#RIP to one of the most beautiful‚ sweetest and free-spirited souls

[97keanu]

" ᵗʰᵉʸ ˢᵃʸ ⁱᵗˢ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ"

Dave Lizewski x demonic!reader

Premise: Jennifer's Body x Kick Ass cross over (request). A 10 chapter event of Nerdy Dave who has been best friends with You since diapers, the two of you inseparable, your feelings for each other hidden, unknown outside of the deepest friendship.

In this chapter, we detail the end and the beginning, where it all started and where we are now. Dave and You go to Devil's Kettle High School, You the flag teams captain, Dave, the schools resident shy, nerdy loser.

Were setting the players and starting the game in this chapter.

Read on ao3 here! Part two here read part three here

Word Count: 2.3k

Chapter:1/10

Tags: nerdy!Dave, mean girl!reader, popular!reader, demonic!reader, evil!reader, toxic!reader, yandere!reader, angst, soul connection, red string of fate coded, childhood friends to something more?, childhood friends to enemies, best friends who want more, oblivious Dave who can't imagine that he likes you more than a friend not because he doesn't like you but because why would you, the most popular girl in school ever want him x reader who is obviously pining and flirting, jealous!reader, Dom!reader sub!dave more to come in later chapters.

Chapter One:

"It Feels Like the Start of a Movie I've Seen Before..."

Blood. That's what is in all of us. A pounding, viscous liquid that sustains us all. And here it is, running out of you, as you're tied to this rock, under the light of the moon and a shitty vans headlights pooling onto your terrified form. You're going to die. You know it, the real evil stands over you wearing the face of a boy band member, chuckling about all of this, ready to drive the knife in. You're the perfect "virginal" sacrifice to them and their free ticket to stardom. A flash comes across the 20 something's eyes, perhaps he's seeing Hollywood and fame inside your heaving chest. So close, he has to rip it out to get to it. His band mates cheer him on, as the horror of this night drags on long past what the rest of the town of Devil's Kettle will ever know. The falls beside you roar and drown out any pathetic screams you can muster from your bound mouth. 

Yes, you are going to die here. 

But before all this, you were different. Years before, going back now. You were 5, and he…He was the cutest boy on the playground, with those huge bright blue eyes and a messy mop of curly brown hair. Back then, everyone gushed over Dave, calling him the sweetest boy on the block. You, well, you were cute too, but your wild and vicious spirit overwhelmed any childhood beauty. 

Still, it was then that you walked up to him with such confidence, the need to talk to him so strong. You don't even know why, but what you do know is that he and you are going to be friends. Best friends. 

And you were, from that day on. Ever since you uttered a childish "You're going to come play with me!" Which was never a question, no your dominance was always there from the start, and it was Dave's ultimate weakness. He was head over heels from the minute you pulled his little hand over to the sandbox and began to show him all your toys. Or perhaps the connection really started when you reached into your little refurbished lunchbox serving as a toy bin, and pulled out a bloody thumb. Your little face was scrunched up with confusion on such a pain, never having felt it before like this. 

And Dave, well, Dave was already reaching out for your hand, pulling it up, up, up…

He stuck your thumb right into his mouth and sucked off the blood, the copper taste funny and strange. He has no idea why he did it. Maybe because that's what he always did when he scraped his own hand, and it was the only way his little boy brain could think of to fix the situation. Maybe he was curious about the taste. Who's to say. 

Either way, since then you two had an unbreakable bond. No matter how much everyone eyes the two of you, an unlikely pair. You, who as a kid was said to be a bad influence on sweet little Dave. You, the now popular head of the flag team at Devil's Kettle High School, and the nerdy, shy Dave, still going strong with Friday night sleepovers despite the world looking on and shaking its head. Yes, it's true.

Sandbox love never dies…

✧✧✧

The early spring air brushes through your window as you lay in bed, completely comfortable in a pair of small black shorts that say PINK in giant varsity letters and a tank top with no bra around Dave Lizewski. It's 2009 and you are watching Evil Dead 2 with your best friend in the whole world for the umpteenth time. You love the way you can relax around him. No other boy at school would let you sit next to them on a bed, alone, and not try to be all over you. Even if you two cuddle sometimes it never feels like he would make an unwanted move on you, or any move for that matter. 

He's your most trusted ally, the person who knows some of your deepest secrets and still comes over and lets you put face masks on him and braid his hair. He lets you do anything with him, despite all the highschool typical rumors about him being your gay best friend. 

You know that's not true, you used to even play boyfriend and girlfriend together, before you got old enough that it started being weird. 

No, Dave's just the kind, sweet boy from down the street who has always been there for you. He played doctor and patched up your knees when you scraped them in the woods behind your houses, running wild as children do. He was there for you when your dad left your mom, and reversely, you were there for him when his mom left his dad two years later. You had a bond that you couldn't explain to anyone else. Sometimes it was like Dave was there before you even told him that you were hurt or upset. He often came through your bedroom window, climbing up the viney terrace outside, and slipping in to your aid. He wiped away the mascara coated tears and held your hand.

Dave was like your own personal savior. He was Heavensent, an angel sent in a nerdy teenage boy's body. He didn't act at all like the other boys at school, even when your mom warned you that all men are pigs and that you can never trust any of them. You know she was somewhat right, after your dad cheated you couldn't bear the thought of ever loving a boy. Even as the countless boys at school asked you out, you never felt that anger and disgust you had for them towards Dave. He was just different. He was soft, he was caring, he was kind, and best of all he made you laugh, rolling on his bed together until your stomach cramped and your face hurt from laughing.  He was, well, Dave.  And it was in sophomore year that you realized you might actually love Dave. You were at the winter ball, getting crowned The Snowflake Queen, something your mom was when she was in highschool, and something you found yourself desperately wanting as time went on. The prestige, the attention, you couldn't help but crave it. But standing up there next to Logan Turner, the massive lugheaded jock as your "king", while Dave sat in his too big tux in the crowd, cheering you on. You found you wished it was him standing next to you. And you knew then, that it was always Dave, and it couldn't ever be anyone else. You were fucked from then on. There was even a strange month where you were coming to terms with these new feelings and could hardly stand to be in the same room as Dave without being turned on, embarrassed of your want of him.  That's when he met Todd and Marty, two much more disgusting, nerdy boys. You hated Todd and Marty. You hated them more because they egged Dave on to get a girlfriend, trying to hook him on any girl at school to gush over, since that's what they did all day besides jerking off at home alone. Dave wasn't the type to fall into all of that, at least you thought so until what he begins to tell you tonight.  The two of you are laying in your soft pink bed, your room totally girly just how you like it, Dave laying his head on your favorite plushie. He looks over at you, pushing his glasses up as they get scrunched on the half of his face cuddled up to your pink covers, his blue eyes excited but serious. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He says, his usual shy and somewhat stuttering speech patterns hardly ever a problem around you.  "Sure, what's on your mind, Dave?" You say, your faces are so close on the bed. It's been two years since your breakdown, figuring out your feelings for Dave and pushing them down, but even still this moment starts to feel intimate. You even wonder if he will ask…? 

The next words out of his mouth make you feel as if your soul has plummeted to your gut while trying to claw its way out. 

"You remember that girl, Katie from Bio III?" And he seems so excited to tell you about it. That's the worst part.  You can imagine her in your head, and at the same time you can imagine wrapping your pretty pink manicured hands around her throat until she turns a lovely shade of purple. The anger you feel is like morphine, hot, rushing through your body, then turning into a dull numbness. You know you can't show any of these feelings, so your glossy lips feign a smile and you nod your pretty little head to attempt to match Dave's energy. 

"Katie…! Yeah, I remember her." You say forcibly.

"Yeah, well I was thinking about asking her out sometime…" He continues to speak about the how's, why's, and how nervous he is to tell her, but all you hear is a dull ringing in your ears, the fake smile you learned to keep up from your mom showing the whole time.  You can't believe this. Mousey Katie over you. Have you not done your best to be everything for Dave? It's like you've been friendzoned but that doesn't happen to hot girls like you.  All you know is you have to stop Dave from asking her out by any means possible.

✧✧✧

You've been steaming all day, simmering like a pot left on the stove for too long, forgotten attention since Dave has been flustered Katie. Of course your exterior is perfect, popular you. Dave has no clue how badly his admission last Friday affected you, why would he? It's not like you've ever even really let him know how you truly feel. Sure, you teased him, playfully hit him in the arm until you bordered on going too far, pinned him to your bed in endless pillow fights until the feathers settled down around the two of you before you ever did. You had no way of knowing how to tell him without telling him more than this, and there's no way you're just going to come out and say it. In class all you can think about is how you straddled him on Friday, and teased about his crush to save face. You were all energy, Dave staring up at you with his big blue eyes oblivious to your hurt, telling you to quit making fun of him for liking a girl with a smile. You couldn't help but feel your stomach clench in different ways, your thighs positioned on either side of his lap making you want him, but the thought of him liking Katie burning a hole instead. Dave never even thought of you as an option of the girls he could have chosen, that much was clear. And it killed you to think about.  Now you're at your locker when you see Dave walking towards you. You two usually meet now to take lunch, but your heart falls out of your body and splats gorey on the linoleum when he passes by you with a small wave on his way towards Katie at her locker. The inside of your mouth feels hot and your spine runs cold.  He walks over there to that dumb little brunette, nervously trying to get the idea of taking her out for a date. You will not allow this. You slam your locker and strut over there, your heels clicking and Dave's eyes sliding to you as you approach.  "Well, K-Katie I, Well, I was wondering if um, you maybe wanted to go, go out this Friday…?" He's finishing when you approach, speaking up before Katie can respond.  "Yeah! There's a band playing at Melody Lane and a bunch of us are going, it would be so totes cool if you came with us as, like, a group, Katie!" You are all popular, valley girl talk, making Katie think she's being asked to hang out with you more than Dave.

Her eyes light up, the idea of getting closer with a cool girl like you exciting her way more than going out with Dave. "She doesn't even deserve you.." You think in response.  "Yeah, I had asked Dave here to ask you for me!" You continue, touching Katie's arm as if you two are like, totally besties!, yuck... Dave starts to stutter out to correct the situation, but the bell rings and Katie is nodding in agreement to your proposal already. "Awesome! I'll like, totally text you the deets." You say with a fake smile and squeeze on her arm while she's walking away. As soon as she's out of earshot Dave is chiding you, one of the few times he's actually mad at you.  "Hey! What was that about, you knew I liked her?" You turn to see his eyes searching yours for some sort of truth, that you didn't do that to just sabotage him. You place a loving hand on his chest.  "Oh Dave, please. You were floundering, I saved you!" You bat your long, dark lashes at him with a heart melting grin you know will win him over. "I'm, like, the best wingman, and you should be, like, thanking me right now, actually."  "I…well…I guess she did confirm she's coming this Friday…" He admits, his voice softening to the Dave you love and know.  "See? Worked out perfectly…" You say and walk away towards lunch, knowing Dave will be in tow. Now, the question is how will you finish off this little crush of his?

✧✧✧

[potledom]

❝I know a few things to be true: miracles are real [and] recovery is possible for everyone. No matter how far gone you think you are, we are never too broken to be put back together. Service work feels better than the greatest high. Sobriety makes you weirder, not normal. And I’d be dead if it weren’t for all the love and forgiveness I’ve been showered with by my friends and family. Thank you to anyone that’s ever let me sponsor them. Thank you to my partner, Cody Bear, for showing me what real love is like. Thank you to all my beautiful family (blood and extended). Because of this gift I have no friends, only family. Love you all! Keep up the good fight.❞ [x]

— Jael Strauss     [1984 - 2018]

[highfaelucien]

Ardere - A Helion/Lady of Autumn Fic

y’all heathens made me have feelings so i wrote a thing. hurt/comfort, angst, all sorts. Tagging some folks who inspired this with their emotional dashboard shenanigans/that I feel would Appreciate the content. @exiledelain @confused-as-all-hell @asteria-of-mars @ratabrasileira @ladyvanserra @vanserrasvalkyrie @rarephloxes  @queen-hypaxia

Title: Ardere

Length: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, given Lady Autumn’s situation

Summary: Set during the High Lords meeting in ACOWAR. Canon compliant, I suppose, but do any of us care about that anymore?? Hestia, the Lady of the Autumn Court, seeks her oldest lover and comfort Helion for a stolen night of love and reconnection. Helion POV, emotional hurt/comfort, bit of angst.

Teaser:

‘" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.

Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.

For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might insist upon caution. But the next she was in his arms, and as he held her close and breathed her in, he knew he hadn't been truly warm since last he'd been able to embrace her.

"Helion," she murmured into his chest.

The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.

AO3: Link

"I cannot spare long." 

The book he'd been flipping idly through dropped at once from his fingers at the sound of that voice.

Before he'd finished turning to her, her scent hit him. So warm, so inviting, it nearly knocked him back into his chair.

Then he beheld her.

The first time he'd clapped eyes on her, all those centuries ago, she'd left him breathless and stunned. 

Like an Autumn storm that had ravaged every part of his being and left him, naked and awed, before its power and majesty. She had blown into his life with an unexpected abruptness as yet unmatched.

He'd been an arrogant prick at that age. Cauldron, he was still an arrogant prick. But he'd been used to everyone's eyes, male or female, following him as he moved through a room. 

Those gazes found him and they didn't leave. He was High fae. He was a High Lord's heir. He'd been made to rule Day and to look damned good while doing it.

 He'd been accustomed to being wanted, to inspiring lust and envy by simply existing.

Never, before her, had he been on the other side. 

He'd never seen someone so beautiful. So consuming and captivating that he hadn't been sure of being able to win their lust and love with a simple smile and an effortless word.

She'd shaken something in him that day. She had entered his world and unmade him with a glance. Then reconstructed him, exactly as she'd found him, with one stark difference. At the core of the man she had rebuilt was a need for her. Not merely her beautiful body, but her heart, her soul. He'd known, in that moment, that she had him. And always would.

The years had taken much from her. And holy gods, did he know it. But they had not taken this, her ability to so thoroughly destroy him that he was reborn at once as her servant in but a single glance.

" Hestia," he whispered, with the same reverence he'd speak the name of a goddess in her holiest temple.

Instinct bade him go to her, and he did not fight it. He didn't even try.

For a moment he thought she might refuse him, might insist upon caution. But the next she was in his arms, and as he held her close and breathed her in, he knew he hadn't been truly warm since last he'd been able to embrace her.

"Helion," she murmured into his chest.

The sound of her voice wrapped around his name was the sweetest torture he'd ever known. All Hyben need do to break him was ask him to defect in her voice and he would obey without a thought.

For all that he made a show, and tell, if he was fair, about what the Cauldron gave him with regards to his body, particularly his glorious thighs, that wasn't his true pride.

No, the thing he held most valuable was his mind which contained the knowledge of a thousand libraries and more.

He didn't earn his name by clearing through spells with his thighs. Fuck no. His wit, his cunning, his intellect, that was where his true power, his true strength as a High Lord came from.

That was why Hestia had always managed to claim him so thoroughly. All these centuries later and he still couldn't think around her. Couldn't form a single coherent thought while her scent filled his lungs. It travelled from there directly to his brain, and filled it with stolen afternoons and illicit nights spent in the only place they truly belonged.

Drawing away, in itself an agony, but one he was rewarded for, as it let him look into her face.

He cradled it between his hands, so careful. so delicate. She was not a fragile woman, he knew that well. She was of the forge, with fire in her veins, and iron in her bones.

The world saw the silence, the frailty of her body, and the resignation of her fate and mistook that for softness, and docility. He knew better.

This woman put the heroes of the War to shame. Her strength, her courage, her will - if they had any idea they'd have written epic poems about her resilience and ballads to her spirit. 

Drakon wouldn't have lasted an hour in her place. Had she been in his, the damned War would have ended so fast they wouldn't have been able to call it one.

Yet he held her with all the gentleness that was in him. Not because he feared she might break without it; but because he knew she would find none elsewhere.

His fingers tenderly brushed her hair from her eyes. Like her, their, son's it was a red as sure as blood. But hers spiralled from her in a cacophony of raucous curls. They were contained, now, with a thick leather band around her head. He would always remember them wild, and free, as she was meant to be.

As he moved them aside, he saw the shadow of a bruise around one of her beautiful russet eyes. Hidden well, but...

His body went taut, jaw clenching instinctively. She felt the tension coiling in him, and laid her hands gently over his.

"Don’t," was all she said, voice soft, but unyielding, like the sun’s gentle rays as it rose each morning.

"Not a heartbeat has passed for me since that day," he rumbled, voice deeper and darker than his usual light, playful timbre." That I have not thought about the choice that was made, and begged the Mother to let me change it." 

She faced him steadily and said, " You know I made the choice that was available to mem" she moved closer, her body melting against his, like the hot metal of a blade folded around itself to create something more, "Not the one I wanted."

"I know, my hearthlight,” he whispered softly, sensing her smile at the old pet name he used for her, “And I would never blame you for that. But as for myself-"

A coward. This woman. This holy, burning creature. This caged forest fire... She loved a coward.

Hestia placed a finger to his lips, silencing him, " What good does it do," she murmured the rich warmth of her voice caressing him like a thick blanket on a cold winter night, “To dwell upon the past? To linger, in misery, and shame in a single moment of your immortal life?”

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she knew him too well, and silenced him with but a single look.

"Will your regret force back the sun?” she demanded with that quiet spirit he loved so keenly, “Will your sadness take us back? Will your guilt rewrite the pages of the history books which have been gathering dust in your libraries for centuries?" 

She was such a small thing. She always had been. And seemed more so, held between his muscular arms. Yet she dwarfed him now.

Like the flicker of a candle flame catching and summoning a raging inferno to remind him she was but a fragment of a force of nature, bound in skin, but never truly caged.

"If I could have," he said at last, voice a little hoarse as though he'd inhaled thick smoke, “I would have done so a thousand times over. And paid any price to do so."

He had tried. He'd never confess it to another soul, not even to the Mother herself upon his deathbed, but he had tried. Tried to rip apart the fabric of all reality with nothing but his bare hands and love for her.

A part of him was still surprised that it had not been enough. Because it was. Reality had simply not accepted that particular facet of its existence.

"I know you would have, lucky fluke," all these years and still she called him that. 

A name she'd hung on him to tease the first day they had met. He'd baldly called their meeting the Mother's own ordained fate. She'd laughed, with a sound like falling leaves, and named it, and him, lucky fluke. 

Then, the words had been edged with mockery. Now they echoed with all of their history, with all of their fondness, and all of her love.

"But time goes on. That sun of yours still journeys East to West, and we still live with the decisions we made upon a summer's night a million fireflies' lifetimes ago."

" Hestia-" he began, but she quietened him once more.

"When I wish to look back, Helion, I shall find myself a mirror,” she said, with the strength that had held her together all these decades of pain and misery, turned upon him now to remind him that she would not yield.

“I will not live my life wading through times I have already endured,” she said, voice softer now, but no less intent, “I have no wish to allow him to cause me pain in the few and rare times that are my own. I shall make pleasant moments here, with you, and that is what I ask of you. To be with me. Here. Now. And to love me while we can."

"I am yours, Lady,” he breathed. 

With the same breath he’d first pledged that to her centuries ago. Before the world had taken the freedom she craved so much, and given him a power he’d never wanted. A tattoo of her heart had etched itself over his own, in a vibrant red, a marker of the bargain he’d made. Unintended, but not regretted. 

“From now until my sun fades from this world unto the next," he promised her once more, one hand over his heart.

"Until I find you there as well," she replied, as she had all those years ago, leaning up, while drawing him down, and touching her forehead to his.

He loved her. Oh, Cauldron, he loved her, and whatever the Mother had used to make her, he loved that too.

"Come," she said softly," Let us make the most of what time we have."

So they did.

"What do you want from me, Hestia?" he whispered, pressing the worlds into her thick hair, his face buried in the crown of her head.

She looked at him, and answered as she did each time with aching certainty, and absolute truth." Everything."

"Then take it." he whispered, a devoted priest at last within the presence of his deity, “All I have, and all I do not. Take it all."

So she did.

They had no need of words in that hallowed space when bodies and beings connected, skin to skin, and soul to soul.

The breath it would have cost to provide a vessel for their thoughts would have only felt like a barrier between them.

They had no wish for that.

He knew her thoughts. And she knew his. They did not need to share them with the air and fireflies. 

For themselves, they gave voice to those thoughts in the lost language of lovers. Spoken in the gasps of breath and sweating palms.Thundering hearts, and hungering lips. Gasping lungs, and grasping touch.

And every thought the same: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Then came the quiet. The gentle tangle of limbs. Eyes closed, heartbeats aligned. Willing the dawn to wait for them.

They did not sleep. They would not waste time on dreams when they already had everything they could ever hope to find in that untamable oblivion already contained within their embrace.

"It has been some time," Helion said at last, loath to break the spell of the silent commune of their souls, but such was his nature,"I thought the most of you I would ever make love to again was the echo of our last time, the memory of you."

He shifted slightly, so that he could see her face, all peaceful lines and soft curls, her eyes still closed.

"Why now, Hestia? With him," his jaw tightened at the mere mention of that excuse for a male, "So close the risk-"

"Is minimal," she interceded smoothly. Still without opening an eye, she continued." I drugged his wine. He shall sleep until daybreak. At least."

Helion opened his mouth, then closed it, refusing to be drawn off course "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought the answer would be obvious to you, lucky fluke," she murmured.

"You know you reduce me to the wits of a mere mortal, hearthlight," he said, half burying the words in her thick hair.

" Hmm," she hummed, thoughtful, "Must I spell it out for you, then, brightheart?" 

"If you would be so good, my lady." 

She was quiet so long he thought she might have succumbed to sleep, despite their pact.

At last she said, quiet as an Autumn breeze, " Each morning, when I open my eyes, and watch the sun rise beyond my window, I prepare myself for pain." 

He flinched, but she seemed not to notice, continuing calmly.

"This has been my burden to bear through all my years of marriage And I have borne it well, without falter, or complaint.

"I have known pain in many forms, and I have carried every one. But upon the horizon, I saw a new pain. One I had not confronted for so long. And I knew, in my soul, that I was not equal to it. That, at last, I would meet a battle I could not win. And so I found a way to avoid fighting it altogether."

"What did you foresee, hearthlight?" he forced himself to say.

"This war," she murmured, her ever-steady voice cracking in a way that made him pull her closer still. "This war came. And it claimed you. It took you from me when you had not been mine in centuries. And I could not abide that."

"I am always yours," he whispered fiercely. 

"Peace, brightheart," she soothed, "I know that. But I had to feel it. I had to erase the idea that last time was the last. I had to have you, and hold you, and love you once more before the end. Or else I knew I could not face this war. Not alone."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and held it, eyes closed, heart pounding, fighting every urge not to speak the words batting past the lump in his throat. But he had never been as strong as her.

"I cannot let you go this time, Hestia," he groaned, " I cannot sit idly, and smile, and tease while I've willingly let you go again."

"If I can find the strength to do what must be done," she said, with iron in her words, "Then you must find the strength to let me."

"I can't," he said, voice breaking. She found his hand and squeezed it, "I am a High Lord in my own right now, Hestia." he breathed to her." I could-"

"No, you could not." she said, firm, unyielding, a rock in an icy stream, with waters all around, that had not moved in centuries, and would not now.

"There is a war coming, Helion. Win or lose in a fight for me, it would shatter this fragile alliance, and any hope for Pythian. So you will do no such thing." she went on, before he could protest, "For we must win this war. For our courts. For our people. For our freedom. And for our son."

For the first time her voice broke. Before they fell, his fingers had already lifted to wipe her tears. the only ones she would shed. Not for herself. Never for herself. But for her, for their, son... She had never confronted him with it so boldly before.

He closed his eyes, unable to deny her. Unable to even deny her.

"We have to tell him, Hestia," he said, so softly.

"We must," she agreed, "But I have not been allowed to see him in almost three hundred years. And I will not have you tell him alone. As much for his sake as for yours."

He nodded, head bowed. 

"Together, then. If I make it through what is to come."

Reaching up she took his chin between her fingers and drew his face down to meet her eyes.

"You will not die this war, Helion," she told him.

Her words flared with that fire she was forced to hide from everyone, everyone but him.

"Because if you try, I will drag the Mother by her hair to your grave and force her to dig you up for me."

He smiled at those words, at the certainty that she would do exactly as she said.

"That almost makes me want to try it, you know," he purred, tracing vague patterns into the bare skin of her shoulder with his thumb as he spoke, "Just to see you do that."

She actually growled at him which, from her, was enough to utterly dissuade him from the notion.

They lay in gentle silence together, until the velvet blackness of night bled to indigo, as the careless artist of time spilled the white she used to craft the stars into the sky itself and melted its darkness.

"I've always found it ironic," he mused, "That being High Lord of Day hasn't blessed me with the power to halt the sun, and stop the day from intruding."

"That is your duty, brightheart." she replied with a soft smile." You must assert yourself upon the land, its sleepy lovers, and restless thieves alike, and force them to make haste and more. Without you there would be no growth, no change, only stagnation and decay." 

She cupped his face in her hand, a hand now lined, to show the life she'd lived. Without him. His heart lurched at the thought.

But her voice drew him back to her as she said, "And without Day, the nights would not seem nearly so precious."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her waiting mouth, silent thanks for her words, the feeling behind them. He held her eyes a moment more. spinning out this last bit of thread, like a frugal weaver making the most of fate's allotment.

Then he said, irritably, "I'm still going to have words with Thesan later today."

She laughed as he said that, but she laughed as she withdrew from him. 

How fittingly ironic that the sweetest sound he'd ever heard paired in this moment with the bitterest sorrow he'd ever felt.

He watched her as she withdrew the new gown she'd thought to bring. At a silent glance from her he rose, still naked, and helped to seal her back into her cage of cotton and lace.

He combed and braided her hair, as he'd done a thousand times before. Then, heart aching, as it had a thousand times before, he spun a ward around her, to mask his scent where it mingled with hers. She could carry no reminders of this night save fragile memory.

Then, like the night, with one final kiss, she was gone. The chamber felt cold, even as it was bathed in his light.

Wordless, he pulled on a robe and strode onto his balcony to greet the rising of his sun.

It was a hollow warmth, compared to her, and brought him little comfort. 

As he gazed ahead into his eternity. Alone, once more. Lonely in a way only she would know. For the world saw the friends he surrounded himself with, and the lovers he brought to his bed, without ever knowing the gaping void in his soul that he could never fill with them.

Closing his eyes, he drew in one last breath of her, of them, their scents still mingling on his skin, then banished it.

He turned towards the light, facing this new day, and begged the Mother to lend him even a fragment of his heartlight's strength that he might face it.

***

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Alleviate

Homecoming - Chapter 1

Rated: T

Alleviate

Story Summary: Sequel to Reunion (READ HERE). After bring ripped apart by Shinra and circumstances beyond their control, Zack and Aerith are finally reunited, and this time, no one is taking their happiness away from them. Along with Cloud, they are determined to make up for their lost five years.

Chapter Summary: After the long awaited reunion, Aerith takes Zack and Cloud home with her much to the behest of Elmyra.

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A03

Fanfiction.net

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"Here we are. I think these should fit him but I'm going to need to look for something in the attic for his friend. Poor boy is so thin so I'm sure one of your old pairs of pajamas would work," Elmyra's slightly frustrated tone was one Aerith had been all too familiar with from five years ago.

The slightly tense posture she'd accumulate whenever Zack had visited their home in the past was back; to Aerith, it made it easier to believe that this wasn't all just a lucid dream. It warmed Aerith's heart to realize that while her mother wasn't always Zack's biggest fan, she was at least accepting of his return and allowed him and Cloud to stay.

Sure, she hadn't been completely appeased by the five minute rushed explanation Zack gave, the ex-SOLDIER standing at parade attention at the front door (much to her giddiness), before Elmyra told him to shower and put his unconscious friend to bed in the guest room, but she accepted them inside their home regardless.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start - baby steps would have to be enough.

All of it seemed so unreal still because merely an hour ago, Zack had been missing for five whole years and she had been questioning the possibility of him still even being alive when he came bursting through her church doors.

The reunion itself felt like a blur of emotions Aerith still had yet to process.

So many burning questions about his absence still bothered her but she forcefully pushed them to the back of her mind. Even the walk back to her house felt like it was happening outside of her body. Zack and herself quietly walking with Cloud's arm slung over both their shoulders, his steps clunky and slow while she ignored the blatant stares and questioning looks they garnered as they made their way through Sector 5.

Aerith focused on the path in front of them, one she walked countless times before, while she couldn't help but recall the brokenness in Zack's perfect blue eyes that wasn't there before. There was so much emotional baggage they both needed to unpack but that could wait. Now, all she wanted to do was take away that pain that was so embedded in his eyes; to hear him laugh and see that smile that was like the sun and have it warm her face again.

Yet the biggest part of it could still scarcely believe that this was reality.

That Zack was truly alive.

Five years of waiting and wondering and praying for him just to be alive. The fragile hope fading and her house of cards crumbling day by day. It had gotten to the point where she had almost lost all hope that she would ever see him again…and now, he was truly back…

Her long-lost SOLDIER had finally returned like he promised so many years ago…

Aerith tightly squeezed the skin of her forearm again just to feel that painful sensation in an effort to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The pinch was sudden and sharp with the blunt edge of her nail turning her skin white than red with the sting of pain that had Aerith breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

"Aerith…" Elmyra sudden voice broke her out of her reverie.

Aerith covered the red crescent moon with a trembling hand. "I-I'm sorry, what was that?"

Her adopted mother looked at her strangely but there was a somber warmth in her eyes that hadn't been there a few moments prior. Elmyra reached out a hand and Aerith remained still as the older woman gently brushed her cheek.

The familiar touch of those gentle fingers had Aerith finally feel the clinging wetness that she didn't realize was trickling in warm tracks from her eyes. The sudden realization that she was indeed crying was all it took for a explosive sob to rise in her throat; lower lip wobbling tumultuously even as she tried to control the abrupt and painfully sharp spike of grief that fell over her like an unexpected shower of cold rain.

Five whole years…

All the debilitating fear caused by years of haunting nightmares, visions of rain, cliffs, blood and bullets and the endless sky that took Zack away felt so real. Waking up only to face a possible future where she'd never see him again. Those years passing by and slowly but surely forgetting his handsome face, soothing voice and a blinding smile that put the sun to shame was finally over because Zack came back to her…

A choppy cry of emotion laced with grief, pain and the sweetest relief finally broke free from her lips - she'd never fallen apart in front of Elmyra until right now.

"...Oh my flower," her mother mused gently before wrapping her in a tight hug with the bundle of clothes for Zack resting between them.

A steadying breath had Aerith muttering out a broken, "I'm okay," the phrase automatic. A lie she'd perfected these last five years falling easily from her mouth even as her cheeks swam with tears and her throat grew tight with repressed sobs. But now those words were far more truthful than they'd ever been before…

Zack was here…he was finally home.

Heart near to bursting with the emotion of that internal statement, a sob was finally released from her mouth as Aerith buried her tear-stained face in her mother's comforting shoulder and cried and cried and cried.

Five years of holding every pain and doubt to herself while presenting the world with faked happiness, the dam finally broke wide open and Elmyra's arms were the only thing holding her together.

Elmyra didn't comment, merely wrapped her arms tighter around her trembling daughter. She'd stopped questioning a long time ago, knowing Aerith would never fully admit the anxiety and grief she lived with since Zack disappeared on his mission all those years ago. She merely got used to seeing all the fake smiles and broken grins while her adopted daughter's beautiful emerald eyes showcased nothing but agony, anxiety, and unshed tears.

The pain of those years was sadly all too familiar for Elmyra; her own husband's death still a dull ache beneath her ribs that never fully went away.

If she was honest with herself, it was the sole reason for her brushing aside and forced dislike of Zack. While he possessed a wonderfully kind soul, open smile and gentle heart and obviously cared for Aerith very much, he was SOLDIER. Military. Shinra... it was all the same. Whoever tethered themselves to one who was employed at such a profession, it always ended in heartbreak. So, when Zack left and never came back even years later, the look on Aerith's face slowly began matching her own in the mirror from her own years of waiting patiently for her husband to return home.

…He never did…

All Shinra caused was agony, nothing but pain for those left behind and she never wanted Aerith (who was the only reason she survived her own grief over the loss of her husband) to experience it but she ended up falling for the First Class SOLDIER anyway.

Elmyra held her tongue for a long time. Her rare terse comments about moving on and even planting doubts in her daughter's mind about Zack's true whereabouts were only placed with the intentions that possible scenario would hopefully numb the pain. Because even Elmyra knew Zack would never do that to her daughter but yet she continued sowing doubt because even the idea of Aerith losing Zack to another woman would hurt much less than the truth of him most likely being dead and Shinra covering it up per usual…

All Elmyra wanted was to protect her...

For so long, she tried fruitlessly to convince Aerith to let Zack go; to accept he wasn't coming back from the mission and move on with her life and even perhaps to find someone new. Whether it was because of his death or he just found someone else to be with, it didn't matter, she just hated to see that profound emptiness in her daughter's eyes.

Yet even after five years, Aerith refused to let go.

Writing letters, selling flowers with a broken smile while still tying her fading and worn pink ribbon on the top of her braid every single day. Aerith clinging to her first (and only) love with an iron fist, her steadfast will was a testament to her unbreakable stubbornness and faith that Zack would return one day and when he did, she would still be waiting for him…

…and Aerith was right…

It was an absolute shock to the system to see Aerith arrive with her long-lost boyfriend looking severely out of place in poor fitting clothes and a blonde friend who's eyes were open yet unseeing. The sheepish smile Zack flashed her as Aerith talked a mile-a-minute but it was Zack's eyes that hit Elmyra hardest.

Even as he gave a quick explanation with obvious holes in the story that edited horrific things Elmyra couldn't possibly begin to fathom, it was the look in his eyes that said it all. There was a pained broken spirit now inhabiting the once happy-go-lucky teenager her daughter introduced as her boyfriend all those years ago.

There was a story, a horrible one he had yet to fully tell, and Elmyra was scared.

The fear of him and his friend being on the run from the most powerful company on the planet was at the forefront of her mind, but seeing her daughter's hopeful face, Zack's forced smile and the blonde boy who's blank expression terrified her, Elmyra's walls she built crashed to the ground. Face still stern to hide the grief and guilt she felt, Elmyra let them in.

Despite her misgivings, Zackary returned; he'd come back for Aerith like he promised he would, and that would have to be enough for her.

While she wasn't crazy about Zack and Aerith's relationship in the past (mostly because of Zackary's previous womanizing ways), all it gave her now was guilt. It weighed heavily on her shoulders and eyes burning from unshed tears at the grief her daughter had been hoarding in her heart all this time. So, Elmyra pulled her adopted daughter closer to her chest and held on as tight as she could. All she could do move forward, be better toward the man her daughter chose to love and help them all heal. All she knew was that she refused to let Aerith hold all this grief alone anymore so she rubbed soothing hands over her daughter's back until Aerith finally got her shuddering breaths under control and ignored the cooling wetness of tears in the fabric on her shoulder.

After Aerith seemingly calmed, Elmyra pulled away slowly. A bit of sadness aching in her heart to watch Aerith scrubbing away tears from rosy cheeks with her hands that still contained soil under her short fingernails. Yet she didn't comment when Aerith finally looked at her with those doe-like green eyes, merely placed the bundle of clothes for Zackary in Aerith's trembling arms.

In that moment, there was so much she wanted to say her to daughter but the words that left were, "Alright. Enough dawdling, now go upstairs and give Zack those clothes and I'll be in the attic to find others that will hopefully fit his friend."

Aerith let out in the softest breath and gave her the most genuine smile. "...Thanks, mom," she whispered before she perked up and ran up the creaky wooden staircase with a spring in her step that Elmyra hadn't seen from Aerith in years.

It was the minutest smile, a spark that returned to Aerith's eyes that made the older woman who lost her husband to war so long ago, to finally smile as well.

[legionmaster001]

My second and maybe, just maybe last post, as editing in the Tmblur app is still hell. This one still goes for @bl00dalchemist​’s characters, wich I love and owe a ton of inspiration.

I insist that this is not the kind of story that fits with them. However, I seriusly need to do this right, for the demons, for the bastard himself.

Again, I hope you all enjoy it.

The Black Death

“A dense mist engulfed the portuary town of Sicily as a dirty withe chariot aproached from the Northside one fatidic morning of October. The horses that pulled it looked sick, with their whinny resounding through the souls of those who first saw them like the pleads of a dying men, the rhymt of their gallop confessed the bad omens they carried in tounges that no one could speak. The sun wasn’t coming out that day, as even it cowered to the darkness that acompained the chariot.

—Aye! Aye! —exclaimed the charioteer, coughing and whipping his horses with his famelic arms and an old wip.

The mist stopped as the chariot did, like if it were a simple passanger itself. Near the entrance of the town, under the few houses that went to the end of the town and a sign of putrefacted wood and worn out letters, the real passager got out, saying not a single word to the poor looking driver before giving him a fist of herbs and a small sheet of paper.

—I owe you my life, sir —claimed the charioter, thankful and trustful.

—You shall pay me soon, then… —whispered the young man as he turned around, willing to travel what path was left to his destination on foot.

Only the sound of footsteps and the clicking sound of a wooden cane could be heard, as the townsfolk that stayed in their homes and businesses observed the withe haired but young foreigner with suspicion and intrigue. The man, with his black clothes, stiff cane and leather bag, never stared back. He was the doctor that the town needed, and he wasn’t in humor to humilliate the peasants that day.

—Maybe it’s too late… —Wondered the Doctor, scratching his withe beard. 

Almost running through the streets he directed himslef to the city’s port, guided by no one. Promptly he arrived to the dock, where rotting carcasses of the hanged still moored with rope around their necks. Ships of all sizes slowly swung, exhibiting like the corpses of the condemned. But the one that was supposed to soon touch land was an emissary of death was about unload a terrible charge; a Plague. 

His superiors had heard about it long before, and terrified predicted a wave of death and decay so great that it might as well be the end of all men. A disease so terrible that made the greatest Imperium of the world quail, that cared not about the children of god, killing everyone in its path, and transformed the deserts of the East in black seas, making all the Crusades look like a simple bar fight, and leaving piles upon piles of corpses, tall enough to cover the light of the morning sun.

—He is here!

—It can’t be.

—Just in the right moment.

The people that had gathered among the docks welcomed the Doctor with most expectation and joy. The strange man was a light of hope in their eyes, as the dim light of the early sun was completely covered by the mist of the morning, that with the help of the cloud that the Doctor carried, claimed the town for themselves. 

—What is happening here, my friend? —Asked the Doctor to the nearest man, putting his best smile. However, fear started to grow inside him as he realized that he already knew what was the problem.

—Ships came, the mariners look so sick, we’d never seen something like that! —Answered the man with nothing but fear in his eyes.

The Doctor walked to the sick mariners, seemingly calm, with only a few corageous enough and the constant feeling of having the spirits of the hanged swirling in the mist, to accompany him. Dead flesh by fingers and tumors as big as apples adorning their necks; the mariners had what was soon to be known as the Black Death. Such sight deeply affected the Doctor, that feared they wouldn’t survive enough to be played with, and make the townsfolk help them arrive to a church. He had more important things to do in the main ship, and as so, giving the excuse of finding a cause to such an horrible illness, he went alone. The folk cheered such an heroic behavior, for the Doctor was about to enter the guts of the beast.

He wandered to the insides of the ship, slowly revealing his nature: skin gray as ashes of the dead, theet and claws sharp and short as daggers to eviscerate, a tail that moved elegantly over the ground, and horns long and curved in a beautiful but simple way, with black ends. The demon Doctor finally was free, as he both rejoiced and shivered at the results of the Black Death; mariners abandoned still alive, drowning in their own vomited blood, corpses filled to the brim with tumors, and at the end of it all, a rotten, destroyed last corpse of what seemed to be a rather small and young man roughly dressed as a Eastern Companion Lady. It was of a unnatural pinkish color, from hair to inners, including the skin. It’s odor was strangely sweet.

—Not even the rats would claim this one… —Said the Doctor, poking the rotten corpse with his cane, not impressed with the weirdness of the body. A expression of disgust was on his face.

—But you can, it’s not that expensive —answered the supposed corpse in a sweet tone, or at least the sweetest it could do with its vocal cords so damaged.

—What in the bloody name of lord Baal…?

The now somewhat alive youngster extended a tounge like a venomous serpent, wich slowly coiled around the Doctor’s cane in a unsuccessful attempt to look somewhat provocative. The Doctor looked at him with mistrust, as he didn’t want another demon on his lands, even less one that could put in risk his entire career. But something called the attention of the Doctor: the young, rotten, blighted and lustful demon had glittering eyes with a strange beauty on them. The Doctor stared at them, almost forggoting for what he was there. Something was deeply wrong with its irregular and dead green iris and yellow sclera, but it wasn’t any kind of magic.

—Who the hell are you and what is your business here? —Asked the Doctor as politely as his word enabled him to be, snapping out of his trance and pulling his cane out of the mouth of the living corpse, ripping its tounge— I just cleaned this thing…

—My name is Gillian, and I am a humble Satan’s servant like you —said Gillian after he grew another tounge— born in holy land like you, ended up in the west, where Lord Belcebub gave me his most recent toy. Really not my type, but kinky, I must admit.

—Go to the point —The Doctor was quickly losing his scarce patience.

—Whatever you say, big boy. I was taken by those called Mongols in an invasion, they used me and threw me to the walls of a city —Gillian stopped to whisper, curses or compliments, it didn’t matter to the Doctor —, and I came with the merchants that ran from the war, and here you have me. So, do you want me to…?

The Doctor interrupted Gillian, tapping the wooden planks with his cane. The smug and peaceful expression with wich he entered the ship was again in his face. He Scratched his beard again, meditating about the situation. Before speaking he put on a small pair of reading glasses.

—I want you to leave. Now! —Shouted the Doctor, clearly mad. Fur od the same grey of his skin slowly spreaded around his body as it grew taller and demonic in form— I can’t afford to lose all my potential patients because of your pestilence!

The horns of the Doctor were about to break the ceiling when a flame materialized between them, taking the form of a shining crown.

—You don’t sound like a doctor at all —said Gillian, carefree and rather relaxed, almost like if he enjoyed the anger proyected at him, and unable to see.

—I am, but I have no enough hands, nor patience to amputate all this people, it wouldn’t even be fun anymore —The Doctor turned around, ready to leave. The boy didn’t whort the risk of beign discovered that soon— I am not the only one that will get damaged by this situation, so is better if you swim back to the East.

—I will see what I can do, hotstuff, but, sure u’ don’t want some of this? —Gillian lifted his leg, showing off what was left of it before it fell, leaving nothing but a small pool of black mush.

—Never in my 1,369 years of life have I been so horrified…

—It is not the last time you’ll say that, I bet —Gillian chuckled.

Breathing deep the Doctor started to leave, thinking of ways to actually save some lifes before the plage started to get worse. His demonic form disipated with the mist of the outside, letting the sun light enter through the few holes in the ship and hit both demons.

—Anyway, before you leave, what is your name? —Asked Gillian, trying to slowly cralw.

—Kinto —Was the only answer.

Gillian stopped in his tracks, now looking at Kinto under the sun light, he knew the name, everyone did. Kinto was the demon that singlehandedly transformed part of the Holy Order of Knights of the Hospital of Saint John of Jerusalem from loyal and godfearing warriors to an encrazed cult that practiced surgery on the child of the christian and muslim alike in the chaos of the damned cruzades, and the demon who made his golden earrings from the crosses of the Templar fallen heroes. All despite of being all but a warrior demon.

One last time Kinto looked behind, to see the pink son of the wither, angrier than ever, not for his actions and indiference, but because he felt a kind of warmth that no scream, bloody murder or great payment had given to him, all when looking at those rotten, glittering eyes.

In that cold morning Kinto, the cruel image of the sadism dressed as men of medicine, the corruption of those to swore protect, cure and save, met both the factor and the person that would end his current life, and forever change his eternal one, just like the world itself”.

Omfg I realized how many errors of all kinds I commited. I am so sorry. I don’t feel like a Fan anymore.

For those to made it to the end despite it beign just a slightly improved version; a trillion thanks.

[unapologeticallyjaylos]

jaylos prompt

Anon asked: Ik people talk about Jay having untapped magic and I always think of it coming out in melody. He's (secretly) a very good singer and has a little rhyme in Arabic that he sings to Carlos when he's getting nightmares, he always finds that when he writes songs that people are drawn to the melodies and he's very skilled at picking up instruments. When Mal witnesses one of his songs putting Carlos to sleep she's like "that's fucking magic dude" despite the fact that Jay never realized...

I absolutely loved this prompt. It turned out pretty poetic, but that seems fitting. Note: the lyrics to the song should be Arabic, but I didn’t feel confident enough to translate it properly so I kept it in English 

--------

“Sleep, baby, sleep.

I’ll be there when you wake.”

Jay didn’t remember his mother, but he did remember her songs.

Her voice, her rhymes, her melodies. They had always begun in the darkness, at the edge of those black Isle nights, lit only by the flickering of a candle on the table. Sometimes, Jay could sometimes manage to call up the image of a shadowy woman sitting by his little rug, dark hair falling like his around her shoulders. But her face was lost to history, lost to him, lost among all those lost on the island who no longer breathed the smoggy air. If not for her lullabies, she would have faded away entirely - simply dust blowing in the wind or shifting through the sea.

“Sleep, oh, precious darling, sleep

I’ll watch over till dawn’s break.”

And maybe it was better that way.

Jay didn’t have time for music or songs anymore. His stomach coiled in tight knots of hunger, and days and nights were no longer separated. They were just hours - dark or light - that he could fill with work. The more stuff he brought in, the more likely he was to sleep on that rug, under those shelves, where his mother used sing him to sleep. His father never could be satisfied with the junk, the garbage, the brokenness of the island’s offerings… along with the son who brought them home.

“Sweetest one, don’t fear the dark.

My voice will guide the way.”

As the years went on, the songs faded into the background for the most part, pushed away to the dark recesses of his mind. They only managed to appear when the walls broke down and the chains crumbled away. The melodies resurfaced when his cheek stung with his father’s fists, and his heart hurt with the words he’d never spoken, and his eyes stung with the tears he hadn’t let fall since he was small enough to have the lullabies sung to him. Then, and only then, would the soft words escape past his lips and he’d hum, gently, softly, to keep himself from shattering.

“Baby boy, you’re all I have.

I won’t let you slip away.”  

The soft crooning of a faraway mother in their beautiful language wove his self control together, kept his mind clear, cut through the pain and loneliness and frustration and anger. The silly, stupid little rhymes were - unknowingly - becoming his foundation, his center, his grounding in the face of the red-hazed storm. His father hated it. He hated the way Jay’s lips moved subconsciously when he didn’t know anyone was looking; he hated the way he caught his son whistling or humming in the late night hours on the street corner; most of all he hated the melodies, her melodies, that soared and soothed and washed over the world like honey. And so he sought to cut out every hint of that beautiful, lust-filled mistake that had ever crossed their threshold.

“There’s something fierce about your smile.

And the way you breathe beside me.”

Jay’s mother’s Arabic was nothing like his father’s. His mother’s was rich and smooth and comforting; it had spun out of her mouth like a waterfall when she was alive, sparkling like the most precious of metals that Jay had longed for then and longed for still. Jafar’s didn’t sparkle like hers did; his purr was that of a panther’s waiting to pounce, raising to a gruff shout, and always, always ending the same way. Be it words or fists, his father never ended without pain. Even the rare moments of pride were tinged with greed and lust and anger. The very same anger he sometimes felt within himself, growing and building and breaking deep, deep inside his chest;  the red hot rage boiling underneath that he tried to quell with the cool comfort of his mother’s songs.

“Don’t cry so hard, my darling boy.

Someday we’ll both be free.”

And then, one day, he blinked and his world had opened. Lying close to the places where his mother’s song touched, he now had a purple-haired fae, a blue-locked enchantress, and a little freckled genius to hide away, to protect, to save. They were his, and for some reason that his father would never understand - and maybe Jay wouldn’t either - they were more precious than gold or jewels or power. Mal, with her flashing eyes and orders and protection; Evie and her darling laugh, her terrifying hiss; and Carlos, with his eyebrows that narrowed when he focused and tongue that grazed his lips when he concentrated. His. They were his.  

“Sleep, sweetheart, sleep.

It’s time to sleep, my love.”

When Mal discovered that she had magic, something stirred deep inside Jay’s gut. Not jealousy, not anger, but fear. Shifting, turning, fear that stayed embedded under his skin and formed an itch that even he couldn’t wriggle out of. Evie had power, too, with her long, slender fingers that could mix up death in a potion stronger than her mother’s would ever be. Magic. Passed on from their parents, harnessed by their children, and formed into something stronger, something bigger, something darker.

“When morning comes, you will be strong.

With wonders you have dreamed of.”

Sometimes, on the rare occasions that he still slept on his rug, Jay would lie awake and listen to his father moving around in the dark, cursing and sputtering. The thief had heard the stories; stories about the power, the fear, the dark and wild magic that his father had wielded. And now, when he felt the rage, felt like hurting somebody, breaking something, screaming in the streets, the pit of fear in his stomach whispered to him what he already knew: anger. His magic would be rooted in anger, geared for destruction, perfectly poised to rip apart the world when he lost control. So he couldn’t lose control. And if he couldn’t lose control, and he couldn’t punch, and he couldn’t stab and he couldn’t cry and he couldn’t ever use his magic  - it left him only one other thing to do. Jay sang.

“You are my darling, you are my life.

And even when I fade.”

When the barrier opened, when they were allowed to leave, Jay faltered. Beyond the barrier, beyond the suffocating, damning wall of power that kept them all trapped on the floating chunk of rock, he could see the magic waiting for him. The magic waiting to take hold of him, to change him, to excite him into smashing apart the only life he’d ever known. The only lives any of them had ever known. And when it happened? When he became just like his father, the man everyone said he resembled in the height of his glory? The dust would settle, the rage would fade, and he’d be left just like the old grand vizier now sitting in the darkness, counting coins with no value: alone.

“Baby, I promise you, I swear it.

These moments I’ll not trade.”

They were older. They were wiser. They smiled and they laughed and they marched with a purpose, but their armor was strengthened by light, by eyes, by expectations. When the darkness set in, when the day turned to night, when the room got quiet, their chinks began to show. And the freckled genius, his Carlos, who was so bright and quick under the sun’s watchful eyes that reminded him of his mother’s, fell apart in his dreams. Sometimes, he would wake, and others, he would just cry out in that fitful state between dreams and consciousness, between nightmares and consciousness. And in that darkness, with the boy sobbing and sweating in his arms, when the words were already playing on his lips, Jay would sing - softly, gently, her words in his mouth. And the soft tune would soothe the troubled, wonderful boy in his bed back to a calmer sleep.

“Sweetest child, most wonderful boy.

Your struggles may be long.”

It became more regular than Jay would’ve liked to admit - the singing; the soft, Arabic words being spoken to another person for the first time in many, many years. The songs that had quieted his own fear, and then later his anger and frustration, calmed the boy that Jay wanted to protect, to hold, to comfort.

“But once you’re past, the clouds will break.

You’ll get there, dear; you’re strong.”  

It was a dark, winter day when Mal finally heard. The four of them gathered, huddled, safety in numbers, as the rain fell down outside. The drops slid down the windows, pounded on the roof, and soaked through the memories of rain-drenched nights on the island of their origin. It was that day that Carlos started whimpering, moving, his eyes darting behind his lids, his hands reaching out to protect his body against a mother that was not there. And without thinking, Jay had pulled him close, whispered in his ear, and sung the words that were no longer locked away in his mind, but resting beneath the surface of his skin and thoughts. Magic, Mal had said as she watched the tension drain from Carlos’ desperate body. That’s magic, Jay.

“Nothing’ll be too hard, my boy.

No pain will break your spirit.”

At those words, at that realization, the fear in Jay’s gut lifted. His magic, his power, his abilities weren’t supplied by anger. They didn’t come from his rage or his frustration, but from worry. From concern. From something else that had begun to nestle so deeply inside his soul that he worried he might never understand how to get it out. Love, Jay, Mal had whispered. It’s love.

“Because you, sweetheart, are not alone.

You’re mine, love. Don’t forget it.”

[kenzieam]

I Never Thought I’d be Here - Chapter 2  (Eric X OC)

Rating: M (mostly F-bombs) + SMUT

Genre: Romance/Fluff and SMUT!!! SWEET, SWEET SMUT

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Please enjoy more of Eric and Fox!

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I carry Fox to our bed and sit down on the edge, holding her in my lap. I fucking want her so bad, but right now I need to be tender, need to show my new bride how much I truly love her; I can't always find the words to tell her, and she deserves to know. My woman deserves the world, and I'm going to fucking do my best to give it to her.

I reach up and gently brush some stray hair back from her forehead. Fuck me, her hair's always so soft. The look in her eyes as she gazes up at me make me want to be a better person, make me want to rise above the man I was before I met her, makes me want to deserve her. The love in her eyes fucking undoes me, every time. I know I've done some bad shit in my life, I know I don't deserve someone like Fox at my side, but goddammit, now that I have her, I will fight to the death to keep her.

She reaches up and brushes my lips with her fingertips. "What are you thinking about?"

I catch her fingers and kiss them gently. "You," I murmur. " And how much I love you...I meant what I said."

Her forehead creases then smooths out. "In your vows?"

I nod and cup her cheek; I need to touch her, like, all the time. "My life was dark until you. I mean, I had friends and my job, but once I came back home, I had...nothing. Nothing really mattered, I got minor thrills tormenting initiates, brought random girls home to fuck, but...it was all shit, meaningless....nothing." I trail off, unable to accurately describe the lonely hell I lived before Fox appeared, like a sun, at the mouth of my dark cave.

She gets it though, what I'm trying to say, my baby always gets me. She curls her fingers at the back of my head and pulls me down for a kiss and fuck, her lips are heaven, every fucking time. I could be having the worst fucking day and all I need is her attention to turn it around, lift my spirits, among other things that get a lift.

I want to do this right, our first time as a married couple. My thumb strokes her cheek and I slick along her lips with my tongue, groaning when she opens her mouth and lets me in. Our kiss deepens, gets more and more passionate and my body responds, my arms gets tighter around her.

"Eric-" she moans and my heart fucking skips. Fuck, I love everything about this woman in my arms. Fox pulls away from our kiss, and confused, I let her slip out of my arms. She drops to her knees on the floor in front of me, a wicked grin lighting up that gorgeous face.

"What are-" my question is answered when Fox reaches for my belt buckle and starts undoing it.

"Fox-" I start to protest, she doesn't need to do this, tonight is about her.

Reading my thoughts again Fox purrs in that fucking drop-dead sexy voice, "I want to, now get those pants down."

Yes ma'am. I lift my hips so Fox can pull my pants down and off, throwing them carelessly away. I'm rock hard, my boxers tented, watching my bride eye me hungrily. Fuck, I'm not going to last long.

Fox reaches up and hooks her fingers in the waistband of my boxers, yanking them none too gently off. My cock snaps free, desperate for her touch. I widen my legs and hiss as Fox wraps her hand around me, strokes once up and down my length. Tingles start in my abdomen. I can't help a strangled groan as Fox takes me in her mouth, her tongue fucking magic as it rolls over my head, licking the pre-cum.

Fuck, she deep-throats me and my body jerks as I almost lose it right there. This is fucking incredible, I don't know if it's because its our wedding night or not, but there's just this edge to our love tonight that fucking slays me. I fist my hand in her hair and drop my head back as she moans on my dick, the vibrations so fucking sweet. I know we've practiced a shitload together, but Fox is a fucking master at this, naturally gifted. The tingling gets hotter, faster, screaming everywhere throughout my body, my balls start to tighten and I’m almost there. Fuck, she goes deep again, swallowing around my cock and I explode, stars in my eyes as I arch off the bed, fucking roaring as I blow my load. My baby takes it all, swallowing and giving me one last lick before pressing kisses to my trembling thighs. Her fingers scratch lightly at my underside of my balls and I jump, she knows I’m fucking ticklish there after and groan as she giggles, my chest heaving. I throw my arm over my eyes, trying my damnedest to get my bearings back. Fuck, that was....fuck.

I feel the mattress dip slightly as Fox crawls up beside me and lays at my side. I wrap one arm around her and sit up enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Fuck, baby.” I manage and she gives a happy little hum against my chest. Her fingers trail lazy patterns and she flicks my nipple piercing gently. Tingles shoot south, my cock starts getting hard again .

“Your turn babe.” I grunt as I roll, pinning Fox beneath me. Her eyes meet mine, those fucking mysterious eyes that I could just lose myself in, her pupils are blown wide, her eyes black with desire. Fuck, you’re mine baby, all fucking mine.

I yank impatiently at her pants while Fox smoothly pulls her jacket and shirt off. Panting, I sit back on my heels to just admire my fucking woman naked before me for a minute. Fuck, she’s so fucking beautiful. She has small scars here and there, from training and sparring and from that fuckhead Tom, but they only add to her beauty, tell the story of where she’s been, what she’s accomplished in her life. If I wasn’t fucking hard as a rock, dying to be inside my girl, I’d take the time to kiss every fucking scar on her body, tell her how beautiful she is, but this will have to do. I capture Fox’s lips with mine, one hand trailing down to cup her breast, swallow her moan as I squeeze gently. Pulling away from her mouth, I kiss and nip down her throat, her moans and whimpers fucking music to my ears. I bite gently at her pebbled nipple, grin as she arches against me and breathes my name before continuing down. My hand gets there first and I slick my finger along her folds, my pulse racing as I feel how wet she is for me. My mouth joins and she tastes like fucking honey, the sweetest thing. I moan as I roll my tongue, groan as she fists her hand in my hair. I nip gently at her bud, harder as she moans in encouragement, her hand tightening in my hair. I push one finger in, then two, curling them inside Fox as she whimpers my name, continuing to lick and suck at her, tasting every inch of my girl. I find her sweet spot and curl my fingers against it, rubbing harder, listening as Fox’s pants get sharper, as her muscles begin to tremble.

Fox comes hard, arching off the bed, crying out my name and I hum in absolute fucking bliss as her orgasm washes over my face, sucking gently to milk every sensation, holding her hips down with my arm. Fuck baby, you’re so fucking hot. Her hand yanks painfully in my hair and my cock aches to be buried deep inside her. As her tremors fade and Fox relaxes back on the mattress, I crawl up to kiss her, my mouth still wet and she strokes my dick as her lips take mine and I can’t fucking wait anymore. I rear back and pull Fox’s leg over, settling between her thighs and grinding against her.

Fox meets my eyes, panting and says those magic fucking words. “Yes, Eric."

I slam inside her, bury myself deep and groan at the fucking feeling of her stretched tight around me. Fuck baby! Fox arches against me, wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me deeper. I sit up on my knees and pull Fox's legs up, resting her ankles on my shoulders so I can see her face as I make love to her, can see the pleasure I give her. I look down, my pulse racing as I look at where our bodies meet, see my cock appear and disappear into Fox, and I drop my head back with a ragged groan.

Fuck, was it really less than a year ago that I was waking up, hung-over, on Choosing Day? Kicking a girl outta my bed whose name I didn't even care to know, but who I remember gave decent head and let me fuck her face that night? Now look at me, fucking married, balls-deep in the most beautiful, fucking amazing woman I've ever met, who lights up my miserable life and makes it worth living? I'd fucking kill to see her smile, decimate and tear apart anyone who makes her cry. I will never be happier than I am right now, this is the absolute fucking pinnacle of my existence.

Fox spasms around me, a strangled cry ripping from her lips and I look back down, the absolute fucking bliss on her face as she comes, along with her pulsing around me pull me right along with her and I come hard, my sight greying out with the intensity. It feels like a piece of my fucking soul leaves me and spills into Fox, this is easily the most intense orgasm I've ever had, it has never felt like this before. I don't know if it's because I'm fucking my wife or what, but in our history of amazing fucking sex, this is the fucking best it's ever been. My throat is raw from roaring as I come and I collapse sideways, absolutely boneless. Panting harshly, I pull Fox back against me and nuzzle into her neck. She's all soft and languid; relaxed and smelling of me, me and our sex, fuck.

I can't pull her close enough to satisfy me, I mould my body to hers and it's still not enough, fuck, if I live to be a hundred it will still never be enough. I sound like a fucking sap and I don't even care, I fucking love this woman, everything about her. I will never get enough of her.

She makes a soft sound and nestles back against me and I press kisses to her throat, right below her ear, grinning at her sharp moan. She presses her ass back against me and my body responds again, fuck, the woman undoes me, every fucking time. I sit up and lean back against the headboard, pulling Fox gently with me. She straddles my lap, her core brushing my cock again and I hiss, gritting my teeth. Fox catches my chin and guides my lips to hers. I kiss her back hungrily, our tongues battling each other in the sweetest fight. My hands trail down and grip Fox's hips, gently guiding her as she lowers herself down onto me. I groan as she takes my full length and starts to rock her hips, her tongue still slicking against mine. Fox fists her hand in my hair and yanks my head back, gazing through hooded eyes into mine. I let her take control, content to let her ride me how she wants and she sees this in my eyes; a lazy grin pulling at her lips. Dropping her head forward she drags her tongue up my throat, along my leadership tattoos and a shiver runs up my spine.

"Baby," I moan as she nibbles along my jaw line, reaching the tender skin below my neck where I'm the most sensitive and I jump as she bites down, my cock twitching inside her as I groan low in my chest.

"Eric," she moans back, her fingers curling on my chest as she rides me, rocking her hips faster and faster, her breaths growing closer together as she nears climax. My fingers dig into her hips, holding her down on me as she cries out, coming again, shattering for me and dragging me with her. I groan into her hair, hips snapping up as I come inside her again, spilling my seed deep inside my woman. Fox falls against me, panting and I wrap my arms around her, heart hammering in my chest. Fuck, this is intense.

We drowse for awhile, utterly exhausted, but when I wake up I want her again. We make love slowly, the music from our party in the Pit thumping faintly through the floor below our bed as I thrust slowly into Fox, pouring my heart and soul into her, showing her with my body and touch what I can never seem to find accurate words for. I swallow Fox's cries as she writhes beneath me, the look of utter bliss on her face, and shudder in her neck with my own sweet release. I lay down over her, snuggling close and hum contentedly as Fox brushes her lips against my ear.

"I love you, Eric." She whispers.

"I love you, baby." So much baby..... more than I can ever say. I will always be yours...... Forever.