.

“You’re caught in our trap! You’re such a short-sighted fool you can only see what’s right in front of you!”

He launched a counterattack with his entire unit. Pressed at the front and the rear, Kwanda’s movements grew limited. Adding to his misfortune, a rain of arrows fell on his forces from an unknown source. Soldiers fell in droves. Amid the chaos, Kwanda ground his teeth in anger and bellowed, “Not yet! We haven’t lost yet! Hey, you! Use the you-know-what! Three shots!”

“Yes, sir!”

His aide took some sort of tube out of his backpack and pointed it toward the sky.

Pshhew!

Three balls of fire shot out of the tube and into the black night sky, turning the sky white in their brilliance.

Staring up at the flashes in the dark sky, Tir murmured, “What are those, Mathiu?”

He and Mathiu were leading their unit toward the tail end of Lepant’s forces.

Mathiu groaned softly. “I should have expected no less from Kwanda Rosman... He is one of the Empire’s generals, and apparently not your average foe.”

Viktor snorted, leading his horse beside Mathiu. “Ya mind breakin’ that one down for us, Mr. Tactician?”

"Those flares are a type of signal used by the Imperial Army. The number of flares determines the meaning. One flare is an order to advance, while two indicates standby."

"And three?" asked Cleo.

Glowering at the sky bathed in white, Mathiu answered. "Three is a call for reinforcements."

- - -

"Damn!” Shouted Valeria, who was intimidating Kwanda’s flank but stared in dismay as another wave of soldiers poured out of the opened castle gates. “Kwanda's still got more soldiers?!"

As she and Pahn pressed Kwanda’s rear flank, Pahn realized that one of the new enemy units was advancing on them from behind.

“Lady Valeria, will you take care of the castle soldiers? I’ll handle Kwanda!”

“Got it!”

Valeria and Pahn quickly reorganized their troops into two separate groups and both clashed with the enemy Imperial Army forces. As the ranks of ambushed soldiers fell their strength dwindled as well. However, now Pahn and Valeria’s two units were trapped between Kwanda's forces returning to the castle and his reinforcements exiting the castle, forcing them into an awkward position.

"These bastards just don’t let up!"

Soldiers appeared in front of Pahn and attacked him. It was all he could do to hold them back. It seemed only a matter of time before Valeria's unit would also be crushed by the soldiers from the castle.

- - -

"We need more arrows! Up and at ‘em, people!"

Kirkis did everything he could to rouse his archers to aid Pahn and Valeria, caught in Kwanda's pincer attack, but it was difficult to tell friend from foe in the dead of night and the fighting on the forest's pathways had descended into chaos. This was no time for an arrow to go astray. Kirkus and the archers grew impatient.

“Can’t we shoot yet?! Kwanda’s winning, isn’t he?!”

Kirkus clenched his fists even tighter.

“Hey, Elf!” a cheerful voice called from within the forest. “Don’t screw up, now!”

When Kirkis and the archers peered into the rustling bushes, a pair of gleaming eyes appeared, glinting in the dark.

“Looks like a close fight. But everything’s all right now. Us kobolds have come to back you up!” As he spoke, the kobold soldier Kuromimi materialized from the pitch-black woods.

“Kuromimi...!”

Kirkus was still reeling in surprise at Kuromimi’s sudden appearance, but Kuromimi licked his chops and laughed. “You Liberation Army guys really kept your word. The Imperial Army hasn’t shown up in the north forest this whole time!”

“S-so that’s why you’re here to help us?”

“I hate liars. But I love people who keep their promises. We got you covered!” Shouted Kuromimi, and leapt onto the meadow, his tail bristling. Behind him followed all sorts of kobolds waving their swords - burly, strong kobolds, slim, clever kobolds, and on and on.

- - -

“What the?!”

Valeria stared in amazement at the unit that came charging out of the woods. She had been born and raised in the forest, so kobolds were nothing new to her. She inferred in a flash that they were allies because they had appeared from where Kirkis was concealed.

“Reinforcements are coming, everyone!” Valeria raised her sword high. “Don’t fall behind, kobolds! Give it your all!”

Amid the bloody battle, the soldiers once again regained their fighting spirits. The kobold clan charged into the soldiers from the castle. The imperial soldiers, under attack from Valeria on one side and the kobold clan on the other, prepared to flee. At the moment Pahn’s unit began to move, having received notice of the reinforcements, another unit flanked them.

“Sorry to keep you waiting...”

It was Humphrey, accompanying the commando unit.

“You’re late, ya bastard!” cried Pahn as they shifted ranks and Humphrey’s unit switched with his, allowing injured soldiers to pull back from the battle.

Humphrey’s uninjured unit pressed Kwanda once more. Watchinging as Humphrey’s huge sword and Kwanda’s axe clashed, sending sparks flying, Pahn reorganized his unit and struck the soldiers from the castle opposite the Kobold clan’s attack.

- - -

“Hey, tactician!” roared Viktor, turning to Mathiu, drawn sword in hand. “Ain’t it our turn yet?!”

He had readied his unit for battle the minute Kwanda’s reinforcements had come out of the castle. A subordinate came running up to Mathiu and reported on the state of the battle. It only took a second, but to Viktor it felt like an eternity.

At last, Mathiu shouted, “Viktor! Provide support to Pahn’s unit as Lepant’s unit falls back!”

“Whoo! Finally! Head-bashin’ time!” Viktor turned to his soldiers. “Let’s go! We’ll show ‘em just how stubborn the Liberation Army is!”

The soldiers, who were tired of waiting, all at once gave a great battle cry. Viktor’s horse broke into a gallop. The moment his unit slipped in beside Lepant’s, the screams of the Imperial soldiers noticeably ticked up a notch.

- - -

The battle between the two armies raged seemingly without end. The land was soaked with blood, the field covered with corpses, with no clear victor in sight. Mathiu had ordered an all-out offensive attack on the all-powerful Kwanda’s army.

Along with Gremio and Cleo, Tir had joined and were fighting beside Lepant’s unit. It was Tir’s first large battle and the unimaginably gruesome sights made him sick to his stomach, but he gritted his teeth and fought on.

We need to settle this fight immediately.

“Young Master! Let’s hurry and capture General Kwanda!” Shouted Gremio, swinging his axe. The sky was beginning to turn violet—dawn was not far off. When the sun rose, Kwanda would be able to use the burning mirror. Impatience burned in Tir’s breast.

Suddenly Kwanda’s unit gave cheers of joy. Kwanda was unmistakably penetrating the space they had carved out between Valeria and Humphey’s unit. At that moment the soldiers Tir and the others were fighting turned and fled.

“Don’t let him escape! Don’t let General Kwanda get away!” Tir shouted as loud as he could, but imperial soldiers blocked his way and he couldn’t give chase.

Kuromimi, Pahn, and Viktor all launched incessant attacks from the sides but the imperial army merged to form one huge unit, impossible to smash.The imperial soldiers and Kwanda made a mad dash toward the castle gate. Tir and the others flew right behind them on their steeds, but the castle gate smashed closed right in front of their noses. The enemy soldiers were amassed beyond the gates with no way for the Liberation Army to get at them. Slowly but surely the sun began to rise over the eastern mountains.

“Gh...” Tir bit down hard on his lip without being aware of it.

We sacrificed so much in this battle, only to lose now...?

“That’s what you get for rebelling against the Empire, fools!” Kwanda suddenly called from above. He stood on the castle roof. Set up beside him was the huge, elliptical shape of the burning mirror.

“This farce ends here! Let’s settle this once and for all!” Kwanda sneered. “I’ll give you a taste of the burning mirror’s full strength!”

The burning mirror glinted. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the mirror shone all the brighter.

They were out of time.

“Young Master...” Gremio looked up at the mirror, mortified. “We can’t fight this. We’ve got to pull our forces back.”

“I know...” Tir gripped his staff hard, looking back at the soldiers. He kicked his horse into a gallop. “Everyone, spread out!” he yelled. “Spread out as much as you can to minimize casualties!”

Valeria and Viktor’s units as well as Pahn and Lepant’s units carrying the wounded soldiers all obeyed his orders and the soldiers scattered in all directions.

“Ooh, spreading yourselves thin to make it harder to aim, are you? But you’re too late!”

Kwanda’s scorn reached Tir’s back. Urging his horse forward, he looked over his shoulder at the burning mirror. It was already emitting a glaring light—any moment now there would be a flash and....

“Hurry! Hurry, everyone!”

No sooner had the words left Tir’s lips than the burning mirror was enveloped in a dazzling light.

“Woah...?!”

An intense wind suddenly sprung out of nowhere ahead of Tir. With a dreadful groan, the wind whooshed over his head roaring like a wild beast and flew toward the castle. Immediately afterward came the violent sound of an explosion on the castle roof. The noise rippled out in a shockwave across the plain, setting the trees in the forest swaying. Simultaneously, from the burning mirror on the roof a pale light seeped out, closing around Tir and his comrades.

Tir looked back once more and saw the burning mirror was no longer emitting light—it was only the surface of the mirror smashed into a million pieces, leaving the roof of Pannu Yakuta castle fully exposed.

#Suikoden #Soul Eater #Chapter 12 #Chapter 13 #English #Translations #WOOHOO! It's been a year since the last two chapters were posted!#; w ;#only one picture in these two chapters when there were about four in the last two lol

18 notes · View notes

yetremains · 3 years

Note

💙 // From Cloud. Whoops. :DD

Send to get a kiss from my muse!

Send 💙 for an accidental kiss

Just her luck, to be tangled into this mess with Cloud. There had been a freak accident with an air ship, involving a mercenary hunt, which ended with a unfortunate crash into the dark forests of a low valley. She had managed to maintain consciousness, and keep herself together. Perhaps through the hardened training to be prepared for such events, or maybe from the augmenting of becoming such a powerful human- it didn’t matter. Her mind was spinning with panic that had made it’s vicious attempt to grapple her into it’s throes, but never giving into that descent. It would help no one. Her focus burning ever forwards to make it through the debris. Burning chunks of metal and wood, smells of leaking oil, gasoline, and burning flesh, filled the air while she dodged around caving bits and jumped over bodies of the dead. All the while carrying the blonde man on her shoulders. He had survived, she’d felt that pulse beat, barely. But the dead weight of his out cold body certainly didn’t do any favors of believing he’d keep alive.

A powerful kick dislodged a broken airlock door, sending it’s creaking metal careening backwards across the scorched earth. Letting the coughing woman free of smoke and fumes, into the colder air. But already the plants around them were catching and spreading the flames into a worse situation. Keeping arms locked under the mercenary swordsman’s legs, and letting his arms dangle over her shoulders, Yang broke into a run, each breath heavy with a weight of life and death. There was no other option than to keep moving. Don’t stop. A feeling of hounds hunting prey was sinking in, as if she were the hunted rabbit darting for the bushes to escape the mad jaws threatening upon the heels.

It didn’t matter how long had gone by, having long lost track of each step or breath to carry the two through dense forest, leaving the smoking remains behind. No, all that mattered was avoiding a darkening fate. And only when the air was crisp, clean, and silent, did Yang allow herself to come into a full stop. No longer the orange glow looming dangerously behind them, in the distance a rising pillar into the sky made of ash, of what had become a mass grave. Here in this temporary safety did the blonde get lowered onto the ground and allowed to lay flat on his back. “Come on, come on...” He was slightly singed, burnt here and there, but nothing broken. As far as Yang could tell at least. Her hands carefully checking over the pulse. It was there, but weaker... Then her ear placed upon the chest. Yes. A heart beat. But the breathing had slowed and getting slowly. Then... Stopped.

Her form surged into action quickly, hands on top of each other as they began too pump upon the mans chest. 1, 2, 3. Followed by pressing her mouth upon his, forcing air into those ever stilled lungs. Repeating this actions a few times over, each one getting more desperate. And only when there was a feeling of movement, did she finally let herself relax. Although when she did, her eyes locked with Clouds, just while her lips were on his. He was awake, and alive. First a rush of relief- then panic.

Yang jerked backwards quickly and scrambled back, hitting a large rock for a moment with a grunt and rubbing the back of her head. “Ow... Oh thank fuck you’re alive. You came THIS close.” Ah, but reprimanding him wouldn’t do any good. So instead she finally released all the tension that had built up. “You... You are banned from ever doing work on air ships ever again.”

#gattaimuses #-Swordsman Soldier || gattaimuses #-Still standing Still free || Season 1-4 #(( get this amusing little moment. ))#(( and in this time he is banned from flying. ))

2 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 4 years

Text

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet red cuts through the dark of the night.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bnha kacchan #bnha katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha angst #bakugou angst

320 notes · View notes