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gingermintpepper · 3 years

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Gloxinia and Meliodas' First Meeting.

Time Period: Sometime during the Holy War

»»————-　♔　————-««

He remembers the Lord of the Faefolk.

Elizabeth lays limp in his arms.

The world explodes around him, typhoon’s cacophonous touch laying waste to the landscape but he does not feel the slice of the wind. Raindrops pierce through the clouds, bullets of water that seem to attack the thin veil of his cloak but he cares not for them. All he knows is the gellid flesh pressed against his chest, the drooping wings whose feathers seem to swell with water, bright white eyelashes slack from exhaustion, delicate eyebrows devoid of that determined furrow.

He’s running out of options, had gravely miscalculated during his battle with Calmadios and now was left without a place to return to, without a roof with which to weather this storm under. He had no place where Elizabeth could rest and recuperate from her wounds.

Even amongst the wanton destruction Meliodas had wrought in his time in the physical realm, the memory stands stark in the backdrop of his mind. A routine perimeter sweep after they had managed to gain new territory from beating back the Goddess Clan in the south. The normal agenda after such events - visiting the human nests, establishing the new order, weeding out dissenters and surviving pests, setting up scouts; it was all necessary yet monotonous activity so no one particularly fancied running such errands. It was only because Meliodas had drawn the short lot that he had to do the grunt work himself.

He hadn’t expected to find Fairies in the human nest, small creatures with their delicate wings healing humans and helping repair their odd little hutches. He’d not so much as heard about encounters with Fairies since coming into the realm - only knew of the whispers of the so-called Fairy King’s Forest and the great magic that was contained within. Meliodas thought it all nothing more than the mangled stories of drunk demons. He hadn’t felt any significant magic in the physical realm besides the heavy cloud that was the bestial Giant Clan and so he had dismissed even the notion of Fairies as such.

Yet there they were, smaller than even him in their diminutive stature, little faces scrunched in joy and determination even as the nest around them was razed and half ablaze.

And so Meliodas thought, ‘If the Fae are real, then surely their King is no illusion either.’

Zeldris must have heard by now he thinks. Would know that he made good on his word to abandon their people for the sake of Elizabeth and, ultimately, for ending this useless conflict.

Was he laughing at him? Was he gleefully watching his heinous older brother suffer for choosing a lover over the future of their clan only to immediately lose her to his pride? Meliodas alone had made the decision to defect while surrounded by his troops and three Commandments. His confidence in his strength had cost him dearly, but with Elizabeth at his back, he had felt invincible.

The rain continues to pour around them, but Meliodas cannot feel its freezing touch. Elizabeth’s warm blood is beginning to seep through her clothes. He doesn’t want to hold her tighter, fears that squeezing her will only make her bleed out faster. What good is his strength if he cannot help those most important to him in their times of need?

Lightning tears the sky asunder, thunder racing so close to its heel that the world around him seems to quake. He’ll have to land - he can’t risk attracting the bolts with Elizabeth in his grip. He is a demon but he can’t help but pray.

Prays that the chill descending on Elizabeth’s skin is only the rain. Prays that Zeldris finds some way to end the conflict too. Prays that he hasn’t ruined the only thing that could save Elizabeth’s life.

It surprises him even now. The ease with which the Fairies revealed the location of their home to him. Meliodas was quite aware that they knew him to be a demon. Even without knowledge of the rank or class that he occupied, his magic alone was nothing but purest, deepest black - yet, even as they trembled with their breaths caught in their throats and their little fingers halted in their actions, they dutifully told him what it was he wanted to know.

He remembers thinking then that the Fairies were a weak bunch - that they were a naive people who surely teetered on the brink of extinction for the easily exploitable trust they so readily gave.

Then came the fog.

He’s not surprised that even during this tempest, the fog is thick.

The last time he entered, the mist showed him illusions that confounded him for hours. The road disappeared beneath him, he’d ended up on a mountain and then at a lake and throughout it all quiet laughter echoed in his ear, disorienting him. Angering him.

Today there is only the quiet of deep, deep fog and the dampened splashing of rain as it struggles to cut through haze.

Meliodas lands on the muddy ground and takes off sprinting. He slips in an errant puddle, the ground slick and treacherous but even then he does not let go of Elizabeth. The air’s knocked from his lungs as he lands on his back. His shoulder burns but he cannot heal himself. He does not know what effect his miasma would have on Elizabeth in this weakened state. He does not want to find out. With trembling fingers, he adjusts her, frowns as the muscles beneath her fair skin refuse to twitch even when he lets his touch linger on the plush flesh of her lips, her cheek, the puncture in her stomach which gushes, gushes, and was he always able to glimpse the pink of her stomach? Was it wrong that he found that healthy colour as beautiful as the rest of her? But her skin is cold, cold too cold and her blood runs hot and Meliodas curses even the rains, roars his frustration so the lord of the lands knows that he is in no mood for games.

“Gloxinia!”

A part of him wondered if the Fairies had conned him; if they had only pretended to be shy things and had taken the opportunity to lead him to his death instead of guiding him to the Forest like they claimed they would. He’d think much higher of them if that was the case.

As it stands, Meliodas only wishes to tear the heads from their breakable bodies for the tasteless jest. Already, he’d found himself at the bottom of a lake, in which swimming in any direction only dragged him further down, a mountain trail which had led to him being apparently attacked by some manner of beast and a desert which stretched for so many hours that Meliodas had begun to sweat through the leathers of his gear. Terrible caterwauling the likes he had only heard in the deepest annals of the Underworld dogged his steps, and when the screeching stopped, the laughing began.

In each direction he was met with nothing but a wall of fog so thick that he could not even see the colour of his shoes and with each step without a discernible goal in sight, his resentment only grew.

And then, oddly, he caught the strong smell of flowers.

An unmistakable flash of red like spider lilies blooms in the corner of his periphery.

The tumultuous rain quiets to a mere whisper and the fog dissipates leaving only a dew laden field of bright, bright flowers.

The Fairy King is no less spectacular the second time around, celestial wings aglow with multicoloured magic which seems to glitter even in the midst of this gloomy, terrible squall. He stands with his hands at his side, thin lips pressed into a fine line. He is unarmed, alone. Unimpressed.

“You have returned,” he says dully and Meliodas does not have time to be offended at the lack of respect.

He tightens his grip on Elizabeth’s thigh, does his best to keep from snarling. “Heal her!”

A perfect eyebrow threatens to scrape scarlet hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

Meliodas growls, refuses to rest Elizabeth against the forest floor yet cannot risk jostling her for the sake of emphasis, “She hurt herself protecting me. I want you to heal her.”

Gloxinia’s neutral expression becomes a faintly bemused smile. “Is that a request or a threat, Demon Lord?”

Meliodas glares (and Elizabeth is growing cold in his grip, cold, cold, he is running out of time-) “Both, Fairy.”

The fog begins to creep in not unlike storm clouds on the placid horizon. The sound of thunder begins to descend upon them, red and purple flower buds disappearing beneath the cloak of the Fairy King’s enchanted mist. The fae smiles and it is a cold, cruel thing which sits comfortably on cherubic features, “Then I bid you farewell.”

Meliodas feels the wrath overflow, feels it in the way his vision goes black at the edges, in the way he can hear Elizabeth’s failing heartbeat. Anger at Gloxinia for refusing him, for dooming Elizabeth to death. Anger at himself for being unable to protect her, for failing her, “I will raze this forest to the ground, Gloxinia! Help her or I will slaughter every one of your kind!”

And that despicable Fairy only looks down at him, golden eyes more damning than any bolt of heavenly lightning, “It matters not, Demon Lord, she will already be dead.”

Then he is alone.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat grows so frail that Meliodas cannot hear it over the rain that has rushed in. Fog blinds his eyes, anger stifles his mind and the breaks and creaks in his bones finally overwhelm him. He crumples, mud splattering all over Elizabeth’s once white battle silks. She will die. She will die and it will have been his fault. Is this how Zeldris felt he wonders? This despair - this deep, gaping emptiness as the warmth of his lover cools to ice beneath his numb fingers.

Meliodas has never cried. It is a foreign concept to one as high born as he but his heart sinks to his stomach and threatens to slip free from his chest altogether. He bends his head, furrows his brows, squeezes Elizabeth’s flesh as he listens to her slowing heart.

‘Please,’ he wants to whisper. ‘Please, please have mercy on a sinner. Just this once.’

A pungent scent like foreign herbs fills his nose -

“[Droplet of Life]”

There is a glow, some bright unfathomable light and Meliodas sits up like he’s been burnt. Elizabeth’s heart suddenly beats in her chest, loud and melodic and it is the sweetest sound Meliodas has heard in years. He looks up to find cold eyes looking down on him, the Fairy King’s red hair spilling over his shoulders like reeds against some sheer cliffside.

He frowns, squints at Meliodas then appraises Elizabeth. Without so much as another word, he straightens himself and makes a gesture with two of his fingers. The fog lifts entirely, revealing a twisted up pathway between massive, primordial boughs. Flowers of every specie litter the ground preceding the entryway and Gloxinia turns his back on them. “Spend the night here,” he says and though Meliodas twitches at the unmistakable authority in that light voice, his gratitude and surprise renders him mute. “This storm will rage for four days and five nights. Regain your strength then leave.”

And then he disappears into the forest, leaving Meliodas and Elizabeth in the stillness of his eden.

#This has so much headcanon in it it's not even funny #But it's also completely up for debate how Glox Meli Eli and Drole met soooo #Yeah I'm exploiting that #gloxinia #gloxinia of repose #gloxinia nnt #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #nnt #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #ginger writes #long post #Meliodas was a complete tool as a Commandment and you can take that hc from my cold dead hands #zeldris #he's mentioned too so that's fun #I love writing for the holy war y'all it's not funny

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obeymeluv · 4 years

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Random Spooky Thing

Something spooky I thought about. I don’t know what really got me thinking about it besides spooky season and the fact that the boys are 5,000+ years old and have probably made secret friends/lovers with a few non-RAD humans over the years.

This is pre-RAD program, post-fall. Boys are still probably at odds with their new demon instincts or have just barely settled into them.

Trigger warning for scary situation. Namely: almost being a legit sacrifice for a demon summoning.

I also have personal headcanons that the bros used to be Avatars in heaven, but for the trait opposite of their sin (Lucifer would be humility, Mammon would be charity/giving, Asmodeus would be love (I guess?), Satan doesn’t count because I don’t think he was in the Celestial Realm when it all happened (based on where I’m at in the game). Beel championed a good harvest/abundance. and Belphegor had the blessing of reinforcement/encouragement/inspiration/productivity)

Lucifer’s got unexpectedly long so this part will have Lucifer and Mammon only. I have to study for exams and stuff TT_TT

Lucifer:

The concept of being summoned by dark magic is very foreign and forceful. He hates it, and he hates that this is what his life is now

There was a certain beseeching vulnerability to humans when they prayed - it was soft and glowing and he misses it

This is a rough yank, like he’s nothing more than a petulant child that needs to be dragged around. Or worse, some dog.

He spills out into the human world and it smells of smoke and brimstone and ground ingredients he’s starting to get familiar with

Lucifer’s used to being intimidating in an angelic way, but he can feel the magic spill off of him here. He can feel his aura manifest into something dark and terrifying.

His eyes now glow in the dark; he can see a reflection of them in the humans’ eyes.

They give a very archaic, overdone address (”O’ great Lucifer...”) and he doesn’t even let them finish before he’s scoffing.

The fall may have broken his wings and shattered his reality, but he’s still fairly arrogant and ready to lash out

There’s a beautiful smell that makes his stomach ache something ungodly now that he’s a demon, and Lucifer realizes with abject horror that a wounded human is somewhere in this room

Celestial Realm or not, his eyes still have the ability to see human souls and intentions. There seems to be a lamb among these idiotic wolves

He sees that dagger rise, the muffled wail enough to pierce his ear and Lucifer snarls as he snatches that hilt in an iron grip

It’s enough to break the human’s grip and send his hands down the dagger, spilling rancid blood

“If you wish to summon me, do it with your own blood. Lay yourself before me and beg.” he says in a voice that is so grating and booming that it makes him flinch a little

His voice was never like this in the Celestial Realm and it makes him angry that it will never be angelically velvety again. Just something semi-twisted and possible of corruption

Perhaps because of the blood or the injustice, Lucifer throws out his wings and punishes the mortal for their insolence. Then the others who try to dogpile him and throw their books at him and shout words that have no meaning.

His grip now crushes things, and he forgets. Pinching is basically stabbing. A shove is basically a fracture.

You’re sobbing uncontrollably when he approaches where you’re being held and Lucifer realizes that he looks a sight. Truly frightening. He never had these murderous impulses as an angel and still surprises himself when he falls to them. They’re still so new!

“Be not afraid,” the words are comforting but fuzzy. They feel foreign on his tongue. He pets your hair. “I shall do you no harm.”

He has to remind himself that he’s so much stronger in this form, tugging and ripping at the rope while trying not to break your little limbs.

You have this resigned trust, this hope, this faith that he will keep his word and it makes him miss humans. Makes him miss Lilith and how he’d catch her and Belphie sneaking around to watch them.

You ask him if he’s really Lucifer, like that Lucifer. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. Instead he says, “I am the Morning Star.” and insists on taking you home.

He will guide you home, the bringer of light.

You hug him and it’s the first burst of warmth--genuine warmth--he’s felt since the fall. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

He’s called back by a greater force--Lord Diavolo--and prefers to forget the whole thing happened. That he ate people. That they almost hurt you.

He secretly checks in on you from time to time but doesn’t have the courage to talk to you again.

Every time he looks at you, he’s emotionally drained for the rest of the day. He’s starting to understand what Lilith felt so strongly about and it just makes that gaping wound that much deeper.

He drowns his guilt in Demonus and damns his hypocrisy.

Mammon

He hates being summoned because it burns like when he fell

It reminds him of his body screaming in pain as he adamantly tried to hold onto his Holy Weapons during the fall. His body converted during the fall and Holy Weapons are sheer agony for demons.

The burns on his hands were deep and tender and took days to heal. He doesn’t even remember how he broke his wing, but he knows it drags and its lame. It can’t unfold as well as the other one.

Being summoned just leaves a bad taste in his mouth because he disagrees with being cast out, in general. Seems like some of those angels were morally corrupt, not them! How could what he and the others did be considered wrong?!

Mammon hates the fact that turning into a demon really ripped the veil off his eyes. He used to be a symbol of charity and giving, bringing joy to people, and now he just sees how nasty they are on the inside. Scummy, scummy people.

“What’s your business with the GREAT Mammon, hm? I’m a busy guy, ya know.” he stuffs his hands in his pockets as he looks disinterestedly around the room.

Dull souls, the lot of ‘em. Not a nice smell in the bunch! Some shiny bits and bobs he might take for his time, though.

Sometimes he bites his own tongue to try and fight off the demonic powers that converted him. To get his brain back on track. He doesn’t WANT to be so blunt and careless, so trained on shiny things. but it’s like he can’t help it!

It burns in his soul and sometimes he can hear his old self, his old ways, fizzling out like his wings as they disintegrated not long ago

The dumb humans start ranting about sacrifice and exchange and Mammon stops them cold, louder than them. It’s mostly the ‘older brother’ voice but he forgets that a demon is just scary to humans.

“Not really interested. What else ya got?”

No one expects that. He can tell. They take the thing off your head as if that will change his mind and something about the shininess of you catches his eye. Makes him feel kind of like a puppy.

Is it your soul? Your earrings? The genuine innocence of a human? How glittery your tears look?

He knocks them aside with his wings, stomps over to you, and picks you up (chair and all).

They start yipping about how he technically accepted the deal and how he needs to do their bidding or grant them a favor. “Hang tight, sweets,” Mammon sets your chair down before pointing out every technicality on how the deal wasn’t finished and the terms weren’t agreed upon.

Technically they just summoned him; they didn’t complete a pact ritual

“I’m takin’ that--he points to you--just because I can!” Mammon laughs at the dumb little humans. “You guys didn’t do your homework! I’m the Avatar of Greed!”

One of them tries to sneak around behind him and stab you (like that will change anything?!) and Mammon notices. He grabs the one in front of him by the face, throws him into the one by you, and just starts swinging

He doesn’t kill them, but he DOES raid their pockets of shiny things and interesting things.

Mammon takes the knife, the weird clasps off their ensembles, and breaks the chair to set you free. Debates on taking the screws, but tosses them over his shoulder (not good enough)

As an act of good will, you’re recruited to pillage this lame location they picked

He gets you home with a spell, some kind of homing magic, and just stands there looking at you quietly. He didn’t really look after humans like Belphie and Lilith did so he’s not sure what to do

The urge to comfort is strong but the genteel pat is corrupted by the desire to feel your earring between his fingers. Some guttural demon noise of glee comes out of him and it makes him embarrassed. He never used to make noises like that...

You unhook your earrings with a tentativeness that reminds him of the humans who left offerings at his alter, fretting over if they were good enough and wondering what they would bring.

You fold his big, tan fingers over the earrings and Mammon holds onto them for a while after he finds his way back to the Devildom. It’s his first gift as a demon.

He ignores getting yelled at and the little brothers pestering him about why he smells good, telling him that they’re hungry. and all their other little gripes.

Mammon never goes looking for you after that, trying to fill the ache in his soul with time and money and fame (oddly?) but he thinks of you often. He keeps your earrings in a special box at the front of his magic-locked hoard room. On his bad days, he’ll go sit in that empty room of knickknacks, open the box, and stare.

He picks up the little things, careful not to break them with his nails or strength. “You’re one silly human, aren’t you?” he smiles at the twinkling jewelry.

#Obey me!#Obey me! x Reader #Obey me! Lucifer #Lucifer x Reader #Mammon x Reader #Obey me! Mammon #Lucifer #Mammon

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sincerelystranger · 4 years

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Author: Follow up to my other short of saying bye bye to Wen Ning. You can also read both on AO3

----

Song Zichen comes to Gusu 10 years after they put Wen Qionglin to rest.

Wei Ying and Lan Wangji meet him at the gates of Cloud Recesses, and Song Zichen doesn’t say anything – can’t say anything – but he holds out a spirit pouch to Wei Ying, and Wei Ying sighs softly as if he already knows what is being requested of him.

It’s a heavy burden his love has to carry, Lan Wangji realizes. It’s heavy and lonely, and Lan Wangji would give anything in the world to carry it instead.

“He’s back, huh?” Wei Ying smiles, taking the spirit pouch from Song Zichen’s undead fingers.

Song Zichen nods, and though he cannot smile, his eyes are bright. Joy seems to seep out of him.

Honestly, he looks too happy for a man who has come to ask to be killed.

Wei Ying brings the spirit pouch close to his face and presses his forehead against the rough fabric. “Welcome back, Xiao Xingchen,” he smiles faintly, “You sure made Song Zichen wait a long time.”

Lan Wangji is reminded again that his Wei Ying is kind – too kind.

Wei Ying carefully hands the spirit pouch back to Song Zichen. “It’s too late for me to go to Coffin Town today,” he says, “You can go ahead and I will meet you there, or we can travel together tomorrow.”

Song Zichen carefully tucks the spirit pouch away in the folds of his robe and bows to Wei Ying and Wangji before walking down the steps of Cloud Recesses.

“I think that’s the most excited I’ve ever seen Song Lan,” Wei Ying says, a soft smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. He takes Wei Yings hand in his and they walk together into Cloud Recesses.

Ten years have passed, but Lan Wangji is still unsure how to comfort Wei Ying. Still doesn’t know the right words to say, the right things to do. The only comfort he can give is his presence – and he knows it’s not enough.

“I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, leaning his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”

Wei Ying is always fine, and while Lan Wangji is thankful for his lover’s strength, it’s also a reminder of Wangji’s own shortcomings.

“I know,” Lan Wangji murmurs, pressing a firm kiss onto the top of Wei Ying’s head. He wants to tell Wei Ying that it’s okay to not be fine – that he can be weak and hurt in front of Lan Wangji and Lan Wangji will still love him. But…

But if he’s honest with himself, he’s terrified of Wei Ying not being fine.

He can barely offer any sort of comfort as it is – what would he be able to do if Wei Ying actually admitted he was not okay?

It’s times like these that Lan Wangji hates himself. If only he was more like his brother. If he was more like his brother, he would know the right words. Would know the right things to do to soothe hurt. Would know how to hold a person carefully so that even when they fell apart, they could be put back together.

It’s frustrating and embarrassing that even with all this love Wangji has for Wei Ying – even though there’s nothing Lan Wangji would not, could not, do for his Wei Ying… he’s useless in the face of his soulmate’s pain.

Wei Ying is lively and bright that night as they go to bed. He laughs his way through dinner, talking animatedly at Wangji and Sizhui. He acts particularly spoiled during his bath, asking Lan Wangji to wash his hair, to run the wet cloth over his body. And even now, as he squeezes himself into Lan Wangji’s side, he seems to be in good spirits.

“You don’t have to go with me tomorrow,” Wei Ying says, rubbing a soothing hand over Lan Wangji’s chest and down his side. “It won’t take me too long.”

Lan Wangji slips his arm around Wei Ying’s waist and pulls him closer to him – so close that Wei Ying is almost on top of him. “I wish to go,” he says, his eyes closed.

Wei Ying is quiet for a couple of breaths. “Okay,” he says finally – and his Wei Ying, his poor Wei Ying, sounds relieved. As if he had actually thought that Lan Wangji would let him fulfill this horrible, horrible request alone.

It’s almost hypocritical coming from him, but he wishes Wei Ying would ask things from him outright. “There is not a thing in this world that I would not give you if you asked,” Lan Wangji wants to say. Sometimes, like now, he wants to shake Wei Ying and repeat it until Wei Ying believes him.

But Lan Wangji knows nothing if not restraint, so instead of shaking his Wei Ying, he pulls him even closer and goes to sleep.

Coffin town is still as dreary and deserted as it was 20 years ago, and Song Zichen, with his all black attire and expressionless face, does not look at all out of place.

“Don’t look so excited,” Wei Ying says as they approach Song Zichen, “Xiao Xingchen will think you’re such a loser if you look so excited. Trust me, you gotta play it cool.”

Song Zichen just bows to them as if Wei Ying hasn’t said anything at all. When he straightens, he reaches into his robes and takes out the spirit pouch and hands it to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying sighs as he takes the pouch from Song Zichen. “So cold, Song Lan,” he says, “No asking about my trip, no asking about how I’m doing – it’s straight to business with you, huh?”

Song Zichen, ever expressive, just stares back at Wei Ying.

It’s almost… remarkable to Wangji – someone who, even after 15 years as husbands, has not developed an immunity to Wei Ying’s charm – to witness someone so obviously underwhelmed by Wei Ying.

Wei Ying, ever resilient, takes Song Zichen’s unresponsiveness in stride. “Fine, fine,” he waves, “Let’s get to the killing part of the evening.”

This time, Wangji follows Wei Ying to where the grave has already been dug. Song Zichen lays himself down in the coffin. Beside his grave is a lone headstone with Xiao Xingchen’s name engraved.

It’s horrific that Wei Ying has to do this, Lan Wangji thinks faintly, a shaking ache growing in his chest. Just watching weighs heavily on his heart – how much heavier must the weight be for Wei Ying?

“Rest now, Song Lan,” Wei Ying says, smiling down at the undead cultivator, “You did well.”

Lan Wangji has to close his eyes then. Can’t bear to watch the scene in front of him. He’s horrified to remember that 10 years ago, Wei Ying sent Wen Qionglin off alone. It’s so… unbearably heavy – the weight of killing someone you care about, even if it is what they want.

The first notes of Chengqing are shaky this time. Lan Wangji puts a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, and listens as the notes even out. He listens quietly to that lonely, aching song that he had first heard 10 years ago, and he prays.

Well done, Song Zichen, he prays, you loved a man beyond the point of death and you can rest now.

Wangji squeezes Wei Ying’s shoulder tight to remind himself that his Wei Ying is here and real. He squeezes tight to remind himself how lucky he is.

There are silent tears streaming down Wei Ying’s face when the song is over, and Song Zichen is truly dead and still in his coffin. Wei Ying picks up the spirit pouch from the ground. “Don’t do anything stupid and self-sacrificing in your next life, Xiao Xingchen,” he says, opening the pouch carefully. “You don’t know how much trouble Song Lan went through to put you back together.”

Wangji watches the blue light leave the pouch and disappear into the sky above. Rest well, Xiao Xingchen, he prays.

Wei Ying places the empty pouch that Xiao Xingchen healed in for 10 years on Song Zichen’s chest. Wangji places the cover of the coffin over Song Zichen and places the necessary talismans on the top.

Wei Ying is quiet as they shovel dirt into the grave. Quiet and his eyes are dry. Lan Wangji wonders if he had cried as he had shoveled dirt over Wen Qionglin’s grave. At the time, he had thought it was kindness to let Wei Ying send off Wen Qionglin alone. He had thought he was giving them privacy. Now – now that he’s experienced the heaviness of sending someone off – he’s nauseated at the fact that Wei Ying had done this alone.

“I’m fine,” Wei Ying had said back then – and Lan Wangji had just… believed him.

Before they leave, Wangji engraves Song Zichen’s name on the headstone.

Song Zichen traveled for 10 years, desperately putting his love back together. Working hard so that they could rest together someday. Wangji feels so inadequate, faced with that sort of devotion.

Wei Ying is quiet as they fly back to Cloud Recesses. Gone is the bright, cheeky energy he had shown last night and earlier that day. He is quiet and he leans into Lan Wangji as they fly. Wangji wishes he knew what to say – wishes there was some book of magical words that he could learn to say to ease the heaviness he knows is in Wei Ying’s chest. But he knows no such words, so he just holds Wei Ying close.

“Thank you for coming with me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says when they enter the jingshi. He’s subdued and his shoulders look as if there is some invisible weight weighing them down, and he looks so tired and alone that Lan Wangji can’t help but tug him back into his arms. “Don’t thank me,” he whispers into Wei Ying’s temple, “I’m sorry that you must bear this burden alone.”

Wei Ying huffs a small laugh and pushes himself out of Lan Wangji’s embrace. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, shrugging his robes off, “it’s what I deserve. These burdens are my punishment for creating such techniques. Poor Wen Ning and Song Lan suffered for years as mindless puppets because of my stupid ideas. Sending them off is the least I can do.”

Lan Wangji feels lost, suddenly. Lost in the sudden onslaught of Wei Ying’s pain.

“Don’t say such things,” he says softly, his heart aching fiercely in his chest. “If you received all the goodness in the world, it would still be less than what you deserve.”

Wei Ying turns to him and gives him a weak smile. “Careful, Lan Zhan,” he says, a ghost of playfulness in his voice, “if you say such sweet things so seriously, I might really believe you.”

Wangji feels it again, the desire to shake Wei Ying. Shake him and repeat those words over and over again until Wei Ying believes them… but his Wei Ying looks so fragile in the candlelight… looks so fragile and distant.

It makes his fingertips tingle anxiously.

“Bathe,” he says softly, “I will bring dinner.”

“Could I skip dinner today?” Wei Ying asks, walking behind the privacy screen, “I’m really… tired.”

Lan Wangji wants to say no, but if feels impossible to deny Wei Ying anything right now. “Okay,” he says.

He eats dinner in the hall with the other disciples, his fingers tingling anxiously the entire time. Wei Ying is already in bed when he returns. He bathes alone, quietly, and brushes his hair by himself. When he slips into bed next to Wei Ying, he’s surprised to see Wei Ying’s eyes are open.

They’re open but they do not seem to see anything. It terrifies Lan Wangji just a little bit.

Lan Wangji wants to say something – anything – but he can think of nothing to say. So he just pulls Wei Ying close, so that they are back to chest, and just breathes. He strokes down Wei Ying’s stomach in soothing strokes and just breathes. He prays for strength as he falls asleep that night. He prays to become so strong that he can protect his Wei Ying from everything and anything that threatens to hurt him. This will be the last burden he will ever let Wei Ying carry by himself.

Wei Ying does not leave the jingshi for seven days after they kill Song Zichen.

Wei Ying is listless, and barely eats, and barely speaks, and Lan Wangji thinks he might soon go out of his mind. He orders Wei Ying’s favorite hot sauce, orders the best meats from Caiyi, makes all of Wei Ying’s favorite dishes, but still, Wei Ying barely eats. Barely even meets Lan Wangji’s eyes. He does not even sleep but he lays in bed listlessly.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says after seven days. “I’ll be back to normal soon. I’m just… tired. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.”

“Shh,” Lan Wangji says, rocking Wei Ying gently in his lap. “Do not be sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. Do not apologize.” Wei Ying does not have to be okay. He does not have to be normal. But Lan Wangji just wishes Wei Ying would not hurt so.

“Wen Ning, Song Lan, they were all on borrowed time,” Wei Ying murmurs into Lan Wangji’s chest. “They were kept alive needlessly by my techniques.” Wangji does not know where Wei Ying is going with this, but he’s glad that he’s at least speaking. “Now they’re gone. They’re dead like they were always meant to be.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hums.

“I’m here on borrowed time as well,” Wei Ying says, “Maybe it’s my time to go too.”

Lan Wangji wonders if Wei Ying can hear how his heart stops in his chest. He can’t respond for a few minutes, too busy trying to remember how to breathe again.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says, mistaking Lan Wangji’s silence for… for something wrong. “I don’t mean it.” He’s lying, Wangji knows. Lying for Lan Wangji’s feelings.

Lan Wangji lifts Wei Ying higher in his arms, so that he can press his lips to Wei Ying’s forehead. “You can go if you want to,” he says softly, and he means it. If Wei Ying wants to follow Wen Qionglin and Song Zichen, he can. Lan Wangji will not stop him. “It would not be a hardship to follow you.”

Wei Ying goes still in his arms before he suddenly shoots up to sit upright in Lan Wangji’s lap. His eyes have life in them for the first time all week. “Don’t say that,” he frowns, “you’re meant to be alive.”

Lan Wangji loves Wei Ying so much. It’s a little frustrating that Wei Ying does not seem to know just exactly how much he is loved.

“I let you go once,” Lan Wangji says, remembering the terror he felt as he held Wei Ying’s bloody hand over the abyss. “And I lived in the hell of regret of 16 years because of it. If you go, I will follow. I told you 15 years ago, didn’t I? I do not plan to ever let you go again.”

Wei Ying stares at Wangji for a couple of seconds, his eyes narrowing a little bit in annoyance. Eventually, he sighs and slumps forward, his head hitting Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “You’re so annoying, Lan Zhan,” he sighs, and it’s a relief because Wangji can hear life returning to his voice. “I can’t even get mad at you because your face is so damn perfect. In the next life I hope you are born ugly.”

Lan Wangji pats Wei Ying’s back consolingly. The ache in his chest, unfurling by slow degrees. “Fall in love with me even if I am born ugly,” Lan Wangj, “for if I am reborn, it will surely be because I followed you.”

“What if I’m born ugly?” Wei Ying mumbles into Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “What if I’m born with no teeth and one eye and horrific scars on my face? With my karma, I might surely well be born that way.”

“With your karma, you will surely be reborn as beautiful as you are now,” Wangji says, “but no matter what or who you are reborn as, I will love you.”

“Hmph,” Wei Ying sighs, “When did you become such a sweet talker, huh?”

“Maybe it sounds sweet because it is honest,” Wangji says indulgently.

Wei Ying yawns into his shoulder and sinks more heavily onto Lan Wangji’s lap. “I think I will have to stay alive for at least another 100 years,” he mumbles sleepily, “I need at least that long to earn enough good karma to be allowed to love you again in the next life.”

“Mn,” Wangji says. He sits there for a while longer, patting Wei Ying on the back like a tuckered out child, until he feels Wei Ying’s breath even out. He lays them both down on the bed and he looks at Wei Ying’s sleeping face. Something about him looks lighter now, Wangji thinks. It’s probably the first time in a week that he’s really fallen asleep. Lan Wangji can feel something lighten in him as well.

“I will earn good karma as well,” he whispers, running his knuckles down Wei Ying’s cheek. “There’s nothing that can keep me from you. Not you, not the gods – nothing.”

Lan Wangji knows that someday Wei Ying will go.

Wei Ying was never destined to go naturally – for some reason Wangji is sure that no matter how strong he is, no matter how desperately he tries to protect Wei Ying, Wei Ying will go sooner than Wangji expects. But it does not matter to Lan Wangji. He is ready to leave whenever Wei Ying wants to.

Lan Wangji will be glad for another 100 years, but he knows he’s already been blessed with too much as it is. He had been stupid and slow all those years ago and he had let Wei Ying slip from his fingers – but his Wei Ying, his Wei Ying had come back to him.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” he says, his throat aching something fierce. He would have been grateful for even a minute back with Wei Ying, but Wei Ying, ever kind, has given him years. He will not complain.

For some reason he’s reminded of Song Zichen then.

Thank you for coming back.

#the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan zhan #my fic #honestly idk lol

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percabethfeelsfandom · 4 years

Text

AU: Percy gets really hurt

AU: Percy gets super duper hurt in some battle. And Annabeth has no idea how to cope with it. Not dating but as close as they were in botl/tlo (they didn’t kiss in botl)

“Annabeth you can’t be in here.” I turned in surprise as Will’s figure appeared in the doorway. I gripped Percy’s hand tighter but he still remained limp as the children of Apollo moved around me, preparing his body for what looked like emergency surgery.

“What the Hades do you mean?” Will held up his hands up, his face apologetic.

“I mean, you can’t be in here while we heal him.”

“Why not?” I stood up, and Percy’s hand slipped through my fingers.

“Because he needs to focus on healing and he’ll be worried about you if you’re in there.”

“Will-“ Someone was touching my back lightly, guiding me to Will, away from Percy. I fought the urge to fight back.

“No. I’m pulling rank. As his doctor and head of Apollo cabin, you can’t be in there.”

“But it’s Percy, and, and it’s me he-“ I stuttered trying to find the right thing to say. My hands clenched at my sides and I puffed out a breath of air.

“I’m sorry Annabeth.” Will said and closed the door in my face once he’d walked me out of the room. I went to bang on the door, to knock it down with my bare hands but as I raised my fist I realised it was still coated in blood. Percy’s blood.

I ran to the lake, thrusting my hands into the water, scrubbing as hard as I could. The water turned pink as I repeated my prayer.

“Mother please. Please don’t let him die. Please. Not Percy. I’ll do anything. Please don’t take him away from me. Not after everything. Mother please.” I raised my eyes to the sky imagining my mother’s stern face looking down on me. She’d never been fond of Percy, or of our friendship, but I hoped she’d put her pride aside and help him.

The water rippled and I held my breath hoping that it meant my mother had heard me.

“It’s a bit odd don’t you think, praying to the goddess of wisdom by a body of water?” A voice said from beside me. I turned in surprised and my mouth dropped open.

“Poseidon?” He smiled at me, and crossed his legs at his ankles, adjusting himself on a chair that had appeared from nowhere. By his side a fishing line stood stuck deep in the sand.

“Hello Miss Chase.” He looked so much like Percy when he smiled. It almost hurt to look at. I pulled my hands from the water and wiped them hastily on my already dirty shirt. I bowed my head in respect before rising unsteadily on my feet.

“I always come here when I want to think- and when I fight with Percy,” I explained, gesturing to the lake and the trees that surrounded it. The spot where he had been claimed, was still a memory fresh n my mind. The way he had healed that day. “I come here to remind myself why he’s my best friend,” my voice was shaking. I hated that it was shaking. Poseidon smiled again, his eyes crinkling the way they do when you smile a lot. He waved his hand and another seat appeared. He gestured down to it and I took a seat.

“He comes here to think too. I’ve seen him,” Poseidon said, looking out at the lake. “He doesn’t know I’m there obviously. But I see him.” A wistful look came over his features and I realised that Poseidon could very much be as worried as I was about Percy. It was odd seeing such a human emotion on a god.

“My mother isn’t going to answer my prayer is she,” I asked my voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to be a child of the wisdom goddess to know that.” Hurt and anger made my blood boil. But I hated the fact that I knew why she wouldn’t do it. Why she wouldn’t help a hero of a prophecy and alter the fates plans. I hated that I understood. I blinked back tears and trained my eyes on the horizon, the sun beginning to set.

“So why did you?”

“I didn’t,” Poseidon answered simply. “I’m answering Percy’s.”

I was lost for words.

“He didn’t want you to be alone.” My breath caught in my throat.

“You think he’s going to die,” it physically hurt saying those words. I could feel it tearing my heart into a billion pieces.

“I cannot be sure of what the fates plan is for my son. But I can only hope for the best, however I think he still has much to achieve in this world.” Poseidon glanced at me, and I watched in my peripheral as he reached out hesitantly and lightly patted my arm.

“We can only hope, and after all hope is eternal.” I closed my eyes and felt a tear slowly slide down my face.

“Is it?”

“Mortals have a knack for believing in the impossible. One of the things I admire greatly from them.” I let out a bitter laugh and shook my head. Mortals were stupid for being so naive. But for once I wished I had that hope. Even growing up in this world, with the gods and goddesses and monsters. It was hard to believe in hope. In the magic that created miracles when someone might be on their death bed.

“I should be praying to Apollo.”

“He’s watching over. He’s quite fond of Percy. In his Apollo way.”

“I can’t lose him,” I said again recalling my unanswered prayer to my mother.

“I know.” Poseidon patted my arm again but this time I looked at him, and he smiled sadly. He didn’t look like Percy now. He looked like a father whose son was hurting.

There was a soft pop and a flash of light. I stood up quickly reaching for my knife. But it was Apollo, clad in a doctors uniform and a stethoscope around his neck.

“He’ll make it. In fact I’m already creating a poem about his recovery. Want to hear it?-“

“No.” Poseidon and I answered quickly. I wanted to run, to go back to Percy but even in my haze I knew it was wrong to run from two deities. Even if Poseidon and I had shared a moment over Percy.

“He’s asking for you,” Apollo said. That was all it took. I nodded in response to both of them and sprinted as fast as I could to the Infirmary.

Will was just leaving as I walked up the steps. He pointed the way and I followed not saying a word.

At his door I paused catching me breath before knocking softly, already pushing open the ajar door.

“Percy?”

“Hey wise girl,” his voice was so hoarse I could barely hear him. I almost dropped to my knees in relief. He was okay.

“If you ever do that again I’m gonna kill you.” I grounded out as he watched me from his bed. He was sat up, pillows behind his head, thick bandages around his stomach and abdomen. His beautiful eyes were almost luminous in the darkening room.

“Next time I won’t get impaled by a sword. I’m sorry.” And then he smiled. It felt as if everything in the world was suddenly alright again.

“You scared me,” I didn’t want to say it but the words were already out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Come sit.” He said nodding to his side. He began to shift, wincing as he did so until there was space next to him on the bed.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” I approached him slowly not trusting my weak legs.

“You could never hurt me,” Percy said a matter of factly.

“Are you sure?” I asked standing by the bed. He rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Just come here wise girl.” I slid onto the bed, trying my best not to stir it. Percy relaxed on his pillows, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“You okay? Does it hurt anywhere?” I peered at his bandages but they looked fine, even some of his other wounds from the battle had been healed. I dragged my eyes from his body back to his face concentrating on his still closed eyes.

“I’m okay, just stay,” he opened his eyes, pleading, and I fought the urge to smile. “Can you stay?” I’d never heard his voice so soft.

“Whatever you want,” I answered just as softly.

“Hey seaweed brain?”

“Hmm.” He’s closed his eyes again, but somehow that made it easier to say these next words.

“You mean a lot to me, you know that right?” I focused on his eyelashes. But then his eyes flew open and i glanced away.

“I know...you mean a lot to me too,” he replied slowly. I looked back at him struggling to find the right words.

“No I mean,” I reached between us and gripped his hand, turning to completely face him. “You mean a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do if something serious happened.” My face was burning, but I knew I had to say this. Knew that I’d never forgive myself if something ever happened again and he didn’t know this.

“More serious that getting impaled by a sword in my literal gut?” I nearly impaled him right then and there.

“Percy!” He laughed, but then grimaced lightly holding his stomach. I reached out to him wanting to help but he waved me away.

“I’m sorry, laugh will you? I’m okay, I’m gonna be okay,” he said reassuringly and squeezed my hand tightly. I nodded and sat back, the tension in my shoulders beginning to lessen.

“Annabeth.” I turned to Percy again.

“Yeah?”

“I know what I would do if you got seriously hurt.” I frowned at him confused.

“What?”

“Anything and everything to help you get better and hunt down whoever hurt you.” I knew he wasn’t lying. I could see it in his jaw, in the whites of his knuckles, the glow of his eyes.

I leaned close to him, barely a breath from his mouth before pressing a light kiss on his cheek. His skin was still feverish, and I could feel his eyelashes on my skin.

“I know.” I paused, waiting. He opened his eyes staring at me, almost in awe. I heard him swallow as he brought a hand up lightly bringing it to my face. He was shaking, whether from pain or nervousness I wasn’t sure.

“I’d do anything for you.” I whispered.

“I know.” And then he kissed me.

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whatamidoingwithmylifeman · 3 years

Text

MK 11 Nozomi vs Canon intro fight dialogues part 1

Hey o, finally got part one of the Nozomi intro fight dialogues done. Same rules for the replaced guest character apply like the first time.

tw/cw: small implications of abuse and trauma

@yuvononik

enjoy below the cut

Barka vs Nozomi

Baraka: You took Shariah away!

Nozomi: She was left for dead! I saved her!

Baraka: Why should I trust what Quan Chi’s spawn says?

Baraka: You are not welcome here in Outworld, Nozomi

Nozomi: I think your Kahn would beg to differ.

Baraka: Kitana doesn’t speak for Tarkata!

Baraka: I know your dirty tricks, Goddess

Nozomi: Comparing me to that bastard necromancer isn’t a reliable source of information.

Baraka: Your personality and eyes are the near image of him!

Cassie vs Nozomi

Cassie: You don’t dress too fancy for a Goddess

Nozomi: Why should I? I’m only a Demi Goddess

Cassie: Stop the presses. We have a humble God.

Cassie: Wait so you’re like Kronika’s granddaughter?

Nozomi: She must not know I exist!

Cassie: Don’t you think it’s a little too late for that?

Cassie: You’re with the good guys, right?

Nozomi: As long as the “good guys” don’t hurt my children, then yes.

Cassie: Give me names, and I’ll make it an official SF order to bring no harm to them.

Cetrion vs Nozomi

Cetrion: My sweet niece, have you come back?

Nozomi: To try and close void again

Cetrion: Ah. So you aren’t going to stay

Cetrion: What does your mother say of your proposal?

Nozomi: As long as Rain makes me happy, then she’s fine with it.

Cetrion: Well if she’s fine with it..

Cetrion: The One Being calls to you.

Nozomi: Oh no! Not again!

Cetrion: Again? What do you mean again?

D’vorah vs Nozomi

D’vorah: The lost world’s demi-goddess

Nozomi: Not really lost if I never intended for it to be found

D’vorah: Kronika will merge it with this one in the new timeline.

D’vorah: Why refuse Kronika’s offer?

Nozomi: Kind of hard to accept someone's offer when you're being held prisoner in a cave

D’vorah: You should not blame Kronika for the One Being's rashness.

D’vorah: This one does not fear you.

Nozomi: Good for you? Look I really don’t care.

D’vorah: Not the reaction this one was expecting

Erron vs Nozomi

Erron: You and Rain sure are quite the match.

Nozomi: What do you mean, Black?

Erron: Two demi-gods with daddy issues.

Erron: You really ripped Kotal a new one.

Nozomi: There are two types of people I can’t stand. Argus and liars.

Erron: Give me one good reason to pray to you.

Erron: Y'all really have it in for Argus, don’t you?

Nozomi: If you don’t want to do so, then don’t.

Erron: You’re not good at this god thing are you?

Frost vs Nozomi

Frost: Since Michiko’s my mom, does that make you my platonic grandma?

Nozomi: Stardust Frost, I’m not old!

Frost: Aren’t you ageless?

Frost: What can you offer me Nozomi?

Nozomi: Love. Safety. Revenge.

Frost: I already get love and safety from mom and Reiki. But about the revenge thing.

Frost: Mom warn you about me?

Nozomi: Yeah. She said not to keep you up past 9, otherwise you get really cranky.

Frost: Very funny, grandma!

Fujin vs Nozomi

Fujin: You’re the one helping Michiko in her quest for vengeance!?

Nozomi: I am the Goddess of Revenge.

Fujin: You have another goal in mind. What is it?

Fujin: Nozomi… is there a reason you weren't there in the fight against Kronika?

Nozomi: No reason you need to worry about

Fujin: Nozomi, talk to me.

Fujin: Raiden cares a great deal about you.

Nozomi: Even after helping Michiko in her quest for vengeance?

Fujin: He understands why. He doesn’t blame you or Michiko.

Geras vs Nozomi

Geras: Nozomi, creator of the world below

Nozomi: And what of it?

Geras: Creationism was always your destiny

Geras: The One Being, The Morai, and The Reapers

Nozomi: Enough with the trying to make me remember that life!

Geras: I am sorry you had to meet him like that again.

Geras: Kronika will give you anything you wish.

Nozomi: She didn't seem to care about me when I was trapped beneath the sea of blood

Geras: Even Kronika cannot oppose the One Being

Jacqui vs Nozomi

Jacqui: Where’s your mom?

Nozomi: She said she had some family matters to attend to

Jacqui: Shouldn’t you be with her?

Jacqui: Kronika might not be finished

Nozomi: Lucky for us, I got my mom on our side

Jacqui: So is she gonna be our secret weapon?

Jacqui: Haven’t seen you since you found your dad’s decapitated body

Nozomi: Out of all the deaths I have witnessed, why did that one bother me the most?

Jacqui: I’m sure your dad’s out there somewhere.

Jade vs Nozomi

Jade: I found your mother’s temple

Nozomi: So Michiko has told me

Jade: Your mother was quite the informant

Jade: Will you help Kitana Kahn?

Nozomi: I don’t think I’m the right Goddess to ask

Jade: Then who do you suggest?

Jade: Are you really Raiden's daughter?

Nozomi: Platonically I am.

Jade: Platonically?

Jax vs Nozomi

Jax: I hear you’re related to Kronika, Shinnok, and Cetrion

Nozomi: Unfortunately, yes, and yes

Jax: Family get togethers must be a nightmare

Jax: You’re a weapon of mass destruction

Nozomi: I lose my shit once, and everyone calls me unstable

Jax: You lost your shit more than once Nozomi

Jax: I hope your union with Rain straightens him out

Nozomi: There’s no point in the union if I’m going back to my world.

Jax: Have you talked to him about this?

Johnny vs Nozomi

Johnny: I’m confused. Is Quan Chi or Rai-dude your dad?

Nozomi: Biologically or?

Johnny: With as protective as Raiden is of you, I'm going to assume it's Raiden.

Johnny: Earthrealm’s savior has arrived!

Nozomi: Oh, what a pleasure it is to meet the famed Johnny Cage.

Johnny: Finally! Some recognition.

Johnny: You control lighting!?

Nozomi: ehh, sort of.

Johnny: Are you sure you aren’t Raiden’s daughter biologically?

Kabal vs Nozomi

Kabal: Nozomi? What kind of name is that?

Nozomi: It means hope.

Kabal: That all? Could’ve sworn it meant more

Kabal: What deal did Kristy make with you?

Nozomi: Who said she made one with me?

Kabal: Bullshit! Kristy wouldn’t lie to me!

Kabal: You can bring people back from the dead?

Nozomi: Yes. Why?

Kabal: Do you make em revenants like your dad?

Kano vs Nozomi

Kano: Heard you were the Devil of Deals.

Nozomi: And Debts! Name your price.

Kano: Now we’re talking!

Kano: Well color me gobsmacked. You and Rain?

Nozomi: What of it?

Kano: Kind of thought it’d be you and that old sorcerer

Kano: What are you here for sheila?

Nozomi: Has nobody ever taught you not to cross a devil?

Kano: Guess yer about to teach me that lesson?

Kitana vs Nozomi

Kitana: If it wasn’t for you.. Mother would still be..

Nozomi: A corrupt, money grubbing, backstabber that lies through her teeth?

Kitana: Thank you so much for your help Nozomi.

Kitana: My revenant and Liu’s is really attached to you huh?

Nozomi: I blame my dad.

Kitana: Well that, and Liu Kang himself thinks of you as his sister.

Kitana: Are you leaving soon?

Nozomi: Once the portal’s fixed.

Kitana: Liu Kang and I will miss you

Kollector vs Nozomi

Kollector: Are you also a collector, Nozomi?

Nozomi: Yeah. Of debts.

Kollector: You and I would make great business partners

Kollector: What is Shariah’s status?

Nozomi: Her wounds are healing tremendously. Nyx is keeping her company.

Kollector: If that Saurian tries anything with her..

Kollector: How is it Mileena, Tanaya, Skarlet, Nyx, and Phantos get to see Shariah, but I can’t?

Nozomi: She requested them. And I know they wouldn’t try to take anything from my world.

Kollector: So she’s still mad at me?

Kotal Kahn vs Nozomi

Kotal Kahn: So you're the Nozomi Raiden has bragged on so much.

Nozomi: Leave it up to dad to be the embarrassing one.

Kotal Kahn: Dad? I did not know Raiden had a daughter.

Kotal Kahn: Is Shariah doing alright?

Nozomi: Didn't think you'd care.

Kotal Kahn: She helped Jade free me.

Kotal Kahn: Do you also practice the dark arts?

Nozomi: I practice all sorts of magic. Wanna see a card trick?

Kotal Kahn: Your character slips my mind day by day.

Kung Lao vs Nozomi

Kung Lao: My hat tricks, your card magic.

Nozomi: Together we’d make great great entertainment for a kid’s birthday party.

Kung Lao: Or anybody’s in general!

Kung Lao: You dated Shang Tsung?

Nozomi: Yes?

Kung Lao: Hate to break it to you Nozomi, but Rain’s not an upgrade.

Kung Lao: Are you going to leave once the void is sealed?

Nozomi: It’s what I intended to do from the start

Kung Lao: You’re the best sister ever. Please don’t go.

Liu Kang vs Nozomi

Liu Kang: Madam Nozomi.

Nozomi: Liu, you know you can just call me Nozomi

Liu Kang: Well I haven’t seen you in so long, I feared you’d think me a stranger

Liu Kang: You have poor taste in partners.

Nozomi: Oh? What are you, some expert?

Liu Kang: You met Kitana. I rest my case.

Liu Kang: Are you really going to leave us once the void is sealed?

Nozomi: That was my plan from the start, Liu Kang.

Liu Kang: You’re my favorite sister. Please don’t leave.

Mileena vs Nozomi

Mileena: How’s Shariah doing?

Nozomi: You and Tanya just saw her!

Mileena: That was an hour ago! I need a new update now!

Mileena: I’m glad it is you who Rain will wed.

Nozomi: Why?

Mileena: You make him the happiest!

Mileena: Tell me, does my sister actually like me?

Nozomi: She worries for you and Tanya everyday

Mileena: You mean it?

Nightwolf vs Nozomi

Nightwolf: Why do you hate that spot in the Netherrealm anyway?

Nozomi: Something bad happened there.

Nightwolf: Great Spirit Nozomi, are you alright?

Nightwolf: You’ve met the Great Spirit before.

Nozomi: No, she's met the Great Spirit

Nightwolf: You are her Nozomi.

Nightwolf: Raiden spoke a great deal of you.

Nozomi: Oh? Enlighten me?

Nightwolf: Like a father bragging about his daughter.

Noob Saibot vs Nozomi

Noob Saibot: Quan Chi spoke a great deal of you, daughter of Fuyuka.

Nozomi: I doubt it.

Noob Saibot: He’d sang your praises to everyone in the Netherrealm.

Noob Saibot: Tell me why Michiko hates me.

Nozomi: I don’t think she hates you, Bi Han.

Noob Saibot: I have seen that rage in her eyes before. There is no mistaking it

Noob Saibot: As Quan Chi’s daughter, you will take over the Brotherhood of Shadow.

Nozomi: Shouldn’t that technically go to Melantha instead of me?

Noob Saibot: Shinnok’s daughter has chosen to stay in Orderrealm.

Raiden vs Nozomi

Raiden: Out of all the gods, you led Michiko against Flamus and I?

Nozomi: You and Flamus need to atone for what you did to the Karasugawas!

Raiden: I cannot blame your anger or hers.

Raiden: I hope Rain will be a good husband to you.

Nozomi: He was my best friend and greatest boyfriend.

Raiden: Should he hurt you, lighting will strike more than twice.

Raiden: Are you going to leave?

Nozomi: Once the void gets closed again.

Raiden: You know there are a lot of people here that will miss you Nozomi.

Rain vs Nozomi

Rain: Nozomi are you really going back to the world below?

Nozomi: You can come with me Rain!

Rain: But wouldn’t it be better here?

Rain: Is it true you do not have followers my cosmic queen?

Nozomi: I have no need or want for them, love.

Rain: All the realms should worship you and your generous beauty.

Rain: I don’t feel comfortable with you going to Orderrealm alone

Nozomi: I’m just visiting my cousin Rain.

Rain: Melantha isn’t the problem. It’s Hotaru

Scorpion vs Nozomi

Scorpion: So you’re the reason for Michiko’s wrath against the gods!!

Nozomi: I am the Goddess of Revenge! Why does everyone forget that?

Scorpion: Because that is not the impression you give Goddess.

Scorpion: Tell me, why does Michiko hate me?

Nozomi: She’s just afraid Reiki would leave her for you.

Scorpion: Reiki leaving a wonderful woman like Michiko? That’s impossible.

Scorpion: I am sorry for acting so hastily back then.

Nozomi: Because of you, we almost didn’t find Charu!

Scorpion: Hurting anyone else was never my intention.

Shang Tsung vs Nozomi

Shang Tsung: We’ve danced this dance a thousand times.

Nozomi: And yet you still miss the steps.

Shang Tsung: Forgive me, I’m still learning.

Shang Tsung: You and the Edinan demigod?

Nozomi: Rain was my friend for as long as you were.

Shang Tsung: Should we hurt you, his soul will be mine.

Shang Tsung: I’ll miss you when you leave.

Nozomi: You’re usually not this direct Shang.

Shang Tsung: I have no need to be elusive with you.

Shao Kahn vs Nozomi

Shao Kahn: That sword will be mine!

Nozomi: I’d like to see you try and take it!

Shao Kahn: I’ll enjoy cutting you up with it when I do.

Shao Kahn: You took Sindel away!

Nozomi: She never loved you in the first place.

Shao Kahn: You’ll pay with your life!

Shao Kahn: It’s a shame your mother isn’t here

Nozomi: Mother doesn’t need to waste her time with you.

Shao Kahn: A shame she won’t get to see her precious daughter die!

Sheeva vs Nozomi

Sheeva: Thanks to you Sindel is reunited with her daughters.

Nozomi: I know what it’s like to live so long without a mother.

Sheeva: I hope you and your mother get a chance to catch up.

Sheeva: How is Shariah doing?

Nozomi: Her wounds are healing tremendously!

Sheeva: That is good to hear.

Sheeva: So you are also a devil?

Nozomi: Of deals and debts.

Sheeva: How many are in your debt?

Sindel vs Nozomi

Sindel: I thank you for waking me from my corruption

Nozomi: It wasn’t an easy task.

Sindel: I imagine it was not

Sindel: If you are to wed an Edinan then it would be wise to do so in Edenia.

Nozomi: Queen Sindel, I’m not staying long

Sindel: Please stay in this world with all of us Nozomi.

Sindel: How is she?

Nozomi: Shariah is healing pretty quickly.

Sindel: Shao Kahn will pay for this.

Skarlet vs Nozomi

Skarlet: So you’re the famous blood-bender?

Nozomi: You’re the Skarlet Michiko has mentioned?

Skarlet: How have we not befriended each other already?

Skarlet: My sister, how is she?

Nozomi: Shariah is healing well.

Skarlet: I shall visit her soon.

Skarlet: If Reiko bothers you again, I’ll deal with him

Nozomi: I might have to take you up on that offer

Skarlet: I’ll bloodbend him til he breaks in two.

Sonya vs Nozomi

Sonya: Did you honestly make a deal with Kano?

Nozomi: Heard he was a crosser. Thought I’d teach him a lesson

Sonya: You are some sadist.

Sonya: What’s Kronika’s deal with you?

Nozomi: She thinks being nice to me will make up for what her husband did.

Sonya: I didn't know she was married.

Sonya: From the way Raiden spoke about you, he seemed really proud.

Nozomi: So I’ve been told.

Sonya: You should stick around, for his sake.

Sub-Zero vs Nozomi

Sub-Zero: So you are the one who saved Michiko all those years ago?

Nozomi: She was so scared when I found her.

Sub-Zero: Did she ever tell you why?

Sub-Zero: Is Michiko going back with you?

Nozomi: That is for her to decide

Sub-Zero: So that is a no?

Sub-Zero: You control all the elements?

Nozomi: Their khaotic forms.

Sub-Zero: What are you Nozomi?

Shinnok vs Nozomi

Shinnok: My dearest niece, it’s good to see you again

Nozomi: I’m only here to seal up the void Shinnok

Shinnok: Won’t you stay?

Shinnok: So you’re marrying Rain?

Nozomi: Yup.

Shinnok: He will know death should he bring you harm.

Shinnok: Nozomi, your father has told me this isn't the first time you have been held captive in my realm

Nozomi: I don't want to talk about the first time.

Shinnok: Nozomi. Who else hurt you?

Quan Chi vs Nozomi

Quan Chi: Starlight. You and your mother’s return fills me with such joy.

Nozomi: Didn’t think you really cared.

Quan Chi: When you left, I nearly died again.

Quan Chi: My daughter, are you not happy to see me?

Nozomi: Your return could mean Isaac’s return!

Quan Chi: Nozomi, what did he do to you?

Quan Chi: If Rain hurts you, I will see to it he is tortured beyond death.

Nozomi: You’re actually accepting of the engagement?

Quan Chi: I trust your judgement.

Hotaru vs Nozomi

Hotaru: Madam Nozomi.

Nozomi: General Hotaru.

Hotaru: Here to see Lady Melantha I presume?

Hotaru: Nozomi, I love Melantha. I’m not going to hurt her.

Nozomi: One mark on her, and your soul won’t live another life.

Hotaru: You have my word.

Hotaru: Melantha wept when she heard you were going to leave.

Nozomi: I have no reason to stay.

Hotaru: Leave, and I will hunt you down and kill you for making my beloved Venus cry.

Reiko vs Nozomi

Reiko: If it isn’t the gorgeous blood bender.

Nozomi: An engaged blood bender, Reiko.

Reiko: Not for long.

Reiko: Honestly, why settle for that demigod?

Nozomi: Cause he isn’t a scheming little shit!

Reiko: That tongue is sharp. I like it.

Reiko: May I have this dance?

Nozomi: You can have a seat.

Reiko: Only if you take one on my lap.

Meat vs Nozomi

Meat: Is Shariah here?

Nozomi: Yes she’s healing- son is that you?

Meat: I want to see her. Then we’ll talk.

Meat: Are you mad at me for leaving?

Nozomi: I just want to hold you again.

Meat: Your hugs were my favorite.

Meat: No flesh please. I don’t want any.

Nozomi: Anything, just please don’t leave again.

Meat: Then you stay too.

32 notes · View notes

scoooby · 4 years

Text

The Reason to Live (is to Die For This)

Read on AO3

Continue to read on Tumblr

Beta: @tenderlyannoyinglight

Word count: 6.3k

Trigger warning: descriptions of pain, death and violence.

Relationship: Merlin/Arthur *if you don't like merthur it can be taken as gen if you skip the last hundred words

Summary:

"I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't.

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of. He should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him."

In which Merlin is stabbed instead of Arthur. Oops.

Merlin doesn't know where the blood came from, flowing down and not stopping. There's so much of it staining the ground and his clothes, forming a puddle, he feels dizzy and nauseous looking at it. It's been almost ten years, but the sight of injury still repulses him. It scares him even more because he can't find its source. No, it terrifies him. Whose blood is it? Where is he, exactly? But he tries not to dwell on it and wonders where Arthur is. Wasn't he just here? Silly Arthur, always disappearing.

He giggles, then sobers up. He has more important things to worry about. Like the blood. Blood is so red. Like strawberries. He wishes he could make strawberries right now, Freya likes them. Speaking of which, he should probably talk to her soon.

He touches his hand to his abdomen, startled when he feels something wet and sticky. Oh.

Oh.

It's his blood. He's been maimed. He's the one dying.

I don't want to leave him. He thinks. I can't .

It shouldn't be the first thing he thinks of, and he should be thinking of his mother, Gaius, Gwen. He should be thinking of how Kilgharrah had said he was an immortal, but Kilgharrah is also a big lying liar who lies, so he shouldn't have believed him. But he doesn't think of any of those things, after ten years of sacrificing, his brain is wired to think of Arthur, only of him.

It shouldn’t be. He should be more carefree and alive and happy, like he is now. And he’s so happy.

He distantly hears a thud behind him, as if something heavy, clad in metal, had fallen. Swords are made of metal. So is armour. Stupid armour. It takes so fucking long to put armour on Arthur.

He feels hysteria rise up in his throat, he feels like laughing, He doesn’t know why. He’s been stabbed, he should care more. But those thoughts don’t even hit him. He wants to run, to jump. He could fly, like Kilgharrah. Or Aithusa. Can Aithusa fly? He would have to ask Morgana.

But Morgana doesn’t like him.

Maybe Balinor would know when dragons start to fly. He knows a lot, right?

Oh, but he can’t. Balinor is dead. Balinor is extremely dead and rotting. Hunith would be sad if she found out, he doesn’t want her to be sad. She deserves the world. He won’t tell her.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, even though there’s no one there. “I won’t tell.”

He tries to get up, but his knees are weak. He doesn't know why his ears have started to ring. Hhhhh. Hhh. That’s all he hears. It sounds weird. Weird. Weirdweirdweirdweirdweird. What a word, All words should be like it.

Everything is just a blob of grey and black. All he sees is a spinning world and green spots in the corner of his vision. He doesn’t mind, he likes green. He tries to say something, to scream maybe, yet all that comes out is a small, meagre groan.

He feels his eyes closing- And that's it. That's all there is-numbness, and then nothing.

Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he killed Mordred. The knight almost killed Merlin and dared to smile after doing so. Arthur couldn't just let him get away with it, no matter how much it pained him. Guilt doesn’t even come to mind. Mordred isn’t worth it - he tells himself as he walks, knees shaking, towards his manservant's body laying still on the ground.

He's bleeding at an alarming rate. His eyes are closed; his face deathly pale. Arthur doesn't bother with modesty as he rips the stupid brown jacket off (one would think he would come into battle wearing proper armor, at least). He had imagined doing it many times before, in entirely different circumstances, maybe with a bed underneath them.

Merlin torso is littered with scars as wood is with lines. Most of them are healed, so that only white lines are painting Merlin’s pale skin, while others are red, but still no cause for intervention. An enormous hole inflicted near his lungs, however does. Arthur’s not new to blood or injuries, but looking at this one does make him wanna vomit.

He stops, unsure of what to do. His hands hover over the body. What can he do, dammit? He knows first aid, Gaius taught him some when he was little. Nothing has ever come close or as grave as to this. He has been taught to call for the help of nurses, never to do it himself. He has to stop the bleeding, but how ? He's supposed to tie something around it; he remembers that much at least. He looks towards Merlin's face, exhausted and un-moving, a red cloth loosely tied around his neck. All he has to do to stop the blood temporarily, until he delivers Merlin to safe, more medically trained hands, is to tie the stupid red neckerchief around and hope for it to be the right thing.

He prays as he puts it around the gash. He's not entirely sure who he's praying to. It’s an unconscious reflex to beg for health. To be able to say it is someone else's fault, because he knows it's his. He should never have let Merlin come in front of him; let the sword pierce him. Damn him; damn Merlin; damn Mordred; damn the War; damn Morgana; damn everything.

It sickens him, all of it. This cave, this life. The air is dirty. The metallic smell of blood engulfing everything and making it its own. Throwing up would sound like a good idea if Arthur didn’t have more pressing matter at hand.

The air also smells of disappointment. What is he even doing? He's just two years into his reign, the army is practically gone. So many knights are dying in his name, right now, with their belief in him. And now Merlin is going to die too.

No. Merlin can't die, I won't allow it. His resolve hardens as he picks him up in his arms, Merlin’s head on his shoulder, back bent so gravity can keep the blood inside. and carries him through the mass of dead bodies. Arthur places him on the horse and climbs on behind him, arms on the reins and still supporting Merlin’s head.

It's a long ride home. You have to make it. For him. Is the only thought he clings to.

The aftermath of the war lingers everywhere. Bodies within quarter of a mile of another, their sunken eyes staring at them as the ride past.

No one stops them, too busy focusing on their own injured. Arthur's head is down to not see them. They probably hate him. With all of his being, he agrees.

Morgana, from an early age, showed to be better fitted for the crown. Might have even made Camelot a better place, once upon a time, in a time long gone.

Now they're both just as terrible and ill-fitted for his home.

He tries not to think of her, it’s too painful. So, he focuses on saving Merlin again. Merlin. His best friend, who he had always hoped would become something more. His rock, the only one he could trust. Something he has proved over and over again, but something he had realised only during his father's funeral.

Uther’s death is a recent memory. Arthur had cried until there were no tears left to shed over anyone else after. Not out of love or grievance. His father’s love for him was long gone before he himself was. But because the moment Uther’s life ended, Arthur’s reign began and the feeling of no support or companionship with it. Morgana was gone. Ygraine had never been there to begin with, and the overwhelming responsibility hit him- hard . He had felt so alone. There was no one there for him. No one cared.

Then Merlin had placed a hand on his shoulder, whispered to him, told him he was going to be a great king and that he was sorry. As if Merlin was at fault. As if he wasn't the only reason Arthur was still standing.

It made him see more clearly that he might not ruin the kingdom- his kingdom. A spark of heat, mixed with joy and sorrow ignited like wildfire spread all over his chest, then back, arms and legs followed soon, and finally his face; he returned Merlin’s sentiment with a warm smile.

Maybe that's when he had fallen in love, or when he had realized that Merlin was the only one he could trust. He's still not sure which one it was, maybe the love had come slowly, or maybe, and just the seed had been planted back then, or maybe it had come fact and crashing.

And now he was going to be gone too. Arthur sighs, his eyes drooping from a week of no sleep. Everyone leaves. They always leave. Maybe he still had some tears left.

The dark is disorienting. Is he sleeping? Is he even alive? He has to be, he has to make sure Arthur gets back home.

"Emrys," he hears someone say. No, not someone- Morgana. Her voice is unmistakable, ragged and sickly sweet at the same time. She had always been like that, even before, a dizzying array of opposites.

"Witch," he whispers. "Why have you brought me here?"

The smugness in her voice is apparent, "That's very hypocritical of you, isn't it? After all, you're magical too. More than me, even." She didn't answer his question. "All alone now, aren’t you? No one to save you." He shakes his head; how did he manage to get here? The last thing he was doing was shouting at Arthur to bring him along ("I always thought you were the bravest man I knew." “That’s not fair.") Arthur's face had been so disappointed, and it had broken Merlin's heart. But if the war was still going on, then no one would be coming for him. He will have to get out of this by himself.

"What. Do. You. Want." He grits out, he doesn't have the patience, nor the time for this, he has to help them. The knights are strong, but even the strongest of human kind wouln’t last long against an immortal army. He has to be there with them, to help them, to keep them alive. No matter how much his words hurt, Merlin will still save them, because that is what he does.

She laughs. " You."

"I don't have time for games, leave me be."- turning his head around trying to locate Morgana’s voice; the darkness, the nothingness, hasn’t changed.

"Oh, but why would I do that?" Her cold hands are taking hold of his chin, nails digging into his face. She's right in front of him. Her silky dress pooling onto his feet, the edges of her dirty hair grazing his arms. "I have you right where I want you, no one is going to come to save you. I only need one thing from you." She pauses, her fingers snap; there are fires surrounding them in a circle. He struggles against the bonds of rope he didn't realize were tied onto him, but it's of no use.

She’s clearer now, seen better days too. Bags under her crazed eyes, a ragged and torn black gown, a cloak is gracing her hunched back. Frankly, it looks like she hasn’t taken a bath in months. She doesn’t even resemble the Morgana he used to know, the compassionate and cunning one.

This is his creation; he is the reason she is like this. He never should have listened to the fucking dragon, he should have told her about his magic, maybe things would be different then.

"I won't do anything for you,” he hisses. “I would rather die.”

“Oh, you will.” She says it like it’s a fact as if it’s inevitable that he will die soon, and a tremor goes from his head to his toes in a matter of a second. He’s supposed to be immortal, supposed to live for a long, long time. He’s not scared of dying, he supposes. He’s scared of what will happen afterwards. “And it will hurt, I can tell you that, it will hurt so much.” She inches even closer, impossibly so. “But that won’t be the worst part, no. The worst part will be that no one will care . Arthur won’t care. No matter what you have done for him, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

He’s silent as her words sink in. Sow themselves into his brain, into his heart, tries to convince himself it’s not true.

“Arthur won’t rescue you. You need his help, but he doesn’t have your back. He’s not even looking for you. If you’re drowning, if you’re about to crack, will he even care?” Something on his face makes her look smug like she’s already won. “Face it, Merlin.” That’s the first time she’s called him Merlin and not Emrys since she found out. “You don’t matter to him. He thinks you’re disposable, But I know better.”

Merlin looks up at her. "You're sick," he spits, although it sounds small, unsure. "He would look for me. I know he would." The statement is more for himself than her.

She gives a small, cruel smile as if to convey to him how pathetic he is. “All I need you to do,” she continues, “is to tell me where you are once this ends.”

He's about to ask her what she means, when the fires go out and it all turns dark again.

He stops in the forest, to rest, though he's not sure if Merlin will even survive by the end of it. He lays him down against a rock and lights a fire. He has to make something to feed them, or they'll die of starvation before Morgana's knights get to them. He surveys the clearing they're in, and he's about to walk towards what he is almost sure is an edible plant (emphasis on the almost, kings don't always learn about herbs), when he hears Merlin whispers. He snaps back, his eyes are open, a once tantalizing clear blue now murky and grey.

"Arthur" he murmurs. "Art- I-"

He holds up a hand "I'm here Merlin," he says. "I'm here but don't speak, you need to preserve your energy."

He doesn't listen. "I-I need to tell you something and," he gasps, trying to breathe, "and I need you to listen without interrupting."

Arthur wants to tell him whatever he needs to say probably isn't as important as his life, but the look on his face tells him that it might be.

Merlin shudders, clearly exhausted. "I ha-have magic," he rasps. Arthur's mind goes blank. It's a joke, it has to be. Merlin can't have betrayed him too. He takes a step toward him, to reach out maybe, but thinks better of it.

"Stop being silly," he commands, but it comes out shaky.

Merlin eyes seem wet. When he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a bare whisper, "I ne-needed to tell you. In, in case, I-I, uh, die."

"You can't die." He clasps Merlin shoulder this time, leaning down. "But stop delusioning yourself Merlin. You don't have magic, I would know." It's not real, he would've been able to tell. This can't be true, it can't.

"And I use it for you," he continues, seeing his expression. "Only-only for you."

"Shut up," Arthur whispers. Merlin flinches back. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"I-," he starts, but he cuts him off.

"Do not speak to me."

Arthur looks at him, something rising in his throat. He thought it would be bile, but it's laughter. Of course, of course, the only person he trusts has magic.

He stands up and walks away, until he's sure Merlin won't be able to see him.

Merlin’s heart sinks as he stares at Arthur’s back, she was right. He told him about his magic, and now he was leaving him to die in a forest, never mind the reason he was dying was that he had taken a sword for Arthur. Never mind that he had spent a decade protecting him, trying to stop hundreds of people from killing someone he himself hadn’t particularly cared for at the beginning. Never mind the fact that he had sacrificed so much, just so he could be comfortable living in a castle built on the sins of his father and the corpses of magic users. Ten years, all down the drain. Merlin wants to laugh, of course, it comes done to this. To Arthur abandoning him because he told him something he didn’t want to hear. Fuck him, fuck the pendragons. Couldn’t let him die in peace.

He stews in it for a while, too tired to cry. Too sick of everything to even care anymore. He won’t tell her though; couldn’t let it all go to waste. She’ll find out anyway, he knows, she has her sources.

Yet, he has more important things to focus on, Arthur will either come back, or he won’t. But his wound stays. The giddiness is gone, replaced with something else. Something warm, like a fire in his stomach.

He presses down on his abdomen. as he sighs sharply through his nose, it helps with the increasing pain, stabbing his bone and overtaking his senses.

His lungs struggle to breathe, it feels as if they’re filling with water as he drowns; his whole body burns as his back arches and writhes. It’s like there’s thousands of needles being pushed into him from everywhere, as if the needles had been pulled out from a fire before being inserted into him- red hot and painful, so painful. He wants to stand up, to run and jump into a lake, but his legs feel like jelly, he can’t move. It hurts so much. He hears distant echoes of screams; they’re probably coming from him. And just like that, it starts to ebb. The needles being pulled out hurts more, but the small burns they leave behind are definitely better than it was before. He slumps down against a tree, numb.

He feels his eyes droop. His pain is still shooting through his body, but at least he has some time before he has to feel it again.

He wakes up again in some time, not sure when. It doesn't hurt as much as it did before. He’s just tired. He lays there for what feels like hours, but the sun hasn’t even set, so it was probably a few minutes.

To his immense surprise, he comes back. Arthur… comes back.

"Come back to finish the job, huh?" Merlin snarls, refusing to believe that maybe he came back to help him because he cared for him. It's too good to be true. Arthur is compassionate and he is kind, but not to magic users. "One stab wound wasn't enough for you?"

Arthur's already been saved from the imminent death of his which has been prophesied for a few centuries already, Merlin no longer has to worry, and he doesn't want to either. If this is his reward, to be called a coward, to be ignored and hut out, what everything had been leading up to, he might as well have died years ago. He used to wake up with only Arthur in mind, He loved him, still does. He’s not going to go out any other way.

He was the reason he lived, and he is the reason Merlin is going to die.

Arthur recoils in shock, his mouth is hanging open a little.

Good , Merlin thinks, he needs a wake-up call.

"What?" He asks.

Merlin hopes his expression can convey his feelings and how unamused he is because his throat is clogged up and he's too exhausted to say a word more. He may be a warlock, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is in unbearable pain.

Arthur looks at him as if he's grown a second head. "You- you thought I was going to kill you?"

There's no reply. Arthur comes forward, stops when he sees how scared the other man becomes. He sits down onto the cold, hard ground. "Merlin," he says softly, "I, I'm angry at you, I'm not going to lie, but I would never, never kill you. I- how could you even-" he trails off, he kicks some dirt glumly. "Just, we’ll talk about this when we're back home, okay? When you're better."

Arthur doesn't know how Merlin could think that. He would never- he didn’t even imagine doing anything other than demoting him, at most. He feels betrayed, and he feels let down. But this is Merlin. If he practiced magic, there must have been a good reason.

Fuck. Has he been that bad of a friend? Has he been so distant that Merlin thought Arthur was going to kill him? He knows he should be angrier, and just a few hours ago, he was. He was ready to yell and to scream and to rage, but then he thought of Morgana. About how he used to love her, and how she changed when he turned her away, He doesn’t want the same to happen to Merlin, doesn’t want him to change too. If Merlin dies because Arthur abandons him, he will never forgive himself.

So, as he snuffs out the fire and tries to cover up his tracks, because he knows Morgana will be looking for them, he doesn’t say anything. When he picks Merlin up and places him on the horse, he tries to be as gentle as he can. When he squeezes Merlin's hand in what he hopes is comforting, he just hopes Merlin doesn’t hate him completely.

Merlin floats in and out of consciousness for what he thinks is a day, but he can’t be sure. When he first wakes up, he’s trotting along on a horse, Arthur behind him, and then he’s in front of a fire, sitting on the ground, then the horse again. Once, he wakes up to strangled screams, but he’s not sure what was going on. He’s too scared to ask. The fifth time he wakes up, however, it’s different. It’s not a coincidence, it’s on purpose, Arthur is shaking him awake. He makes out that they are next to the lake, where he has sent away so many corpses already.

It's calm and serene, obvious to all that is happening around it.

“Wha-” he starts to say blearily, he knows they haven’t reached Camelot yet, so what is going on?

Arthur silences him by placing a hand on his mouth. “We’ve got company,” he whispers. Merlin stiffens up, never a good thing. Not when you’re trekking through the woods, your companion and you both in bad conditions, both starving, one run through with a sword. Not when your companion is the ruler of kingdom which has war being waged against it.

“Arthur,” he says, his voice still sounding heavy and drowsy.

“What?” His mouth feels swollen, and he is incredibly tired, but he can tell he’s agitated, so he doesn't beat around. “Use the sword."

He looks surprised, the expression he hates. The one he uses whenever he realises that he underestimates everyone around him. "I think I know how to use a sword better than you do, Mer lin."

Prat.

"I mean, don't use your old sword, use Excalibur. It can kill anything. " Saying even this much feels like he just ran from Ealdor to Camelot without break, but he manages.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his eyes widen. "Did you hear that?" His voice is low but urgent. Merlin blinks, he didn't hear anything other than the wind and- oh, he hears it now. There's distant screaming, coming from a woman from what it sounds like. It's barely noticeable, but the sounds of footsteps and something heavy being dragged on the forest floor towards them is much, much louder.

They exchange glances, only for a second. Merlin gestures towards the sword and Arthur nods, not questioning him for once.

Merlin tries to speak, he wants to help, but his throat is becoming clogged, and his vision is becoming blurry and- I am not going to survive. He thinks, before his eyes roll back into his head, and he passes out once more.

Arthur does not dare to say anything, or to do anything, other than stay frozen in his spot, sword in hand.

The noises are coming closer and closer. The screams have subsided now, but the steps have not. He knows he should highball out of there, but he has a feeling that whatever is coming their way cannot be outrun, and 50% of his lessons in swordplay focuses only on telling him to follow his gut.

"Emrys," says a voice. He inhales sharply, he recognizes that voice; knows it better than he has any right too.

"Morgana," he breathes.

She pouts, looking disappointed. "Seems like our Emrys isn't awake. Shame, I wanted him to see you die." She says it casually, as if she tells her once-brother that she’s going to kill him every day.

He reminds himself - this is not his sister, not the woman he grew up with. If he doesn’t kill her, she will kill him. And she will take his kingdom.

But he never meant for them to get caught up in this, he had to control himself. He can’t rush to hug her or stab her. He can see a flicker of what she used to be, the brave, young woman. He needs her to hold onto that. If she doesn’t, he will have to do it. And he really, really doesn’t want to.

But as she lunges at him, the flicker ebbs out. She has slipped through his hands, and she has changed. She has been carried away by the waves of sorcery, and it has ruined her. He remembers her being his hero when they were young, when they used to sneak out of the castle to look at the stars. Her arguing with Uther over whether it was right to commit genocide, the irony of which has stuck with him. Her teaching him to use the sword, having already mastered it herself. Her forcing him to make friends with Gwen, who grew to become his ex-lover and best friend and surrogate queen. The memories keep on coming, and they don't stop. But she, like everyone else, changed. No matter what time, she is different now. It will never come back. He wants to go back, when they were innocent and naive, when everything was left for them to discover.

But he can’t.

So he fights back instead.

It's all he can do to make his hands steady as his blade sinks into her stomach, as he buries it deeper and deeper until it comes out on the other side. She looks surprised, then grim. She'll be alive for a few days, at most, a few minutes, at best.

But he can't bear to leave her suffering, alive but dying, tortured. So, he stabs her again, this time aiming for the heart, and again. And again. And again. When he is sure that she's dead, he stops, sliding onto his knees. He glares at the sword in contempt. He killed her; he killed his sister.

No .

He killed the woman who wanted to burn his kingdom to the ground. He had no other choice.

But what sort of person is he? He's killed both his knight and his former sister on the same day, with the same sword.

He grips it harder, then looks at the lake. He needs to get rid of it, that's what he needs to do. No one can find out what happened today, he can't let them. He raises it and throws it in. He had thought it would land on the banks, considering how heavy it is, but it doesn't. Instead, the sword flies out of his grip, and cuts through the air, towards the lake. He swears he can see a hand reaching out of the water to catch it, but it's probably a trick of the light.

He turns to her body laid on the ground, eyes open and unblinking, mouth looking as if gasping for breath, cloak sprawled around her like wings. She's dead.

Somehow, he knows if he had used the other sword, she would not be; he knows enough about magic to realise that the high priestess cannot be taken down by a normal weapon.

But Excalibur was not normal, was it? Just another thing to add to his list of questions.

It takes him thirty more minutes to dispose of her body in the lake, staring as it sinks deeper into the water. He doesn't look away, no. He deserves this. He has to remember, and he will.

He doesn't move for a long, long time. Only goes so when he realizes that, although she is dead, Merlin is not yet. Arthur intends to keep it that way. He turns his back on her. Every step drains him, but he does it.

He can't be left alone again.

It takes them two more days to arrive in Camelot. All of it passes in awkward silence, with Merlin getting paler and paler with every passing second. Arthur doesn’t say anything out loud, but his mind is racing. He doesn’t think of them. He can’t. So he focuses on magic instead. He’s not sure if he trusts magic fully, even now, but maybe he should be more open-minded. Maybe he should give it a chance. Maybe it'll be different than it was with Morga- her.

When he arrives, it is completely different to what he had expected. There are mourners, of course. People in white, downcast expressions, closed windows, doors painted black. But there are also red banners hanging everywhere, citizens cheering as he rides past, ignoring Merlin behind him. Cries of "she is dead" and "the war is over". People are grieving, and there are those celebrating. He doesn't ask how they know of her death, he doesn't want to know. They tell him anyway. Apparently, the army stopped attacking, all of a sudden. They had cried, and shouted, and had turned back. It is unclear why, but Arthur knows he is the reason. Morgana dying at his hands is the reason.

Some help him get to Gaius', seeing how unamused he looks. They clear out the road, offer them water. Arthur is grateful for them, glad that at least some of his people acknowledged the dying man and had tried to help.

The physician is busy when he throws the door open, Merlin in tow. There are many, many people here. All with varying degrees of injuries. Arthur can’t bear to look at them. It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. So he ignores them, marches up to him.

“He’s- he’s been stabbed,” he chokes out.

Gaius’ eyes widen, and he rushes to follow Arthur. He lays Merlin out on one of the few empty beds, his body sprawls out on it. It’s sickening to look at as if he’s dead already.

He sets to work immediately, ordering Arthur to fetch herbs and vials and all sorts of things he doesn’t know the uses of. The people around them stare at him blankly, as if they know he’s the king, but they don’t fully recognise him.

He knows when he is not needed anymore, and backs away to watch. It's odd, and it feels so wrong. It's wrong to watch as Merlin is cut open and healed. Like he's invading his privacy. Merlin deserves better than to be put on a show in front of so many people.

He does try to help. Tries to tell as many people as he can to move to the castle, where he is sure more doctors would be willing to help, but some are in too bad of a condition to be moved as they are tended to by nurses. So he elects to focus on his friend instead.

Gaius' hands have always been steady, for as long had Arthur had known him. He cuts open bodies without worry, without even flinching. Which is not the case today, he notices. No, his hands are shaking. Not much as to be obvious, but he's known the man for far too long to not be able to tell when he's scared.

He thinks Merlin is going to die .

Arthur recoils violently. He doesn't know where the thought came from, because it's not true. It can’t be.

Merlin is going to survive. He tells himself.

Merlin. Is. Going. To. Survive.

Merlinisgoingtosurvive

MerlinisgoingtosurviveMerlinisgoingtosurvuveMerlinisgoingtosurvive

He repeats under his breath, rocking himself back and forth on his heels until he almost believes it. He has to.

He's not sure where the time has passed, because Gaius is in front of him all of a sudden but Arthur remembers him standing over the table just seconds ago.

Gaius shakes his head and it takes a few minutes for it to register in his mind. Arthur can't be looking at him, and his heartbreaking face. Just like him, Gaius' only support was Merlin. Was. Not is, was. Merlin is barely dead, and Arthur is already starting to think of him as a memory.

The physician knows what it feels like, but Arthur doesn't care.

"You should've done better," he hisses. He doesn't regret it. Doesn’t regret causing the shock he’s caused Gaius. But it's his fault too. He's the one Merlin took a sword for. But he needs to blame someone else. Because he doesn't want to think of the implications of Merlin dying at his hands. Gaius looks at him as if he is about to break, so Arthur walks away. From him, towards the corpse. He can't bear to face another person he's hurt.

It can't be true. There's got to be something he can do, something. He can't die, he can’t fucking die. Not when there's not much left to say. Not when they've just won. It's supposed to be a thing to celebrate, a war ending, he can't mourn. He can't give a speech to his kingdom which wasn't written by his best friend. Can't lose him. He doesn't think he'll be able to live without him.

He doesn't want to. He won't.

Merlin looks too much at peace, content in a way Arthur hasn't seen him in a long time. His long lashes casting shadows onto his freckled skin, his lips are twisted into a scowl, but he is at peace. He still looks the same, though. Beautiful and striking. Arthur's rock.

And dead.

Arthur’s hands move at their own accord, to stroke the side of his face. A sob escapes him before he can stop it, pushing through his throat. His people need assurance, and him crying like a bloody fool won't help. But that's the last thing on his mind. All he knows is Merlin is dead.

He isn’t able to stop staring, can't help wondering what he will do now. Whether the body will be burned or buried. He will be given a hero's funeral, it's no less than he deserves. He will be clothed in Camelot’s colours, or maybe his Ealdor's. Hunith would know better.

Oh lord, Hunith. She will have to find out through a letter. No. Arthur will have to go to tell her. He can't let her go through it alone.

He's about to turn away, to tell someone to help him move the body when his lips move.

Merlin's mouth opens, just a little bit, but enough to tell that he's alive.

Arthur feels a shock go through him. It was just an illusion.

Right?

"Merlin?" he asks. It can't be true, no matter how much he wants it to be. It was probably a trick of the light, but that can't be right. Because Merlin's eyes are opening and he's staring at him and some colour is returning to his cheeks and oh-

This the man he loves. And he waking up.

"Ar- Arth," he begins but Arthur shushes him. He’s alive, he’s speaking. He doesn’t know how, but it’s real. It’s actually real.

"I'm here," he assures him "I'm here." He shocks even himself as he leans down to kiss him. He's even more surprised when Merlin kisses him back. It only lasts a second before he pulls back, but he just kissed Merlin. It was rough, it wasn't perfect. But he's breathing. They're both here. He can't ask for more.

"Wha- what was," he exhales through his nose, as if speaking taxes him, "that for?"

"I wanted to," he says, shrugging, still not over the euphoria. He just lost him, he’s never going to again. The least he can do is not hide from the truth. "And, I, I also kind of love you. Like, I’m in love with you."

His eyes widen a fraction, but Arthur can tell he’s too tired to question it further.

He wants to say more, he has so many questions as to how he's still breathing, when he started practicing magic, why, but he doesn’t. He has time, they have all the time in the world.

He turns his back, yelling for Gaius. The physician shows up immediately, face lighting up when he takes in the sight of his son very much not-dead.

"We'll figure it out," he says, though he's not sure he heard him over the noise. "We'll figure it out." He grins. Yeah, they'll figure it out.

He swears, Merlin is beaming right back at him.

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booklover41802 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12 - When The Darkness Closes In

Happy Wednesday! Here’s the next chapter!

Description: Months after Under the Mountain, Feyre still longs for Rhys’s company despite the silence drawing out between them. Then, a note appears that signals Rhys’s arrival in Velaris. Rhys is facing his past and everything that accompanies it

Co-Written by @highladysith

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Feyre

Every morning for the last three weeks, Rhys had written me a note of words to transcribe onto a sheet of paper. And each day, I struggled with the formation of each and every letter. But I gave it my all because I wanted to prove to myself and Rhys that I was capable. Mostly, though, I wanted to send letters back to him.

I lowered and hoisted my mental shield as I picked up the piece of paper that had popped into existence in front of me. It was another task Rhys had ordered me to do while I practiced my letters. Looking at the sheet in my hands, I was able to recognize the basic phonemes of the words, but the overall word was incomprehensible. “You l..oo..k.” My brow furrowed as I tried to make out the next section. “Ab...sol..utely d-delicious today, Feyre.” I stared at the page, the compliment teasing me through the paper. Through the bond, I could have sworn faint laughter echoed across the strands.

Excellent work, Feyre darling. You are progressing quickly in your studies. Rhys caressed the mental shield I had worked to create.

All of the hard work it had taken these past few weeks had been worth it for Rhys’s pride at my accomplishments. It would be better if you were here in Velaris to teach me. I practically shouted down the bond. It was a long shot, but perhaps I could convince him to come back. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed him until he was gone. His presence soothed the ache in my soul. When I was near him, I felt at peace, happy. I only wished we could be more than friends. What I wanted was impossible considering Rhys could hardly stand to be in my vicinity.

In response to my words, there was silence. I sighed, rolling my ink pen in between my fingers. My current residence seemed to contain myself to the library and my room while I poured endlessly over the books at the townhouse. The desk I was seated at now overlooked the city, giving a glimpse into the colorful lives of the residents of Velaris.

How much I wished I could be outside with them, laughing and having a good time, instead of scrawling word after word until my hand cramped too much to continue writing.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Cassian chose this moment to come barging through the door. I turned in my seat to face the male before me. Powerful wings were pulled close together as he squeezed through the frame, practically stumbling in. “Are you going to clutch your paper all day, or are you ready to begin training?” Cassian nodded to the sheet of letters I had clenched tightly in my hands, as if I could will Rhys to Velaris if I just squeezed hard enough.

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson and I hastily set it down, smoothing out the rough edges. There. Now I didn’t look like an idiot for holding onto parchment with Rhys’s handwriting on it. With one hand I pushed myself up out of my chair and forced a grin to light up my eyes. “I just need to grab my leathers before we go.” My current outfit of a thick woolen sweater and leggings wasn’t suitable for sparring.

Cassian’s lips pursed as he looked me up and down, searching for a hint that I was hiding something. He knew I was faking my cheerful mood but, thankfully, didn’t pursue it further. “Meet me in the foyer in five minutes, or else I’m leaving your ass here.” The hint of humor in his voice didn’t quite reach his eyes. I stood frozen in place with a smile fixed upon my face until he noiselessly shut the door behind him, the rustle of wings signaling his departure.

The second the lock had clicked into place, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. The facade I kept up night and day that I was moving on over Rhys was a lie. Each morning I woke up, I prayed Mor would tell me the news that he was back for good and never leaving again. It was pathetic that I still held out hope, but the letters had rejuvenated me into a newfound belief he would arrive any day.

For a moment I searched around the room for the leathers I had stuffed somewhere, before noticing the bunch of clothes at the bottom of my armoire. With a few quick steps, I stood before the looming wardrobe that threatened to swallow me whole. I shoved aside my thoughts and reached inside to grab the clothing. I shrugged off my garments and slipped into my leathers. When I looked in the mirror-dark circles aside-it was almost believable I was healing from my past.

Almost.

I took a breath and swept out the door to find Cassian.

*****

Rhys

I seated myself before the mortal queens, scanning their faces for any sign of treachery. The mortal queens were once again present in Hewn City, but this time, there was an air of hesitancy that hovered over the table. Did they see through the bargain I had laid out for them? Or had the King of Hybern got to them?

The crone spoke first, as per usual. With her pursed lips, it was obvious there was discontent she intended to speak in her throaty voice. “High Lord, I believe we have come to a decision regarding your generous… offer.” As one, they all glanced at each other with nervous expressions adorning their faces like fine jewelry. I brought my fingertips together, attempting to decipher the plot that was forming before my eyes. “We decline your promises. We have no reason to trust you other than your word and your reputation precedes you. While we may be mortal, it does not bode well for you to throw up a veil around our heads. Unless you have something else you’d like to offer us.” Her crooked smirk was embedded with smug satisfaction, knowing that she held me in the palm of her hand.

I had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come to this. Earlier in the day, I had borrowed the Veritas from Keir when he was distracted by his duties with his legion of Darkbringers. Though I hated to come to this point, I would show them Velaris, where the shreds of my heart remained. The truth would be undeniable. I needed their half of the book of breathings before anyone else retrieved it. The cauldron could not fall into the hands of Hybern.

Dropping my lips into a sinuous grin, I motioned to the cloaked figure against the wall. The cloak of the fae dropped, revealing golden hair, and cold brown eyes. “Not to worry, your fears are understandable. I have brought the Veritas to this meeting to show you my true intentions. What has the King of Hybern offered you to show his promises are genuine?” The Queens shifted uncomfortably in their chairs as I rubbed my clammy hands against the fabric of my pants. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest as I contemplated what I was doing. Was this the right thing to do? Would the potential fallout be worth the effects of revealing Velaris? Would Feyre be protected if the queens turned on me?

I shrugged my thoughts out of the way as Mor approached with the Veritas. The orb was a well known talisman of the world, only to be wielded by Mor’s family. Mor approached with a frigid expression on her face as she surveyed the queens. The crone eyed Mor with distaste while the others murmured in awe at the ancient artifact in their midst.

“You know what this is and the words I speak will be true. This is the embodiment of truth.” Her voice rang out in a commanding tone, ordering the Queens to pay attention to her, not the other way around. A queen without a throne. She set the Veritas down, harnessing the magic within. “Truth is not something easily given, it is something that has to be earned by those who deserve it. While I do not think any of you are worthy of truth, my High Lord believes in you and I bow to him. Tell me, are you worthy, or will you build your empire on the blood of others?”

The crone’s teeth clacked together as she narrowed her eyes, clenching the armrests of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. “Who are you to judge us and determine our fates? The girl who soiled herself with a lowly Illyrian has no right to order us around.” The youngest queen with the lioness soul betrayed no emotion, yet the one with the black eyes appeared wary at the power gathering like storm clouds within Mor’s eyes.

While the crone gave a slow, wide grin, Mor cocked her head in quiet contemplation. If Azriel or Cassian had been here, the Queens would have been dead by now. Mor, however, had more self restraint and reeled her power back in, leaving her a blank slate. “What you think of me doesn’t determine my worth. I know my value and I respect myself enough to not care what you think. I have lived far longer than you ever will and yet I value the lives of innocents, unlike you. I only asked to protect what I love. Will you betray us, or can you be trusted with what lies within the Veritas?”

The black eyed Queen with the cunning edge eagerly blurted out, “We trusted you to come here, can’t you trust us with your secret? It’s only fair that you offer us the same level of respect.”

Mor scoffed under her breath and I was inclined to agree with her. These mortals had no idea what the word respect meant, not as the weight of their crowns had warped their perspectives. But I had to get the book no matter how many times they insulted me or my family. I curtly inclined my head. “Show them the Veritas, Mor.” I despised myself for even revealing Velaris, but this was out of control. There was nothing else I could use to convince them of my intentions.

With a side glance at me, I could sense the rage trembling inside of Mor. This whole mountain would come crashing down if Mor unleashed herself upon the fools seated before us. I sent out a wisp of power to soothe her raging mind. Later on, I would take her to the cabin to allow herself to find her peace. “As you wish, High Lord.” Mor shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

The orb began to glow misty white, swirling clouds within whirling and churning. “Truth is my life, truth cannot be hidden. It is the one constant in this world. Because no matter how deceit creeps in,” her eyes landed on each Queen. “The truth will come out eventually and liars face their punishment.”

The Veritas began to clear and Velaris slowly came into view. My chest tightened as I realized how much I missed the city more than anything. I swallowed the lump in my throat and outloud I said, “This is the city of my heart. Velaris. The place where everyone finds their home and no one is shut out. The place of dreamers and artists and musicians. For hundreds of years, my forefathers protected the secret with their life, but I offer it to you as a gift and show of goodwill.” The gleaming jewel rooftops were shadowed by a figure with wings. Az. He was the one who allowed this to happen. Many creatures in the street cheerily waved up to him, not at all fazed by who he was, only that he was a figure they saw on a daily basis. He changed direction and the Rainbow of Velaris appeared. The Queens leaned forward in awe at what they saw.

Fae of all different species laughing, dancing, and creating. Freedom without the chains of a crown. As Az neared the edges of the city, a figure turned, revealing large blue-gray eyes. Her mouth opened up into a wide smile as she saw Az. Feyre. Feyre was in the Veritas. Before I had a chance to get a good look at her, the orb was once again silent.

The crone looked up at us with her mouth hanging open. “So it seems you are not the stone-cold male everyone says you are. Thank you for entrusting us with the secret.”

Despite the truth of their words, I sensed something underneath it all. Greed. They would sell this information to the highest bidder for what they wanted. In their case, the information would go to the King of Hybern. “Do we have a deal then? The book of breathings in exchange for my honesty?”

The queen with the black dress and downturned lips focused her attention on me. “Perhaps. Our answer will arrive shortly.”

With that, they turned sharply to leave, motioning their guards forward so they could winnow back to the Mortal Lands. Unexpectedly, Mor moved forward and tightly grasped onto the queen with the golden hair, her eyes beseeching them to relinquish their treasure. “Please. If you do not give us the book, it will fall into the hands of Hybern. And if Hybern has the book, the world will be destroyed.”

She shook Mor off with a haughty smile. “Maybe the world needs to be remade with a proper vision in mind.” She nodded to the crone, signaling she was done with the conversation.

My gaze landed on the crone, and her blank face. The secret she was guarding was hidden within the depths of her mind. If only I could search it without threatening to destroy the precarious alliance we had created.

As a last ditch effort, Mor also pleaded her case with the eldest. “You really think the king will let you keep your crowns if he’s in power?” Laughter escaped her lips, cold and calculating. “This is your chance to ensure your people survive.”

It was clear the crone’s patience had run out, as she snarled, “No. You will never have it.” Then, the Queens promptly winnowed away without so much as a goodbye.

“NO!” Mor shrieked, lunging across the table for the eldest. They vanished just as her fingers brushed her silken gown.

I put my head in my hands as I slumped back against my chair. What were we going to do now? The entirety of Velaris was now in danger because of my actions. Feyre was bound to be hunted for, now that the Queens knew of her existence. For the first time in a long time, I felt the stinging prick of tears sprout up.

“Wait, Rhys!” I lifted my heavy head up to look at her shocked face. Standing near the chair where the golden-haired queen was seated, Mor reached down and grabbed half of the book of breathings.

Hope was not yet lost.

*****

Feyre

“Again!” Cassian commanded as he held up the gloves for me to hit. The soft padding protected his hands from the force of my fists. I did as he ordered, channeling all of my anger and rage into striking the pads. Again and again and again I pounded against them, the leathers I wore seamlessly shifting my movements. “Good, your form is excellent.”

“I didn’t ask,” I broke out in between my heaving breaths. Sweat beaded against my brow with the exertion of the exercise.

He chuckled as he continued to bear the weight of my emotions. The training grounds just outside of Velaris were far enough away from the city, just in case my power flared up. I had yet to learn how to control it. It felt like a whirlpool, the further I went in, the more I got sucked in. It was an uncontrollable beast with no one to call its master. Training with Cassian took the edge off it, distracting me from the pressure that was steadily building up. Amren taught me some control, but most days she was busy holed up in her apartment doing cauldron knows what.

From the sidelines, sunning his wings in the grass, was Azriel. He watched us with a calm expression, occasionally shouting out encouragement. For a moment I glanced at him, taking my eyes off Cassian. He took his chance and swept my legs out from under me. The world spun as I landed on my ass. Hard. “You’re distracted today,” Cassian said, as he offered a hand to help me up. “Do you want to take a break?”

I ignored his offer and shakily crawled to a standing position. Dirt coated my arms where I had fallen on the ground. I gently brushed it off, pretending not to notice how my arms were inflamed from training. But I needed the distraction of training to take my thoughts off Rhys. “No. Let’s go again, I can handle it.” I planted my feet against the ground and drew back my fists, thinking of all the places within myself that I could draw anger from.

Hesitantly, Cassian raised his hands, allowing me to continue punching against him. “If you need to stop, let me kno-”

“I don’t need to talk about my feelings, Cassian. I’m okay.” Yet even as I said that, I felt the lump in my throat rise up. If I didn’t continue, I would break. I slammed my fist against his right hand, checking and rechecking my form to make sure it was perfect. This was the only distraction I had. I couldn’t paint without thinking of Under the Mountain. I couldn’t talk with Rhys, the only person in Velaris who understood what I had gone through. My emotions were like a dam, building up until, one day, it would burst.

Rhys. I missed him desperately. Just once I’d like to see him, talk with him, laugh with him. But I couldn’t because he chose to detach himself from me. Had I done something wrong? Was there something with me? Was I too broken to love? I didn’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to be around me, either. After all, who could ever love someone with thorns.

Flames escaped out of my fists as I pounded against Cassian’s hands until I had burned away the padding protecting him, and I was hitting his bare skin. Tears fell from my eyes, blurring my vision until Cassian and Azriel were only hazy figures. Still, I continued to push forward with my limbs knowing that if I stopped the dam would burst. Too lost in my haze of emotions, I hadn’t even realized what I had done until Azriel broke through the stream of rage and sadness by sending his shadows to halt my hands from further burning Cassian. Only then did I see the red welts that Cassian had taken upon himself without uttering a single cry of pain.

I stumbled forward, inspecting the damage of his hands. Livid reddish marks inflamed the entirety of his palms. Faint peeling of blisters showed the raw skin underneath. Cassian had likely had worse injuries before, but the sheer amount of guilt I felt for inflicting this upon my friend was overwhelming. “I’m so sorry, Cassian. I’m so sorry.” Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I carefully unlocked a single stream of water to flow from myself to Cassian. The wobbly line of liquid encased the bright red marks, soothing the hurt. He winced, once, as I warped the water to heal my mistakes.

“It’s alright, Feyre. It’s nothing I can’t handle. You should have seen me during the war after a battle. I was a bloody mess.” The left side of his mouth curved into a smirk as he tried for a light-hearted joke.

Azriel scoffed from the side at Cassian’s words. “If you hadn’t been such a hot-heated prick, you wouldn’t have suffered so many injuries.”

I had to forcibly hold Cassian’s hands still as he tried to turn towards Az before he broke my concentration. Forced to be one place, Cassian wacked Azriel with his wing. The loud thwack drew a chuckle from the elegant male. “I managed just fine, it’s all in the past now anyways.”

“You say that, but every time you get drunk you brag about your accomplishments and how you single-handedly won the battles for your legion.”

Cassian squawked in outrage. I shut my eyes, tuning them out and drawing forth the image of the Sidra’s waves crashing against the shore. The smooth ebb and flow of the water, twisting and turning in perfect unison. The frothy foam bubbling forth against the overwhelming mass of waves. The water in my hands widened ever so slightly as I poured all of my focus into healing his hands. When I opened my eyes again, smooth skin and Cassian’s dumbstruck face greeted me.

“How did you know how to do that? I thought you hadn’t trained with your powers yet.”

I dropped his hands and crossed my arms across my chest, feigning offense. His guess wasn’t totally wrong, but I had the basics down. It was enough to perform the most practical actions. And I practiced making water animals in the privacy of my bathtub, not that either one needed to know that. “I suppose there’s more to me than what’s on the surface.”

Cassian’s hand reached out and ruffled my hair, tousling the careful braid I had done this morning in the dark. I quickly stepped back out of his range, narrowing my eyes in reproach. “Do you know how long it took me to get this to look halfway decent?”

In a mock apology, Cassian lifted his hands to heart, his brows scrunched together. “I’m so terribly sorry for ruining your hair, precocious faerie.”

As I opened my mouth to respond, a dark wave of power suddenly flooded the city. Soothing tendrils of darkness snaked across the streets, raveling all the way out to our little outcrop on the outskirts of Velaris. The two males next to me immediately went slack-jawed, an iciness creeping over their features. They smoothly moved to block me from view, as if whatever was approaching was somehow dangerous. A boom of wings against the quiet of the city sent a cold clutch of fear to encircle my heart.

“Stay behind us, Feyre. We’ll deal with this,” Azriel bit out in between clenched teeth.

What was here? The answer to my question became visible seconds later as a sheet of paper with Rhys’s elegant handwriting appeared on the ground in front of me.

Meet me in the House of Wind in five minutes.

Rhys. Rhys was here and he wanted to see me. Against my better judgement, I felt a smile creeping up over my face. Cassian snatched the paper out of my hands, scowling. “That bastard,” he growled, brows furrowed in indignation. “He thinks he can summon you like a dog anytime he wants.”

I put a hand on Cassian’s arm to try and stamp out the fiery rage building in his hazel eyes. “It’s alright, Cass. I’ll meet with him to see what he wants.”

“Be careful,” Az said in a soft voice.

I nodded, turning to make my way towards the House of Wind to find Rhys.

*********

Rhys

The book of breathings was a smooth band of leather against my hands. The pages were warped from time, as if the magic of it only extended to the ink. A small, whispering voice rose above the silence of the room, begging and pleading us into madness. I was transfixed from the power that emanated off of the leather binding. With a revenant hand, I carefully moved a finger down its spine in awe.

Mor plucked the book out of my hands, snapping me out of my reverie. “I’ll take this back to Velaris and you can return the Veritas to its original place.” Heels clicking against the floor, Mor spun around and made to exit the door. Just as she was about to cross the threshold of the frame, I stopped her in her tracks with a gentle hand.

“I’ll take it back to Velaris. I’m going back. It’s too dangerous to leave unguarded now that the queens know of its existence.”

Mor’s red mouth puckered in distaste. “You’ll return now, after months of your brothers begging you to return, will you? Or will you run from your past the moment the city is in sight?”

She was right, I had been a coward hiding from what I had done and I hadn’t wanted to face the future. But I was done hiding. I was the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, there was nothing that would stop me from going to the woman I loved. I gave Mor a smirk, dropping my hand from her golden skin. “I’m not running from the past, the past should run from me.”

I took the book back from her hands and winnowed back to Velaris.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment I popped back into Velaris, I felt a wave of comfort stitch the hole in my heart back together. The sea salt air and familiar furnishings of the townhouse were a welcome sight. Now, where was Feyre? I sent out tendrils of power to scour the city for the one whom I loved more than anything. Within moments I found her outside the city with Cass and Az.

I opened up the end table near the overstuffed couch and drew out a piece of paper along with a pen. I scribbled out a note for Feyre and sent it off for her to find. I prayed to the mother that she would answer my call and she didn’t despise my very existence for being silent for months. Now, to wait. Carefully, I set down the book of breathings down on the coffee table, trying to ignore its maddening words. I took up a position near the ornate fireplace, leaning against the frame, trying to appear causal and calm.

The seconds seemed to tick by as I stared into the cold ashes of a fire long since extinguished. I didn’t bother trying to light a new one, too distracted by the thought I would get to see Feyre again. I didn’t know if she hated me, if she loved me, or if she merely tolerated my existence. What if I ruined this relationship just like I destroyed everything I touched? Everything I loved had the tendency to be taken from me in a brutal manner. But this time, if this failed, it would be my own fault.

When the scent of pear and lilac tickled my nose, my head snapped up, a dog eager for the return of its master. Feyre. Feyre was here and she wanted to see me. Perhaps she didn’t hate me after all.

When she hesitantly stepped into the room, eyeing me as if I would disappear within a moment. “Rhys,” she breathed, wide blue-gray eyes filled with shock. Did she expect me to vanish after I called her here?

“Hello, Feyre darling,” I purred, pushing myself off the fireplace and making my way over to where she stood. Her breathing stilled as I neared. When I came close enough to see each individual freckle on her face, I raised a gentle hand and tucked a strand of long, golden-brown hair behind her ear. My hand continued down, moving through her silken hair until I rested my palm on her soft shoulder. She swallowed, never taking her eyes off my face.

“You’re here, I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

Reluctantly, I moved my hand off her arm. “I am the High Lord, I couldn’t stay away from my city for too long. I had to protect my investment,” I said, ever the businessman. It was a stupid thing to say. Feyre made me lose all my sense until I was a blubbering fool. I had spent too long Under the Mountain to know how to treat a lady.

She quirked a brow at my words, lips sagging in disappointment. “Was that the only reason you came back?”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest. This was it, this was my chance to make up for the last few months. I took a half step forward, our chests touching. “No,” I breathed. “It wasn’t the only reason.”

Her face wiped clean from emotion, but a faint flicker of surprise darted across her lovely eyes. “What was the other reason,” she whispered back in equal quiet. Her hand twitched imperceptibly at her side as if she desperately wanted to reach out for me, to touch me as I wanted to do to her.

I had less self control and took her face in both my hands, my thumb brushing down her pale skin. “You. I came back for you. I stayed away for months because I was afraid you hated me for what I had done. And then, it was embarrassment at my actions. But I’m done hiding from my mistakes. I want you and I cannot deny my feelings for you any longer.”

Her hands moved from their place at her side and she put her arms around my waist. “Then you’re an even bigger prick than that I thought, because I have missed you more than anything.” Her eyes darted to my lips while she bit her own. After a moment’s hesitation, she surged forward and pressed a light kiss against my mouth.

Mother save me, this woman was going to destroy me. I pulled her even closer until there wasn’t an inch of air between us. We were both breathing heavy from what she had done. Should I tell her about my suspicions that we were mates? “Feyre, I have something to tell you,” I began. But before I could continue, screams erupted from the city beyond. From the bond that connected me to my brothers, I heard them confirm that Hybern was flying towards us with a legion. No, not now of all times.

Feyre took a step back out of my grasp, confused. “What’s happening?” I grimly looked towards the black mass that was slowly moving towards my city, the city where my love resided. “We’re under attack.”

Tags: @mademoisellenimbob, @webcraft4eveh, @akb12348, @ishouldreallybeasleepbynow, @sapphic-beauty

If you’re still here on this two year journey, I would like to say thank you for supporting my work. It’s you who keeps me going for this fic. I appreciate each and every single one of you :)

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wildlittlefoxsworld · 4 years

Text

Can time heal everything? | The Old Guard | Booker x Fem!reader

ONE

Summary: Booker confesses his plan with Copley about how they all could be mortal again to his wife, the reader. Booker doesn't want to hurt his family and doesn't know how to stop Copley and Merrick before it's too late. The reader is heart-broken that her husband wanted to leave her to make his wish come true of being mortal again. Will they could stop Copley? Will the team trust Booker again? Will the reader and Booker find back to each other?

***

Booker tried for the third time to tell you about the plan that Copley presented him, but he couldn't, you would hate him. But it was too late. The whole team were preparing for an unknown mission in South Sudan. But the mission was a camouflage for something that would put all of you in danger.

Could he really betray you?

No, he didn't want to. He saw this as an oppurtunity to find a way to have a mortal life with you and you could have children of your own. You told him you would know how much he loved you, but would you still love him if he betrayed you.

You wouldn't forgive him and he would lose you like he had lost his first family.

He knew it was wrong what he did, but was there still chance to stop all of this?

He needed to tell you to find it out.

“Y/N!” he shouted and you came in the bathroom a few seconds later.

“Everything okay?” you asked worried when you saw his sad face.

“I am sorry… I don't know what to say… I was wrong… please, Y/N…,” he stuttered and his eyes shimmered with tears.

“Why are you sorry? What happened?”

You were confused about your husband's behaviour and took his hands in yours. He looked pained and you thought for a moment that he will confess you he cheated on you or something, but this would be ridiculous. You were married for over hundred years. But you prepared yourself for the worst.

“I did something horrible. There is… there is no mission,” he answered quietly.

“What? I don't understand. What do you mean that there is no mission?” you responded shocked.

“It's fake. All of it. Copley doesn't work for the CIA anymore. He works for a man named Merrick…”

“Seb, what did you do?” you asked in a low voice. All emotion was gone and he dared to look at you, wide eyes and your lips pressed together in a thin line. “Talk,” you spoke loud and he flinched.

“Copley said he could find a way with Merrick's help to make us mortal.”

“Mortal? How and who is this Merrick?” you hustled him to tell you more.

“Merrick is the CEO of pharmacy company. He has scientists who would take tests with us to…”

Tests? That wasn't good. Your mind was racing and you couldn't understand what was really going on, but you understood that you and your family were in danger and you will do what was neccesary to save all of you.

“Give me your laptop. We need every information you have about Copley.”

Booker gulped when he heard your cold and demanding voice. He could see in your eyes that you were upset. What did he expect? He was sure that you will never forgive him that all of you nearly went in a trap. With slumbed shoulders he walked in the bedroom and gave you his laptop after he opened the file where he save all about his interactions with Copley.

“What is all about this fake mission?” you asked him furiously.

“Copley needs a proof that we are immortal. Otherwise the man, Merrick, wouldn't work together with him,” he explained with a broken voice.

“Sebastien, he won't help us to be mortal again. He want our immortality for his interests… Copley has no intentions to help us…,” you shouted at him and shook your head in disbelief. Your husband wanted to sell all of you to a man who would put you through a bunch of tests like you were some laboratory mice.

“I know it now…”

“I can't believe that you wanted this. That you even agreed to anything that Copley told you.”

“I did it for us. So we can have a family and grow old together,” Booker tried to excuse his behaviour.

“We are a family. We all five.”

“I'm sorry, please, I made a mistake. I realized that I don't want this. I know it was wrong.”

“Pray that your insight wasn't too late,” you said in a worried voice.

“I don't want anyone to get hurt,” he mumbled desperately. “Copled discovered our secret on his own and he contacted me with the offer that he could help to figure out what caused the immortality and how to be mortal again. I believed him, but he never said that it would involve all of us and I didn't realize until now.”

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” you asked him offended.

“I was afraid and it was part of the deal that I won't tell anyone.”

You nodded with a tense jaw and tears stinged in your eyes. You looked at your husband and all you saw was the same broken man you met when you became immortal. You never chose this life, no one of your family did. It was destiny and you accepted your faith. Booker didn't. You knew about his wish of a normal life, but you never thought he would do such things like consider to betray his family. Actually he hadn't betrayed you yet, but he planned it and you couldn't decide what was the worst.

“Don't tell me you did this for us. You can't decide or speak for me. I'm disappointed. I thought you would tell me when you aren't happy with what we have. But we're married, we love each other and we promised us something back then.”

“Yes, I do love you,” he cried out. “And I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please, believe me. We won't do the mission or even meet with Copley in person. Everything sounded good and Copley promised that no one would be hurt. But when he came up with this fake mission, I was unable to cope and I panicked. He wants all of us now and I don't how we can get out of this.”

Now you were confused again. His explanation revealed details that you didn't consider in your rage and now you got nervous that you understood his words wrong.

“Let me get this right now. You thought Copley would only involve you in his plan. He never mentioned the rest of us before until he told you about the condition with this fake mission?”

Booker nodded furiously.

“You never wanted to betray us?”

“Never, Y/N, I swear. I would never do this to you or Andy or Nicky and Joe. I just saw an oppurtunity that I could be human again. I trusted him. He told me about the fake mission first. He need a footage as a proof for the immortality and I agreed, because I thought he only would take me for the tests and all kind of this stuff. But two days ago he send me an email that he wants all of us and now I don't know what to do. I thought about so many things to get out of this, but I can't do this alone. He has too many informations about us, I'm sure he could find us everywhere if he wants to.”

You gulped at his words. You were relieved that he didn't plan to hand his family over to Copley, otherwise he gave informations about you away. You will have to deal with this later, because you needed to warn Andy, Nicky and Joe, so that they won't arrive in South Sudan and arrange to meet somewhere else to plan any further steps.

“You're an idiot, Sebastien. I have to say this and I won't apologize. All of Copley's plan is dangerous and if you would have really trusted him… well, I don't know what could happen, but you would be very stupid if you let these scientists make any tests with you. None of us will cooperate with Copley or this Merrick man.”

“I know I was an idiot. I… I hope we will find a way out of the misery I caused.”

“There's only one way, Sebastien. We need to find Copley before he finds us,” you simply responded and your eyes were back on the laptop.

Plans changed. We meet at our honeymoon house. Tomorrow. 8 p.m.

You send the messages to the others. You sighed frustrated and looked up at Booker. He seemed anxious and nervous. He tore at his hair and rubbed over his face. Yes, he really fucked up. But you tried to understand his reasons and why he handled like he did. Copley offered him a solution and he saw a chance to change his life. But this wasn't the right way and you knew your husband well enough that you could see he understood he made a mistake and regret his decision.

You were sad that he couldn't arrange himself with his immortality. When you and the others found him in 1813, all he wanted was to stay with his wife and children and you had been so kind to let him. You hadn't have the power to make him to come with you, but you thought it was the mistake he made. He craved for the mortal life of them and his family craved the gift of being immortal. They couldn't have what their hearts desired. Still on the present day Booker had this one wish and you knew it since the day you met him.

The love you shared helped him to get over the lost of his wife and you the both of you were happy, most of the time. The memories of his children, the hatred they felt for him after he wasn't capable of sharing the magic with them. Despite he fell in love with you, his broken heart never healed completely.

“I hope someday you can forgive me,” he whispered and turned his back on you.

“You trusted the wrong person and we have one last chance to stop before it ends worse for us than Copley already planned,” you spoke in a sad tone.

“Your decisions and actions… were selfish. I feel like I'm not enough for you. You intended to leave me. Making your wish come true and assuming I would want the same as you. I love you a billion times to the moon and back and I like the thought to spend an eternity with you. But to learn you want just a handful of years and than closing your eyes forever… that feels like ripping my heart out. You want me to forgive you? You told Copley our secret, you planned a future without me knowing anything about your plan, you revealed informations about us and you believed he wouldn't go after all of us. If you wouldn't have said anything now then the blood would have been on your hands. That would be a lot to forgive, but I know that you didn't plan to hurt anyone of us and this fact is a step in the right direction. It will take time, but I want to forgive you.”

“I don't expect forgiveness. I don't… I can't lose you…”

You were overwhelmed by your feelings just like him. You were upset and scared, you didn't know what the next days would bring and how the others will react what your husband did. But you will stand by his side, even if he broke your trust when he didn't tell everything from the beginning and it will take time to regain the trust. You won't know if he wouldn't do anything like that again.

“I'm your wife and I'll stay with you. But you need to choose… do you want me and our love, a happy life together? Or do you want to live in the past? You're always in the past, but there you can't find me. I know that life wasn't fair to you, but stop blaming yourself that your children couldn't understand you… after all it wasn't your fault that destiny picked you. I can only speak for me, but I don't know what Andy, Nicky and Joe will say.”

Sebastien's eyes met you and the pain you saw in them made your heart aching. “I don't deserve you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and tried to hold back tears.

“I am sorry.”

You had known that the day would come when he couldn't bear it anymore, but you wasn't prepared it would hurt so much.

“Pack our things and I will book us flight tickets to Greece.”

***

#the old guard #the old guard fanfic #the old guard x reader #sebastien le livre #sebastien le livre x reader

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lockewrites · 3 years

Text

The Surface of a Secret

Halsin x F!OC || SFW || 1449 words AO3 & FF

Serilda attempts to hide an injury from her companions, but Halsin seems to have an uncanny way of finding her when she doesn’t want to be found.

The chill of the dirt soothed the throbbing burn that filled the palms and pads of her fingers; using her magic to cool the blisters seemed like the rational thing to do, but she’d tried that before, and it somehow only served to make them worse. She was thankful her tent was kept away from the others as she no doubt looked odd with her hands shoved into the ground. The rest of the party was gathered around the fire, sharing soup that Gale had cooked; Serilda’s helping sat on the ground next to her, unable to hold the bowl long enough to enjoy it without wearing it.

Aurella’s laughter carried through the camp, and while Serilda felt like an outcast with her self-imposed isolation, letting them see her as uncontrolled was not an option. For whatever reason, she’d been thrust into the impromptu leadership role, and they needed to believe she was strong enough to carry that responsibility. Then again, was it really her responsibility? Why couldn’t one of them make the decisions? She wouldn’t trust Astarion or Aurella, but Wyll? Well, Wyll seemed to jump in heart first rather than take a moment to think; great for the folk hero he aspired to be, but a little dangerous as a leader.

She pulled her hands out of the earth and brushed the dirt off before reaching for the burn salve she bought from the druid grove. It smelled of mint and lavender to mask the harsh scent of aloe; she scooped a dollop on her finger and began rubbing it into her hands as she resumed her line of thought.

Lae’zel wouldn’t have enough of the party’s trust to follow her, and her sole focus would be reaching her people, and the rest of them would be left to wonder whether she told the truth. Shadowheart… actually, Serilda didn’t know how Shadowheart would lead. Her reactions seemed to waver, but it seemed, more than anything, she sought self-preservation, even if at the detriment of others. Gale, though, he could be someone she’d follow. He often agreed with her choices, helping others when possible. Then again, if his past was anything to go by, he could very well land them trapped in a bottle of wine suspended somewhere in the Astral Plane.

“Serilda?” Halsin’s voice startled her. “Is everything all right?”

Her head shot upward, and she quickly hid her hands in her lap. “I’m fine,” she said, giving a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just… had a headache.”

His eyebrows arched upward and he frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked. “If you’d like, I brought with me some teas from the Grove that may help.” His eyes fell to her lap.

Tucking her hands further into the layers of her robe, she put more effort into her smile as she replied. “I appreciate the offer, Halsin, but I think Gale’s soup will be enough to help me sleep it off.”

He hummed and smiled knowingly. “You mean the soup you’ve yet to touch?”

She blushed and looked down at the bowl. “I… was just about to dig in.”

“I would recommend reheating it,” he said. “The flavor waned once the steam cleared.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He crossed his hefty arms and simply looked at her.

With a sigh, and an attempt at relieving the growing tension, she joked, “It’s a bit of a strain on the neck having to look up at you. Did you need anything else?”

Halsin’s comprehending smile remained. “I did mention the habits of leading the Grove were slow to leave. Are you sure everything is all right?”

Again, she sighed and dropped her head. “I’m guessing no amount of ‘yes’s would convince you.” Serilda looked back up at his tender face and couldn’t find it in herself to be annoyed at his persistence.

The large elf fell into a squat in front of her, giving her neck a chance to relax. “I suppose I’m rather stubborn. Is this perhaps one of your ‘far more interesting’ secrets you mentioned some time ago?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes falling to her hands, wishing she could mimic the sharp tone Aurella often used, but Halsin’s concern made that impossible.

“If you are adamant that you wish to keep this secret,” he began, “I won’t trouble you any further.”

She looked up to find blue and gold watching her, and her shoulders slumped under the weight of his disquieted but encouraging gaze. It filled her with the urge to share everything; her and Aurella’s childhood traumas, the loneliness felt among her mentor’s colleagues, the sexual nature of the illithid dreams, even secrets that weren’t hers to divulge, like why Aurella was who she was, why it was dangerous for her sister to return to Baldur’s Gate (even if she shrugged off the concern).

Blinking away the feeling, she shook her head and smiled. “I can see part of why you made such a great master,” she said, earning a raise of his brow. “You have a way of making people want to say or do something they would otherwise refuse.”

Halsin chuckled softly as he dropped into a more comfortable position, his knees digging into the already disturbed dirt. He reached his hands out toward her, palms up.

“May I?” He nodded his head down at her lap.

Hesitating a moment, she conceded and slipped her hands into his expectant ones. His skin was warm, rough, worn with years upon years of guiding and working in the wilderness he was so fond of; the calloused hands dwarfed hers to the point it was almost laughable.

As he examined her hands, turning them over and gauging the severity of the burns, she couldn’t help but watch him. The way his brow furrowed and his eyelashes dipped just above his cheeks, how his mouth shifted into a thin line and deepened the shadows of his laugh lines.

He looked up, and she prayed it was dark enough to hide the color filling her cheeks having been caught staring. Though his face appeared more concerned than confused or accusatory.

“How have you managed to gather so many scars?” he asked, his tone lighthearted on the surface.

Her gaze moved to her hands still in his; his thumbs brushed over the faint maroon patches of skin marring her fingertips and palms, careful to avoid the fresh wounds.

“I enjoyed playing with fire when I was younger,” she replied, forcing a chuckle, though it was a half-hearted attempt.

She glanced back up at him, and the tilt of his head told her he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push.

“I can heal these if you’d like,” he offered, his thumb hovering over one of her blisters.

“I wouldn’t want you to waste magic on something so small,” she said, eyes returning to her hands and where his skin touched hers.

“It’s hardly a waste,” he replied with a light chuckle. His right hand released hers, and he tucked a curled finger under her chin, gently pushing upward so she would look at him. “I would only offer if I sought to help you.”

Warmth pooled in her cheeks, and she blinked at him, his finger still pressed against her skin, the heat radiating from his hand only serving to worsen her blush.

“Okay,” she muttered, lips barely moving.

He smiled and pulled his hand away, taking with it his warmth and leaving behind an echo of his touch. He hovered over the burns on her left hand for a moment before a bright blue light filled the space between them; a cooling sensation passed over her skin and seeped through each wound, repairing the damaged dermis from underneath. He repeated the action with her right hand, the same feeling filling her injuries and healing them.

The light faded, and he gave her hands another once over.

“How do they feel?”

She flexed them as they remained in his own loose grip. “Better than what any salve would’ve done,” she said, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

Halsin returned her smile and released her hands. “It’s no trouble. In fact, I much prefer serving as a healer than I did as Master of the Grove.” He added, “That’s not to say I want you to actively seek injury just to keep me occupied.”

A weak laugh passed through her lips, and she watched as he returned to his feet, forcing her to crane her neck upward again.

“I will leave you to rest,” he said, giving her a brief nod. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” she replied. “And thank you, again.”

He smiled. “Of course, Serilda.”

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #serilda emberlin #fic: shdrabble #ship: better by your firelight #alxxiis actually wrote something

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nikkyshows · 4 years

Text

Heart Trade

DISCLAIMER: reposted here to the new blog

So a while back I used an old caffeine challenge as a prompt and this is what came of it. I believe it was like #23 or something. First line and image prompts used (coffee shop).

I’m also like 93% sure that this only took like 45 minutes tops to write, with a bit of editing cause I had time. It was a productive session and fits in the hour mark that caffeine challenges are, even though this is an old one. It’s exactly 2k words which makes me happy.

Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but I think it works??? Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It all begins (ends) on a normal Tuesday. All the terrible, tragic things do. It had been a normal Wednesday night when your life first crashed around you, but that’s not a concern. Not now. Now, it’s a Tuesday evening and you’re waiting for him to come home. He’s late.

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

He comes home six minutes after the clock ticks 9. He’s three hours late and a part of you is surprised – you hadn’t been expecting him at all. He smiles sheepishly at you, still sitting at the dinner table with the plates still out. Your eyes search instinctively for lies, scanning the lines next to his eyes and the dimple in his smile.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

But you do and you don’t want to inspire suspicion, so you stand from the hard-backed chair you’ve been worrying in and fret over him. You push his jacket over his shoulders, onto the floor and you kiss him, pretending not to notice the peach-colored smudge on the curve of his throat.

Part of you expects this kiss to be different, for you to be able to taste infidelity on his tongue or sense guilt in the purse of his lips, but there’s none. He’s kissing you and it feels like any other kiss he’s given you before.

That stings a little, heart clenching in his suit pocket on the floor. Perhaps that was another sign, that he keeps your heart in a place where it is easily forgotten and left. But that’s how it goes. You don’t notice the red flags and warnings until it’s too late. It’s idiotic how that works.

The two of you head to the bedroom, both of your hearts laying carelessly on the lower floor. You have to lie when he sees the single tear slip down your cheek and your heart, discarded, bristles as you realize that you’re even in the lies you’ve told.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

Finger tracing the rim of your ceramic mug, you curse him for being late. There’s a difference between him giving you time to prepare and time to change your mind. You won’t, but your conviction wavers.

Then he walks in, smooth-gaited and as confident as the day you met him. Now, you think there’s a reason for that. He sits in the chair opposite yours and smiles as he takes a sip of coffee that he obviously doesn’t taste – it’s black and he takes his with sugar and a dash of hazelnut creamer. It’s another pointless test, but a part of you still hopes he’ll notice the rings you’ve been making him jump through.

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

The next morning you are praying that he won’t notice the change in your heart, the drop in temperature, but you are also hoping that he will. If he notices, he cares, but your phone sits silent in your pocket and his heart, still sitting on the table, blackens a little more.

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

That night, after he’s passed out in your bed, you take his heart and can feel his love pouring out. You lock it in a drawer in the kitchen and swear you won’t unlock it until the end, until your hearts break and your side of the closet is empty.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But the way his eyes widen as you place his heart on the table, you know he doesn’t. He hadn’t even realized that you’d left it sitting in a locked drawer for five months before that morning, like he didn’t realize you knew yours was in a drawer in his office and that the heart in his pocket wasn’t yours.

He never held your heart in his breast pocket. It’s stupid that he thinks you wouldn’t notice. You did. Maybe it’s because of experience, from the bubbly, waxen burns present on the heart you gave him, but you knew.

You know this just like you know last time was a mistake, this — this is too big to be an accident. This is a web of lies, both yours and his. Talking about nothing, your eyes linger on his soft hair and you wish it didn’t have to be this way, that love didn’t have to end in tragedy and shattered trust.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

You’ve been burned before, have felt the backlash of a Heart Trade gone wrong and you used to think that made you clever, but two weeks after the lying began, you’re still dancing with him, pretending nothing is wrong. The fire only made you dumb.

Last time, you didn’t know. You were oblivious and you were pardoned, but that only works once. This time, you know. You know, but you want what you didn’t get at first, you want the happily ever after you’re supposed to have. What if you can change it? What if you can undo what he did and bring him back?

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

He’s stunned, when he sees the splotches his lies and cheating have left. His shock appears genuine. He’s naïve, like most. No one knows the marks left on a heart caused by love lost until they’ve lived through it. His naitivity isn’t the flaw here, your knowing is.

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

The weight ages him, lines deepening as he begins to get the gist of where this meeting is going. He’s wrong. You haven’t told him everything. He knows you know he’s been lying, but he doesn’t know that you know who it’s been with, that you can only find one person who wears the shade of lipstick you’d found smudged on his neck that first day.

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You won’t tell him. November is a secret that dies in your grave. You lied then, too. You also bought the plot of graveyard you will be buried in, beside the old heart you’d left. You’re too emotional, too attached to what you’ve lost, too poetic in how you’ll die, but there’s a kind of romance in it. A Shakespearean tragedy known only to one.

You spill a little more, that you know the nature of his lies. You explain the way of the Heart Trade. He doesn’t notice the long pause between tellings. He confesses his lack of knowledge, that he thought you’d never know. You stonily inform him that you would have, even without his heart in your hand. You’ve been through this before, remember. The heart is simply a screaming, neon sign that you can’t ignore.

Smiling, you crack a joke or two (maybe three) about the flaws of a Heart Trade. You don’t tell him everything, keep some secrets to yourself. You don’t tell him that you were doomed from the start, that one can’t really commit to a Heart Trade if they’ve gone through one already. You can’t give your heart away twice. A part of yours — the old heart, unblemished and unburned, lays in a cherry coffin.

It’s not for the best, but you know it’s a lesson best learned from experience. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably spout some nonsense about never loving you and that’s simply not true. The Trade wouldn’t have gone through if it was. You loved him too, at the start.

Wearily, unknowingly, he laughs along. You tell him you’re ending it here. You push his heart across the table and he sees the watercolor staining your fingers. That’s what happens when you break a deal, you explain. The other is left marked, tattooed in his failure to love only one.

Another unfair deal. You had done nothing, yet you’re the one that can never escape. Reddish-purple blotches and separate locked drawers will always haunt you and that’s okay. They can get in line. You have other demons, far bigger and scarier than neglected hearts, lies, and the shadow of a coffin engraved in your head.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

The shocked stupor you’d left him in with the unspoken promise of never seeing him again is another demon you’ll never outrun. Your things are already packed and gone from the house you shared. Packing had hurt and so had your meeting, but not all endings are bittersweet. Some are just bitter.

The chill makes you tug your sleeves down a little, covering some of the red splotch that runs down your wrists. You’d lied to him, sort of. The mark is as much on you as it is him. It appeared when you let him stray, when you let it bleed on your hands because damn you if you didn’t still love him.

But as you walk away from the crowded coffee shop where you broke your lover’s heart and left him reeling, you swear that you’ll never give your heart away again. You’ve lost twice. You won’t risk a third. (But things always come in threes, so maybe you will.)

This time, you swear you’ll keep your word. But a locked drawer is easy to unlock and holding his heart had made you feel better, like you weren’t about to lose him, like you hadn’t already lost him.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

@caffeinewitchcraft hope it’s okay that I did this and tagged you. Sorry if not, but I think this is a decent piece? I mean, I’m not too fond of parts of it, but as a whole, I think it’s pretty cool. Hope you liked it!!!

I think this is a pretty cool world. Maybe I’ll revisit it again one day, but its not a priority. The Soul Keeper world and Hero worlds have priority.

#my writing #prompt fill #writeblr #writers on tumblr #caffeine challenge #sorta #heart trade #love #heartbreak #breakup #tw cursing #heart trade world #im not a huge fan of how i gloss over and ignore their past #but at the same time #it kinda works?#idk #but I imagined that their old so had like a drunken one night stand #that was a mistake #and they came clean #made their apologizes and made up #but they died one night in a bad storm #with a bouquet of flowers or something addressed to 'my love' or smth #and they always wondered if it was for them or another fling they had #and no one knows about the cheating #so their heart was buried with him. an old ritual for only the purest most devoting of loves #their hearts never healed from that mistake #their lie was about forgiving their first so #they didnt #and that haunts them #sorry for rambling in the tags

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snusbandxknifewife · 4 years

Text

So @the-chick-of-the-air mentioned something about wanting to know what Cardan said to Randalin and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. This is my attempt at writing what went down during that conversation, I hope you all like it!

~~~~

As Cardan Greenbriar drags his advisor into a separate room, all hints of a spoiled faerie boy are gone, replaced completely by the grace and danger of a High King who has been faced with treason.

“What vile, worm-hearted god spoke in your ear and gave you even the faintest idea that it was appropriate to enter the room of your wounded queen?” He hisses in the larger man’s ear. “And how, pray tell, did it convince you to stoop low enough to then question her sovereignty?”

A colossal, thorn-covered vine sprouts from the stone floor by the chamber door, actively shattering a brick as it moves to slam the door shut.

Randalin visibly swallows. “Your Majesty, please—“

“I must admit, Randalin, I thought you wiser than that,” Cardan continues. “I thought that you, for all your sniveling and spinelessness, would have enough foresight to see that your little plan could’ve never succeeded.”

The delicate pink roses in their little porcelain pot, set on the windowsill to capture sunlight, wither and die. Where their rotting petals fall, nightshade rises.

“I would’ve thought you would know my wife would never back down from a challenge. Especially one put forward by such a cowardly and insignificant man as you.”

Randalin stands, rooted to the floor by brambles growing over his feet, their thorns digging aggressively into his leather shoes. He watches, unable to move, as the boy king walks to where a cask of wine has been left on a table.

Cardan forgoes a goblet, instead gripping the neck of the wine bottle between his lithe fingers and turning it up, his eyes never leaving his advisor as he takes a long drink. When he sets the cask back down, wine as red as blood drips from his lips and down his chin, staining his moon-pale skin the same way castoff stains a wall during a murder.

“I would’ve thought you would realize that, even if it had worked, I’d find out about your meddling.” His voice is deadly quiet, his eyes swirling like whirlpools. “And I surely would’ve thought you smart enough to realize I wouldn’t appreciate someone taking away the woman I worked so hard to get back.”

“Your Majesty—“

“Have you ever been in love, Randalin?” Cardan cuts him off, his head tilting to the side and causing a stray drop of wine to fall onto his undershirt. “Have you ever looked into the eyes of another and felt your heart stop? Known that, as long as you live, no one will command your thoughts as this person does now?”

He steps closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor and the brambles at Randalin’s feet tightening with each step.

“Have you ever been given love, against all odds, and lost it?” He whispers in the shell of his advisor’s ear, a growl low in his throat as he does. “And were you then given that love back, only to find that someone you’re meant to trust is trying to rip it away once more?”

“The people of Elfhame will never accept a human queen.” Randalin tries, his face reddening with pain as a thorn succeeds in working its way through his shoe and into his toe.

“The people of Elfhame can all be damned.” Cardan smiles wolfishly, stepping back so he can loom over his foolish council member. “The land has chosen her, and it is the land’s support that proves a ruler’s worth here in Faerie.”

“Just because she said she was healed with the land’s help doesn’t mean we can believe her. Humans are liars, Your Majesty.”

Cardan Greenbriar walks away and turns towards the window, towards the land he and his wife will rule over until they choose for it to be otherwise. Beyond the gentle swaying of the curtains, a robin flaps by and the stars twinkle with the light of a thousand little suns.

“If you do not believe your queen’s word, believe Grima Mog, for she saw it happen.” The High King announces as he continues to look out the window, leaving the council member sweating behind him. “Jude stuffed her gutted belly full of soil and Elfhame chose to heal her. Flowers grew from the ground where her blood fell. The land answers to her, as it does to me.”

Randalin’s eyes widen. A human, a mortal with magic gifted by the land—

“How many people do you think my wife has murdered, Randalin?” Cardan’s voice is soft, the tone of a boy in love talking about his partner’s knack for making flower crowns. Not the voice of a ruler discussing his queen’s violent tendencies.

“I’m well aware that Lady Jude is—“

“High Queen Jude.” Cardan corrects, his voice void of all softness once more. “She is High Queen Jude. If you refer to her as anything else ever again, you do so at your own peril.”

“Your Majesty, if you would let me finish—“

“I shall let you finish a sentence when you begin to speak something other than nonsense.” Cardan’s tar-black eyes have the same devilish coldness in them that they had when he ripped that faerie boy’s wings at a revel so many moons ago. “Now refer to your queen by her proper title, or face the consequences.”

Randalin lets out a sigh and grits his teeth. “I am well aware that High Queen Jude is a woman with violent tendencies, but I do not know just how many lives she has claimed.”

“Nor do I.” Cardan smiles the smile of a man besotted. “She has a talent for swordplay that is unrivaled. Any night she is in my bed is a night in which I do not fear assassination, for I know my wife could kill anyone in her sleep.”

“Even you, Your Majesty.” Randalin tries to impart wisdom into his king, tries to show the boy just how dangerous this mortal girl is for both him and the kingdom.

“Especially me.” Cardan smiles as he catches Randalin’s eye, completely aware of what the older man is trying to say and also completely aware of just how wrong he is. “But she has had many chances, and she has yet to take them. Death at the hands of a god so sweet would be a gift, indeed, and yet I seem incapable of receiving such blessings.”

The brambles are growing up Randalin’s legs, cutting into his thighs and wrapping around his wrists as his arms stay by his sides.

The young man in front of him has danger etched into every line of his very being. The High King standing in this study is not the High King of days past, nor is he the High King one would ever wish to meet. Cardan Greenbriar is poison personified, malice dripping from his fanged smile and echoing in the light tapping of his fingernails on his elbow.

For the first time since hearing a doomed prince’s prophecy, Randalin feels true dread gather in the pit of his stomach.

“Do you think me a violent man, Randalin?” Cardan, who has always taken after felines in both his look and his mannerisms, seems far less cat-like than usual. It’s like his fangs hide venom, his body readying, not to pounce, but to strike.

“I’d never insult my king by suggesting something so rude, Your Majesty.”

“But you insulted your queen by suggesting that she abdicate her throne.” Cardan’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and his smile grows cruel. “So do humor me this once.”

If the fae had warning sirens, they’d be blaring in Randalin’s head right this very moment.

“No, Your Majesty.” A bramble works it’s way under his doublet, drawing blood the entire way. “I think you do not have a taste for bloodshed. At the very least, not one as strong as the High Queen’s.”

Cardan smiles as the council member finally refers to Jude by her correct title.

He steps away from Randalin once more, walking over to the bookshelf by the desk and pulling a random leather bound volume out, fingers tracing over the lettering on the spine and longing for a more familiar title.

“You know, I’ve read my fair share of mortal stories in my day,” he announces, outwardly calm even as the thorns continue to torture his advisor. “The humans have a saying, a warning of sorts, about how even the devil runs when a good man goes to war.”

He opens the book to a random page, completely ignoring the words as his nails drag down the binding.

“Now, for all my distaste in violence, I wouldn’t call myself a good man,” he continues with a small quirk to his mouth, just a little upward tilt. “I am cruel, I am petty. I delight in the suffering of those who wrong me and I’ll settle for hurting those who are lesser, if I’m unable to harm someone I feel truly deserves it.”

His foot starts tapping, a quiet beat to him but a deafening war drum to Randalin. His ears pick up the sound of a racing heartbeat and his smile grows.

“I tortured even the woman I love for years, albeit not in the ways she likely would’ve preferred, but what good is torture if someone likes it?”

He snaps the book closed and Randalin jumps as best he can in his thorny prison.

“I suppose that makes me more dangerous in war than a good man would be,” he thinks aloud as he slowly turns his gaze back to where Randalin appears to be in the process of soiling his pants. “Surely if the devil runs when a good man goes to war, he would sprint when a man of questionable morals joins the fray, don’t you think?”

“Please, Your Majesty, my recommendations were only voiced out of a concern for the well-being of the kingdom.” Randalin, a man used to lording over those beneath him, sounds dangerously close to begging. “I did not mean to offend you!”

Cardan laughs, a joyless and wicked sound. “But you have offended me, Randalin,” his eyes are wild and his grin reckless. “You have questioned my ability to choose what is best for my kingdom and you have insulted the woman who occupies my every waking thought. You have even made the grievous mistake of disturbing my wife in one of her extremely rare moments of weakness, a moment where she undoubtedly needs all her time and energy to rest.”

The nightshade occupying the rose’s former home overgrows it’s pot and begins spilling down the side of the windowsill, flowers reaching towards Randalin like little fingers.

“Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness,” Randalin’s voice almost catches in his throat. “I won’t ever suggest that High Queen Jude abdicate again. I promise!”

“Good,” Cardan says as he steps within reach of Randalin.

Randalin lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing forward.

And it’s all a moment too soon, for the High King lashes out in the blink of an eye, his long fingers wrapping around the advisor’s throat and pushing his head back against the stone wall with an audible crack!

“Because I am the man of questionable morals, and this is war,” Cardan continues as Randalin’s spine screams in agony at the angle he’s been forced into. “I, Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, declare war!”

His fingers tighten around Randalin’s throat, his nails already leaving bloody half-moons in the older man’s skin as he presses his forehead to the council member’s.

“I declare war on everyone who opposes my wife’s right to rule beside me as my queen and my equal,” his eyes are wild, barely containing his rage. “It is a war that is unending, a war that is complete and total, a war that I have no qualms about getting violent during.”

Randalin tried to swallow, but he can’t as the king’s hand digs into his throat even harder.

“I, a man without a love for swordplay, will take up a blade. I, a man without a taste for bloodshed, will slit a thousand throats,” he continues, “if that is what it takes for my people to respect my wife.”

Randalin’s vision swims in black, his face beginning to turn an impressive shade of purple as blood starts to gush from bramble-inflicted wounds.

“And as for you,” Cardan is close enough to see tears gather in his advisor’s eyes. “You who was bold enough to openly question the High Queen, I reserve my greatest act of violence.”

The nightshade from the windowsill has reached Cardan’s feet. It begins to grow up his legs, over his waist and down his arms, forming a crown atop his head as Randalin watches in horror.

“I will skin you alive and bleed you dry, forcing you to watch the whole time,” he leans down to whisper in Randalin’s ear. “I will break your bones and tear your flesh, and when I’m done, I will find a way to erase every mention of you. No book in Elfhame will bear your name, even the stars will rearrange when I tell them to.”

“Please—“

“And then I promise I will use your hollowed our skull as my wine goblet for the rest of my days, just because I can.”

Randalin’s knees quake as his body gasps for air.

Cardan lets him go, watching in disgust as the man falls into a pile of blood-stained brambles with a sob.

“I promise this on my honor as High King, and on the vow I made with my Wife, Jude Duarte Greenbriar,” Cardan’s voice is the voice of an executioner. “So help me gods, I will rip the world apart for her.”

“Your Majesty, how can I atone?” Randalin is reduced to weeping, his hands covering his face as he cowers at his king’s feet.

“Never question the High Queen’s sovereignty again, and see that anyone else who dares to speak treason against her understands exactly how far I’m willing to go to support her right to rule beside me.”

The nightshade around Cardan disappears, withering back into the pot before dying and being replaced by pretty roses. The brambles around the room fade into nothingness, only a broken stone and a few blood smears left to remind anyone that they were ever there.

“And do hope that I don’t have to resort to violence again,” Cardan smiles that cruel little smile he wears so well. “Jude is so much more adept at wielding the hospitality of knives.”

~~~~

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp

#cardan greenbriar #randalin #tfota #queen of nothing #jude duarte #mentioned #tyrannosaurus lex writes #hope yall enjoy #hope i didnt make it too violent #but that it was violent enough yknow #cant have someone do a 180 that hard without a little threatening

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nikkywrites · 3 years

Text

Heart Trade

Summary: She shouldn’t have given her heart away. Not again.

Throwback to when I did a caffeine challenge for the fun of it. This is still something I like and am proud of. It’s still exactly 2k and that still makes me happy.

No edits. Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but it works. Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

Yay! So relieving having something that I didn’t need to edit at all. Still love the sadness of this.

#writeblr #writblr #writing #creative writing #heartbreak #caffeine challenge #sorta #nikkywritesstories #my writing #love #breakup #heart trade #no rambling in the tags this time haha #just imagine your own backstory i guess since i glossed over it #and probably wont come back #repost from my old blog

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