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seducemefanficsandheadcanons · 8 months ago

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Tangled Destinys

I accidentally posted this on the wrong blog apparently

Chapter two~ I wanna contribute to the chaos

Chapter summary~ The boys discuss Adira's true intentions, and realize she is as clueless as they are.

Chapter title from Twin Size Mattress by The Front Bottoms

I sat in the dining room of the boys home, their intense glances piercing my soul. I thought back to the events which brought me here. I was supposed to be killing these men, now they- or at least one of them- were giving me a new home. None of the others seemed extremely happy about it, Sam asking Damien if he was crazy when he offered. The others' looks showed that they agreed with Sam, but Damien gave the group a look, receiving a hesitant nod from James. I denied the offer at first, knowing my presence would only bring more issues and commotion. Damien argued that with other options considered, he was more than willing to fight off other demon hunters. I wasn’t entirely sure why he was so dead set on saving me from my fate, but I was extremely grateful for his kindness. James made me promise that I would help fight any intruders, since it would be me who attracted them, and that promise was instantly given. Matthew and Erik were indifferent, not being rude to me but understandably lacking any trust in me. Damien was very kind to me, telling me that it would be okay, and before anyone could question him he was shaking his head. Sam didn’t speak to me, glaring at his food as if it were the one who attacked him while James just glared at me, his glare so intense that I could feel the tension it brought in my shoulders. I promised to help with chores, but informed them getting a job may be difficult as I lack a highschool diploma. James reluctantly agreed to use his magic to forge records of my existence, as there were little to none.

After we ate quietly, Damien led me to my new room. It was plain, the furniture mostly consisting of off white frames and some decor. Once we were in the room, Damien lended me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “I’m sure Erik will be willing to take you shopping tomorrow.” I could tell by his tone that he was not sure, but dropped it.

“Thank you, truly.” my smile faltered as I sighed, rubbing my arm. “But why the hell are you letting me stay?”

He smiled softly, sadness in his eyes. “You can’t help who your family is. I can tell you have a good heart.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to take in his statement. “Damien, I was sent to kill you.” I said, my tone slightly harsh.

He just nodded. “But you didn’t. And I know how hard you fought to save us. You put your morals before your life, something most people are unwilling or incapable of doing.”

I didn’t respond, my eyes moving down to the tattoo on my wrist. It was simple, a small circle around indescribable symbols. To a typical human, it was no different than any other tattoo, but any being involved in some magic could recognize the mark of a hunter. It was placed right on the vain of my arm, meant to prove one's dedication to their job. I shuddered at the memory, being strapped down to the table. I was young, no older than 5 when my mom decided it was time to mark me. She did the tattoo herself, since no sensible tattoo artist would even consider tattooing a child. She ridiculed me when I screamed and cried at the pain, calling me weak and other names. If you're going to be a hunter, you need to handle a small needle. She would tell me, rolling her eyes and laughing when I asked her to stop.

Damien must have heard my thoughts, because suddenly his hand was on my shoulder catching my attention. “You should sleep. Don’t worry about the others, they’ll come around.” He said quietly before walking out, leaving me alone in my room.

I walked over to the mirror, staring at my features. I had almost black hair which came down to my shoulder, and freckles across my nose and cheeks which were enhanced thanks to the sun this time of year. The entire day made no sense, but I was too tired to truly examine the situation. I changed into the clothes Damien brought and climbed into the extremely comfortable bed, letting much needed sleep take over my body.

- - -

The incubi were all gathered in the dining room, per the request of James. Damien sat quietly, preparing himself for the questioning regarding the young woman who slept upstairs. Once everyone was seated, James led the conversation as normal. “We need to discuss everything that has happened today.”

Sam snorted, obviously unamused. “That’s one way to put it. The hell are we doing sheltering a demon hunter?”

Damien shook his head. “She isn’t like the others. I wouldn’t have offered to let her stay with us had she been.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. “You need to be more specific than that, Damien. She has the mark of one and attacked us.”

Damien took a deep breath, taking in the overwhelming amount of questions in his brother's minds. They all varied significantly, Matthews being hopeful while Sam’s were murderous. “Her family has raised her to be the ultimate demon hunter, teaching her magic from a young age while sheltering her from the world. She didn’t even have communication with those outside her family until she was in her teens.”

Sam furrowed his brows. “So what? She still tried to fucking kill us. I mean it sucks that she was brainwashed into thinking that was okay, but you can’t expect us to change her mind.”

James cringed. “Sam, please watch your language.”

“I mean, he has a point.” Matthew spoke up, defending his brother.

Damien shook his head. “She doesn’t think it’s okay, and she didn’t try to kill us.”

“Did you forget what happened earlier, or did you hit your head when she used magic to knock us all on our asses?” Sam yelled, pissed at Damien for trying to defend her.

Damien closed his eyes. “I remember, but her intent wasn’t to kill us. She was sent to kill us, yes, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Adira actually tried to refuse multiple times, but she was told that if she didn’t do it, her mother would kill her and us. She told her the assignment was given by angels, but Adira was never fully convinced. When she arrived, she planned to make us angry enough to kill her. We would be aware of the danger of other hunters in the area, and she wouldn’t have to die at the hands of her own mother. Her training was intensive, and I believe if she truly was intending to kill, one of us would have died at the very least. She knows less about the world than we do, without even realizing it.”

Damien attempted to block out the sudden increase in volume of thoughts. Guilt, sorrow, confusion and anger filled his brother's minds. “Angels wouldn’t have sent her, we haven’t communicated with humans about our powers since arriving.” James said matter of factly.

Matthew frowned. “Why would her mother lie about that?”

Damien shrugged. “She doesn’t honestly know, she just knows her mother has always had some resentment towards demons, specifically incubi and succubi.”

After a few moments of silence, James spoke. “She was going to sacrifice her life for us, so we will treat her with kindness and respect. That being said, be careful. Her mother will likely come for her soon or will begin to watch from afar. If in the unlikely chance angels are involved, we must be extra careful in our interactions with other humans.”

James could relate with Adira being trained to be someone you didn’t want to be. He was pretty sure Damien was right about her intentions, but still wanted to be cautious. “And do not, under any circumstances, give her your demon name. We could be wrong about her intentions.” He said sternly, and everyone quickly agreed.

“Well, if that's all, we should get some rest.” Erik said, standing from his chair.

- - -

I groaned as the sun began to shine through the window, infuriatingly on my face. The feeling of unfamiliar sheets jolted me awake, but then the events from the day before flooded my mind. God, I’m an idiot. Now my mom is going to come after them too. Realistically, I knew my mom couldn’t kill any of them. Her potential in magic and her energy levels were high, but her ability to apply that to combat was little to none. She was, however, efficient in a form of enthrallment. Technically, only demons were supposed to be able to use that strong of mind manipulation. Because my mom is human and has this ability, angels snatched her up immediately. She didn’t live up to her potential, and she became obsessed with me being what she was supposed to be. If she trained me, and I became efficient, then it proved to the angels how incredible and talented she was.

As I rose from my bed, I heard a small knock on the door. When I opened it, Damien was standing there with his kind and warm smile. “Goodmorning.”

I smiled back. “G’morning.” I moved over, giving him room to walk in. “I’d give you back your clothes, but I don’t really have any others.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Erik will be taking you shopping in a few hours. You can wear those until then. Some humans wear pajamas to the store, so it should be fine.” He said, looking around the room slightly before turning his gaze back to me. “Breakfast will be ready if you’re hungry.”

We walked into the dining room, the mood being significantly lighter than the night before. Maybe Damien was right, they aren’t glaring at me today. Sam and Erik were sitting at the table while Matthew and James were walking back from the kitchen with lots of breakfast food. “Goodmorning, Miss.” James greeted me.

“Goodmorning.” I smiled at him, sitting down with Damien following me.

“Well, did Damien tell you of our plans today?” Erik asked, and it was only now that I heard a seductive glint from his tone.

I nodded, smiling. “I really appreciate it. I know yesterday was…I really appreciate you letting me stay.”

Erik waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful.” I began to blush furiously, until James cleared his throat and shook his head at Erik.

Eventually, we all ate breakfast and the food was incredible. They made sure I was included, and all of them, with Sam being the exception, went out of their way to include me. Eventually though, my mother became the topic of conversation.

“Miss, we must know how strong your mother is.” James said. “We need to know how capable of defending ourselves without energy we are.”

I sighed. “Honestly? It depends. She has more energy and magic than some demons, but she isn’t great at using it. You're all more than capable of defending yourselves against her, and I am willing to give my energy when needed.”

James shook his head. “That is a generous offer, but I assure you that likely won’t be an issue.”

I smiled at him. “I know. Just putting it out there. There is one thing though.”

The boys all looked at me expectantly as I took a deep breath. “My mother has an ability only found in demons. She can use mind control, it isn’t great and can easily be fought off if expected, but no one expects a human to use enthrallment.”

James furrowed his eyebrows and Damien nodded, likely confirming that I was telling the truth. I frowned a bit, knowing that it would be awhile before any of them trusted me. I probably wouldn’t be here long enough for that anyway. After a minute of unnerving silence, Sam shrugged. “We can take her, easily.”

I smiled and nodded, but a slight pain in my heart formed at the idea of my mother being killed. I quickly pushed down the feeling as we all finished our food.

A few hours later, I was sitting in the backseat of a minivan. Erik and Sam were sat up front. The others had work, so it was just the 3 of us.

“We will make sure you have everything you need, Princess.” I blushed at the pet name, knowing it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Um, th-thanks.” I managed to stutter out, Erik chuckled in response.

A few hours went by, and I was now sitting in the back seat of a minivan. Erik insisted Sam come along, saying he needed to get out of the house and that he should come in the event they needed to defend from Malix, a devil who has been hunting them since arriving in town. I played with my hands, listening to the classical music Erik had turned on the radio. That was until it suddenly changed to a rock station.

“Sam? What are you doing?” Erik asked, extremely annoyed.

“That shit was BORING. You made me come, I get to pick the music.” Sam retorted.

They continued to bicker before Erik sighed and relented, making Sam flash a toothy grin. I laughed quietly at their antics. “What’s so funny, princess?” Erik asked, looking at me in the window.

I blushed lightly, embarrassed. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was an only child so I’m not used to seeing siblings argue.”

“Do you have any other family, cousins perhaps?” He asked, curiously.

I sighed. “No, not that I know of. My mom lost all of her memories before I was born and was taken in by angels, so if I did I’d never know.”

Erik nodded, and I could tell he was curious but didn’t pry further which I was thankful for.

Shopping was interesting and slightly overwhelming. Erik helped me pick out some clothes while Sam just stood there, awkwardly following us. Erik also bought me shampoo, toothpaste, and other necessities which I was thankful for. I started to realize how little I know about my surroundings, despite being in my twenties. It was my first time being in the mall, and I was slightly comforted by learning the boys didn’t know everything yet either.

When we were walking back to the van, I suddenly felt the hair on the back of my neck stand. “Something’s here.” I said, freezing.

Erik and Sam both became alert, looking around. “What do you feel?” Erik asked, his voice a few pitches higher then he likely meant.

I closed my eyes trying to pick apart the sensations and energies before focusing on one. My eyes shot open. “A devil.”

Sam tensed his fists, preparing to fight when Erik stopped him. “Don’t be ridiculous Sam. We haven’t fed in weeks. Let's go back.”

Sam glared at his brothers. “And let them follow us? The protection spell only lasts so long now that Harolds dead.”

“I should be able to recast it.” I offered, only slightly worried I may be overstepping my boundaries.

Eventually, Sam got back into the Van with us following. His rage energy was practically bouncing off the walls of the vehicle, and no one spoke in the fear of provoking him. Erik drove above the speed limit, quickly getting us back to the mansion.

#seduce me the otome #seducemeotome #seducemetheotome #smto #seduceme #fanfiction #seduce me fanfiction

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amor-immortalem · 3 years ago

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An Alternate Path

Genre: Angst

A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a two-part mini fic but people asked about a part three. I wasn’t sure where else to exactly go from there since the end of the second part felt so final for me. But then, inspired by a comment on the 2nd part, I began to think about how it would have gone if Arella hadn’t been revived with Mammon’s blood. Think of this as the bad end to the AU. This is the final part.

obviously spoilers for the lesson 16 incident and for lesson 50 (i think… correct me if Im wrong)

Replaced part 1

The Good/True End

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He sits in his room starting at the dried blood on his hands, heart aching from the loss of his mate. It had only been mere hours since Barbatos had taken her body to prepare for funeral rites but to the Avatar of Greed, it had felt like centuries. Why? He’s asked himself this question over and over. Why didn’t you check on her sooner? Why didn’t you call or text? Why didn’t you notice? Why didn’t you feel something was wrong through your pact?

As much as he wants to, Mammon has no more tears left to cry. His human is gone, never to return and it was the fault of him and his brother. He should have been there sooner. Should have reminded her how much he cared. Should have done a lot of things. He had every opportunity to, but he squandered all of it.

He rakes his hands through his hair as they whys replay in his head. The demon doesn’t have an answer for them- none that would satisfy them, at least. He lets out a yell as grief turns to rage and nothing of value is spared from his violence. Items and trinkets knock from their shelves, furniture overturned, by time the second-born was done, his room looked like a war zone.

It’s only then that Mammon collapses to his knees and lets out a broken wail as he can hear the restless cawing of his crows outside.

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Levi is alone in his room, having shut himself away hours ago. Laying in his bathtub bed, the Avatar of Envy loses himself to his thoughts and the view of the water above him. He can’t help but think about what would have happened if he had put his foot down when Asmo approached him to recruit him in helping his little matchmaking plan for Melissa and Satan.

And then his thoughts focus in on the other human. If she had never come, if they had never welcomed her into their lives through the exchange programme... Arella would still be alive. She’d still be sitting here, playing video games and helping him decide which anime he should choose to watch when there was a conflict of time slots. They’d still be talking about their Husbandos and Waifus just as they always had. But she’s not here. She never will be anymore. All because he didn’t have the spine to act like the older brother and tell Asmo no. Because he allowed his younger brother to monopolize his time.

His best friend is gone and he was part of the problem that led up to that. Levi has never felt so much self-hatred before and, just like with Lilith, he doesn’t know how to come to terms with the loss of another person so dear to him. For now, he’ll just lay here and waste away like the filthy, yucky otaku he is, wishing there was a way he could go back and undo it all or hoping that this was all just some horrible nightmare that his brain has conjured up.

“She’ll be back in the morning... right? She’s just sleeping over at the castle, right?!”

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Beel just eats. He eats and eats and eats to make the pain go away but just like his endless hunger, the pain never stops. He feels so empty inside that the only other option is to gorge himself until he physically can’t hold it anymore and vomits before he goes back for more until the cycle repeats and he runs out of food. The loss of their favorite human is killing him now- the grief of it squeezing his heart like an anaconda.

If he would have just gone to invite her to that new café she had wanted to visit with him only an hour sooner, this could have been stopped. But he didn’t. He didn’t and that’s what cuts deepest. He should have noticed when she stopped coming to dinner, or skipping breakfast, or not joining the student council for lunch day after day. He should have realized something was wrong then. But he chose to ignore it, thinking it was just one of those ‘moods’ Arella had told him about human women experiencing at certain times of the month. He thought he was helping by giving her space these last few weeks but Beel knows now that he was dead wrong.

Who would be his food buddy now? Who would let him drag them all over town in order to try out restaurant after restaurant, café and café? Sure, he had Belphie to take with him but his younger twin never really showed the same excitement when it came to trying out all the different food and drink options on the menu. The demon doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tear drops hit his hands. She only needed one of them to take a moment to see her and none of them could be bothered do just that.

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Belphegor only wants to sleep. He wants to sleep and never wake up again. In his dreams is where Arella is, happy, smiling, laughing. That laugh will haunt his waking moments forever as he realizes that for the second time, the Avatar of Sloth has caused her death. Belphie was only one of two brothers who rejected Asmo when they asked him to help with that damn plan of his. It had been too long since he and Arella had napped together after school or plotted something with Satan as part of the Anti-Lucifer league. How he missed those days.

He can feel the tears pool in his eyes as he curls up into a ball on the bed in the attic. He wonders if he had just stayed up here forever instead of trying to trick Arella into setting him free, would this hole in his chest disappear? As he buries his face into the body pillow Arella had gifted him for his birthday this year, he cries himself to sleep- indulges himself in all the good memories they had made together after she had forgiven him for everything he had done to her.

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Asmodeus is lost. They stare and stare at their skincare products trying to will themself to start their nightly skincare routine. How could they have been so foolish? The passage of time is so different to humans than it is to demons. They had only meant to take a month to match Satan and Melissa up so how had it turned to eleven already?! The Avatar of Lust wants to scream. Both at themself and no one at all. Hot tears still sting their eyes as they shapeshift. They change and they change and they change forms- any number of features forming and then shifting away as they try to find a look that they won’t recognize themself in but it doesn’t work. Asmo’s not able to look themself in the mirror for the rest of the night as they just crash down on their bed. They want to mark up their beautiful body into some hideous to match the feelings crushing their heart. Asmo wants to do something- anything- to themself to experience even a fraction of the pain Arella must have felt but all the demon feels now is just hollowness.

Their phone is vibrating on the bed next to them- a call from Solomon. No doubt he could feel Asmo’s distress through the pact they share but the Avatar of Lust is too tired from hours of ugly crying and most certainly not in the mood to speak to anyone- pact master or otherwise. The phone goes unanswered.

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Satan has his head buried in the books. He’s been at this for hours- there must be a way to bring her back to them! Melissa is with him, bringing whatever books he asks for in his search as she too is eager to bring the lost human back to this plane of existence. There was so much they wanted to do with her. From watching cheesy mystery dramas together to forming a small book club consisting of just the three of them, none of that would come to pass now.

As book after book turns up dead ends, the demon just buries his head in his hands. It feels pointless now. Who was he to play God with life and death? The thought of never seeing his friend alive once more is enough to break the Avatar of Wrath as his shoulders shake with violent sobs. He wants to go on a rampage- destroy the whole city but what would that fix? It certainly wouldn’t bring her back.

As the demon continues to cry, Melissa only wraps her arms around him and he returns the gesture. She runs her fingers through his blonde hair in an effort to calm him and it seems to work, if only for a little while. She pulls a chair up to sit next to him as she holds his hand in hers.

“Tell me about your favorite memories with her,” They girl begins, “We can’t undo what was done, but we can keep her memory alive by sharing the good times.”

And so, they talk late into the night, Satan smiling at all the memories of Arella that he holds close to his heart.

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“Hi this is Arella! I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message after the beep.... Beeeeeeeeeep”

The sound of his brother’s laughter followed by Mammon calling Arella a dork in the background can be heard at the end of the greeting on her D.D.D.’s voicemail. The Avatar of Pride can only smile with tear-stained cheeks. He was beyond intoxicated, having just finished his fourth bottle of demonus for the night. He can feel the anguish his brothers have been going through all night and it only makes his sorrow deeper.

When Arella first arrived, all Lucifer cared about was keeping her alive long enough to make it through the year. She was unimportant to him outside of the viability of the exchange programme. Back then, he would have laughed at himself for the state he was in currently. She was just a human. Why did it matter if she lived or died if it didn’t affect the exchange programme?

But she wasn’t just a human. She was their human. She was special to him. And now she was gone. There was no second chance. There would be no merging of timelines to keep her alive. Fate was cruel, but sometimes Diavolo could be crueler.

Lucifer knew his longtime friend had a reason for this. He was teaching the brothers a lesson with her death. As much as it hurt now to lose another part of this family, things would get easier as the years went on regardless of how horribly they all would miss her. This was a lesson he and his brothers would not soon forget.

Cracking open his fifth bottle of demonus, the first-born scrolls through devilgram, saving pictures on her profile to be used in the memorial service. One of Arella with each of his brothers and himself and multiple pictures she’d taken with all eight of them from their adventures throughout the years that they’d all been together.

He lets his mind wander back over the last eleven months. All the red flags he had missed with his rose-colored glasses. They all made sense to him now. All the time she spent isolating herself from them, skipping meals, leaving either incredibly early for school or incredibly late for school. She was trying to get them to notice her over Melissa. He regrets their last interaction from a few months back. The way there had clearly been something wrong, yet he chose to lecture her about attending RAD on time as to not disgrace Diavolo. How he wishes he could take it back.

As the only brother save for Belphegor not conscripted to help Asmo in his ridiculous plan, Lucifer should have been the first to reach out to her. He may have been buried under paperwork, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t just sit and talk while he worked. He regrets not calling or checking up on her.

A video plays on her devilgram. It was from one of the nights they had spent up in the human world last summer.

“Awww, come one, Lucifer. It won’t be that bad. We’ll have those flowers from the fairy rings and make it back in one piece. I promise to keep Mammon under control so we won’t cause any trouble.”

The Avatar of Pride clicks out of the app as he feels more tears gather in his eyes. He can’t do this right now. Not tonight.

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Her service was beautiful- Or at least that’s what Lucifer tells Mammon as he and the rest of their brothers return home. Mammon wanted to go, he really did, but with it only being a few days removed from her death, the second-born couldn’t bring himself to go. It wasn’t because he didn’t love her or didn’t want to celebrate his mate’s life but it was still far too painful for him.

Part of him was still in denial over it too. Somehow, he’d managed to convince himself that she wasn’t gone. She was just stuck up in the human world and had forgotten her D.D.D here so he couldn’t call her. The logical side of him knew it wasn’t the case and every time he was reminded of it, it threw the Avatar of Greed into a deeper pit of despair. He’d spent some nights since she’d passed alone, crying himself to sleep begging for his human to come back to him others he would just lie awake, tracing over where her mark from their pact had been etched into his chest, set right over his heart.

Suddenly years have gone by now. His brothers have made peace with her passing but Mammon cannot. Visiting her grave never helps to ease the pain either, but still he goes. If Arella’s spirit still lingers, no doubt she would be upset if he didn’t go. It would only serve to prove her dying thoughts true when they couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Hey, Treasure... Miss me?” There’s no one here but Mammon and a tombstone. “I miss you... everyday... So much changes every year... Both Asmo, Levi, ‘n Satan got kids now... little girls for them and Levi has a boy...” He pauses to take a shuddering breath as the cold wind blows. “Can ya believe it? The first kids born ta this family and their both girls and then we got a boy... sweet little things too- alla ‘em. I wish ya coulda been there ta meet them... Actually, looking at my brothers with their kids, it makes me wonder what ours woulda been like, ya know? And I wish none of this woulda happened... you deserved so much better than me ‘n I knew that. We all knew that. But ya chose me anyway and look where it got ya... Six feet under... If I could go back and do it all over again I would. I woulda told ya what was goin’ on. I woulda spent more time with ya. I woulda... woulda proposed... made sure you knew how much I loved ya everyday... I know ya probably can’t hear me, but I’m so sorry... for everything! I love you so much that I can’t move on and I won’t. If I die single then that’s fine by me.”

As he cries, thinking he’s alone, Arella watches from her seat on her tombstone. None of the brothers knew it but she’d been watching all this time. It wasn’t until she passed that she realized how deep their feelings ran and part of her wishes she would have waited just a bit longer before leaving for the human world that night.

She tries her best to let them know she’s there- that she loves them and is watching over them with Lilith, but she’s not strong enough to do more than move small objects around. She hopes that they’d notice but they never do.

As she hops off of her tombstone, Arella crouches down next to her mate. The best she can do for him is conjure a warm breeze as her spirit leans over to press a kiss that he’ll never feel to his cheek. Upon the breeze, he can hear a soft whisper of a reply.

“I love you too.”

And it's that reply that reassures him she’s there and she always will be. He hopes maybe in another life they’ll meet again and get to have the happy ending they never got to have in this one.

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taglist: @gayassfuckinghomosexual @joyvlee

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the-z-part · 4 years ago

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A Personal List of Lietners, or Book Recs for Each TMA Entity

These are not all horror novels (although some of them are), but I think they speak to themes that will resonate if you’re particularly into one fear or another.

Feel free to add your own recs! I’m obviously limited by what I’ve read (ie I suspect that Wilder Girls is a good corruption book, but I haven’t read it yet).

Books with canon queer characters are marked with an asterix!

The Eye

- The Children’s Hour* by Lillian Hellman. An accusation made by one of the students brings scrutiny and heartbreak to a girls’ school. OG queer tragedy. (CW: suicide)

The Spiral

- Finna* by Nino Cipri. Two exes working at fantasy!IKEA must find a lost customer by travelling through even-more-fantasy!IKEAs.

- “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gillman. Imprisoned by a husband who thinks he’s helping her, a woman sees a figure in the ugly wallpaper of her room. You read it for English class, but read it again.

- Challenger Deep by Neal Shusterman. Caden’s a normal teen whose friends and family are starting to notice that his mental health is not quite ideal. Caden is on a ship heading for the Marianas Trench, torn between loyalty to the captain and the allure of the deep. (You know that song Ship in a Bottle?) (CW: forced institutionalization)

The End

- They Both Die at the End* by Adam Silvera. Two teen boys get a call that they’re going to die (this is normal in the world). They meet, and decide to spend the day really living.

- Scythe by Neal Shusterman. In a utopia that has moved past natural death, two teenagers learn to kill for the greater good.

The Stranger

- The Murders of Molly Southborne by Tade Thompson. Every time Molly bleeds, her blood creates a perfect clone of her that wants to kill her. This is inconvenient to say the least.

- The Call by Peader Ó Guilín. In a fantasy future Ireland, teenagers train for the day they’ll be transported to the fairy realm, where they’ll be hunted for sport.

- Coraline by Neil Gaiman. Coraline finds a secret passage to a house just like hers, but full of delightful, magical things--and another mother who wants to keep her forever.

The Lonely

- Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel. The food Tita cooks make those who eat it feel her emotions--it’s the closest anyone comes to understanding her.

The Desolation

- The Fifth Season* by N K Jemisin. Geology-magic causes an apocalypse, but it might also keep a grieving mother alive.

The Slaughter

- The Lamb Will Slaughter the Lion* by Margaret Killjoy. A spirit summoned to protect a commune starts killing people. Queer and punk rock af

- The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley. “They said the war would turn us into light.”

The Vast

- To Be Taught, If Fortunate* by Becky Chambers. A group of astronauts jump from planet to planet, cataloguing the life they find. But then their updates from home stop arriving...

- Into the Drowning Deep* by Mira Grant. Killer mermaids, hard science, and genuinely every kind of rep you can think of! (also has some Stranger stuff going on in it)

The Buried

- The Unfortunates by Kim Liggett. Teens are trapped in a cave while hiking, and something is hunting them through the dark. (Ok, I couldn’t actually think of a book for this fear, but I asked the inimitable @acesaru and she recommended it. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet!)

The Dark

- The City in the Middle of the Night* by Charlie Jane Anders. Humanity struggles to survive on a tidally-locked planet: one side is pitch dark, the other blazing with light. Sophie, a student, is exiled into the darkness.

- The City of Ember by Jeanne DuPrau. Ember is the one bright spot in the darkness, but blackouts are becoming more frequent as the city falls apart, and only Lina and Doon seem to be paying attention.

The Corruption

- The Hot Zone by Richard Preston. Ebola! It’s the only nonfiction on the list but Oh Boy. (CW for graphic depictions of illness)

- Code Orange by Caroline B. Cooney. Can you get smallpox from a book? Mitty isn’t sure, but these terrorists seem to think so...

The Web

- The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson. “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within” (It really does have themes about, like, manipulation, but also join me in mixing Hill House and Hilltop Road up 100% of the time)

- Jane, Unlimited* by Kristin Cashore. An orphaned artist goes to a spooky house. She has to make a choice, and we see every possible consequence for that choice. Genre-bending and bi!

- Middlegame by Seanan McGuire. Psychically-linked twins, Rodger and Dodger, are manipulated by the alchemist who created them and controlled (almost) every aspect of their lives. Weird timeline shit!

The Flesh

- The Belles by Dhonielle Clayton. Girls with the power to mold bodies and make people beautiful vie to become the Queen’s favorite in the beautiful, dangerous court of Orleans.

- Unwind by Neil Shusterman. Three teens scheduled to be “unwound” and have all their organs sold to other people flee their fate. Some really gnarly body horor.

The Hunt

- Vicious by V. E. Schwab. Victor and Eli used to be best friends, but after years in prison, Victor will stop at nothing to get his revenge on Eli. Also, they both have superpowers.

- “The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Cornell. A long short story about. the hunter becoming the hunted. Spoiler: the most dangerous game IS man.

The Extinction

- Borne by Jeff Vandermeer. The Company destroyed the world, and then a giant bear destroyed the Company. Only a few survivors remain, including Rachel, a scavenger, who finds a creature called Borne and decides to care for it, even as it grows increasingly stronger and more terrifying.

- Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. A girl who literally feels others’ pain quietly develops a religion while America crumbles around her. (CW: sexual relationship with a really big age gap)

- All the Birds in the Sky* by Charlie Jane Anders. A witch and a mad scientist fall in love at the end of the world. The most real-feeling apocalypse I’ve ever, ever read. (Not really a CW but if reading things that remind you of Current Events makes you uncomfy, beware, because Charlie Jane really nailed it)

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alicemitch09writes · 4 years ago

Text

the catastrophic history of us

PAIRING: ryoumen sukuna x reader

SUMMARY: This is a story of two people - one was destined to see all while the other was destined to be all-powerful.

They came from different factions of society, though not entirely different if you compare a humble hut versus the slums.

This is a love story.

But it is not a happy one.

A/N: This is a continuation and sort of prequel to 'written in the stars' which gives light on why exactly Sukuna killed the reader and what he meant by 'waited a thousand years for this'. It's been in my head for a while and was an idea I wanted to try.

From what I've researched, Ryoumen Sukuna is said to hail from royalty while some he was just there, so I kinda wanna explore more on his background and ended up crafting my own. I'm sorry if it's kinda cliche. I ended up using the already existing lore about him, but added a bit of my own to fit the story and the narrative I want.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

This is a story of two people - one was destined to see all while the other was destined to be all-powerful.

They came from different factions of society, though not entirely different if you compare a humble hut versus a grandiose palace, a benevolent being versus a power-hungry one, one who dances with the mystic arts versus one who challenges the fates, one royal highness and his royal spiritual advisor, - two very different beings destined to meet, destined to fall together, destined to be together.

This is a love story.

But it is not a happy one.

This is a story of two star-crossed lovers.

But again, to reiterate, this is not a happy story. There is no happy ending here.

Legends speak of a name, so feared and great that just the mention of it sent shivers down the spines of many – young, old, human, curses.

Just the mention of his name was akin to devastation and disaster, killing all forms of life regardless of status.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

Also known as ‘King of Curses’.

Call his name, and you are invoking yourself to a life of damnation, of no return, of death.

However, once upon a time, Ryoumen Sukuna was once a simple man.

A prince to be exact, son to the Great Emperor, heir to the throne, general commander of the royal army, and quite possibly, the strongest warrior in the land.

Once upon a time, Ryoumen Sukuna was a man of great power and privilege.

He could take soldiers with a swift blow of his sword, could conquer lands in a day, with only a swagger down the road that could bring the mightiest men quaking, could overpower just about anyone with only his presence - his menacing and great presence.

Wise beyond his years, versatile in combat, cynical, ambitious, and wicked – these were the traits of the soon-to-be Emperor? How unsettling. The kingdom would no sooner meet its demise and burn into flames than to shine brightly with a ruler with blood and warfare on his mind.

Many had thought so as well, yet did little.

For what can they do against someone who can promise dominion and power? They can all but kneel and acquiesce to his bidding.

He did possess a younger twin brother, but compared to his brother, he was passable at best. The brother doesn't talk much, says very little, but paid close attention to his surroundings, his companions, even to his older brother, whom he admired greatly.

It was sometime during his time as a prince when fate decided to play their hand.

But no one saw it coming.

Save for one.

The Emperor’s royal spiritual adviser, the kingdom’s revered onmyouji known only by the name (Y/N).

"That's quite the look on your pretty face, (Y/N)."

Sighing, the (h/c)-haired woman ever so carefully dipped her brush into the ink well before continuing her writing.

"Oya? No wisecracks this time?" the voice drew near, she could feel his hot breath beside her ear. "Is that any way to speak to your future king?"

Unfazed, she dipped her brush into the well again, careful strokes bleeding into the paper. "Truly not worth his royal highness' time if I even breathe or say a word."

Even without looking, she knows he's smirking. He knows he got what he wanted, ever the child.

Silence filled in. She, continuing on with her scrolls, and he, lazily perched himself awfully close to her side, sliding his gaze from her eyes, her face, to her kimono, to her nimble fingers.

From the first moment he laid eyes on her, he was fascinated by her very being. More so, when she revealed that she was to be the royal onmyouji with the ability to see all.

Technically, her position was better suited for a man, especially a man from a renowned jujutsu family – for trivial reasons.

However, no man could ever compete with one with an all-seeing eye, with impressive control of her cursed energy other than this woman, this strange woman.

No one else but her.

He would like to think that he became a man no long sooner after their first verbal spat, after their second introduction – having differing ideals and morals, never backing from the other despite their status. He and his twin had just turned 18, a prime age for the king to be. It was what drew them together in the first place.

From the moment their eyes met, he had unwillingly declared this fascinating woman as his and only his.

When she was finished writing, just as she laid her brush aside, a hand slammed on the table. She didn’t flinch, even as the man effortlessly picking her up into his arms. "Surely you must be bored from all that gibberish writing, eh?"

Allowing herself a genial smile, (e/c) eyes alit with life, she draped her arms around his strong shoulders.

"Must I remind you time and time again that they're readings?" Fingers slipped and carded through his locks, grabbing tufts of hair playfully. Tilting her head, she used her free hand to ghost over his strong jawline. “Your great kingdom would crumble would it not be for said readings. Lives would be lost. Blood will be shed. Your name tarnished and damned-”

"Blah, blah, blah, is all I can hear you say," pushing her against the wall, he welcomed himself between her legs, drawing himself ever so close to her. “Don’t you ever get tired of spouting bullshit?”

“Surely you would know,” she gasped as something hard pressed against her core. “that’s all your mouth is good for: running your filthy mouth.”

He met her smirk with his, hot breath fanning hers. “And here I thought you’d be this docile diviner.” Scoffing, he drew close. “Thank fuck I was wrong.”

Hot lips pressed against hers, just as the ink dried out and the shadows danced in the dark.

"We order you to join forces with us destroy Ryoumen Sukuna."

"I refuse."

Even she can't deny that the man she loved was a danger to everyone, probably to all of humanity. He was quick to be enamored with power, sadistic even in his means to achieve greater feats and exploit his foes.

Eventually, she saw how the man she came to love drastically turned into the cynical, malevolent King of Curses he was.

Mad with power, ambition, and glory, in order to achieve all and more he sought out the dark mystics that made him murder his younger twin brother granting him his grotesque figure - two faces, added appendages, and dark marks littering his body.

It started with a vision. Then came the prophecy.

Overnight, a brother was murdered in cold blood by his own, through his blood spawned the King of Curses.

Many months were soon bathed in more blood as he sought nothing more but destruction and chaos,

In the end, she knew what she had to do, what must be done, what must happen, what was foretold – even if it ends up breaking her heart.

"Could you do it?"

"...I have no choice."

This is it, she thought. The end.

The end of the beginning.

Fire licked throughout the field, soot rising from the ashes, craters, devastation lurked wherever the eye could see. There was even the occasional ice covered in blood, sometimes encasing

It had been a long, treacherous, arborous, and exhausting battle – sorcerers and Imperial soldiers against fellow sorcerers and curses.

Jujutsu sorcerers – especially the high-ranking ones from esteemed clans, set aside their petty differences for this one battle, to put down the King of Curses.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

It was a hard-earned battle, as Ryoumen Sukuna had with him a rather interesting set of warriors to fend off against them.

But finally, they got him.

In the middle of all this madness and bloodshed, a victor was finally declared.

And it wasn’t him.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?" He screamed, binding spells forcing him to his knees, his whole body weakened and paralyzed by countless battles and countless spells against him. “(Y/N)!? HOW COULD YOU!?”

She forced herself to hold him down as the sorcerers around her continued their spells.

Amidst it all - the undeniable pain, the humiliation of being pinned, the utter betrayal - Ryoumen Sukuna turned to her and only her, red eyes burning her very being, as though ready to incinerate and devour her on the spot.

At the front line, that’s where she was to be – supposed to be, as she was their leverage to get close to the King of Curses.

She was leverage at best, the one thing that can keep Ryoumen Sukuna down - despite the countless claims that no one and nothing can do so.

"In this life, know that you were always the man I hold closest to my heart, the warmth on a cold winter's day, the joy from a day's tiresome work. There is no one but you, Ryoumen Sukuna," she was openly crying now, uncaring of anyone and anything. "But in this life, we cannot be."

The spell had been cast, paralyzing Sukuna, allowing the rest of the jujutsu sorcerers to attack.

With the final blow, she poured a bit of herself into her final, most powerful spell. Sealing him and vaporizing any memory of her in it, emptying his being until he was but an empty husk.

"YOU BITCH! YOU LIED TO ME!" Despite being in constant pain, his body slowly reddening and wax appearing all over, he found it in himself to spout angrily at her. "WAS EVERYTHING A LIE!?"

Memories upon memories - of their first meeting, their first verbal spat, their next meeting, him cornering into a corner, of their first kiss, of their first night, of their many nights, of promises under the sheets, of eyes searching, of eyes yearning, of eyes hurting - voided one after the other.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU DEAD, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He doesn't mean it, she tells herself, adding more spells that caused him to scream in even more pain.

"Y-YOU FUCKING BITCH! I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!" His eyes were blank, regarding her with all the hatred man could possess. "YOU'LL BE THE FIRST PERSON I KILL THE MOMENT I GET BACK!" choking on blood, he feels himself weaken. "I SWEAR IT! I'LL KILL YOU THE FIRST MOMENT I GET!"

A sob escaped her, as much as she tried to swallow it down. To no avail, she cannot fake her remorse, her pain. She knew it was the right thing to do, for the betterment of all – humans and sorcerers, but it cost her so much sorrow and pain.

"Nothing is a lie," she croaked, feeling the last of her energy leave her, tearfully gazing into the eyes of her beloved. "But I have to say goodbye."

And just like that, the King of Curses was no more.

And when the fighting was over, the Seer vanished without a trace.

It came abruptly.

Without warning, without a sound, without a whisper, without a call.

The end of the beginning.

Of when fate decided to try its hand with life, changing the course of all.

For a thousand years ago, the jujutsu society was at its high boasting about great families within their ranks and a seer to guide them all.

The seer, who were specialists in the mystics and great beyond, who helped build empires, defend against curses, win wars - the great seer revered, respected, and treasured.

Alas, this seer fled, vanished, and doomed the jujutsu society.

For without her visions, how can the sorcerers ever know of the truth and lies that the future holds, to protect them from whatever threatens them? Of the corruption that would soon waste them away? Their arrogance and overdependency on her visions became their downfall, yet few could actually attest to that.

The jujutsu world was a strange, fickle, archaic, and destructive kind with an equally disturbing system. A system unwilling to change, unwilling to adapt, willing only to lead by example.

After her disappearance, they were left with crumbs to pick up, on where she'd be for their next life - for without her visions, how would they be able to secure safety for themselves?

(how selfish of them)

Lo and behold, a thousand years later, and she would appear again, outside of Japan and born half a Gojo! What tremendous luck they have!

Without wasting another second, they sent their best sorcerers to abduct the child and took her by force from her mother, bringing her all the way to Japan.

Only they could have their hands on this seer, one they've waited for thousands for years, one who remains theirs, rightfully theirs, one who has to atone for her sins of leaving the jujutsu society vulnerable all those years ago.

Yes, this child must bear the sins of her ancestors, must live a life for the future of the jujutsu sorcerers.

She is theirs.

Theirs and theirs alone!

But alas, Gojo Satoru caught wind of the other Gojo, singlehandedly took her from them and took her under his care.

How dare he!

So long as he was alive, no way would they ever get their hands on the seer, the great diviner, the all-seeing eye!

How dare he!

Gojo Satoru who manages to effortlessly insert himself in situations he shouldn't be, halting or stopping decisions entirely, establishing his presence as the strongest sorcerer - a title that many of them cannot deny, with much disdain, he, who is without a shred of doubt, a threat.

The Gojo seer continued to live her life, foolishly and blissfully unaware of her true value. Foolish little girl!

The past and present converged into one another, tightly wounding and bounding, meshing and mixing in between the seems, for a future nobody knows, a future nobody is prepared for, but a future nonetheless for all.

However, unbeknownst to all - even to the jujutsu higher-ups, the Great Gojo Satoru, and his beloved little sister, the future in store was not kind. No.

It's as though the past comes back to haunt, to call out for sins to be repented.

Strange as it seems, it all went according to plan - Gojo Satoru finding out about his sister, Fushiguro Megumi sent to Sendai, Miyagi to fetch a cursed object and meeting Itadori Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji ingesting said cursed object and hosting Ryoumen Sukuna, reviving the King of Curses after a thousand years. Yes. Marvelous. All according to plan.

The characters were set, ties looming into each other. Glorious.

It was inevitable, that these characters had special ties connecting them with each other, keeping their lives intertwined, for such was the plan for the grander scheme of things.

There was nothing.

A sea of nothing.

Endless nothing.

It went on and on and on and on and on and on.

It was a nothing that comforting, a nothing where nothing existed, a nothing where nothing was felt.

It was a nothing with that - nothing.

The perfect word for it would be void, however, voids can still have something in them.

And there was red.

A field of red spread across, going on forever and ever and ever.

Curious, she got to her knees to inspect. A flower, it was a red flower with six umbels and a long stamen, blooming outward, as though seeking life. Fingering through its petals, her eyes followed along millions of them spread.

Suddenly, a cold chill ran down her. For some reason, she looked up, meeting nothing.

And yet, she remembered the feeling dwelling in her in a sea of nothing.

Yes, she remembered this feeling.

She knows that feeling.

"Where am I?" a voice cut through the nothing.

In front of her stood someone who looked exactly like her, except, one pair of her eyes had the trademark Six Eyes of the Gojo clan, there was a streak of white running down the right side of her hair, and she was dressed in clothing much different from hers.

Recognition fell upon her, blinking calmly as a faint smile graced her lips.

“Who are you?” asked the girl.

Her smile turned sad as she approached, crushing the flowers under her feet.

The same recognition fell unto her mismatched eyes, but probably not the same kind of recognition she had.

With the gentleness akin to a mother, she eyed the girl before her.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, her voice echoing in the dark. “I’m sorry to have cursed you – all of you,” confusion crosses her face, it hurts her even more. “to have you all carry my burden." The red all around them seemed to glow, a vibrant, blinding red. "I’m sorry.”

Confusion continued to riddle her features, which makes this meeting just more bittersweet.

And then came rain, pouring down on them.

It washed over them, over the flowers.

And then nothing.

Come a thousand years later, and there they were.

A promise foretold, enacted finally.

He, a man resurrected from the dead, free from the curses that kept him away, taking what was rightfully his with her beating heart in his.

And she, a shell of a woman in the form of her now empty descendent.

At last, he had his comeuppance, at last, he got his revenge.

As he devoured her heart, feeling the remaining pieces of his powers return, as did the memories. What a cruel twist of fate.

Suddenly, his mind felt like a rush of water downstream. He could feel his immeasurable power returning, could feel in pumping his veins, yet at the same time, there were tears.

Elsewhere was Fushiguro Megumi, screaming over and over the name of the woman he had just killed – a scream of desperation, anguish, and pain. Why did it sound so familiar?

Finding a blackened uniform, hovering over a body laid in her own pool of blood, the boy continued to scream and scream.

Fushiguro Megumi was a man he couldn’t wait to see at his full potential for battle, another in his list of to-kills, having shown great potential as a jujutsu sorcerer and as part of the wretched Zen’in. But this was far from the man he knew, all he saw was a weeping boy, a boy who lost his mind as he was grieving, begging over and over a corpse, the corpse of his beloved.

Satisfied, he should be, right? Yet, why doesn't he feel it? Why does a part of him feel a great loss? Why does a part of him feel as though he was the one with a ripped soul?

A flash of white came to view, standing next to the crying boy, his stance was rigid, apart from that nothing with his back turned.

Kneeling, Gojo Satoru let his fingers press against the dead girl's eyelids, closing them shut. His hands fell to her cheeks, engulfing them in his large fingers, lingering, thumbs caressing her ice-cold cheeks. Once filled with warmth and life.

"Megumi," says Gojo Satoru, cursed energy just radiating off him. "mind if ya take yourself and (Y/N) aside?" lowering his blindfold, his cursed energy increased in power, reeking of maliciousness. "Things are about to get messy."

He met Gojo Satoru's murderous look head-on, finally getting that fight he long promised him.

And yet, as he stood there, tears leaked from his eyes.

Even with all his powers returned, him being at his full glory, his heart felt more hollow than before.

#ryoumen sukuna x reader #clairvoyant!reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #angst #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #alicemitch09 writes #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk angst fic

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erekiosuncreativeideas · 3 years ago

Text

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 09

<= Chapter 8

Summary : Lukas gets to have a conversation with a friend.

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/81432325

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Heehooo, new chapter ! I hope you'll like it !

Thank you again for all your comments, likes and reblogs. You're always making my day !

I get to see them when I wake up and let me tell you, this is the best thing I could get before going to work. Thank you so much.

This fanfic also makes me realize I'm not as bad at writing slice of life stuff as I first thought- Huh, good to know.

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Chapter 8 - “Was… Was he always like this?”

It was such a strange feeling for Lukas… Having won that duel when he had been so convinced he had no chance to begin with. He had been prepared so much to be downgraded to being a stagehand again that he had never truly considered what he’d do if he ever beat MJ.

So… He was an actor, now? The realization seemed surreal, like he was just imagining things… And yet, here he was, sitting in the staff break room, staring into space. His body was there, but his mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts and unable to focus on the current situation. Even when other stagehands had come to congratulate him, telling him they were happy he put the diva in his place… He replied, saying thanks and every variant of it, without really being there at all.

In hindsight, the fact he had won wasn’t the reason he was feeling like this- it was that it had been so easy. Just like DJ Grooves had said, it was… A switch to flip. Sure, it required him to put his anxiety aside- but on this particular occasion, the anger he had felt towards MJ had been a way to temporarily shift his… Priorities, in some ways.

What the investor had said regarding the show had created quite the mess in the crew. While the Conductor and DJ Grooves had joined him for a private meeting regarding the scenario, most of the stagehands seemed lost. Lukas couldn’t blame them- with how the project had been questioned, it was hard to know whether to continue their job or wait for new instructions. A lot of them were exchanging thoughts about the whole thing: how they had been lucky most of the search of actors hadn’t officially started, how they were worried about a lot of their work going to waste… It was all understandable.

To think he might have been with them, perplexed about the same things… Apparently, fate had decided something else for him.

His attention was caught by the sound of a door opening, and he lifted his head. He didn’t know how much time had passed since the directors had started their meeting or how long he had been sitting in there… But he was pretty sure it had been at least a good hour. And so, when the student recognized Mike through the door frame, a feeling of confusion settled over him. Wait, didn’t he go to comfort his asshole of a twin…?

When the two young men’s eyes met, the puppet maker’s expression lightened up slightly. It didn’t take long for Lukas to understand his friend had been looking for him. Thus, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the other approaching him, before sitting next to him at the table.

-“Hey,” Mike greeted him, his voice clearly showing things hadn’t gone so well with MJ.

-“Hey,” he answered back, his expression turning concerned: “You alright?” he asked. He didn’t want to ask about the actor unless his friend actually wanted to talk about it- contrary to some people, he had been raised with manners and tact.

Said friend put his elbows on the table, leaning in as he rubbed his face:

-“I wish I could say yes, but I’m not,” he replied honestly. His mismatched eyes glanced at him, a sigh leaving his lips: “It’s not because of you,” he assured, probably not wanting Lukas to feel guilty. Well, too bad, he kinda did, with how upset Mike seemed to be.

-“Do you… Want to talk about it?” he offered, wanting nothing but to help his friend to feel better.

At his question, the puppet-maker remained silent, as if he were hesitating. Lukas waited patiently- he knew that if Mike needed to open his heart, then he would, but if he didn’t want to, then… It simply meant he wasn’t ready to, which was fine. The law student wasn’t going to force him. Eventually, though, Mike sighed again, moving his hands back to the table as he answered:

-“Morg- MJ, I mean, he’s not… He’s not a bad person,” his voice was faltering and he had to rub his eyes to hold back his tears: “I know he’s not easy to deal with, but… But he’s a nice person once you get to know him.”

“How much do you need to dig to find that ”nice person“, deep down?” Lukas thought to himself with sarcasm, but he did everything he could to keep those words to himself. Mike being related to that diva, the former most likely wasn’t objective- hell, Lukas’ relatives certainly weren’t perfect, but he still loved them nonetheless.

-“I’m sure he is,” he lied, his tone kind and comforting. With how Mike was dealing with everything, it wasn’t hard to guess some things had been said between the twins, and that it probably wasn’t the first time nor the last. Sure, Lukas couldn’t stand that guy, and the current situation wasn’t improving that, but he had no right to judge Mike for loving his brother. Still, what a great relationship… Not.

The puppet-maker sniffed and looked away. His eyes were getting red, just like his nose.

-“Sorry for… What he said to you,” Mike added after a minute: “And for… Him trying to punch you.”

-“It’s… It’s fine,” the student assured him, even if it wasn’t. Still, his friend didn’t need to hear that right now. Apparently, the other instantly noticed Lukas had just lied, as a weak scoff left his mouth, an insincere smile taking place onto his lips.

-“It’s not, you can say it,” he admitted with a shrug: “You wouldn’t be the first one to tell me that, anyway.”

Lukas turned his head, caught red-handed. Well, at least he had tried, he supposed… It was obvious Mike had gone through unpleasant conversations about his brother’s behavior- lying about everything being fine most likely wasn’t a good thing to do in those circumstances. The puppet-maker wasn’t stupid, after all.

-“Was… Was he always like this?” the young man dared to ask, slowly turning back to his friend, hoping this wouldn’t offend him. But it didn’t- on the contrary, Mike imitated him, facing him again. His expression showed sadness, pain, but also… Inner conflict.

-“… No, he wasn’t,” he shook his head, taking a deep breath as he tried to repress other, new tears: “A lot of stuff happened when we were kids, and… That left a mark. He’s never been the same since then.”

-“Do you… wanna talk about that?” the student asked, hinting at whatever trauma MJ had gone through. However, his friend frowned:

-“No. No, I don’t- I can’t,” he breathed out, leaning back against his chair: “Look, I’m… Not supposed to talk about that. It’s very… Personal, and I guess it just… Slipped out,” his eyes glanced to Lukas apologetically: “Sorry. I promised not to talk about it again, and he… Really wouldn’t like the fact I told you.”

Lukas tilted his head to the side with a wince- yeah, that was understandable. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about what Mike was so secretive about. What kind of trauma could justify acting like an asshole to everyone? Sure, one could have gone through a lot of stuff, but that didn’t allow them to be a bitch to their friends and especially not their family! With how hard Mike was trying, it was frustrating to see the diva just… Hurting his own twin because he was frustrated or angry.

-“No, it’s fine- I get it,” he agreed, deciding not to push the topic any further: “You don’t have to tell me. Is he still around?”

-“No,” Mike shook his head, his breathing finally calming down through efforts: “He’s gone back home. I always tell him to when he needs to… Calm down.”

-“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Lukas asked out of politeness. To be completely honest, he couldn’t care less about MJ’s tantrum, but it was obvious his friend needed to speak about it. Comfort was the minimum he could offer for that.

-“I don’t… I don’t know,” the other confessed, rubbing his face again while his eyes stared into space: “It has never been that badbefore. I’m not gonna lie, this kind of thing happens… A lot. But this time, he just… Refused to talk to me. Usually, I can get him to speak his heart a little, you know? Today, he ignored me and drove back home- he didn’t even look at me.”

“What a jerk, what a jerk, what a fucking jerk,” Lukas did his best to keep that thought to himself again. Seriously, how could one act like an entitled brat that much?

-“Why… Uh,” he paused, joining his hands together as he struggled to find the right words to convey what he wanted to say: “Okay, this is going to sound bad no matter what I say, but… If he’s acting like that to you, his own brother, why would you… Keep trying?” At his sentence, Mike looked up, frowning at him- of fuck, he had been too direct, he should have kept his mouth shut: “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why! But… You seem really upset, and you said it kept happening, so, you know…”

The student was now rambling, trying really hard to make up for his lack of tact, but eventually, Mike’s frown turned into a weak, genuine smile:

-“Because I love him,” he answered as if it were blatantly obvious: “And I guess… Because I feel guilty too,” he then admitted, looking away with an ashamed expression. Well… That was new. Him, feeling guilty? But what for? After all, Mike was perhaps one of the nicest person he had met! Apparently, his confusion must have been quite visible as the puppet-maker sighed.

-“Listen, I really can’t talk about this, it’s… Like I said, it’s something very personal for MJ. Still, well… MJ and I went through a lot when we were kids, but he had it much worse than I did. Compared to him, my childhood was easy. So… I kinda feel like I owe him my help, now that it’s over, because I couldn’t be there for him years ago. That’s all I can tell you.”

The law student fell silent- yeah, he could get what the other was saying. Still… He couldn’t help but feel like Mike was putting his own feelings to the side, prioritizing MJ’s first. It wasn’t healthy. A simple look at the puppet-maker was enough to see how upset he was!

-“Does he… Know you feel that way?” Lukas dared to ask, a bit hesitant after his previous question.

A soft and sad scoff left Mike’s lips:

-“No. I haven’t told him- but trust me, it’s fine, I’mfine,” he replied, his expression showing more determination: “I want to help him the best I can. I know he doesn’t actually want to hurt me, and that’s all I need.”

It took Lukas a lot of willpower not to retort anything about that, and so he simply nodded. Oh, he wanted to tell Mike he didn’t have to play the role of a punching bag, that he didn’t have to feel guilty about something that had happened when he was literally a child… But it was clear that Mike wasn’t going to change his mind. Plus, it wasn’t like he could have a say in this, he was just a stranger. He had no idea what had happened during the twins’ childhood and… Well, even if he didn’t think any of that would justify MJ’s actions… He still had to give both of them the benefit of the doubt.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel like this was really unfair.

-“Thanks,” the other added, visibly glad Lukas hadn’t insisted. He let out a sigh before glancing at his watch, his eyes widening as he quickly stood up: “Crap, my break’s over,” he mumbled, and then spoke louder: “I need to repair some costumes. I’ll, uh, see you soon.”

-“Oh, yeah,” the student nodded awkwardly: “Good luck.”

-“I’ll definitely need some of that…” the puppet-maker sighed again and quickly left the break room, barely looking back. His face had looked so stressed, but Lukas couldn’t blame him: with what had happened with his twin and the fact that his work had gone to waste… Yeah, that seemed to be a lot. Furthermore, Lukas guessed Mike had to postpone the work on the new puppet, considering he had to wait for the new script to be validated. Poor guy wasn’t going to design a new character when no one even knew said character’s personality yet.

The young man let out a sigh, his eyes glancing around: what was he supposed to do, now? He had been promoted, sure, but what could he do if he had to wait for his role to be remade from scratch? Even the other stagehands didn’t know what to do! It sure was a weird situation to be in. Maybe he could lend a hand to whoever needed it? There had to be someone out there needing assistance or something…

After taking a deep breath, Lukas stood up and left the break room. His legs led him through the different part of the studio, hoping to find something to do. At some point, he passed in front of a door, where loud voices could be heard through it- the Conductor’s, Grooves’ and the investor’s. Well, seemed like it was the meeting room, which was probably the last place Lukas wanted to be right now. It didn’t sound like they were arguing, no, it sounded more like an intense discussion. He couldn’t understand anything, as the voices were muffled, though it was enough for him to quicken his pace.

He then found a group of stagehands ready to put the props and backgrounds for the Moonjumper’s home back in a closet, never to be seen again. There were a lot of stuff and so, naturally, the young man decided to help them. The stagehands he joined were touched by the attention and thanked him for it. Once they were done, they offered Lukas to tag along for other tasks, and he happily accepted. Not like he had anything else to do anyway and, well, it was always a good thing to be close to the crew.

Hah, helping the stagehands… Not something MJ would do, huh?

In any case, the hours passed and most of the work was done by the evening, when it was time to leave. After saying goodbye to his co-workers and making a quick stop to Mike’s workshop for the same reason, the young man took the last bus of the day and headed home. What a day this had been… Lukas’ mind was unable to think anymore- how could he, after everything that had happened in only a few hours? His shift had been… Wild, to say the least.

Once he got home, the first thing he did was to let himself fall on his couch. Were all of his shifts going to be so exhausting…? He sighed in one of the cushions, already feeling tired enough to fall asleep- nope, he still needed to eat and do his homework. Doing the latter after such a day of work sounded terrible, though he didn’t have a lot of choice, as he didn’t want to procrastinate. Plus, thankfully, law was something he was interested in, so at least it wasn’t boring, just… Time-consuming.

After the previous night, he really, reallyneeded to sleep a good amount of hours. With that new, motivating goal in mind, the young man hurried up to put a quick meal in the microwave. As he ate, he started his homework in the meantime, his tired brain doing his best to produce a good essay. Thankfully, it was a short one, allowing him to go to sleep earlier than what he had first thought. And so… He went to bed, his head full of memories from today. He wondered what the next day would have in store for him…

It actually took two weeks for the studio to get a new, validated version of the script. In the meantime, Lukas kept helping the other stagehands the best he could. He visited Mike in his workshop during his breaks, trying to see if his friend was feeling better. It took a few days but soon enough, they were back at talking about various topics. Visiting Mike also let him have a look at the new character designs the other was preparing, various versions he was planning to show the directors, so they could pick a particular design. All of them were really different from one another.

Lukas didn’t get the opportunity to read the script yet, as the Conductor and DJ Grooves wanted to be sure it was perfect before showing it to the team this time. However, Mike had gotten some information on the new characters and changes, as he had to design them and couldn’t do so without knowing their personality. Thus, the other shared him the secret info he had been given- and so, apparently, the new character was going to be a ghost ruling over a forest or something like that… Mike wasn’t given too much information on the setting itself, but the student still got to learn that this character was going to be charismatic, sadistic, and mischievous. From what the puppet-maker had learned, he told Lukas the directors were most likely inspired by his performance to write this new character.

This was… Really flattering. For days, he had thought they had disliked his improvisation, but it seemed like he was wrong. Learning that made his day- his week, even!

Eventually, the script was finally ready and finished, with the investor’s approval. Lukas received a copy and was told to read his parts for the day after, so he could get familiarized with this new character. He was… Strangely excited to do so, knowing this character was based on him. In the meantime, the crew made another audition announcement, this time featuring all the new characters and removing the ones that were cut.

Lukas didn’t think he would be one of those people but… He actually couldn’t wait to go back to his job!

… Too bad this passion was going to be stained in the near future.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Oh boy I love ending my chapter ominously huh

=> Chapter 10

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

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Algeō.

Chapter 4 - Fear Realised.

Summary: What could a monster possibly be afraid of?

-----

Death had promised.

It was a promise made with no small amount of reluctance behind it, but it was a promise nonetheless.

When you want to leave, Death must let you.

Loneliness is a debilitating thing - a sickness of the soul, in a way, especially true of those whose souls have been alone for a long time. And the old spectre of ShadowBrook House has been alone far longer than any human has ever been alive. Death was lonely. It knew it was lonely. But it had had no inkling of just how lonely it was until you stumbled into its home.

Now, the thought of you leaving isn't just worrisome, it feels downright threatening, and the shadowy beast can barely keep its hands from fumbling over each other or its wings from twitching with apprehension as it follows you around the house.

The hours are flying past too quickly for a creature that has never had much use for keeping track of time and every minute that goes by is another minute that brings your inevitable departure closer.

This is the thought that keeps turning over and over in Death's head as it hovers close behind you, watching attentively whilst you explore its home with the argyle blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a dusty cape.

The spectre's voice is still ragged and painful from disuse, so every question you pose, you try to ensure that it can be answered with either a nod or a shake of that gigantic skull.

“Was this a library?”

Death's head snaps up and its fingers cease their constant fidgeting with the ratty fabric of its cowl. It had been so lost in its own mind, it hadn't even noticed that it had followed you into what had once indeed been the old library – the pride of ShadowBrook manor, once upon a time. Now though, the room stands just as empty and undisturbed as the rest of the house, thousands of books piled high on towering shelves and not a soul to thumb through their delicate pages.

The phantom's bleached skull bobs up and down in the affirmative to your question.

“Oh...” you mumble, “That's kind of sad....”

Ignoring Death's ensuing clicks of concern, you wander over to one of the bookcases and tip your head back to look up at the vast ocean of old tomes, all of them covered in an inch-thick layer of dust.

“All these books, and they're just sitting here,” you continue, more-so to yourself than the gigantic skeleton behind you, “I can't believe nobody has come to take them...” Actually, you can believe it. You're well aware of the stigma that lingers over ShadowBrook, and the townspeople are nothing if not a superstitious bunch. During your research into the 'Monster of ShadowBrook,' you'd learned of a terrible tragedy that had befallen the family who once lived there several centuries ago.

'Don't trouble the dead,' had become the town's unofficial motto with regards to the old manor in the woods and aside from yourself, Charlie and Mia, you can't imagine it's seen many visitors since. This library, along with everything else in the house, has likely remained untouched for hundreds of years.

The thought is humbling – even more so that the house's own legend has all but adhered itself to your side.

As if on cue, a hard nose bone bumps into your spine and you offer up a meagre sound of protest as you're nudged away from the book shelves and back towards the doors you'd come in from by a very insistent spectre.

It's eager to keep you moving. If being in the library is making its friend sad, Death has little interest in allowing you to linger.

“All right! All right!” you chuckle, jogging forwards a few steps to escape the Reaper's prodding nose. With a clack of its teeth, it finally relents and lifts its head once again, curious to see where your exploration will take you both next. Although perfectly familiar with ShadowBrook's layout, the spectre derives a great deal of contentment from watching you discover its home, perfuming each room with your comforting, familiar scent, leaving a hand print or a tiny shoe mark in the dust, a part of you that will stay in the house even if you yourself are to depart from it.

The adjoining corridor leads you back towards the main hall and you amble down it at a lackadaisical pace, cast in the eerie, green glow of Death's swinging lanterns.

It's only when you stroll past a window and happen to glance outside that you halt in your tracks and stare through the glass, stunned to see the first rays of sunlight poking out above the surrounding tree line.

Before you can stop it, an exclamation of “Oh, shit!” leaps out of you.

All of a sudden, in a flurry of tattered robes and clacking bones, Death surges into the space between you and the window, aiming a vicious growl at the glass, its pupils darting around to locate whatever is was that had apparently startled you.

A little rattled by the sudden aggression in its stance, you reach out and grab a handful of the phantom's robes and give them a hard tug. “It's okay, big guy! I was just surprised by how light it is outside!”

Slowly, its flared wings droop into their original spot on its back and the enormous skull swivels around to look down at you, tipping to one side and crooning a question. However, it's taken aback when you just shake your head and turn to march down the corridor again, pulling the blanket off your shoulders and muttering, “God, how is it morning already?”

You.... You're leaving it...

Death's eye sockets grow wide, the twin, pinpricks of light almost winking out entirely at the sight of your retreating back.

This is it.

Morning has come and you're leaving.

Too soon. Far too soon.

Already, you've made it to the end of the corridor, disappearing through a doorway into the entrance hall. With a single flap of its bony wings, the monster catches up with you once again and squeezes itself frantically through the narrow doorframe, bursting into the room to find you bent over the pile of things you'd dropped in the corner upon your arrival.

“Sorry, Death,” you sigh, gathering up your backpack and slinging it over a shoulder, “I really do have to go now. It's Friday, and I've got a studio session at nine o' clock.”

A wheezing moan warms the back of your neck and alerts you to Death's proximity just seconds before it slinks around in front of you and drops its skull down to your level.

Straightening up, you shoot it an amused glance whilst tugging your woollen hat down over your ears, asking, “What?”

In lieu of a reply, the colossal skeleton extends its neck and presses the hard bone of its forehead lightly against your chest, crowding closer until you're forced to stumble backwards. Unbeknownst to you, Death is intent on gradually guiding you away from the front door.

It had promised, yes. But what if this time, you really don't come back?

An exasperated sigh brushes warmly along the oversized skeleton's nose and two, tiny hands are suddenly placed upon its cheekbones.

“Death.” Though your voice is stern enough, there's an underlying hint of caution as you push yourself away from the skeletal face and sidestep around the monster, skirting underneath a scrap of its billowing cloak. “Now, you promised I could leave when I want to. Didn't you?”

It lets out a miserable groan, even as it twists itself about to chase you over to the door, half heartedly reaching out and scraping its claws over your backpack. Even through the thick canvas, Death's fingertips can detect the warmth radiating off you.

That precious warmth.... So easily lost.... And the outside world is so bitterly cold.

Finally, rawboned fingers curl around the backpack's upper handle and you're pulled gently to a halt just in front of the main doors, one hand already stretched out to grasp the doorknob. Blowing a huff from your lips, you're in the middle of turning your head over a shoulder to glower at the clingy ghost when all of a sudden, the handle underneath your fingers begins to move.

How you kept yourself from crying out is anyone's guess.

Tearing your hand away, you retreat backwards for several, clumsy steps and end up colliding with the monster's front, though you barely have time to register its responsive trill as it blinks down at you, pleasantly surprised that you've seemingly decided to stay. That is, until it too catches sight of the jiggling doorknob.

A low, menacing hiss would have slipped off its tongue had you not whipped around and pressed a finger to your lips so fast, you startled the creature into silence. “Hide,” you breathe frantically, eyes wide and pleading. To your dismay, the beast's rigid brow bones only knit together and it shakes its head from side to side.

From behind you, the door gives a long and clamorous creak as it starts to swing open and a shaft of sunlight floods through the gap, growing larger and longer every second. Mustering up all the desperation you can and packing it into a single look that you send the monster, you finally spin about and prepare yourself to face whoever stands on the other side of that door.

What on Earth are you going to say to the person who comes through? When they see Death, they're most likely to panic, and you have no idea how ShadowBrook's secret will react to seeing another human besides yourself. Truth be told, you're more worried for the creature than you'd care to admit. It may be strange, a little needy and an utter mystery, but you don't want anything bad to happen to it. The beast is – so far as you're aware - perfectly harmless, and certainly not deserving of the fate it might receive if the wrong person were to discover it.

You're so busy fretting, you don't even notice the slight breeze that rolls over the back of your neck.

All too soon, the old, wooden doors creak open in their entirety and you're forced to raise a hand and cover your eyes, squinting into the morning sunlight that glistens off a fresh layer of crisp, white snow.

“Y/n?”

A silhouette stands in the doorway, eclipsing the sun when they step forwards. You're suddenly met with a familiar mop of unruly, golden hair and a face covered in freckles to match.

“Luke!?” you manage to sputter, heart beating a mile a minute, “Wha- I – What are you doing here!?”

You aren't really sure who you'd expected, but of all the people it could have been, you're relatively glad it's only Luke. You wouldn't call him a friend, per se, having only ever spoken to him in passing, yet you know of his reputation for being one of the more amicable students on your course.

His brown eyes contrast warmly with the icy snow outside and he takes another step forward, crossing the threshold of ShadowBrook and reaching up to pull his thick, grey scarf down, uncovering his mouth.

Before he can say a word however, you blurt out, “I can explain!-”

“Explain what?” he huffs, stomping his boots on the marble floor to rid them of snow, “Why you spent the night inside a creepy, derelict building?”

“I-... Wait. What?”

He isn't screaming. Why isn't he screaming at the monster behind you? Twisting your head over a shoulder, you're shocked to find that there's... nothing lurking at your back. No phantom. No grinning skull. Nothing. Just the grand staircase and shattered chandelier. Frantic, your brain tries its hardest to come up with something to fill the expectant silence. You'd been preparing to explain the existence of the Grim Reaper. Not a lack thereof, which is surprisingly more difficult to find the words for. “I was …. just.... looking around...” you manage to slowly mutter, spinning around in a circle and scanning the dark room for any trace of your spectral friend whilst Luke stares at you, raising an eyebrow at your odd behaviour.

“Uh.. Yeah, no kidding,” he huffs, walking past you and glancing around the room as well, as if expecting to find what you're searching for, “You've been 'looking around' since yesterday evening.” He shoots you a sly grin. “What are you doing? Meeting up with a secret boyfriend here, or something?”

“Oh, you caught me,” you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, “Nothing says romance like meeting men in an abandoned mansion out in the woods.”

Lukas chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I'm not judging! Just wondering. What you do in spooky houses late at night is your own business.”

Still somewhat baffled that Death had actually listened to you and hidden – evidently 'please' really had been the magic word – you give up raking your eyes over every shadow and instead offer Luke your full attention. “Yeah, well. I'm afraid there's nothing juicy going on behind these walls. I was only-” Just then, you pause, mouth hanging open as something occurs to you. Cocking your head to peer at Luke, you cross your arms and add, “Hang on. How'd you know I spent the whole night here?”

The tables have turned. Now it's Luke's turn to look like the guilty party. Shuffling his feet, he shrugs. “I promise I wasn't like, following you, or anything,” he says carefully, “There's this cafe, a-across the road from here? Looks out over ShadowBrook's gates? Well, I like to go there and do some of my essays and I guess, today I saw you sneak in here.”

“And you... what? Had a stake out?”

Luke is quick to shake his hands defensively. “No! No! I went back to my halls after an hour or so. I didn't actually know you were still here until just now!” For a moment, he looks as though he wants to say something further, so you remain silent. Sure enough, he rubs at the back of his neck and darts his eyes very deliberately away from yours. “I... I thought I'd check back this morning to see if you were still inside, cos' I was worried.”

Oh. That... isn't what you'd expected. Beads of sweat begin to glisten on your brow as your own gaze keeps sweeping all over the room, mindful that there's another pair of eyes watching intently. You can feel the back of your neck prickling under their ethereal scrutiny. The longer Luke is in here, the more time Death has to grow curious about this newcomer.

“I heard what Squall did,” Luke presses on, “About how he locked you down in the basement here...”

The temperature in the room suddenly drops and you could swear there's a low rumbling through the walls and the floor below your feet, like ShadowBrook is coming alive. Luke, unfortunately, seems to notice the house's shifting atmosphere too. He glances up, eyeing some dust that trickles down from the ceiling. “I was also kind of worried because this place is literally falling apart. I'm amazed it's actually lasted as long as it has. But I don't think you or I should be here.” Looking back down at you, Luke reaches out and slides his hand around your upper arm. “Come on. We should get out of here before the ceiling collapses on us.”

He hadn't meant any harm in clutching you by the arm. It wasn't a malicious touch. It wasn't even supposed to be controlling. It was merely an action meant to guide you out through the front doors. Luke however, had no inkling of what was about to happen. The moment he grabs you, it's as though every ounce of warmth brought by the morning sun is sucked violently out of the air. This time, the temperature doesn't just drop.

It plummets.

You're dragged several steps from the front door when he staggers to a stop. “What the Hell?” Luke gasps as the sudden cold literally steals the breath from his lungs.

Even you aren't spared from the freezing chill, the only difference being that you know what's to follow.

“L-Luke!” you shiver, your arm still fastened in his grip, “You need to leave, like, right now!”

Puffing out a clouded breath, he squints up at the sky, only half listening to you. “The temperature shouldn't just drop like that. What's going on!?”

“Luke! Listen to me!-”

He turns to face you.

Your heart sinks when you see his eyes grow wide, roving up to stare in horror at something above your head. You don't need to look to know what he's seen. You can feel the ragged breaths on the back of your neck, hear the cracking of bone and cartilage as angular wings stretch up to the sky and clawed fingers curl into tight fists.

The fabled monster of ShadowBrook is towering over you both like a storm cloud, immense, daunting, and utterly, irrevocably, furious.

Death's brilliant pupils are barely visible in his dark eye sockets but they bore like drills into Luke's terrified eyes. It had been reluctant to hide when you asked it to, and the only reason it had, in the end, was because of the desperation in your voice as you whispered, 'Please!' It was content to watch from the shadows whilst you spoke with the stranger.

But when that stranger wrapped his hand around your arm and tried to steal you away – to steal Death's first and only friend – the spectre was suddenly struck by a great and terrible rage that amalgamated with its fear - the fear of losing you.... Of being alone again. The awful concoction of anger and terror exploded in Death's hollow chest and drove the lonely creature to a state of near-madness.

Dropping its bony jaw wide open, it lets out a screech so loud, the windows of ShadowBrook rattle and shudder, threatening to break yet not quite following through. The awful cacophony spurs Luke into motion and before you even realise what's happening, he's off, galloping over the icy driveway with your arm still clamped in his trembling fist. A yelp of surprise jumps out of you when you're suddenly tugged along behind him, forced to keep pace lest you lose your footing and tumble face-first onto the frosty ground. “Luke!” you cry out, “Luke, wait! It's okay!-”

Behind you, Death's screech of outrage turns into an alarmed hiss and it surges forwards, easily sweeping around to Luke's front and cutting off his path to the wrought iron gates, its wings thrown out wide and its cloak billowing amidst an other-worldly cyclone. Only you can see the distress in its gaping eye sockets. 'It's... it's actually panicking!' you gasp.

With a yelp, Luke tries to skid to a halt, his arms pinwheeling to keep his balance and in the process, his hands fly up and you're released from his grasp. However, unfortunately for him, the momentum of his flat-out sprint makes stopping dead on snow predictably difficult. You manage to stumble to an unsteady halt just as his feet slip out from underneath him and he topples backwards onto his rear with a shout, scrabbling and kicking through the snow just to put some distance between himself and the floating phantom. “Get- Get away!” he screams, shaking as Death advances, a clawed hand poised in threat.

“Death! No!” Horrified about what's happening, you dart forwards, leaping over Luke's prone form just as the spectre aims a swipe at him.

You realise too late that Death hadn't meant to actually strike Luke. It's fingers didn't even come close to the boy. But by placing yourself well within in range.... You see Death's eye sockets burst open at the sight of you.... Then...

There's an awful, burning sting lancing across the front of your belly and you jerk, choking on a gasp of pain.

A dreadful hush descends over the courtyard, perfectly silent save for Luke's rasping breath.

The monster is staring at you, its bony jaw slack and its hand still held in the air, fingers curled over with a few drops of blood staining the very tips.

Your blood.

Blinking dumbly, you crane your neck down to gape at your stomach. Four, long gashes have been torn out of your jumper and the shirt under it. Beneath them, you can make out the marred surface of your skin. Thin, red lines stretch from one side of your torso to the other, blood already starting to trickle in little rivulets down to your naval. You have no idea how deeply they run. You're still rooted to the spot, too shocked to register the ringing in your ears and the tightness of your throat, unaware that the monster before you is trapped in a similar state.

Death, continues to stare as a whine bubbles up its trachea. Hesitant – horrified – it twitches its fingers towards your stomach, unable to tear its focus from the wound. Inevitably though, upon seeing the approaching appendage, you grit your teeth and flinch away, eyes wide and brimming with tears and the phantom jerks away as well in response. That's when its pinprick pupils flick down to the blood staining its sharp fingernails.

'No... No, ɳ σ ɳσ ɳ σ, N̵̤͑ǫ̸͋N̴̗̓O̸̲̒N̷͓̈́Ỏ̸̧N̶̻̓Ö̶̠́ ...” Death's enormous skull swings slowly from side to side, transfixed by the scarlet liquid. It appears to have forgotten all about Luke sprawled out on the ground behind you. Now, the spectre is far more concerned by the greater threat - itself.

Heart in his throat and dizzy from the monumental shock of discovering something that should not exist, by any stretch of the imagination, Luke simply gapes up at the bizarre events unfolding right in front of him.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, the creature isn't attacking you. If anything, the way it hunches over on itself and draws its long, skeletal arms up against its exposed sternum, he'd have to guess it was almost afraid of you. The giant skull's expression shifts and changes with the fluidity of a human face – as though even bone could be made to bend under the strength of this monster's will.

Death spares you one, final, forlorn murmur and then, its hands creep up and grab the tattered hood resting behind its skull. With a flick of its wrists, it tugs the fabric up to hide its head and gives its wings a tremendous heave, propelling it up and over your head, over Luke's head, and on towards ShadowBrook. There's an almighty clamour as the monster shoots through the doors and they slam shut in its wake, taking with it the wretched cold whilst an echoing wail finds itself lost under the gently falling snow that softens every sound and leaves the courtyard a somber, silent place.

For a long while, Luke keeps his attention fastened entirely on the house and it's only a gentle groan that at last draws his head around to peer dazedly up at you.

You have an arm wrapped around your middle and your face is screwed up, teeth clenched tighter than a vice, yet you still manage to extend a hand to help your classmate to his feet. And after a few moments of staring dumbly at your outstretched appendage, he shakes his head with a rapid jerk and lifts an arm, allowing you to slide your fingers around his wrist and drag him upright once again. He doesn't miss the subtle hiss of air that slips between your teeth when you're jostled. Luke twists his neck over a shoulder and spares ShadowBrook's entrance a wary glance. “What...” he shudders, “...the Hell... was that!?”

You don't say a word for some time as the two of you come to terms with what had just happened. All around you, the woods seem to be holding a perpetual breath. No breeze dares to disturb the tree branches and no birds greet the morning with their song. The townsfolk always wondered why the wildlife seemed to avoid this stretch of land. Now you know why. Death stalks the grounds.

Then, faintly, the silence is broken by a distant sound, soft and muffled like a whisper, but undeniably a sound that could never be made by any known creature that ever walked the earth. It comes from deep within ShadowBrook's ivy-infested walls.

Letting a tremulous breath shake itself loose from your throat, you tip your head back and stare up at the house. When you whisper out a name, it isn’t so much in answer to Luke’s prior question as it is a gentle sigh born of conflicted sympathy for the monster that lives inside the abandoned manor.

“Death...”

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #algeo #reaper form #angst #ALL OF THE ANGST #hurt #comfort comes next #I hope #;)#Death #Reader #Monster x human #gentle giant #skeleton #jealousy #somebody has abandonment issues

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starlocked01 · 4 years ago

Text

Second Glances

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Summary: Roman has spent years making his aesthetic Gay TM and yet his soulmate's first impression of him is that he's straight. What has he done so horribly wrong? Nothing, but first impressions often are wrong.

Day 18 Prinxiety- Your Soulmate’s first impression of you is written on your skin somewhere

Damn it all the cute ones are straight

The mark appeared on Roman’s 18th birthday at midnight and frankly, he was mortified. He had been out and proud for the past two years and almost always had a rainbow flag somewhere on his person or belongings. How in the world could his soulmate get such an incorrect idea of him?

He interrogated all his friends at school to see if any of them had crushes on him and had thought he was straight but with no luck. Apparently they all had better gaydar than his soulmate.

Roman didn't have much time to worry about soulmates though because in just a few weeks he and his twin were moving into the dorms for freshman year of college. They packed up their entire room and wondered what their roommates would be like.

"I don't know Ro, what if they don't accept me or get uncomfortable with me?" Remus ran his fingers through his hair. He'd been growing it out almost a year now.

"Then I will kick their ass and get you a new roommate. Simple," Roman reassured Remus.

"Heh, thanks Ro," Remus smiled, still visibly nervous.

Roman grinned, "no one hurts my sibling and gets away with it."

On move-in day everything was a whirlwind. The car was packed past full and Roman was a ball of nervous energy.

"Remus, are you ready?" he called up the stairs.

"It's Renee today!" she called back down, appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Oops! My bad. Ready to go, sis?" Roman smiled broadly as she walked down, fussing with her skirt.

"Yeah!"

"Let's go! College here we come!"

Renee was unusually quiet during the drive. Roman spared as many glances away from the road as he could.

"You okay, hon?" He asked gently.

She nodded slowly, "are you sure I won't get funny looks during move in? Should I change into something masc before we get there?"

"No, you will do no such thing. It's a co-ed dorm, Ren. And I'm literally right down the hall," Roman shook his head.

Renee glanced down at her palm, "do you think I'll meet my soulmate today? I mean there's gonna be a lot of people there and it is a fem day…"

Roman smiled, "anything is possible, sis. Just keep being your beautiful self."

Thoughts of soulmates reminded Roman of his own frustrating mark. He kinda wondered what his soulmate’s mark said. Guess he'd think it sooner or later.

After the slightest confusion at sign in, he and Renee were ready to move into their dorm rooms. He decided to help Renee with her stuff first (and to make sure any roommate would know who they had to answer to). They were carrying in their first boxes and found her roommate already unpacked and chilling out at a desk with a book on existential philosophers.

The boy looked up and Roman and smiled extending a hand as he and Renee set down their boxes, "you must be Remus. I'm Janus. Nice to meet you."

Roman glared and opened his mouth to reprimand Janus but Renee spoke up first, "actually, I'm Renee!" she took Janus’ hand and shook it, "Remus is my legal name."

"Oh. Oh, my apologies! You would think I would know not to assume," Janus laughed uncomfortably, "sorry, Renee. It's charming to meet you."

"I'm Roman, her twin brother," Roman's mouth twitched. He was ready to cause a scene if things went south.

"Well, actually this is rather fortunate," Janus looked between the two twins, "I get the feeling you two will be understanding. I'm nonbinary and go by sie/sier pronouns. Again, I apologize for assuming. I hope we can get off on a better second impression."

Renee giggled, "that's so cool! I'm actually genderfluid. We can talk more later though, Roman and I still have to unpack all his stuff too."

Roman sighed in relief and turned to go get the next load of Renee's stuff.

After moving all her boxes from the car, Renee and Janus both helped Roman move his stuff into a room just down the hall from them. Even with moving Renee first, Roman’s roommate was nowhere to be found and he wondered if he lucked out with a no-show roommate and accidental single dorm room.

Renee was bubbly and excited, talking about her roommate and sier interests and opinions. Renee was already pretty infatuated with sier. Roman started to unpack his clothing.

"Ro, this is going to be the best! I'm so excited I can't contain it!" she started bouncing on the bed. Roman chuckled and pulled her into a tight hug.

Just then he saw a boy drowning in a purple and black hoodie stop at the door, double-checking the door number. He was so skinny, the only thing Roman could think was Tim Burton Reject but like Cute. The boy caught sight of Roman and Renee hugging and Roman almost thought he saw the 5 stages of grief flash through his eyes.

"Uh, should I come back later? I think this is my room…"

Roman grinned and walked over to the door, "come on in! Virgil right?" Virgil nodded, "hi, I'm Roman! This is Renee. Need help with your stuff?"

Renee waved and Virgil set his box down, "um sure, thanks."

Renee fiddled with her skirt, "Ro, I'm gonna go change."

"Okay, cool. Name when you get back?"

She skipped out of the room, "Reagan! Thanks Ro!"

Roman chuckled and smiled at Virgil, "you'll get used to them. They're genderfluid and switch kinda frequently."

Virgil nodded and started back down the hall to his car, "how long have you known each other?" His voice was tinted with barely noticeable jealousy.

"Since the day we were born. Reagan is my twin," Roman followed his roommate, oblivious to the confusion on his face.

"Wait.. siblings… ohhhh, oh thank god," Virgil was wide-eyed.

"What?"

"I thought Renee was your girlfriend. That would have been awkward," Virgil flushed with embarrassment and Roman broke out laughing.

"Wow, that's a first! I've never been told my sib looked like my S.O.! You're funny Virge!" Roman hit Virgil on the back in a friendly pat that sent the smaller boy stumbling forward.

They quickly moved the few boxes Virgil had brought into the room and both boys started unpacking. The room was tensely quiet until Reagan came barreling back into the room with their roommate in tow.

"Oh my God! You guys!! Janus is the sweetest bitch," their eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"All I did was offer to help with classwork," Janus mumbled. Sie looked at Roman and Virgil and could feel the awkwardness in the room that Reagan was oblivious to, "so, anyone know a good ice breaker?"

Roman and Virgil replied at the same time, "polar bears."

Janus snorted, trying to contain sier amusement, "not quite what I meant, but A for effort."

"Ooh, have either of you two met your soulmates?" Reagan grinned at Virgil and Janus.

"My birthday is in a couple of months, so I have no idea," Virgil shrugged, taping up an MCR poster.

Janus rolled sier eyes, "no, I'm not really trying to find them either. Their first impression of me is disappointment anyway and you know how impossible it is to correct a bad first impression."

Roman laughed, "I feel like I'm looking for the impossible! My soulmate’s first impression is that I'm straight . How?" he held up the pride flag that he was preparing to hang above his bed.

"I could imagine it if the first time they saw you, you were… I don't know, hugging your sister," Virgil coughed suspiciously.

"Well, I will quickly correct them. Shoot, I forgot to ask. Virgil are you okay with queer stuff all over my side of the room? Because if not we have a problem," Roman smiled nervously and Reagan snickered at him. He supposed he should have figured this out before outing Reagan to Virgil but better late than never.

"You're good, Princey. I might not be flamboyant but I'm definitely gay," Virgil smiled softly.

"How lucky you're rooming together," Janus smirked, "should we dismantle one of the beds now?"

Reagan howled with laughter as Roman and Virgil both vehemently denied that suggestion, faces redder than strawberries.

"Give it a month, Jan," they snickered, wiping a tear from their eye.

"Indeed, bet?"

"20 bucks says you're on."

"We're right here!" Virgil protested.

"Shut up, you know I love you guys," Janus replied smoothly.

"No. No, I don't know that," Virgil flipped up his hood to hide his face from the others and pulled out his DVD collection to sort it. Roman glanced over and gave a triumphant shout.

"I knew it! Corpse Bride, Alice in Wonderland, Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetlejuice? I knew you'd be into Tim Burton!" Roman grinned happily, "fantastic movies!"

"How? We've known each other for like an hour…" Virgil was confused.

"Ah, I think it was the hoodie. You just look like one of his characters, you know?" Roman's grin turned sheepish.

"Fair enough. That is my aesthetic," Virgil shrugged.

"So should we leave you two future love birds alone now or…?" Reagan chuckled. They could tell Roman liked his roommate a lot, even if he wasn't outwardly flirting.

"Excellent idea, Reagan. We can cause more mischief elsewhere," Janus turned to leave with Reagan following close behind sier.

The first semester of classes went chaotically fast. True to Reagan's prediction, Roman and Virgil started dating within weeks. Despite outward dissimilarities, the two made for a good couple, balancing each other's sweetness and snark and flair and dramatics.

Roman couldn’t help but feel nervous as the clock ticked closer to midnight. Winter vacation had been hard enough with Virgil on the other side of the country, but tomorrow was his birthday and Roman was anxious to figure out if the connection he felt with his boyfriend was as deep and as fated as he wanted it to be.

They were facetiming when the alarm Roman had set for midnight went off.

"Happy birthday, my chemically imbalanced romance!" Roman grinned as Virgil shook his head at the nickname, "where's the mark?"

Virgil chuckled, "can't I enjoy being legally adult for two minutes?"

"Virgillllll please?" Roman pleaded, puffing out his lip.

"Fine. I think it's on the back of my neck though. Hang on," Virgil turned off the camera to take a photo while Roman waited impatiently.

Roman couldn’t see his face but he could hear Virgil’s soft gasp, "what is it, love?"

"Did you really think that about me, Roman?" Virgil sounded upset and Roman wished he would turn the camera back on.

"I don't know, V, what does it say? Please turn the camera back on," Roman prodded gently.

The camera flicked back on and Roman could see the back of Virgil’s neck with a single line of shiny scarlet text, "Tim Burton Reject but like Cute."

"Your first thought of me was that I was a reject??" Virgil brought the camera back to his face and Roman could just make out the line of a tear cutting through his makeup.

"Virgil, it's not like that-"

"Well, it sure looks like it! Either that was your first impression of me or we aren't soulmates! I have to live with this on my skin for the rest of my life I deserve to know!"

Roman glared at Virgil, "quite hypocritical considering I have to live with the fact you thought I was dating my own sibling written across my ass!" Roman took a deep breath before continuing, "yes, my first thought of you wasn't the kindest phrasing. First impressions are so often very wrong. People aren't static pictures, they're living art. Just look at Remus; he's constantly changing. And I've seen you change in so many ways the past four months, Virgil. I would never call you a reject now. I'm sorry I did back then."

Roman watched Virgil’s face as he finished his apology. To his surprise, Virgil started to laugh, low and quiet at first but quickly growing.

"You were right though. I was so skinny, so dark, and so edgy- I think just about anyone would have agreed with you. I think you got the short end of the soulmate stick, Ro, because now you're stuck with me, the Tim Burton Reject," Virgil's smile was wide and genuine and Roman clasped his hand to his chest in relief.

"Oh my goodness, you scared me. I thought I was going to be single! Who knew your birthday was the actual nightmare before Christmas," both of them laughed at that, "goodnight love. Text me when you open your present."

Roman smiled as Virgil saluted and ended the call.

Thank the stars they actually were soulmates.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #prinxiety #sibling creativitwins #lowkey platonic demus #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #genderfluid remus #nonbinary janus #first impressions #cussing #college au #soulmate au

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julieandthefandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Best Day Of Our Lives

A Jemma wedding fic featuring a Kitty reunion, married with children Kierartina, and Haline being cute together. It can also be found here on AO3 :)

Also, a thank you to Kaitlin, @ineedadrinkorsleep, for allowing me to use her list of Kierartina baby names, you’re amazing!

Tagging @katie33333 @tessagraycarstairs @zafirafox4636 @fairchild-squad @lily-chen-deserves-better @ineedadrinkorsleep @older-brother-kit because I have a tag list now!

Julian straightened the collar of the suit. It was bright in shade, a thing of fire and gold. It was the kind of fire so bright it almost seemed to hold no color at all, leaving the shimmering runes custom to shadowhunter weddings to almost compete with the brightness of it. It was blinding, and Julian could admire the craftsmanship of the suit, tailored to near perfection. Julian could care less about the flashiness of the suit though. It wouldn’t matter whether he were wearing jeans, or even were covered in paint splatters. What mattered was that he was getting married to his best friend, Emma Carstairs.

For the longest time, he was sure he wouldn’t have this opportunity. He had thought he had sealed his fate on that day in Idris. The day after the Dark War, when he had asked the person he loved to be his parabatai. He was prepared to live a life of unrequited love, but by some stroke of luck, he was getting married to her. The bond had been broken, and they could be together. He could be happy.

A pang went through him as he thought back to those days, back when Livvy was still with them. She would've been wild with excitement to be there, to have planned it to perfection. Julian was almost surprised that the pain hadn’t dwindled over time, but there was still an ache as he thought of her. The feeling of loss never truly fades. He had enough space in his heart to love Emma, while still hurting from the loss of his sister.

Julian tugged at the bottom of the jacket once more.

“You look lovely, Jules.” He turned to spot his sister, Helen Penhallow Blackthorn, his suggenes, leaning against the doorframe, a bright smile on her face. She herself was dressed in a flowing gown barely brushing against the top of the floor. “We should probably get going though, you wouldn’t want to be late to your own wedding.”

~^*^~

Kit Herondale should have known better. It was bound to happen really, he was definitely pushing his luck after about the second or third wedding he’d been to, but he hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. It had all started earlier that year, when virtually every friend of Jem and Tessa’s had collectively decided to destroy Kit’s life, a simple one of sneaking Mina extra cookies and avoiding his problems, by forcing him to face all his problems at their weddings. And currently, he was faced with the person he was avoiding most.

Kit had somehow managed to skate by during most of the weddings though. Simon and Isabelle’s was first, Kit having managed to stay as close to the crowd as possible, and silently slipping away after the main portion of the ceremony to reduce his chances of getting involved in a rather awkward discussion. Only a few months had passed before Clary and Jace got married as well, Kit glimpsing a head of dark hair before bolting as soon as he could, claiming that he had to take care of Mina. In fact, what was doing was hiding in the library, pouring his heart out to his little sister.

“You’d think after 3 years my heart would stop beating so rapidly that I became concerned about my own health, but no,” Kit glanced at Mina, who was currently laughing at him, eyes half shut from joy.

She let out another giggle.

“How dare you find joy in my pain?” he said, dramatically laying a hand on his head and leaning back against the bookshelf, though the smile illuminating his face revealed his true intentions. “How can I go on now, betrayed by my own sister?”

Kit smiled at the thought.

Kieran, Mark, and Cristina’s wedding had been somewhat more challenging, him having been caught behind a huge oak tree by none other than Livvy Blackthorn, but he had somehow managed to convince her to tell no one, i.e. her twin brother, a.k.a. the person Kit was trying so desperately to avoid.

“Please, Livvy, don’t tell him I’m here,” Kit was pleading now, already on his knees, gazing up at the ghost above him.

Livvy rolled her eyes. “Fine, but only because I want you to do this on your terms. Remember though, my ship must be canon!”

“Your what?!-”

And that finally brought them up to this wedding, Emma and Julian’s to be more specific. Having been related to, however distant that relation may be, the bride had seemingly got the Herondale/Gray/Carstairs family (or as Kit liked to call it, the Herongraystairs family) a one way ticket to the wedding, and consequently, Kit facing the person he was dreading to meet again.

It had been going relatively well, he’d thought, the ceremony about to begin, and Kit quietly tucked into a corner. That was until Mina dragged him towards the table piled high with drinks, having spotted Max Lightwood-Bane, Rafael Lightwood-Bane, Tavvy Blackthorn, Gianna Blackthorn-Rosales, and Nico Blackthorn-Rosales (Cristina, Mark, and Kieran had Gianna and Nico a year before being married, and Mina instantly fell for them, claiming that they were her “best fwends”) playing near there, and Kit had thought maybe a drink or two wouldn’t hurt. He was severely wrong of course as Kit had failed to notice one head of dark hair standing not far from that very table.

Kit blamed Mina’s doe eyes, and his ability to fall for them instantly.

After his first drink, a voice had made Kit turn, causing him to end up where he was currently, nearly on the floor.

“Hello. I’d like to talk to you.”

~*^*~

Julian was bubbling with joy, a smile brightening his face as he was led to a platform, Helen by his side. He stopped at the top of the steps, turning to give Helen an appreciative nod and a smile. Julian took a sharp inhale as Emma walked around the corner, Cristina lending her off to the stage. All thoughts left him. She was breathtaking, wrapped in a gold silk gown that hugged her waist before flaring down to the ground. A sheer overlay on the silk skirt caught the brightness of the witchlight, complimenting the gold in her hair.

But it wasn’t only gold, was it? It was a beautiful mix of cadmium yellows, naples yellows, golds, yellow ochres.

She was beautiful, and Julian couldn’t help but think that he was the luckiest person in the world. As Emma reached the platform, she leaned in, a grin plastered on her face.

“I know, I look stunning.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a playful manner.

Julian shot back a nod. “It is your wedding, I’d expect no less.”

And with that, the ceremony began, Brother Enoch reciting a few words, before steles appeared in their hand. It passed by in a blur, and before Julian knew it, they were kissing. Time seemed to still, Julian thought he heard a crash somewhere in the crowd, a flash of blond hair blurring by the table, but he paid no attention to it. The room melted away, it was as though they, Emma and Julian, were the only two people in the room. It was perfect.

~*^*~

“HOLY-” Kit choked on his drink. He had forgotten how graceful shadowhunters were, how easily they could move without alerting anyone surrounding them. Unfortunately, that shadowhunter grace had apparently skipped a generation because Kit found himself clutching at the table for support, having nearly fallen from shock.

“Are you alright?” It was none other than Tiberius Nero Blackthorn, his arm outstretched. He was looking at him, and at that moment, all rational thought left him. He said something roughly equivalent to an audible keysmash before clearing his throat.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Kit brushed himself off, standing up as though nothing had happened. If you pretend to be confident, it won’t be long until you begin to feel confident as well. For the first time since the wedding fiasco began, he actually looked at Ty. He was taller now, Kit was surprised to see, though he supposed he shouldn’t have. Three years did a lot to change someone, he supposed, but those eyes were the same. A beautiful yet deadly storm churning above a sea. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Kit leaned against the table once more, this time a bit more suave and cool, and less panicky than the first.

“Why are you avoiding me?” It was a simple question, clear as day. Kit choked up a bit. “And why did you leave?”

All of a sudden, he was fifteen again, doing anything he could for Ty, the beautiful shadowhunter that had held a knife to his throat. The nephilim he would have done anything for. Years of suppressing his emotions didn’t prepare Kit for this moment, he doubted anything could have. Ty looked calm enough, but his hands were frantically twisting and unknotting a ball of pipe cleaners. He was nervous, Kit knew it, and so Kit blurted it out. He never could have told Ty a lie, even if he wanted to. Even after three years.

“Because I was hurt, and I was running away from what had happened,” Kit took a deep breath, as Ty nodded, understanding it. Kit, suspecting he was going to turn away, proceeded to continue talking, hoping to get a laugh, a smile, anything out of Ty. “Tessa thinks it was the Herondale dramatics though.”

Kit didn’t add the second part of what she said, “Running away from the person you love ‘for their own good’ is alarmingly common among Herondales,” but Ty let out a laugh, bright and brilliant, so it was a win in Kit’s book.

It was an amazing laugh, low and lovely, beautiful to hear.

“Tessa knows Herondales well.”

“She does.”

The silence stretched on for a moment, though it was a comfortable one. A silence in which both parties simply enjoyed the presence of the other.

The soft piano finally registered in Kit’s mind. A crazy idea formed in his head, one his fifteen year old self would banish to the darkest corners of his brain.

“May I have this dance?”

Turned out he wasn’t the only one to have that idea, Kit thought as he accepted Ty’s hand. An impish grin spread across Kit’s face.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~*^*~

Soft music began playing from the piano in the corner, Jace Herondale shooting a wink at Helen as she rolled her eyes at his antics. A smile rested upon her face, as Helen looked at her brother and Emma, both beaming joy, foreheads together as they swayed to the music. It was so genuine, and beautiful, she couldn’t stop grinning even if she wanted to. She’d already missed so much of her family’s life, exiled on Wrangel Island, that she was glad to be here, sharing this moment with them.

And how lovely it was, gold decorations pinned to the walls, tables lined with dishes and drinks. Kieran, Mark, and Cristina were on the sides, cooing at their third child, Emelia, an adorable baby girl born only a few months ago. Helen spotted Ty dancing with Kit by the drink table, both blissfully unaware of the children bouncing about close to them. Dru was at the center of the ballroom with Jaime Rosales, gown flaring as she was spun.

Aline leaned into her, resting her head upon Helen’s shoulder. She was stunning, in a wine red gown with glittering gold accents, dark hair brushing against her back. Helen couldn’t stop but think about how lucky she was, to have someone so beautiful, so wonderful.

“Young love, it’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Her wife was most certainly correct, and Helen agreed wholeheartedly.

“It really is.”

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jacksgreysays · 4 years ago

Note

DOS, Shikano Nara & Nara Twins, time travel

it could have gone like this:

Shikano comes home after a somehow simultaneously mind-numbing yet also frustrating day of making sure Hiruzen and Danzo don't drive Konoha into war, bankruptcy, or other disaster only to find that his oldest son has somehow multiplied.

He sighs. He looks to the heavens. He resists the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose, to drive away the stress headache that had already been building throughout the day.

He is, of course, proud that Shikaku is clever and innovative--such a thing will prove useful when he becomes clan head--but the boy is attracted to the most dangerous of ideas and more often than not Shikano has had to get Kasuga to fish him out of the black.

"... son, I know we're the clan of shadows, but I've already told you that the kage bunshin is beyond our purview." Shikano is Chief Tactician, Jounin Commander. He knows all the horror stories of shinobi trying jutsu beyond their means and burning from the inside out, guttering their Will of Fire far too soon.

It's not a perfect kage bunshin, missing an arm, but it looks alarming solid and alive.

One of them, the real one, turns to the other and smirks. The other, the clone, looks away and sighs.

"We don't look that similar," says the clone, bewilderingly enough.

Shikaku redirects his pleased smirk to Shikano. "This isn't a kage bunshin, Father," he says, even more bewilderingly.

A third teenager, thankfully not a clone of Shikano's oldest son, enters the room while consulting a sheaf of papers. She's not someone Shikano recognizes which is only alarming considering she's wearing the Nara clan mon and he should know every clan member on sight.

"I think I might have figured it out," the girl says, pulling a pencil out of thin air and making a mark on the papers in her hand, "But it'll probably require additional--oh, hello."

Shikano narrows his eyes at the stranger, before glancing over at his son and the non-clone by his side.

"Son, an explanation would be appreciated."

The three teenagers exchange silent looks. Unsubtle, silent looks.

"Uh, yeah," his son stammers, the other two raising matching eyebrows with skepticism. "Father this is Shikamaru and Shikako, uh, well, Nara."

Shikano gives in to the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

---

it should have gone like this:

Shikano comes home after being handed a headband and a report with so much blacked out that all that is visible is his youngest son's name. Redacted reports. For him? Konoha's Chief Tactician? The Jounin Commander?

He seethes. Who do Hiruzen and Danzo think he is? Some fragile civilian who doesn't know the weight of war grinding at his bones? A fool who doesn't know the scent of poor cover up of a truly heinous SNAFU?

Shikano as a father will mourn his son. Shikano as a clan head will mourn his heir. But the Shikano that has for decades served this village--this Hokage, whatever sick and twisted dynamic he has with his councilors--will never trust the administration that has betrayed him. He understands war. He understands loss. He understands, begrudgingly, acceptable losses. He will never understand the deliberate obfuscation of the truth, of intel that would prevent such a tragedy--such a waste--from ever happening again.

Shikano comes home, heart heavy, mind churning, dreading having to explain to his wife the loss of their second son, having to explain to his clan the loss of their heir.

Shikano comes home and before he can reach for the door to his own house, it opens. The girl who opens the door is pretty, but not beautiful. Unremarkable and almost unrecognizable, except for how she cost him one heir and to see her now, on this day, after he has lost another in a far more permanent way cannot be borne.

"What are you doing here?" Shikano snarls and the small smile that was on the girl's face drops immediately, exchanged for a confused, startled fear.

"I-I," the girl stutters while stepping back, away from him but further into the house.

"How dare you come here!"

Shikano, objectively, knows that he is not being fair. He is taking his anger and heartache out on this wide-eyed girl who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he is still a man, for all that he is known for his logic and unbiased reasoning, and he makes mistakes.

"I--"

"Leave her alone," a boy says, joining them in the entrance of the house, standing between them as if Shikano were the intruder here. For a moment, Shikano is swept away by deja vu. This is not Ikoma, no, but Shikaku--younger, impossibly so. It is a jarring thought, enough so to clear away the frenzied rage and realize that the girl also is far too young to be the one Shikaku left the clan for.

"Who are you?" Shikano asks, too late to be met with anything but distrust and apprehension from the teenagers in front of him. They exchange glances between each other and stonily stay silent.

"Father?" a familiar voice says and for a moment, Shikano wonders if perhaps this is a dream: imperfect reflections of his oldest son and the near civilian that stole him away, and now the voice of his fallen son.

But reality asserts himself. This is not a dream, miraculously enough. That is indeed Ikoma standing whole and mostly unharmed before him.

"My son," Shikano says, barely holding back his tears, swallowing down a relieved sob. He reaches out, clapping a hand on Ikoma's shoulder, feeling the warmth and the strength, alive.

Ikoma indulges him--perhaps he has an idea of what news he received, never mind how obviously incorrect it may be--before stepping away, back towards the dining room, where Shikano's wife already sits. The two silent teenagers edge around him, as if afraid to get too close, before taking seats in front of partially eaten snacks and half empty cups of tea.

Ikoma takes a seat of his own and gestures for Shikano to do the same. He does so, almost stupefied, gravity doing most of the work.

"Father, this is Kako and Kamaru," he says, gesturing to the teenagers. They do not give Shikano another glance. "They were the ones who extracted me from my mission and brought me here unnoticed. My teammates were the ones who--" Ikoma stops as if he cannot bear to continue.

"There is something wrong in Konoha," the girl, Kako, says in an almost hushed tone. As she should, such a statement could be considered treason.

The boy, Kamaru, grudgingly says, "We need your help to get rid of it."

If Shikano's hunch for what the something--or, rather, who the someone--is, then he will be more than glad to help.

---

but it actually went like this:

Shikano wakes up in a very comfortable T&I cell.

He knows it is a T&I cell despite the cozy and casual trappings because he helped Seki Hijiri design it just last month. They'd been discussing the validity of intelligence gathered by harsh interrogation--or, worse, torture--and how such unreliability would lead tactics astray.

They hadn't done anything with those designs--supposedly there wasn't enough in the budget to make such renovations--but Shikano knows Seki will hold on to those for when the opportunity arises.

Or, rather, she had held on to those and the opportunity already arose.

Shikano sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Watch my students, Hiruzen says. They won't be any trouble, Hiruzen says. They're just learning fuinjutsu, Hiruzen says. They're only genin, Hiruzen says, what's the worse they can get up to?"

Either Hiruzen is foolishly optimistic or he has no idea what his students are capable of. Probably both.

Shikano sighs again.

"Are you alright?" a young voice says.

"Just contemplating some treason," Shikano responds, before reconsidering his words. Obviously he was joking, but sarcasm isn't exactly--

"I know that feeling," the voice assures. When Shikano removes his hand from his face he sees that the speaker is as young as he had thought. She's only a little older than Hiruzen's students, though her presence in the T&I cell means he can't underestimate her.

"Is that why you're the one speaking to me? My treasonous thoughts?" Shikano asks her.

"Not really, although I don't think your thoughts currently count as treasonous." The girl shrugs. "I certainly wouldn't mind if you wanted to talk about how awful the Sandaime and Danzo were, but I'm primarily here for this," she says and her shadow approaches his before stopping short, a familiar greeting from a fellow Nara.

Ah, yes, that makes more sense.

He nods and completes the connection, his shadow overlapping with hers and, in the way known only to Nara, he understands the weight of her soul.

"What is your name?" she asks, even though her compatriots must have already spoken to Hiruzen's students and the fact that they brought a fellow Nara to him means they already know.

"Shikano Nara, fifteenth head of the Nara clan," he answers. Then, "And you?"

Her shadow deepens with something a little sly, a little amused. "Shikako Nara."

The lack of appellation intrigues him, for all that he doesn't show it on his face. She senses it anyway.

"My brother is heir, but since we're twins Dad decided to name us both Shika," she explains.

They sit in silence for a moment, shadows still connected.

Identity no doubt confirmed, Shikano asks, "What happens now?"

"We'll reunite you with your team and find temporary housing until we can figure out how to reverse the, I'll be honest, frankly bizarre seal that sent you here and then you'll go home," Shikako informs him simply.

"That's it?" Shikano asks, skeptically.

"Well, no, but you already knew that." And because their shadows are still connected, he knows how sorry she feels about what comes next. "In order to preserve the timeline, we'll have to erase your memory of anything pertinent you learn."

"I'm the Jounin Commander," he protests, "I can better protect Konoha with the things I learn here!"

Shikako shakes her head, disconnects their shadows, and stands up. She doesn't meet his eyes. "You can't change fate," she says, before leaving the cell.

That's the last thing he remembers.

Shikano wakes up, Hiruzen's students unconscious on the ground around him. They are in the same training ground that they were in before, safe in the heart of Konoha, and yet Shikano knows things have changed.

He stares at the clouds.

Then, after returning the three troublemakers to Hiruzen, Shikano goes home.

A/N: I'm gonna be honest, dona, I had no idea who Shikano was: I was split between him being Shikaku's dad or the head during the Warring Clans Era. And I'm not really aware what his widely accepted fanon personality is like. I mean, all I got is that he may be bigoted against non-clan shinobi--at least, enough to disown his heir when he decides to be with the woman he loves... I did consult with the discord and Voldecourt gave me a pretty decent starting block so fingers crossed I did it justice...

For the Could/Should/Actually Fic Ask Box Event!

#jacksgreyson #donapoetrypassion #prompt response #writing #fanfiction #dreaming of sunshine #naruto #shikano nara #shikaku nara #shikamaru nara #shikako nara #ikoma nara #could should actually fic

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thewickling · 5 years ago

Text

Winding Moonrise - Bedtime Preparation

Wei Wuxian trails behind Lan Wangji. The pristine and reverent halls of the Lan residence form a stark contrast to the noisy and item riddled Jiang residence of his memory. The scrolls that line the walls and handcrafted ceramics that decorate the path combine with the silence to establish a tone like a museum. The kind of museum where breathing too loudly is considered blasphemy and asking if one can take a picture would be tantamount to sin.

Lan Wangji fits right in; Wei Wuxian feels as if he is about to be lectured for walking wrong. He chuckles to himself. So this is where Lan Zhan was raised.

He can just picture it: a tiny A-Zhan, who despite his young age looks every bit as uptight as he does now, sitting at a low table practicing his guqin. His clothes must have been spotless. Even then, he must have looked like polished jade only fresher and whiter.

He covers his mouth. Glancing around, he isn’t surprised not to find pictures on the walls, but he is disappointed he can’t confirm his hypothesis. He ponders if he had ever looked that sweet and innocent even as a child. Even now Lan Wangji looked of jade in his proper posture, his black hair is akin silk, and his skin is white as freshly fallen snow.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji questions if he has a right to offer Wei Wuxian his room. Isn’t it selfish? Is he not taking advantage of Wei Wuxian?

Yet he can’t ask that without prompting Wei Wuxian’s curiosity. He can’t phrase the question without revealing his motivation for asking. He frowns. He is indeed selfish. What wolf would not want their moon’s scent to spread through their den. He closes his eyes and can’t inhale deeply.

He does anyway.

The salt tickles his throat. The refreshing, nature air winds itself through Lan Wangji’s core. He wonders how it will mingle with his own scent. He pictures as he did a decade of mountains and lakes forming the scent-scape of their home.

By the time he gains enough control to open his eyes, they already stand outside his room. He decides, I will sleep elsewhere.

He gestures.

Wei Wuxian quirks his head. His eyes widen. Tapping his chin, he hums with understanding. “Right, we couldn’t catch up over dinner. Your uncle is so fussy. No discussion? Is this a library?”

Lan Wangji blinks.

“You first.” He gestures as if this was his home not Lan Wangji’s.

He freezes. His ears yearn for more of his moon’s voice. But he has no right to Wei Wuxian’s time when he can’t even spend it without imposing on Wei Wuxian’s kindness. It isn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault. He can’t know how Lan Wangji longs for his scent and touch and lips.

“You are mistaken,” he says, pushing past. “You may rest here tonight.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian glances around for a camera because he couldn’t have heard right. There’s no way a residence like this doesn’t have guest rooms, that his presence would force Lan Wangji out of a bed.

He twirls. Grabbing Lan Wangji’s wrist, he asks, “Where are you going?”

Lan Wangji locks in place. The heat that diffuses from Wei Wuxian’s fingertips through Lan Wangji’s wrist sends his mind reeling. His skin dreams of more. His hands itch to grab and hold. His fingers to drink in the firmness of collar down toward his—

“Ah, is Lan Zhan getting a pillow? Are we having a sleepover?” Wei Wuxian nods to himself. He’s a little old for that but it’s been so long since he’s had a chance to talk to old friends. Sharing a room means he won’t have to stumble to a guest room bleary-eyed later.

Lan Wangji stares at Wei Wuxian. He wonders, How did Wei Ying come to that conclusion? I can barely hold myself from scent-marking him and he wants to share a bed?

He smiles back.

This is the scene that Lan Xichen walks in on. The question he has dies on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t need the conflicted medley of his didi’s scent to tell him that Lan Wangji has absolutely not informed Wei Wuxian that they are mates. He understands the moment he sees Lan Wangji unable to move. Lan Wangji muscles locked in place as the intent to move them conflicts with his desire to remain near his soulmate.

He sighs.

“Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian chirps. “Hello. Are we standing in your way?”

Lan Wangji implores his xiong with his eyes. They widen with panic. He pleads for a way out.

“Wei-gongzi,” he says, recalling the words he just overheard. “No. I wanted to check that you had enough to share for the night. Lan Wangji told me how excited he was for the two of you to talk.”

A tiny part of him feels terrible about the betrayal that shines in Lan Wangji’s eyes. He rationalizes, Even if Wei-gongzi may reject him, if didi never tells him that they are fated, then he will never find happiness.

“He was just about to get them!” Wei Wuxian tugs Lan Wangji’s arm.

Gesturing, Lan Xichen offers, “I am heading this way. I’ll send some your way. You should catch up.”

“Great! Thanks!”

Wei Wuxian drags Lan Wangji, who can’t bring himself to properly be reluctant, into the room.

“Inside or outside?” Wei Wuxian asks, appraising the bed. It’s a little tight for two grown men but it isn’t like they will be packed like sardines. The bed isn’t a twin after all.

Staring at his bed and Wei Wuxian’s curious gaze, he swallows. Boyhood dreams of boxing Wei Wuxian in flit up his memory. Lan Wangji at last says, “You take the bed.”

“I can’t steal your bed.” He scratches his neck. “I’ll take the floor. I’m used to roughing it.”

“No.” What kind of mate would Lan Wangji be if he allowed that?

“No? Should I find a g—”

“Stay here.” His mouth moves before his brain. His instincts scream, Wei Ying is in our den. We have to keep him here.

Wei Wuxian steps back, giving Lan Wangji a once-over. Did he misunderstand? Lan Wangji has always been concise but did he misunderstand something. He repeats, “Inside or outside?”

Lan Wangji knows this is selfish but Wei Wuxian isn’t leaving him much choice. If he changes his word, that will create suspicion. He can endure a night though it will be a test of his will. He doubts he will sleep much. “Outside.”

“So! Anything interesting gossip?” Wei Wuxian flops down, making a mess of the neatly tucked sheets. The dark wash of his clothes contrast with the white of Lan Wangji’s sheets. He haphazardly spread limbs expose a few centimeters of belly.

Tearing his gaze away Wei Wuxian’s happy trail, he shakes his head. “The pack prohibits gossip.”

“The pack or Lan Qiren-laoshi,” he mutters but it makes sense. If you pry into other people’s business, they are bound to pry into yours. He asks, “Any interesting news? That doesn’t break your finicky rules does it?”

Lan Wangji thinks, turning over the last decade or so. His memory is filled with many events but he doubts most would interest Wei Wuxian. Events such as weddings, deaths, and births would have already reached Wei Wuxian’s ears.

Wei Wuxian smiles, leaning forward. Resting his weight on his knees, he says, “You don’t have to take it so seriously. Just say something.”

“You likely have more news than me.”

He stretches. His clothes crinkle. Flakes of brown and red drift off him. The color is a shock of color on the sheets.

A whiff of earth and copper scratch Lan Wangji’s nose. The scent is too old for him to place but that he suspects at all that it is blood makes his wolf pace. He instinctively steps forward.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He claps his hands together and bows. Suddenly it hits him, he rubs his nose. “Ah, Lan Zhan, can I borrow your clothes?”

Lan Wangji turns from stone to plasma. The words he hates claw his ears, followed by something his brain can’t quite process. He thinks, Wei Ying in my clothes, wrapped in my scent.

It isn’t as good as scent-marking him but it is the closest action Lan Wangji has any right to do. He blinks.

“Ah, if that’s weird I can just—” He wonders if Lan Wangji is myopic. The Lans have always been excessively neat but did he offend Lan Wangji by shedding cinnabar, blood, and paste onto his sheets.

“No. If you don’t mind it, I can lend them to you.” He walks over to his dresser. He removes two pairs of matching pajamas.

Wei Wuxian is somehow both surprised and underwhelmed. Of course Lan Wangji wears pajama sets instead of a random assortment of shorts, sweats, pants, and t-shirts. It fits Lan Wangji to a tee.

“We should shower.”

Together? Lan Wangji exclaims in his heart, but his face remains expressionless.

He glances over Lan Wangji. “What’s that look? Ah, are you a morning shower person?”

“But you just ran through the woods.” He wrinkles his nose. “Or does the transformation just magick away the dirt?”

Before he can begin to understand how Wei Wuxian reached that conclusion, a shallow knock at the door tells Lan Wangji how distracted he was. His ears should have noticed the footsteps long before the knock.

“Enter.”

“Father,” Lan Sizhui says, closing the door behind him. “Xi-bo sent me.”

He carries in two pillows. Crossing the room, he peers at Wei Wuxian. He questions, Why is bobo acting weird and father and granduncle?

A second later, he realizes there’s only one bed and there’s nothing to form a second bed with. Lan Sizhui would never describe Lan Wangji as distant but of all their pack he rarely sees Lan Wangji sharing skin contact with other pack members of his generation or older. If he hadn’t crawled into Lan Wangji’s bed as a child, he suspects he would be among those who consider his father cold. He notes this. Pieces of a puzzle line up in front of him and he’s short of full work.

He stops short of Lan Wangji who stares at his hands pointedly.

“Is something wrong?” He hands over the pillows.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. Nothing of Lan Sizhui’s scent or heart beat suggests ulterior motives. He wonders if xiong intentionally picked the only person in their pack who could not tell if he was hiding something. He pushes down his complaints and gives his thanks.

“Oh! A-Zhui can show me the bathroom.” Wei Wuxian hops up. Throwing his arm over Lan Sizhui’s neck, he gestures.

Lan Sizhui furrows his brow. “Is that father’s clothes?”

Waving them, Wei Wuxian jokes, “Hm… Did you want me to share a bed with your baba in the—”

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji scolds and tries to ignore the fantasy those words conjure up and how he itches to make them more than a reality.

Lan Sizhui flushes.

“My bad. My bad. Lead the way A-Zhui.” Wei Wuxian waves. “I’ll be back soon. So think up a good story.”

When both leave his sight, Lan Wangji finds a clear patch of wall. He flips onto his hands. Gravity forces all the blood that flowed south to return north. A part of him dreams of entering the shower after—

Keeping an ear out for Wei Wuxian, he recites the packs’ thousands of rules. He mustn’t impose himself on his moon. His mind still manages to wonder.

It conjures images of Wei Wuxian slick with water. Steam masks the parts of Lan Wangji never seen in detail. The happy trail he only glimpsed tempts him to picture what is lower.

He rocks. Shifting his weight to one arm, he increases the difficulty of his exercise. If shifting skins wouldn’t scare Wei Wuxian, he would pace his room. Even in wolf form, he knows that no part of him would dare leave this room when he knows his moon plans to return here.

He layers on the difficulty. He recalls the rules in a second tongue. He mustn’t allow his body another moment to consider how Wei Wuxian’s fresh scent will infuse his clothes or how Wei Wuxian will smell of the shampoo he uses. He lifts a foot from the wall.

#MDZS #Winding Moonrise #Wangxian #No Sads #I tried to write a happy college years flashback but my brain refused so you get some silliness of two idiots negotiating bed arrangments #Somehow I have accidentally managed to write continuously rather than jumping from sad to sad so yay?#I was also going to write LWJ mooning over WWX but that could very easily get weird and pining sad so I stopped in the middle of the silly #LSZ isn't dumb he's just a kid who can't compute that his dad is in love yet #okay I am far enough in my notes no one is probably reading #Since JZX is alive in this world that means we have a dippled dhampire MY out in the world who was never recognized #wick writes

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arrthurpendragon · 5 years ago

Text

~*~ ocfairygodmother’s Harry Potter OC Masterlist ~*~

To make my account a safer place for the communities that have been marginalized by the vitriolic words and actions of JK Rowling, I will be moving my HP stories to my FFN cpjjgj account. I do not support JK Rowling and her disgusting words and actions. What she did was absolutely wrong - and that needs to be acknowledged. I do want to try to create a HP universe that is a safer place for others, but I also want to respect those who find harm done by JK Rowling irreparable. I know that nothing I do or say can change what happened, but I can do my small part to make things a bit safer going forward.

OC: Caitriona Scamander FACECLAIM: Sorcha Groundsell TITLE: A Window to the Past FANDOM: Harry Potter PAIRING: N/A SUMMARY: I was the back-up plan and had been trained as such since the day Voldemort came back in Little Hangleton. The war is lost. Harry Potter is dead, like actually dead, killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort has been crowned the victor. It is now the moment I have been trained for. I must go back to the past and make sure that Tom Riddle never becomes Lord Voldemort.

READ AT FFN

OC: Kimberly “Kimmie” Potter ( @kimmiepotter ) FACECLAIM: Lily Collins TITLE: Black Magic FANDOM: Harry Potter PAIRING: Sirius Black x OC SUMMARY: Sirius Black and Kimberly Potter have spent most of their Hogwarts’ careers hating each other, often rivaling Lily and James. But as times grow darker, Kimberly must decide where her loyalty truly lies. •MARAUDERS ERA FIC•

READ AT: FFN

Black Magic Tag: @randomestfandoms-ocs

OC: Breanna “Anna” Vance FACECLAIM: Vanessa Hudgens TITLE: Let Me Fall FANDOM: Harry Potter PAIRING: Fred Weasley x OC SUMMARY: N/A

Not yet available

OC: Leila Potter ( @leilapotter ) FACECLAIM: Raffey Cassidy TITLE: Lost Along the Way: The Beginning (Years 1-5) FANDOM: Harry Potter SUMMARY: Harry Potter wasn’t the only one displaced by the events on Halloween 1981 in Godric’s Hollow. His twin sister Leila was forced to reside with the Dursleys as well. Often in Harry’s shadow, Leila tries to mark her own path along her magical journey through her years at Hogwarts.

READ AT: FFN + AO3

Lost Along the Way: The Beginning Tag:

OC: Leila Potter FACECLAIM: Kaya Scodelario TITLE: Lost Along the Way (Year 6+ story) FANDOM: Harry Potter PAIRING: Draco Malfoy x OC SUMMARY: Harry wasn’t the only Potter displaced by the events in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween 1981. Leila, Harry’s twin, was also there that night. Now, headed into her sixth year, Leila finds that everything changes when she falls into the arms of Hogwarts resident Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Fate steps in and throws her completely off course, leaving her lost along the way.

READ AT: FFN

READ UNEDITED FIRST DRAFT AT: FFN

Lost Along the Way Tag:

OC: Vivien Weasley FACECLAIM: Emma Stone TITLE: Simple Joys of Maidenhood FANDOM: Harry Potter SUMMARY: Not all twins are like Fred and George. The younger set of Weasley twins Ronald & Vivien prove that. Vivien, a bit spoiled by her mother for being the first Weasley daughter. Ronald, resentful of the fact that his mother seems to prefer everyone but him, but especially Vivien. Poor Harry Potter never really stood a chance being in the same year as the younger Weasley twins. But he wouldn’t trade his friendship with them for the world.But the poor Weasley boys are in for a rude awakening when golden boy Cedric Diggory starts showing interest in Vivien.

NOT YET AVAILABLE

Simple Joys of Maidenhood Tag:

OC: Leila Potter FACECLAIM: Kaya Scodelario TITLE: Tempting Fate FANDOM: Harry Potter PAIRING: undetermined SUMMARY: AU After throwing herself in front of the Killing Curse, Leila Potter decides to move on with her life rather than return to the hardships of the war. Only, she finds herself in a world where her parents are alive…and that isn’t the only thing that has changed. Fate has somehow led her here, but the question is why?

READ AT: FFN

Tempting Fate Tag:

OC: Posie Evans FACECLAIM: Jenny Boyd TITLE: Under a Paper Moon FANDOM: Harry Potter - Marauders Era PAIRING: Remus Lupin x OC SUMMARY: Posie Evans was in her final year of Hogwarts when her sister Lily and husband James Potter were murdered by Lord Voldemort. She is forced to pick up the pieces and move forward, but she can't help looking to the past for answers.

READ AT: FFN

Under a Paper Moon Tag:

#janconstruction #harry potter #oc fanfiction #occommunity #oc: leila potter #oc: kimberly potter #oc: vivien weasley

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itsuki-minamy · 4 years ago

Text

“SWORD WITHOUT A SWORD”

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

It was due to the little conversation with his subordinates that Shiotsu thought that it would not be suitable for him on his birthday.

It is the birthday of Minato's twin children, Hayato and Akito.

++++++++++

Minato's children, who will be in high school this spring, said, "I want a sword for my birthday."

"Sword?"

"Yes, "because we are already adults", we want a real sword like the one you are holding."

"Is it a skill control saber?"

Shiotsu's hand touched the handle of his waist.

"This is the equipment loaned to the members of "Scepter 4" under the authority of "Blue King". Just because you have the aptitude, you can't do it alone. Even more, for children…”

Minato nodded with a soft smile.

“Instead of being a hero, he just wanted to imitate an adult. It is not an appropriate treatment.”

"Oh, I see."

Shiotsu's shoulders lost their strength

"Then, as I recall, I can give him a small sword. Boys love those things.”

Minato shook his head slowly.

"Akito said the same thing, but I stopped him. I think those things are still early for our children.”

Minato's wife, Aki Minato, who is also the mother of the twins, is a woman who is part of the "Scepter 4" task force despite being a woman, and is what people in the field say she is "the great woman of Kintama". She often disagrees with her cautious husband.

"I see. If that happens, then it is a home schooling policy.”

Shiotsu bowed.

"Sorry. I told you."

"No... "Holding a knife gives you the responsibility and awareness of an adult". I think there is a reason for such an opinion. Akio also said, "Let's go buy a big one." However, I..."

With a gentle but determined will, Minato said...

"I want them to be ready to harm others a little later."

"I see."

Shiotsu nodded his head. As a single person, he has no idea when a boy is a young minor, an adult, or a child. He is not eligible to make a decision on this matter.

In addition, he regularly trusts the moderate and common sense of the man in front of him.

"So... I'm going to give him something else, not a sword."

"A matching fountain pen."

Minato stopped working on the paperwork and turned the pen around.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I want you to do that.”

A few days after talking about it, he realized that Habari's birthday was near.

Daily, among "Scepter 4" members, including Shiotsu, there is little awareness of "birthday". Birthdays, birthday parties, birthday celebrations... He remembered after a long time in a conversation with Minato that there were such things in the world.

We look forward to our annual birthday and celebrate with our family members. Such acts belong to a peaceful daily life far from themselves. He behaves differently with sabers and always swaps lives. And a few times a month, he retires after one of his lives suffers. There will be no "happy birthday" on those days. Everyone thinks so out of the box.

But in reality, such "daily life" may be the most important.

The reason "Scepter 4" exists is to protect the everyday life of the general public. If you fight without knowing what to protect, the beast is no better. "Scepter 4", who controls Strains' crimes with his skill, is a law dog, and even a bloodhound is not a wild dog.

Everyday life as a general citizen, life as a person. We should not separate ourselves from such things.

In particular, he wants Habari, the Blue King, to be aware of this. Therefore, it is a "birthday" and a "gift". He wishes his actions could have some influence on what "Scepter 4" is like.

So what to give? It is not wrong to imitate Minato and give him a fountain pen, but he wonders if that is more suitable for Habari.

After hesitating for a few days, she decided on a paper knife.

"Sword" and "Judgment". Knife-shaped stationery. Although Shiotsu wants Habari to keep his society in harmony by exchanging letters and documents with other "kings" without depending on it as a base, he thought it was a tool that symbolized the ideal form of a "king".

Of course, the blade must have beauty and dignity as a sword, even if it is not sharp. In addition, I engrave the "Scepter 4" badge on the handle.

Also, as a result of ordering the materials and so on, the craftsman finished the job to the limit and received it directly on the birthday in the store. It was a bad setup that Shiotsu didn't have.

To make matters worse, there were several emergency dispatches on the crucial day, and not just Shiotsu himself but every member within range who might be called. The only one who was vacant was Zenjo Gouki, who was in the middle of the shift adjustment.

Kikuyodo is a cutlery store in Minokasabashi. They mainly sell kitchen knives and scissors, but he also handles art swords and half orders to artisans.

From Tsubakimon, it takes about 40 minutes by subway and on foot. He goes home, half a day of work.

"Well, don't take a detour. When you receive it, save it, and come directly here.”

Zenjo laughed at Shiotsu, who meticulously said that.

"Haha. It is like a child's messenger.”

"Younger than you."

Shiozu replied half angry.

"If I had another messenger, I wouldn't ask you."

"It is a configuration flaw."

"Yes…"

Zenjo laughed even more at Shiotsu, who was silent when he pointed at him.

"Don't worry like that. It is easy."

"Zenjo."

Shiotsu called out to him when he was walking away.

"This is for personal use. Change your clothes."

"I get it."

"I don't know, but don't take out a saber."

"Is it that bad?"

Zenjo looked back. Hit the saber handle with his hand,

"I will carry it in secret."

"Is there a good reason? Leave it here."

At this point, Shiotsu had made some mistakes. It was not the ultimate mistake, but it was causing an unexpected situation by creating a gap between internal and external routine actions.

An hour later, Zenjo met three members of the enemy clan, the "Purgatory", on the Minogasabashi shopping street.

++++++++++

Minogasabashi is far from the territory of "Purgatory" and is not considered a vigilante area. It was a coincidence that the members of "Purgatory" were there, and that one of them met with Zenjo.

Zenjo was attacked the moment he left the "Kikuyodo" store. One of the three was a strong enemy.

The man is now lying on his back after a fight where the shelves fell and the knives scattered.

A paper knife is stuck between the eyebrows to the base of the handle. Instant death.

"What did you do, Zenjo?"

Shiotsu screams when he arrives on the scene.

"I was attacked, so I decided to defend myself."

Zenjo replied. There are some burn marks on his body, but it is a minor injury.

"We both fought bare-handed, but this one was strong."

Zenjo pointed to the fallen man.

"If I didn't kill him, I was exhausted by this man's flame."

"Ah..."

"Calm down, Shiotsu."

A long-haired man emerged from behind Shiotsu, who was cluttering up his words. The "Blue King", Habari Jin.

Habari kneels beside the body and examines his head.

Sakeku Ryusei. You are an executive in "Purgatory". What do you have on your forehead?”

Zenjo answered Habari's question.

“It is an article commissioned by Shiotsu. It was an emergency, so I used it arbitrarily.”

He uses the fingers of both hands to indicate the length of the blade,

"This is a thin knife. There is no blade.”

"Paper knife? The handle has a small "Scepter 4" emblem engraved on it.”

"That's..."

The moment Shiotsu bets on explaining the situation,

"Oh, today is my birthday."

Habari said.

"But why a paper knife? The twins' birthdays are drawing near. They are high school students and want to stretch, but Minato does not accept it. When I heard it I said, why don't you give him a knife without a blade? It appears to be Shiotsu.”

Habari looked at Shiotsu and smiled coldly.

"The pen is stronger than the sword." I didn't think it was wrong.”

"Everything is my fault."

Shiotsu said.

"It is a boring idea that jeopardizes good articles and creates the cause of a collision with "Purgatory". If they demand a price, give me.”

"No, it's funny, Shiotsu."

Zenjo said.

"I killed this boy. If you gave it to him, it would be my neck.”

"By the way, you're out of proportion to the sake phrase."

"Then instead of changing, cut out a few more people and combine the ends of the book."

"Hahaha."

"That's enough!"

Shiotsu yelled at Habari and Zenjo, who were laughing at each other with unscrupulous jokes.

"I was told that this situation could trigger a large-scale conflict between clans... No, it could trigger the escape of "Red King" Genji Kagutsu.”

"Do you believe that?"

Habari said to control the sword curtain to Shiotsu.

"Purgatory" is the city of the relic, but for the city of the relic, what meaning does this man have?"

"He's an executive! Is it possible for an antisocial group to avoid retaliation if they killed one of its members?”

"No, Kagutsu Genji is not a man who works with both types. Nor is he a man who faces the demands of his subordinates. He is a lonely and uninhabited "King". To be honest, I can't read their behavior."

"That's interesting."

Habari hit Shiotsu's shoulder and asked him to take over.

"Don't worry so much, Shiotsu. Your gift was a last-minute rescue from Zenjo's life, and it also came with the neck of the enemy executive and interesting confirmation.”

Habari put a cross in place and applied a fist to the guy.

"It's a great birthday celebration."

Rather than answer the light talk, Shiotsu instructed his subordinates and began to compile the scene. Things are already beyond individual responsibility.

With a fearless smile and looking at the gap, Habari's brain begins to spin at full speed in an attempt to understand and respond to the situation.

The bomb called Kagutsu Genji may or may not explode right now, with tens of thousands of lives.

If the balance of fate begins to tip toward the worst, the one who can stop it is the power of the "Blue King."

It is impossible that the sword that holds the hand has no blade.

"I will return to base. If there is no profit.”

Shiotsu told Zenjo, that he was trying to start running.

"Use transport vehicles. Hurry up."

#k #k project #k stories #k fan clan #habari jin #shiotsu gen #zenjo goki #SCEPTER 4

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bi-outta-cordonia · 5 years ago

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Sky and Moon, Part II

This thing has been kicking my butt for weeks now but it’s done and I’m done with it! Part 2, where the thing happens and maybe these idiots will actually start trying to make something of this. Maybe!! This is part of a running thing at this point and Tyril is officially the character I’ve written the most for at this point.

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (Ashala Venralei). sfw, mostly T rating for some mentions of mature situations. Tags include: Tyril is kind of a coward but listen he’s trying, some big make outs I’ve been a lil too eager to finally get to, uh also some fights, mostly practice, but Tyril has been just a bit irritating for my poor girl to deal with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gallius, the Unmoving. She swallowed her sisters and became the immovable, bare-naked creature that looms over all Morella. Her cracked surface and scattered pieces were the final result of her violent consumption, so the legend says. While her sisters accepted their fate, their bodies writhed and screamed when it came time to fulfill that destiny.

Confronting the inevitable remains difficult even for the gods it seems.

The moon hangs high in the sky, bathing the earth in pale light that faintly illuminates all the move about the realm. The first thing he notices is that Imtura remains missing from camp. Her words to him may change things depending if his stubbornness continues to hold him hostage. Nia sits absently scratching a sleeping Threep, an occasional smile tugging at her lips when he purrs and rubs at his face with a paw. Tyril remains in the shadows for now and watches carefully as Mal slowly trudges through the camp.

“She was trying to kill me,” he sighs, exasperated. He drops onto the log he was sitting on hours ago and ignores Nia’s stifled laughter.

“I’m sure you would’ve been dead by now if she desired such a thing!” she explains.

“You think you know her sooo well until she’s got you pinned between a rock and a hard place while she’s,” he frantically waves a hand, “throwing fireballs about! I want to be happy that she’s getting better at battle magic but then she singes my arse and I have to remind myself she’s trying to kill people when she does that.”

Tyril’s head bows—Ashala came to him on a night he was keeping watch asking about elven battle magic. She’s still searching for answers to questions she isn’t ready to know.

Even with the markings on her and the extensive teachings her parents bestow upon her, she is not fully knowledgable of elven practices. He gave in then, the culmination of their late nights together leading him down a path of curiosity he’s apparently decided to indulge.

Mal sighs and props himself up on his arms. “That Ashala is something else.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Nia says, gently setting Threep on the ground. She rises and reaches out to warm her hands over the fire. “Would it be too forward to ask if anything…er…if you two might…?”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of them for a long while and Nia looks up. Mal’s entire game is deception and sleight of hands—if there ever was a moment he let his true feelings slip through, he’s done well to conceal them. Tyril waits, his gaze briefly flicking towards the direction beyond the trees where Ashala still remains.

“It’s been tense around here,” Mal says instead. A part of Tyril seizes up but he remembers himself quickly. Mal’s eyes focus straight ahead and his brow furrows. “Tyril and Imtura still out there?”

Nia shrugs. “I saw Imtura a little earlier but Tyril hasn’t come back yet.”

“Figures…” Mal mutters, lying back down.

He tries to ignore the venom dripping off the tip of his tongue. The resentment Tyril harbors isn’t for Mal—it should be for his own indecisiveness and for the coward that still crumples at the first sign of something gone wrong rather than facing his shortcomings.

“Hey, Nia—” She lifts her head and looks at Mal again. “You ever feel like you know something’s about to go wrong but you keep on wishing something else would happen? Like there’s a storm brewing—and it’s definitely coming—but some tiny part of you still hopes it’ll change course?”

Nia doesn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to stoke the dimming fire with carefully constructed orbs of light. Her magic bursts over the flames, reigniting the embers licking at the empty air all around.

“Sometimes,” she finally responds. “The way I’ve come to think of this world—all the bad things that happen in it—there are just some things out of our control and some things that just happen no matter how hard we try to change that course.”

Mal lets out a bark of laughter. “Of all the people! I thought you were going to rave about putting faith in the Light!”

Nia sighs. “I do believe in the strength and kindness that can come from trusting in the Light. I choose to believe that there is good that can come from what I’ve learned and that I can use that knowledge to help others. But all too often, people forget that the Light does not grant us omniscience and it cannot change fate on request.”

Tyril recedes further into the shadows, eyes briefly shutting and boy shuddering as he takes a breath. He knows the game of give and take, push and pull—Undermount shows him that the Light is a boon where faith is waning but it is not a being that grants wishes so easily. It gives knowledge and takes parts of the soul in exchange. Nature must maintain its balance.

“Is it wrong that I want something bad to happen?” Mal asks. “Not necessarily to a person, but just—say for a situation instead? As in I hope something doesn’t turn out a certain way so I don’t have to wonder if I’ve been wasting my time…”

Tyril shakes his head and beats down the bitterness that rises up in him. His ears twitch when Nia responds.

“I think its natural to wish for things to turn out in your favor. No one wants to lose anything—we all want what we truly desire in life. But even still, we can fail. Despite that, I choose to move forward and do what I can. I would rather try and then fail than rest on my laurels waiting for an outcome I can’t predict.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Each white mark is strategically placed, forming a trove of patterns that look all too familiar. His father once told him of a story about a house that submerged itself in the power that came from knowledge as opposed to the power that came from playing the grand political game. It was a house that dealt only in rediscovery. They often searched for old philosophies, literature, techniques, and magics—the only thing that mattered to them was reclaiming all the lost remnants of the Old Kingdom that were left in the wake of the Shadow Court’s destruction.

Ashala’s brands are similar to the ones his father described back then.

Lumeniese and Sabien: the tragedy of the twin trees,

Myyori, the Wandering Maiden,

Thyrithet and the White Bull—

She conceals the rest behind long black robes and the best leatherwork she can afford. His face heats and his eyes dart away thinking of all the times he laid up on nights wondering what the full work looks like.

Ashala’s hands extend out and away from her body, palms turned upward and brilliant balls of light pulsating in each hand. Energy pours from the marks, stirs deep inside him as her subconscious draws from the power all around her. It gives and she takes. Dew droplets from the tiniest blade of grass, a hidden insect stirring heat as its tiny legs frantically move—circling and funneling through that conduit that is her body into the flat of her palms. Nature provides and demands in the same breath, it cycles but she is smart enough to ask for the minimal. There is no need to be greedy with the Light.

He steps through the clearing and she ignores him.

Tyril’s fingers part and stretch slowly—the bitter taste of electricity from the skies tingles on his tongue and the crackle of static ripples up the length of his arm, raising locks of his hair on end. Sparks tingle through heated skin and his lips tremble. Small bolts of lightning pop and crack the air, some shooting out of his palm into the very ground around Ashala’s feet.

Her head perks up but she keeps her back to him. Ashala’s fingers twitch and her magic swallows the bolts of power he scatters at her feet. Piece by piece, she consumes everything. They’ve done this song and dance a million times—a process of giving and giving until the reserve deep inside him quivers just a bit. When she consumes enough, he drops his hand and shakes his head so his hair falls back into place.

Stray wind rustles the trees surrounding the clearing. He grips the hilt of one of his blades.

Fire blazes towards him and he leaps, crossing the distance in three strides before his blade collides with a transparent barrier. He grits his teeth and she barely tilts her head. Planting his foot, he pushes off the invisible construct and throws a hand up as bolts of ice fly past him. Fire arcs through the black night and cracks at his feet like a whip. The orange trail breaks from her palm and speeds towards him, its form shifting as blackened eyes and fangs descend from a burning maw.

Tyril cuts through the creature and pivots easily, blocking Ashala’s knife stabbing straight at his heart. Her golden eyes finally meet his, controlled rage swirling within the depths, and he throws his weight behind his blade. His mouth opens and she cracks him across the face with a wave of raw telepathic magic. He wipes the blood from his lip and slams her in the stomach with a blast of his own.

She flies back but tumbles onto her feet, skidding across the wet ground, and slaps the ground with her hand, raising a wall of dirt and grass from the bowels of the earth. Tyril braces, harnessing the subtle wind blowing through the clearing and halting it in place. He takes up a defensive stance with his blade and spins, cutting the first pillar of rock she throws at him right down the middle. Blow by blow, her hands mold and shape the earth, shooting piece by piece of stone at him. One by one, he switches, turns, and spins as the wind shapes his blade and in turn cuts down every block of earth coming towards him.

There’s a small shout that comes from her end and the wall comes careening towards him. A flick of his wrist and he quickly sucks the dew from the grass and traps the wall of dirt behind a cage of pure water. Tyril yanks the wall to the side where it collapses uselessly in a heap of mud.

He barely manages to catch her wrist still bearing the knife and arcing straight for his heart. The blade grazes his armor but her free hand lifts and he’s forced to drop his sword to grab the wrist holding a ball of fire in her palm. They stare deep into each other’s eyes—the controlled anger is no longer controlled.

Hurt flits through her gaze and he wants to shrivel up. Yearning follows, but the tears well up in the corners of her eyes and he knows what this is about. He squeezes her wrist painfully tight, pressing his thumb and middle finger on her pressure points, forcing the blade out of her hand. His body pivots and they both go tumbling to the ground. One knee pins her body and he slams her wrists to the ground, funneling enough of his magic to drown out the power that courses through her.

Her head snaps back and a bitter laugh bubbles in her throat.

“Submit!” he snarls. “Ger avet tina’lashen!”

“Speak plainly, fool!” she spits back, body thrashing under his weight. “I won’t give in to something I don’t understand!”

It cuts.

She can’t know the way her words slip through the chasm of his ears and buries deep in his head—he hasn’t exactly made this easy for either of them. Tyril squeezes her wrists and she finally looks at him, anger and confusion mixing in an uncomfortable union within her eyes. A tremble rises in him and he stares at her, dark hair falling all around her in a dark curtain.

Ashala holds his gaze for only another brief moment before she turns away. “Get off me.”

Tyril rises slowly and does nothing when she climbs back to her feet. He watches her back for a time as she tears through the belongings wrapped on the ground. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Fixing things—he’s supposed to be fixing things. But every action rips open a new wound. He takes and she does nothing but give. How is he meant to fix this? How does he even start?

“What else would I expect?” His head snaps up in her direction. “I don’t know what you want. I try to see you and you won’t show me anything. I’m trying, Tyril, I am trying!” When she snaps towards him, his heart further shatters. Tears streak down her face but her furious expression doesn’t change. His fingers twitch and she angrily rubs her cheeks. “I just want you to talk to me!”

“Ashala—”

“I’m so tired, Tyril.”

He rises to his feet, both hands raised in the air. Silence hangs over the clearing, not a sound between them even as her tears fall and his heart slams violently against his ribcage. On her own, she seems so small.

Sex for the sake of it, romance built on political mobility, and a genuine love he ran away from because he couldn’t stomach the idea of being responsible for someone else’s feelings for him—everything about this couldn’t be further from the types of love he’s come to know.

Tyril takes a step forward and swallows a shaky breath—she doesn’t move.

“Throw it,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Throw…it?”

He gestures at the item in her hand—a bottle of salve wrapped in a cloth. Tyril takes another step forward and points to his head. “Throw it.”

She looks at him as if he’s grown three heads. For all the awkwardness he’s generating, he might as well have. Her gaze flits to the bottle and back to him.

“I will do no such thing,” she says.

“Humor me—”

“No.”

His lips press together. “I just—”

“Throwing a bottle at you is not going to temper the frustration inside me.” She stuffs the bottle back into her pack and rounds on him, crossing her arms. “I do not exercise violence against the ones I love when I am angry at them.”

His hands flail.

“You just—” He looks around at the damage they’ve done—scorch marks streaking across the ground, a giant pile of mud and grass, and magic still teeming in the air. “You just tried to stab me!”

“Because I hate you.” He tries to ignore the way his heart shatters at the words finally tumbling from her lips. Ashala averts her gaze for a moment. Her hands gently rub at her arms. “I hate the way you look at me. I hate that your mouth opens but nothing real comes out anymore. I hate…a lot about you right now.” His head bows. “And you’ve done nothing to reverse these feelings,” she continues. “I never thought I’d yearn for the version of you I met in the beginning, always bemoaning humes and the simplistic education of elven culture they provided me. At least you—”

“I don’t!” He snaps, flinching as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…That wasn’t right of me to criticize—not then and certainly not now. What you’ve managed to learn—what your parents taught you—was impressive on its own. I never should have said those things.” She stares at him for a moment, eyes boring deep into him as he slowly approaches. He stands directly in front of her now but ensures there is an appropriate chasm of space between them. A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I like to think I’ve changed. Or rather, that I’m trying to.”

“I…suppose you have. Somewhat.”

“Not in the ways that matter, unfortunately,” he says, laughing just a bit. His hands go limp at his sides because he knows he can’t trust himself. He can remember the last time she let him touch her unprompted. His hands flex recalling the memory of soft wrists and overworked hands. “The truth is stranger than you think. Or maybe it isn’t—I’m not entirely sure. I’m not usually this unprepared.”

“I can see that,” she says. Her silence is profound and he wonders for a moment if pressing any further is even worth the damage he’s already done.

“I would’ve been married by now.” He waits for her expression to change but it doesn’t. She knows enough about matters of nobility to know the idea isn’t unusual, but he hasn’t exactly been forthright either. “My wife would’ve been a good marriage match but I never would’ve slept with her. Ours was a bond built on friendship and our union would’ve been purely political.”

Her eyes search his. “And she was good to you? She cared for you as you did for her?”

“This is…” His voice wavers at first. “I want to say ‘yes,’ because she did in the beginning. She changed—her demeanor shed and her words became more cruel as time went on. It’s…” Tyril shakes his head and pushes on. “This…This isn’t what I…I was trying to...”

She gives him the room to let the silence fester for a moment, neither one of them quite sure how to proceed from here. It’s a story for another time but there is a fundamental purpose. He swallows and stares at her.

“I’m afraid of you,” he starts. “People tried to kill me in Undermount—outside of it too, but I was never afraid of what came next. I was damn near a child when my parents decided my place as heir and I shouldered that burden without question.” He thinks of the bright eyed boy he once was—the arrogant prince and the studious pupil. A life a luxury and all he ever wanted was always at his fingertips, yet none of that could prepare him for this moment. “The first person who told me he loved me—I ran away from him. His family discovered our relationship and encouraged him to use me for their gain—he told them he would be disowned first and confessed to me later that week.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “Why?”

“Because I was a fool,” he answers and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Love is so perfectly defined in our culture yet it isn’t until now that I’ve realized just how terrifying the notion truly is.” Tyril pauses for a long moment. “I’ve run from so much—from Lusehene, from my shame… I’m tired too, Ashala. I’m so incredibly tired.”

She touches his shoulder and the act almost steals the breath from him in an instant, the very thing he’s wanted since he saw her hours ago—a gentle and warm hand, heat pulsing through her palm. She pulls away too quickly but her mark already lingers. He can’t bear it anymore.

“You are running from me?” she asks. She pities him and he hates it. He hates that she can understand his meanings so quickly when he’s not trying and he hates that he has to show her all the mangled emotions inside of him when he finally wants to let her understand. “Was that all it was? Was I so blinded by my anger that I refused to see it? Perhaps we are both cowards, Tyril. Maybe we both aren’t so good at anything.”

“No, don’t. It was me that ran away,” he whispers.

“Yet it’s always you that comes back,” she counters. Ashala shakes her head. “You claim you are afraid but you want to try anyway? I’ve never known a more indecisive man.”

“Indecisive…” He repeats, lips quirking a bit.

His choices used to be so easy when everything was for house and glory. Casting another house into ruin was a feat he could pull off without a second thought. Playing on old feuds and manipulating others was an art he mastered as a child. Love was no less a political tool. Love built on powerful friendships, love built on romantic and sexual bonds, love of family, love of all kinds has always been ingrained within Undermount’s society, holding up its foundations and crumbling just as easily when the moment calls for it.

But it isn’t as simple as knowing how to use and shape it when necessary. He knew what his former lovers meant when they told him they loved him—safety, security, and escapism. Undermount is a society that demands much and relies on total obedience to the systems that keep it running. Playing the game is how one survives.

He could love them—he did love them. But he loved the system that provided him comfort much more.

He loved knowing his feelings were his own and his motivations didn’t need further interrogation. He loved knowing he was protected because he knew how to play the game correctly. He loved so many and they loved him too, but he loved knowing that he never had to worry about getting hurt because the game was the best lover he ever had—it would only betray him if he didn’t play it right.

“I’m afraid of you,” he says softly, eyes locking with Ashala’s. His body angles closer and she doesn’t move. He wishes she would move. Do something—run away from him. “I am afraid of what this is doing to me—what this will inevitably do to me.”

She blinks. “Speak plainly.”

Tyril stares deep into her eyes and he lifts his hands, gently and slowly. Fingertips graze the dark fabric clinging to her shoulders and her warmth weakly filters through the barrier. The first time he laid a hand upon her was her shoulders, strong and sure, the weight of the entire world resting on each as her journey pulls her along. She flinches very slightly but doesn’t break their gaze.

“These feelings in me are entirely new,” he starts. He shuffles closer, fills the entire space between them. “Trepidation, hesitation—I open my mouth to say something and my thoughts are overwhelmed by what my heart feels. I know the parts of me that have felt something like this before and my instinct is telling me that the cost outweighs the…the pain that vulnerability brings…” Ashala watches him quietly. His jaw works and his fingers curl, scraping the fabric clinging to her body. “I care about you. It’s strange even to say it out loud because it’s everything I swore I wouldn’t do out here. My mission is supposed to come before everything.”

“Why?” Her hands clasp his on her shoulders. “Why treat yourself this way? To what end?”

“It’s how I survived Undermount. Love is not foreign but it isn’t as freely given either.” Arrindale, Pythia, Lusehene—all he gave but each coming with insurmountable cost. What would he give in exchange for these bonds? What would they give in return? “Lovers, marriages, friendships—everything I ever felt and felt with someone outside of family was built on costs and benefits. What did a friendship earn me? What would I lose in exchange for a night of unattached sex? Thoughts, feelings—everything was a weight on my back. You called me indecisive but back then? Every choice I made was clear.”

Her quiet conceals a building storm, the surge of which will either break his heart for the last time or terrify him even further.

“Tyril…” She grips his wrists. “I don’t—”

“The first man I ever laid with seduced me for the sake of advancing his family’s station,” he interrupts. “Our relationship was built on a love that was fleeting at best but our intentions were clear. When I laid with a woman, our love was built on physical desire only. She needed an outlet and I used her as she used me—we understood the intent clearly.” His fingers spread and he squeezes her shoulders. “I have always been sure, always. I have taken risks and weighed the outcomes so many times in my head it even happens in my sleep. But now? Now I’m risking it all knowing that this fight—this war against the Shadow Court—could very well snatch it from me again!”

She grips him by the shoulders and pulls him close. Their foreheads touch and the breath rushes out of his lungs. Warmth abound everywhere and he missed this. He missed her touch, her skin, her smell, her power—and he’s so afraid of how quickly everything comes down all around him at her gentle urging.

“Tyril…” Ashala whispers, arms winding around his middle now. “Oh, you foolish, foolish man. Who told you to do this alone? Why would you think the burden is only yours to bear?”

“Because I am a prideful idiot,” he answers in a shaky breath. His hands cup her face and they part so he can look into her eyes—her haunting golden eyes that have kept him up at night and stolen every minute he’s spent in his dreams. “I care for you. I want you. I told myself I wouldn’t do this until my mission was completed but I care for you so much it hurts. I care for you so much it frightens me.”

“Of course you wait until now to say these things.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes and he catches them with his thumbs. “You are such a confusing man, you know? Irritated one minute and then thoughtful the next—you say things that make me wish you’d let me grow close and now you say I scare you?” She leans into him and smiles. “I see this man—beautiful and regal—an elf like I dreamed of once. A prince, even. Then you ran into me in the street and almost drew a blade on me. I hated you but then I saw you. You showed me and I showed you too. I stopped trying to show anyone anything about me for so long and then you…”

“I don’t know what happens from here,” he says, gently resting his forehead upon hers. “I don’t know if it’s...if I’ve squandered what we have but I wanted you to know. I needed you to know that my feelings—complicated as they are—remain genuine.”

They are trembling in each other’s grasps, shaking and breathing in shuddering gasps as the weight of everything lays itself bare beneath the moonlit night. Ashala tucks her head to his chest and he lets her listen to his heart beating hard in his chest. Tyril wipes stray tears from her tattooed cheeks and carefully tucks her locs away so he can see her—really see her.

He feels her shift and pulls back. Their distance leaves him yearning but she does not go far.

“Then show me,” she says. “No more guessing. You show me this truth from now on and you claim it if this is your desire.”

“It is,” he answers quickly. He slides a hand down her neck and soothingly rubs his thumb along her jaw. “I want this—I want you. But I cannot promise it will be easy now that the truth is known.”

“Show me anyway.” She offers the softest smile he has ever seen, the trepidation in her eyes still prevalent but the relief in her is just as apparent. He shares a smile of his own and he can feel it in his heart too—the fear and the anxiousness. “If we knew all the answers, things would be so simple but the world does not work this way. We take risks. We try things anyway because it’s within our nature.”

The old him would’ve disagreed. The old him was a man ruled by logic and the art of tipping the scales in his favor. That man was a fool.

And in many ways, he still is.

“My hands are still shaking,” he says, looking down where one of her hands now intertwine with his. She squeezes.

“Mine are too.”

When their eyes meet, he is lost along a golden path that winds around junctures and roads that seem never-ending. There is confusion but some parts certainty, calm but flutters of nervousness, and he wonders what she can see in the depths of his eyes. He gently lifts a hand and caresses her cheeks with his thumb—

And then her jaw—

Until he reaches her lips.

Tyril swallows.

“Can I…I want to…” he whispers, leaning closer. He glances up and golden pools swirl with heat, curiosity, and desire. Her hands lie flat upon his armored chest.

“Say it…” Tyril pulls her in, lips just barely hovering over hers, and her eyes flutter as she inhales sharply. Her fingers curl and scrape along the metal plate. “Say it, please.”

Time slows and the world around them dissolves into darkness save for the pale moonlight shining down on them. A tempest builds within him. Something ancient rumbles in his heart and branches throughout his body. Static ripples from fingers, down to his body, legs, and ends in his toes. Energy gathers all around, bits and pieces adding to the power already stirring within.

“I want to kiss you…”

Her lips—beautiful, wondrous lips—part and he shivers.

“Come.”

Slowly at first. He wants to savor it—hold it close to him when he dreams at night and find himself yearning miserably when the morning takes him away. There is no telling which presses forward first but they meet in a clash of heat and crackling energy. A sweet taste rolls across the tip of his tongue and when he draws a short breath, a stream of flame trickles down his throat. He gasps again, parting and looking into her eyes.

Molten and golden depths...

Again and their lips connect while their hands scrabble for purchase, bodies molding into each other, and pure fire burning them from the inside out. His grip hardens as he lures her in with a hand on her neck. The other slips down and settles at the small of her back, trapping her to him, and a gentle sigh slips from him as her fingers rake through his hair and grip back.

Oh, so many sensations he will commit to memory. Billowing smoke floods his lungs as fire steadily funnels through every muscle in his body and brands her desire onto his very bones. Nails drag through his tresses and burrow into his scalp, pulling and soothing him in one as their lips part and their breathing grows more uneven. That ancient and terrifying power buried deep bubbles and cracks through the surface, sparks snapping beneath his fingertips and he swallows the moan she releases.

The raging storm swells within him and raises bumps along his flesh, draws small gasps from her throat, and further stokes the flame roaring within her. It happens to all with the affliction—magic draws from nature and the body is perfectly natural in all its splendor. Where his power sparks, hers consumes. They feed each other—feed from each other—hands searching, lips tasting, tongues tracing, and hearts swelling as they devour every bit of desire the other provides.

It ends as soon as it begins with both struggling to catch their breath. Tyril rests his forehead upon hers, eyes still closed and hands still squeezing her tight where they rest. She is sweeter than the sweetest wine he has ever tasted and he swears he will never get used to this heady feeling.

His eyes crack open and he watches her carefully. A trembling hand hovers close to her lips but she dare not touch them. Their magic lingers where their bodies touched, burning a sensual path along skin and hair. Her golden eyes meet his and his heart thrums anew.

A long time passes before either of them speak.

“This is dangerous,” she whispers hoarsely. Tyril slightly bows his head but his face remains passive. Ashala rests her hand on her chest and trails her fingers up her neck, grasping at his hand still gently clutching her. “Moon and stars—you might kill me well before this grows into something much deeper.”

He blinks at first, ears twitching as he repeats her words in his head, and then a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Then I apologize in advance,” he shifts his hand and gently brushes a thumb across her cheek, “because I truly don’t want to return to how things were before.”

“Gods forbid, I refuse to tolerate that again.” A guilty look flashes in her eyes and she presses when he says nothing in return. “But we understand each other now, yes? Is it safe to claim that there is something here that we both want?”

His heart flutters—we.

“Yes…Yes, I want you,” he affirms. He opens his mouth but then closes it. It is far too easy to move too quickly after this but he knows better. At least, he hopes he does. “I cannot promise that this is going to be easy moving forward. This is still very new to me but I won’t drag my feet as I did before. What we have,” he drops a hand and laces their fingers together, “I don’t want to lose this feeling any time soon. I want to continue nurturing it for as long as you’ll allow me the privilege.”

She rolls her eyes though a smile still spreads across her face.

“These words you string together…they’re lofty. But I do trust that you are earnest in this desire of yours,” she says. Ashala squeezes his hand and raises her head. “I’ve known others that had the gift speech, much like you do. Many of them had no qualms about using that gift to attain things I should not have given. Words are lovely but…there’s always more. More to show, more to give…”

His lips quirk though his heart still pounds in his chest. Undermount taught him many lessons critical to his survival outside the walls, but there are some things he is all too glad to shed. Concealing the truth for personal gain works only for so long, but even still there are thing he knows they both aren’t ready to reveal just yet.

And it’s alright.

Not knowing what happens next won’t terrify him as much now that things are more certain. He can proceed—they can proceed—and he will teach his hardened heart that there are other ways to feel aside from cautious.

They walk back in silence, nothing stirring save for the rustle of the leaves and their boots crunching twigs beneath their feet. Tyril looks down at Ashala and she looks back up at him, their shoulders brushing against one another as they quietly make their way back to camp.

#bolas #blades of light and shadow #tyril #tyril x mc #tyril starfury

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fablesrose · 4 years ago

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Of Kings and Shadows XXII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

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Usually, the team goes to Nick for missions and debriefs. This time, however, Nick came to the compound.

Thor and Bruce looked sympathetically at the four sporting bruises and holding ice packs to black eyes. Thor and Bruce didn't go into the compound and Loki was a bit more durable and healed faster than the others. One thing that everyone had in common that went on that mission was the shock.

The twins, Rhodey, Vision, Sam, and Bucky had all gotten the day off. It was kind of cruel irony, the ones who knew her, laughed with her, got to discover her previously unknown fate.

"And you're sure about this?" Nick sat at the front of the room trying to wrap his head around what they had told him.

The five all voiced their own "yes."

"You're positive?"

"Unless Y/n has a twin sister that looks exactly like her that you don't know about, then yeah, pretty positive." Tony gingerly reapplied his ice pack to the back of his skull where his head hits his helmet. "Friday, throw up the footage."

A screen opened up to show what was recorded from Tony's helmet. The feed was fast-forwarded to where Y/n walked into view amid the Hydra agents. Once her full face was shown the footage stopped and zoomed in close.

"Unless I'm mistaken, I believe Y/n's eyes are very much black."

"Right you are my favorite android." Tony waved his finger haphazardly at Vision across the table.

Nick sat down and swiveled his chair to face the screen, "It looks like we found our missing Queen."

"Are we sure it's even her?" Sam looked apologetic for even suggesting such a thing, but skeptical all the same, "Could she be some sort of evil twin or somethin'?" Everyone couldn't help but flick their eyes to Wanda and Pietro at the mention of twins.

"No, Sam, it's her," Nick was looking at the screen.

"How can you tell?"

"There are stretch marks on her neck. Those are extremely hard to mimic and are in an unusual place."

Everyone was a bit freaked out.

Tony was squinting at the screen, "How can you even see that?"

Nick didn't answer so Tony looked to Natasha for an answer since she knew everything, but she didn't even acknowledge him.

Pietro looked more puzzled than the others, "Why would she have stretch marks on her neck?"

"Hey, Loki," Clint had a barely noticeable smirk on his face, "why don't you explain."

"That is a long story that does not need to be explained at the moment."

Bruce started the video again and watched it play through for a couple of minutes, studying Y/n's face. "There isn't even a hint of recognition in her face," he turned to look at the others in the room, "what could they have done to her?"

Rhodey started counting on his fingers, "She's been missing for what? Six years?"

Vision finished for him, "And The Queen has surfaced a little under four years ago."

"She must have seen many horrors in those two years." Thor looked solemn, not wanting to look at the screen.

"Good to see you can do basic math, brother." Loki tried to sneer, but it turned more into a wince than anything.

Thor sent a half-hearted glare back at him.

"They must be doing something a lot harder and faster to cut down the time table that quickly from when I was in there." Bucky swallowed while he had his eyes locked on the table.

Steve had a hand on Bucky's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze to show that he was safe there. Bucky nodded back at him to show he appreciated it.

"Maybe she's weak." Pietro was snapping his gum rather loudly but soon started to shrink back into his seat when he felt the glares.

"Or she could have gone with them willingly." Everyone froze as they looked over at Wanda. At first, she didn't notice the stares, but her magic tapped into the overall vibe of the room and she became a little uneasy.

"I would watch what you say about Ms. Y/n, Wanda." Vision had a look of warning when he looked at her, but she could tell that he wasn't excluding himself from it. "She is well respected not only by the people in this room but many outside of it as well."

Wanda's eyes wandered to see what exactly Vision was talking about. She noticed that Bruce had hints of green peeking out of his shirt collar. Loki had wisps and sparks of green winding around his fingers. Everyone else had twitching fingers or were flexing their jaws, struggling to stay calm. Or in Natasha's case, she was deadly still. What really drew her attention was everyone's hair sticking up at the static electricity. The source of which was the glow from Thor's eyes and the lines of lightning running up and down the space in between his fingers.

She mumbled out an apology and tucked her head down, not speaking a word more.

Steve was the first to speak again as he turned to face Nick, "How do you want to proceed, Fury?"

Nick sighed and leaned forward, templing his hands on the table. "We continue on missions as usual, but I want to adjust one thing on the teams. I want Loki on all the missions from now on." Nick focused on Loki, "You can get a break once we catch her. I want you to focus on getting in her head, try to communicate with her, find a weakness so we can take her down, anything."

"I can do that Fury," Wanda carefully peeked at him, tilting her head towards him.

"I know Wanda, but I still want Loki to supervise even when you're there. He has a lot more practice than you." He turned his attention to everyone else in the room, "She's an asset, and I would prefer if she was undamaged."

'Any more than she already is.'

Wanda read the thought from someone's head, but as everyone stood to leave, the commotion caused her to lose the link with whose ever mind she was reading before she could identify exactly who it was.

Wanda didn't enjoy invading people's privacy by reading their minds... That was a lie. She knew she wasn't supposed to enjoy invading privacy, at least, that's what they keep telling her every time she lets it slip that she's doing it. Honestly, she didn't really see a reason not to, if they can't tell she's doing it, why bother to stop. (If only she could keep her mouth shut.)

She asked Loki once if he was reading everyone's minds since she knew he was more than capable of doing so. He told her, no, his reason being "Why would you do that when there other ways of obtaining information that are far more fun."

She didn't ask what those were.

Wanda only tried to read his mind once but it was heavily shielded. She couldn't get past them and the look he gave her and the gleam in his eye made her not want to know what was in his head.

The team rarely, if ever, talked about Y/n as a group. As stated before they would talk about her more in pairs on a particularly hard day.

Wanda didn't know much about her, but with this new revelation coming to light there was no way she was going to leave anything in the dark. The Avengers were growing soft and sentimental. Wanda didn't have any biases about this chick and if no one was going to tell her about her, well, Wanda was just going to have to play a little dirty.

She wandered through the compound, drifting just close enough to rooms where members of the team resided to be able to skim their thoughts and memories.

The more she drifted, the more frustrated she got. Wanda wasn't sure what she was expecting, some dirty little secret or maybe, hopefully, some sort of weakness. Instead, all she was getting was waves of sadness, confusion, and fond memories. There was no useful information in everything she skimmed through, just inconsequential things, like what she would have wanted her superpower to be, surprise surprise, she didn't get anywhere close, or that she had impressive karaoke skills.

Wanda's frustration caused her to not be so subtle in her investigating and she began to dive deeper into the minds of those around her. She finally made her way around to Bucky's room and instantly dove into his mind to see what the scoop was from him.

She regretted it quickly.

Bucky was trying to figure out what exactly they could have done to Y/n in the space of two years to have that much control over her. In order to do that he had to go over what exactly they did to him. Bucky lasted for nearly twenty years before breaking. He thought over all the types of torture and brainwashing they put him through, not without a flinch or two. What in the world could they have done to this agent that he hadn't even met, to make her not have a shred of recognition in the span of two years?

Pietro's comment did cross his mind a time or two, 'What if she's weak?' It didn't say for long, however, from what he's heard about her from Steve, Natasha, Clint, even Tony a few times, she was strong-willed. And to be a Shield agent? That job isn't for the weak of heart.

He tried to stop thinking about it, but his heart ached for another soul crushed, just like his. He only hoped he could maybe help her. If they ever found her again.

Wanda found it hard to tear herself away from such thoughts. She tried, but they just kept drawing her into the heartbreak, the pain. By the time she was able to detach herself from the web of horrors that was Bucky's thoughts, Wanda was emotionally exhausted.

She had finally found a consequence of reading someone's mind: sometimes you really don't want to know.

She had to retire to her own room and sort out all the stuff she had learned, but she had also decided that maybe she shouldn't be using her powers so liberally. Maybe learning about this Y/n wasn't worth it. Maybe she should just leave it alone.

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I have a confession to make. I had stopped being really proactive in my head for the past couple of months (I'm assuming a timeline here). Due to that, I could feel the dark walls around me becoming soft and pliable. They weren't pliable to me, but Noxy started to invade the little space I had. It was almost like I was being eaten. The part of my body's consciousness that was me was slowly disappearing. I didn't fight back either. What was the point?

I had never allowed myself to make up scenarios about meeting the Avengers again, about them saving me, helping me, beating me. It only made my helplessness feel worse. But now? Despite everything I tried, it was the only thing I could think about. Over and over again, different options, conversations, deaths came to mind about how this could end.

'What if I could talk to them?'

'What if I somehow gained control and could join them in the middle of battle?'

'What song could be playing to somehow give them a clue of how to beat Noxy?'

That was the one I chose to entertain the most. I tried to sort through my music library but with music as my natural defense system, the lyrics seemed to be slipping away from my grasp into the dark expanses of my mind. I could only hope that the melodies were also engraved on my heart so that they could never be taken from me.

The song that I chose that could maybe give them the best clue was Blinded by the Light by what's-his-face-that-starts-with-an-m.

I became obsessed with it. Its words were one of the songs that were slipping away, and I could only mumble a few of the lines, but by heaven did I sing them.

Over.

And over.

Again.

And again.

And then maybe once more.

Blinded by the light... revekjsmed up like a dochewekf. Ansldkjthor rumner in the night!

'Please find me. Take me down. Kill me, I don't care. I need out.'

The more I thought about it, the more I became a slave to the song, to myself, to the darkness keeping me imprisoned...

Maybe I wasn't as sane as I would like to believe.

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33ptulhhQPg

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goatbi · 4 years ago

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Backstory Bullshit

Hi. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is just random important things about Author and Host, thank you for your time. (Author is referred to as Alaric, Host as Quill!)

Also if you’re expecting coherency from me, don’t. This is just to get my thoughts down.

Also a trigger warning for rape mention and eating disorder mentions, as well as a minor gore thing. None of these go into detail, but I feel like it’s important to mention nonetheless.

-Basic Info for starters: 5′5″, trans man, autistic. Alaric is Pan, Quill is Demi Bi.

-Two older brothers, one older sister. Older Brothers are the Jim Twins (this information was something Quill blocked out for a good amount of time) the older sister is currently unknown and not something Quill (nor Alaric) is looking for.

-Parents? Nah. Why don’t we kill those, thanks Alaric, thank you for your time.

-Kind of disappeared. There is a reason that Alaric didn’t know that the Jims were his brothers, and it’s because Alaric sought to completely distance himself from everyone.

-Thought he was human. Was wrong

-No real first experience with realizing that he’s got powers. It was mostly a slow build up of Alaric writing random things in various places and having them end up becoming true before Alaric realize ‘oh shit. huh. I’ve got magic.’ and then just kind of went from there

-Murders sometimes, just for fun. Alaric doesn’t really get hands on all that often, the only people he did that for were parental units, and then focused on writing, cause he thought it was neat to see what he could do to them without ever laying a finger on them.

-That was true up until he was raped and then Alaric took a bat to the man’s skull and never looked back.

-Thus begins Alaric’s philosophy of “Trauma? What trauma? I’m not traumatized.”

-Alaric is very much traumatized.

-Becomes very hyper sexual as a result, but kind of hates himself for it.

-Also tends to kill the people he has sex with. Just. Just for fun. Y’know. Not because of a trauma response-

-Also begins to self destruct a bit, in many many ways.

-Doesn’t eat as much as he should, which is just it at first, and then eventually just. stops eating 90% of the time. Keeps himself alive through writings in a personal notebook he has, just for shit like this.

-Starts getting into dark magic, and then black magic, trying to find the source of his powers, so he can get more. Does not take any precautions.

-Power hungry, vaguely blood thirsty.

-Finally, the whole, ‘not taking precautions when doing black magic’ thing kind of backfires. Badly.

-Admittedly, Quill doesn’t know what happened in the few hours that are missing from his memory. There are a few things he does remember: Alaric’s afraid, panicked. The room is on fire, the entire cabin is on fire, the fire is in his head, and he has to get it out.

-Alaric tears his own eyes out with his bare hands. This is not a clean job, there are scratch marks all around Quill’s eye sockets because of this.

-The Person In Between, since this person is no longer quite Alaric, but not yet Quill, wanders off. Wanders back to the others, namely Dark and Dr. Iplier, is a dramatic motherfucker and grins at them, waves, and then passes out.

-Wakes up, still not quite Quill, not def not Alaric anymore. There’s something to take care of first.

-The library was Alaric’s domain, and it will be Quill’s. But first, certain remnants of Alaric are placed aside, in their own little room, away from everyone, hopefully to be forgotten about, and then the person between locks part of the memory away.

-Quill is tired, of course, and honestly hates himself. Not because he is Alaric, but because he was. Just because part of those memories were locked away doesn’t mean all of them were.

-Takes some time, Quill meets Malik, which is something that helps drag Quill out of his brain

-Quill relearns to use first person in order to properly say ‘I love you’ to Mal.

-Finally, starts settling into who he is now, which has turned from a violent angry scared, frankly broken man, into this. Still sorta broken, still scared, but more tired. Avoids violence if he can, but isn’t afraid to use it if he must.

-And then Quill finds the room.

-Now, the person between did this on purpose. Like a time bomb in the back of Quill’s head, waiting until he was calmer, had dealt with some of what he remembered (which was enough to know Author was violent and scared, but some of the reasons were not there) before opening the rest.

-To be completely honest? Quill broke a little bit. Forced people around him to pretend not seeing him for days was normal, kept himself tucked up in that extra little room and remembered

-Flipped his shit.

-It wasn’t ALL about the fact that there were three siblings he didn’t remember, but that was what he focused on

-This was around the time that people realized. Oh shit. Quill hasn’t been around in awhile.

-Mal flipped his shit as well, to a lesser extent

-Quill went off and attempted necromancy. Failed, because his siblings weren’t dead, and brought back someone else, because Alaric had a bad tendency of burying victims around the cabin (which yes, is basically a burnt out shell now)

-Quill ended up killing the guy for a second time, and had a panic attack until Dark came and took him home, since Quill couldn’t exactly communicate where the cabin was to Mal (who was not told for various reasons) and Dark knew where it was.

-Spent a few days in an exhausted stupor.

-Then decided to burn everything in that room (after going through it all). It was very cleansing. Quill has an attachment to fire in some ways, now that I think about it.

-After that, the Jim Twins were like ‘alright. How do we tell our brother he’s our brother when he thinks we’re dead’

-They managed it, however, and Quill has brothers now

-Mal proposed (after telling Quill an important part of his backstory) with a necklace with one of Mal’s feathers on it.

And that’s. generally, in order. the story. Here’s some random bullshit info that isn’t important to that but is for me

-Neither of them like shoes (sensory reasons). Alaric went barefoot everywhere, just cause, but Quill wears fun socks that he steals from Mal.

-Quill’s coat is one of the most important things to him in this world. Very good sensory thing.

-Alaric had a German Shepherd dog, which he didn’t... completely take care of, kind of let it be feral.

-Quill now has the menagerie. This started with just Echo and Brair, the two cats, the first of which is a Turkish Angora, and the latter of which is a grey Sphinx. Not exactly in order, it has expanded to include Fate, a German Shepherd, Nagini, an albino ball python, and Noodle, a brown ferret. There are plans for more, but that’s it for now.

#the host #the author #backstory things #I know I wrote this out somewhere but this is kind of important for me to have and I needed it easier to access #and quicker to read #also gave Author a name #so here we are

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