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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 12 days

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Somehow, Through the Storm

Summary:

Living in the slums of the Warehouse District, Kaz and Inej are struggling to cling on to life through a seemingly unending winter. Wrapped up in a stranger's overcomplicated marriage contract that he is convinced is key to solving the merciless weather, Kaz remains busy and distracted for days on end, putting everything else at risk. So when a storm ravages the city and sweeps Inej into danger, the offer of safety, food, and a place to stay is an overwhelming one - no matter the cost. Terrified of mounting threats, Inej signs a contract - not knowing she would land herself trapped at the Menagerie. Kaz signs a contract that states if he can walk all the way through the city and back to the Warehouse District with Inej behind him, never looking back at her, they will both go free. But this is the Barrel, the darkest part of the city where the rules of physics can change with the stroke of a pen; the journey back will not be the same as journey there…

This is a Hadestown-inspired reimagining of the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, casting Kaz and Inej as our main characters and heavily featuring our beloved Crows, set in an alternate version of the Grishaverse with a different magic system based entirely on contracts.

Tags: @lunarthecorvus @marielaure @multi-fandom-bi @igotthisaccountunderduress @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @devoted-people-hater @spraypaintstainonawhitewall

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list let me know <3

Warnings for this chapter: homelessness, implied threats, food scarcity, implied loss of parents/family/loved ones

AO3 link:

NOTE: I know I said that the first two chapters would come out today and I am still hoping to get chapter 2 out later on today but I'm not 100% that will be possible as I have a lot more left to write than I initially anticipated, but it will at least be coming soon!

Chapter 1 - Inej

Some flowers bloom where the green grass grows; our praise is not for them, but the ones who bloom in the bitter snow. We raise our cups to them

- We Raise Our Cups, Hadestown

This is an old story. It has been told many times, in many ways, with many different faces, and yet we tell it again. This is a sad story. And yet, we tell it anyway. That’s our role, in all of this, and we are nothing if we do not fulfil it. This time, it started - as Inej’s stories seemed to have begun to do so with concerning frequency - with getting kicked out.

“No- please, wait-” her pleas were cut off by the dull, painful thud of a bag being hurled into her chest.

She gasped, winded, and as she stumbled backwards her foot slipped from the top step. Hendrija huffed what might have been a short, breathy laugh as she watched Inej fall, but Inej managed to regain at least some of her dignity as she rebalanced on the gravel. She was shorter than Hendrija anyway, and glaring up at the older woman standing above her on the porch she felt incredibly aware of her smallness.

“Move on,” Hendrija jutted her chin vaguely down the street, “You ain’t wanted here, girl,”

“Please, Hen, I swear I’ll get you the money-”

“No you won’t,”

“I will,” she promised, “Please, just a couple of days, I swear, I just need a couple of days, I’ll get you-”

“Three months. I gave you three months grace, and I haven’t seen a cent. You’re done, now get off my property before I call the stadwatch,”

“No, Hendrija- Hendrija!”

The door slammed in front of Inej’s nose and she screamed her frustration at the apathetic panels. That was it, then: she had officially been thrown out of every hostel in Ketterdam. Brilliant.

There was, unbeknownst to Hendrija, almost one hundred kruge tightly hand sewn into an inside pocket of Inej’s jacket - but last time she’d tried to pay her with ‘that type of cash’ Hendrija had refused it.

“You don’t come in here and give me someone else’s money, girl,”

“I didn’t-”

“You earn some money for a room here, or you don’t keep one. You got it?”

Inej wasn’t sure what else Hendrija expected her to pay with, though. There weren’t any jobs to find. Not now. Not ever.

“Fine,” she’d said, “I’ll earn something. How’d you-?”

“You think I don’t know you ain’t worked a day since you got here?” Hendrija nodded to the purple bills tucked between Inej’s fingers, “Where’d you get it?”

Inej squared her shoulders, pretending not to feel the pit crumbling inside her stomach, as she told her where the money was from out loud and apologised, again, to her Saints inside her head. Hendrija’s cheeks blanched.

“At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him. Nasty way to go, when he gets to you - and he will. Always does,”

Inej had given her a sincere nod, then brushed off the conversation without another thought. It didn’t matter what anyone she stole from might do if they caught her, because they wouldn’t catch her. No-one ever did.

She lingered for a brief moment on the porch of the rooming house, as though Hendrija might open the door and say that she’d changed her mind, or that was only teasing and oh dear, Inej, don’t you take things too seriously. But, of course, she didn’t. Inej didn’t really want her to, she supposed, other than that it would be easier than trying to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. She shouldered her bag, appalled to feel herself stagger slightly beneath the weight. When had she last eaten? There was nearly a hundred kruge sewn into her jacket, yes, but she hadn’t dared to touch it yet. It had only been hers for a couple of days. Inej wasn’t exactly an expert, but she thought it might be best to wait a while before she used it in case someone got wise somehow. The last thing she needed was to end up in a prison cell.

Although, an upsettingly convincing voice added inside her head, at least it would be a place to sleep. Somewhere dry, with a pillow and a blanket. Somewhere she could stay still, lie down and close her eyes, eat once - maybe even more than once - a day and never have to feel the wind. Inej almost laughed out loud at herself. What had she become? What had this city turned her into? She used to be good. Now she would do anything for a bed, for food, for a roof the weather couldn’t chase her through.

A gust of wind prickled down the back of Inej’s neck, sending a shiver running over her, and she reached to turn her collar up against the breeze. It was going to rain soon, she was sure. Where was she going to sleep tonight? She sighed into her jacket, creating a brief pocket of warmth, and began to walk. Prayers first, then food, if she could find something. She had hours until sundown. She’d figure something out.

The Saints didn’t require a Chapel to hear their prayers, but there was a small one in the North of the Warehouse District for anyone who preferred an organised service. Inej attended when she could - she tried to light incense for her parents at least once a week, but more realistically did so about once a month, maybe twice if they were lucky. She leant against the wall of the building next to the hostel, just out of sight if Hendrija was sticking her nose out of the window, and began to dig through her measly bag of belongings. Should she change her clothes to go to Chapel? Her only other shirt and trousers were probably no cleaner than the ones she was wearing, but she ran a comb through her hair and did her best to pull it into a quick, neat braid. At least she’d tried to make an effort. She didn’t think her Saints cared, but people definitely did.

There was a little matchbox in her bag as well, but when she slid it open with trembling fingers she was overcome with the sudden desire to scream and hurl it into the street when she discovered it was empty. She settled for holding it so tightly that the thin card crumpled in her fist, then shoving it back into the bag. She could just leave it for the day; find something to eat and start looking for a place to stay, try to buy matches once the money in her pocket felt safe. But when had she last been to Chapel? Not for several weeks. She couldn’t not go, and she couldn’t afford to turn the matches into an excuse not to return. Her parents deserved better than that. They deserved better than any of this.

She sighed again as she stood back up from the wall and slung her bag across her shoulders, then ventured slowly into the street. It was busy, or busy enough anyway, and she knew that everyone here would have just seen her and Hendrija arguing on the porch bare moments ago so she wasn’t really expecting much when she wove into the crowd, going unnoticed until she parted her lips to venture:

“Excuse me? Does anyone have a match?”

People glanced down at her, or between themselves, all with the same expression as they stepped away and a ring of space was created around Inej. She tried to step forwards and, as though she were a drop of oil in water, wherever she moved the strangers stepped away from her, pace for pace.

“Please, sir,” she tried, turning to try and focus her quiet appeal on the closest individual, “Would you happen to-?”

He shook his head, turning away. Inej dug her fingers deeply into the cuff of her sleeve as she watched him pull a cigarette from his pocket as he walked away. She tried again, and then again.

“Please,” she said, again, as the crowd parted around her, “I’m sorry, but does anyone have a match that I could use?”

From behind the shape of someone’s dusty red coat as they moved away, a boy appeared in Inej’s field of vision. He looked up and caught her eye, then seemed to sigh as he beckoned her towards him with one gloved hand - the other remaining secure over the carved handle of the cane he leant against. He was taller than her but Inej would guess they were a similar age, though his face was aged by the little scars that crossed his pale skin.

“I can help you,”

Inej paused.

At the very least, lass, if you’re gonna steal, don’t steal from him.

Inej had stolen from him twice. The first time nothing happened, except for Hendrija refusing the money - as if her boarding house weren’t full of criminals and as if she didn’t damn well know it - but if he’d gotten wise? What if someone at the house overheard something and passed it on? She swallowed tightly.

“I didn’t ask for help. I asked for a match,”

“I can give you a match,” he said, reaching one of those leather-clad hands into his pocket, “I can also help you,”

Inej frowned. For a moment she studied the matchbox that he held out between them, and then it was in her hand and the boy was pulling away and she didn’t know why but it felt like something… something had happened. The air felt calmer now. She was part way through sliding the box open when he said:

“You have ninety three kruge in your jacket,”

Inej’s head snapped up.

“Excuse me?”

“Ninety three kruge,” he repeated, “That’s how much you have, isn’t it?”

“Wh-?”

“That’s how much you have. That’s how much you took from me, three days ago,”

Alarm bells started ringing inside Inej’s head. There was probably very little point in lying now, and her brain was already trying to click through what to do, how she could get out of here, where she might be able to run - he probably wouldn’t be able to keep up with her with his limp, and he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to climb up a building after her. If she could just make it to a rooftop she could disappear, run until her legs ached, then find a nook somewhere in the skyline to fall asleep and pray the rain wouldn’t be too heavy. But what after that? If he knew well enough to track her here, to a house she’d been tossed from under the safety of a false name, would she ever be able to safely walk these streets again? Maybe if she found somewhere to stay on the rooftops she would be okay - there were plenty of nooks that could form a snippet of shelter, the stadwatch would never rouse her from them, she could steal food from market stalls and storefronts, and finally become fully invisible. No-one would ever have to know that she was there.

But even as these thoughts occurred to her the boy shifted, ever so slightly but definitely intentionally, and a shape that looked very much like a pistol appeared and disappeared between the folds of his immaculate coat. She twisted her fingers around the little box of matches.

“You’ve got the wrong girl,”

“Have I?”

His voice was rough, like two stones being scraped together to form words.

“Believe me,” said Inej, slipping the matchbox casually into her pocket, as though he wouldn’t notice, “If I had ninety kruge I wouldn’t be hanging around here,”

She turned away.

“Ninety three,” the boy corrected, “And I’ll have that back, if you don’t mind,”

Inej hid the brief, disappointed scrunch of her nose before she spun and tossed the matchbox back to him.

“And the cash?”

“I told you, it wasn’t me,”

The boy shook his head.

“I suppose Inej Ghafa must live elsewhere then,” he said, and she knew he’d noticed when she tensed at the sound of her name, “Shame. I was going to offer her a job,”

“Who are you?”

He smiled.

“Maybe I’ll tell you,” he said, “if you tell me how you managed to get in and out of a house with no-one ever seeing you and yet only took ninety three kruge,”

Inej frowned, thinking of the rundown house and its leaky ceiling, up to three sleeping bodies pushed into every room but the attic. The attic was this boy’s domain, and he didn’t share his space with anyone, but it was still not the kind of place that looked prosperous; a door had been balanced on its back atop stacked crates to form a makeshift desk, there was no running water but a slender basin that must have been carried in and out to be refilled at least once a day, uneven and creaking floorboards, a worn down mattress with no bed frame or sheet, a blanket without a quilt. She’d thought finding an entire ninety kruge in those rooms was a miracle.

“There was more?”

“If you knew where to look. A proper thief would have found plenty to take,”

Something in that comforted Inej, just the tiniest bit. She was not a proper thief, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be one.

“How did you get in?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I was there,” he shook his head, “I didn’t hear you. I didn’t see you. Not until-”

“Until I spoke,” said Inej, the memory returning to her.

She hadn’t known there was anyone close enough to hear her when she slipped the money into her pocket and thanked her Saints out loud. The boy nodded. Inej tracked through her movements in her mind, trying to work out where the boy must have been - outside the room, she supposed, on his way up the stairs perhaps? That didn’t feel right, though, because surely she would have heard his footsteps - at the least the sound of his cane. She drew the floorplan of the attic in her mind; it was barely smaller than the other floors of the house, partitioned part way through with a wall that stretched over half the width of the room to create a more private space for sleeping. Maybe he’d been behind the wall. There was only a very small window on that side of the room, it was where the slope of the roof divided it the most, and Inej hadn’t inspected that tiny slither of glass before she slipped through the larger window on the other side of the room. Idiot, she thought, fingers tensing as she tried to study the deceptive change in the boy’s eyes, what have you done now?

“I had no idea you were there, until then. How is that possible?”

Inej shrugged. She’d wanted to be silent so she had been, why did that matter? The matter at hand, as far as she cared, was why he hadn’t apprehended her when he heard her - and what he might want from her now. There was some kind of angle here, of course, she just didn’t know what it was.

“No-one ever does,” she told him, “Who are you?”

“Were you trained as a dancer?”

“An acrobat. My family… all of us are acrobats,”

Were acrobats.

“It’s your turn to answer a question now. Who are you?”

The boy smiled again.

“You already know that. You just don’t want to say it,”

A beat passed.

“Dirtyhands,”

“I prefer Kaz,” he said as he conceded a nod, smoothly but not quite relaxed enough to not raise Inej’s suspicions, “I found two names for you. I assume Inej Ghafa is the real one?”

She nodded. Why bother lying? She had not known, when she slipped through a window several months ago, who it was that she was stealing from. Would she have done it, if she’d known? She wasn’t sure it would’ve stopped her - it hadn’t stopped her three days ago, had it? She hadn't known he was in the building though, or she might have been careful enough not to part her lips.

“Is that what you’d prefer to be called?”

Inej nodded again, without taking her eyes away from Kaz’s.

“Is Kaz Brekker your real name?”

“Real enough. Do you feel like giving me my money back, Inej?”

Not particularly, she thought, as she released a small sigh and stuck her thumb into her jacket to burst the ugly stitches she’d made around her stash. As soon as Kaz had laid gloved fingers onto the notes they vanished in a smooth folding motion of his palm, and in their place a small card was raised between the pair.

“If you want a more reliable income, come to this address for eight bells tomorrow evening. I’ve got a job for you,”

Inej shook her head.

“You can leave the recruitment kit at home,” she told him, “I’m just passing through,”

“You’ve been here seven months,”

There was a pause.

“I came to pass the winter,” she ventured, “but-”

“But it isn’t ending,”

Inej nodded. Winters had been getting longer in Ravka, the spring short and the summer unbearably hot, but it was worse here than anywhere she’d travelled to across the Eastern Continent. Seven months in Kerch had passed in a twist of frozen ground, dead flowers, howling winds, and endless storms.

“There’s something wrong with the weather,”

The weather has no mercy.

Kaz gave no reply but a nod, as if that was an explanation all alone. He was still holding out the card between them, and after a moment Inej reached out. Her bare fingers brushed briefly against the leather of his gloves, and then the card was in her hand and his was dropping away. She forced her eyes away from the dark, endless pools of his, and studied the words on the card for a moment.

“I don’t read Kerch,”

“You know where Bloemstraat is?”

She shook her head.

“Meet me at the Slat, then - I know you know where that is,” he almost smiled as he added that, “Seven bells half chime, tomorrow evening,”

A moment passed.

“I’ll be there. But you should know: I’ll leave when spring comes,”

Kaz laughed, short and coarse, almost taking her by surprise.

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes,”

He shook his head.

“You really don’t know Ketterdam, do you? There’s no spring coming, not here. Barely to Kerch at all; not anymore,”

Not at all? Inej faltered.

“What do you mean?”

“You heard me,”

“Why?”

“Why does anything happen around here? The world’s been thrown off kilter,”

Inej shook her head.

“You should get out of this city. There’s a storm coming; this place isn’t worth sticking around for. Not through that,”

Kaz laughed again.

“No-one leaves this city,”

He turned away, taking only a few steps before he glanced back over his shoulder to say:

“Oh, and Inej? Don’t ever steal from me again. And definitely don’t sneak up on me,”

Inej watched him leave, clutching two matchsticks and a slip of paper between her fingers, wondering what had just happened.

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knuckles-and-knives · 7 months

Note

I find myself somewhat hoping that Drusus won’t show up. Despite his constant whining Keme is demonstrating impressive stamina, more so than I had expected from such a little thing. I wouldn’t mind so extended alone time with him.

But then I hear the telltale sound of footsteps from the entrance, crunching loudly on the scattering of gravel and dead leaves I’d left there.

“Ah. He came for you after all, lucky boy.” Dropping the whip I scoop Keme up easily, holding his body in front of mine and pressing a knife to his throat. His feet dangle above the floor, blood dripping from his wounds. “And don’t worry,” I whisper into Keme’s ear. “I won’t hurt him too bad. Really, you should be more worried about him hurting you.”

When Drusus enters I give him a welcoming smile. “Took you long enough,” I call out to him. “Your little bitch here has done nothing but cry for you.”

🫧

/ i’ve been sick in bed all week and you are one of the only nuggets of entertainment i have cause i refuse to work on my wips like a grown up :) so thank you for humoring my sadistic tendencies

Keme froze when he heard the sounds of crunching leaves and gravel. His heart nearly stopped, realization dawning on him.

Drusus.

One part of him was glad that his husband came to his rescue. Another part of him was scared for Drusus' life. If you were capable of kidnapping Keme, who knew what you would do to Drusus?

He felt the knife to his throat, as tears fell down his cheeks. He could feel his blood dripping down on the floor from his multiple wounds as he sniffled. When you whispered in his ear, his heart pounded faster. What did you mean by that?

Drusus slammed the door open, and the moment he saw his beloved stripped to his underwear, bleeding, crying, and a knife to his throat, his protective instincts took over as he gritted his teeth. He immediately recognized you as the one back in the market, and his anger grew. How dare you take his beloved like this. "Let him go!" He snarled, cracking his knuckles as a way to threaten you. However, he eyed the knife to Keme's throat, as he remained in place. What was he supposed to do?

"D-Drusus," Keme whimpered. Despite being blindfolded, Drusus could see his lover's eyes widening. "Run!"

"Not without you," Drusus insisted, glaring at you with hated eyes. "Let him go now, and I'll let you live."

(I'm so sorry that you're sick! I hope you get well soon, and I'm so glad that this RP is helping you a lot! I'm sorry for answering these sporadically! I'll try to answer them ASAP! :) )

#whump #whump rp #👊 drusus #🔪 keme #bubbles anon #kidnapping #crying #begging #blood #held at knifepoint #hostage situation #attempted rescue

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voidselfshipp · 3 months

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Nephilim Cuddlepile

Cw:mild injury (bruising).

Summary: in a small adventure,the four horsemen and their beloved,find themselves in a desolate outpost for the armies of heaven. This lack of presence allows them to indulge in a softer side of themselves.

>Only mutuals allowed to reblog. ( I reccomend to look up how the Lost Light area of darksiders 2 looks like since its what I used as inspo)

> @tex-treasures (I havent shared my writing in a long time and I wanted to share it with you!)

In a small treasure Raid, a small favor for Nathaniel and Uriel,the horseman find themselves on a lost outpost for the Angel army of heaven. And to cross one of the large islands to the Next,Death Wields the power of the void Walker to transport his siblings along.

Jerico,keeper of secrets,simply flies to the island given their powers.

The rest however.....

Strife finds himself being launched through one of the portals that death summoned. He screams as he hits his whole body against a wall, a wooden Ledge hits him in the mouth of the stomach,and he falls ungracefully un the cracked tile floor.

His helmet comes off from his head and clatters on the ground to then jump and repeat the process up to Jericos feet who looks upon the nephilim with concern. She grabs the helmet and sniffs a little, turning her gaze to meet strife's yellow eyes.

The gunslinger smiles awkwardly and slowly stands up. He holds his girls gaze and says--...Hi-- his voice is raspy,like sandpaper on gravel, hes reasonably out of breath and his body feels sore. Hes trying to save face,and failing in the most charming way.

--Are you okay?

He stumbles his way to another part of the wall,away from the Landing zone and leans on it. His back hits roughly against the rock wall and he slumps into a sitting position,letting out a hard breath--just fuckin' peachy, rough Landing.

Both hear the portals zoom,then the scrape of metal against rock and then a dainty "clack" as Fury's heels hit the tiles.

--Cry baby--Teased the she-horseman,walking up to her brother and kneeling to eye level--take off your breastplate,let me make sure you didnt break anything you reckless donkey

--Hey! Death should aim better!--Complained strife.

--I landed just fine. I just didnt throw myself head first into it...--The woman answered,grabbing a few medicinal things from her bag as Jerico helps Strife take off his upper armor.

Thankfully,nothing too bad,just a large angry bruise where the wooden ledge hit him. No wonder it hurts a little to breathe,its right there on the mouth of his stomach.

Fury rolls her eyes dismissively and grinds a few herbs until theyre this pulp Like mix. She spreads it across the bruise while muttering some sort of incantation, and then pulls away once shes done.

--Itll start taking Effect soon--She added,not particularly concerned.

The three feel the earth shake as War slams into the Landing zone,ungraceful but unharmed. Then,the red Giant lumbers across to the group--What happened with this one?

Fury chuckled-- he hurt himself on the Landing

--See,this is why we call you the delicate one,brother.--War has the gull to smirk teasingly at his older brother,who simply scowls.

--Maybe if that walking cadaver was a little mindful...--Strife started,but then the portal zooms again and with his usual quietness,death approaches.

--This "walking cadaver" Warned you before you launched yourself into the portal,but as per usual,you didnt heed my words...--Interjected the eldest--how is he?--He asks to fury

--Im right here!--Chided the gunslinger--How dare you talk like im not even here?!

But neither the reaper or the she-horseman cared to reply--He'll be fine,badly bruised but his breath should come back soon enough, Few minutes,not much.

Death sighed,nodding along to the words--Ill send dust to scout the area, War and I Will check the map. Recover, brother,and be mindful of your desicions Next time

Strife muttered something, probably a crude comeback, and closed his eyes to try and regain his breath. Fury stood up and simply took the time to Stretch her muscles and take in the scenery before her.

Jerico sits by the gunslinger,bringing him in for a careful hug and leaving the helmet on her lap.

He hugs back,pressing his head against theirs--Lucky you,you got to fly here,no shitty portals to mess you up

The keeper of secrets chuckled--Rest up,strife. Next time ill Carry you

--Sounds wonderful

She reaches one of their hands to stroke the side of his face,he purrs and leans closer. He revels in the warmth of his lover,their touch, she smells so sweet like coco,vanilla and green Apple.

The nephilim sighs,kissing across his lover's face--Fury said this thing Will take Effect soon...--He muttered between kisses--How soon is that?

--Given your magic nature...I'd say few minutes--she answered,leaning in as well to be closer. --Yall have a certain resistance to that sorta stuff

With a scoff,the gunslinger adds--Hey,since when are you a nephilim expert?

Jer chuckled--years living by your side has taught me a few things. I am nothing but observant.

--One day,you'll rival Death--Strife said,hopeful.

--Im sure i can get more info out of the grumpy ol' git if I just get the time to have him alone

The nephilim laughed,to then whince as his bruise throbs with pain--Ouch! Ah crap...

She shakes her head with a smile and kisses his forehead--Stay as still as you can

--Babe,im literally tilted the spirit of eternal unrest...

Jer snorted--Thats a you issue,my dear

Both share a complicit smile,the moment so domestic and fun. Hes about to say something else when the youngest horseman adds--Quit coddling Him for his own recklessness, it only spurs him on further

The keeper of secrets leaves the helmet to the side, she stands up,dusts herself off and turns to War,who is a few feet away from her--Now now,War...--She reprimanded,before being cut off

--You can just say youre jealous,bro--Strife said with a teasing smile.

--I am not...--the red rider and his stern voice usually gave off "dont fuck with me" energy,but its not like the gunslinger minded.

However, what they both did mind is the --Quit it! --Coming from both Death and Jerico with their "older sibling" voice,its awfully scary and unnerving when they both synch up like that.

Big sibling senses, they guessed

And theyre delighted to see that it does the trick.

Jerico kisses the forehead of strife,mutters something about him resting and goes up to War who looks at them dumbfoded. Was he going to get another reprimand? He'd rather not.

--What do you need,little one?--Asked the Giant red rider,he knows no ammount of sweetness can sway his lover,but he has the need to try because hes seen what his girls scolding is like.

But she shrugs,and begins climbing up his Giant prosthetic arm. She does so quite quickly as this is not the first time,her feet know where to lean on,her hands know what to Grab,and she ends up sitting on his shoulder pauldron without a Word.

--The floor was unconfortable?--He asked with a knowing smirk.

--And cold,youre Comfy and warm--she leans on his head a little,shes light as a feather and hes built, so he barely even feels it.

War chuckled under his breath,had it been anyone else using him as a chair,he wouldve thrown them into the sun. But not his little crow, he likes them being perched up on him like that.

Even death seems to indulge in a moment of sweetness as his hand reaches to stroke Jericos calf as he looks at the Map he was given. She revels in his touch and he smiles from behind his mask as she lets out lovesick giggles.

And fury,not wanting to be left behind, walks up from her spot nearby to then jump into the air. She activates the Storm hollow,floating idly behind her girlfriend,reaching for their hair.

--If i May-- she said softly.

--Oh hey!--jerico turns to see the she-horseman,her hair no longer magenta but now a yellowish white with soft streaks of lightning arching across her locks.--Sure

With careful touch,so unlike her,the black rider undo's the hairbun her girl has. First,she brushes out the hair with her fingers and then Gently combs it into a ponytail that ever so softly gets twisted into a bun and re tied.

--Thank you,my queen--the keeper of secrets said with a smile.

--Youre welcome--Fury hugs her from behind,burying her face on the crook of their neck,closing her eyes and taking in her girls scent.

Strife looks on,and stubbornly puts on his clothes and armor despite the throbbing pain on his abdomen. Then,he awkwardly walks up to his younger brother's free arm and begins to try and climb him too.

War doesnt say anything, being the sweetie he is. He allows his older brother to sit on his free shoulder without complaint,truth is he likes being so close to all his siblings. "Touchstarved" was the Word his beloved had used, he'd say that he wasnt ...starved..he just...missed It... Terribly.

Jerico feels their hand be held by the gunslinger,she turns to him and smiles kissing his lips for a few brief seconds.

And Death doesnt even care to keep up the ruse that hes looking at the map,he shuffles closer and his hand keeps stroking up and down jeri's calf.

What a sight to behold,the four horsemen being a cuddly pile. Thank god this place is abandoned...

They all linger for a bit,just in close proximity and not a Word spoken. Its an odd moment of domesticity,those up until recently have been few and far between.

But Thankfully, this is not the last time in their journey that they get to cuddle like this. because when night comes around, jerico has a quick dinner and goes to sleep against her lovely red rider,who embraces her without much thought.

Hes warm,and Comfy.

And since theyre within a large,grand room with Many routes of escape,Fury joins in soon after,leaning on War too with her back against his prosthetic arm. One of her forearms slings around it and she closes her eyes,none of the nephilim had a particular need for long periods of rest but just like food, this was nice so why not indulge?

Strife also saunters in, resting against his younger sibling's flesh and bone arm. He curls into a ball like a house cat and inmediatly conks out,he was safe there and his sibling was warm like a heated blanket.

And when Death was sure his bretheren and his lover were fast asleep,he joins beside his second oldest brother, draping a protective arm around his shoulder and bringing the gunslinger's head to rest against his trapezius.

Despite all the banter,he did care for Strife. He has fought older nephilim who picked on him,he had worried Terribly when he took longer than usual to come back from missions. They butt heads often,but its still his brother.

This behaviour Also translates to Fury,for he nodds at her and Dust Gently takes off the pale rider's purple cowl so the corvid can drape it over the sleeping she-horseman as a blanket.

Sweet,unruly fury. He has defended her too when male nephilim doubted her strength for being born female, Him and his other brothers have coddled her when her period rolled around and he had always made sure that she had everything she needed during that week.

He knew it wasnt a pleaseant experience,inevitable yes,but he wanted to make sure she didnt feel...alone.

Silent,perhaps not unknown sacrifice that the pale rider has done for his family. And sure,War had gotten the more "clear" demonstrations of care

But that didnt mean Death didnt worry for the rest of his siblings.

No,they dont always get along. Sure,theyve had their ups and downs.

--Youre thinking too loud--Comes the voice of his beloved, soft and heavy with sleep. She stretched her legs over to brush against the knees of Death--Rest up,Dummy

He chuckled-- Who Will keep watch then?

--We're the only ones in here,stop overthinking yourself into the ground. Rest

Death shuffles closer and rests his lovers feet on his shins. He closes his eyes and leans his head against strifes--If we die,thats on you-- he joked with that heavy gravel on his voice

--Very well--Jerico closes her eyes once more and its not too long before she passes out again.

Perhaps,just this once,they all can rest together,like a family.

#strife #war #death #fury #darksiders s/i

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savage-rhi · 2 years

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Immortal Shield Chapter 36: Gods Bane III

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Tagging: @seradyn

Chasing Noctis down was a feat Ardyn didn’t anticipate would be such a hassle. For every moment Ardyn came close to stopping him, there was always an obstacle to be met. Whether it be debris, a random object, or crownsguard getting in the way, Noctis was a step ahead. Ardyn at this point was unsure if this was the doing of Bahamut or his weary grand nephew at this rate. Maybe both. It was quite difficult to tell who was controlling the reins of the kings body. Ardyn sensed the turmoil nonetheless while he continued his pursuit. There was a battle residing within Noctis that couldn't be seen on the outside.

Ardyn was growing impatient. The scourge fired up his irritability and increased it by ten fold. He kept reminding himself however that something had to give. There were limitations to the human body, even if a God was attempting to hijack it for nefarious means. Ardyn had to keep going. He had to settle the score. He had to help Noctis.

Help Noctis…Gods above, Ardyn never thought he would be contemplating such pitiful sentiment. There was no way he could have foresaw anything akin to this experience happening months ago upon his resurrection day. As he traversed down a narrow hallway--with Noctis’s body flailing while he snarled mid run like a rabid beast-- Ardyn remembered the conversation he and Caelan had in the Scepter regarding his stance on involvement with his descendants. There were so many aspects of their conversation coming full circle. If he wasn’t so hellbent on ripping the soul of Bahamut apart, Ardyn might’ve laughed.

“You dare call me the coward earlier?!” Ardyn shouted. He stretched his right arm out. A shadow ball of energy launched itself from the palm of his hand, missing Noctis’s head by a inch as he turned a corner, nearly slipping in the process.

“Look at you running away! Now you know what it’s like being a mere man with everything to lose you damned god! So much for your talk about teaching me a grand lesson on pittance!”

"Adagium, thou test my patience and my wrath. I have control yet again. No more running."

Ardyn’s eyes widened as Noctis suddenly came to a halt. The kings screeching voice was a gravel mix of his own and the draconic Astral. Ardyn nearly slammed into Noctis, only to be punched backwards at the last second. Ardyn flinched, his head jerked to the right and the Sword of the Father came crashing down into his left shoulder. The blade dug deep, cutting through flesh and muscle fibers. The searing pain had Ardyn scream aloud while he broke free from the grasp of the weapon. His blood flung across the carpeting and wall. Noctis prepared to unleash an upper slash, only for Ardyn to counter with a horizontal before the attack could be completed. Ardyn cut through Noctis’s midsection, not enough to spill guts, but Rakshasa had made the wound bleed profusely.

"It was a mistake entrusting fate to thou and thy kin in the past. I will ensure New Eos never seeds the likes of your blood."

“There won’t be a New Eos!” Ardyn shouted in between attacks. “Not if I kill you first!”

"If thou kills me thy slay the King of Light. Thou purged his blood twice for the selfish desires of healing and death. Monster thou is. More so than I."

“Healing people was never a mistake! And I never wished to be a kin slayer! You played both Noctis and I for pawns in your grand scheme to be rid of the scourge! You destroyed my brother’s soul and took away my beloved! You gave me no repentance, only suffering! Don’t you dare deny it!” Ardyn yelled. His daemonic aura pulsed violently around his body to counter the emerging light that was overtaking Noctis’s form. Rakshasa and the Sword of the Father continued to strike one another with equal ferocity to their respective masters. Their fight became chaotic and unpredictable, eventually sending them both from the hallway and into the large audience chamber of the citadel, agility and power evenly matched.

"Do thee truly wish to repeat the same mistakes? Thy is at fault for many said consequences, not myself."

“The only mistake I see here, is you screwing with the wrong bloodline!” Ardyn bellowed, managing to break out of his deadlock with Noctis. He kicked the king square in the chest, sending Noctis barreling down the chamber. Ardyn performed a series of warp strikes before Noctis had a chance to land on his feet. He made several decisive cuts throughout Noctis’s body. The arms and where the major tendons lay, the upper and lower thighs, and the right side of his torso behind the hips. Each attack strategic to ensure he wouldn't outright kill the boy.

When Ardyn finished, he disappeared into a cloud of black smoke and moved away. Noctis hit the floor with a loud crash. Several agonizing yells escaped his lips while Bahamut tried to force the body back onto its feet. The draconic deity was met with great struggle. Violent shudders and disorienting movements left Noctis with every gesture of his flesh as Bahamut tried to force his will upon the king.

"No!!!"

Bahamut shouted through his host, managing to rise onto feeble knees. Noctis’s entire right arm quaked with burning pain from the slices to the tendons Ardyn performed. He could barely grip the Sword of the Father, the hilt trembled in hand even with the assistance of the left.

“Now I’m free at last. Free to end you…”

Ardyn grunted, he collapsed onto one knee while using Raksasha to steady himself and his other leg. His left shoulder throbbed. The warmth of Ardyn's blood traveled down his skin, sending a shudder down his spine. He could feel the will of the scourge beckon him to approach Bahamut, and so he did just that. Ardyn forced himself to his feet, struggling for a time and then began his descent towards his opponent. Growls and inhuman rasps left his mouth while he grit his sharp teeth, his left hand gestured outward. Ardyn felt a powerful energy rise to his palm, seemingly being drawn from every nerve ending in his body. It was as if the scourge was manifesting into a singular point and was preparing itself for a final strike. That was the best way Ardyn could describe it to himself. He had never felt anything like this before during his time of affliction.

“Ardyn, wait!”

He suddenly came to a halt. Ardyn's hand remained outstretched as he looked over Noctis’s body and saw a familiar face come into vision from one of the grand hallways and into the audience chamber. A face that reminded him all too well of Aera. One that haunted Ardyn and had him incredibly enraged after he slayed her in cold blood.

“Lady Lunafreya--!” Ardyn swallowed, his black and gold eyes carded over her in a matter of seconds. She winced, her right hand grabbed a hold of her swollen belly while she ran with her trident. It dawned on Ardyn that she was with child. He let out a gasp, fully realizing the danger not only she was putting herself in, but that of her infant being here in this mess. He could already see it now, how Bahamut would exploit something so precious to get ahead. Ardyn understood because had he been in the Astral’s position, he too would’ve contemplated such a heinous plot. Yet unlike him, Ardyn knew Bahamut had the will to ensure his hostage wouldn’t get out of this alive.

“Stay back, don’t play the hero! It’s too dangerous!” Ardyn shouted.

“Ardyn, we have to put Noctis to sleep it’s the only way for the scourge to---!” Lunafreya’s voice hitched while she screamed out. Bahamut, through Noctis, drew up enough strength to teleport behind Lunafreya. Her trident disappeared. The blade of Noctis's sword was pressed firmly to her throat, already drawing blood. Her eyes were painted with shock, her breathing quickened further making the sharp stings of the blade to her flesh more prominent.

When Ardyn focused long enough, he could see the usual colors most humans could comprehend blend into shades that were unfathomable. It was akin to a reptile picking up a heat signature. He could hear Lunafreya’s pulse and see the erratic beat of her heart. Goosebumps traveled down his arms and legs upon sensing the little one's palpitations. It seemed to be reacting strongly to the stress of its parent. Ardyn felt his own heart break, whatever empathy he had tried in vain to hide from most leaked through as he pleaded and screamed at his adversary.

“Your quarrel is with me! Let her go!”

"Move an inch, and she perishes, Adagium."

Ardyn froze in place. The rage that pooled into his eyes would’ve broken the will of any other mortal man, but the Astral didn’t blink through his host. He could feel the might of the scourge urging him on. If such a thing could speak in tongues, Ardyn imagined it telling him that Lunafreya and the life of her child were worthy sacrifices to destroy Bahamut. However, he couldn’t go through with it. No matter what madness coursed through his entire being, or how corrupted his soul had become, Ardyn had a cardinal rule he’d never break no matter how lost he was: he’d never harm a child. Even if it cost him. Memories of Verstael’s cloned babes ran amok through his mind, and how despite convincing Verstael it was a more cost effective investment versus picking off stragglers in Gralea for experimentation, Ardyn never himself laid a finger on the infants. Nor the other kids who happened to catch the eye of the research chief. He had no doubt his indirect actions cost the lives of many kids, but it was easier to digest than if he killed them with his bares hands.

"Lay down Raksasha, and give thyself to me. Only then, will thy guarantee Lady Lunafreya’s safety and the life of the unborn."

Ardyn’s grip around the hilt of his blade tightened. He slowly and with caution--never taking his eyes off Noctis--knelt down and placed the crimson sword at his feet. Ardyn could feel on a primal level the blade calling out to him much like the scourge. Rakshasa desperately sent off vibrations to indicate Ardyn needed its protection. He ignored it, and carefully rose back up.

"Approach me, Adagium."

Ardyn grimaced, picking up on the slight amusement the Astral displayed through Noctis’s voice. He hesitated, then took the first step and then the next. Soon enough, Ardyn was walking right into the hands of the dragon king, ignoring every plead and instinct he had telling him not to do it. He paused in his steps, shaking his head at Lunafreya, for she attempted to gasp out loud and tell Ardyn to stop. Once she settled, Ardyn pressed forward until he was less than five feet away from both Lunafreya and Noctis.

“Here I am,” Ardyn gestured his arms out, further proving the point that he had no ace up his sleeve. No trick or other plan to pull at the last second. This was as vulnerable as Ardyn could get. The aura of the scourge began to behave erratically, pulling in the opposite direction as if it were afraid to be in the presence of Bahamut. A far cry from before when the Astral was in a weaker position.

“Let Lady Lunafreya be at peace, and you shall have your vengeance upon me.” Ardyn said firmly. “I yield to you.”

"The wisest choice thou has made in--!"

Before Bahamut could finish the last of his words, an electric shock traveled through Noctis’s right leg while the sound of a gun fired off. He had been shot. With the wounds Ardyn had already inflicted upon him during their battle, Noctis dropped the Sword of the Father. The weapon clanged to the floor as Lunafreya quickly bottled out of his grasp. Snarling with an inhuman growl, Noctis turned to attack whoever bested him only to be met with a body sprinting at him full force.

“I’m so sorry, bud! You gave me no choice!” Prompto exclaimed, tackling Noctis to the ground. The two struggled with Prompto attempting to seize Noctis and prevent him from moving.

“C’mere!” Ardyn murmured harshly upon arriving to Lunafreya’s side. He cautiously placed a hand on her shoulder, the other at the small of her back to support her body, and moved her away from the scene. Despite his left arm hurting like hell and beyond, Ardyn coaxed Lunafreya to lean on him while she collected herself.

They didn’t have much time. Ardyn didn’t anticipate Prompto could hold his own for long against Noctis at the rate things were going, but he needed to find out what the queen was alluding to before Bahamut tried to play dirty.

“Are you alright?”

Lunafreya nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Ardyn, we need to get Noctis to sleep.” She took in a deep breath and continued. “I received a vision---that Noctis must rest in order to keep Bahamut trapped in the Astral Plane. If he remains awake, Bahamut will come forth through him. You---the scourge---it’s the key.”

“The key?” Ardyn shook his head. His daemonic features flared a bit as he rapidly fired off. “The key, what key?”

“The key,” Lunafreya once more drew in a deep breath. Her legs trembled while her right arm rubbed small circles into her abdomen, trying to soothe the kicks from her infant. “To destroying him. For good.”

“That’s impossible! You can’t permanently kill a god! You should know that more so than anyone else!”

“If it were true as you say, then why are you here? Why else would you fight so hard to defend any of us?” Lunafreya furrowed her brows. The pleading look she gave to Ardyn not to doubt himself had him going through an avalanche of emotions. “You know--somewhere deep down--you know I’m right.”

Ardyn glanced up from Lunafreya and back to the commotion with Noctis and Prompto. The former managed to grab a hold of Prompto by the throat, hoisting him into the air while crushing the retainers wind pipe. The gagging sounds that left Prompto as he desperately tried to claw his way out of the vice grip had Bahamut chuckle through Nocits.

"Foolish boy."

“Take this!”

"...!!!"

Ardyn performed a warp strike from behind, hitting the hilt of Rakshasa right against the back of Noctis’s neck upon summoning the blade. Noctis dropped Prompto within seconds, his eyes began to turn dull and near lifeless while he fell unconscious upon the floor. Taking advantage of the opportunity for a break, Ardyn leaned against one of the marble pillars near. He slouched some, gathering his strength so he’d be ready for another round with the Astral. Ardyn dropped Rakshasa. The blade disappeared for the time being.

Prompto scrambled away from the scene and immediately got up. His right hand held his throat while he coughed several times.

“Prompto, are you well?” Lunafreya’s voice was filled with concern especially when she saw the finger indentations upon his flesh.

“I’ll--I’ll be crystal!” He gave a thumbs up.

“Get Noctis onto his back!”

“Wait--! B-but why?”

“I’m going to perform a sleeping ritual to keep Noctis faint!”

“If you do that, it might hurt you!”

“We have no time, Prompto! We’re going to lose Noctis if we don’t act! We have to help Ardyn!”

Ardyn turned his head, his gaze fixed on both Prompto and Lunafreya while they descended upon Noctis’s body. Prompto grabbed his legs, while Lunafreya grasped a hold of the kings arms. They carefully flipped him so he was resting on his back against the floor. Prompto ran out of the audience chamber to bring more aid while Lunafreya stood at her husbands feet. She took in a deep breath as both her hands firmly grasped onto her trident that she summoned.

Closing her eyes, Lunafreya began to murmur which then grew into a long winded chant with little to no breaks in between. A bright golden light encircled Noctis. Rune like sigils appeared out of thin air, dancing around in a similar fashion the royal arms would perform upon summoning. Ardyn hadn’t seen anything like this for a long time. He knew if Aera were alive, she’d be proud to see her descendent performing such a feat.

Ardyn couldn't believe Lunafreya was pulling a stunt like this given her condition. He imagined Caelan in her shoes. Carrying a babe and trying to fight off a powerful entity. There was no way he could’ve sat back and watched. A part of Ardyn knew that if Noctis was himself, he more than likely would’ve had the same contemplation. Having a woman carry a child was already asking for too much as far as he was concerned. Ardyn shook his head, knowing this wasn’t Noctis’s fault yet he couldn’t help but feel the king wasn’t pulling his weight.

“What am I to do while you chant?” Ardyn hollered. He limped over, standing ten feet behind Lunafreya. He could hear her slow down the enchantment, letting out a hushed but firm whisper.

“Get ready to fight.”

She said it so simply, her voice devoid of emotion that Ardyn felt a chill go down his arms. Lunafreya picked up where she left off. No other questions need be said. Ardyn gestured out with his right arm. Rakshasa answered to his inner call and he prepared. Ardyn breathed deeply, tensing his body up while the scourge flared all throughout his limbs. He became engulfed in shadows while the horns upon his head grew longer. There was a murderous determination that began to spread deeply in his golden hues as Ardyn looked ahead.

The light and runes Lunafreya conjured suddenly snuffed out. She let out a gasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen! She thought to herself. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She remained still, eyes glancing around the room before a sudden burst of white light erupted from Noctis’s body. It was blinding as Lunafreya covered her eyes with her hands and arms. Following up the white light was a cerulean blue that moved through the air like a serpent uncoiling, eventually giving shape to Bahamut.

The astral projection of the great god flared it’s four wings out, his arms following suit. A rageful bellowing cry exited Bahamut and reverberated through the layers of armor he wore.

"I will not be condemned by an Oracle and a monster of my own making!"

Ardyn felt his legs sprint, and midway through his run he jumped. His body flew into the air while he gripped the hilt of Rakshasa with all his strength, raising it above his head. Time began to slow for him as the scourge bubbled and pulsed around his body, and as Ardyn yelled out an inhuman cry, Bahamut’s hands desperately tried to reach the center of his chest to keep the blade from piercing his armor. The moment Rakshasa came into contact with the Astral, both Ardyn and Bahamut disappeared in a thick mist of light within the audience chamber, leaving Eos behind them.

The first thing Ardyn registered was his body feeling weightless. He blinked several times, and then the familiar gravity of the Astral Plane resonated. He remembered this place very well. The hues of purples, blues, and white collided and mixed like oil and water; with stardust moving against the atmosphere like low tides trapped within a current. There was a deep serenity to this realm that couldn’t be matched by what creature comforts Eos had to offer. That is, until Ardyn looked ahead and saw his adversary.

Bahamut wasn’t large and imposing like he normally was the few times Ardyn had stared him down face to face. The draconic figure stumbled, gripping his own sword tightly and every so often would use it as a crutch. The gesture was akin to watching a feeble old man relying on the use of his walking stick to get by. Ardyn couldn’t help but huff, immediately capturing the darkened gaze of his enemy.

“Not so holier than thou anymore. are you?” Ardyn couldn’t help but rub salt in the wound.

"I am prepared to offer thou a truce."

“A truce?!” Ardyn made a face, he shook his head. A part of him wanted to laugh hard until his sides hurt, the other was mad beyond all reason. “After everything you’ve done to me and the world, you expect us to break bread!? What could you possibly offer that would have me not yearn to slit your throat?!”

"I wish to purge Eos and begin anew. This New Eos, will be free of darkness. All will be of foison and light. Thou has sacrificed much for this desolate world. I am prepared to bless thee with a gift. Perish among the flock, and be reborn anew in my universe. 2,000 years thy has been the Adagium. Thou will receive 2,000 years of sustenance and peace. Thou will never know pain, will never know sadness, will never meddle in the affairs of gods again. Thy will is strong. I know thou to be a man of vision. Hence why thou was chosen to be the vessel of the blight. The bloodline runs strong from it’s predecessor, myself. I who hath sown the seeds of Caelum before the sun cast its gaze upon Eos. Made in my image and honor they would be."

Ardyn’s jaw slightly hung agape. He felt his pulse thud deeply in his chest, radiating through his neck as he registered the weight of Bahamut’s plead, and the deeper truth the Astral alluded to. There had always been a familiarity the dragon king held that Ardyn couldn’t put a finger on. The eyes. The eyes were striking like that of most from the Lucis Caelum lineage. Like that of his brother. It clicked. The progenitor of his entire family, starting since the beginning of Eos, was none other than the god that condemned him numerous times to a hell he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

Ardyn bit his bottom lip, his head bowing while he gripped Raksasha to self soothe. He didn’t want to know anymore than that.

"I wish to give thee another gift."

Ardyn forced his daemonic eyes to stare back into the shielded hues that reminded him so much of Somnus.

"I will give back what has been taken. Thy Oracle of the past, in exchange for present traveler at thou’s side. Equal and befitting. Thy Oracle be reborn anew with thou."

Something inside of Ardyn snapped. He was filled with an unquenchable rage at being offered something so barbaric. The faces of both Aera and Caelan arrived in his mind. There was no way Ardyn could do that, trade one soul for the other. Both people were of equal importance to him in different eras of his life. They were not pawns for his gains. They were his loved ones, his chosen family. Something this Astral would never live to comprehend.

Ardyn launched himself towards the Astral with the strength of twenty men. Rakshasa clashed with the Bahamut's primary sword. Soon both entities summoned their respective Royal Arms, and the phantom weapons which acted as extra limbs for their masters, clashed into an oblivion like no other while Ardyn and Bahamut were locked in combat. Metal grinding against metal. Blood for blood traded. They fought until it felt that centuries passed in seconds, and seconds passed in lifetimes. Everything began and would end here. Both of them knew this.

During the confrontation, Ardyn managed to break through some of the dragon’s defenses. There was an exposed piece in his breastplate, aimed straight for the heart. Every nerve, cell, and atom in Ardyn’s body compelled him to strike this spot with the scourge.

Bahamut cut into his right leg, throwing Ardyn off balance. Soon after, the other was incapacitated. Ardyn fell to his knees, and Bahamut’s eyes widened with victory as he rose his primary blade high into the air, and began it’s fall upon Ardyn’s neck. There was nothing the Adagium could do to stop it, for time was not on a mortals side in this place unlike the Astrals.

"This will end it!"

The edge of the blade met Ardyn’s neck, however it didn’t cut through his flesh, only grazed. A small river of blood fell down Ardyn’s scourge infested body. Bahamut began to quake. Quivering gasps the Astral while shock gave birth to primal fear. The likes of which Bahamut never had experienced during its entire existence among the stars. The dragon king forced himself to look down, seeing Ardyn’s left hand had pieced through the opening of his breast plate, and was inside of his form. The hunger of the starscourge began to radiate and pulse, slithering through the very structure of Bahamut’s being and enveloping him into a particle cloud of darkness.

“Whatever hell you arrive in, I want you to remember this...” Ardyn sneered, looking straight into Bahamut’s cold blue eyes while he witnessed the orbs roll into the back of the Astral’s skull. “Even gods die like men!”

Ardyn shut his own eyes, unleashing a bloodcurdling yell as the scourge pooled out of his body and straight into Bahamut’s like a virus. Every pain, rage, and sadness, Ardyn had kept bottled inside since his resurrection flooded the entirety of the draconian. Centuries of sacrifice and heartbreak left with the scourge as it zapped away what little life force Ardyn had left from the battle. Ardyn could feel Bahamut violently rip apart in agonizing seconds. The armor covering the Astral’s body rusted away into stardust while the body became a vanquished void that dispersed upon the scourge finishing up it’s meal. Then there was nothing. Nothing but Ardyn and the cosmos.

Ardyn, still on his knees, collapsed. He curled up into a ball, closing his eyes. It was finally over. He couldn’t believe it. It was finally done. He smiled which gave birth to laughter. Joy he hadn’t experienced in centuries radiated through the core of his soul.

The dragon king was vanquished permanently.

Everyone he had ever loved and cared for, was truly avenged.

This bloodline, at least this side, would end with him.

He was dying.

Yes, he could feel it. The quiet calm he had discussed at length with Caelan. The one he remembered after losing to Noctis. It seemed his time was at its end too.

"So soon?"

While catching his breath, Ardyn felt the cold chill of a familiar entity. He forced his eyes open, but felt too weak to hoist his head up. He stared at the feet of the Glacian, Shiva. Her skin pale as fresh snow. He couldn’t be bothered to stare up at her eyes nor take in the rest of her form.

“I thought…you were all in stasis.” Ardyn said weakly. The toll of purging the scourge from himself and into Bahamut was causing him to lose consciousness. He desperately tried to find the strength to keep himself awake, wanting answers for the sudden intrusion of another Astral. He prayed he didn’t have to fight another. There was no way he could hold his ground.

"We are still sleeping, and we dream of a time we may return to Eos. I’m merely a fragment of the whole who is Shiva, the Glacian."

“What tidings do you bring me?” Ardyn tiredly croaked out.

"Truth."

“Truth?” Ardyn repeated, his brows furrowed with confusion. His eyes remained shut but active. He quickly glanced underneath his eyelids, following the echoing sound of Shiva’s holy voice while she encircled around him. Her freezing touch followed suit.

"Three years ago your time, we Astrals sensed the stirrings of Bahamut’s rage rise through the stars. He was regenerating faster than any of us. 10,000 cold times must pass before we rise again amongst mortals. We collectively knew we wouldn’t be able to stop Bahamut from purging Eos into obliteration with Teraflare. Only the starscourge could ensure Bahamut would never again pose a threat to Eos or it’s children. The starscourge is a natural phenomenon of the cosmos. Just as humans are at the top of the food chain of Eos, we Astrals are part of one too. The scourge offers us the true death. Bahamut feared it so much, he wished to control it through his chosen when it arrived in this universe. It was his deepest wish, to weaponize the scourge for his own means under the guise of purifying Eos."

“The true bane of the gods.” Ardyn murmured, trying hard to keep up with the information he was being thrown.

"Yes. Bahamut feared it being used against him. Hence why he was cold to you and your kin after you were chosen. Much like your brother Somnus fooled the people of Lucis into believing magic could only come from the Lucis Caelum bloodline, Bahamut too fooled you into never tapping into the scourges full potential to turn against him. He broke you and many others until you had no will but to carry out fates cruel plan."

Ardyn let out a shallow breath. He had never felt so many mixed emotions before. They rivaled that of the ones he experienced earlier, learning Bahamut had given birth to his dynasty.

“So…was it you who brought me back from the land of the dead?”

"Yes. Myself and the others. Ifrit paid a higher sacrifice than all of us. Giving up what he had regenerated in five years to ensure your life force returned untainted. He will have to wait an additional 10,000 cold times before arriving with his brethren."

“Huh,” Ardyn shuddered, bundling up more. It certainly explained some of his traits. Of all of them, Ifrit was the last god Ardyn thought would help him in that manner considering their less than mutual past. A question beckoned him to refocus.

“Why did it have to be me?”

"We couldn’t descend from our slumber and take on Bahamut, so we awoke you from your sleep. We placed the darkness back inside of you, but free of thousands to lessen the pain. You had bore the curse of the scourge for centuries. There was no other human we could think of that would be strong enough to carry this heavy burden."

Ardyn tiredly forced himself to unravel, lying flat on his back while his hands stretched outward. Several deep breaths exited his body as sore muscles became numb and sensation a foreign concept. His eyes continued to dance behind his lids, caught between the realm of sleep and that of life.

“So, what happens now?” He muttered. He was so damned tired. Ardyn wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

"You will be given two choices."

“Choices?” He repeated quietly.

"Yes. You can live out the lifetime you were robbed of. Forge new paths, much like you have done while wandering Lucis before your fates arrival. Peace."

“And the other?” Ardyn heard the glacial chuckle. He shuddered, not knowing if it was sincere or out of malice.

"You may return to your eternal rest, and in dreams you will run against the particles of eons come and gone with your loved ones, and all who have or ever will be lost. You will forget the world in which you awoke. It will be as if it never was. Peace."

Ardyn could see it. The field of wheat and the tree in which Aera and he called their favorite spot in all of Lucis. He could smell the earth. Fresh petrichor permeating in the air. He saw the faces of not only Aera, but Somnus awaiting for him underneath the shade of the oaks mighty branches. He saw his parents. He saw friends whose names he had forgotten. His mentors. People from his era, smiling at him with the warmest of welcomes. He was seen and he was wanted. He was missed.

Ardyn was crying, his smile never ceasing to leave as Shiva crouched down at his side and her cold fingertips cupped either side of his face.

“I’ve decided.” Ardyn said happily.

Shiva nodded, pressing her lips to his forehead.

"You chose well, your grace. Farewell, Ardyn Lucis Caelum."

#immortal shield #ardyn lucis caelum #ffxv ardyn #ardyn izunia #ardyn #final fantasy xv #fanfic #this chapter has another name #the big yikes #i am prepared for questions and death threats

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silksaddle · 3 years

Text

The Traveler 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: 1907, Old West. Talk of the Statesman gang is slowly on the rise while Jack continues to distract you from your chores, taking you on another but entirely different night-time outing.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, guns, mentions of alcohol and gangs, copious flirting, SMUT, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex/piv sex, outdoor sex, thigh spanking, please pardon me for the amount of smut content in this chapter, a crumb of plot development, Jack Daniels again...

Word count: 14k (leave me alone)

A/N: gif credit to @javier-pena once again! thank you my beloved astrid! and as always, much love to my amazing friends who sent me inspo posts and listened to my anxious ramblings about god-knows-what. you are all the best and you have my heart.

Read Chapter One ~ Series Masterlist

Chapter Two: Six Shooter

Jack is spreading his half-naked body over the mattress in a contented stretch when you return to the bedroom, flustered and hot-cheeked.

“You here to take my sheets, darlin’? I must insist I keep ‘em,” he chortles, turning his bright face over the soft pillow as you attempt stripping the sheets from under him, your lungs emptying in a huff when he catches your wrist and draws you to him instead. Your body lands perfectly on top of his with your weak protest, a poor match for his irresistibly gravel-like voice and his buzzing snugness.

“You’re making my job quite difficult,” you mumble into his neck, kissing the smooth skin there although your words are much more harsh. His chest rumbles, fingers running the length of your clothed back from when he’d hurriedly laced you back into your dress, lips skimming graceful but mindless lines on your temple.

“Mrs. Adler thinks you’re doing your chores.” Jack’s palms are now ghosting over your shoulders as you prop yourself up on your elbows, taking his gaze with you as you move, and you can tell your dilating pupils are betraying the falseness of your annoyed tone when you look at his expanding chest. He takes a deep breath in, the angle of morning light catching his eyes just right to melt them into golden flecks, his dishevelled hair incurable without a bath.

You card your fingers through, and though it’s slightly tangled, the texture is silky enough to brush through the messy state and straighten it out, just a smidge. The touch causes his eyes to flutter closed, and shimmying up his body, he leans his head back to expose his neck further, the long lines and tone popping against each other. His breath hitches when he feels your own puffing across it, his chest immobile while he waits to feel something more from you, but you don’t kiss him, don’t nip him, don’t caress him there.

“I’ve only come to take your sheets to wash them— I should already be downstairs,” you insist and he mopes, your voice softly carrying throughout the bright bedroom, limbs absent-mindedly wrapping around his firm ones until he clings to you.

“Oh,” he hums, tipping his body until you roll under him onto the no-longer-fresh sheets, landing on your back with his hands cradling your head. His handsome smile makes you forget you ever needed to take his sheets in the first place, and when he kisses you deeply, moaning low when you open up for him and his bare skin slides over you, you don’t even remember where you are. “Thought you’d wanted some more of me…”

“Mmm, Jack— she’s already a little suspicious of me,” you giggle, wriggling underneath his heavy weight and it’s a futile effort beneath his affection, his lips laying warm insistent kisses all over your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw. He’s unstoppable, whether it’s the heaviness or the happiness that makes you lie there and take it with quiet laughter as the rough skin of his cheek touches gently to yours.

Jack is as much the sunshine of the room as the real thing, chuckling sweetly along with you and growing more pleased the louder your squealing sounds become, your fingers pulling across the bare skin of his back— he likes it too much to let you off in a timely manner.

Mrs. Adler had only just believed your excuse of a poor sleep as you’d rushed out in a tizzy with your disheveled hair and clothes, and a terrible flourish of panic had bloomed in your chest at the thought of an unchecked mark lingering on your neck. But Jack had looked you over meticulously; deft fingers had worked at the laces of your layers. And even before making it to the kitchen, two dozen kisses wet on your thighs, you’d opened the door only to find the old woman pacing about on the landing of the stairs. Slamming it shut with your back on the wood, panting in the face of confrontation, Jack snickered and peeked out for you a minute later, confirming your chance to slip out undetected.

Now finished serving breakfast, Jack once again prevents you from carrying out your tasks.

“You’ve left me with a lastin’ impression,” he rasps, eyes crinkling as he slips a hand under your skirt and the touch tickles and inspires a giddy laugh from your throat as you swat him away, at last slipping out from under him.

“Give me your sheets, you greedy man,” you order, lifting your chin and furrowing your brow with your arm extended. Jack purses his lips and thinks, sitting up to run a hand through his dark hair, your smile growing despite yourself when it sticks up in bulky curls to leave his contented face in view.

“These sheets have got your smell on ‘em now,” he grins like it’s his most favoured fact in his whole life, leaning back into his palms and his cock is slowly hardening between his legs as he considers his next words, “your cum is on them.”

“Jack,” you chuckle, “you’re dirty.” Inching closer to him, his joyous face turns dark when you arrive in the middle of his strong thighs extending past the edge of the bed, “Get up, please, or I’ll have you explaining why I’m behind schedule for the second time today.”

He presses up onto his feet, his gentle scent covering you as if a fleeting spell, and before any more rational thoughts occur, your hand is reaching into his unbuttoned pants, wrapping around his hard length. His head tips back, the softest growl filling your ears and he pushes his hips forward, placing his hands on your cheeks, urging your lips to slide along his as he fucks into your tight fist. It’s a sweet kiss compared to his already desperate thrusts, his cum still streaking your thighs, inside of you, outside of you, from mere hours before.

“I told you I’d come back here tonight. We’ve plenty of time to ruin more sheets.” Your whisper earns a heavy sigh expelled onto your skin, his grip sliding down to your neck and as his mouth hangs open, you nip at his bottom lip and pull it into your mouth, a tender suckle on the plush softness. He hisses as you let it go, burying his nose into the curve of your neck, and stilling his movements with your hand, he lets you work him like that— your fingers tightly curled around his cock as you slide it in and out of your palm.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “I better see you back here if you’re gonna touch me like this, darlin’.”

Smiling, you pump him quickly, whispering how you can still feel him as if he’s fucking you right now, how good he is, how thick, and he growls from his chest, shutting his eyes tight in concentration.

“Maybe you’ll let me touch you tonight, too, Jack, leave your ropes for another time…” Your free hand clamps around the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around the hair at the nape of it, before tugging him down for a slower kiss, capturing his striking whine in your mouth.

“Shit, darlin’... I’d do anything you say right about now… Christ,” Jack’s fingers trace the neckline of your bodice as his lips skate along your cheek, and his voice is so husky and rumbly, you almost consider a greater risk of trouble.

He makes no protest as you bend carefully, still pumping his thick cock while you yank the sheet away from the mattress, pulling back to fold it into your arms and finally leaving his hard length unattended. Jack’s eyes snap open in a crushing neediness, his displeased but wrecked voice calling after you in a bid to keep you here and he laughs incredulously, “You get back here right now.”

Backing up into the door, your lip caught in your teeth, you reach behind and find the cool handle, offering a cheeky grin before you slip away and murmur, “I’m busy.”

A mellow afternoon follows Jack’s disgruntled exit to the fractional post office, stealing a rushed kiss in the corner of the parlour for the mere seconds you were alone together, giddy glances spared through the window on his walk to work. You spend a small segment of your time concocting tea for Mrs. Adler who pours over the payment book, thanking you as she slides a list across the bar; it’s full of all things you know to do without the help of paper and pencil.

“How about that Mr. Daniels?”

Spluttering, you swivel on your heel, unsure of the intention of her question, your eyes mistakenly blowing wide with no answer to fill the subsequent silence. She must know, you worry, she must.

“What about him?” You query, looking down at your apron in no need of smoothing, yet your hands fiddle with the pockets, and her amused scoff scrapes through your uneasy stance.

“My, you’d better sleep well tonight... that man whipped those fools down in a second,” she laughs, flipping the page of the large notebook and scribbling something down with a spotted, shaky hand.

“He did.” Wiping your face, you conceal a sliver of a smile under your hand when you think of him— ease and cockiness burned down to his big pleading eyes looking up at you for permission. “Thought you disliked him.”

“Well, I could admit we need someone like that around here more often,” she croaks as you pretend to look over the list of laundry, sweeping, cooking, cleaning. The sentiment lands somewhere uncomfortable in your chest— you no more than agree with her and you could never tell her why or how.

“Oh, and dear, the sheriff came by this morning,” she adds, relaying his spiel of reports.

Only the most notable happenings make it over from town to town, lawlessness rendering crime nothing more than irrelevant. It takes a mass robbery, or a mammoth fire, or an offense so deeply doused and coloured red in rage to make the rounds of neighbouring settlements, so when Mrs. Adler shares the spreading news of heightened gang exploits a little ways north, your heart sinks and adopts a painfully heavy sensation.

“He advises to be extra careful,” she finishes with a stern look, “they could be coming here for all we know. Those Statesman men are horrible…”

“Statesman?” you echo her words, scouring the back of your mind to place the familiarity of that name, but she smiles in return to soften your worried brow. Statesmen, a Statesman. You’d read it somewhere, embellished into leather or stitched into the label of a visitor’s coat while tidying.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. If anything, girl, that Daniels boy should be of use.”

A challenge not to snicker, she gives you, when she tells you not to fuss, as if you’ve got the liberty to enjoy the outdoors where a vigilant attitude is required— but Jack is the remedy, you think, eyeing the stray strands of her brittle grey hair twisted up, scrunching your nose.

“Alright, Mrs. Adler,” you agree, passing her through to the laundry closet.

The air is stuffy inside the small, shelved room, where pleasing, cooling, tiny splashes pepper your forearms as you pour the water bucket into one of the tubs, then grabbing the soap, you flump onto the short stool and drag the laundry basket to your side. The first sheet on the pile is the last one you’d taken— Jack’s— carrying his heady and wood-fiery scent now mingled with yours. With a vibration of anticipation up your spine, your thoughts twirl upon your admittedly cruel handling of his need— tonight, you’re surely in for it.

The usual, slowly passing and hot hours fill with inescapable reveries toeing the line of unrealistic: a cloudy day in bed, a sunny evening at the river, clothes discarded to the side. Shaking those heart string-stretching thoughts and trading for a better focus, you hang the wringed sheets on the line as the last blazes of the sun spread over the field, and take a moment to rest your elbows on the log fence at the back of the yard overlooking the vast, lush area.

Something heavy, once more, tugs at your weary limbs, watching the calm breeze push along the beige blades of plant-life, and you think of Sylvie— her bright mane and soothing demeanor, the rush of riding with her and him. The thrill no longer chased, waiting for you still. There must be a few months worth left of him, two at the least, perhaps enough to soothe your aching heart in seeking more vibrant days. But before too long, you set back on your course of chores, trekking up to tidy the bathing rooms for those coming back from a dirty day.

Jack finds you there an hour later in the open door, kneeling on the floor by the bathing tub, scrubbing away at its already-shiny exterior, and he smiles under the sticky and sweaty clothes, watching the way your body jostles with movement.

“Hey, cruel woman.”

Halting, your head briefly hangs between your shoulders before you sit back on your heels and grin up at him, his weary feet leading him towards you, a set of clean clothes hanging off his arm. His shirt is sheer in some places more than others, namely his chest, damp with muscular effort.

“Did you have a hard day, Jack?” You question, making big eyes at him from your low spot compared to his tall height, and his face grows slightly stern.

“Oh, darlin’, you know I did,” he kneels, takes your chin in his hand and you find yourself leaning up into his face, mere inches from his lips, entranced by their pouty curve. But he doesn’t kiss you. He pinches your chin harder, a deep pressure as he looks over you, taking in the way you indulgently advance until you’re on hands and knees, caged by his own, staring at him with none of the power you held this morning.

“You oughta continue what you started…” he whispers almost on your lips, never close enough to touch, your eyelids heavily drooping as you look down his torso, leading to his cock.

“Oh,” you sigh, slick pooling where he can’t see or feel it, “Jack, I can…”

You crawl forward between his spread legs until your nose nudges the material of his pants, resting your weight back on your knees when you reach out for him, but his face is a sinister, knowing grin when steadily rises back up to stand, rocking into his heels.

“Not now, though,” he coos, swiping a damp thumb over your lip, “off you go, little lady.”

“Why—”

Whining involuntarily, you watch while he shrugs off his suspenders and closes his eyes, fluttering back open with a smirk at Mrs. Adler’s distant call for you to prepare dinner.

“That’s why.”

Your mouth hanging open, you roll your eyes, taking his calloused hand as he aids you upward from the hard floor, though he finally gives you a greeting of a peck on the cheek, “Later, angel, you can show me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all day.”

Nudging your body, he sends you off to your chores in a frazzled state and shuts the door with a wink, settling in to wash himself off from the dust and dirt.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so needy, it nearly feels stupid to still have the crushing weight of wanting Jack as you chop ingredients, peek into cupboards, fill plates. It’s even worse when he sits at the table, clean and fresh and irresistibly smooth, chatting in easy conversation with Mrs. Crockett who enjoys his company dearly as she tells him uninteresting stories of her husband.

He watches your back as you turn about the steps, as you pass along plates to each person, and he brushes his fingers purposely along yours when you arrive at his spot, a gesture to offer his silent token of appreciation. Your breath catches, and his wink sets it free again through a quiet sigh, smiling sweetly for him. He tries not to laugh, you notice, and you stop yourself from touching his shoulder here in front of everyone— namely Mrs. Crockett, who has also made a poor reputation of gossip and a budding friendship with Mrs. Adler who is closest to her in age. The last thing you can manage is a rumour about your little life; by that point you’d be begging Jack to take you with him even before the post office is built, even with so much left to explore with him.

As the chitter-chatter diminishes down to an empty table with empty plates, and the visitors disperse into corners or run off to different buildings— they always come back for dinner to get their money’s worth— you sort out the dried laundry, slipping into the ladies’ rooms to aid with corsets, all with distant thoughts in a place where they shouldn’t be. They never ask about your day so much as they speak of theirs, whether time spent with their sweetheart, telling you how they prefer their things folded, or muttering how much they liked dinner. The last one you take lightly, thanking the ladies in whispers. Now, though, it doesn’t cause as much of an ache in your heart when you listen to their free and happy memories— you think of doing the same with Jack, of asking him and receiving his sweet smile in return, ready if you are.

When you finally sit at your simple vanity, it’s with a powerful sigh that you remove your boots, step out of your clothes, and trade them for your nightgown. You pull the threaded pink ribbon taut into a bow, and look over yourself in the mirror, giddy in your stomach for when the time comes to slip into Jack’s room. Judging by the clock, another half hour would do to be sure everyone has settled in so you can sneak in complete privacy, and it feels less daunting now than it ever did before.

Folding your petticoat to lay the soft cotton on the tabletop, you hear the handle click and turn and you gasp fiercely in response, rising from the chair as Jack all but barrels in, haphazardly shutting the door before swooping you into his arms.

“Oh, my—” you squeal, cut off by a rough kiss that you eagerly return, bombarded with the scent of his soap and shaving cream. You only urge him off with your hands sneaking between your bodies to press on his chest and ask a burning question, his lips not wanting to part from you. It’s a tiny struggle but he eventually gives way, fondly looking down at you as you speak. “Did anyone see you?”

“Hall was empty. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you… lost my damn patience,” he croons, plushy lips open on your neck, leaving kisses that bloom into pleasant flourishes of need like ink dipped into water. It’s a new spot that you allow him to explore, bringing your hands up his wide shoulders as you turn around the room together, stepping at random. “Had to keep from touchin’ myself and dreamin’ of you…”

You wrap your arms around his neck, reeling him in closer for a whisper against the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to dream, Jack, I’m here.”

His breath stutters uncharacteristically and it must be your chance to keep him like this, his pleasure dependent on what you decide to do with him— so you pin your front to his and he grunts, giving a miniscule, testing rut back.

“No more teasin’?” he asks hopefully, sweet brown eyes glowing in the low light of your little lamp. “You weren’t so nice this morning…”

“Oh, Jack, I’m not so sure about that.”

In a mirror of the morning, you slip your hand lower to find his cock hard again, splaying your fingers over its thick length and rubbing over the fabric. He squeezes your waist, digging his thumbs in helplessly as he staves off a groan in a bid to keep what willpower is still left with him, then loses it all when you place a simple kiss to his collarbone, not open or rough or wet— just plain, pressed lips to his skin, and he asks you for more.

“Will you let me touch you this time?” you murmur, urging him backward onto the bed. He slumps over the mattress, eyes trained on your face as he places himself further up with his legs spread, palms sinking into the covers. He swallows thickly when he takes you in: standing over him in the sheer, light fabric of your nightgown, its lace edges bordering the slopes of your body.

“I want you in my mouth,” you continue, lowering yourself to your knees, hands over his own as he shuts his eyes and breathes deep, long breaths, grunting when he feels your fingers working at his buttons. “Think I’ve earned it.”

“You could ask me for anything you want, darlin’... shit—” His thighs tense under your ministrations as you reach in and pull his cock out, the tip of it shining in his own, generous arousal. He looks down from himself to your sparkling eyes, and cups your cheek in his large hand, its smoothness traveling down the curve of your face. “Anything you want.”

His lip twitches, mouth falling delicately open and his eyes shutting once more as you place your tongue flat at the base, licking upward, circling around the head while you watch his face strain and pull, his neck sticking out prominently. He’s gorgeous when you touch him like this, still so fresh and clean from the bath. The warm drips of precum glide slowly on your tongue as you hold it out, then wrap your lips around him, whining when he fists through your hair and cramps his fingers.

“That mouth is just about gonna kill me already,” he rasps, bucking his hips up a smidge to perch himself deeper in your mouth, your hand rising to cover his at the base of your neck. Its heat is dangerous yet satisfying in its revelation of just how affected he is, a tiny spot of sweat swiping from his palm onto your neck.

Blinking up at him, you pull off, wetly sliding over half the length of him before moving back down to take more, feeling it brush against the back of your throat. You keep him there as he squeezes you harder, his spine curling over you and the new sound he makes is just begging to be heard, but he smothers it with a bite of his own lip to quiet it.

“Like that…” he sighs, carefully canting his hips forward as you wrap your fingers around his base, enveloping him and spreading the wetness of your mouth over his entire length.

He glistens like that, shimmering in the low and golden light, fisting at the blanket and your hair, puffing focused breaths every time you take him deeper, longer, sucking him harder.

Up and down, you keep your lips wrapped snugly around his cock, its throbbing heft a pleasurable weight on your tongue, the satisfying hit of the head at your throat.

“Where have you fuckin’ been,” he nearly laughs in disbelief that you’re even here, much less on your knees, much less with your mouth around him.

Pulling off for a deep breath, you trace the edges of your nightgown, eyeing him and his debauched, handsome face as you bring the lacy straps off your arms, leading them from your wrists. “I’ve always been here.”

The fabric gathers at your waist in a soft pool of cotton and ribbon, your chest bare and level with his cock.

“Do you like that, Jack?” you preen, settling closer to him this time over the hard and truthfully painful floor— you don’t notice it as much when you feel him hitting that spot all the way down your throat.

“You know I do,” he smiles breathlessly, crinkles and that little dimple creasing in his content face. He leans down for a kiss, its nature unlike the urgency of your own mouth wetting his cock— it’s always sweet like he is to you in every other way, lingering there before you lean into the space between his legs, eager.

“I wanted you all day,” you coo, running a thumb over his tip, a saturated kiss placed there before you put him in your mouth for a brief suck, managing to keep him inside for a few short seconds. “I should have felt so tired after what you did to me, but all I could think of was this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, he then lets it go in a gravelly sigh as he holds your bobbing head in his hands, spanning the sides of your face. Your forehead brushes his soft stomach as you push down, hollowed cheeks hugging every inch of him and he jolts, driving himself the smallest bit further, moaning at the tight and wet sensation of you. You pump him, looking so falsely innocent between his legs, your chest and shoulders bare for him to admire, peeking out of the fine gown.

“Keep goin’ darlin’, I’m gonna fill that pretty mouth up... know you want it down your throat, bet you thought about havin’ my cum drippin’ from your mouth all day, too, hm?”

Licking the tip and rubbing him faster, you nod fervently, opening wide in a stretch to finish him off with firm squeezes and strokes, his breaths now raggedly rough from above you every time he hits that spot. Your mouth is hot on his skin and he warns you he’s going to cum soon, he’s going to fill your mouth up nice and good, and you shut your eyes tight in concentration, focused on the thick feel of him sliding in and out between your lips.

“Wanna see you when I fill you baby doll, c’mere n’ look at me.” Jack’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, and you strain to look upward before you slide your hand over his slick cock. He tenses up by another degree, his chest and forehead damp, throat straining as he swallows thickly.

A final squeeze and he cums all over your extended tongue, the milky liquid sliding off and onto your chest as he moans through gritted teeth, dazed as you are as you both watch it drip all over your exposed half. You swallow what remains in your mouth, letting your jaw drop to show him your now clean slate.

Bending into you and still panting, he smiles, streaking his thumb down your chin to gather up what’s left, guiding it into your open mouth. Heart racing, you take it in, your enthusiastic glow causing his face to soften.

His gaze drifts south to linger on your glimmering chest, pressing his palm flat and firm into the slight pool of it. He paints you with it, spreading his cum all over each breast with a clear sheen from the separation, special attention granted to each nipple with a flick of his wet thumb. Its initial warmth has cooled and with it lingers a soothing cover over your front as you lay your cheek over his knee, toying with the worn laces of his boots.

“Now… how to thank my darlin’ girl and her perfect fuckin’ mouth…” Jack wonders aloud as he cups your cheeks in his hands and puts a contrasting, innocent kiss to your forehead.

Grinning up at him and placing your hands over his, you tell him that’s all you wanted to give him, all you needed was to finally feel him in your mouth.

“Well,” he whispers, “I wanna show you what I was thinkin’ about all day long.”

The spark in your eyes must be a blinding one, his hands gliding over the slope of your body as you work yourself back onto your feet, your knees throbbing and sore. Wincing, you balance yourself on his broad shoulders, glancing down to notice his eyes not relieved of their dark hunger.

“Jack, you’re…”

“Not done, angel,” he finishes for you, and that’s when you feel it, the slick dripping past your core to spread slightly down your squeezing thighs. He pushes his sleeves up as the corner of his lip tugs upward too, straight teeth glinting the same as his eyes.

“Your turn, then,” you murmur, parting his hair through your fingers. It falls back into place, his pillowy and gentle lips finding yours as he stands with you, always chasing you, waltzing you backward until your ass bumps against the thick windowsill.

“I was choppin’ wood, thinkin’ of settin’ you right here,” he confesses lowly, ensuring the curtains are drawn completely open with a quick swipe of his hands over the gauzy lengths previously covering the glass, “thinkin’ of fuckin’ you on my fingers like this.”

You situate yourself properly on the sill and he steps back, taking a comically focused once-over of your seated body, but the desire is still so thick it doesn’t even bring you to laugh when he hurriedly comes back to you. He spreads your thighs wide, his palms a fiery heat that couldn’t be further from where you want it.

Tugging at his collar, you reel him in to place an open kiss just under his ear. “Give it to me how you want.”

The glass cools the staggering temperature on your skin as he knocks you into it, your back sticking to its chilly surface in the midst of his swirling breaths, ghosting the edges of your shoulders before he hikes your thighs up higher to his waist.

“You ready for me?” he murmurs with a husky voice, and it’s a powerful shock from your head to your toes, seeing how easily he’s worked back up to needing you as he lowers a hand to your core. His fingers part you, a slick and effortless slip through your folds to your entrance. “Darlin’... you’re soakin’ my hand already. Did suckin’ my cock do all this to your sweet little cunt?”

A hushed, restrained sound tears from you and is quieted by his mouth covering yours when he rubs his calloused fingers over your clit, rasping those low words sweetly into you, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth as the digits travel lower. The arousal dripping from your cunt makes that first slide so easy, Jack bottoming out to his knuckles with a soft sigh. His stomach nearly touches your own still covered by the bunched nightgown and he pauses there, a reassuring squeeze to your side and then a smooth gracing of his free hand to hold your thigh tight to himself.

“This is where I’ve wanted to be,” he confesses, his nose drawing a line from your shoulder, delicately down to your chest as he bends and swipes his tongue broadly over your sensitive nipple. The signals from your brain to your muscles are jumbled now, feeling the heat of his wet tongue tasting the cum on your chest— it’s out of your control when you arch your back into him and whine, when your fingers tangle into his hair and tug.

He responds in a groan, licking across your skin to your unattended nipple which he suckles on gently, lapping at it. Jack curls his two thick fingers before straightening out to kiss you fleetingly on your lips; he parts and watches your eyes intently, a stray curl falling to hang between his brows.

“So full already, hm?” he teases, his thumb swiping slow patterns on your clit, and you lean further back into the glass with a pant, its surface no longer able to cool you down.

“Yes,” you manage to respond in a gasp as he grants a second, deeper hit, a slight slapping sound causing you both to hug each other tighter and chuckle.

“Tight, sweet thing,” he groans, extended curls and strokes stretching you wholly around his hand, “take my fingers just right. Is that it, darlin’, were you made for me to fill you?”

“Mm,” you suck in sharp breaths, “mhm, you fill me up, Jack, you fill me up so good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his chin hooks onto your shoulder, digging into it hard as he holds you with one toned arm snaking around your waist. Like this, your damp chest brushes his, his fingers pump and work you open another smidge wider as he pushes in, grinds his palm against your clit, pulls his fingers out a fraction of the way. The motions of his hips against his own wrist are gentle, unhurried for now, having already cum into your slack mouth.

With the flat of his free palm caressing your back through soft strokes, he draws his lips back and forth over the curve of your neck.

“You know what I see?” he asks, urging his knuckles deeper in the hardest plunge he's given you tonight, an agonizingly fiery touch to your clit. “Men, walkin’ around all dumb— could see me fuckin’ you right here on my hand if they’d just look up— shit, they got no clue I’m feelin’ the wettest little pussy, huh?”

“Fuck, Jack,” your nails dig into the lean and muscular bulge of his biceps as he keeps you upright against the glass, your thighs squeezing him so close he can hardly fuck you anymore— he just rubs and grinds his hand against you while remaining far inside your aching pussy, soaking his already drenched fingers with more slick.

“And only I’m gonna watch you cum,” he adds in a grunt, working himself into you with every last drop of energy he’s saved, his soft moans and sharp teeth spurring you closer to coming all over his perfect fingers. You might have gone longer if not for the irreversible, desperate need for him that sucking his cock had instilled in you— had you nearly dripping onto the floor, your body left unimaginably sensitive that each time he brushes up against you now, you dig deeper into his skin. He likes it though, and it makes him move with a crazed edge, his moans transforming into snarls.

“Only you…” you echo, starting to grind with him yourself, rolling into and meeting his short, fast thrusts, every muscle tensing and straining and it’s so close, almost there—

“There you go, doll, can feel you squeezin’ me so tight… cum on my hand, fuckin’ soak me, c’mon…”

“Jack, Jack I’m gonna—” Urgently, you tap at his shoulder with wide eyes and worried brows as you feel it start to happen, knowing how close you are to crying— your nails dig into his shoulders so intensely when you cum, jaw dropped and eyes shut and he makes a wincing yet completely pleased noise into your mouth; it’s cruel. You manage not to make a peep at the cost of losing large breaths, and it makes your orgasm all the more intense: light headed, woozy, and tingling numbness reaching the length of your body.

“Sweeter than fuckin’ honey when you do that,” he smiles widely, until his mouth drops fully open at the way you hug his hand inside from coming so hard around him. Your slick gathers between your thighs and you still can’t breathe, his face buried into the spot under your jaw as he pulls them out of you, dragging the pads up to your clit while the rest of it spreads throughout your folds. He stares down at it, at the wetness dripping and glistening from your core, and he groans again, blinking slowly.

Placing his palms on the sill by either side of your trembling figure, he hums, your smile against his skin buzzing at his insatiable drive, how he’d fucked your mouth and your pussy with such short rest, feeling the damp hair at the back of his neck. He drops his head down as an offering and you take him in a gentle cradle, kissing his forehead as he’d done to you while he nestles. He looks up and back down, waiting for another, your fingers smoothing the unruly hair from his face.

“Hell, if I don’t wanna fuck that pretty pussy every night till I die,” he exhales, another glance at his wet fingers, dropping a kiss to your collarbone.

“Oh, Jack,” you laugh, your heels hitting the wall underneath you, “if only you were here for that long.”

His face scrunches a little in confusion before his lips curve, “How many times do I have to remind you I ain’t leavin’ so soon?”

“As many times as it takes,” you whisper, fingers scratching down his arms, his own dipping into your cunt again without a warning, “fuck—”

“Yeah, baby doll,” he croons, “I got somethin’ to prove to you still?”

You nod with a greedy smirk and he retracts his fingers, taking them into his mouth after drawing a line between your breasts to taste your mingled releases, moaning in your ear. “Go n’ get on the bed. You’re gonna ride my face.”

A shiver chills your spine, mainly at the way his voice has dropped a miraculous third time, his hand landing a light swat on your ass when you pass him, shaky legs taking you toward the mattress. He follows to lay on his back, perpetually pleased with himself, arms outstretched and beckoning you forward. You crawl up to him and you can feel your own cum streaking your thighs as you move, soon beside his large body, and he raises his brows impatiently, “Well go on, sugar, I wanna taste some more of that.”

Stretching his neck every which way, his eyes crinkle as he grins between your thighs while you throw one over his shoulder and his arms fall behind him, fingers searching for yours until he laces them together, squeezing.

“You’re not tired yet, old cowboy?” you tease lightly, the force of it lost when he gives a broad swipe of his tongue and moans yet another time, indulgently, swallowing the remnants of your previous release.

“I ain’t ever gonna tire of this,” he replies, another lick from your entrance to your clit, such an easy slip of the muscle, your sensitivity dialed up too many extra notches. His brows knit together in effort, rough cheeks pleasantly scratching on your skin when he moves his head side to side, tongue hanging out of his mouth and edging with a perfect pressure all over your sensitive bud.

“I’d hope not,” you exhale, grinding your hips over his wet mouth until his grip moves to your thighs to prevent you from moving. His eyes look up at you keenly as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks, your head tipping in silent rapture as you take it all for him without the relief of motion.

“We go real nice together,” he grumbles into your slick center. Tightening the hold of your thighs, he laves his tongue all over you in focused circles, faster, with just enough force for your legs to start shaking around his handsome face, for another gush of arousal to spread over his swollen lips. All that’s left for you to handle it is to scream it out, how good he makes you feel, how precious, but the house is so silent and only you can hear the slick sounds of his mouth on your clit— he won’t even let you rub yourself over him. You can only bite your lip and hold your breath, yet little puffs and moans sneak out when he does something unforeseen, like a single bite on your thigh or a gentle nip to challenge you— it’s all on purpose and easily noticed by his gratified face.

He tugs your clit a short, miniscule distance and lets it go, shaking his head when you mope over the loss of contact.

“Are you tryin’ for me, sugar?”

“You’re being tough on me,” you whine, shimmying further up his body to regain his lips that are brightly shining.

“If I ain’t tough then it ain’t right,” he whispers, “stay still and quiet for me and I’ll take you out again.”

He tips his head down and forward, swiping his prominent nose to spread you further open, but you don’t even consider the promise of a gift, your focus on the return of his soaked tongue to your throbbing core, biting hard on your lip to quell the need to cry.

“Is my darlin’ gonna come? You gonna cum all over my face? Gimme another one, dolly.” His mouth latches back onto your clit and you can’t think, much less form an answer in your blank head where all you see is white, or maybe blinding stars, or just plain nothingness as you let go, his moustache wet with you, his lips dripping.

By some miracle, the scream you fend off becomes so high pitched in your throat that nothing makes it out of you save for the helpless cry of, “Jack!” as you tremble around his cheeks.

“Yes,” he grunts, and thank goodness it’s muffled by your soaking core; your fingers finally escape his hold to grip at his hair with a fierce, unforgiving tug, and that softer sound fills the room again while your body freezes up and you cum harder this time, covering him, coating him. He grumbles something again, but it’s nothing you could hope to make out in the crushing wave of pleasure that hits you— the light sensation does not leave you, though the shaking eases off as Jack places a tender kiss to your clit, and you jolt at just that velvet brush, his eyes turning sympathetic. You breathe deep, slumping with great exhaustion and the dazed happiness of having him in your room now as you lift your thigh from his body and he leans his head up to grant a quick kiss while it slips away from him.

“Knew you could be quiet,” he smiles under the shine of your second release, resting his arms open over the blanket to welcome you into them.

“As if you don’t make it hard.” Huffing, it’s with a reciprocal smile that you crawl back to him, nearly toppling over on your way with the weakness of his own power against your body, and he chuckles at you, not shying away from his joyous teasing when you throw him a half-glare.

“Did I wear you out again?” he questions, guiding you into his side, turning his body over yours to swipe his tangy tongue over your bottom lip.

Whimpering, it turns into a cheerful giggle as he drops pecks over your nightgown, wrapping his finger around the tail of the ribbon.

“You just keep going, don’t you, Jack?” you cup his face in your hands, and it’s now that he adopts a sheepish expression, turning his eyes away to tilt his neck and kiss your stomach once more.

“Until you ask me to stop, darlin’.” He lends two more kisses, one to each breast, and then gathers the straps of your nightgown from the pooling of fabric underneath your chest, tenderly helping your arms through the holes. You admire him quietly as you sit up to ease the gesture, letting his fingers guide the intricate lace edges back to your shoulders. He pats the cotton down to smooth it, your thumb stroking over his left eyebrow. His hands pry under you to wrap his arms around your middle, his cheek resting over your belly as you scratch through his dark hair.

“I think you’re softer than you realize,” you whisper, twirling a lock around your finger and he peeks up, the apples of his cheeks rising in a twinkling smile.

“I can shoot a gun a million times but I sure don’t like it more than kissin’ you,” Jack coos, tickling up your sides and swatting away your protesting hands until you make an involuntary squeak and his eyes widen, hurriedly covering your mouth with his own. You titter over his smooth lips, his weight pinning you as he opens his mouth, taking more. “I’d think I’d have sold my soul to the devil to end up here with you if I didn’t know any better.”

You let the next bubbling ripple of affection take over you when he whispers that with his gleaming eyes, and you kiss him three more times, each slower than the last.

He rests there for some time, indulging in the carding of your fingers over his scalp, and he ensures you’ve drifted off before he rises in search of a cloth. He finds a green one folded by your petticoat, his fingers briefly dragging across its white lace before he dips the cloth in the small dish of water left beside it. He crawls back up beside you, lazily yet with careful attention guiding it under your slip and over your breasts, relieving you of the stickiness. You stir but don’t wake— his touch is too light, yet still unlike a feather— he cleans you off, sets the cloth back in its spot, and resumes his position, nestled up next to you.

Sneaking into Jack’s room— or him into yours— becomes a habitual routine after the goodnight click of Mrs. Adler’s door, though you often find yourself with an early visitor with eyes too bright and a needy little grin on his face. It follows his giddy lips on your neck hours before in scarce moments of isolation from other guests, or after he’s stared too long across the bar, and to ease the tension, he’ll ride to take Sylvie to stretch her legs, a sympathetic look on his face at the door knowing you can’t join.

And he wears you out. Nightly. A simmering threat to your timeliness in the morning that you can’t let go of. A single time, he’d taken the sheets with him in a rapid roll onto the floor as Mrs. Adler knocked and knocked outside, calling for you to rise, until she barged in and the thump had to be blamed on yourself, standing in your disheveled chemise. Her shifty eyes become less of a fear in your head and more of a laughing stock, though not as much as Jack was in his stupid course of action to thump on the floor behind the side of the mattress, taking the blankets, too.

His dignity is not lost, though, each time you press on him about it— his grip tightens over your thighs as you straddle his lap, feeling the impression of his leather settling into your skin.

A rare clump of clouds settles over town the following week, lingering long enough to darken this evening further and forcing an early lighting of the lamps inside, a cozy glow over the hectic and crazed state of the bar.

“Let’s not slack, dearie,” Mrs. Adler sings in her urgently high-pitched voice as you handle the treacherous beast of the card game hours, handling too many requests for the strongest liquor from the cabinet, working your wrists as you open new bottles and impatient sighs crumble out of overworked throats.

Jack glances at her, a rapid flick of his angry eyes as he sets his glass of whiskey down, furrowing his brows in obvious disagreement with her words.

“She’s doin’ fine,” you hear him grumble, and you don’t have it in you to turn and face him to offer your surely-silencing glare, and without it he continues, “think we could offer a little patience.”

Chest fluttering, you shut your eyes with a bothersome huff, setting your hands flat over the counter as you wait for Mrs. Adler’s response, and the other men waiting at the dining table chat over things well beyond you, another fleeting mention of the Statesmen— but Jack remains silent along with her, and you can already picture the way he must be maintaining a hard stare at the old woman to leave her increasingly frazzled.

“My girl does this every day,” she states primly, blocking his view of your back with her own body after an uncoordinated waddle, “you keep out of it.”

Jack scoffs, soft but pointed, the wood groaning under the slide of his glass as he moves it aside, “If you cared to notice, ma’am—”

Spinning on your boot, away from the assortment of glasses set over the counter in their stage of finishing touches, you raise a hand, his first name almost slipping out until you choke on the unspoken word, widened eyes earning a mirrored expression from Jack, “It’s alright, Mr. Daniels,” you soothe, and his smirk is much too telling in his amusement of your spluttering, that you’d called him the old, proper name.

Mrs. Adler huffs a victorious breath as she checks over the full and heavy tray, granting approval while you giggle at Jack’s silly face made behind her back, followed by a wink of his eye.

He closes his eyes as Mrs. Adler finally limps off into her study— what she achieves in there he does not know— and watches you with affection and a warming dose of admiration in his stomach as you handle the tray, setting down shining crystal glasses on the table, a soft smile on your face as the youngest card player offers his thanks. They rarely ever do.

“You look real nice,” he drawls as you round the counter, his elbows sliding along the surface as he leans in, all sparkling eyes and teeth with his wide grin as he follows your steps. “I think I’d like to get my hands on—”

His words fall away to a whisper as you shake your head in feigned annoyance, the laughter stealing your breath as you lean opposite him, taking in the sly look on his face and the pull of his shirt across his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, tentatively, and you’re powerless against the sweet touch on your fingers as he traces them out, pulling your palm into a bed of his two hands.

You watch as his eyes set on the random patterns he draws, eyelashes curling against his face every time he blinks, your conscious mind soon oblivious to your placement in relation to the large group at the dining table— but it doesn’t matter. They’re as absorbed in their gambling as you are in his focused touch and feel, your heart an obnoxious flutter when he smiles up at you, a perfect mix of kind and sultry darkness.

“I’d like to get my hands on you,” he murmurs, those repeated words spoken lower this time and with a twinkle, raising the back of your hand to his lips. A gentle press, your eyes locked together in a soft gaze to match, and he gives you back your hand as the spell of slowed-time is broken by a shocking round of cheering from the group behind you both.

With a subdued grin, you ease yourself away from the magnetic pull of your lips to his, “You’ve always got your hands on me.”

“And in,” he huffs, stifling a snicker at the fifth roll of your eyes today, watching the ends of your tied apron’s ribbon swing around over the length of your skirt.

“You’d better find something to do in the meantime, or I’ll be asking Mrs. Adler to send you off herself.”

Jack shudders in a fake paddy of fear, the miniscule shakes of his body diminishing the sooner he realizes the severity of your words, and he merely chuckles. “Why’d you want to get rid of me?”

The pleading pull of his face and the wide and warm eyes he gives are somehow not enough to stop you from gesturing your head towards the pile of dirty dishes from dinner, waiting beside the basin. “You’re distracting.”

“Sweetpea, I’m ‘fraid that’s what you’ve got yourself caught up in,” Jack rests his chin in his palm, eyeing the clearing weather outside, “if you insist on woundin’ me, I think I’ve got a horse who needs to go for a ride, and a little lady who’ll have to join us next time…”

“I’ll see you later, Jack,” you whisper, rounding the edge of his ear with your fingers, easing his hair back into place and he adopts a light blush— softer things always more efficient in pausing his heartbeat than harsher things— and he grabs his hat left to the side of him, placing it over his head and bidding you a caring goodbye, “Miss me, darlin’.”

Once the room has cleared at last, leaving you in that familiar spot with soapy hands, sore feet, and a wandering mind, you arrange the wet dishes to dry, stacking each on top of the other with meticulous attention. You dry your hands on the fabric of your apron, rough cotton soaking up the water, your back leaning into the hard edge of the bar behind you. The strain in your neck grows sharper as you push your head back, groaning, willing away the next few hours until you can put your feet to rest upon Jack’s lap.

And at the thought of him, a whistle from the exterior shoots your stream of mental pictures down as your head whips to look out the window, and there he is— Jack, thighs spread wide over Sylvie’s back as he urges her to stop, his eyes straining to find you through the window. Stomach twisting, you make a speedy trip to the stash of berries hidden away, and you pull a handful of them into your apron’s pocket before sparing the parlour a thorough peek and slipping out the front door.

It’s not loud enough for you to make out, but it must be Jack’s voice in a baby soft tone as he tells Sylvie what sounds like “there she is,” with a pat between her perky ears and a smile towards you.

“Hello,” you grin, stepping to the edge of the porch where you meet the two of them, shamelessly devouring the way he sits tall upon her in the dying sunlight clear of clouds, dark clothes, dark hair, dark eyes, a bandana hugging his neck under his glistening throat. “Back so soon?”

“It was her idea,” Jack pokes, leaning back in the saddle as Sylvie adjusts her hooves into place over the dust and sparse blades of wheatgrass. “Suppose I had to lead her here, though…”

With a hand gliding along her wide neck, you watch his smile only grow in size as he watches you gather the berries from your pocket and throw a quizzical look his way, to which he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward again to watch and guide.

You call her name softly, approaching her from a better angle, and she makes an odd pattern with the movement of her head before she digs into your offered palm of treats, her wide mouth a great tickle on your skin that you try not to flinch at.

“Nice girls,” Jack whispers, swiping his hand over Sylvie’s shoulder, then turning his attention to you. “No more flak from the lady, I’m hopin’?”

“No, haven’t seen her since,” you giggle, “you know, Jack, that was kind what you did, but I am still fine.”

Sylvie chomps down the rest of your stash of berries, licking the leftover juices off your palm as you gasp, retracting your arm, and Jack extends his hand far across to you in a warm beckoning. You give him the dry one and he laughs when he notices, “I ain’t afraid of no horse’s mouth,” steering you around to where he’s sat on the saddle.

“You’re not even afraid of Mrs. Adler,” you say bluntly, resting your laced hands over the meat of his thigh and then your chin on top, and Jack stares down at your widened eyes, his chest stuttering with a slightly choked breath.

“I came here to see you, darlin’, to tell you somethin’.” Running his thumb over your hand, he starts to lean his body down, your own straightening for his lips to meet your ear in a warm breath, sending ice down your spine and a melting heat between your thighs.

He waits for your prompt, his radiating need causing your posture to wither as you slant up and into him, “What is it?”

Whatever upward curve your lips adopted seconds before falls away as your eyes close, that heat between your thighs now wetter, your grip on his leg tight enough to pinch.

“I’m gonna take you out again tonight, gonna lay you in the grass and fuck you dumb, listenin’ to you whine loud as you can.”

He’s utterly pleased with the visible, hitching breath you can no longer take in, your chest pausing in its stunted passing, and he straightens up his back again to look down at you with his face shadowed under his hat. “Ain’t that somethin’ old girl, the little lady is speechless…” Jack coos to the horse and she puffs, followed by another pat of her hoof on the ground, and his grin is a mix of genuine and egotistical happiness.

“Jack,” you purr, all bothered and wobbly-knees, a helpless look in your eye as you tug the looped rope, and he prepares to ride back off. He doesn’t partake in your pleading this time, instead giving a squeeze of his legs over Sylvie’s back.

“Same place, darlin’,” he calls, “I expect you.”

A backward glance and a tip of his hat as courtesy— or to make up for his foolish teasing— and his figure dies off in the gunpowder dust behind him and his girl, his jacket the same one you’d worn your first time away.

It’s cool and dark the next time you step out onto the porch, carefully shutting the door behind you, locking it with your key. You rub your hands over the sides of your arms as you creep over the wood, peeking past the pillars before descending the three short steps. Same place, he’d said, so you set off in the direction of the stables, bathed in the soft light of the spaced lamp posts, the same exhilarating rush as the first time bubbling head to toe.

“Ever heard of a sweet little maid ‘round here?” Jack’s happy rumbling sounds just behind you, turning into laughter at the yelp you let out, its sound squeaky and fearful until he catches you by the waist, pulling your back into his chest to sway your body around aimlessly. “Works for a Mrs. Adler, prettiest face you ever saw…”

An endeared giggle falls out of you, mouth covered immediately by your hand when he comes to place his chin on your shoulder, his fingers pressing tightly to your middle. His clothing feels rough by your neck, unlike anything else you’ve felt him wearing against you, but his cheek is soft and freshly shaven, his lips hungrily kissing behind your ear.

“Oh, I’m not so sure I have…” you murmur, allowing yourself to sink backward into his promising support, and his hum is sweet into your skin when you say so, arms squeezing you just enough for your feet to lift from the ground.

“She’s got angel eyes,” he whispers, a finger coming to trail down your cheek as he lets you back down, until his hand cups your chin, turning your head sideways to capture your lips in a deep, swelling kiss. Your own hand rises to mirror his gesture, knees suddenly like water with their wobbly weakness, and the ball of your foot scrapes over the dust as he tugs you even closer, tasting your lips.

“That might ring a bell,” you smile when you finally part, stroking your thumb over his jaw. He likes the way it feels, tilting himself further into your light grip of his face. The world surrounding you will never be the same level of interest when he stands before you— a daydream of an outing only seems as sweet if he’s there. A guidance, of sorts, a protector.

Roaming your eyes over him, a surprised gasp follows that welcoming kiss when you notice his top half covered in a navy blue poncho, its edges finished with white tassels and the wool adorned with white lines making intricate patterns over the length and width of it.

“Where have you been hiding this from me?” you simper, picking up the edge of it to feel the slightly scratchy material. He grins, weight shifting to one foot with a cocked hip, hands resting at the base of his suspenders underneath.

“Hidin’ it?”

“You’ve always got that jacket on,” you murmur, leaning upward, grabbing his face in an internal fit of fondness at seeing him covered in the blanket-like garment, giving him a harsher kiss that surprises him enough to nearly stumble backwards. He gains his balance, beaming against your mouth as he steadies the both of you, the world returning.

“You sure keep me on my toes, little lady,” he breathes, brows raised in bashfulness that you forget he has stored in that cocky brain. “Don’t you stop.”

Humming, your hand falling to rest on his chest as you recall more private contexts to his last words, you notice he wears a cross-body leather satchel underneath the poncho. “What have you got in there?”

“I can’t be full of surprises if you wanna make me spill ‘em all,” he teases, pushing his nose into yours, “come on, just you n’ me tonight.”

With your fingers laced together, Jack leads you through the familiar field to an unfamiliar spot at the top of a climbing hill, large rocks worsening the upward trek under the minimal light.

His hands find the backs of your thighs as he helps you over the last hump and your frustrated huff gets lost in your throat when you realize his hands are helping you up under your skirt instead of over.

“Jack,” you guffaw, using your biceps to push up and over the hard surface and he plays dumb behind you, a deep chortling following as you roll over to the flat space of dry grass above it. Looking ahead you notice a small gathering of wood placed in a circle around the center of the clearing in the trees while Jack rolls up next to you, much more gracefully with what must be years of practice.

He shares a sideways glance with you, “What?”

His pouty lips drag downward in his falsely innocent question, your eyes rolling without annoyance but with affection. He grabs your hand again, tugging you near the woodpile and he reaches into the satchel, revealing a box of matches in his palm.

“Is this what you did earlier?” you ask, a bewildered softness easing over your shoulders, and he nods with a grin.

“Sylvie n’ I came here to get it ready.”

Sliding the box open, he strikes the match against the rough side of the cover sleeve and the spark ignites a smoking, small flame that he holds to a coil of waxed thread under the arranged sticks and wood. It catches on and flourishes upward, sprinkling tiny sparks that rise then fall by Jack as he recoils, standing back up to his feet.

“How’s that?” he looks at you, pulling you into his warm side, your fingers instinctively wrapping around a tassel. You raise your other hand to hover over the fire, its heat so pleasant and lively on your skin and you look back at him with the same fondness as always for his generous gifts, that might not even be considered a gift to anyone else but you.

“Thank you, Jack.” On your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek filled with all the words you can’t think to say— it’s only a campfire, and to you, it holds all his care, burning there.

“There’s more,” he whispers, and his fingers rise to touch where your lips had just been, then he looks to them and you, smiling. “Said you wished you could run,” he starts, pointing to an old, battered tin can sitting atop a tree stump several feet away, “reckon there’s a few things you’ll need to learn first.”

From underneath the wool, he pulls out one of his revolvers and it shines in the flickering fire, freshly polished. He extends his hand, your own hesitantly touching it’s handle, cupping the barrel with the other as you slowly hold it on your own.

“Jack, I really don’t know about—”

“Careful,” he coos, circling back to stand behind you and placing his hands on your hips, he helps you adjust your grip with the beginning of his lesson whispered into your ear, his hands gentle as they cover yours. “Two hands.”

“I’m not sure I’m the gun slinging type,” you whisper nervously, your palms becoming clammy just handling the weapon, and you remember when its silver glint was pointed at Mr Porter, under its power.

“Always assume a gun’s loaded,” he continues, aiding you in extending your arms out, the aim at the can improving as you go. “Feet apart.”

With the toe of his boot on the inside of your ankle, he pushes your feet further apart until shoulder-width, and your shoe slides over the dry grass as you suck in a deep breath at the physical order.

“Hold it tighter,” he whispers next, ensuring your fingers are hugging the grip tightly, your other hand cupping the trigger guard firmly. “Don’t leave your finger on the trigger unless you’re aimed and ready.”

Jack is rasping now, a growing hardness on your ass from watching you handle his own weapon with determination and he pinches your hips, inciting a gasp as you try to keep your arms steady.

“The cylinder's full,” he adds, “you hit the can and I’ll make good on my promise.”

With the shot of arousal that comes after his words and the reminder of his promise to fuck you hard over the grass, it’s too easy to convince yourself that you’ll miss every shot.

“Won’t somebody hear it?” you question, turning your head as far as you can and he hums thoughtfully, pinching you softer.

“It’s luck if you hear a gunshot from a distance,” Jack soothes. And it hits you, that when Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant started shooting blindly in the house, that those were the closest bullets had ever been to you— and here, you hold them in your palms.

“Go on, sugar, knock it over and I’ll fuck you right by this fire.”

A whine escapes you before you can aim it again, the grip even sweatier than before, the fire merely a glint now as you focus on the target tin.

Locking your grip around the handle, your pointers steadying the direction, you shut one eye, then the other to test the placement, and you pull back the hammer with a stretch of your thumb.

“I’m scared,” you breathe as your arms remain pointed forward, and Jack nods, applying pressure to your shoulders with his palms.

“I’ll keep you steady. S’okay if you miss.” Jack rubs some of the tension away, your arms growing tired from holding them up as you make one last adjustment. The jolt when you pull the trigger is more powerful than you’d expected, and Jack keeps you still as your body reacts to the sharp sound and the full shock of it. The bullet only just skims the side of the can, a tinkling sound following the jarring shot from the barrel.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, his eyes wide and his smile too, when he looks from your near-shot to your frightened face turning into confidence. He throws his hat to the side, smoothing his hand through his hair before bending slightly behind you, “that was fuckin’ close, darlin’. Go again.”

His tone is pure excitement as you shake off the last lingering threads of apprehension, and you aim again, not a one inch difference from your first shot, pulling the hammer down a second time.

You place your pointer over the solid trigger and Jack’s breath hitches as he waits and watches intently, his hands still supporting your shoulders. This time, when your upper body jostles back from the force, the shot is farther off but still close, hitting the bark where a small explosion of wood chips scatter to the grass and you startle at the cracking noise, casting a worried look to Jack.

“Keep tryin’,” he soothes, cuddling his cheek to the side of your neck as he cozies up, and you’re certain it’s not the best condition for a shooting lesson, the middle of your thighs gathering slick and your palms more nervous sweat. With a deep breath, you stretch your arms out once more, muscles pulling up tight as you adjust your feet, your eyesight on the tin can reflecting the flames of the little campfire.

“That’s it,” Jack whispers as you touch your finger to the hammer, “focus.”

Scoffing, you settle your aim, determined to ignore the way he’s still pressing up against you.

“You’re doin’ great,” his voice scratches just before you pull against the trigger’s resistance and the bullet releases, harder it feels like, and pierces the tin with an incredibly loud metallic pang, sending it fast off the stump. Although you’re not too far from it, you don’t trust it yet; looking back down at the weapon in your hand and then to him, his smile already turns smug. It’s a surprise to hit it at the same time that it’s not— luck or natural talent, you don’t think you’ll ever find out. He shakes his head with pride dripping all over, crushing you into his side with a tense squeeze of his arm, your neck fitting in the bend of his elbow.

“That’s too quick,” you breathe in modesty that Jack tells you to shush away, as your disbelieving eyes fall back on the tree stump, tin can-less. “I wasn’t far away enough.”

“Come on, darlin’.” He disembarks, jogs to the stump, picks up the can behind it. A hole burns through the center on both sides. “Still shot it on the third try.”

When he arrives at your feet again, you peer down at the silver gun in your hold. Struggling to accept your own accuracy, you slowly hand it back to him.

“It'll be harder next time,” he purrs, sliding it back into its holster pocket, “but I think you’ll make the most charmin’ gunfighter in the whole damn world.”

“That’s your title,” you smile, brushing the dark hair from his forehead, curling your fist into the wool draped over him. “And the most handsome, too.”

Jack’s chest puffs out against yours as he preens at your softly-spoken compliment, the tone of his hum pitched in a questioning way to urge you on to continue.

“I’d rather like to learn more about that lasso,” you say instead, fingering where it’s attached to his hip, and he looks at you through his eyelashes, closing his hand around the one fisted in his poncho.

“Hell, if I taught you the ropes I doubt you’d let me out of your room for a whole week, darlin’. We’d better work up to that…”

“Oh well,” you tease, perching yourself up to level your lips with his ear, “you’re too soft on me to be my teacher anyway.”

“Too soft?” He raises his brows, eager to know, causing you to step back as he advances on you.

“Too easy. I ought to shoot that can three more times from ten more feet away just to be sure I’ve learned.”

Jack lays the thick blanket next to the crackling fire after pulling it out of the satchel, motioning for you to come.

“Sugar, I’ll show you rough,” he grumbles, dragging you down to the blanket with him, your chest thumping square on his when you land, a stunted breath into his mouth. His promise, listenin’ to you whine as loud as you can, returns to you now as he holds the back of your neck and opens his lips to brush yours, nipping your lower lip to earn the first wince.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you taunt, landing yourself rolled over and pinned under his heavy weight as he lifts the poncho from his head and drapes it over your bodies, hidden and warm together as you share the fiery heat of yourselves and the physical fire beside you.

“I’d hate nothin’ more than to disappoint you.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face as his fingers creep up your leg, a soft ghosting until he reaches the stark wetness compared to your dry skin everywhere but your core and he’s already groaning at just the sensation of your slick covering his fingers. “Think I could fill you right now, hm? Soakin’ me so fast…”

“I need you to fuck me as hard as you can,” you demand, your head tipping back against the ground underneath the blanket, heat accumulating in your own makeshift tent of the dark poncho. His fingers twitch over your clit as he watches your face twist in effort to get your last coherent thoughts out, “This is where I can cry.”

“Jesus,” his head falls into your shoulder and he rubs his cock on your thigh, covered by his trousers. He’s hard and thick, just as he was watching you shoot his gun, and he lifts your skirt higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. “You always get what you ask for from me.”

Blindly searching with your fingers, you find the buttons of his trousers and pull them open, carefully taking his cock out, the tip leaking generously onto your skin. You spread it for him though it runs out quickly, but your own burning arousal is enough for the two of you as he settles himself closer, his hair flopping out of place. His moustache brushes against your temple when he spreads your legs wider, a soothing slide of your skin over the blanket before you feel his cock running through your slick folds, and it’s enough to start whining. Even the little sounds you let out at the house are suppressed and quietened— here, there is no one but the two of you.

“Give it all to me, baby doll,” he rasps over your throat as he positions himself and pushes past your entrance, slowly stretching you open on his thick cock and your thighs fall open wider, too, your breath heavy and low for him to bask in. “Ain’t that sweet…”

Jack’s eyes carry the glint of the fire beside your bodies as he stays there for some moments, letting you squirm all you need before he flattens you to the ground with his chest, cooing encouraging gentleness to contrast with the untamed way he’s going to fuck you here, on the blanket, again. His cock pushes deeper with the added mass, your whimper not enough when he finally thrusts and hits his hips to your wide-spread thighs and works the wetness of you all over his cock.

“Ja— Jack—” you whine, and his hot hand soon comes to glide over the innermost part of your thigh, rubbing it firmly as if he’s about to—

He spanks your thigh and earns the high-pitch moan he’s been working for all along, drawing himself back to return with a harsh thrust as he keeps his hand on the stinging sensation, groaning out his nose.

“Fu-uuck, there we go, that’s what I wanted,” he grunts through stunted breaths as he sets a new, punishing pace, sliding with ease in and out, hitting deep inside to brush against that satisfying spot that when he slaps the same part of your leg, the pleasure from both makes you cry louder, moan louder.

He draws the wool tighter around his back as he lowers his lips to your mouth, emitting an animalistic groan over your face when you clench around his cock and pull him in closer for another open-mouthed kiss, true and full.

“Oh, god,” you groan, his hand caressing the underside of your thigh, until he draws it up to push your knee on your chest, fitting his hand in the bend of your leg.

“Gimme more, sugar,” he demands, landing a sharp swat to the side of your ass lifted off the ground that gives him your neediest, filthiest sound yet as you fist his hair, taking his brutal pace.

“Jack, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Fuck,” he curses back harder, “I’m gonna steal you every god damn night for this.” Jack hisses through bared teeth on your collarbone, keening when you raise your hips to meet his. The fire rises beside you at the same time a wave of building pressure in your abdomen knocks through your lower half, and you place your hands on his face, sliding them up to meet his hair.

A shaky breath puffs out of you, the sting of his spankings spreading over your leg as you crane your neck and cry out while he buries himself and grinds against your clit, “You just get wetter n’ wetter for me,” he remarks hoarsely, “just can’t help but need me, hm?”

“I... Yes,” you sigh into his heated neck, your limbs softening in their hold of him as he fucks you hard over the blanket, his grip deathly on the side of your thigh.

“I want to hear it, darlin’, say it to me,” he scrapes, his voice at the bottom of his register, and when the words get stuck in your mind and jumbled out of order from the fullness of your core, he draws himself out and rolls you onto your stomach. Mindlessly, empty, you whine with an equal hoarseness to his own, the end of it pushed out prematurely when he flattens his chest over your back, lining his cock back up with your soaking entrance.

“I’ll pull every last pretty sound you got left in you if I have to.”

The words are a terrible blow to your senses, sparking a rapid increase in the sound of rushing blood in your ears as he pushes your thigh up to the side and presses down on it with his palm.

“Please…” you breathe, “I’m so close— fuck me, please fuck me again—”

Shutting your eyes, hoping to feel him push himself back inside you, you instead are met with a final, cracking swat on your leg that sends you wailing as Jack waits for you to scream it, “Tell me, sugar!”

“I need you, Jack— I need you!”

It doesn’t sound like your own voice. Never has it been clouded by so much desire and such a sinful edge to your witless begging, but it’s enough for him. A push forward, and he fills you; his own sounds have grown needier too, reaching far out. He plants a hand by your face and you grab onto his wrist as he shoves his cock repeatedly deeper and at this angle, you could consider the punishing stretch of him painful, but it’s everything you need, causing you to whine a step higher every time his hips hit your ass.

“You’re all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’,” Jack mouths at your earlobe, your bodies turning slick under the poncho and your clothes, “here you are, shootin’ my gun n’ lettin’ me fuck your tight little pussy, beggin’ for me— gonna make me fuckin’ cum.”

Your jaw drops and an involuntary squeal stumbles from your hanging lip, Jack snarling behind you as he plunges again, hooking his hands under your shoulders and splaying his fingers wide over the tops of them.

It’s a taut stretch of your chest when he pulls on you like that, the soft curl of his hair tickling your neck as he nestles his face to yours and muffles his grunts and groans. You pull up tighter around him, squeezing his cock, nearly driving him to collapse over your back when he feels it happen and what is easily his hardest, neediest and wrecked groan tears out and spreads over your limbs with the rumbling breath he takes after.

“Jaaack,” you whisper, his movements heavily weighing on you, your body resting just at the precipice of something overwhelming, “So… full..”

“I’m gonna fuck my cum into that sweet cunt.” Jack fists the blanket with his supporting hand and the next time he rams his hips forward, a full-bodied scream fills the air, and once more, you squeeze him tighter as you cum hard around his cock, your nails starting to dig into his wrist as he fucks you through it.

“Baby doll, you’re too fuckin’ good to me— squeeze me so fuckin’ tight when you cum, keep it comin’—”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god— fuck!” You can’t stop gushing around him as his thrusts lose rhythm, as he focuses more on the sounds you’re making and the grip you have on his cock and it just won’t end, tears beginning to form in your eyes while the movements never cease.

“That is just heavenly,” he says with a strained laugh, “shit, you really did need me, huh? You want my cum inside you too? Want to be spoiled?”

“Yes!” you cry, miraculously raising your ass just a little against his cock as the orgasm finally calms, a growl and a bite on your shoulder at your ceaseless will to beg.

“Take it.” One final, gorgeous moan from his throat and he buries himself, a wet warmth painting your walls, his chest deflating as he settles around your back and rubs your thigh in a soft contrast to what was his stinging swats minutes before. He blows and pants to recuperate, and as he brings himself out, you feel the warmth spreading and dripping down to your clit. For a moment, you share the breaths you’re both trying to catch, but the sensation of his cum sliding over your skin is yet another obstacle to returning to a manageable state of being.

“This…” he whispers, taking his hand back, leaning on his other elbow to support himself as he slides his fingers under your skirt to lead them to your swollen cunt, “is my favourite, darlin’.” He spreads his cum over your folds, milky liquid sliding wherever he traces, and you push back on your knees to raise yourself for him while he guides it back inside you, your throat tired but still whimpering as he pushes his fingers in.

“Keep me inside,” he murmurs on your temple, urging you to lay back down over the plushy blanket, and as you relax, mussed and twinkling by the fire, he drapes the poncho over your body, tucking the fabric under your sides. He strokes your cheek with the dry hand, lifting your head to his lap as he carefully sits by you, your eyes delicately fluttering closed.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks, and without opening your eyes, you shake your head no. Jack makes a purring sound, considering the moans his actions pulled out of you, and he begins to stroke your face some more. “Hope I never do,” he adds softly, studying your peaceful expression under the firelight and stars, “you’re soft.”

The last two words make you blink and smile up at him, finally granting him a peek which he returns with curved lips, and you know that “soft” doesn’t mean “weak” when he says it.

“I got an idea of where to take you next, if you think you can handle it...”

tags for yeehonk idiot:

@filthybookworm @frannyzooey @javier-pena @javierpcna @astroboots @userdindja @pedros-mustache @princessxkenobi @trashcora @writerdee1701 @thelemongeneration @libraryofrecs @fan-of-encouragement @herb-welch @writeforfandoms @queenofthecloudss @leannawithacapitala @the-feckless-wonder @kesskirata @fuck-goes-on @lawfulgranola@apascalrascal @prismaticpizza @xemmaloveskillianx @littlemissoblivious @quica-quica-quica @spideysimpossiblegirl @little-big-mac2 @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales

let me know whether you’d like to be added or removed!

#agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #pedro pascal #agent whiskey #pedrostories #userastrid #tuserdaniela #userdindja #xuserannie #userhai #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #western au #jack daniels i love you forever #no devil dealings here...

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gins-potter · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 22

Title: these flames won’t keep me from you

Fandom/Pairing: 9-1-1/BuckTaylor

Prompt: restrained

Taylor didn’t stop struggling even as the rope rubbed red welts into her wrists and ankles from where they were bound together. The concrete was cold and hard beneath her, stray gravel cutting into her hands as she tried to push herself upright even with her limited mobility.

“Why are you doing this?” she panted when she finally got herself into a seated position. “Just- what do you want?”

“I want…” her father said slowly, staring down at her struggling without an ounce of compassion. “...a daughter who is grateful, and shows that by helping her father when he asks.”

Taylor choked on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Grateful for the father who murdered my mother?”

Rage rippled across his features, snarl turning his face into something monstrous that Taylor had never seen before. Throughout it all, the accusations, his arrest and trial, even his imprisonment, he’d maintained the same careful facade of the affable small-town doctor who wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less his beloved wife. It was that facade that Taylor had believed for so long and had made it impossible for her to determine once and for all if he could have done what they said he did.

That facade was gone now and Taylor could finally see him for who and what he truly was.

“You killed her,” she said again, just because she needed to say the truth out loud. “You really did it.”

“I asked you to do one thing for me, Taylor, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“You wanted me to say you were innocent,” she scoffed in response, trembling with anguish and rage at how close she’d come to doing just that.

“Ungrateful, so ungrateful,” he said softly.

“You’re crazy,” she breathed.

His hand struck out so fast that she didn’t even see the blow coming until she was hit across the face. With her hands bound she had no way of breaking her fall and her face exploded into pain from both the strike and from slamming into the ground, rough cement cutting into her cheek.

“I guess it’s time you find out what happens to ungrateful daughters.”

Taylor’s eyes widened as she struggled to regain her bearings and pull herself up onto an elbow. She’d dismissed the warehouse he’d brought her to when she realised she didn’t recognise it, but it was only now that she looked around that she noticed how dark and remote it seemed. That low level of fear thrumming through her ratched up another few notches as she realised how unlikely it was that anyone would hear her screams.

“What are you going to do?” she asked slowly.

Her father just turned away, leaning down to pick up a bright red bottle she hadn’t noticed before. Even before he uncapped it and the scent reached her, she knew what it was; gasoline.

“Don’t,” she whispered, even as he ignored her and started pouring it a line around the perimeter of the big room. Far enough out that she would be forced to watch as it edged closer and closer, destroying everything between it and her. “Dad,” she pleaded, hating the word in her mouth. She tried to get to her feet but the blow must have been worse than she thought because her vision swam and even without the ropes around her ankles she thought she still would have crashed onto her knees. “Dad, please don’t do this. Daddy, please!” she screamed, when she saw the match in his hand.

“Goodbye, Taylor,” he said gently, dropping the match as he stepped through the door and disappeared.

“What have we got?” Chimney asked as they rolled up on the scene.

“Abandoned warehouse,” Bobby replied, glancing out the window. “Not sure how it started, but it looks like it could have been arson.”

Buck followed his gaze as he and the rest of the 118 stepped down from the truck. Red and blue lights already flashed across the brick of the warehouse, and they could see Athena standing by the back of her car, holding a man’s arms behind his back as she cuffed him. Buck caught sight of his face and felt his blood run cold.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, and the others glanced at him but he was already gone.

Buck moved so fast that even Athena didn’t see him coming as he grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the trunk of his car.

“What the hell, Buck-”

“What are you doing here?! What did you do?!”

Recognition lit up the man’s face even though he and Buck had never met, never even seen each other before.

“Ah,” the man said softly, and there was something so very dangerous about his tone. “The boyfriend, right?”

“What did you do to her?! What did you do to Taylor?!”

He could feel the confusion and concern of Athena and the 118 swirling around behind him, but he didn’t really care to explain as he yanked Taylor’s father forward and slammed him back down again.

“Where is she?!”

Her father didn’t so much as flinch even as Buck yelled in his face. A slow smile just unfurled across his mouth as his eyes slid between Buck’s livid expression and the warehouse, still burning beside them.

“You're a firefighter,” he said slowly, seeming a bit too delighted about it all. “Let’s see if you can save her.”

Disgusted, Buck released him and stepped back, Athena wasting no time in yanking him away and shoving him into the back of her cruiser. Buck took another few steps away, running a shaking hand through his hair.

“She’s in there, Taylor’s in there,” he said, eyes raking over the burning structure. He moved towards it but Bobby’s hand clamped down on Buck’s shoulder and pulled him back.

“If Taylor’s in there we can’t afford to make mistakes,” Bobby said, talking to them all. “So we do this smart, we do this fast, and we all come out of there safely. And that includes Taylor,” he said with a significant look at Buck.

“You got it, Cap.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“We’ll get her, Buck.”

As a group they all knelt to the ground, to pull their oxygen masks into place, then they were busting down the door to the warehouse and spilling inside.

“Eddie, Chimney, you take the right, Hen and Buck, we’ll take this room to the left.”

Eddie and Chimney moved off, while Buck kicked down the door leading to the next room, Bobby and Hen following him in. The room looked like a large storage space, filled with clutter and debris, all of which was up in flames. Then in the middle of it all, both tears and blood smeared down her face, struggling to get up was Taylor.

“Taylor!” Buck yelled, kicking aside burning rubble as he tried to get to her. “Taylor!”

“Buck! I can’t-”

Buck finally got closer and saw why she was having so much trouble getting up; ropes, tied with thick complicated knots, were around her wrists and ankles. He fell to his knees beside her, took one look at those knots, and helped her hook her bound hands around his neck instead.

“Just like this, Tay, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“Buck,” she said on a shuddering sob, as he slid one arm around her back and the other under her knees.

Bobby and Hen helped clear a better path out while Buck hoisted her into the air and carried her out, the rest of the 118 clearing the rest of the building while he took her straight to the waiting paramedics.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Buck chanted over and over. He gently lowered her onto the gurney but she didn’t let him pull away, clenching one hand around the collar of his turnout coat while she anchored the other in his hair.

“I thought- I thought,” Taylor gasped, body shuddering with sobs.

“I know,” Buck said, forcing down his own raging emotions of anger and lingering fear. “I know, but I’ve got you now.”

#mywriting #febuwhump #febuwhump2022 #febuwhumpday22 #febuwhump day 22 #febuwhumpdaytwenty-two #febuwhump day twenty-two #bucktaylor #baylor #evaylor #Evan buck buckley #buck buckley #evan buckley #taylor kelly #911 #911onfox #911 on fox

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cutegirlmayra · 4 years

Note

Here's a fun AU idea. I was thinking instead of tarot card reading Amy has vivid visions of the future. However whenever she gets a good vision dizzy spell when she gets a bad vision terrible sometimes debilitating headaches and she doesn't control what she sees. This makes her a person of interest to Eggman, G.U.N., and other world governments so they constantly try to capture her and use her power for their own gain. If she tries to force a vision it hurts her. Sonic is very protective of Amy

*feels tired today, just re-reading prompts to get ideas -sometimes new- or get excited about who’s next in line*

Thinking in my head, ‘I’m just not feeling well today, but I do have some ideas.’ The very next thought to encourage me, ‘You write your best when you’re tired.’

Me, directly after that thought, ‘...Darn it, you’re right.’ *proceeds to write all and every emotion in vivid detail* (lololol)

I know myself too well.

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN. No, you cannot beg nicely for me to take your prompt until they are open again, sorry love, them’s the rules. BI

Slightly gonna alter your request for the benefit of something I think may be a stronger storyline, I hope you still enjoy it, Precious Anon! \(:D)/

Prompt:

There was a rift in the chasm of space time, an unfathomable amount of power was being expelled and pulled, creating real and alternative timelines.

In order for Sonic and the gang to face these anomalies, Silver suggested that someone with the potential of mental abilities and the like should try and connect with the magnetizing force that keeps tugging and shoving on time, rewriting it and creating all these alternative realities continuously. Destroying and recreating decisions and parallel worlds would have a chaotic effect on the universe, but no one seemed to be able to connect to the unseen force, and Eggman didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight either.

Everyone was troubled... there was this silent fear that we’d be rewritten in seconds, that we’d cease to be who we really were in this very moment.

I stood by as my friends talked heatedly about their options, they each had tried but none had succeeded in connecting to that ‘force’.

I always felt I had magical properties to myself, if we could just connect to the dimension where this force started from, we may be able to help on our end.

I fidgeted, knowing Silver and Sonic were butting heads since Silver’s main priority was the future, while Sonic’s was the here and now.

Some found hope in this rewritten time, making Shadow and Eggman actually allies once again... Shadow hoping the past could be changed, and Eggman for his obvious reasons of defeating Sonic and taking over the world.

Both were absent and nowhere to be found.

As they continued to grow more and more harsh in how they spoke with one another, I felt the longing to end the conflict, and looked over to the Master Emerald.

It was the only thing that wasn’t being rewritten, some clue to connecting to the other dimensions...

Everyone had called out to it but nothing was working. I felt something swirl in me like an engine, seeing my beloved Sonic turning so angry and Silver ignoring him sent me into a rage myself, but I kept my lips in a fine line and held my fury back.

‘Friends shouldn’t talk to each other like this, or get in each other’s faces with such heavy glares...’ I knew in my heart that if I joined in, I wouldn’t part the two, but only get caught in their crossfire of differing ideals.

Both were stubborn, and both weren’t looking at the bigger picture.

Without a way to communicate with the alternative timelines, our decisions wouldn’t help us get any further to contacting the other dimension, and not just that... but we wouldn’t progress at all. We’d just be going around in circles...

“You can’t seriously think that sitting around waiting for some magical tether from the other dimensions is going to get us out of this time loop!” Sonic’s voice was full of presence and experience, he was a well-traveled hero, and knew the best options to weigh in moments like these... but Silver continued to fight back.

“If we advance unknowingly and without caution into the stream of time, we could easily be just as trapped in it’s nonsensical clutches as we were before! For some reason, the Master Emerald’s location is the only place in time where the effects of the rewritten world aren’t effected! If we give up this position, no one might be able to tell us what’s going on!” Silver swung an arm out, stepping up and going toe to toe with Sonic, refusing to back down from the argument. “I know you think charging into the time-stream might give us answers, but it’s a risk that holds so many unlimited possibilities that it’s fruitless to venture in! You’d just be trapped and the rest of us possibly waiting all eternity for you to choose the right path to even get out to another dimension!”

That part we knew was sound and right, that unless you pick the right choice every time, the time vortex would just pull you somewhere else. Without knowing the other dimension’s choices, we’d never be able to coordinate this... even Tails said something along the lines of a uniformed pathway that could get them all to the center of this strange force...

Otherwise, we’d be trapped... forever.

“You’re leaving us as sitting ducks to whatever’s happening! It’s going to put us all in danger!” Sonic was beyond listening to reason, however. My darling could never just sit by while we all feared for our lives and the world’s future.

The two stood so close, it looked as though their foreheads would touch, and I could tell Sonic was about to make a stand so great that Silver would be forced to let him go...

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Sonic in a time-loop forever. In being stuck on Angel Island’s alter for the rest of eternity till someone figured out the correct choices...

I felt my whole being flood with tingles and expectations, with exactly what I was going to do and how my very soul wouldn’t allow me to watch as everyone would lose themselves diving into a puzzle that had no way of being solved without aid.

That was the last straw for me. Seeing Sonic pull himself away from Silver and walk over to the Master Emerald, “I’m done talking. Taking action is the only way we can succeed against this catastrophe.” He spoke so manner-of-factly... he was going to touch the Master Emerald and dive into the vortex... wasn’t he?

“No...” I held my hand out, seeing the Chaos Emeralds all glow as he was fusing with them to create the miracle known as Super Sonic... but I couldn’t- I couldn’t banish Sonic to an eternity of never-ending wandering through an unescapable maze!!!

“Soonniiccc!!!” I charged forward, making him flinch and pause a moment as he turned to look back at me, but by then, I had already reached forward and interfered with the Chaos Emeralds giving him power.

Instead of him turning Super, I felt my hand touch the Master Emerald, and all time seemed to freeze. I gripped the Master Emerald with my arms, widening the span of how far my arms could reach, and shook my head against it. “I can’t let everyone panic and waste away our precious friendships over this... this... whatever it is! Please, Master Emerald! Do I have the potential to set things right!?” I dipped my head down as the power overwhelmed me. Time slowly began again, as I was moving at normal speed, everyone around me started to move as though slowed considerably.

“Is this..?” I looked up to see Sonic’s hand slowly reaching for me, and his surprised expression at stopping him. “Chaos’s... power?”

I was shot back as my eye-sockets glowed a bright green, and through some vision or other, saw what looked like my younger self, also getting driven from the Master Emerald.

The original world... the first universe... Somehow, by the two of us acting and making a decision in unison, or maybe she had made it previously... I wasn’t sure, we were able to finally find a bond and connect in some magical way to where I could see that dimensions choices.

I felt my bare back slam against the graveled dirt of Angel Island and skid aggressively to a halt as it scratched my back and left me feeling weak.

Time returned to normal, I guess? As I heard my friends cry out my name and rush me.

I could numbly feel hands on me, shaking me as my eyes struggled to lift up, and were just waving open slightly.

My head hurt, I was dizzy and couldn’t see anything at first clearly. It was all a blur, before Silver’s and Sonic’s voices rang out the most.

“What happened!?” Sonic’s voice was full of authority, as though ready to take action if something need be done.

“She... I’m not sure, but the Master Emerald fused it’s time capabilities with her. You saw it, right? Her whole body was vibrating so quickly... like....” Silver was interrupted by Tails just then.

“Like she was merged into all the different dimensions... she was moving faster than the time strain!” Tails’s excitement meant only one thing...

“So... she had the potential then, out of all of us, to carry the connection.” Silver’s reserved tone must have meant that he felt validated in what he was so adamantly defending earlier. “Now that she can guide us through the time vortex, we might be able to reverse whatever’s happening, and return time and space to normal again.”

Sonic looked over at Silver, then down towards me as I still felt my breathing was low and drained, I couldn’t speak no matter how much my lips parted to try. It was like I was still adjusting to being in one dimension again, instead of flying through to see my other self’s choices.

“It didn’t need to come to this point...” Sonic spoke gravely, but it seemed to trigger and enrage Silver as he shot his head to look back at him, then stood up, defiantly.

“If you hadn’t acted the way you did, we may not have gotten this path. We have a real way to succeed and get through this now, Sonic! Why are you still so against me!?” He tightened his fists and thrust them forward, showing how much he was holding back his mixed emotions...

He was somewhat humble enough to admit that if Sonic didn’t rebel against him, that I wouldn’t have done what I did... but on the other hand, it still seemed like Sonic was opposed.

“I just meant that it didn’t need to be this way.” Sonic shook his head to Silver, remaining somewhat collected from his earlier clenched jaw demeanor. He put what felt like the warmest touch out of everyone’s onto my arm, and looked back to me, “It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

Somehow... I knew he was speaking to me.

He must have meant he wished it wasn’t so emotional to where I was put in a rough spot, choosing between losing the love of my life or sacrificing myself into the time vortex... I would have jumped, if Sonic jumped too... at least then, we could be trapped together. He wouldn’t have had to be alone in that endless maze...

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have thought those exact wordings of it, but... it did help to think he may have seen it as an act of true love.

I gained strength from his hand resting on my arm, and slowly began to wobble and lean myself up.

Everyone saw my arms gain strength again and push from under me, and immediately swarmed me again to help, perhaps unaware if I was conscious enough to have heard their discussion.

They called out to me, and I nodded, showing I was here and alert, but drained somewhat.

The pounding in my head subsided and I gripped it, “I... I saw her.” I stated, “I saw the original dimension this all happened in... I think I can do it again.”

Sadly, I couldn’t just ‘summon’ the answers. Something had to trigger it, which began another frustration as we all held one another’s hands and jumped into the void.

The first rewritten stories were perplexing. A shadowy figure that swarmed with dark matter looked strangely in the silhouette of Eggman, but instead of targeting Sonic like usual, he kept coming after me.

“U-wah!!” I leaped out of one of his dark matter missiles as everyone was getting scattered from me, as though this figure didn’t want me to receive any help.

“Amy!” Sonic called out, darting from the after-effects of the missiles, for when they landed and exploded, a space of black, glittering galaxy expanded out in a small radius and tried to suck us into another story to lose our progression.

He rolled and finally slid under the shadowy Eggman, confusing him as he pulled up on his Eggmobile and Sonic round-house kicked him away from me.

He reached to grab me, and as I went to reach for him as well, my eyes glowed again the color of the Master Emerald and I saw the other dimensional me.

She was young and looked like my younger years of first meeting Sonic. Sonic was younger too, and reached out in the same way Sonic was doing now. Was this... the corresponding choice?

Could I only see these moments when something unified happened? Were we making the same choices our other selves were or are making right this second?

I couldn’t tell, but I could see that after that Sonic and little me took the other’s hands, she summoned her hammer and spun to whack a younger looking Eggman away and send him flying, then everyone gathered and they took the right route... where it looked like the world was splitting apart and floating rapidly in a spinning and drifting away appearance.

When I came back, my head hurt and I looked to see that while unconscious, my friends were defending me from the shadowy figure of the Eggman lookalike.

“W-we have to take the right path!” I shouted out, my head pounding and debilitating me from summoning my hammer.

I had to though, if I didn’t, time would rewrite and we’d have to start with a new scenario and from scratch. Everyone was depending on me to guide them... I had to fight through the pain!

I struggled to lean up, feeling my body tense like cracking through uncooked spaghetti, but my arms finally cricked into position and I summoned my hammer.

“HAAA!!!” I grabbed Sonic’s hand which, when he noticed I was getting up, hurried to reach out to me again as I felt him pull me forward and swung my hammer into the momentum of his helpful pull.

The Shadowy Eggman went flying, and though Silver thought the left looked more safe from the twisting rapidly pieces of land in the galaxy on the right side, I urged him to trust me.

Sonic and I... we were so amped up in the moment... we didn’t realize that we never let go of one another’s hand...

G.U.N was in this memory or story, whichever it was, and they were after a shadowy figure of Shadow The Hedgehog.

However, Shadow seemed to be targeting me, as though wanting to destroy me.

This continued to baffle Tails and Silver, but Sonic was more protective than I’ve ever seen before, unselfishly throwing himself in the rippling blackness of Shadow’s silhouette, but was defenseless against how much more powerful this Shadow appeared to be.

It was reminding us all of when Shadow first awakened, and Knuckles tag-teamed with Sonic to give me enough time to try and trigger my memory.

I tried to do various things and put myself into situations to see if anything would trigger the correct course’s vision, but nothing was working and I was growing frustrated with myself.

Face it, there was a lot of pressure, and I felt that every minute I wasted was another second Sonic and Knuckles had to suffer under the fake G.U.N shadowy forms and the Shadow look-a-like.

Finally, I hit my head with a rock as a last resort but was quickly pulled away by Tails, “Amy!”

“Stop it, that isn’t helping!” Silver quickly intercepted too, yanking the rock out of my hands.

“I... I don’t know what else to do...” I admitted, feeling I was losing grip of my faith in myself... I may have been able to spare Sonic before, but now..?

Was this completely out of my control?

“Anytime now, fellas!” Knuckles called out as we both turned to see Sonic and Knuckles shoving themselves against Shadow’s dark, rippling body that almost looked like wavy flames under a watery scope. He was taking steps forward, which caused their feet to grind against the earth in an attempt to hold him back.

Then G.U.N appeared behind us, and we were surrounded... When the bullets began to fire, my eyes widened and the light of the Master Emerald grew from my eyes.

My other self was rescued once more by Sonic, but he was hit by those odd galaxy alternating bullets. He fell by her side and twitched, making her get up and cry over him as the bullets expanded holes in his form, and as he looked up at her, the holes overtook him and he turned into a rewritten, shadowy figure that reached for her.

She gasped and was pulled away by another, younger Knuckles with a cowboy hat on, who said something I couldn’t hear as my visions didn’t have sound, and threw her to a smaller Tails, who caught her and flew with her into another portal as the two left the other Knuckles behind with the shadowy images of Sonic, G.U.N, and Shadow...

“NOOO!!!” I came out of the vision and turned to where Sonic was coming at me, already having jumped and about to reach me.

I knew if I didn’t let these events happen, we’d be trapped, but every part of me wanted to jump into Sonic’s arms and push him back, let myself be the one that was swallowed up in the rewritten darkness.

But by then, I knew it wasn’t--and shouldn’t--be called a rewritten reality.

It was erasing reality! There seemed to be a hive-mind I picked up on, the force was controlling my friends and Eggman, G.U.N even!

Not just that, but I didn’t know if we’d be able to save Sonic. I thought nothing could overcome Sonic... I was so torn, but as I focused on his eyes... so determined to get me out of harm’s way... I couldn’t find it in my heart to move.

He was shot and rolled along the ground with me as he I held him, tears spraying from my eyes in an army of resistance. I clung to him, crying out his name as he flinched and tried to fight against the erasing darkness that would soon overwhelm his being and turn him into a mindless drone to whatever force was trying to take over time and our known reality.

“Noo!!!” I screamed out as Sonic told Knuckles to take me from him, and as he turned to fight Shadow, was fully overcome and went limp. “SOOONNICCC!!!”

Knuckles had ripped me from him and threw me to Tails, instructing him that he’d stay behind to look after Sonic while Tails and Silver got through to the next part or stage of this timeline.

Silver had to grip my head and take my line of sight off of Sonic’s shadowy form as it turned almost like a zombie towards me, tilting it’s head as the drones somehow knew I carried the Master Emerald’s power to connect to the other dimension.

“Amy! Listen to me!” Silver began, but I felt I had died inside. My voice escaped my lungs and there was nothing left in me. I... had become motionless... I didn’t stop Sonic... I... I didn’t deserve him...

What kind of woman, who claimed to love her hero so full-heartedly, would have froze up when the time to save him drew near?

“I don’t deserve him...” My headache couldn’t match the absolute obliteration of my soul and heart from within me. Like those rapidly twirling away pieces of the world we had journeyed through moments before. “I... Sonic...!” I didn’t deserve to call myself Sonic’s destined love... if I couldn’t even protect him when I knew what was about to happen.

“He was too fast, Amy, there’s nothing you could have done.” Tails held me closer to him, seeing my shaking eyes and the pain in trying to speak when I felt my entire ribcage had collapsed and took the compartments of my lungs and lifeforce with it.

“Amy, please, remember, this can all be rewritten.” Silver had placed his two hands to the sides of my face, seeing how broken I was and failing to grasp this reality.

My head twitched up, but I was hollow inside.

“You have to tell us what to do. What did you see? Where do we go?!” He urged, trying to be kind, but... “We can’t save him now! He’ll be alright, you have to trust in your vision! Please, Amy! The more time you spend silent the more time Sonic has to suffer!”

What was the point..? Without Sonic... Without him, I-... I had no meaning to my life anymore. Sonic was everything to me... he was my whole world... a reality without Sonic... in a universe where I couldn’t see him smiling... couldn’t hear his laughter and teasing expression... A world without his warm touch...

My mind went back to when Sonic had placed his hand to my arm, his words... “It didn’t need to come to this point... It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

My eyes blazed with a new purpose. I wasn’t just going to save my dimension. I was going to save my Sonic!

I cried out and struggled to get Silver’s hands off my face, then pointed Tails to the portal that was opening behind us. “There! Go! Now!”

I saw and witnessed first hand the torment the other dimensional, more tender, younger and naïve me struggle to gain the strength to continue forward, till her and her friends found sanctuary at the end.

By this time, I had spent all of what I felt was in me, and fell to my knees as I had fought the dark entity known as World Keeper, who was polluted by the filth of negativity in all the worlds... that hive mind was just swallowing the world in despair, and without ever being hit by it, I felt it more than ever too.

Then it slashed it, and I felt the darkness swallowing me as my color turned black with the light glimmer of inky stars within it’s slick obsidian...

I fell back and couldn’t feel myself hit the ground, I couldn’t feel anything anymore but emptiness...

As it overtook me, I wondered with my last, conscious thoughts if the other dimensional me had saved Sonic... was this the end of our universe? Or just the entrapment of one dimension?

Then...

“Don’t give up!”

S...Sonic?

“You have what it takes, use the power of the Chaos Emeralds!”

S...Shadow?

“I didn’t blast this stupid filth out of the sky only to be controlled into an everlasting misery by it!!!”

Eggman..?

“I’m not staying stuck in this feeling forever! Come on, Amy! You can do this-grraaahh!!!”

Knuckles...

Drifting into the blackness of the void, I suddenly felt four strong hands trying to force me upwards towards the light.

It slowed my decent, until Silver and Tails were able to reach out and grab me, and my last vision surfaced with the dizzy spell.

Rosy... she was also drifting into despair before Robotnik and Sonic reached through their own controlled misery by the World Keeper and used the last of their hope to push her out...

I tried to strain as best as I could through the dizzy, blurry vision and move my hand up towards them.

Her vision and mine suddenly conjoined, and I saw younger Tails flash continuously between Silver and my dimension’s Tails too.

I spoke out to her... “We can still save everyone...” I encouraged, “We... can’t give in... to hopelessness!”

I felt our hearts merge into one, felt our power soar as though we were evolving into a new creature that had it’s life sparked into existence again.

Newly hatched into this feeling of easiness, peace, and strength beyond my understanding... I grabbed Tails and Silver’s hands and swung out, the darkness that was once overcoming me suddenly burst with light and the seven Chaos Emeralds floated around us.

“Ah! She didn’t fuse with them!” Silver blurted out, seeing them swarm both him and Tails too.

“She... was storing them!” Tails exclaimed.

I guess I had become somewhat of their server and carrier... there power was just kept safe in me... through the Master Emerald and my unique connection to the other me.

We fought and as we did, I touched the ground and brought my friends and all the dimensions who had succumb to the negativity out from the inky blanket of darkness and restored their light and hope through the power being expelled from me.

No longer was I a guide.

I was a redeeming light now.

Sonic, Shadow, and Silver all burst into Super form, and together--with all the other worlds we loved so dearly too--we put an end to World Keeper and with me and my other self touching his chest as he was about to fall back into the his own making of the void, he immediately returned to a smaller form of another being.

Sonic suddenly cried out, “Chip!” and darted into the void after him.

I waited... weeks and weeks did I wait for him...

I clung to my chest as though clinging to my heart, refusing to let it break, and keeping it all together again.

I didn’t have visions anymore, but I could feel something... Something like the despair of the void was created from that feeling of loss and loneliness when Chip’s essence left the core of the earth and became free roaming in space...

Tails said he had a theory, that Chip’s body was still with Dark Gaia, but his power had escaped in longing to reunite with Sonic, his friend, again.

Traveling through space and time without a body, it became depressed, and expelled it’s world-bending powers to try and find Sonic... ending up losing itself and taking all worlds and dimensions it was searching through down with it.

A comet of bright golden light shot down through the cosmos, and I eagerly dropped everything to race out my door and pursue it, I knew from the green, red, and white lights that covered the world that Chip’s soul and powers returned to their slumber... and brought back Sonic safely to us as well!

“Sonic..!” My heart could barely contain it’s joy as I raced over the hills to follow his light... before having it sink and my hands fling up to the sides of my face when I saw him hit the water off in the distance of the sea. “No, Sonic!!! You can’t swim!!”

The distance was too far, but I swam anyway, feeling my exhaustion from having traveled miles and miles already on land before seeing him fall into the ocean.

He was covered in a light I assumed was Chip’s planet power, and I held my breath and swam down to him, heard a voice in my mind calling to me...

“Sorry for all the trouble I caused, Amy... Take good care of Sonic from now on. I won’t be lonely without him anymore... I know I may never see him again, especially when I wake up many, many years from now... but even still, the moments I had with him in the void of space and time, and with our time facing Dark Gaia, will always be in my heart... Thank you for letting me see him, one last time...”

The floating ball of light around him slowly brought Sonic up to me, and when I entered it, I took a deep breath and fell limply over his body, floating with him up to the surface.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me, winking without a word but it still gave me so much comfort and peace.

It was as though he was saying everything would be alright now... and Chip’s remaining spatial power set us down on the shoreline... as the waves met us as we took a much deserved rest on the cool sands... the sun rose up and the sounds of helicopters and people were surrounding us, but we remained sleeping soundly next to one another...

Sonic’s warm hand... laying gently over my stomach...

Mine upon his heart.

G.U.N’s windy interruption causing us both to sneeze as Silver appeared and held out both his hands to stop them from investigating, explaining as we drifted off into our dreams~

#sonamy #cutegirlmayra #sonamy au #amy rose #amy rose au #classic sonamy #sonamy prompt #sonic prompt #sonic #sonicxamy

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write-orflight · 4 years

Text

Like Real People do. Chapter 5

*Gif not mine*

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Rating: M, eventually will be smut.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: Very Angsty flashbacks to torture/death,

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N This Chapter is very short and backstory heavy and it’s full of angst so sorry. Message to be added to taglist. Much love, Cia

Chapter 5: What did you bury?

“Y/N!” You come back to with a start, you are seated on the ground next to your driver’s side door, Spencer is looking into your eyes intensely.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What did Hotch say?” He asks, helping you on to your feet. You brush off asphalt from your shorts.

“I have to go to the office.” You say absently, You move to open your driver’s side door. Spencer slams it shut.

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive when you’re this upset.” He holds his hand out for your car keys, which you reluctantly hand over. He was right, you shouldn’t drive.

The drive to Quantico is silent, Spencer seeming to know you didn’t want to talk right now. Instead, he kept one of his hands off the wheel and held yours, letting you squeeze as tight as you can.

When you arrive at the building, Hotch is already waiting in the middle of the bullpen. “Y/N/N.” he says, sadly. You nod at him. “Spencer what’re you doing here?”

“Umm, we were out for a movie when you called sir. She fainted, I just wanted to make sure she was ok.”

Hotch nods, choosing not to comment on the date he very clearly interrupted. “Let’s talk in my office, Y/N.”

You nod, standing up silently to follow Hotch, you spare Spencer a small smile as you walk by but all he does is look back at you with concern.

You step inside, sitting in the chair in front of hotch’s desk. As soon as you hear the door click you say the first word you’ve said in an hour.

“No.”

“Y/N…” Hotch levels, you cut him off.

“No Hotch, I’m not just going to sit across from that man and tell him exactly what he wants to hear. I-I can’t do that.” You shake, the tears are leaving you involuntarily. Hotch comes to sit next to you grasping your hands

“I know, Y/N.” Hotch says. “I’m not going to make you.”

“I’m sensing there’s a but coming.” You say.

“But…” He says. “I believe if we work his Victimology backwards we can figure out where they are ourselves but that means--”

“I’d have to tell the team about me?” You ask. He nods. “Ok, call them.”

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

“Do you have any idea why we’re being called in so late?” Derek asks the group, Emily and JJ shake their heads no, Rossi opts to stay silent. He knew why they were there, it was only a matter of time. He and Hotch knew about Ferguson’s demand but kept it quiet, choosing to not tell you until it was absolutely necessary. Now it seems that day has come.

Spencer stayed silent. He was worried about you, he’d never seen you this way. Your typically bright, sunny demeanor seemed to dissipate completely as soon as she got that call from Hotch. He didn’t know what i was about and because of that he didn’t know how to help and that hurt.

Later you, Hotch, and Garcia, file into the conference room. You feel eyes on you as you’d been crying heavily and everyone could tell. You took your seat next to Spencer who’s eyes seem to bore into you more intensely now. You try to avoid eye contact with him as Garcia presents the case

Your case.

“Gabriel Ferguson, age 46, killed 11 people between the years 1996-1998, All two parent families; with a teenage daughter.” Garcia rattled off. She looked at you awkwardly, before continuing. “He would break in at night, Slitting the parents’, starting with the dad, throats before kidnapping the daughter. Then he would keep the daughter’s hostage for 2-3 weeks before their bodies would turn up asphyxiated, laid with arms crossed over the chest.”

“Wait, we’re doing the Beechwood Killer case? That case is a decade old.” Derek interjects. “And isn’t he already on death row? Why are we reviewing that sick bastard’s case?”

“Yea, He killed 2 agents, didn’t he?” Spencer adds. Oh, god… You think. Feeling the bile that was rising in the back of your throat, you grimaced swallowing it down. “But they never found the daughter’s body.”

“There was no body.” you say quietly. Everyone’s eyes snap to you. Garcia and Hotch look at you sadly, you nod slightly to let them know you were ok, at least for right now.

“What do you mean? It completely doesn’t fit his profile to let the daughter live, her body’s still out there, most likely--” Spencer starts, you cut him off.

“He didn’t let me live!” You snap. Everyone was for sure looking at you now. You swallow the lump in your throat. You sigh. “The FBI did a decent job of covering everything up and sealing the records, and if it were still up to me none of you would have to know about this.” You take a deep heavy sigh before starting. “My mother was Special Agent Alice Y/L/N, she just worked in white collar crimes but my father was Special Agent Noah Y/L/N, he was a profiler for the BAU for years and investigated Ferguson's case with Hotch and Rossi. After a while, My dad started getting threatening letters from Ferguson, telling him to stop looking into him. Of course my dad didn’t listen and well--” You cut yourself off, trying to manage to sob that wanted to rip through your body. “He slit my parent’s throats in front of me and kept me hostage in his basement for 2 weeks before Hotch found me.” You finish, and look up at everyone. They were all looking at you with such pity, Garcia had tears in her eyes. Spencer looked livid, like he was boiling mad. “They never found the first family's bodies, He’s agreed to reveal where they are if I-- if I come talk to him. Guys, I-I can’t--” The tears you were trying to hold back were coming out of the woodwork now. Spencer's hand instantly finds yours under the table, he lets you squeeze his hand tightly.

“We’re not going to make you, baby girl.” Derek adds. “We’ll find them, ok?”

“Gabriel Ferguson's death is scheduled for the 13th, that’s five days from now. I hope I don’t need to stress time being of the essence here.” Everyone shakes their heads. “Alright get to work.”

Everyone files out of the conference room until it's just you and Spencer. You realize, you were still grasping his hand, you let go. He instantly moves closer to you, wiping the stray tear from your face.

“Are you ready to move yet?” He asks, you shake your head more tears involuntarily falling. “That’s ok, We’ll sit here for a second.”

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

Spencer drove you home that night, the team deciding it’d be best if you sat this one out. You didn’t want that but when Hotch leveled you with a stern look you left, feeling dejected.

Spencer walked you to your door, mouth opening several times as if he wanted to say something but he couldn’t find the words. You decide to make it easy on him by opening your arms. He instantly sweeps you into the tightest hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. You stay like that for a moment, stray tears falling involuntarily from your face. You eventually try to pull away but he doesn’t let you get too far.

“Spence, you’ve gotta let go.” You laugh, sadly.

“No.” He mumbles into your shoulder. He does release you though, squeezing you one last time.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“No, you’ve got to help the others, besides I won’t be alone, Garbage is here.” You say, to reassure Spencer, he doesn’t look too convinced to leave you under the supervision of a 9 month old kitten. “Spencer, I’ll be fine. I’m probably going to sleep.” You open your door to go inside, Spencer grabs your hand before you can step out of the doorway.

“If you need anything at all, you call me.” He says.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, dad.” You start to close the door but his hand instantly shoots out to stop you.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” A stern look crossed his face, you’d never seen that look before and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think it was hot. “Anytime. I’ll be awake.”

“I will, Spen.” You say. He nods at you once before turning leaving you alone in your apartment.

You didn’t lie when you said you were tired so as soon as your head hits the pillow, you fall into a deep slumber, Garbage mewling beside you.

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

It’s been 3 days, and according to Spencer the team wasn’t any closer. You couldn’t blame them, it was a decade old case, the trail had gone cold a while ago. You knew the only way you could help those family’s get closure was facing Gabriel one last time.

You went to the office despite Hotch telling you to steer clear for a couple days, you had to go tell him you were ready. You stopped by your desk dropping your bag off, you noticed the bullpen was empty. Strange… you think. You head to the conference room, assuming that’s where everyone was.

You were right, you heard Spencer explaining the geographical profile he’d come up with, nothing could’ve prepared you for when you saw the boards. You were a profiler, you’ve seen crime scene photos before you knew what it looked like when you were working, pinned up pictures of victims, hoping they’d give you some type of clue. You knew this part of the job but nothing prepared you for seeing your parents the way they looked that night and despite your best efforts you were back to that night again.

“Beloved, I’m sorry you have to see this.” His gravel-like voice whispered softly in your ear. His breath was putrid, making you light headed. You struggled your bound hands, keeping your tongue back so you wouldn’t have to taste the dirty t-shirt he gagged you with. He used the knife to lift your chin slightly. “Usually, I like to do this part separately but something tells me you’re just like your father. So you need to be shown what happens when you’re disobedient.

He circles around you until he is in front of your father. “I told you not to look for me.” He stands behind him, knife pressing deeply into your dad’s neck. “Anything, you want to say to Beloved?”

Your dad looks at you with sad, scared eyes. “I love you, Angel. Look away.”

You shut your eyes tightly, you didn’t see it but you didn't need to. You heard it and to make it worse you felt it. The blood sprayed hitting you in the left side of your face. You didn’t open your eyes, you couldn’t. If you did it was proof this was real. You heard his heavy feet move until they stopped. You assumed in front of your mother. You heard her soft melodic voice one more time.

“I love you. Do good, Please.”

Then you heard the same awful noise again.

When you came back everyone was watching you, waiting for the shoe to drop you assumed. Spencer and Morgan’s bodies now conveniently in front of the board, obstructing the view. Your mother’s words played back in your ear. Do good. Right now, you weren’t doing good. You were being a coward.

“Take it down.” You say, Everyone just looks at you incredulously.

“Y/N…” Hotch says.

“Take it down, we weren’t getting anywhere anyway and my parents don’t deserve their last moments on display like that anymore.”

“But, Y/N, The bodies…” Garcia trails off.

“I’ll talk to him.” You say.

“Y/N/N, No--” Spencer interjects.

“It’s not up to you.” You snap. “If I don’t do it then I’m just proving him right, that he still after all this time, has power over me. That I still fear him. I can’t let him win again.” You say looking at the group. “Tell the warden that we’re requesting he be interviewed in an FBI interrogation room.” You tell Hotch. “If I’m doing this it’s my terf, not his.”

Hotch nods at you. “Of course, whatever you want.”

You nod, walking out of the conference room, preparing yourself to walk into the lion’s den.

Taglist: @haylaansmi @yoruebeautiful @kianagilder-blog @l0ve-0f-my-life @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black @baby-banana @drreidshands @blameitonthenight21 @slyskyeey @liaabsurd @di-essere-amato @oliviamaerose

#spencer reid x reader smut #spencer x reader smut #bau x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader

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bunnylouisegrimes · 3 years

Text

It’s A Wonderful Afterlife (NOS4A2 Fanfic)

A/N: I’ve had this story idea in my head for awhile, but I got to writing it yesterday and the day before yesterday. Basically, this one is the story of Rose’s transformation into a vampire. It’s gonna cover some heavy topics such as nearing the end of your life and terminal illness, so be warned, but there’s a lot of happiness in the middle and near the end. Hope you all enjoy!

It’s A Wonderful Afterlife

A NOS4A2 Fanfic

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

As the years went by for Rose, very little had changed in terms of her personality. She had remained shy and introverted (unless in the company of those she deeply trusted), she had remained both gothy and girly, and she had remained nerdy. Her love for her toys, her games, her writing, her art, her vampire husband, and her children had never waned. Fifty years of marriage and a set of dhampir twins later, and from the inside, she was as young as she had been on her wedding day.

Physically, she had her differences.

By the time she reached 57, grey hairs were starting to show in ways they hadn’t before. She had never been the type to dye her hair, but in order to preserve its beauty that she so cherished, from then on out, she dyed her long hair the closest shade of matching brunette she could.

Her height was as short as before, her weight was roughly around the same spot thanks to her vigorously making sure she never went past 200 pounds, and her eyes were as hazel as before, with the exception of holding an aged look. Her face and skin had shown the obvious signs of age, but such a thing was inevitable. It was nothing a little makeup couldn’t help make look better.

Charlie still found his June Rose to be as beautiful as he always found her. He had asked her on and off since their consummation on their wedding night, where he took her virginity and kept it within him to turn her into a vampire just like him one day, if she was willing to grow an older human. She always told him she did; she wanted to see how long this “human” thing would go. She wanted to experience humanity till the end, when the next chapter in her life would have to begin and vampirism would take the lead.

But by the age of 75, when she looked as though she was older than Charlie (when he wasn’t in desperate need of souls), and looked to be a grandmother to the children of Christmasland rather than mother, and her parents and brother had moved on to the other side from their own respective health issues, things were beginning to be odd. It was a whole seven months after her 75th birthday when something wasn’t right.

The first sign was the weight loss. Rose had always been a bit plump, but both she and Charlie noticed her normally soft potbelly was slimmer and smaller. They also noticed her thighs and arms were slimmer. This confused them, and they kept it in mind, but they figured it could be the result of age rather than a sickness.

The second sign was the pain in her abdomen and middle back. Within a few weeks of noticing her fat going down, she had pains in these areas on and off, and they would pick up in intensity and frequency some days.

The third sign was the general sickness she felt. One moment, she would be playing with the children, the next, she would be feeling extremely nauseous and fatigued. She would have to throw up in the bathroom and it would take a few minutes for her to recover. Charlie and her both knew that this went beyond weariness from play due to elder age. This was an apparent illness, and something was physically wrong.

However, Rose was also unusual not just in her gastrointestinal area, but her mind as well.

Forgetfulness and misplacing something was nothing noticeable, as she did it all the time. But she suspected something wasn’t right when within those same few weeks, she was slowly starting to forget things that just happened. Both her and Charlie would be watching an episode of one of their shows, and by the time commercials ended, she was struggling to remember quite a few details of what happened before them. It took her a moment to connect the events together. The same happened when she would read, and every once in a while, she would have to slowly read the same paragraph three times.

The turning point came when she and Charlie were discussing things in bed, and she was struggling to remember certain conversations they had and she had with the children only a month ago that she remembered a week before. A few details Rose brought up were nonexistent, and Charlie had to correct her. That night, she decided that between these small forgetful spells and these stomach issues, it was clear she needed to go to a doctor as soon as possible. He agreed and promised to take her in the morning.

The next day, they left Christmasland for the appointment Charlie made for her the moment he woke up. They explained to the doctor all of Rose’s physical and mental symptoms. The doctor nodded; how he nodded made her nervous. When she was younger, she was a nurse, and through her medical knowledge, she could guess what these symptoms meant, but she wanted to trust another medical professional’s judgement, as these things could be nothing rather than something, but as obvious as it sounded, it was always better to be safe than sorry. She had seen that nod before when in the presence of both patients who were relieved to find their serious symptoms were nothing and those who were about to have the news of terminal illness broken to them. Like a coin flip, it would be heads or tails: heads would be another day to live, tails would be a death sentence.

A series of nerve wracking scans and tests with Charlie by her side later, and the diagnosis was clear. The moment the doctor came back to their room, Rose, like a bloodhound, smelled the sullen seriousness in his face and tone of voice. She recognized that face and voice from her nurse days; the coin was tails. He was about to give her the date and method of her execution before slamming his gravel down.

Rose had always imagined that she would go out thanks to her heart or some sort of diabetes related sickness, given bad hearts and diabetes ran in her mom’s side of the family, and her obesity she tried to control would certainly be a contributing factor. Genetics were a hell of a double edged sword: they could give you the most beautiful set of eyes and hair with skin to match, but they could also give you the worst odds of illness you could think of.

This time, it was not Rose’s heart that would fail her, or the development of diabetes. It was two things that were just as genetic, but aruguably worse. She recalled her mother telling her that Rose’s great aunt had died of pancreatic cancer, and it was a miserable way to go. She also remembered her mother telling her that Rose’s great grandmother was suspected of suffering from Alzheimer’s before succumbing to death.

Well, it was no surprise to Rose when she learned that these two things were her method of execution. Not only because she suspected they could be possibilities, but because the facts were simple: if she was somehow strong enough to survive the painful destruction her body would suffer from the cancer, the synapses in her brain would be eaten away, just as if she was bitten by a zombie from one of her stories, and much like a zombie, not much would remain of her but a dead shell. She would be a burden to her husband and children, and they would have to watch her go from being a loving, wonder filled woman to a sickly, miserable, pain filled stranger who wouldn’t even be able to remember herself, her lover, or her children.

Both her and Charlie took this news with with equal sadness. The future was bleak, and they knew that. Not even chemotherapy treatment was worth it.

“My grandfather suffered from esophageal cancer, and he did not fare well with chemo thanks to his genetics,” she explained to the doctor. “Given that I am half my mother, and she is half of him, my odds are not good, are they?”

“Well, you certainly have a better chance than your mother, but yes, he is a direct blood relative, so the odds are there. If you wish to go through chemo, we can get you started on it, but if you don’t want to risk it or have any treatment, you’ll have roughly a year left to live. Since cancer and dimentia do have a connection, as it spreads throughout your stomach and body, your mental decline will come rapidly. I estimate that you will go through the final stages of both illnesses simultaneously, and it will, to put it lightly, be painful for all parties involved.”

Rose nodded. “I don’t think I want to risk it. I don’t think there’s much of a point to go through all of that, only for my mind to fail me. Not to mention, wouldn’t chemo worsen it?”

“It can, yes,” the doctor continued. “Since the state of Colorado offers the End of Life Options Act, we can administer physician assisted suicide, if that is what you would prefer, but there will be a few things you’ll need to do.”

Had Charlie not been in her life, Rose would’ve agreed to do such a thing in these circumstances, although, if she hasn’t met him, she most likely wouldn’t have been in the state of Colorado and instead stuck back home in Ohio, where no such laws would exist. She knew that with the choice of transforming into a vampire, suicide wasn’t needed.

“I’ll need to think on that,” Rose lied.

“I understand, as this is a lot to take in. Please contact me as soon as possible when you have come to your decisions.”

Father and Mother Christmas departed the hospital and stepped inside the Wraith. The drive back to Gunbarrel was at first silent, but Charlie needed to pull over to a secluded area. Rose could see the tears in his brown eyes.

“My beloved...” He hushed, his deep voice breaking. “You’re so sick...”

“I know,” she said softly. “I wanted to give my humanity the best run I could, and I did. But I’m not going through this shit. I’m going out on my own terms, only I won’t have to die. I’m becoming a vampire, and going into the next chapter of my life.” She turned to Charlie. “You don’t need to cry, baby. You have the power to prevent my departure from this world. I already talked to each of my family before they went, and they knew I was going to be immortal as long as I could be, but I could still contact them through my new psychic powers. If you and the kids are more sensitive to spirits, that must mean I will be too. Hell, we’ll make it look like I chose to die without treatment or assisted suicide to the doctors. I’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.”

“Yes, I know,” he sobbed, wiping his eyes. “It’s just... the idea of you dying... the fact is, you had been dying, and you are dying. I know that’s humanity, but when you have something like this... you are not only dying in the human sense, but the clinical as well.”

The gravity of Charlie’s words slapped Rose in the face, just as the news of her diagnosis in the first place had moments ago. Even though she had another chance, unlike so many others in her place, there was still a sadness to be had. This chapter in her life was done, and she could either do one of two endings: continue down a horrible road until salvation was given to her and everyone was left scarred from their experiences, or embrace salvation now. Rose knew that she was going to avoid that horrible road and jump straight to the awe inspiring transformation that would mark the next chapter, but it was a shame her human form had to suffer like this, and that it was even an issue. In addition, 75 was decently young for elderly death. If she were in her 80’s, or especially her 90’s, this was expectant, but 75... it seemed a bit too soon.

She began to cough, and Charlie handed her his white handkerchief. Her eyes widened when she saw blood splatter, and that’s when her own tears poured from her eyes. She gave it back to Charlie and buried herself in his chest. The two held onto each other and wept for a good twenty minutes before deciding they needed to head back home.

Before they exited the car to greet their children, Rose suddenly smiled as she held Charlie’s hand. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I think tomorrow is a good day to celebrate my last day of humanity, and then I’d like to transform. If that’s okay with you.”

A smile formed on his own face. “Whatever day you are ready, my love. I will fuse your innocence back inside of you whenever you desire.”

They broke the news to the children, but they handled it well. They understood the severity of the situation regarding their mother’s health, but were excited and viewed the positive side, that their mother was to be an immortal vampire much like them and their father. When their mother told them she would like to celebrate the last day of her humanity tomorrow and transform into a vampire tomorrow night, they knew that much was to be anticipated for. Their father assured them that tomorrow would be a day to never forget.

While the other children ran upstairs to go to bed, excited for what tomorrow would hold, Millie, Lorrie, Nicholas, and Holly stayed behind. They ran over to their mother and hugged her.

“Even though you’re not gonna be a human anymore,” Lorrie began, “it doesn’t change a thing.”

“We always knew you’d be a vampire like us one day,” Millie added. “We hope you’ll be healthy and happy again real soon.”

“I will, babies,” Rose reassured them. “I will.”

“If we’re half human...” Nicholas spoke up.

“...That means we’re the last pieces of your humanity, right?” Holly finished.

“Yes, it does, babies,” Rose smiled wider. “I suppose it does.”

The twins beamed at each other in pride.

“But just because I’ll become a vampire doesn’t mean I still won’t be myself,” she clarified. “We’ll all still be just as we were, just with me having some physical improvements. It’ll be just as if I will always human.”

They nodded and knew it was time to get ready for bed with the others. They raced each other up the stairs, their parents tagging behind. When everyone was ready, Charlie and Rose bid the little ones good night before snuggling close to each other in their own bed.

Sleep could not come quick or easy for Rose, as her worries and anxieties mixed with her excitement kept her awake, but somehow, she found herself asleep. While Charlie slept, he dreamt of how the party would look for his beloved: the balloons, the streamers, the cake, the lights, the roses everywhere, the unicorns, the glitter... everything to honor his lover’s life and everything that represented what she was and would always be to their family.

When he awoke the next morning, Rose was still asleep. Letting her get her much needed rest, he snuck downstairs. The children had all woke up at the same time he had. They all snuck down the steps and they paused, amazed at the sight that awaited them downstairs...

When Rose opened her eyes and rubbed them, she turned next to her to find Charlie missing. She went to the bathroom and left her bedroom to check on the children. They were not in their very large and ever expanding bed. She noticed that the living room was dark, but all sorts of odd shadows filled it. She went down the steps and turned the lights on.

“Surprise!” Everyone cheered.

Rose gasped. Her eyes were filled with wonder as she saw what her living room had become.

Rainbow lights and glittery streamers filled the ceiling. Colorful balloons and roses of all colors were everywhere. In the center of the coffee table was a cake with candles that became aglow once she turned the lights on. A wonderfully designed unicorn figurine with roses in its mane and tail set on the cake.

“Oh... oh, it’s beautiful!” Rose cried, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Oh, I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

Charlie beamed and pulled a pink dress over her nightgown. She hugged him and kissed him on the lips, cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“How did you all do this?” She asked.

“I dreamed it, like I do everything... well, not everything, as you are far too beautiful to be dreamed from me.”

She blushed and hugged him even tighter. “You are the sweetest man I’ve ever known. I am so happy to know you, be with you and have all these little ones to raise with you.”

The children rushed to her and she gave them as many hugs and kisses as she could give.

“Look outside, and you’ll see the party goes beyond this room,” Charlie said.

Rose opened the front door and was taken aback. Christmasland was covered in more roses, balloons, glitter, and rainbow lights. Amongst it all, the rainbow unicorns from Charlie’s zoo played in the snow together, free to roam from their usual enclosure.

“It’s all in your honor, my dear.” Charlie laid a kiss on her head.

She could speak no words, just gaze in amazement as the children ran outside to play. Charlie and Rose did the same, and for the rest of the day, they played and occasionally stopped to eat. Rose did her best to keep it together, but surprisingly, no ill feelings or forgetful spells came to her. Perhaps because her body knew that it was only one last day until her body would be immune to all ailments, so it needed to use the last of its strength. Or because happiness was her best medicine in the moment. She couldn’t tell which.

By the end of the day, they had gathered back inside, she blew the candles on the cake, and they began to eat some of it. The time had come where they needed to go to bed so that their mother’s transformation could occur. She read them her favorite bedtime stories before they all got too tired to stay awake. She and Charlie kissed them all good night and closed the door, knowing that would be the last time they’d ever see her in her old form.

When they entered the room, the couple closed their door and the fireplace kicked on thanks to Charlie’s abilities. Rose laid on the bed and sighed.

“Today is one of the best days of my entire life,” she said. “I have you and the babies to thank for that. You have made my human days very special, and you will make my vampire ones the same.”

Charlie laid next to her. “You have made my days very special, and you have made the babies’ days very special. We have you to thank for that.”

They exchanged a kiss before Rose sat up. “Well now... are we ready?”

“Are you ready is the more important question.”

“I think I am,” she said. “Words cannot describe how wonderful this day has been from start to finish. It is a day I will cherish forever. And before my sicknesses get to me... I shall end my humanity and ring in my new vampirism on the happiest note possible.”

She looked at herself in a mirror nearby as she slipped her dress off. “Oh, my dear human body. You have seen so much since the moment I was born. And yet, here we are. You won’t be the same ever again, and you will be improved in ways unimaginably amazing, but I hope you know how much I appreciate you. Even when I’ve experienced self hatred, I was always thankful for you. I hope you love this new form.”

She turned back to Charlie and laid back down. “I guess this means I’ll get to eat people with you guys. The right ones, of course. And fangs, nails, a new body temperature... That should all be an interesting experience. And I can’t wait to see what using similar if not exact abilities like you will be like... this will not only be the next chapter in my life, but will be a bonding experience that will bring us all closer together, I think.”

“I agree, my love,” he said. “I agree.”

The two snuggled close together.

“Thank you for doing this, sugar pop,” she sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“What would I do without you is the bigger question,” he chuckled. “I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you too.”

He leaned into her ear. “Are you ready at this moment?”

“Yes.” Her voice had some nervousness in it, but the confidence outweighed it in ways immeasurable.

“Lift up your chin so I may see your neck.”

She did as she was told. Charlie gazed upon it and his fangs came jutting out, an energy boiling within him.

“Good bye, old life,” Rose whispered with peace. “May our memories live on for all of immortal eternity.”

“Welcome to your new summer to blossom, my June Rose.”

Charlie slammed his fangs down upon her neck, an energy force emitting from the two bite marks. She gasped and her eyes widened. A foreign, but comfortable and oddly familiar sensation came over her. She clutched onto his back as blood dripped down from the bite marks. They glowed a white-blue color.

As the sensation consumed her, she felt as if she was traveling back in time. Every few seconds was another year she felt healthier and younger. It took her a moment to register that’s what that was, but when she saw her face in Charlie’s eyes... she could confirm her wrinkles were fading.

She looked at the arm she could see most clearly. Her wrinkles had dissipated and the fat had returned. She was sure her other arm looked the same. When she looked at her hand, she saw her nails gaining a yellow tint. She felt them increasing in length. Once they reached the same length as Charlie’s, they stopped. She couldn’t see her feet or legs, but she could feel the same effect happening to them. Her legs and feet (and especially her thighs) gained back the weight they had lost. She noted that her pallor was now matching Charlie’s, based on how her arm and hand looked.

Her breasts, always large, plumped back to their youthful size. Her stomach had also returned to the cushiony potbelly Charlie always loved to rest his head on. As embarrassing as it sounded, she felt her privates tingle and somewhere above them, a burning sensation occurred. She thought about it, but considered that her fertility must’ve been returning. She was miserable on and off when experiencing menopause, but she supposed as a vampire, she’d be able to withstand any pains she might experience if she had periods again. In addition, she was sure Charlie would still find her menstrual blood as delicious as he did before when she was human.

Through the reflection in Charlie’s eyes, Rose could see her wrinkles had completely faded. The aged look her hazel eyes held flooded with a new look of old youth meeting for an eternal kiss after years of departure. Her face returned to how she looked on their wedding night, only a bit more pale. She grunted as her white teeth gained their own yellow tint and increased in sharpness. A group of fangs came out from behind these new teeth. Once this occurred, blood filled her mouth and trickled down her throat while ice cold breath emitted from her nose and mouth like a rabid animal. A warmth in her stomach made her feel as if she had drunk the finest coffee or hot chocolate rather than blood.

My God... this is why vampires crave this stuff... it’s got flavors in it that we can’t taste.

The dye in her hair had faded, exposing the natural grey. But it quickly disappeared as her natural brunette took over. At long last, she felt she could embrace her natural hair again. Even its volume, thickness, and waviness returned.

Rose had to fall back further at the sheer force from her insides. The blood that fell from her neck returned to the permanent bite marks and absorbed back inside of her. Cold chills consumed her. Her eyes, nose, ears, tongue, and touch nerves sharpened. The cancer cells in her body exploded like little stars until they were gone entirely. Every healthy cell underwent a metamorphosis that strengthened them and kept them permanently superhuman. Because of this, her immune system had reached powers impossible for the human body, destroying anything abnormal. Any sickness would be identified and wiped out instantly thanks to her new antibodies. Even her asthma had been erased from her lungs. From within her brain, the synapses snapped back together like a puzzle, and her memory was the clearest it had ever been.

I’m healthy again... Thank God, I’m heathy again...

Once her body was complete, a new sensation took over her back. She tried to jolt forward, but Charlie was still on top of her. He stepped back, as every ounce of innocence was back inside of her now. She lurched forward and leaned down. She could see her new legs and feet and her other arm, just as the other one.

Her back felt heavy. Something was weighing her down... something was coming out of it... something...

Unable to control the scream that came from her, two large masses of bone, muscle, and skin came from her back, perfectly ripping her nightgown, and extended to reveal... bat wings. Through the light in the room, the veins had looked like their own art piece to Charlie.

As quickly as the pain came, it left Rose and she laid back down, gasping and skiddishly feeling the new wings. Just like one’s arms or legs, she found she could move them like any other appendage. She flapped them, noticing they were larger than her. A small gust of wind filled the room.

“They’re... beautiful...” Charlie marveled.

Unable to speak, Rose stood up and stumbled. She found that her wings and heavier weight added some balance issues, but within thirty seconds, she had adjusted. She walked over to the mirror to look at herself more closely. Her toenails clacked against the wood, just as Charlie’s did. She looked just as she did when she was young; this time, she was pale, colder, had sharper senses, had vampire teeth and nails, a vampire bite mark on her neck, and very large bat wings on her back. She curled them up and extended them out comfortably. She flapped them a few times, and she found herself being lifted up into the air through the force of such gusts.

“Woah!” She cried. She let her wings die down and she landed as gently as she could on the floor.

She turned to Charlie, who stared at her with twinkling eyes.

“I guess I’m gonna need to make holes for these bad boys in all my clothes, huh?” She laughed. Her voice had largely remained the same, but this time, there was a youthful strength to it.

Charlie chuckled and beaconed her back to bed. “I suppose we shall. You look absolutely stunning, just as you always have. Only this time, your inner beauty is emanating from you. We shall see all of your abilities in the morning, especially since I’m sure the children would love to see you and your new talents as well. I’m quite surprised that scream didn’t stir them. But I believe your body needs a rest after the amount of change it had to go through.”

She nodded and crawled back into bed, right next to Charlie. They cuddled up next to each other. Her wings curled back up in a way that was comfortable. He rested his chin on her head and she nuzzled her face in his chest. Their combined warmth made sure they wouldn’t feel cold while sleeping. Rest had come easy for the both of them, and they found themselves sharing a pleasant dream.

Tomorrow would be the day the children would awake to be gifted with their healthy vampire mother, but even so, she would still always be the mother they knew and loved. For Charlie, she would always be the wife he knew and loved. For Rose, her new chapter had begun, and the dawn of a new era was ready to last for the rest of their eternity.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #charles manx #nos4a2 charlie

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elizabethemerald · 3 years

Text

Love is in the Air

The woman walked through the streets, the air around her suddenly shifting with a light breeze, pulling at her skirts and playing with her hair. She smiled to herself.

“Are you here my love?” Her words were barely a whisper, though she knew the breeze around her could hear her.

[I’m never far. How was work?]

“Long. Boring. I’m looking forward to getting home and relaxing.”

She put her hand out, allowing the wind to caress her fingers and she felt an answering caress along her cheek.

“But of course we are having a few after work drinks.”

[It is a beautiful day, will you sit outside?]

She smiled winking at the capricious air spirit that held her heart.

“Yes. I will have to insist. How else am I supposed to sit with you?”

The ghost of a smile flitted through the air around her as the spirt returned her wide smile.

[It will be like our very own date. I’m so excited.]

She laughed in reply as the wind picked up to a frenzy pitch again plucking at her clothes and tangling her hair. She continued laughing as her air spirit danced and twirled around her as she approached the bar. She was the first one to arrive at snagged some outdoor seating. They had the table to themselves for only a few minutes before a few of the other office ladies arrived.

“Hi Kathy!” Cali called cheerfully. “Thanks for saving us a table.”

“I see you still have whatever little pocket breeze that always follows you.” Kristine said.

“Oh she doesn’t go in my pocket! She does like to walk me home though.” Kathrine chuckled as she replied.

“How do you know the wind is a girl?”

“Well I asked her of course.”

“Hello Ladies!”

Kathrine turned at the voice, then turned back to the other ladies.

“You invited Chris?” She whispered harshly.

“He was standing nearby when we invited Cera. He invited himself.” Cali whispered back quickly, before smiling as the company misogynist approached. Kathy wasn’t entirely sure what he actually did at the company other than toe the line of harassment. She was even more upset when she realized the only remaining seat at the table was right next to her, where her air spirit had been sitting invisibly.

The wind picked up for a second then stilled as the spirit dispersed. Kathy grimaced, then put on an overly bright false smile.

“Hello Chris, I’m surprised to see you at girl’s night.” She said past her teeth.

She immediately ignored whatever stupid thing he replied with as a whisper, just for her ears came to her.

[Say the word and I’ll drive him away.]

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She said it softly, seemingly in response to whatever inane thing passed Chris’s lips, though she could feel the breeze tickle the back of her neck.

[If he says one word against you, I’ll make him regret it. And in the mean time...] The chuckle carried on the wind had a hint of menace to it. She knew there was no point in trying to restrain her beloved, so sat back to enjoy the show.

Every few minutes the wind would pick up in a way that only ever annoyed Chris. His napkin blowing off his lap, one of the other napkins flapping into his face, sauce from his meal falling directly onto his shirt. He was getting more and more annoyed to the amusement of the three ladies.

Soon enough Kathy thought the evening would pass easily enough other than Chris’s frequent interruptions and she would be able to return home to sit on her balcony with the air spirt she had fallen in love with, who she knew loved her in return.

That was until Chris leaned forward, his hand landing on the back of her neck. She had to fight down a full body shudder, all her muscles locking up. He gently, yet possessively rubbed his thumb on the side of her neck. The other two ladies immediately were just as tense, watching with wide eyes.

Kathy did not even have a moment to tell him to remove his hand, as the wind whipped up from a playful breeze to hateful torrent. Within seconds the air spirit had torn plants out of their beds to throw at Chris, drinks were upended over him, and food splattered across his chest and lap.

He recoiled in horror as he was mercilessly pelted by all manner of things, thankfully removing his hand from her neck in the moment. However the wind spirit wasn’t satisfied with him removing his foul touch from her beloved. He had crossed a line and she was to ensure he did not do so again.

Chris stood up, still batting at the offending meals, drinks and plants that battered him. He was driven by the mess out of the seating area, and ran still pelted to his car. He couldn’t even get a word in edge wise. Once he hit the parking lot and was out of range of the food, the bombardment became even more aggressive. Bits of gravel and oily water were flung at him with every step he took.

Finally with a slam he was in his car and peeling out of the parking lot. Cali and Kristine stared open mouthed at Kathy, the three of them untouched by barrage.

“Have you ever read those stories about someone pissing off a witch and immediately regretting it?” Cali asked, her eyes wide.

“Are you a witch?” Kristine asked, looking more than a little worried.

“No I’m not a witch. I just have a breeze that loves me.” Kathy put her hand out, and felt the air spirit entwining phantom fingers with her own.

[He shouldn’t have touched you.] Both Cali and Kristine started at the voice out of nowhere, now that the air spirit allowed them to hear her. [I love you, and I won’t let anything happen to you, for as long as I am by your side.]

They were flapping their mouths like fish. Kathy leaned closer to them, feeling the pressure of air spirit holding her close. “I fell in love with an errant breeze one day, turns out that breeze had already fallen in love with me.”

[We have been together since. She was the first human I spoke to, the first I revealed my true form to.] The air spirit’s strange voice turned smug. [We have gone on so many dates.]

The wind picked up again, whirling around them as Kathy seemed to briefly blow them a kiss, a kiss they realized was meant for the very breeze that now encircled them.

#writing emerald #lesbian #my original stories #I came up with this during the heatwave last week #I could just imagine someone desperate for a breeze falling in love with the one that followed them around

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miss-multifandom-mess · 4 years

Text

I got a little bored... So I wrote this!

This short story is partly based on/inspired by the song More by Halsey.

I have recently heard that the singer (Halsey) had many miscarriages, and she has been wanting a family for a long time. I also heard that sometime recently that her doctor has said that she has a good chance at finally having a child of her own (if I heard correctly). And so I hope that she will get the family she's always wanted.

And to others who've always wanted children but couldn't: there's always going to be hope. And this goes for everyone as well. Not just for those who've had miscarriages.

There's always going to be hope, and you should never give up.

Eliza and Maria Schuyler had been married for four years, and they wanted a family. They wanted children.

At one point, before they had gotten married, Maria had been pregnant and hoped she and her wife would have the child together...

But sadly the newborn had died at birth.

Both women were devastated since then. They hoped and prayed for a day that they would be blessed with a child---day and night they prayed; day and night they cried.

They could adopt a child, but money was so scarce for them---what with the low-paying jobs they had. This was due to living in a small town with not very many places to work at (and not very many customers). But they had to work with what they were able to get.

Eliza was working full-time at a small diner that was four miles away from their cottage they had, just on the outskirts of town.

While Eliza was away and working at the diner: Maria worked part-time at a convenient store before heading back home to prepare dinner for when her beloved came back.

It was another year later that they got a phone call. A phone call that would change their lives altogether.

"Hello?" Maria picked up the phone from where it hung on the wall in the kitchen.

"Oh, Mary!" Came Samuel's voice, sounding relieved and ecstatic. "Thank goodness!"

Samuel Seabury had been a close friend of Maria and Eliza's ever since they moved to the small town of Boring, Oregon. He had also been the first to welcome them, being one of the closest neighbors to the couple.

"What is it, Sam?" She asked somewhat worried. "Is everything all right?"

"It's Peggy! She's- She's-" The young man sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. "Jus- Just come to Doctor Withers's office! Right away!"

Maria didn't say anything else as she nearly slammed the phone back on its perch. Obviously it was an emergency. She rushed to slip on her shoes, grabbing the key to the house and running outside.

Her wife took the small convertible they owned to work, so she was left with taking her bike. The couple had fallen into a traveling-to-and-from-work routine ever since moving, and they were quite alright with it:

On her work days, Eliza took the car to and from work, while Maria either walked or biked to hers---she was always more of the outdoor-sy type than Eliza---the diner was farther than the convenient store any way.

The community hospital that was established in Boring was small, but perfect for the small town and its small population. The man that owned the place, Doctor Withers, was a kind and friendly gentleman, who was willing to do whatever he could to help the townsfolk.

Maria peddled and peddled, tires kicking up dirt and gravel. She managed to arrive at the hospital in a mere few minutes. She skitted to a complete stop once pulling up to the front and hurried in getting off it. She let it fall to the ground before jogging inside.

"What's wrong?! Did something bad happen?"

"Mary!" Shouted Samuel as soon as she had walked in, embracing her into a tight hug. "Nothing's wrong; it's okay."

"Actually, it's better than okay."

"Oh my God, Angie!" Maria squealed after she and the ginger had broken away from the hug, her attention going over to Eliza's older sister, Angelica. They both embraced each other. "Eliza and I weren't expecting a visit from you for another few weeks."

Angelica smiled warmly, tears in her eyes as she rested her hands on the other woman's shoulders. "Well, plans have changed."

Maria was confused as to why both her friends were crying---she was even more confused when she didn't see Eliza anywhere.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Angie said, "We haven't called Eliza over yet---we thought you'd like to give her the surprise."

Again, Maria was still confused when the doctor himself walked into the small lobby. "Ah, Maria!" He acknowledged her at first glance. "Good news..." He trailed off for dramatic effect (like how he usually did) when Samuel cut in, obviously too anxious for a dramatic pause.

"Peggy will be delivering your baby!" He cried, his smile so wide that you would think it be impossible for someone to smile that big.

A gasp escaped past her lips, hands clasping over her mouth. So many mixed feelings flooded into her like a cascading waterfall: shock, excitement, sadness, hope, but most of all happiness. She choked out a sob, tears already flooding down her cheeks. She couldn't believe it.

She and Eliza were finally going to have the child they've always wanted; they were finally going to be parents; they were finally going to have the family they've always wanted.

It wasn't long before Maria finally called Eliza. Minutes later, said brunette came running in, looking the same as Maria did when she first arrived at the hospital.

They embraced one another, Maria crying into her shoulder. And with a soft and another sob, she told her of the news. Tears poured from her own eyes as soon she had processed everything. The couple becoming a complete mess in the lobby as Samuel and Angelica joined in the hug, too.

The four of them sat in the lobby in wait, all nervous and praying for Peggy and the baby's well-being. Doctor Withers had gone back to Peggy's room at Eliza's arrival, now already been gone for two hours.

Time passed by slowly, it seemed, and one by one, each fell asleep. (Later came Samuel's boyfriend, Charles, to stay and wait with them. "Sorry I'm late---my boss kept me." He had explained.)

It was then, after three hours of waiting, that Doctor Withers walked out and calmly woken them all up. "Care to follow me?" He had on a small smile.

Angelica, Samuel and Charles all looked to Maria and Eliza in silent encouragement. The said women exchanged looks with one another, taking deep breaths and taking hold of each other's hands before standing up from their seats. They followed the doctor down the hallway and into one of the rooms.

"Peggy," Eliza sighed, a hand over her heart. She walked to the side of the bed and bent forward, hugging her sister gently in her arms. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel wonderful," she let out a hearty giggle. "And don't you dare say, 'you didn't have to do this.' You always say that." Eliza shook her head with a playful roll of her eyes.

Peggy then turned to Maria, who now stood at the bedside next to Eliza. "Mary, it's so nice to see you again." She reached her arms up to give Maria a hug, too.

"You too, Peggs."

"Want to see your pride and joy?"

"More like your pride, Peggy," Eliza chuckled and smiled softly. "You're the one who gave birth."

"True." The three giggled.

The door freaked softly behind them as Doctor Withers walked back in (when did he leave?), cradling something in his arms---it was their baby, swaddled in a soft blanket.

The doctor walked up to the ladies, lowering the baby into Eliza's arms (at Maria's insistence).

It was a girl. A light pink, long-sleeved onesie was put on her underneath the blanket wrap she laid in; a matching hat adorned her small head. Her skin was a light chocolate color; her skin also smooth as Eliza lightly stroked her cheek.

"She's beautiful," she breathed out.

Eliza took another moment holding the little newborn before carefully handing her off to Maria. Maria held her close and smiled, a contented sigh leaving her lips. "She's lovely."

"What are you going to call her?" Withers asked patiently.

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"I think we'll call her..."

"Margaret." Eliza finished softly. "We'll call her Margaret." It was a silent agreement between the two as they softly smiled down at their new baby girl. They were mothers now. They will be there for their daughter always, and they will become a family. A strong family, with the help of their friends and family members.

"Margaret's a lovely name." Peggy softly smiled as she was then passed the newborn, looking down at her with loving eyes. She knew that Maria and Eliza would be great parents.

#eliza schuyler #elizabeth schuyler #maria reynolds #marliza #miscarriage #tw: depression #hamilton #peggy schuyler #angelica schuyler #samuel seabury #charles lee #leebury #halsey

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amanda-teaches · 5 years

Text

Don’t Need An Excuse

Summary: Dean thinks about Y/N all the time. This is just a series of those moments.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Square filled: First Date for @spndeanbingo

Word Count: 1312

Warnings: fluffernutter fluff, Dean in love, briefest allusion to smut, angst, major character death. It’s a rollercoaster.

A/N: This was written for @impala-dreamer‘s Make Me Feel It Challenge, based off the song Thinking of You by Dierks Bentley. Blame the song, not me.

Dean slammed the car door shut, smiling softly as the soles of his boots hit the dewy grass beneath. The smell hit his nostrils in an instant, quickly sending his mind racing back to the last time he’d smelled grass like that.

“Dean, where are we going?” Y/N asked, her heels sinking deeper into the grass with every step.

“Hold on,” he replied, gripping her hand tighter as he half-guided, half-pulled her up the last of the hill. “We’re almost there.”

“Okay,” she laughed, using her free hand to brush a stray hair out of her face, her concentration intently focused on her feet. “But, I didn’t didn’t think to dress for a hike when you said ‘night on the town’. Maybe if’d you been a little more specific...”

Her voice trailed off when he stopped walking and dropped his hand, her eyes rising to find a large, checkered picnic blanket laid out on the ground in front of them, the moonlight reflecting off the various plates and covered dishes spread across it.

Dean sucked in a breath, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched, trying to gauge her reaction. “I know the case went a little longer than I thought it would, and it made us miss our reservations, but I figured this might…”

“It’s perfect,” she whispered, her face breaking into a smile so radiant, he knew he’d never be able to forget it. “You did all this?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his smile growing as his enthusiasm quickly caught up with hers. “I promised you an amazing first date, and I wanted to make sure I delivered. You like it?”

“I love it,” she assured, nodding to emphasize the point as she stepped a little closer. “It’s perfect, Dean, really.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, reaching his hand out to intertwine it with hers again. “I’m pretty sure I’ve changed my mind about 50 times trying to decide what to do. I know we’ve been friends for years but this, this is different, Y/N. I tried to think of what’d make you the most happy.”

Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating ever so slightly in surprise. “You think about that kinda stuff?”

He smiled, raising his free hand to brush the backs of his knuckles against her cheek. “I don’t need an excuse to think about you, Y/N. I already do it all the time.”

His eyes dropped to her lips and he leaned in, but he hesitated as he heard a soft click, seconds before they were drenched with a wall of water.

“The sprinklers!” she screamed, the squeal coming out more as a laugh than out of fear. “Dean!”

“I’ll save you!” he declared dramatically, scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around under the cascading water. “Never fear, my lady!”

“God, you’re such a dork!” she cried, laughing even harder as she threw her head back, letting the droplets fall onto her cheeks. He held her close, his eyes brightening as they danced across her face. The way she looked in his arms, he wasn’t in a big hurry to get her out of the way anyway.

Dean smiled as the memory faded, and he took a few steps, in no hurry to make it across the grass. He closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun, breathing in the fresh, spring air. It wasn’t hard to think of her. It seemed like every breeze, every moment, brought her to the forefront of his mind. She was in his soul, her joy, her love intertwined with every cell in his body, and just the thought of her brought such a sense of calm and peace to his entire being.

As he continued walking, his eyes fell to the sprinkling of flowers scattered across the grass, and his mind flashed back to another moment with her, one of the happiest of his life.

He traced the freckles down her side, his hand trailing down slowly until it rested against her hip bone. His touch was feather-light, but she still stirred, not even opening her eyes as she grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving for a hunt?”

“I was,” he muttered playfully, his hand moving even lower, down to her thigh. “But, I sent Sammy on without me.”

Her eyes sprang open, her brows tightening in confusion. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes still intently focused on his mission, his hand continuing to move across her body. “It’s just a simple salt and burn. He can handle it. And, Jody’ll be there to back him up. Besides, I’ve got something much more important to do here.”

Her breath inhaled sharply as his hand dropped between her thighs. “Oh.h...yeah? What’s that?”

“This,” he replied, removing his hand to pull a single red rose out from behind his back. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

“You remembered,” she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face as she reached out and grabbed the rose.

“Course I did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close against his chest. “Best day of my life.”

“Ha! You liar!” she chuckled, but she snuggled closer, breathing him in. “Best day of my life, too.”

He placed a kiss to her head, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “Sometimes I think it’s a little too good to be true.”

“What is?”

“This. Us.” He felt her body stiffen, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t know, Y/N. Sometimes it just feels that with everything I’ve done, I don’t deserve this. Deserve you.”

She pulled back, and he could see the confusion in her eyes, the disbelief. “Dean Winchester, you listen to me. You deserve every second of this. Every moment of our last year together has proven that.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed, wanting to believe her, if even for a second. “But, what if I don’t? What if it’s all just a dream I’m gonna wake up from and realize that you’re gone and I’m paying for my mistakes like I deserve.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” she whispered, her voice dropping low as she met his eyes, her gaze steady and sure. “That is not gonna happen. Face it, Winchester, you’re stuck with me. I’m not leaving, not ever.”

“Y/N…”

“Dean,” she interrupted, placing her hands firmly on his face. “You deserve this. I deserve this. Nothing is going to change that. I love you, Dean Winchester, now, and for every anniversary after this.”

“I love you, too,” he echoed, letting himself relax back into her. “You’re all I need, Y/N.”

“Good,” she laughed, taking the opportunity to be the one to let her hand start roaming lower. “Cause, I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.”

By the time he refocused, leaving the memory behind, he’d arrived at his destination, staring quietly down at the small headstone marked with two solitary lines: Y/N Y/L/N, Beloved Wife and Friend.

“You know,” he started, trying to find the right words. “You’d probably be mad as hell that I’m even here right now. I know you made me promise to move on after you were gone, but I can’t...I can’t.” He paused, staring down at his shoes, softly kicking the gravel back and forth. “You made promises too, Y/N. You promised you’d never leave, and look what happened. It’s, it’s our anniversary, and I can’t...I can’t just leave you here. I know you want me to move on, to find happiness again, something else to think about, but…” He smiled, her love spreading across his heart. “But, you know I never need an excuse to think about you, right?” He stooped down, placing his hand against the headstone with a grin. “I love you, Y/N...I miss you. Why’d you have to go?”

Forevers- @hamartiamacguffin @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @katymacsupernatural @impandagrl @cyrilconnelly @impala-dreamer @castielhasthetardis @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @be-amaziing @jalove-wecallhimdean @there-must-be-a-lock @mysterious-398 @hannahindie @emoryhemsworth @ohmychuckitssamanddean @wi-deangirl77 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ericaprice2008 @masksandtruths @roxyspearing @squirrel-moose-winchester @sweetpeamoose @babypieandwhiskey @deans-dirty-writer @roxy-davenport @heyitscam99 @starry-chaos @spnbaby-67 @mogaruke @atc74 @dolphincliffs @closetspngirl @maddiepants @pinknerdpanda @focusonspn @deanwanddamons

Dean Tags- @akshi8278 @whimsicalrobots @dean-winchesters-bacon @adoptdontshoppets @alexwinchester23

#spndeanbingo #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #angst #major character death #oof it's been a while since I've written anything #sorry if it's not fantastic

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moonchildsaurora · 4 years

Text

Moonlight Sonata

✤ OT8 w/ Woo-centric (+ a side of WooSan, SeongJoong) ✤ genre: fantasy!AU // mild horror, more creepy than anything really, a dash of fluff ✤ t/w: sfw, lots of spoopy shit happening, swearing, description of fantasy violence & grotesque body horror, very brief mention of intoxication, rated M ✤ count: 6k+ ✤ [ ‘prologue’ of The Alderfell Chronicles ]

a/n - well this was suppose to be for Halloween and instead I’m using it as a belated birthday one(long)shot for our beloved Wooyoung. It’s my first member-centric piece that stemmed from me thinking about, “Why aren’t there many AUs for legendary beings like the Dullahan (Headless Horseman)?” Lo & behold the world of Alderfell was created and I do not regret it one bit. The only thing I regret is not having enough time to write this out as an on-going series, having to squeeze info/hints throughout this piece...so please excuse the weird jumps in timeline...about the characters’ lives and backstories. This is also my own twist on the concept of the Dullahan – they usually are depicted with a more sinister nature but my Dullahan is a good boi™. I do plan to re-visit every now and then, maybe to elaborate on certain origins or associated scenarios/blurbs. But for now, please enjoy reading about Wooyoung having the time of his life trying to settle down in a town that’s more than meets the eye and live to tell the tale of how he experienced first-hand a midnight stroll with a legend 💙 P.S. sentences in all italics are flashbacks! P.P.S. I would absolutely be keen to hear any thoughts/headcanons/speculations as to what you think is happening with each character or just about the world itself. See how many easter eggs you guys can find!

The balcony windows slammed opened as the intruding wind howled into the bedroom, drawing a shriek out of Wooyoung. In the unfortunate process of accidentally slamming his knee up to the escritoire with a startled jump, he helplessly watched as the ink jar tipped over a river of black onto his handwritten letter. Tugging at his coal black strands with a groan of frustration, he was soon reminded that the tempestuous rain had come in uninvited when the lamps and bronze candelabras started to quake.

Grumbling a string of curses under his breath, Wooyoung marched across the rosewood floor towards where the billowing ivory curtains were. They reached out to brush against his cheeks as he worked against the wind to quickly close the large windows. By the time he managed to secure the latches, his vision was dotted with rain droplets that splayed across his silver-rimmed round glasses.

Fumbling with the sleeves of his sleeping robe, Wooyoung lightly wiped the lenses clean whilst he made his way back to where the ruined letter laid. Staring at the mass of harsh ink smears across majority of the previously neat lines, he gingerly reached out to grab the papers.

Then came a soft knock on the door.

“Wooyoung, is everything alright?” a deep dulcet voice spoke from the other side.

“Y-Yes, I was jus– please, come in.”

Wooyoung turned to face the doorway just in time to see it swing open, revealing the ever empyreal-looking aristocratic owner of Rosentine Mansion where he was currently residing at. Adorned with a beige embroidered silk sleeping robe and a faint smile, Yeosang stepped soundlessly in to the room.

“Sorry if I disturbed your sleep, there was a bit of a mishap…” said Wooyoung, gesturing to the mess on the escritoire with a sheepish look. The windows started rattling once more which drew Yeosang’s attention towards the balcony.

“No need to worry. Was it the wind?” he asked, walking over with the intention to check the latches.

Wooyoung nodded, “it’s rather blustery tonight.”

Yeosang hummed as he peered through the curtains, looking out to the gloomy darkness where he could barely make out the glowing street lamps through the rain.

“The rain will pass after tonight, storms don’t tend to linger around here for too long. At least it’s cleared up the fog a little for now.”

An involuntary shudder went down Wooyoung’s spine at the mention of the fog. He quickly learnt within the first few days of his stay, more often than not, the streets became foggy after dusk once the sun has gone to slumber and the moon awakes. Wooyoung wasn’t fond of how his mind would wander to think of what might be lurking within the fog, and so he makes a conscious effort to never stare too long from his windows. Too afraid that one evening he might find fiendish eyes staring right back at him.

“You speak as if the weather has a mind of its own.”

“Oh? Have you never thought of that possibility before?”

The ambiguity of Yeosang’s smile certainly didn’t help Wooyoung in trying to decipher whether the aristocrat was being serious or not with that question. Then again, Wooyoung had somewhat gotten used to the eccentricity within the mansion; especially when his own cousin is just of that calibre along with the rest of the residents.

However everyone he’s met so far have been nothing short of pleasant and accommodating, even the brutally honest groundskeeper who was particularly protective over his fruit trees.

“Please let me know if you require any more candles.”

Wooyoung diverted his attention back to the present, only noticing then that Yeosang had gone round to dim the lights within the lamps.

“And…” pausing, Yeosang turned towards the half empty ink pot and stained papers, “Perhaps it’s best to leave that for tomorrow. You’re due to wake up at dawn if you wish to make it on time to Seonghwa’s shop, you know how he can be like with tardiness.”

“You’re right,” said Wooyoung, with a tired sigh.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Goodnight Wooyoung,” giving the room a once over and deeming nothing else was out of place, Yeosang left just as quietly as he arrived before.

“Goodnight Yeosang.”

That night, Wooyoung fell asleep under the comfort of his duvet on the 4-poster bed. Dreaming of flowing ink, swirling fog and the echoes of thunder from the depths of his mind.

“Do be careful Mr Jung!”

Wooyoung still wasn’t used to being addressed so formally by the townspeople, it wasn’t this sophisticated back at his previous home in Rookhaven. But he had no time to dwell on that as he hastily dusted the dirt off his taupe trousers and gave a courteous nod before continuing on with sprinting his way to the shop.

Cheeks tinged with a rosy hue and not just from the chilly air. After tripping and face-planting onto the gravel path right in front of the Mayor surely proved to be an embarrassing start to his morning. He raced past the magnificent fountain of the dancing naiads in the town square; where the granite sign that sat on the top tier engraved with bold letters of gold read; ‘ALDERFELL – welcome thee to a pleasant stay, otherwise be on your merry way.’

Tucked in the corner of Étoile Lane was Alderfell’s main apothecary shop that Wooyoung was headed towards. He entered through the back gates to ‘Drops of Aurora’ and almost immediately, the fluttering of wings reached his ears. Soon his shoulders were claimed as a perching spot by the shop’s inhabitants. Hummingbirds of sunset shades excitedly chirped their welcome, making Wooyoung giggle as he placed his leather satchel aside.

A few of them had already begun gathering his hair in a loose ponytail and looping a ribbon around it. The first time this ever happened he was left flabbergasted and didn’t quite know what to make of it. By now he’s accepted the hummingbirds were simply highly intelligent and perceptive.

Even if they had an odd glow around their forms.

When he brought it up with the Master Healer all he got was a teasing, “Shall I send for the oculist to come examine your glasses?”

Wooyoung huffed at the memory, taking out a glass vial from his satchel that was filled with light amber-coloured liquid. Grabbing one of the spare ceramic bowls from the shelves, he placed it by the window sill where the morning rays were slowly trickling in and poured out the liquid. The hummingbirds gave cheerful chirps and took turns taking sips of the sweet nectar that Wooyoung had harvested from the new batch of bell purple valdeisses.

Smiling fondly at the scene, he left them to their treat and went to grab his work apron off the wall hanger before walking through the connecting archway to the main section of the shop.

“Ah Wooyoung, nice to see you’ve made it.”

Wooyoung felt his soul jumped. Releasing a silent yell, he blinked owlishly at his mentor who was unexpectedly early and already pouring lavender tea into two vintage floral tea cups by the counter. His almost-silver hair that had been meticulously styled to one side, faintly glimmered under the light.

“Good morning Seonghwa, I’m sor–“

Wooyoung was interrupted by his own stomach letting out an unbashful rumble. There was silence, in which Wooyoung wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ground before deep chuckling filled the air.

“Oh my, did you skip out on breakfast my young apprentice?” asked Seonghwa, a knowing look in his glacial eyes.

“I may have woke up later than usual this morning…and rushed right out the door to get here.”

“You’re lucky that Hongjoong insisted I bring these along then,” Seonghwa pushed a brown paper bag across the counter towards Wooyoung. Inside was an assortment of berries and cream cheese pastries, still having that freshly-baked scent had Wooyoung salivating.

“He was in one of his baking moods and next thing I knew he whipped up half a dozen batch too many. As the saying goes…sharing is caring.”

“Thank you, please tell Hongjoong for me that I’m very thankful for this too!”

Wooyoung felt a warmth stirring within. Both from the fond expression his mentor displayed as he talked about his beloved and from the simple yet kind gesture of looking out for Wooyoung’s wellbeing.

The whimsical ambience of the shop continued for the rest of the morning, especially when the mellow sound of a piano came through the radio speakers. Seonghwa hummed along to the melody and footsteps swaying between the counter and shelves. Wooyoung tried not to snicker out loud and hid his grin behind the bunch of mountain ifliums that he was tasked with deseeding.

What a rare sight it was for him to see the softer side of his normally strict mentor.

“What happened to your previous apprentice?” Wooyoung remembered asking with curiosity. Wondering if it was the pressure of the work itself as he knew Seonghwa’s way of teaching left little room for play – only because the nature of being a healer required immense knowledge and skills that can’t simply be absorbed overnight. And Seonghwa expected no less than his best, pushing Wooyoung to where he knows his capabilities could take him to.

“This just wasn’t the place for them, which was a pity because they had potential…”

Wooyoung felt there were unspoken double meanings underneath that simple answer, but decided to not push for it. Instead he dedicated his time and energy in to learning when he found himself growing to genuinely enjoy this area of expertise. The move from his previous mundane life was unplanned but he didn’t regret taking up the opportunity; perhaps this was the change he never knew he needed, until now.

It was when a chime came from the tall grandfather clock at midday that the hummingbirds noisily came chittering and flapping their wings around the Master Healer and apprentice. Seonghwa had been demonstrating to Wooyoung how to finely slice evergreen opier roots for a healing elixir when they were interrupted by the commotion.

“Hush, one at a time. What’s all the fuss about?”

A marigold coloured hummingbird with speckled spots came to land on Seonghwa’s outstretch hand, some of the others making Wooyoung’s shoulders and head their perching spots once again. Wooyoung stared at his mentor who paid attention to the little bird’s rapid chirping, pondering if Seonghwa was a bird whisperer on the side or by some sorcery if he actually understood the bird.

Then the bell to the entrance jingled, effectively drawing everyone’s attention towards the doors.

“That must be our visitor, Wooyoung would you please let them in.”

Must be an important visitor if it had the hummingbirds excited, or so Wooyoung thought when he swung the dark oak doors open. Only to be met with an empty space, confusion taking over as he looked around.

A sharp yip caused him to cast his gaze downwards.

“Um…Seonghwa? There’s a….”

The little silver fox stared back up at Wooyoung, head tilting to the side and fluffy tail swishing lazily. It let out another sharp yip before proceeding to walk right through the entrance and in to the shop.

Wooyoung scrambled to move out of the way, still utterly confused but not wanting to risk unintentionally stepping on the creature…and was that an ornate scroll container slung around its body?

“Don’t be alarmed, this is one of the town’s messenger.”

What an odd term for a postman, if Wooyoung could even call it that. He watched the silver fox jump up lithely on to the stool and greedily took the chin scratches from Seonghwa before nudging the small container towards Seonghwa’s hands.

“Thank you for coming by to deliver this. Here, for your afternoon tea,” said Seonghwa, pinching one of the extra pastries and offering it to the silver fox. As it left ‘Drops of Aurora’ with its sweet snack, Wooyoung swore the creature winked at him right before it leapt back outside. He really hoped he wasn’t losing his mind already, closing the doors and rubbing his eyes at an attempt to calm his nerves from the small oddities he’s observed throughout the day so far.

He shuffled back over to where his mentor was already reading the paper parchment he retrieved from the container.

“Seonghwa, what’s The Twin Moons festival?” asked Wooyoung with curiosity, after taking a glance.

The sheer look of surprise and raising of eyebrows fleeted across Seonghwa’s face, entirely missed by Wooyoung since he still had his eyes on the parchment. To Seonghwa, the written text was common Elvish that he was fluent in understanding – but to anyone who Alderfell has yet to accept would’ve been foreign script.

And yet, Wooyoung was patiently waiting for an answer he shouldn’t even have known to inquire about in the first place.

Placing down the iron pot in the middle of the dining table, Wooyoung felt a great sense of achievement. The hearty venison stew with a mixture of herbs from Jongho’s garden (with his permission of course, Wooyoung wouldn’t risk the groundskeeper’s wrath) had steam rising and the aroma of spices, rosemary and juniper berries filled the room.

His cooking ability had grown immensely after his arrival, having found out that the mansion’s kitchen was hardly in use; simply putting it that –

“…there aren’t any ingredients? At all?”

“Well, nobody here really cooks.”

“How in the hell did you all survive till now?!”

Wooyoung took it upon himself to make sure that the pantry was stocked and everyone had some form of substantial food at least. Yeosang would remark that it’d give him an excuse to bring out the fancier gold plated cutlery sets since the whole group would gather together for dinner whenever Wooyoung cooked.

“Something smells delectable in here!” announced a tall figure with a cheery voice and an even cheerier smile.

Yeosang had just finished placing the last gold fork down when Yunho walked in to the dining room along with his fellow gentle giant, both already in their work attire and carrying over-cluttered folders. A careless yawn and the dishevelled fiery red hair gave a good indication that Mingi had just awoken from slumber. Wooyoung was aware that both worked predominantly throughout the night at Alderfell’s Observatory, hence their abnormal sleeping schedules. He once made a passing joke that Mingi could very well be a vampire with the rarity of seeing him during the daytime hours, which made Jongho snort and comment about the, “lack of imagination…such a cliché thought.”

A small basket of ruby red apples and plums was placed on the other side of table as everyone took their seats. “Been feeling rather generous lately and these were ripe for the picking,” said Jongho casually, subtly puffing his chest out.

“Aww, he really does have a heart after all.”

“I will not hesitate to leave the cheese in your room again and let the remu– I mean rats find their way to it.”

“You wouldn’t…Yeosang would never allow you to do something so cruel!”

“Please do not involve me in this.”

The high-pitched laughter escaped Wooyoung’s mouth and he held his sides for support. The light-hearted bickering reminded him of his family back home and how boisterous the atmosphere would get. It made him smile till his cheeks hurt because in good company, he felt less alone.

“We should start eating before the stew gets cold, wouldn’t want Wooyoung’s hard work go to waste now would we?”

Among the clinking of cutlery against ceramic bowls, Wooyoung heard his name being called by Yunho, “Oh! Before I forget…these are for you. Yeosang mentioned you needed new paper to finish your letter and I have abundant in stacks lying around for the taking. I’ll be sending mail back to my family too, would you like for me to post yours off tomorrow morning?”

Wooyoung’s mind reeled back to the previous night’s mishap and promptly made a mental note to rewrite the letter after dinner. Or else his mother would surely worry her way into bombarding Yunho next with letters about her son’s lack of response. Wooyoung felt that same warmth from before engulfing his heart and starts to think, as he reached out with grateful hands, that maybe he’s found his new home here after all.

The Twin Moons festival turned out to be longer than just a day’s worth of celebration, rather it went on for two whole weeks. Wooyoung had been slightly overwhelmed at the start, even more so when visitors from smaller neighbouring towns poured in for the festivities. Alderfell came alive at night where Wooyoung got to witness the unveiling of the moons as the clouds parted and stars shone like little diamonds bedazzling the darkened sky.

“Yeosang! Look at the colour!”

And what Wooyoung found more astounding than the two giant azure orbs up above was that Yeosang had voluntarily left the mansion to accompany him down to the festival. He’s never really seen Yeosang leave the grounds of the mansion, unless he’s done so whenever Wooyoung had been at work, so being able to spend time with him outside was an enjoyable change. Wooyoung saw a couple of familiar faces in the crowds, notably Hongjoong who provided music for the townspeople; skilled fingers flying across the keys of the piano situated under the elegant gazebo and sweet low suave tunes enticed the crowd to slow dance the night away.

He could definitely see how Seonghwa became so enamoured with Hongjoong in the first place. If his charismatic presence wasn’t a big enough charm already than his music from the soul certainly was the final hook.

On the 3rd day, Wooyoung found out about the significance of moonflowers and why the entire town was decorated with them.

“Has anyone told you of Alderfell’s legend yet? It’s said that this land used to be occupied by the King’s bravest knights who defended against intruders. The fiercest knight left standing fought battle after battle, even after his head fell. Now in spirit, that same knight continues to guard this town. Rumour has it that in the wee hours of midnight you may hear the galloping of hooves in the distance or even catch a glimpse of a rider cloaked in black on a crimson-eyed noble steed if you’re courageous enough to venture out to the woodlands. The moonflowers we display are a tribute for our guardian!”

By the end of that Wooyoung was left with a copious amount of words to process and a, “…to guard this town from what?” at the tip of his tongue.

It wasn’t till the 10th day that Wooyoung got a cryptic answer of sorts to his question. Yunho and Mingi decided it was their turn to take Wooyoung down to the town square for the night, Yeosang opting to stay back at the mansion. They even managed to rope Jongho along who easily became distracted by the wood chopping competition and didn’t hesitate to sign up for it. Yunho introduced Wooyoung a local favourite drink, Duchess’ Crystal, which was a crystal clear liquid with an iridescent tinge and tasted like extremely sweetened blueberries. However there was a sting similar to that of drinking vodka when it hit the back of his throat.

Well into the night, a happy buzz tingling all over, Wooyoung asked Yunho what Alderfell was being guarded from.

“Oh my dear cousin, why there are many things! From deep within the woods, crooks and crannies…foul beasts that roam…fiends that lure with deceitful mimicry” Yunho spoke with a dramatic air.

Mingi slung an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, having gotten bolder with affection the more he drank. “Just remember this – do not always trust the voice that calls your name especially if you hear the clicking. Do not turn around, do not look and if by heavens’ grace you get a chance to…run!” he whispered to Wooyoung.

As inebriate as Wooyoung might have been in the moment, the chilling message stuck firm with him since. Logic scoffed at the ridiculous elaboration, yet intuition told him to take heed of this warning.

Fate sure had a peculiar way of working and Alderfell decided it was time for the final mask to be taken off.

“Oh shit…shit…bloody hell...” Wooyoung muttered like a mantra with each hasty step he took along the dirt pathway through the woodlands. He had spent all afternoon collecting medicinal herbs, mushrooms and flowers to restock some of Seonghwa’s ingredient jars that he completely lost track of time. Straying quite a distance inside where the rarer plants were found in abundance meant being able to fill his basket to the brim; though at the cost of how far he was from the safety of the town’s borders.

The sun was beginning to dip real low and Wooyoung could only hope that he’d reach back before the last sunray disappeared below the horizon.

He most certainly did not miss the fog that was currently creeping over the ground steadily chasing after his feet. Much to his delight there was the absence of it during the entirety of the time when the Twin Moons reigned the nights. Nerves were settled then but now, alone and stuck outside past the curfew set him right on edge.

Wooyoung held the basket closer and concentrated on moving forwards, refusing to allow his eyes to waver from the path ahead. The woods became eerily still and silence encompassed his surroundings, save for the crunching of leaves under his leather boots. Any other day he’d welcome the tranquillity with open arms. At present he was desperate for sound, for anything to drive away the feeling of being watched.

“I just hope someone will continue to feed the darling cat if I were to meet my demise here…” Wooyoung mumbled out loud, trying to elevate some of the tension by attempting to make light of his current predicament. He would miss the cat with gorgeous cerulean eyes that’s taken a liking to accompany him on the walk back to the mansion after work. It took him almost a solid week of many fresh salmon slices, sweet praises and patience to befriend the feline.

Just as the last light started to dwindle, Wooyoung finally caught sight of the familiar large wooden gate that he entered from. To hell with the uneven ground and risks of rolling ankles, Wooyoung was about to take off sprinting the last leg of the pathway.

“Wooyoung?”

He halted in his movement so abruptly that he nearly toppled over. The sudden voice that cut right through the silence took him by surprise.

“Seongh–“

Wooyoung paused from turning around to the sound of his mentor’s voice. Wait a minute…there had to be a mistake; Wooyoung knew for a fact that Seonghwa was out of town with Hongjoong and wasn’t due back till tomorrow. So why was he suddenly hearing…

“Do not always trust the voice that calls your name!” rang loudly in his mind.

His stomach dropped, limbs locked and frozen as sheer dread filled his veins.

And then he heard it.

Clicking.

Almost like sharp thin nails against glass, a heavy drag also followed. Conjuring up an image in Wooyoung’s mind – a mass of broken bones moving in unison, grating disjointed parts and the snapping of unhinged jaws at irregular intervals.

“Wooyoung.”

Came Yunho’s voice this time, luckily not sounding right from behind Wooyoung but not too far off either. The time he spent staring at the ground as he internally willed his body to move, he took notice of how thick the fog had become.

Each second that ticked by the clicking became louder and each time a different voice from someone he knew within Alderfell called his name. A part of him wanted to haul rocks whatever cursed being it was, angry that it had the audacity to mimic his friends with sinister intentions. But that would require turning around and he remembers, as clear as day, Mingi’s warning to not look.

At all.

The mimicry itself was perfect, however it felt off.

When the raspy breathing and rancid stench of decay hit his senses, his body jolted and legs broke out of its frozen state.

“RUN!”

An inhumane wail unleashed that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Which was more than enough for Wooyoung’s survival instincts to take off, kicking up the dirt and leaving the monstrosity behind. He could hardly see where his boot-clad feet landed as he sprinted, moonlight only being able to guide him where the fog hasn’t consumed. But he couldn’t care less so long as the distance between him and the wooden gate was diminishing.

Much to his dismay, it sounded like he was being followed as the clicking of bones were sent into a manic state and getting louder. Wooyoung yelled his throat hoarse, weaving in-between the trees and he was oh so close to grabbing the sturdy gate to leap over…

He lost his footing and fell, dropping the basket (he miraculously still had in his hold all this time) in the process. Something was painfully squeezing his right ankle. Looking downwards he had to bring a hand to cover his mouth, bile rising and threatening to spill at the sight. A solemn grey coloured…hand…if Wooyoung could even call it that, with unnaturally long spindly fingers each had unforgivingly sharp bone white talons protruding out from their joints.

“WOOYOUNG, HELP ME.”

“NO! STOP, GET THE HELL OFF ME!”

Wooyoung was blindly kicking in the direction of the ‘Yeosang’ voice that wailed, feeling the crooked fingers clamped down harder and he was pretty certain it was going to leave a nasty bruise for days. Too focused on trying to get his feet out of the creature’s vice grip he didn’t pick up on a distinct neigh and sound of hooves charging across the ground.

It all came at a blur for Wooyoung.

One minute he was thrashing about and then he was sailing through the air, having been flung by a mighty force. Luck was still on his side when his landing was cushioned by a pile of foliage. His ankle freed from the death trap.

“Be gone, you vile creature. Go back to the depths of the Abyss from which you came!” a disembodied voice bellowed through the woods.

Wooyoung’s eyes was on high alert for he did not recognise the commanding voice. He rolled over to his side where he heard metallic sounds and piercing screeches of a battle unfolding.

He swore upon the heavens for the second time that night. Not entirely sure if he was stuck in a twisted dream or that Alderfell’s legend was far more real than fantasy.

“I ought to start believing in ghost stories…”

Wooyoung watched as the headless rider strike his luminous blade fiercely down on the creature. One of its several elongated limbs made a clawed swipe at the rider’s steed, to which the shadowy stallion reared defensively on hind legs. Using the window of opportunity, the creature dashed in an attempt to flee though it didn’t make it very far.

“Close your eyes.”

The voice returned with a firm yet gentler undertone. It took Wooyoung a whole 30 seconds to realise that the instruction was directed at him and he followed right through; knowing enough to not question a legendary figure who had just saved his life. In the few milliseconds before he blocked out the view entirely, he witnessed the rider’s hands being engulfed in purple flames along with his sword, the blade itself unlocking in sections and extending to resemble more of a whip.

There was a cacophony of metal crushing bone, wail-screeches filling up Wooyoung’s eardrums, a sudden searing heat blowing against his skin and the reciting of an ancient language before silence took over again.

Wooyoung let out a deep breath.

He was alive, he was breathing and his heart still beating.

Just to be cautious he peeked one eye open, deeming it was safe to open the other and shook his head slightly to re-focus his sight in the dark. The headless rider stood by what Wooyoung assumed was the monster from before, now nothing more than a crumbling husk. Small purple embers ate away at it sending bits of ash floating off into the empty air.

Now under the spotlight of the moon, Wooyoung could get a better look at the headless rider. He was expecting a gory wound where the head was meant to be, instead black smoky tendrils coiled calmly in place. A heavy-duty cloak sat upon lightweight armour, leather gloves, pants and sabatons all of which were in an obsidian black. Wooyoung thought the rider would’ve looked rather regal, headless or not.

The stallion let out a low grunt signalling a reminder that they still had company.

Wooyoung stumbled to his feet, wincing slightly at his swollen ankle, when the headless rider sheathed the sword and turned to make his way towards the young healer apprentice. The sea of fog seemed to part and retreat wherever the headless rider stepped.

Up close both figures seemed to tower over Wooyoung but he didn’t shrink back in fear. Not when the stallion with mounted spiked armour and glowing crimson eyes stared into his soul nor when the headless rider quietly regarded him in his formidable presence. They didn’t pose a threat…or at least Wooyoung didn’t feel like they did.

“Your leg…is it hurting?”

So he had noticed Wooyoung keeping his weight off his right side

Now that the headless rider wasn’t fending off terror entities, he spoke in a warmer honeyed voice. Another aspect Wooyoung wasn’t expecting of the mythical figure. He could imagine the rider’s head tilting down to survey his leg as he asked the question.

“Ah…yeah, my ankle’s not in the best shape at the moment.”

The headless rider descended down on one knee and held out a gloved hand towards Wooyoung’s right foot.

“May I?”

Wooyoung mutely nodded and balancing on his left foot, he allowed the headless rider to hold his other to inspect the injury. The same hands that wielded a sword to slay were handling Wooyoung with utter care.

“It doesn’t seem to be broken, but best to get it treated soon. Come.”

A confused noise escaped Wooyoung when the headless rider beckoned him closer to the saddle.

“You came from Alderfell did you not?”

Another nod.

“It’ll be much quicker to return by horse than on feet, these woods aren’t safe at this hour…as you now are well aware of.”

Wooyoung felt bewildered. Only just a week ago, he found out about the legendary Dullahan and now said legend was planning to stroll through town to escort him back?

“Are you allowed to?” was what Wooyoung wanted to ask, instead he settled for, “But you don’t even know where in Alderfell I live.”

An amused chuckle resounded all around.

“I trust that you ought to know the way back home, little healer. You’ll be my guide for tonight.”

Wooyoung gawked at where the smoky tendrils were intertwining together, not doubt there was a grin hidden somewhere in there.

How did the headless rider know about Wooyoung’s connection with healer’s work? How was he being so…nonchalant about, well everything? Was he always this approachable towards other townspeople that may have encountered him? Did they even know that Alderfell’s legend actually exists? Questions upon questions that Wooyoung would demand answers for if he wasn’t already so drained from his near-death experience. Should he ever get the chance to meet his saviour again, he’d pester him about it then.

For now, Wooyoung was ready to head back home.

‘Is the legend really true?”

“Might I ask you to please clarify, which part of?”

“You being a knight…and that you’ve been guarding this town, or rather, land since you lost…your…”

“My head? You’re allowed to say that, I take no offence. After all I’ve had a century or two to get used to this new form.”

“Wow, you’re practically an ancient!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. To answer your question, yes. It seems like even after death, my guardianship of this land still remains.”

“…The thing, back from before…is that the reason why Alderfell has the curfew?”

“There are others besides Hollowsworns that come from The Abyss to hunt after dark. The curfew is a precaution. Alderfell has its own ways–powerful ways–to protect its people.”

“Like yourself?”

“You could say that.”

“You truly are the bravest. Do you have a name Sir Knight?”

The shadowy stallion let out a loud snort.

“So are you, and apologies for not introducing myself sooner. You may call me San, Choi San.”

“You have my deepest gratitude for saving my life Sir Choi. My name’s Jung Wooyoung!”

“Just…San is quite enough, Wooyoung. You’re very welcome.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it because it makes you sound old?”

To say the residents back at Rosentine Mansion were worrying their heads off was an understatement. Yunho was ready to lead a search party out for Wooyoung even if it meant breaking the rules. Jongho argued that was a counterproductive plan since no one knew exactly where Wooyoung had even wandered off to.

“What if something were to happen to you? That’ll be another added issue!” With Seonghwa being absent, they couldn’t turn to their level-headed elder for help.

It was a painful waiting game.

When the clopping of hooves and spectral guardian came into view from the porch, both Yeosang and Jongho instantaneously leapt up from where they had been sitting on the stairs.

“Yunho! Mingi! Get out here now, Wooyoung’s back!” hollered Jongho, sticking his head through the front door.

Meanwhile Yeosang had ran down ahead, oil lamp swinging in his hand, to fling open the front gates.

“Is he…?!”

“He’s safe, just in slumber. Understandably so.”

Wooyoung had fallen asleep against San’s chest on the ride back, head cradled under where San’s chin would’ve been and letting out soft snores.

“OH THANK MIHTOS!”

“HE’S ALIVE!’

“Shush! Or do you want to wake up the entire town?”

Jongho and Yunho managed to squeeze past Yeosang out on to the street. They worked to slowly lift Wooyoung’s sleeping form off the saddle and into Yunho’s arms so he could carry him back inside. San untied Wooyoung’s basket (that he made sure to recover, “I worked hard and nearly died for those!”) from his saddle bag and passed it over to Mingi.

Everyone thanked San profusely, Jongho even sneaking an apple from his pocket to feed the stallion which bowed in appreciation.

“San…”

The small whine ceased the group’s chatter, all eyes turned towards the figure curled up in Yunho’s arms. One of Wooyoung’s arm reached out languidly for San’s gloved ones. The Dullahan reciprocated to envelop Wooyoung’s hand with his.

“…thank you, again”

“Sleep well Wooyoung, may dreams allow you to rest properly tonight,” San responded softly with a light squeeze to Wooyoung’s hand.

Mingi followed Yunho back inside to help him get Wooyoung to bed while Jongho and Yeosang stayed to see San off.

“He can hear me, just like you two.”

“Who’s looking forward to seeing Seonghwa’s face tomorrow when he returns and learn of what’s happened?”

“I’m relieved that Wooyoung is here to stay, I’m growing rather fond of the young mister.”

“Do prepare Wooyoung for the discussion...”

“More like a history lesson!”

“...and please check on his ankle as soon as you can, the Hollowsworn got there before I did.”

San waited till Yeosang and Jongho disappeared behind the mansion doors before manoeuvring the reigns of his horse back in the direction he came from. It has been an eventful night and the Dullahan was intrigued by the young apprentice. There was much more to Jung Wooyoung than meets the eye – much like Alderfell and he hoped to cross paths with him soon again.

A purr stopped San and his steed in their tracks.

“There you are my dear, so this is where you’ve roamed to.”

A gloved hand patted at the rear and the cerulean-eyed cat claimed the spot on the horseback, nestling comfortably behind its master.

Somewhere else in a well-kept tomb beneath the winged stone sculpture, a dimpled smile forms on a serene face resting on a pillow of moonflowers. The head lets out a contented sigh.

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