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im-a-wonderling · 3 years ago

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Seven Years of Bad Luck ~ George Weasley

Summary: The golden trio needs Y/N’s help, but George hates his wife being in danger

Warnings: none that I can think of? Let me know if there should be!

Word count: 6.3k

Y’all I’m so proud of the way this turned out, so I hope you like it!

“Absolutely not!” George Weasley leapt to his feet from his charcoal gray couch, glaring at Harry Potter with a fiery look in his eyes that rivaled the brilliant shade of his hair.

“Why not?” Harry argued, also getting to his feet. “This is life and death!”

“We wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t,” Ron cut in, and Hermione nodded.

George scowled, far from convinced. “Look, Harry, I get that this is important “chosen one” business, and I am happy to see the three of you are still alive, but you’re not dragging Y/N into your top-secret mission. She’s a person, not a tool.”

“I know that,” Harry replied defensively.

“And yet,” George said hotly, his hand gestures getting more and more animated, “you’re here in my living room at three o’clock in the morning to ask Y/N to use her powers when you know how that affects her!” He rubbed his forehead. “How did you guys even find this house? It’s been charmed to high heaven!”

Ron and Harry looked at Hermione, who shrugged. “You’re trying so hard to keep You-Know-Who out, it doesn’t seem to matter who else slips in.”

George rolled his eyes. Sometimes the young witch was too bright for her own good. “Well, if you found your way in, it means you can find your way out again.”

“But we have to talk to Y/N!” Harry protested.

George folded his arms stubbornly. “You’re not going to.”

“Surely there’s no harm in at least asking for her help,” Ron said, and George immediately rounded on him.

“You know as well as I do that she can never say no to anyone, even if it kills her.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Hermione replied in her know-it-all voice. “No one’s ever died while attempting catoptromancy.”

George glared at the bushy-haired witch, who shrank into his brother’s side, looking terrified. “Maybe they haven’t died, but they have lost their minds. When Y/N and I first moved here, I had to remove every mirror in this house before she’d even step foot inside.”

“Please?” Harry begged. “It’s very important.” From behind Harry, Ron nodded gravely.

George’s nostrils flared, giving the impression he was a wild bull about to charge. “Do you mind telling me exactly what is so important that you’re willing to force my wife into insanity?”

Harry glanced uneasily at his best friends, and George didn’t like their solemn expressions.

“We…erm…” Ron trailed off, his courage buckling under the wrath burning in his brother’s face. “We can’t tell you,” he muttered, his face flushing a bright red.

George’s eyes flashed like lightning, and the trio knew the storm was right on top of them, for his thunderous words followed immediately after. “Get out of my house!” he roared.

In the silence that followed his order, all four of them heard the same sound: feet on the stairs.

“George?”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had never seen George’s temper deflate so quickly as he strode to the staircase, just in time to meet Y/N at the bottom.

They all knew she’d just woken up, for she smothered a yawn, and there was a light, floral robe wrapped around her. “What’s going on?” Y/N asked, rubbing at her sleepy eyes.

George gently rested his hands on her shoulder, turning her around. “Nothing, honey, just go back upstairs, okay? I’ll be up there soon.”

But before Y/N had even climbed one stair, Harry piped up. “Y/N, we need your help.” Y/N immediately faced the trio, and George shot a glower so powerful in Harry’s direction, it nearly made him lose his nerve.

“Don’t listen to them,” George said, starting to push his wife up the stairs. “Just go back to bed, okay?”

George’s wife ducked around him, walking towards Harry. “You need my help with what?”

“Don’t you dare–” George started to say.

“We need your divination skills,” Ron explained, shooting his brother an apologetic look. Judging by George’s barely concealed rage, Ron wasn’t forgiven. There was no indication Y/N seemed scared by their request. Her eyes just darted between the three friends, waiting for elaboration.

Harry glanced at his friends before facing Y/N. “The mission that Dumbledore gave us…to complete it, there’s an object we have to find.” Behind Harry, Ron scratched his neck, clearly feeling awkward.

“What’s the object?” Y/N asked. “Why do you need it?”

“We can’t tell you why,” Harry replied. He expected George to blow up immediately, but George stayed silent, watching his wife. The whole room went quiet as Y/N seemed to digest Harry’s answer. Admittedly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know Y/N that well, for she’d been in a different house and a different year than them, but she didn’t seem scared. Perhaps George had only been exaggerating Y/N’s fear of her own capability.

“I told them to get lost,” George finally said, coming to stand beside his wife. “They don’t know how–”

Y/N lightly jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow. “Of course I will help.”

Harry sagged with relief. “Thank you so much, Y/N, you have no idea–”

“Y/N,” George interrupted, his tone warning.

His wife looked over at him. “They need help. I can’t turn them away.”

George lifted a hand to cup her face. “I can.” His voice wasn’t loud or hostile like it’d been when he’d been talking to Harry. It was tender, enough that Harry, Ron, and Hermione all averted their eyes, feeling like they were intruding. “I love you,” George continued, “but your powers are dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Y/N covered his hand with hers. “Thanks to Galloglass, I’ve been doing so much better. Remember the last time I used his psychomanteum? It wasn’t nearly as bad as it used to be.”

“You passed out, and you were weak for months!” George protested.

“And I got back up on my feet, thanks to you. So if you help me, we can do it again.”

George stuck out his chin. “It’s not safe.”

“If they don’t succeed in their mission, You-Know-Who will kill us all.” She looked at the trio. “Right?”

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly.

“See?” Y/N addressed George again. “This is the right thing to do.”

“The only way we even have a chance of getting any useful information is if we use the psychomanteum again, and that place is crawling with Death Eaters looking for muggleborns.”

“So we’ll be careful and quick,” Y/N said soothingly. “We’ll be in and out, and You-Know-Who will never know we were even there.”

George’s eyebrows lowered at the mention of the Death Eaters’ leader. “But if the Death Eaters catch you while you’re using your catoptromancy, who knows what You-Know-Who would do? He’d turn you into a weapon, and I can guarantee that he will not care about your sanity!”

“If You-Know-Who succeeds, it’s only a matter of time before they find me anyways.”

“It’s not safe,” George said stubbornly. “Galloglass said if you strain yourself too much, you could fracture your mind.”

“So then you can be the one to pull me back if I start to go too far. You can be my voice of reason.” She grabbed his hand, a wry smile on her face. “It’s high time you took a turn being the voice of reason in this relationship anyways.”

George stayed silent, causing everyone in the room to anxiously hold their breath, including Y/N. Then, George exhaled harshly. “If I were to agree to this, you’d listen to me, right? If I told you that you were straining yourself too hard or that it’d become too dangerous, you’d take my words into consideration?”

Y/N nodded.

“Okay,” George said reluctantly. “But I’m there every step of the way.”

Y/N smiled up at him. “I would want nothing less.”

“Alright.” George stepped away from his wife, still clutching her hand as he faced Harry again. “You three ready for a field trip?”

None of the young witches and wizards had ever been to Diagon Alley before the sun rose, and it wasn’t an experience any of them wanted to have again. Most of the shops were closed down—due to the fear that was sweeping through the magical community like a plague—but even the ones that were still open didn’t look a fraction as jolly as Diagon Alley used to be.

You-Know-Who’s authoritative grip on the magical community was nearly complete.

Y/N and George skittered down the cobblestone road, looking over their shoulders often, as if they’d forgotten Harry, Ron, and Hermione were following under the invisibility cloak and were expecting to see them. George kept surveying their surroundings, his hand tightly gripping the wand in his pocket, ready to spring into action if danger dared to show its face.

Thankfully, there were very few other witches and wizards loitering on the street, and they all seemed to have secrets of their own.

The group had almost reached their destination when George slowed. Y/N slowed with him, much to the confusion of the trio underneath the cloak…until they realized what shop they’d stopped in front of.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

The previously colorful and welcoming shop was completely closed down, with wooden boards nailed over the doors and windows.

George felt his wife squeeze his hand.

“You and Fred will open it back up,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” George said, but he didn’t look hopeful or even convinced. He felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder, and despite the fact that George didn’t know whose hand it was, he felt comforted enough to keep walking.

Y/N led the group to a shop three doors down from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, a shop that the trio could’ve sworn they’d never seen before.

Janus Galloglass, the words on the sign read. Scrying mirrors, enchanted mirrors, and haunted mirrors sold here!

Y/N rested a hand on the doorknob, and there was an audible click as the door unlocked. “I’m here so often, the door’s enchanted to let me in,” she murmured. “Now whatever you do,” she warned as she pushed the door open, “don’t look at your reflections. My knowledge is rusty when it comes to mirror magic, and I’d rather not have to fight any of the spirits or spells in these mirrors.”

With those chilling words, everyone followed her inside, dutifully keeping their eyes down, even if the shop was so dark, they most likely wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyways.

As soon as the door behind them was closed, Harry threw the cloak off, revealing himself, Ron, and Hermione.

“Lumos,” Y/N muttered, the tip of her redwood wand igniting to show the way forward through the cramped shop.

If any member of the group had looked up from the worn wooden planks of the floor, they would’ve seen the largest mirror any of them had ever seen just beside the door. The whole Order of the Phoenix could’ve fit in front of that mirror with room to spare. They also would’ve seen the shelves in the middle of the shop holding every kind of mirror imaginable. Some were handheld, some propped up on their own, some were exceptionally plain, some had detailed frames that looked ancient and expensive.

But all had danger lurking inside.

“I hate this place,” George muttered as Y/N led the group through the shop.

Y/N had to agree. Even if she had grown less afraid around mirrors, she still couldn’t squash the unease that dogged her every step.

“Why are we here?” Harry asked, as they weaved their way around the shelves.

“Oh, why are we in this creepy shop at four in the morning instead of sound asleep in our safe beds?” George asked. “Because someone decided–”

Y/N elbowed her husband again. “There’s a psychomanteum in the basement that Galloclass lets me use.”

Ron glanced over at Hermione. “What is a ‘psychomanteum’?”

“It’s a dark room catoptromancers go to use their powers,” Hermione explained. “The room is set up to help keep the catoptromancer safe while they attempt to see the future, including an enchanted mirror.”

“Mirrors,” Y/N corrected as she started leading them down a staircase. The trio exchanged looks, but George followed her with no hesitation.

A stark contrast to the room above, the psychomanteum was bare. The black walls seemed to move slightly, as if they were incapable of being solid, and every now and then, there seemed to be something moving just on the other side of the watery barriers.

“Is this room safe?” Ron asked, eyeing the walls.

George’s grim expression was answer enough.

“Catoptromancy always has risks,” Y/N explained. “But here is a safer place to do it than anywhere else.”

That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, and now the trio understood why Y/N didn’t have a psychomanteum in her own home.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to ask where the mirrors were when he saw, at the end of the room, three plain, full-length mirrors stood side-by-side. The one in the center stood parallel to the wall behind it, while the others were at an angle, like the covers of an open book.

“It’s okay to look at these reflections,” Y/N explained as she lit a few candles the others hadn’t noticed, “but stay back. The catoptromancy won’t work if the magical radius is interrupted.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shrank back, hovering uncertainly at the foot of the stairs. George, however, stood in the middle of the room, closely monitoring his wife’s every move as she approached the mirrors, pulling on her fingers as if she were counting them.

They all could tell she was nervous now.

She stopped just in front of the center mirror, and, thanks to the angle of the side mirrors, she had many reflections, all chewing anxiously on their lips. “We’ll need silencing charms in this room if we don’t want Death Eater company.”

“I got it,” Hermione said, quickly pulling out her wand.

“What else can we do?” George asked as Hermione started muttering spells at the bottom of the stairs.

Y/N squared her shoulders. “Someone should be ready to cast the Shield Charm, because sometimes things can come out.”

“Come out?” Ron squeaked, and his brother shot him a look. Ron cleared his throat. “I mean, I’ll do that.”

Harry stepped forward. “What can I do?”

“When we’re ready, you’ll need to describe what it is that you want to know.” Harry nodded tersely. Y/N nodded back. “George?” she asked, her voice shaking a little.

“I’m here,” he said immediately, taking a step forward, despite her warning. “How can I help?”

Her eyes found his in the reflection. “You’re in charge. You’re the one to talk me down when I’m in my stupor.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn’t know what that could possibly mean, but George nodded grimly.

The trio waited with bated breath, eager for Y/N to begin.

But she just stood there, fidgeting.

“Hey,” George said, a playful smirk on his face. “If you faced down Snape during your N.E.W.T.s and walked away with an ‘Outstanding’ in potions, you can do this in your sleep.”

Y/N snorted, and George seemed to relax slightly at the sound. “You’re right.” She rubbed her hands together, like she was trying to generate warmth. “Okay.” After shaking out her arms, Y/N shut her eyes, breathing in and out.

When nothing seemed to happen, Harry looked at Ron—who shrugged—and then Hermione—who just held up her hands in an I-don’t-even-know gesture. She’d always hated divination anyways.

As Harry debated asking George what came next, the sound of Y/N’s breath started to carry, creating a cascade of echoes through the chamber. The whoosh of her lungs became so loud, Harry felt as though he were actually inside of her body, hearing the air go in and out.

Then, with each breath, the room seemingly dropped a few degrees, and the very building shuddered around them. Harry glanced at his friends, seeing his concern matched in their expressions. Then he looked at George and saw twice as much worry in his face.

When Y/N opened her eyes again, Hermione let out a little gasp, for Y/N’s eyes were completely clouded over, looking quite like crystal balls with milky white smoke inside.

George nudged Harry, who cleared his throat. “Right, Y/N, we need to find a cup.” Y/N didn’t blink or move, and George gestured for Harry to keep going. “It used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff, and it’s the artifact for the Hufflepuff house.”

Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on some distant point of interest, but her breathing quickened.

“Something’s happening,” Ron whispered, and he was right.

The three mirrors no longer reflected the room’s occupants. Instead, a milky white ink matching the clouds in Y/N’s eyes started to swirl in the mirrors.

George grabbed Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, keep going, keep describing the cup.”

“It’s a golden goblet with two handles, and it has the badger on the side.” As the words left Harry’s mouth, the cup appeared in the center mirror, directly in front of Y/N. “That’s it!” Harry cried. “Where is it?”

The cup grew smaller and smaller.

“Why’s it getting farther away?” Hermione asked, sounding petrified.

“Just give her a second.” George licked his lips. “She just needs time.”

George was right, for as the cup got further away, the background started to form, spanning across all three mirrors. The cup rested on a shelf in a dark room, surrounded by other precious objects of gold and silver.

“There’s other things there,” said Harry, stating the obvious. “But where’s there?”

The picture continued to grow smaller, as if someone was holding a camera and stepping away. The more the location came into view, the more precious pieces appeared. Beside a neat stack of gold bars lay piles of galleons, sickles and knuts, and there were many antiques that no one had names for.

“It’s a whole room of treasure,” Hermione breathed, and her reverence was justified. One-sixteenth of this collection would be enough to set anyone up for life.

“Maybe it’s a hoard?” Ron suggested, shifting his weight.

Y/N’s shoulders started rising and falling as her breathing grew more ragged. George turned to Harry. “We’ll need to stop soon, she’s reaching the end of her rope.”

“But we’re so close!” Harry objected. “We have to keep going!”

George’s head turned back towards the mirrors. The image continued to zoom out, but it was slowing down as Y/N’s breathing grew more labored.

“She can’t take much more!” George snapped.

“We need more,” Harry demanded. George stepped towards Harry, looking ready to hit him, when Ron slid in between them, holding them both at bay.

“Guys, look!” Hermione shouted, and everyone looked at the mirror just as the view came through the doorway, and the door shut, as if by some invisible force.

Harry recognized it immediately. “It’s a vault!” he said excitedly, turning to his friends. “The cup is in a vault in Gringotts!” He watched the mirrors eagerly. That eagerness started to fade, however, when Harry saw his own form materialize in the center mirror, covered in dirt and looking ragged.

“Harry, it’s time to stop,” George said, but Harry didn’t seem to hear him.

“Y/N, we need to see the number of the vault, show us the numbers!”

“Stop it,” George hissed, grabbing Harry’s shoulder.

But one by one, the numbers on the vault started to sharpen and come into focus.

“Seven!” Ron said. “Two!”

Suddenly, the zooming out sped up, the perspective tilting.

“Did anyone see what the last number was?” Harry cried, but George was far beyond the point of caring.

“Y/N, stop!” George cried, and Y/N stumbled, as if some unseen force had pushed her. George tried to run towards her, but an invisible barrier stopped him. “Y/N!” George shouted, pounding on the barrier. “Y/N!”

“What’s happening?” Ron asked, looking horrified.

“Her catoptromancy’s in control now!” George shouted. “It’s keeping me away so the job can be finished!”

The picture in the mirror continued to spiral, quicker and quicker, somewhat reminiscent of a muggle rollercoaster.

“Y/N, breathe, it’s okay, remember you’re in control!” George yelled.

The image started to settle a bit, but not on a sight any of them wanted to see.

“It’s a dragon!” Harry exclaimed.

In a large underground chamber stood a large, white dragon. Chains wrapped around its neck, and streaks of blood ran down the scales directly underneath the restraints. As if the dragon had heard Harry, it turned towards the mirror and opened its mouth, the temperature in the room spiking.

“Ron!” George bellowed, just before flames started to spew from the dragon’s mouth.

“Aguamenti!” A burst of water flew from the tip of Ron’s wand. The invisible barrier seemed to be gone as the water drenched everything.

A great amount of steam burst through the room, and the trio instinctually covered their faces.

George, however, ran forwards, straight toward his wife, who was already crumpling. He slid, just barely catching Y/N before she collided with the ground. “Y/N?” he asked, shaking her slightly, but her cloudy eyes were unblinking.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the mirrors. The dragon had gone, and the surface of the mirrors had returned to their previous smoky appearance, but a few shades darker.

“Y/N!” George shouted, gently laying her down on the floor, disregarding the puddles of water from Ron as he crouched over her. “Y/N, it’s George, are you okay?”

YN didn’t stir.

“You did so well, “ George said, his voice cracking as he lifted his hand to gently shut her eyes. “You got exactly what they needed, but it’s time to wake up now.”

Covering her mouth with her hand, Hermione reached out for Ron, who wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

George tapped the side of her face. “Honey, it’s time to wake up, okay?”

All Harry could do was stare as Y/N’s husband stroked her hair. “She’s not breathing,” Harry said dumbly. “Why isn’t she breathing?”

George kept talking, as if he hadn’t heard him. “We’ll go home, and I’ll make you blueberry pancakes, how does that sound? All you have to do is open your eyes, come on baby, open those beautiful eyes for me.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, but there was no sign of her irises or pupils. Her eyes were completely clouded over, but unlike before, these clouds were growing darker and darker. “No, no, honey, you need to come back.” George’s voice steadily rose in volume as his wife remained unresponsive. “You don’t get to leave me this way!”

Hermione pressed her face into Ron’s chest, her shoulders shaking. Tears streaked down Ron’s face as he watched his brother try to revive his wife.

“Wake up!” George’s voice was shrill. “This is not the end, you hear me? Wake up!”

Harry stepped forward, putting his hand on George’s shoulder, but George twisted away from him. He lifted his wife’s head, resting it in his lap. “C’mon, Y/N, show me those beautiful eyes.” A tear splashed onto Y/N’s cheek, and George swiped at his eyes. “I love you so much, Y/N, I do, so you can’t do this, you hear me?”

There was no acknowledgement, and the only movement in the entire room was from the jet black clouds in the mirror.

George’s head jerked up with a savage urgency, and the trio shrank away from him, but he wasn’t looking at them. “The mirrors,” he said to himself, like he was in a trance. Then, all at once, George surged to his feet, running towards the dark smoke.

“What are you–” Ron started to ask.

George’s fist collided with the mirror on the right, and the resulting harsh shattering sound made the trio wince and cover their ears. The fracture ran the length of the mirror, the cracks radiating out like a spider web. As George pulled his fist back to smash the next mirror, his raw knuckles caught the light.

He didn’t seem to care about that, already ramming his hand into the center mirror. This time, a pained groan escaped from George’s lips as his skin split open, but he turned to the final mirror, determination in his drawn face as he delivered the last blow.

Smash!

As the ruptures appeared in the third mirror, a sharp inhale sounded from behind George. George spun around, fist still where he’d punched the mirror, just in time to see Y/N’s eyes flutter open, her irises back to their normal color.

Harry and Hermione sighed with relief, and Ron let out a: “Oh, thank Merlin.”

George merely fell to his knees and pulled Y/N’s head into his lap again. “What happened?” she rasped as she blinked up at her husband. “Where am I?”

“You’re okay,” George told her wetly, wiping his own tears off her face. “You used your catoptromancy to help my brother, but you’re good now.”

“Did it work?” Y/N mumbled, her eyelids sagging.

George lifted his head to look at the trio. “Did you get what you needed?”

Harry nodded, as if he didn’t trust his voice.

George looked back to his wife. “Yes, it worked, you did such a good job, I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re proud?” she managed to say.

Her husband choked back a sob. “So, so proud.”

Y/N’s eyes fell closed, but a soft smile appeared on her face.

“George,” Ron said quietly, and George reluctantly looked up at his brother. “Look.”

George followed Ron’s gaze to the shattered mirrors.

They were once again reflecting like normal mirrors, but from every crack oozed a strange black liquid. It dripped down, streaking the broken mirrors and mixing with George’s blood. The group had never seen anything like it.

“Talk about seven years of bad luck,” George said with a shaky grin, but no one laughed.

When the group returned to George and Y/N’s house, George gently laid his wife on the couch. “You relax here, and I’ll go make some breakfast, okay?”

Y/N hummed, her eyes shutting as soon as her head fell on the pillow.

George watched her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He remembered the day they’d gotten this couch. They’d decided on the style, but they couldn’t decide on the color. George hadn’t wanted anything too light, because then it would get dirty too easily. On the flip side, Y/N hadn’t wanted anything too dark. We have too much gloominess in our lives already, she’d told him, before caving and letting him get the dark gray couch.

Looking at her pallid face now, he knew in typical wifely fashion, she was always right.

Hermione and Harry stayed beside the couch, uneasily watching Y/N, but Ron followed George to the kitchen. Once George was out of sight of the living room, he gripped the counter, letting his head hang as he released a slow, tense breath.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked, quietly enough that his friends wouldn’t hear.

“What do you think?” George replied.

Ron wisely kept his mouth shut, merely watching his brother struggle to collect his composure.

“I wish I could say I’ll never let her do that again,” George said finally, “but I know that if you three showed up tomorrow asking for help, she’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sorry,” was Ron’s reply, but it sounded as if he had no idea what he was apologizing for.

George let out a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief. “If this was anybody’s fault, you’d bet I’d be hexing some eyebrows a neon pink right now.”

Ron shook his head, but couldn’t help his laugh. “George, I’m serious.”

His older brother looked at him. “You’re right. If I did that, Y/N would just shave off mine while I slept as payback.”

Ron knew George was trying to deflect using his most powerful weapon: his humor. Ron wanted to keep pressing his brother for some authenticity, but unfortunately, he knew if he were in this situation, he’d be handling it with far less grace than his older brother.

If it were Hermione, Ron would be throwing punches.

With great effort, George started getting out the materials for pancakes. “Are the three of you staying for breakfast?”

“No,” Hermione said from behind Ron, who turned to see her standing beside Harry in the entryway of the kitchen. “We should probably go.”

George nodded as he poured a cup of flour into the bowl. “You have a cup to find.”

Nobody said anything. George measured three teaspoons of baking powder and dropped them into the bowl.

“George,” Harry said, “if I’d known–”

“Shhhh.” The redhead didn’t look up from his mixing bowl, but his voice was reassuring. “You couldn’t have known, and Y/N wouldn’t want you beating yourself up over it.”

“But she could’ve died,” Harry burst out. “If you hadn’t been there or-or if I’d pushed any harder, who knows what could’ve happened?!”

George dusted his hands on his pants as he walked over to Harry. Harry tensed, as if he were preparing to take a punch, but George just wrapped his arms around him. Judging by the shocked look on Harry’s face, a hug was the last thing he expected. It took a moment before Harry hugged him back.

George pulled away, earnesty all over his face. “She made the decision. Even if–” George’s voice faltered. “Even if it had ended in the worst possible way, she still would’ve gladly done it to help you.”

Harry looked down at the floor, guilt written all over his face.

“Listen to me. She was right. If I were in her shoes and you told me I could’ve done something to help take down You-Know-Who, I would’ve done whatever I could to help you guys.” Hermione and Ron rested their hands on Harry’s back as George smiled at him. “You’re our best hope, Harry. Whatever we can do to keep the hope alive, we will.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Will you…will you tell her ‘thank you’ when she wakes up? She was a huge help.” Ron and Hermione nodded vehemently.

George grinned. “I’m not sure she’ll believe it, but I most certainly will tell her.” His expression turned stern. “I will also tell her that you won’t be asking her to use her catoptromancy again any time soon.”

Harry winced and nodded. George walked them to the front door. He gave Hermione a side-hug and shook Harry’s hand. Then, he turned to his little brother with a smile.

Ron gave his brother a bear hug. “Stay alive, okay?”

“Same goes for you,” George replied. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A mischievous smile appeared on Ron’s face. “So I have free reign to dye some eyebrows neon pink?”

George snorted. “Okay, fine, don’t do anything Percy wouldn’t do.” Ron smiled at his brother. “I’ll tell Mum and Dad I saw you and that you’re okay.”

Ron’s smile turned wistful, but Hermione took his hand, which seemed to steady him. The three of them walked down the path of the house, reaching the end of the lawn and waving before Disapparating.

George stood watching the place they’d been. He knew his mother would shout at him and quite possibly box his ears for seeing Ron and letting Ron go. But George also knew that whatever they were doing would be crucial before the end. Still, his heart was heavy as he looked to the sky, the rising sun turning the clouds vibrant oranges and pinks.

Slowly, he shut the door and returned to making pancakes.

George could’ve waved the wand safely stowed in his pocket and had the pancakes making themselves, but he wanted to linger in the kitchen.

For every bit he loved Y/N, it was hard to see his strong, self-sufficient wife so pale, so weak. George’d never been good at watching his loved ones be in pain, especially when there was nothing to be done about it except watch.

Pancakes were easy, and he knew that once he was done, he’d be drowning in his own helplessness again.

But when the fresh blueberry pancakes lay steaming on a plate, he knew it was time to go check on Y/N.

Her eyes were already open when he tentatively returned to the living room, and his stomach sank when he saw how still she lay. “Hey,” he said gently, kneeling beside the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said, in a voice far too frail for that statement to be true.

“Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” Y/N nodded, and she tried to sit up. “Don’t you dare get up,” George barked. “I’ll bring it to you.” Y/N didn’t protest, and George brought her a plate drowning in syrup, just the way she liked her pancakes.

“Just one?” Y/N said with a frown, causing George to chuckle.

“If or when you finish it, I’ll bring you another.” He placed the fork in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

Y/N clumsily cut a piece of the pancake, the fork shaking as she raised the bite of breakfast to her mouth. Once her lips closed around the bite of food, her hand fell to her side, still clutching the fork.

Wordlessly, George took the fork from her hand and cut the next bite. He fed her, slowly, allowing her all the time she needed to chew and swallow. Somehow, chewing and swallowing had never seemed so difficult—or so precious—before.

“I must say,” George said with a smile, “I’m suddenly in love with the sounds of you eating. Why don't you try chewing with your mouth open and see if that fixes it?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the soft smile on her face made him feel like he’d won a great big prize. The more she ate, he noticed with great satisfaction, the more the color returned to her face. When the plate was empty, Y/N sat back in her place against the arm of the couch, looking much better, much more alert.

“Are you hungry for more?” George asked. Y/N shook her head. “Are you sleepy?” She shook her head again. The restlessness reared its ugly head. “Are there some socks you need ironed or perhaps some carpet that needs dusting?”

She laughed quietly, looking the very picture of contentment. “No, but you can hold me.”

George didn’t hesitate. He set the plate down on their coffee table and carefully laid in between the back of the couch and Y/N, wrapping his arms around her. She nestled into his arms and rested her head on his chest, a soft smile on her face.

For a while, they were both silent. George watched the sunlight from the nearby window creep across the carpet. It should’ve been relaxing, just the two of them sitting here, awake, but not speaking.

Unfortunately, George’s thoughts kept returning to the ordeal his wife had just endured.

The woman in his arms, the love of his life, had almost died today. He’d almost lost this beautiful creature to the fearsome power lurking within that powerful mind of hers. Despite the fact that he did everything he could, it almost hadn’t been enough to bring her back.

The thought made him shudder and pull her closer to him.

“I’m not looking forward to reimbursing Galloglass for those mirrors,” he commented.

Instead of laughing, Y/N twisted to face him, her hand catching his and bringing it up to her eyes to inspect the fresh damage to his knuckles. “Does this hurt?” she asked him, her voice small.

“Only about as much as a bite from a garden gnome,” George lied, because, really, they didn’t hurt, not at any level of pain worth mentioning.

Y/N began running a finger down his cheek, tracing the path of his earlier tears. “Are you okay?”

George felt trapped, trying to find some way around the question. “I should be asking you that,” he said.

“You already have, so now it’s my turn.”

Damn his wife for knowing him so well.

She rested a hand on his jaw, soothingly running her thumb across his cheek. “Are you okay?” she repeated.

With a shuddering breath, George buried his face into her neck. “No,” he replied, his voice muffled.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked, one of her arms winding around his waist.

“Can you just give me a second?” Y/N’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “I just need us to stay like this,” George clarified, his grip on her tightening. “Just for a little while.”

Y/N lifted a hand, starting to run her hands through his hair. “Okay.” She kissed his cheek. “Okay, we’ll just stay like this.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, and slowly, George felt the knots in his stomach loosen. Nothing healed him so well as proximity to his wife.

But he felt himself getting antsy, his brain begging for some humor to relieve the emotional charge in the room. “I’m getting rid of this couch,” he finally said. “You’re right, it’s too depressing.” He didn’t need to tell her that it wasn’t due to the color, but due to this whole night.

He waited for an I-told-you-so, but when Y/N didn’t answer, he looked down to see her eyes shut and her breathing even.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the smell of her hair. “You get to pick the next couch,” he promised her. “Stick with me, and I’ll get you all the couches in the world.”

If you enjoyed this, please reblog and read my other George Weasley fanfic called Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It?

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george weasley x y/n #reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #protective #divination #magic!reader #wife!reader

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a-regular-ol-pill · 3 years ago

Note

oh uh I dont know how to use tumblr but can I request Ling x F!Reader? Thank youuuu

"A race!"

Mobile Legends; Bang Bang

Pairing; Ling, You.

SFW

Requested? Yes.

Small note for requester; Helloooo! Welcome to tumblr! It's quite easy to use, so don't be afraid to explore! I hope you enjoy the stories you find and read in here! Maybe even enjoy the fanart that you find! <333

Want to request? Click here.

Word count; N/A

Second Person Perspective.

Pronouns used for reader; 'She', 'Her', etc...

Prompt;

"A small misunderstanding leads you two to have a competition.. A competition that makes you explore more than just ruins."

What started out as a friendly mocking, turned out to be a full blown competition on who gets to go to the ruins first. It was dangerous of course, but being just below the strength of Ling, your master agreed to let you have your fun. As far as you remember, you and Ling always had a love-hate relationship. He's open to you in good days, and rude in the hard days.

You've always been by his side whenever he needed to take his anger out on something— like losing to Zilong, for one. You knew how jealous he was, you became his personal record whenever he wanted something to let out. You're there for him through everything. Surely you have made him learn a thing or two about patience, right?

Well, kind of.

The race hasn't even started, and he was already running past you and jumping from rock to rock! It would have been unfair— if you were actually listening to the signal. Wanwan had to tap your shoulder repeatedly to get you to chase after Ling. After you did though;

A series of cheers could have been heard from behind you. And finally— the race was officially in motion. The path you were taking was a shortcut— but only a shortcut so you could catch up to Ling.

The said person, on the other hand— Was slightly tracking back, worried for your well-being. Normally, he would love to win the competition after you; Blatantly insulted his fight with Zilong. At least, in his perspective. Though, he had a hard time finding out if you actually meant to insult him or not.

You're the most friendliest out of the whole Oriental Fighters— Probably even more friendlier than Wanwan herself! Well. The point is, he now wanted to know if you meant to say it like that. You weren't exactly... the one to pick out great choices of words. Often stuttering over a simple seven letter word. Academy.

Suddenly, you wooshed past him— using a line of vines to swing yourself to a nearby tree while upside down. "Excuse me, Ling!" You exclaim at the frozen Assassin. Catching him off-guard with how carefree you looked at that moment. But after you jumped away, he shook his head and jumped after you. Using the tips of his fingers as a way to maneuver around, faster than the normal.

Maybe to see you in action— Or perhaps, observe your beauty up close. He was too much in thought to actually realize what words he'd use in his thoughts. This current moment— He was above you, the leaves ruffling from below you masking the sound of the leaves from under him. His eyes trailed your hair— ruffling softly as you moved againts the unmoving wind.

As both of you moved in the same pace, he jumped down next to the branch next to you. You couldn't notice it because of the adrenaline rushing in your veins. "You think you can get away from me?" He whispered softly, tackling you to the rough ground below on your back. Catching you by surprise, and breaking your focus to pay attention to him.

Oh, how intimidating he looked from above you. The blue was contrasting to his usually tense aura, it made it all the more scary seeing him like that. Well— until you realized how suggestive the position was. You squirmed from under him, catching his attention as he stopped admiring your gorgeous body. "Get off me, you pervert!"

Your shouting caused him to; realize the position, immediately jump off you and start to apologize, a never ending stutter in his tone— while he did that, your mind came back to the race. And so, after you crossed your arms again, and made him slump his shoulders. You let out a knowing laugh and run away from where you were.

Ling was surprised— he didn't realize that you left, until he looked up from the rocky ground. By then, he remembered the race, and chased after you once more. But, after just a few steps, and a recognizable few stacks of rocks. He figured out that the route that you have taken was a longer one, so. He moved from the path you took and went to his own route.

You on the other hand, was just basking in the victory of you, successfully overpassing Ling.

Or so you thought.

As you neared the ruins, the knowing tips of the old building was peaking from the trees. You saw a flash of blue, standing from the tip of it. Ling was waiting, but by then, your pride was hurt, and you were now; Lazily running to reach the entrance of the ruins. The Assassin watching you was quite curious on why your mood was down. But based on the stakes that he put on the race— you were disappointed.

While catching your breath on the rock, made for a statue, you caught a glimpse of Ling jumping away, seemingly exhausted as you are. That, ever so slightly, lifted your spirits. You made him like that, you were a competition to him! One of the top fighters of the Oriental Warriors! "I'm sincerely sorry from earlier."

You flinced at the voice right behind you. The same— smooth and calming voice that you always listened to. "The one where it proves you're a pervert?" You spat back, using a tone of visible sarcasticness laced in it. Though, the tone went over his head, as a hurt look formed on his features.

Your hand immediately went to comfort him— shake his shoulders, caress his face to try and swipe that look off his face. That seemed to do the trick, although the part where you caressed his face seemed to work the most. Him chuckling while you do that— it was an intimate moment.. A surprising moment of intimacy that rarely happens between you both.

"This is something someone could take advantage of, you know?" He spoke up, leaning againts the soft skin of your palm— Effectively towering over you and stealing the soft light coming from the sun. His outfit created a green hue from the light— he looked more handsome than ever! "Well, I'd rather have someone take advantage of me.."

The words you said didn't come with stuttering. That scared Ling the most. You'd rather have someone take advantage of you? For what reason, and why..? It worried him a lot, but seeing your vulnerable pants, he decides not to bring it up. "Would you like to explore the ruins, now we're here?" He asked, changing the subject.

But you— pulling your hand away... Made him feel slightly upset. He wanted to be greedy for your touch, for just a bit more.. "Sure! Are there any treasure around here? Maybe some new yarn that Wanwan and I could use?" You asked, jumping with every step towards the covered entrance. Ling followed, denying all your unbelievable questions until you were face to face with the entrance.

"Careful, this is old after all.." He warned, reaching his hand out to your bare collarbone, unconciously trailing the lines there. The actions soothed you, oddly enough, and got you leaning againts him.

What you were doing wasn't blind to Ling, and he gladly wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. "I feel the need to kiss you right now." He said, catching you off guard once more. Although, he catched you off guard in a good way. "Seriously..? After screaming at me everytime you're upset about Zilong?" You mocked. Grinning softly at the red hue forming on his cheeks.

"It's not like it means I hate you-."

"It does mean it like that. You know?"

After the moment of silence and thought, you laughed at him, turning around and leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek. He blinked his thoughts away and stared at you in awe. Smiling at the way you laughed at him. And after that, you turned around and pushed the door to the ruins open.

"Come on! We don't have all day until our masters come to search for us!"

For now, getting a kiss on a cheek was everything for him. A simple sign of affection that made you win his heart.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, as much as I enjoyed writing it! Take care of yourself! <3

#mobile legends bang bang #mobilelegendsbangbang #mlbb #mobile legends x reader #x reader #mobile #mobilelegends #mlbb fluff #ling #ling mlbb #ling x reader #mobile legends ling x reader #mlbb ling x reader #mobile legends ling

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sweeethinny · 2 years ago

Text

A New Friend

read here or on AO3 For my best cat friend, Apolo <3

---

Lily was lying on the couch in the living room, tired and almost asleep, when she heard someone try to open the door.

She was scared, James was on a mission and she was alone. And pregnant.

Quickly she grabbed her wand, walking to the door and trying to see through the peephole who was there, but there was nothing, even though the lock continued to move as if someone was trying to open it.

It had rained and it was cold, everything was dark outside, and if it was a Death Eater, Lily needed to prepare herself for the door to explode and she would try in the slightest to protect herself, but maybe she couldn't, because her belly was starting to hamper her art of defense.

She opened the door slowly, away and hidden, with just a wave of her wand… No hooded man entered, no spell cut her room in half, nothing. Only one cat, a little fat, white with caramel spots, crooked tail and pale eyes, entered her house as if he owned it, meowing loudly and looking at her with indignation, all wet and looking hungry.

There was no collar and no identification on it.

Lily closed the door and walked over to the cat (who seemed willing to adopt her as his new owner) who rubbed himself against her legs and hands and meowed even louder.

Well… Lily and James now had a cat by the looks of it.

----

end notes:

I had a cat. well, it wasn't *my* cat, but i call it mine. I met him the day after the first uni party I went to, and while I was having an anxiety attack, he lay with me in my bed and kept me company. he wasn't mine, obviously, but he stayed with me all weekend, until I found his owner. but he continued to come to my house. he slept with me, lay on top of my computer when he wanted attention, opened the door to my house (yes), argued with us whenever we denied him a meal, slept next to me during my therapy, stayed in the middle of my roommate and her girlfriend when they lay together demanding attention, and just loved sleeping on my legs and belly. he stayed with us while my friend was vomiting in the bathroom, sitting in front of the door as if to say ''don't worry, I'm here'' and throughout the night that followed, while she was sick, he lay with me and stayed there. the next day when i needed to go out he lay with her because he was a cat who hated cuddles but seemed to know when his humans needed help. I looked for him on the street when he ran away, we bought him food, we took care of him every time he was here, I felt some embarrassment because of him and his habit of going up to super high places and then not being able to come down... he was my best friend, and I didn't even like cats. but unfortunately, the cat that wasn't mine, disappeared two weeks ago and never came back; I still wait for him at my window and for him to open the door to our house, but he never comes. so, to immortalize him in a way, I gave him the family he deserves, because I know he would help Lily as much as he helped us in seven months.

With all my love, a love I didn't even know I could have for a cat, I hope that wherever he is (dead or alive) Apolo knows that I love him and that I wanted one last time to fill him with kisses and hugs until he fights with me. ps: the first time we met was exactly like this; I was sleeping after the party when someone tried to open the door, I freaked out, and when I opened the door, he walked in. yes, he was a cat that opened doors.

#jily #james x lily #short fic #for my best cat friend #i luv u Popo <3 #my fic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Grey Palace

So this a book I’m really hoping to actually finish! It’s a horror slasher story, but it’s set on a cruise ship. I’m posting the first chapter for my followers to read if they’re interested in following along with the creation and storyline! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

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

A sleek grey seagull was perched on the wooden guard rail around the churning green ocean. It shifted from foot to pink foot, ruffling unruly feathers, and squinted beady black eyes up at the giant ship looming above it. It looked suspicious of the vessel, and even more suspicious of the people boarding its mass.

The Grey Palace was the greatest cruise ship to ever exist--or so all the Yelp reviews claimed. It included casinos and spas and waterparks and food! But only if you pay for it, because it’s not like you already paid $425 for a single ticket for your four person family.

It was a colossal sea beast, made out of the finest and toughest extra-strength steel plates and boasting the largest size of a cruise ship in the whole world at a staggering 1,854.25 feet in length and 265.74 feet in height. It had a tonnage of 230,000 gross tons, outweighing every other ship in the business. Its hull could shatter icebergs, its bow could split the sea in two, its propellers were more powerful than any jet or rocket in the entire world. Luxurious lounges and steamy spas promised the best relaxation, the waterpark and Kid’s Club proclaimed full entertainment for children, and the restaurants provided the best food on the seven seas. It got its name from the lustrous grey color it was painted, reflecting rainbows all across the body of the ship.

Everybody wanted to board the floating Palace, and only a select few got the invitation into the Aquatic Kingdom.

But in this case, a “select few” meant 8,700 people.

The boarding dock was clamored with passengers. Families that made the mistake of keeping their luggage on them instead of turning it in to the porters, families that trying to keep all their kids from running off, families already bickering over what they were going to do first, all packed into one area that was treacherously close to the ocean and a giant ship that would easily be able to sweep a fallen victim underneath its mass. One woman had her toddler on a child leash like it was a dog, tugging on the rope every once and awhile when the kid tried to run off. Another mom was herding her family in close to take a selfie, earning disgruntled noises from the children when they had to squint and smile up into the sun. A man was loudly talking to a video camera he was holding, most likely making a vlog for YouTube that would only probably get 67,000 views and 1,230 likes. Worryingly close to the edge of the dock was a pair of kids, pointing into the water and calling out what they saw while their parents obliviously chatted with some other people. Several porters were furiously helping everyone board, sweat beading their brows as they worked diligently.

The seagull watched them all, raising its beak in a haughty manner. It seemed miffed by the intrusion of so many humans in its territory, but didn’t have the strength or size to do anything about it, so it just gazed judgmentally from a distance. Its dark eyes shifted over to the girl looking back at it, then screeched in surprise when she was shoved, jerking open its narrow wings and leaping away into the air.

“Come ON, Violet!!” Ethan shrieked.

Violet staggered to the side, nearly tottering into someone behind her while she attempted to regain her balance. She clenched her fists, growling softly in her throat for a moment before letting her anger dissolve away.

“I’m coming,” She said.

“You’re being SLOWWWW!!” Aiden yelled, earning a few glances from other people because of his volume.

“Sorry,” Violet muttered, hunching her shoulders in.

Her family bustled across the port, getting closer and closer to the gangway with each, but before they could cross the threshold, a ship photographer jumped into their path, wearing a painfully cheery grin and brandishing a bulky camera.

“Would you like to take a family photo before boarding?” She asked, waving an arm to a photobooth set up. The backdrop was of The Grey Palace sailing.

“Can we, Mama?” Felicity asked Deandra eagerly, tugging at her arm.

Deandra smiled down at her. “Of course, dear!”

They hustled over to the backdrop. Violet attempted to follow, but Tobias stood in her path and firmly said, “Not you.”

Violet backed away obediently, not bothering to argue.

She watched as the seven of them posed for a photo, the epitome of a white, rich family. Deandra was fifty-four, but she was constantly being praised for how good she looked for her age. Unblemished, glowing ivory skin, clear of any wrinkles, and dyed champagne blonde hair. Her neck and wrists were loaded with jewelry, but her hawk-like amber eyes were sharper and brighter than the diamonds she wore, always locating every one of Violet’s flaws.

Tobias was like her toy, even though he was older, bigger, and burlier than she was. He was as nicely dressed as his wife, clad in a tweed jacket despite the summer Whittier heat and expensive jeans and a gold watch that cost more than all their tickets combined, but he still had the face of a lizard, dull blue eyes, and brittle, greying hair that he would slather with enough gel to start a fire. But he was rich, being one of the top congressmen in the state, and had a sharp-tongue that pleased Mother, both audibly and physically, and was very easy to walk all over. Violet guessed that was why Mother even kept him around.

Carly was their pride and joy. She had a supermodel body, thin and tan, with long, luscious blonde hair and the bright blue eyes of Father. She was pretty, but cruel, like a diamond wrapped in barbed wire. Her words were always loaded with venom, manipulative and cunning and bearing no mercy or guilt over what she said. She was harsh and cold, which was probably why she still wasn’t married at twenty-seven, and when Violet told her this after her favorite paints were stolen, she beat her into unconsciousness. Violet still had the long, winding scar across her left side from when she had been lashed with the sharp edge of a broken flower vase.

Tobias Jr., or just Toby, was the exact opposite of the man he was named after. Out of all her siblings, he was Violet’s favorite. He was a coward and a boot-licker, but he was genuine and had a good heart. He got Violet into The Walking Dead and once cleaned off her back when Father whipped her with his belt after she talked back over something controversial, but provided little help against her mistreatment, being just as scared to stand up to their parents. Still, it was a step up over everyone else. His dark amber eyes were doe-like and his brown hair was always unruly no matter how much he brushed it. In a way, he almost reminded Violet of the seagull, watchful and cautious.

Felicity was Mother’s mini me and Father’s little princess. Her wavy hair showed the natural hue of Mother’s, honey blonde, but her eyes were the deep blue of Father’s. She was incredibly slick and deceptive, as well as exceptionally greedy, always able to get whatever she wants whenever she wants it. She was dripping with as much jewelry as Mother was, maybe even more, and looked at everyone else with great disdain, disgusted at how ugly they were compared to her. Her voice was like the squeal of a pig, and she often preened herself in any reflective surface that could serve as a mirror. At age eleven, she already thought she was the queen of the world.

Aiden and Ethan were nothing but imps. Violet didn’t even know why Mother and Father had them; there was no point in their existence. They just lived to take up space and time and money, but their parents treated them like they were heirs to the throne. They were near identical, with dirty blonde hair in a mushroom-like shape around their heads and eyes so dark they looked brown instead of amber. All they seemed to know how to do was eat food and cause chaos, often forcing themselves into Violet’s personal space just to annoy her.

That was the Nicotero family. The rich, flawless Nicotero family, perfectly happy without the illegitimate child chained to them by blood.

Violet, the kid who the congressman cheated on his wife to have on accident, named after a flower because her father couldn’t think of anything better than the plant he saw squashed on the side of the sidewalk when he was fleeing the scene after stealing her from her mother’s breast mere days after being born.

Violet, the girl with weirdly pale grey eyes that no one else in her family had and hands that never seemed to stop fidgeting with things and an overly anxious mind that contrasted with a bursting internal temper.

Violet, the library for all the should have’s-could have’s-would have’s, an encyclopedia of everything that shouldn’t have happened, an example of what her siblings were not supposed to be.

Violet, the fifteen-year-old with vibrant petals curled towards her family, but poisonous roots lying beneath, just like her name’s sake.

“Say ‘cruise ship’!”

“CRUISE SHIP!!!”

The camera flashed and the photo was taken.

Violet blinked her eyes; they were sore in the sunlight. She shifted from foot to foot as she waited for her family to finish up at the photobooth. She wondered if they would put it on the fridge like all the other photographs she wasn’t a part of. They never put up the things she was in.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” Felicity yipped, pulling on Father’s arm. “I wanna get on already!!!”

“We’re coming, we’re coming,” Father chuckled. He somehow had all the patience in the world when dealing with the squealing Felicity, but once yelled at Violet for taking too long to tie her shoes.

The Nicotero family pushed their way through the crowd to the closest gangway, shoulder checking other people and trodding over feet without pity in the process. Violet did her best to apologize to anyone they disturbed, seeing as no one else was, so she walked down the walkway and glass doors slightly turned around, and when she faced forward again, she got her first glimpse of the place where she would be spending the next one hundred days.

The main atrium was a giant room with a high-vaulted ceiling and looked like it had been carved out of glass; every surface was shiny and spotless. There were spiral staircases and grand steps and visible catwalks coiled around the walls, all bursting with activity. A marble fountain with intricately designed leaping dolphins was burbling softly in the center of the room, and King the Silver Polar Bear, the mascot of The Grey Palace, was standing in front of it, waving to passengers as they came in and occasionally taking photos with kids who came up to him. Violet must have been staring for a bit too long because he spotted her and pointed, then waved her over. Violet shook her head and said, “No thanks” but Felicity shoved her over with a shrill, “Go say hi, Violet! Someone actually wants to see you!”

Violet staggered forward, feeling that sensation of rage bubble up inside of her again, but, like before, it dissipated rather quickly, as there was nothing she could do. She merely sighed and looked up at the large grey bear now looming over her.

“Umm… Hi.” Violet said awkwardly. What were you even supposed to say to the mascots? Especially when you have to talk to them against your will?

King waved cheerfully. The head of the suit was set in a petrified, open-mouth smile and the eyes were permanently wide and glowing with glee. It was almost unnerving in a way. Was the person underneath the mass of grey fur as happy as the skin it was wearing?

“Uhh… Sorry, I don’t really know what to say.” Violet said, cringing internally. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

King made a dismissive hand gesture, then pat her head. The action felt profoundly awkward, but Violet was polite and said goodbye before shuffling back over to her family with her head ducked. Felicity and the twins exploded into high-pitched giggles.

“Violet. Don’t run off.” Mother said sharply, staring down her nose as Violet.

“Yes, Mother,” Violet muttered.

Carly suddenly looked up from her phone. “We should go get drinks. The rooms probably aren’t ready yet.”

Mother nodded. “Good idea.”

She led the pack through a wide hallway, whisking by other passengers like she was the queen of the Aquatic Kingdom. On the way, Toby shuffled over to Violet.

“I don’t like those people in costumes,” He said. “Gives me the creeps.”

Violet peered up at him. “How old are you?”

“Oi! Rude!” Toby elbowed her gently. He never tried to purposely hurt her. “So… What do you think?”

Violet gazed around the hallway. It was lit up brightly, casting colorful shadows across the painted walls.

“It’s nice,” Violet said. “Nicer than any place I’ve been to. Aside from the house, of course.”

She had been shocked when Mother told her about the cruise a week before her freshman year ended. It was going to be a big family trip, and she was actually invited. Usually she was left out of these things. Being alone at their mansion for a week or so at a time while the rest of her family was out travelling or on vacation had been a normal affair ever since she was eleven.

Toby frowned for a moment at that, then quickly said, “It’s gonna be fun.”

They passed through a set of glass doors and entered onto one of the many decks. Surprisingly, there weren’t too many people out yet, as everyone was probably still getting checked in or exploring. Mother glided over to a canopy bar and began ordering.

They probably spent an hour at that bar, sipping brightly colored cocktails and chatting avidly over their plans for the trip. Violet stayed out of it, of course. She sat at the smooth wooden counter, twirling a pink drink umbrella and scrawling mindless thoughts in a small purple notebook to pass the time.

An elbow as pointy as a dagger jabbed into her back at one point, making her pen streak across her page, leaving a permanent black like through the written words. She clenched her jaw and turned around.

“Yes?”

“Come ON!” Felicity said. “We’re going to go eat!”

“Didn’t you hear us talking?” Father squinted at her.

“Sorry. I must have dozed off.” Violet said.

Carly scoffed. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

Nobody said anything against this. Violet didn’t, either.

They went to the buffet where lunch was waiting, and Mother grumbled about how many people there were, but they eventually sat down to eat, their plates piled with food. Violet got more than she intended, but ate everything, just now realizing how hungry she was. She got judgemental looks from her family, but she did her best to just ignore them.

After lunch, they finally checked into their cabins. They got the suites, of course.

Mother, Father, and the twins got the largest room, one with a queen bed and bunk beds for Aiden and Ethan. Carly and Felicity room together, while Violet stayed with Toby. It was fine with her, really. She rather be with her older brother than any of the others.

The rest of the day was spent preparing for the trip. Toby took the twins and Felicity to get signed up for the Kid’s Club, while Carly hooked up with some friends also on the cruise, Mother went to make reservations for the spa, and Father already began drinking.

Violet stayed in her cabin, writing away in her notepad while listening to the TV drone on. She finally got up and went out when the sun began to set, unknowingly stumbling right into a departure party on the main deck.

Music blasted as thousands of bodies writhed around together. Several people were in the pool, splashing around loudly, while others were watching the entertainment shows with great interest. Violet couldn’t stand all the noise, so she ventured to the back of the ship and watched as the land slowly disappeared on the horizon.

A man leaned against the railing a few feet away from her as the golden-orange sunset was starting to turn a bright red color. After he blew out a wisp of smoke from the lit cigarette he had, he said, “This is gonna be one hell of a trip.”

As the first firework was set off at the deck, Violet replied, “You can say that again.”

#the grey palace #lizzie’s dumb book #my writing #horror #horror story

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herohotline · 5 years ago

Text

We’ve Ran Into Eachother So Many Times But You Don’t Even Know My Name

Keigo Takami x Reader

A/N: I finally finished this :,/ It came out a lot longer than i intended HHGNGh

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal attempt- but that’s it, it’s a very fluffy story and that’s not the plot!

You liked a lot of things in life. You liked cats, desserts, and plants; music, dancing, and even though you hated heights, you loved airplanes. Tall buildings and their impending doom are one of the things that you just don’t agree with.

You’ve tried to quell this fear many times, and you’ve found ways around it. Every so often your friends convince you to ride the more scary roller coasters, you sit up on your apartment balcony and sit there with your music and plants as you stare down below- but you can only stomach a few seconds before you’re looking away in a fit of anxiety. You’ve even gone to therapy about it because you know that your fear of heights is linked to trauma.

You were barely a teenager when you had tried to off yourself. You were well past that phase, of course, but teen angst and the desire to end it all got the best of your young mind as you jumped off one of the tallest buildings you had access to. Thankfully, you survived, but the injuries hurt like hell and it left you with scars.

And a long-lasting fear that just won’t go away.

You suppose it's alright to have this fear- it just meant you were better. You want to be alive, and your fear was proof. But you were past that depressing teenage phase and you wanted to move on completely. It just wasn’t fair to be held back like this in your opinion.

Villains, though? You weren’t scared of villains. Well, you were reasonably scared- as you wanted to live, and they could possibly end that- but you weren’t scared scared. That’s why when there was a sudden villain attack in the mall, busting the ceiling open and trapping civilians and yourself under the damage, you weren’t scared. You kept a level head and you began counting heads.

The area you were stuck under was fairly accessible. Everyone was still standing, though some had fallen over in shock, but everyone was mostly fine. The entrance had been blocked off and some pillars broke through the small shop, but that was it. You prayed that no one was stuck under the damage somewhere else.

“There’s seven of us here,” you talk to the group, gathering the things you dropped off the floor. “We should stick together and hide in one place until the heroes get here.”

No one disagrees with you. They follow you like lost sheep as you all pile behind the cash register counter and huddle. After that, it’s a waiting game, silent beside the sound of scared breathes and quiet weeping so that the villains don’t find you.

The one who has it worse is the little girl. She’s the one crying, of course, and the woman who is assumingly her mother surrounds the child in her arms as she coos in her ear. The crying makes you uncomfortable, to be honest, so you remember the chocolate bar in your bag and hand it to her with a tense smile. The mother looks at you thankfully while it distracts the child from crying.

It truly doesn’t take the heroes a long time to find their way in the mall and cuff the villains before sending them off in police cars. That’s when damage control and civilian rescue starts- it startles all of you when the wall blocking the entrance is busted through, but bright red wings quell the fear.

It’s Hawks.

“Anyone need a ride?” He asks and you quickly stand along with the other civilians. You gently lead the mother and child his way and he grins, immediately conversing with the little girl and making her giggle before he picks them both up and flies off. Other heroes begin to make their way inside with blankets and medical gear, slowly leading all of you outside the building where it’s safe and the ambulance is waiting.

As you make your way outside, you watch as Hawks lands from his flight, two other civilians in his hold as he drops them off and then immediately sets off again, his ruby-red wings basically shining as he speeds away. You admire his tenacity and strength- how many people had he gotten out in the time of you walking from the shop to outside?

Watching him fly back again with more people than last time, you quietly thank whatever God exists that you didn’t get hurt in the wreck. You might be able to handle a broken leg or arm- but to fly in the air? Even if it was the only chance of surviving… you don’t think you’d be able to stomach it.

You leave the mall as alone and unscathed as you came.

---

The next time you see Hawks, it’s not in a life or death situation. But you still don’t talk to him- it’s really just a chance sighting at most. He had simply walked into the noodle house you frequent, picked up his order, and left with a flap of his wings, taking off into the night sky.

A part of you wonders what that’s like. To always be in the air- you suppose it’s not scary for him. But even the thought of having extra appendages seems difficult and you wonder how he learned to fly.

Was it the same as birds? Did his mother push him off a ledge one day and hope for the best? You sure hope not.

“Hey, Amakuza,” you address the cook who you were on decent terms with due to your consistent presence in his shop. “What’d the big guy order?”

Amakuza shrugs. “Your favorite, actually. Extra spicy.” He seems uninterested.

You suppose it’s not that interesting- it’s just food. But now you know that the pro-hero Hawks has good taste, though you’re unsure why you even wanted that information in the first place.

---

Your third encounter with Hawks is the one you hate the most- the one you’re most ashamed of.

He was just doing the right thing. There was construction on your way to work- apparently, they were working on the road. This didn’t concern you as you didn’t own a car, so you kept walking a safe distance away. But someone’s quirk somehow went haywire, and the drilling was loud and harsh before the road broke entirely and pieces were sent flying everywhere. The fear didn’t even register yet as it happened so fast- you were aware there was a stray slab of concrete headed your way, but before it even hit you, you were sent flying in the air.

That’s when the fear came to you, so strongly it knocked the air out of your lungs.

“That was close!” The man holding you- the man you rescued you- whistles low and casual as he keeps you up in the air.

“Let me down,” you say as soon as you can find your words. Body shaking like a leaf, you desperately grab onto his clothes- you actually look down and you can’t believe he flew you up so high. “Let me- let me down. Let me down!”

You’re so frightened that you don’t even realize you’re crying. Snot runs down your nose and tears spread across your cheeks and drip off your chin.

“Hey- are you alright? Did you get hit?”

“Let me down!” You scream, and then you start struggling against him. You’ll punch, kick, cry- you’ll do whatever you need to do to get back on the ground. “Let me down! Let me down!”

Your vision blurs with red, and suddenly you’re sitting on the broken concrete with red wings surrounding you and a blonde man looking concerned as he hovers over you. Breathing comes out short and hurried, your body still shaking so hard that it feels like you’re vibrating. The man with red wings- Hawks, you’d later realize once your head was put together- continues to hover and talk to you. You can hear the words, but they don’t process at all. He’s probably saying the things they always do- breathe, you’re okay, breathe.

Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst out of your chest as you scramble to your feet, putting a good amount of distance between you and the man who saved you. “Stay- stay away from me,” you demand as you look at him, your face scared and distraught. You continue to back away from him as if he were a threat. “Stay away from me!” And then you turn your back to him, fear driving your movements as you quickly leave the scene and scurry off to work.

People eye you the entire way. They either saw what happened or saw that you were crying in public which is already eye-catching enough, but you ignored them even as you entered your work building. Only when you locked yourself in a private bathroom did you find peace.

And you felt fucking awful, so you suppose it wasn’t peace that you found. Instead, it was a heavy, guilty heart as you were forced to go on with your day and work in a crowded office until you could retreat home, tail between your legs.

You just wish you could tell the hero that you didn’t mean it.

---

How do you tell someone you have absolutely no access to that you’re sorry?

Apparently, you go to his agency building and just hope for the best. That’s the conclusion you came to, anyway, as you walk there the next morning- being extra cautious around construction this time- with a pot in your hands.

Walking inside the building alone was anxiety-inducing. Slowly making your way to the front desk was worse. And then you had to explain yourself to the receptionist who eyed you and your plant with- assumingly- heavy judgment.

“I… um, I wanted to drop this off. For… Hawks.” You place the potted aloe vera plant down on the receptionist’s desk gently. You don’t even know if you can do this, technically, but you might as well try.

“A plant?” The woman asks.

“Yes. It’s an apology gift.” Your fingers drum on the desk. “Do you think you’d be able to make sure it gets to him?”

The woman looks unsure as she reaches forward, picking up the pot and eyeing it. She gives you a guilty look as she sets it beside her. “I’ll try. But Hawks can be rather flighty… I can’t assure you he’ll get it, or even take care of it.”

“That’s okay, I figured that. If he ever gets it… just let him know it’s from someone who is very sorry. Thank you in advance,” you bow respectfully at the receptionist before quickly leaving the building. You feel guilty for leaving her with your apology- but it’s too soon to come face-to-face with someone you yelled at. The entire walk back home you just hope that the poor plant lasts at least two months before he inevitably kills it- either because he never got it, or because he hates you.

An aloe vera plant is admittedly easy to take care of. You only water it once every three weeks or so, and it doesn’t need much sunlight. You picked it out from your collection of plants specifically because you thought it was best for someone like Hawks. Minimal care was required, it was nice and green, and if he really took care of it he could make use of its soothing gel.

You also took its meaning into mind. An aloe vera is a healing plant- as a gift, it means a wish for good health, beauty, and protection. You figure after your childish tantrum, you could at least hope he lives a healthy life.

But as you sit at home, you think it’s silly that you even bothered. Hawks probably doesn’t even want it- and the meaning of it would be lost on him. You could have at least left a card attached, but you were too chicken shit to do it.

At least you tried.

---

Ever since your last encounter with Hawks, you’ve tried harder to kick your fear in the teeth. Nearly every evening, you go up the fire escape of your building until you’re on the roof and staring at the world below. You force yourself to last at least five minutes or more before you run away. It’s easier to manage once the sun has left and the moon shines instead- in the darkness, it’s harder to see what you’re so afraid of.

It’s still there, but it’s better.

Fitting that on one of those nights you head to the top of your building is when you meet the number one hero again.

It’s a chance meeting, just like the rest. You think maybe he’s on patrol when you see him fly by- or maybe he was getting dinner, but he notices you somehow and lands on your building.

There’s a considerable amount of distance between you.

“What’s someone like you doing up here so late?” He grins- he always does. The one time you saw him without a smile was when he was trying to help you.

“Trying to overcome my fears,” you tell him honestly because he deserves at least that much. “I’m… sorry about before. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.”

He waves his hand in dismissal, walking a bit closer to you. “Ah, it’s fine. You were scared- that’s what people do when they’re scared.”

“Still,” you frown, “I was harsh on you. I mean it when I’m sorry. I don’t like that I lost control of myself like that.”

“That’s fair,” Hawks agrees and puts his hands behind his back, the smile still coy on his face. “But you’re already forgiven. I enjoyed the plant.”

Oh. Your eyes widen in surprise, “really?” You ask.

“It wasn’t exactly hard figuring out who it was from. No one ever apologizes to me.”

“Is that because you never do anything wrong, or you’re surrounded by stubborn people?”

Hawks just hums in reply, standing next to you now as he looks up at the sky. His large wings twitch subconsciously and your eyes are drawn to them- they’re a beautiful skeptical so you’re sure he gets stared at all the time. “If you have somewhere to plant it…” You disrupt the silence softly, your feet shuffling. “The aloe vera will fully grow, and you can use its gel. It’s not really much, but it’s good to keep the skin young and for sunburns.”

The hero eyes you curiously, his smirk making you a little nervous before he looks back to the sky. “You’re a lot calmer than when we first met.”

“That’s not the first time we met,” you argue and his eyebrows lift up in surprise.

“It wasn’t?”

“No. You saved me and a few others from when the downtown mall got intruded by villains… And you also came by my favorite ramen shop, but you left as quickly as you came. So last time wasn’t the first, but the third,” you shrug, “if you want to be technical about it.”

“I’m not sure I enjoy technicalities,” Hawks laughs. “They’re too confusing to be caught up with.”

“That’s fair,” you nod.

The air is a little awkward- at least, it is for you- now that you both have nothing to talk about. You’re glad you got to apologize to him, but now you realize you know nothing about him. It’s late enough that you should probably go to bed anyway, so rather hastily you tell him that you’re going. He looks surprised as you climb down the fire escape but he says nothing other than ‘see you later’ before flying off. You halt mid-step down the ladder as you can’t help but watch- but soon he’s out of sight.

It’s amazing how fast he is. But it’s time for bed so you let out a shaky sigh as you continue your way down to the patio of your apartment.

---

The fifth time you meet Hawks, he’s the one who comes to you. You’re relaxing on your patio with a book in your hands and a stray cat that likes to hang out laying in the sunbeams when Hawks comes bustling through rather suddenly. You gasp in shock and the cat quickly scrambles away, and several of your potted plants fall off the patio.

“Hawks!” You cry, already hovering over the fence as you watch your plants fall to the concrete. A potted plant falling from such a height is already dangerous- what if it hit somebody?

But also, they were expensive and you cared about your plants very much, so you couldn’t help but sit still in shock as you watch them fall to their death. Perhaps Hawks realized the urgency in your voice- maybe he cared, because before they do, Hawks shoots down and grabs all three of the pots before they hit anyone or break on the ground.

“Sorry about that!” He apologizes as he makes his way back on your patio, a lot less rushed as he carefully holds the plants. You quickly pick them up and set them back down in their respective spots, inspecting the leaves for any damage. “You have quite the collection, huh?” Hawks looks around your tiny patio, stepping carefully around your ‘collection’. You absentmindedly hum, still looking at the Coleus’ leaves. A few of the stems had come off, but it’s mostly fine.

“It’s even worse inside,” you tell him. Hawks whistles as he looks through the glass doors and into your apartment.

“No kidding!”

“So, what are you doing here? Would you like to destroy more of my plants?” You wouldn’t lie- you’re a little peeved that they all almost died. At least he was fast enough to pick them up, but still.

Hawks makes a weird sound from his throat as he winces, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “I really didn’t mean to. I actually came to ask about the aloe vera.”

You purse your lips, sitting back down on your lawnchair you placed out on the patio when you first moved in. “It’s fine. What would you like to know?”

Why didn’t he just look it up? You can’t help but wonder.

“When should I water it?”

“Every three weeks.”

“How much sun does it need?”

“Six to eight hours. Place it next to a window or in a backyard.”

“Does it need… vitamins?”

“Hawks, why are you asking me these things?” You interrupt his little quiz with a sigh. The stray cat from before finally comes back, eyeing the hero cautiously before laying down next to your feet. You pet it on the head softly with a frown. “You didn’t need to come all the way here for some basic plant care questions. What do you really want?”

Hawks clicks his tongue. “You caught me,” he says. “I really wanted to get to know you, that’s all.”

“Get to know me or get to know why I’m afraid of heights?”

He shrugs, that all too familiar smile coming back on his face. He finally sits down on the only other chair available, his wings spreading behind him before folding up. “Well, I wouldn’t complain if it was brought up.”

“Are you always known for being so crude?” You raise an eyebrow at him. So far, you’re not exactly impressed with his behavior. From a distance Hawks is charming, but right in front of you? Sure, he’s handsome, but he’s a bit blunt. A lot blunt.

“I am the man who’s a bit too fast, didn’t you know?” Hawks leans back in his seat, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together atop his knee. “So- why are you afraid of heights?”

You roll your eyes. “Last I checked, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I do not.” He says simply, and you don’t believe him.

“What about- I don’t know- the hundreds of villains out there?” The stray cat eventually hops on your lap, making himself comfortable while keeping a keen eye on the hero in front of you. He probably doesn’t like him- and you’re pretty sure you feel the same way.

“They’ll be taken care of. Right now I’d like to relax- I want to relax most of the time. Indulge me.”

You don’t see any real reason why you should, but Hawks is proving to be a persistent insect, so you sigh and give in. “I jumped off a building as a teenager. Now I associate heights with death. It’s like a trigger.” If he’s going to be blunt, you might as well do the same. You pet the cat’s back to soothe your agitated nerves and give him a look. “I’m mostly fine now. But you caught me by surprise that one time, which is why I reacted the way I did. Are you satisfied?”

He nods. “What’s your name?” He asks rather suddenly- and that’s when you realize that yeah, he doesn’t even know your name.

You slowly give it to him. You’re uncertain why he’d want it- but it gives you a feeling that it’s a sign he won’t be leaving you alone any time soon.

“Call me Takami. I’m sick of the hero name, anyway,” The now-named Takami inspects some of your potted plants that surround him. “Would you like to fly with me?”

His question makes you laugh in surprise. “Why?” You ask him. You could ask him this question a thousand times, really.

Why is he here? Why is he interested? Why does he care?

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to help?” Takami smiles again, his eyes gleaming beneath his visor.

“Why would you want to?” You’ve had enough. Picking up the cat, you gently place him down on the patio floor before sitting upright, elbows on your thighs as you stare the hero down. “I’m serious. I told you my thing, now tell me yours. Why do you bother?”

He leans forward as well and your bare toes touch the front of his boots. “I like your personality,” Takami starts, “and I’m being selfish with you. I’d like to have someone to talk to outside of the hero stuff. So I figure if I’m being selfish-“ he reaches forward and suddenly pinches your cheek, making you jolt back with an angry look. The hero grins. “I might as well help you out while I do it. And maybe I can learn more about plants or farming or whatever, too.”

You stare at him silently as you rub your sore cheek. “It’s not farming,” you grumble under your breath. Your shoulders sag in defeat as you finally break away from Takami’s gaze and your eyes fall to the floor. It’s quiet for another moment before you sigh, lips pursed. “Fine. But I’m gonna get dressed first- I don’t want my eyes to fall out from wind pressure.”

Takami hops up from his seat, his expression somehow even brighter than before with his hands on his hips. “Great! I’ll wait here.”

You groan in acknowledgment as you open your glass door and step inside your apartment- but you only make it a short distance before you come back outside. Without warning Takami, you throw a book in his direction and he easily catches it, his eyebrows raised.

“It’s a plant dictionary. I’m only gonna let you do this if you can tell me the name of three plants on my patio.” You think that’s fair enough. “You up for that?”

He's already grinning, flipping the book open. “Fuck yeah,” he says. You laugh under your breath and finally go to your room to get dressed. It’s amazing how his charm comes back full force as he stands on your patio, eagerly looking up and down from your book and muttering under his breath.

You hum. Takami is handsome, and apparently, he’s lonely, too. You suppose his offer is a mutually beneficial one- so you quickly get bundled up and find some cheap swimming goggles you bought forever ago. Honestly, you could also use a friend.

When you come back out onto the patio, Takami bursts out laughing at just the sight of you. You ignore him and put your hands on your hips, feeling confident. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Takami giggles and snorts, placing the book on a miniature table. “You’ll get way too hot. Lose the snow boots, first of all. Some sneakers will be fine.”

“What if they fly off?!”

“I’m not- I’m taking you in the air, I’m not flying you full speed!” He exclaims and your shoulders sag.

“Oh. Right.”

He laughs hysterically again as you take off your boots and snow hat, along with several hoodies and sweaters. As you take off your very-many layers and toss them inside the house, you ask, “what about the plants?”

“Right,” he says, his knuckles tapping on the book he just read confidently. “There’s a Coleus, a spider plant... And a succulent,” he points at each plant as he speaks. The succulent was probably the easiest one, so you feel like that one shouldn’t count, but you keep quiet.

“Good job, you’ve won. Am I ready to go?” You think you’re finally suitable for flying- down to a single hoodie with a jacket over it, a pair of jeans and some sneakers laced up as tight as you could get them.

Takami grins, giving you the ‘ok’ sign with his hand. “Perfect,” he says. He gives you exactly 0 seconds to prepare before he picks you up, his speed suddenly showing as you’re suddenly being carried- his hands under your knees and wrapped around your back. “Okay, you ready?” He steps on top of your little fence surrounding the patio, looking down at you.

You bite your lip, looking down below. He shakes you in his arms- “hey, look at me.” You do so, nervously biting your lip even harder. “Are you ready?” Takami asks again, voice a little softer.

With a big breath, you exhale and try to relax. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I’m ready.”

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teatimemols · 5 years ago

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Queen of the Seven Seas (First Draft)

Pairings: Oliver/MC (Elizabeth Watt) and a bit of Charlie/MC & Edward/MC (she loves to love them all ok uwu lol)

Sinopse: Elizabeth learns a new secret about her compass and her history, and it will involve a certain lieutenant in her life.

First Draft + Barely betaed + Mentions to body functions lol (not that scatological lol)

tagging @lulaortega & @furiouscloddonutpeanut

It's very late at night. She cannot know how much. After all, Elizabeth had lost any way to track the exact hours when she was thrown back in time. There were no clocks in her possession - she may have seen a pocket one in Edward’s, but she has never used it. Now she just estimates things based on the skies’ colors, when the sun is rising or setting, or even if is it too late and nobody else was supposed to be awake.

Elizabeth just knows these days. Maybe because of the routine of the crew, that she doesn't need to look outside to imagine what the sky looks like. It's been some hours - yes, she could feel it - since she was having period cramps and only now the pain is subsiding.

She reaches and takes the compass out of her daily clothes' pockets and fickler it open for no reason at all. It is dark in her quarters - once Robert's - but now it feels as familiar as her old room in the future. Maybe she's looking for a clue.

Honestly, she doesn't know what she is really expecting to find.

Elizabeth feels so exhausted but her eyes hurt and she cannot fall asleep.

For a long minute, she stares at the compass anyway, indicating a direction on the compass card. But nothing else happens.

Elizabeth sighs as she closes it, screwing her eyes shut, the sleep doesn't come this way either -- of course, it wouldn’t, she mutters sarcastically under her breath, in actuality, she just feels a sharp pang of pain from the headache forming in the ridges of her head for the lack of sleep.

Taking a deep breath, she calms herself a little bit, anxiety slowly growing into her chest despite her attempts to keep it down. It’s just getting on her nerves more. Nothing seems to help, everything she does seem to worsen it.

Idly Elizabeth tugs the compass against her chest and feels it trembling against her wrist pulse. She startles with the sudden movement, gasping in silence.

It is almost irrational how she brings, fumbling with the object, to the hollow of her throat. She can barely hear anything but the pulse in her ear as anticipation swells inside of her throat.

She had told Edward she was gonna hide the compass on the island, but she didn't. Elizabeth couldn't do it. She wants to keep it to herself. It was her only way out as much as she knew it!

To give fate a chance to screw around with her life (again!) wasn't an acceptable option, not something she was gonna allow to happen. Any stray dog could just dig it up from the sand or the earth and find her compass and it would be lost forever, together with her life in the future.

Elizabeth doesn’t know if she wants to come back to the future, and even if she would not like now, since she may have already changed everything with her involvement with some historical happenings, she knows she wants the chance to choose, whichever was better or less bad for herself.

There is no way she would let her own future, even in the past, not be a decision of her own making. Elizabeth knows fate - or whatever creature that created them all - was enough capricious to allow things to go on the way they ended up going anyway. No thought about interfering.

She breathes as slow and quiet as possible as she opens the compass and instead of a pointer and a background compass card, she sees something impossible: she sees Oliver! - sleeping.

His slightly opened mouth shows how sound asleep he is, besides the soft and slow rise of his bare, broad chest under a thin white sheet that covers his body from his waist down.

His lips move just slightly in some mumbles, at times. On his forehead, there is a crease. Oliver doesn't seem to be having a completely restful sleep.

Elizabeth frowns in worry but she also slowly swallows. She is scared that he could hear her, too. With maybe silly optimism, she thinks-no, she feels like he wouldn't hurt her, not if he could choose to ignore her altogether in the hopes he would be allowed to not harm her when the time came for their confrontation.

Still, she is also scared. Not of him, but of everything else. Everybody else that wasn’t the Revenge's crew. Elizabeth just knows Edward and Charlie and even Maggie would never hurt her, even if they knew she had fallen for the enemy.

It wasn’t like she could control how she felt about things, about people.

It isn't what you can't control that makes you who you are, but rather everything else you can choose to do or to walk away from.

She rolls on her belly and watches Oliver sleep. He looks like a fairy tale prince. His fair golden hair spread across the pillow and around his slightly blushing tanned cheeks and strong jaw tug at Elizabeth’s heartstrings.

Elizabeth wants to caress his cheek, kiss the corner of his mouth softly as a good night wish, hold herself against him, tugging him slightly to her by the back of his neck, enveloping his golden, soft hair in her fingers.

She wants him. It is obvious. She bites at her lower lip.

She shouldn't. She likes him so much more than she should, than it was supposed to happen.

Elizabeth sighs, turning around, letting the compass close sliding down her waistline on her belly. Why does she care so much about him?

A knock on the door.

Elizabeth's eyes widen and she fumbles with the compass as her start made her jump against the mattress. The compass opens by itself and she hears a grunt coming out from the other side.

She closes it desperately, letting the compass slide down the sheets to the ground.

"Love?"

It is Charlie. Fuck.

"H-hey, Charlie, wait a sec-" she gets up to her feet trying to grasp the compass and push it against one of her pants' pockets.

She has a hard time making the thing get inside but as soon as she does, she opens the door.

"Hey, hey, how are you, Charlie?"

Charlie raises an eyebrow not sure if she should feel amused or not. So she just smiles:

"Woke up earlier and wanted to know if ye wanted breakfast with me?"

"Yeah, sure," Elizabeth smiles weakly as she still feels drained, out of breath also for the earlier commotion "Gonna change, alright?"

Charlie looks worried for a moment but she shakes her head and nods with a sweet smile.

"Alright, love," she leans a little into Elizabeth's personal space and they share a soft kiss.

Elizabeth smiles against Charlie's lips and nods. They part ways and Elizabeth's heart goes from fluttering to dreading anything that could have happened.

She takes the compass from her pocket and opens it in a hurry. Curiosity and longing bringing her to take another risk.

Elizabeth is about sighing in relief for not hearing a sound when a voice comes up from the compass:

"Lizy?"

Her eyes widen as she looks at a sleepy lieutenant looking back at her through slit eyes, his fair hair loose and spread messily down his wide shoulders. She swallows then when she realizes he had sat down on the bed and she can see all of his Apolo like appearance, his strong body angles, his soft but well-designed face features with a candid light coming from his barely awake expression and soft-looking hair, his sculptured torso and a bit of his strong thighs coming out of the thin white sheets.

Shit.

#distant shores #pb distant shores #choices distant shores #oliver x mc #oliver the lieutenant x mc #oliver the lieutenant #it is like an ALPHA demo ok haha #things can be changedd

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 8

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea visit, dredging up more than Even bargains for. Even discovers something unexpected about Ienzo.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He studies Demyx with a fascination he didn’t think was possible. He itches for the Organization’s medical records; when he tries to upload them from his old thumb drives, the files are corrupt. But what will it belie, anyway?

The boy’s suffered a lot of stress in his life; cortisol has impacted his DNA in innumerable ways. Does this explain his Nobody’s laziness, his inactivity? Was he trying to spare himself pain--perhaps subconsciously? He begins sequencing his own samples, to act as a sort of control. It makes the work not quite watertight or unbiased, but beggars cannot be choosers, and everyone else seems to be busy. Besides, if he must experiment, best to do it on himself.

He receives a text from Ienzo. He’s barely seen hide nor hair of the boy for days; if he hasn’t been working with Demyx, he’s been with Ansem. Even is sure Ienzo is throwing himself so deeply into new work to avoid processing everything that has happened.

Pot, kettle, black.

We have some visitors, the text reads. Xion, Naminé, Roxas, and Lea would like to see you.

The mention of Lea’s name makes him bristle; but he does not mind the girls or Roxas. After all, they’re his research, walking and talking. It will be good to see how they’re adjusting, if they’re having any issues. Send them down. He almost asks how Ienzo is doing.

Almost.

He tries to fix himself up a bit, knowing his clothes are wrinkled and his hair is a mess. He brushes it and finds himself automatically trying to smooth it into a ponytail--a style he hasn’t worn in many years. Even, is that you? Is he changing too?

There’s a gentle knock at the door, startling him. He takes a quick breath. “It’s open. Do come in.” He’s not used to seeing so many people at once, he realizes. “Hello.”

“Deja vu, huh,” Roxas says pleasantly.

“You are right,” he says. “Then again--not too terribly much about my days are different.” He tries for a patient smile. “Xion, Naminé. Good to see you as well. Frankly I’m surprised you’re back so soon.”

“I heard about the flowers,” she says shyly. “I wanted to see them.”

“I’m afraid it’s nearing winter, but no matter. Town is plenty beautiful.”

The last figure, leaning against the door frame, finally speaks. “...You look good.”

Even can’t help the small flinch. “Lea.”

He’s as tall and wiry as ever. Like everyone else, he looks odd without the frame of the Organization cloak. “When you… have a minute, I wanna talk. I’m sure you want to poke and prod.”

“We volunteered,” Roxas says, grinning.

“Oh, Lea, that’s not necessary.”

The man looks confused. “After everything? But I want to apolo--”

“Who’d like to be examined first?”

Lea lets it drop, and returns to his position at the door. He’s blocking the only exit. Calm down, you fool. He takes each of the teenagers aside, takes blood and the like, asks them how their bodies are behaving. Almost unanimously, they all say that everything is just fine. They certainly look indistinguishable from humans, and aside from the fact that neither Xion nor Naminé are menstruating, they essentially are. He needs to examine their telomerase, to see if they’re aging. And yet in all this, he feels little pride.

“You really made me?” Xion asks softly.

“You flatter me, girl,” he says. “I made your body. You did all the rest. Grew your own heart. Figured it out--somehow.” He affords her a smile, finds it genuine. In a rather roundabout way, he realizes, he's her father, having created her body not once, but twice. He finds the thought so jarring he immediately shoves it into the background.

“I wish I could tell you how,” she says, with a laugh. “I just know that--this body feels so much more mine than the last one.”

“Because it was made just for you. The last one was for someone else.”

Slowly, she nods. “You let me be a girl,” she says, more quietly.

Even blinks. “Well… that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“Isa--Saïx--referred to me as “it.””

“Because he saw you as a puppet--nothing more. To a degree… I’m ashamed to say I did too. But I realized… these replicas are so much more than vessels. Here you are, aren’t you?” Even wonders, had the other vessels not merely been implanted with hearts at their birth, if they may have formed their own hearts as well. Would it even be worth exploring that? What right does he to create new life when he barely understands morality?

She smiles shyly, and nods. “Do we really get to just grow up?”

“I need to look into a few things--but I surely hope so.”

“I guess being alive is enough for me. Being remembered, too.”

He drums his fingers on the exam table. He can hear the other three roughhousing behind the curtain, and hope they don’t disturb Demyx’s data, still spread willy-nilly. “Should you not… mature, perhaps I can look into making a body that appears more age-appropriate.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She pauses. “Thanks, Even.”

It’s this more than anything that catches him off guard. “It’s the least I could do, child. I just hope this new life treats you well.”

“Aside from Sora being gone--it is so far.”

He bobs his head. “That’s all we can ask for.”

The three teenagers leave, but Lea hangs on. Even feels his heart in his throat, something like acid in his veins--he tries to bring himself back under control.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks coldly. “I have a lot of work to do, with what these three have left me.” He looks, more than anything, ashamed of himself. Even doesn’t like the way it feels when their eyes meet; he can feel sweat beading under his arms, cold and unpleasant. “I… spent the whole ride here thinking about how to talk to the two of you,” he admits. “But I just… now that I see you... “ He exhales. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Even.”

He blinks. “I hope you don’t expect me to assuage your conscience,” he says. “Though I’m sure Ienzo did.” Below anxiety, a rage. He tries to hold onto it. “The boy was loyal. If he truly needed elimination--” It’s physically difficult to get the words out. “Why did it need to be so violent? Why did you feel the need to-- You were peers, Lea. You grew up together. Does that mean nothing to you?”

He can’t make eye contact. “I know, Even. I know. I… it’s one of the things I wish I could take back most. But I can’t. Now he has to live with it--and so do you.”

Even thinks of Ienzo’s scars, of the panic that overtook him. Of his own solemn brutalization. “There’s one thing I want to know. Was it worth it?”

“No. Not at all.” His breath sounds vaguely wheezy. “But it… it wasn’t right. It isn’t right. I never really had to… pay for what I did. Is there… something I can do for you?”

Even just wants him out of here. “You could avoid mentioning it again.”

He’s never seen Lea like this, so shaken. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t give him immense satisfaction. He takes a step forward, and Even immediately takes one back. “Right. I… Right.” He nods. “I’m so… neither of you deserved it. Not that way. I’m sorry.” He says it almost like a nervous tic. “I…”

“We all have to learn to deal with guilt,” he adds.

“Yeah.”

“You should go join those friends of yours. Make sure they don’t get in any trouble.” He wants to turn back to his work; but his body won’t let him.

“I will.” He straightens a little. “I’m sorry.” Finally, he leaves, and Even shuts and locks the door behind him. He’s breathing hard. He tries to remember what he told Ienzo--about this reaction being normal--but it doesn’t feel normal. He sinks to the floor weakly, his white coat puddling around him. He can’t recall ever having such intense anxiety. He tries to breathe, remembering what he was taught in med school about reversing the flight or fight instinct--inhale, eight count, hold, seven count, exhale, four count--and it doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

---

When he finally, wearily pulls himself together, he can’t bring himself to begin studying their samples. It makes him think too much of Lea. He turns back to Demyx, because this is a problem he can solve, or try to.

On the matter of Demyx…

It’s Isa who has the diplomacy to find him, this time. “I… truly apologize for the interruption,” he says. “I realize you’re probably unsettled after seeing Lea.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The man nods once. “I’d say it’s good to see you--and it is--but I’m afraid I need help.”

Even sighs. “Which one of the miscreants got hurt?”

“Nobody’s hurt. Well, not literally, anyway.”

Demyx has, again, collapsed. Apparently the three have spent some time together--spoke about their pasts--and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. His vitals are much the same as last time. Whatever this is, it’s either getting better or worse; it seems to be happening with concerning frequency. The last thing Even needs is another dead body on his hands.

Ienzo arrives back on their floor, looking exhausted and ragged--when was the last time the child got some sleep? He sees the three of them by Demyx’s door and furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

“Demyx fainted again,” Even says tiredly.

“He was hanging out with us, and we were just talking about our lives and pasts and whatnot,” Lea says.

“It is strange he doesn’t have his sitar,” Isa adds.

Ienzo is nonplussed. “Well, none of us have our Nobody weapons,” Ienzo says. “It’s a pity, yes, but it’s just our biology.”

Lea stares him down. “Then explain this.” He summons his chakrams; it takes all of Even’s strength to keep his expression neutral. But once the wave of panic begins to pass… why is it Lea, of all people, retains his Nobody’s weapons?

Ienzo blinks. “Have you always had them, as Lea?”

“Since I woke up. Came easier than the Keyblade.”

Ienzo seeks Even’s gaze, an explanation; he can’t offer one.

“And if he’s half as connected to his sitar as I am to these babies, --and he is--, he should definitely still have it.” The weapons disappear, much to Even’s relief.

“We told him as much, and then he blacked out,” Isa says.

“He and I still only have part of our hearts,” Even tells them. “It’s made him very brittle.”

“He’s taken the loss very hard,” Ienzo says. “I hope this is a good sign that it’ll return to him.”

“We’ve all handled this situation uniquely. I don’t think there necessarily is a standard,” Even says. He’s sure he’s right; their sample size of Nobodies-then-humans is so small. They can’t consider anything to be set in stone. “I’ll try to investigate further. I should like to be able to use ice again. It made my experiments so much easier.” But if power comes from the will…

Ienzo touches his face, a thoughtful gesture.

Even tries to puzzle it out, aware of the errant small talk around them; finally the two leave. He takes a quick breath. “Those two tire me,” Even says. “Lea would not stop apologizing. As if the path to goodness is so simple.” He shakes his head. “I admit it was nice to speak with Xion. She’s a lovely girl, very bright and personable. I should like to get to know her. To believe I created her myself, and I don’t understand her mind. It’s fascinating.”

“Yes,” Ienzo says numbly.

He looks beyond exhausted; terrible. Even feels concern blot out the rest of his anxiety. “Are you off to get some sleep?”

“In a few moments. I wanted to check on Demyx first.”

“His vitals are stable and he’s merely asleep now. I was just in there.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

He turns to leave. Seeing Ienzo like this has tugged something in him. “On the subject of people I raised… you do know I still care for you, yes?” It feels so odd to admit it. Uncomfortable, almost.

He cants his head slightly. “What made you think about that?”

He considers it. He’s made Xion as surely as he’s tended to Ienzo. Yet, he’s barely seen or interacted with either of them in all this time, holing himself up, doing--what--and being largely pathetic. “Xion’s presence gave me clarity. I have been… cold, to pardon the pun. I have been isolating myself, and that is not healthy. I am wondering what it might be like to be Even again.” He chances touching him, giving his shoulder a squeeze; he doesn’t flinch away. “You’re a good boy. You’re too hard on yourself.”

Yes. This is all true.

How is being alone helping anything? How it is healing these bonds? How is it atonement? He needs to do better, to be better. To try harder and not indulge his own selfish whims.

Ienzo cares about Demyx at least a little. If Even can help the boy…

---

It's late at night when he figures it out. He's drowsy, very nearly nodding, papers spread around him like a fan. He's been comparing his results with the boy's, not finding anything of interest, to his rising frustration.

And then.

It's all in the frayed, fragile ends of telomerase. Temporal markers. Even knows Demyx is about twenty-seven years younger than himself, a generation before. Ergo, their timelines should roughly sync up, they should have at least a few markers in common.

They don't. Not even close.

His hands tremble as he holds the paper. He blinks, hard, hoping his exhausted mind isn't playing tricks on him. He sees it there. Undeniably.

He's breathing hard, tasting paper.

"Oh, Xehanort. You bastard. "

---

For a long time after that Even sits, his head in his hands, on his cot. The boy's from the past. The boy's from the fucking past. How? How? This makes no sense given what they know about time travel. But it comes to him in pieces--Demyx hasn't volunteered his old name because he can't remember it. And if Xemnas hadn't been lying--he hasn't so far, unbelievably--then the boy is also a Keyblade wielder.

He laughs out loud, a weird, mostly-feral sound. How like Xemnas, to torture him for years about his progress with the replicas only to have four sleepers right under his nose. It feels very nearly personal. Was this revenge, for trying to run off with Ienzo?

But--why wasn't Demyx's weapon of choice a Keyblade, then, nor the other three neophytes?

Xemnas had been part of Xehanort--a Keyblade wielder--and hadn't had one either.

Ah.

He found the four somehow--old friends? But they never got along in the Organization--blanked their memories, only to have their Nobodies immediately lose their worthiness. Hence, the need for Roxas, and the replicas. But not to get rid of them, in case he can find a way to make them useful. And without memories, they were all the easier to manipulate.

In a flash, Even feels sorry for the boy, and then stricken because he has to tell him all this.

He forces himself to try to sleep. He’s able to manage a few hours, though it doesn’t give him much clarity. He has to find Demyx. He has to know.

The boy sits leaning heavily against one hand in the apprentices’ kitchen, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “Have you a moment?” Even asks.

He seems shocked; Even’s tone must be half-deranged. He stands, and Even grasps him by the wrist, tugging him back to the lab, his evidence. “Are you mad at me?” the boy asks.

“I suppose, in a sense. Your DNA has caused me to lose countless hours of sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Since when does Demyx apologize for anything? “I’m guessing you didn’t find anything.”

Even begins bracing himself. “No. Precisely the opposite. Come here.” He herds the boy over to his table. “I’ve parsed everything you’ve given me. Looking simply at your genome, I was frustrated. It’s normal. See, have a look. If you compare yours and mine, aside from the average differences owing to our makeups, they’re the same. But then… I decided to look at your epigenome. Have you heard of it?”

He shrugs. “Well… isn’t that stuff like… how I was raised?”

“Well, it’s countless different factors, like the amount of oxygen you received in the womb, and the food you’ve eaten. Which is why it’s taken me so long to isolate them, and then to make sense of them. Now, again, I used myself as the comparison point. If you look at yours…” He shoves the papers in front of the boy. “...And mine, it started to make sense. Of course nearly all of the markers are going to be different. Take a look at these. These markers here… they’re kind of like the amount of time your body’s spent in the environment, so to speak. Hard to tell just by looking at the regular genome. I can tell from your genome that you’re roughly twenty-two years of age, and you can tell from mine that I am… well. It’s accurate, I can assure you. But these… these!” He finds he can’t breathe. “Your temporal markers should at least slightly resemble mine. They don’t. If I’m right at all… your little theory might have some purchase.”

He looks like he’s been punched. “So you’re saying--” He swallows. “It’s true?”

“The initial tests seem to indicate that, yes.”

He slumps heavily against the table, horrorstruck.

“I had the precise same reaction,” Even says.

“It’s why I don’t remember,” Demyx says.

“You’ve no memory?” Even asks. He’s figured--yet, to hear the truth of it is all the more jarring.

“Only the dreams. Only what I’ve told you about.” He’s shaking. Even’s never seen the boy so upset. “Am I really… did I really live through the Keyblade War?”

If his legacy is sleeping… he was seventeen when Xehanort recruited him. Supposedly the first Keyblade war involved children… “You may very well have.”

“How? Why?”

“I’m thinking it has something to do with some sort of self-preservation. We all know that when the body and heart are in danger, especially if one is a Keyblade wielder, a person can produce otherwise impossible feats of magic. This had to be what Xemnas, and by extension, Xehanort saw in you.” Still time travel. Yet--

The boy puts a hand over his mouth. He’s breathing hard.

Even tries to be gentle, but to be dishonest would be imprudent. “I don’t know if it’s possible to awaken those memories. It would most definitely be too much for your new heart to take.” Even shakes his head. Which explains the fainting. “Fate… is cruel.”

His blue-green eyes are full of pain. Even feels something very nearing concern. “I don’t want this. I just… I just wanted to play sitar,” he says. He turns and flees. Even actually tries to follow, but the boy is too fast, and is gone in a blink. He’s not sure how much comfort he can offer, if any.

No memories. No home to turn to, no way to get there. Without the comfort of a calling, or passion. And if he’s a war survivor--of course it makes sense that his Nobody would despise fighting, would avoid it at all costs. Would settle for observing, avoiding, staying under the radar…

Almost against his will, Even gets better insight of the boy than he’s ever had.

And he’s been nothing but short with him.

Why is it that trying to help has only caused more damage?

---

He tries to sleep, in a real bed this time. He refrains from going to his lab. His mind is horridly muddled, emotions crawling unpleasantly below the skin. He needs time. He cannot perform if he cannot think clearly. He walks, reads. The light coming in through the windows of his quarters seems impossibly sharp.

Early one of these mornings, he sits with coffee, trying to convince himself he’s not unravelling (weak). Ansem, with books and sheafs of paper. Ansem, looking every bit as terrible as Ienzo did the other day. “You’re unwell,” his master says.

“I could say the same,” he says levelly. “I’ve… had a lot to do.”

“Yes. As have I.”

A few beats of silence.

“Any progress, with Sora?” Even asks.

But Ansem just shrugs. “I’m not certain. We’ve been reviewing the footage of the Data Sora Mickey sent us… We’re to see if it has bonds. If we can partially understand Sora’s heart, maybe we can understand the real thing… might be able to use one of his real friends, to find him, much as Riku did during the Mark of Mastery.”

Even mulls it over. “Sounds something of a fool’s errand,” he says.

But Ansem doesn’t get defensive; in fact, he just sighs. “Yes,” he says. “I agree completely. But Ienzo… this is so important to him. I must do whatever I can to help the young man.”

Even frowns. “Yes.”

“He is… truly different than I remember. More verbose, for one thing. I recall a time when the boy struggled to string words together. And softer, too.”

At least they have this one thing than I can talk about. “I saw it happen, and I’m still baffled by the change,” Even admits. “He was once so cold and calculating as a Nobody.”

“That… makes sense. Grew up in darkness, in nothing, with little need for a conscience. Doubtful the new presence of empathy is very painful. We’ve spoken only briefly about the past… and then this seems to upset him deeply.”

“He’s compartmentalized,” Even realizes slowly. “Otherwise… how to survive, psychologically?”

A sigh. “Quite. If any of what you’ve told me about Demyx is true, perhaps he can teach that child how to relax. I daresay he needs it.”

Even debates--should he tell Ansem? Then again, he doubts Demyx wants this secret everywhere. “...Yes.”

“I should… return, then. He asked to see these.”

Even flicks his eyes up. Ansem’s eyes aren’t warm, but they’re not quite so cold, either. “I’d say “good luck,” but… well…”

He nods once, and leaves.

Even truly does not know what to do with himself. He worries about Ienzo, the boy’s mental state. If he feels half as unwell as Even does--and likely he feels much worse--then it could potentially be disastrous.

So he does the only thing he knows--he researches. He goes to the library, pulls some volumes on abnormal psychology, carts them to his lab, and reads. But there’s no precedence for anything like this, such acute psychological devastation. The closest it comes to is complex post traumatic stress, and even that doesn’t seem to fit the bill. Even again feels that desperate itch, the need to help, only how?

The door to his lab bangs open, and there’s Demyx. He’s breathless, flushed; he must’ve been running. Even realizes that he’s probably the only one without a gummiphone, and ergo, this is likely some emergency. “I need…” he gasps.

“Slow down, boy. Catch your breath. What’s the rush?”

He clutches his chest. “Ienzo,” he spits. “He had a… a nosebleed, and then I was trying to get him to go to bed, but he just…” He seems so concerned, more than Even has ever witnessed--perhaps the two really are friends. “He passed out, Even, isn’t responding at all.”

He feels a surge of something like fear, and then anger--of course Ansem’s been allowing the boy to work himself into the ground. He grabs at supplies and follows the boy back as quickly as he is able to.

Even knows it’s bad, but he’s still not mentally prepared for what he sees.

Ienzo isn’t just pale, he’s sallow, his skin waxy, his lab coat stained with close to a liter of blood. The boy’s half-conscious, his eyes empty, vacant, not completely unlike the night Xehanort arrived. The first thing he does is start the boy on fluids and glucose, checking his vitals, finding them even more disturbing; blood pressure like that of a cold snake, the rhythm of his heart off. His skin is dry, as well, likely from dehydration. He gives him a few different injections, to try and neutralize the cortisol he’s no doubt flooded with, a very mild tranquilizer to force him to sleep. He’s positive the boy’s been neglecting his own needs, unaware as to how much more devastating they could be to his human body. Humans simply don’t bounce back the way Nobodies do when subjected to such stress; nor do they metabolize it so well.

Demyx is horrified. “I told him. I told him to take care of himself.”

“He only listens when he wants to,” Even says.

“Is that what this is? Something because of overwork?”

Even sighs and explains. “The blood loss must have only exacerbated his condition. Best you found me when you did. With rest, and the proper care, though… he’ll recover.” He’s already stabilizing, thank the stars. He wipes the smear of blood off of the boy’s face and turns back to the medicine at the dresser. Perhaps at the damp cloth, Ienzo seems to come to. “Demyx?”

The other boy crouches at the bedside and takes his hand. Even bristles. Against his will, it’s starting to make sense--

Ienzo’s voice is very weak when forces out a “What--”

“You passed out. I am going to yell at you when you get better. Just a warning. I can be scary.”

Then, very deliberately, or not deliberately at all, Demyx leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

Oh.

Of course.

He feels something rising in him, something like disbelief, or anger. He hears Demyx consoling Ienzo (so gently?), but his own heart is racing. “So. That is the nature of your connection with Ienzo.”

He turns, and Even sees it in his eyes; caught. Ienzo has either fallen asleep, or is pretending to.

“He has mentioned you an awful lot. But I must admit I am flabbergasted. What is it you two even have in common?” Not to mention, what does it mean concerning Demyx’s past?

“I don’t know,” he says. “But I… I care about him. And I think he feels the same about me.”

That so. He exhales slowly. He’s definitely angry; this much he can grasp. “It is not up to me any longer to try and stop that boy from making mistakes,” he said. “But if this ends poorly… you realize there will be hell to pay.” Not just from him, he’s sure.

But this doesn’t faze him, or intimidate him, like he hoped. There’s an odd resolve in his eyes Even’s never seen before. “Yes. I know.”

“That is all I have to say about that. At least until I process this. I am much too tired.” Even shakes his head, feeling the brunt of a headache in full. “I’ll come back to check on him. If there’s any unusual change, notify me at once.”

“I will.” He turns back towards Ienzo, his eyes full of such worry and--dare Even see it--tenderness.

Great. Just… great .

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo #ansem the wise #demyx #xion #lea #roxas #namine #beyond this existence

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lector-reincidente · 5 years ago

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[Reseña] The Heroes Of Olympus ~ Rick Riordan

Sinopsis

Seven half-bloods shall answer the call,

To storm or fire the world must fall.

An oath to keep with a final breath,

And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.

A new Great Prophecy, a new generation of demigods . . . Sail with Percy Jackson and other heroes of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter as they embark on their most dangerous challenge yet.

Reseña

A finales del 2019 decidí darles una oportunidad a los libros de Percy Jackson. Me demoré poco menos de un mes en leer la primera saga “Percy Jackson and The Olympians”, basada en la Titanomaquia, una guerra mitológica sucedida entre los Titanes y los Dioses Olímpicos.

Es poco lo que rescato de la primera saga, es una literatura altamente enfocada al público juvenil, con una formula similar a la presente en Harry Potter: Un trío de protagonistas se enfrentan a situaciones que ponen en riesgo su integridad física, e incluso su vida. La narrativa es realizada en primera persona por el personaje de mayor importancia, Percy Jackson hijo de Poseidon y Sally Jackson.

Lo más importante de “Percy Jackson and The Olympians” es el sentar las bases del universo fantástico que propone Rick Riordan, y en particular para “The Heroes of Olympus”. Esta saga se basa en la Gigantomaquia, una guerra acontecida después de la Titanomaquia, en la cual se enfrentan los Dioses Olímpicos con el apoyo de semidioses versus los Gigantes, hijos de los primordiales Gaia y el Tártaro nacidos para contraponerse en todo ámbito a un Dios Olímpico.

Si en “Percy Jackson and The Olympians” veíamos un trio de preadolescentes bajo el filtro color Percy, en “The Herores of Olympus” observamos el crecimiento del Percy y Anabeth Chase, así como la aparición de un coro de personajes principales. La narración da un vuelco en este aspecto, cada personaje principal mantiene un punto de vista a lo largo de la saga, pasando a ser narrada en tercera persona.

De esta forma, adicional a la perspectiva de Percy nos encontramos con la de Anatbeth; Piper McLean; Leo Valdez; Nico de Angelo; Jason Grace; Frank Zhang; Hazel Levesque y Reyna. Omitiré comentarios de sus trasfondos individuales, puesto que son parte importante de la trama y del viaje que realizan. Cabe mencionar que los dos primeros libros de la saga conservan la esencia de “Percy Jackson and The Olympians”, mostrando cada uno un trio de personajes principales en un viaje épico.

La amplitud de narradores nos brinda un entendimiento diferente de cada personaje, así como sus relaciones interpersonales. Por lo tanto, es fácil comprender cual es la relación entre -por ejemplo- Nico y Jason, y las inseguridades que esta provoca en los demás miembros del grupo. Aun más, llegamos a comprender las realidades de cada personaje sin el filtro de Percy, vemos sus miedos más profundos y mayores anhelos, convirtiéndonos en sus confidentes.

En cada libro vemos nuevamente las vicisitudes de la vida de los Dioses Olímpicos, tomando cada uno un episodio de la mitología grecorromana; como el duelo de tejido de Atenas y Aracnae en “The Mark Of Athena”; el viaje del Argo en diferentes puntos de la saga; o el intento de violación hacia Hera por parte de uno de los gigantes, y el subsecuente rescate por parte de semidioses en “The Lost Hero”; hilando cada episodio a la gran batalla entre los Gigantes y los Dioses Olímpicos, siendo estos apoyados por su descendencia mortal.

La saga finaliza en la antesala a “The Trials of Apollo”, centrado en el viaje del Dios Apolo como humano, símil al castigo que recibió al rebelarse contra su padre, el Rey de los Dioses, Zeus.

Termino esta entrada diciendo que mis libros favoritos han sido “The Lost Hero” y “The Mark of Athena”. El primero debido a su carácter disruptivo en relación con “Percy Jackson and The Olympians”, puesto que se distancia al no contar con la participación directa del hijo de Poseidón; y el segundo por ser el primero en que Anabeth nos muestra su visión del mundo.

#heroesofolympus #rickriordan #book #reseña #thelosthero #lector reincidente #the son of neptune #the mark of athena #the house of hades #the blood of olympus #the heroes of olympus #rick riordan

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lo-fire-blog · 7 years ago

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Buhodermia 夜 - Colmena

#buhodermia #apolo seven

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hungryflowers · 6 years ago

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Wings of Wax

Title: Wings Of Wax

Fandom: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel

Character Pair/Relationship: Alastor/Husk

Note(s)/Author’s Words: This is considered a continuation of my first story “Hush”. This kicks off where it left off, showcasing what the physical show of what Alastor wanted. This story is even more fucked than the first one. Feel free to tell me what you think. Critiques are welcomed! Bricks and angry mobs with torches are not! Enjoy my shitshow!!!!

The shadow of the deer demon haphazardly deposited the horror stricken cat demon onto the gargantuan red silk duvet before retreating back towards the being it was summoned from. Husk still couldn’t quite grasp what was happening to the younger male as he dragged himself further atop the king-sized mattress. Still, he gazed at him as Alastor remained at the door. The shadow moved to materialize again; coming from behind and locking the door with a resounding, gut-clenching click.

Now trapped with Alastor, Husk’s only other option would be to have to fight the demon. The only draw back being… No one had ever fought, or even lived long enough to see the Radio Demon in his true, abominable form. ‘I’ll have to be the first…’ The cat’s wings pressed deeper into his back, tail curling in between his legs, ears flattened to his skull. His muzzle scrunched in a snarl, a ragged noise pushing out his nose as he readied himself for his impulsive attack.

A pattern of attack was gone the moment Alastor took four to seven massive steps to the bed. He leered at him, gaze sharper than any of the knives or blades he’d gotten from any of the mass exterminations. Eyes unblinking even as his talons raked over the silk sheets. Husk scooted further up the bed, his feet nearly caught by the long, gleaming red claws. Then, in a savage drawl, Alastor slammed his nails into the bed hard enough to tear into the mattress.

Another out-of-character scream ripped out of Husk’s mouth, body caving as he cowered, his head bashing against the headboard in panic. He started to tremor, his whole body vibrating so much, one would nearly hear his bones popping and rattling. Orange eyes, colored like the softest harvest moons, darted away swiftly as his wings shot up to cover his pitiful attempt at holding back his tears. The sound that he made from his exasperated throat was supposed to be a purr or snort, but only came into the air as a choked sniveling cough. Soon the room was consumed by the ugly sound of his pathetic sobs.

The unholy eldritch’s head tilted abnormally, its expressionless face contorting into something that could not be perceived as an emotion. Staticky clattering came from the demon’s teeth as he registered the small, frailer looking cat. Tactfully, he ran his claws through the fur on the cat’s leg. The delicate touches were of mock pity as he began to imitate the same purring noise Husk had no power to stop.

He continued to run his fingers through sweat-drenched, coarse fur as the form began to melt into someone familiar. The whole time, Husk’s eyes were closed, fighting off the futile tears as they fell to the bed. When he mustered enough resolve to open them, Alastor’s beastly form had returned to normalcy, save the oddly soft smile that was in the place of his harsh, toothy grin. His eyes even gave off an unusually faint glow.

His gloved fingers rubbed softly on the surface of Husk’s wings, feathers long and plush being swept and carried by the Radio Demon’s abnormally soft touch. Alastor kept rubbing his wings, periodically going to his fur to run his fingers in it in a motion similar to having a comb.

Husk didn’t have to ask in order to figure what Alastor was doing: The demon was grooming him into calming down. And tried to manipulate him into purring. Husk hated hearing the sounds even more than feeling them rumble and pulsate out of his chest. But to Alastor, it was riveting. A salacious joy to partake in, regardless if Husk himself didn’t enjoy it. He loved doing things Husk did not enjoy.

The cat demon flinched with every soft touch, something coming from his mouth, but not loud enough to be considered a sound. What Alastor could make from the sound could have been a sigh, or a gasp.

“There, there…”, The twinge in his voice made him sound a bit hoarse at first; kind of like he had been coughing a while, “Doesn’t this feel nice?” He went on as he crawled onto the bed, his body encompassing the smaller cat, who’s wings pulled further up his body. He kept himself in a closed, shivering ball just in reach of the demon’s reddened, gloved finger tips. Minutely, Husk found his eyes closing, then coming open slowly.

The more Alastor stroked up his fur, the less likely his fight or flight response would convey the Radio Demon as a threat. It was becoming difficult to not fall into his need for the touch. The complacency of comfort that was usually associated with someone attempting to be affectionate with him. As a 7′3 cat demon, Husk made it a point to show he wasn’t cute. Or required general affection or touch.

It was easy enough. Often he’d be fighting to protect his turf, or kick out needless squatters at his bar. In either circumstance, Husk was more than a little terrifying. But never to Alastor.

The cat began to unwrap himself from the ball he turned himself into, his paws hiding long, sharp pointed nails in case the Radio Demon would be ready to take him down.

“Al… Don’t. I don’t know- what brought this on?” Husk stammered as he pushed his head bumped the headboard. He tried his damnedest to stop the shaking in his lower body.

“What brought this on?,” Alastor’s head cocked questioningly. He was on his knees when removed his overcoat, casually flinging the wardrobe onto the loveseat on the side of the room, “I’m quite surprised that you don’t remember what happened so long ago. This…,” his hands went up Husk’s slender thighs, claws grasping tenderly there, “What I’ve felt for you hasn’t at all changed.”

Before Husk could snap back, he swiftly yanked his claws into the sheets as he suddenly was dragged to be placed parallel of Alastor’s hips.

“I… I remember!”, he snarled quickly, grinding his teeth hard enough to shoot sparks from his mouth, “I remember what you tried to do! I remembered feeling your hands, your nails running through my fur as you put your revolting tongue on me! I still get sick knowing that you were rubbing your cock on me while you kissed and tongued my neck.” His tone wavered, yet he still growled defiantly at the demon that sat above him. The one who was always above. And he put him there.

Alastor remained focused on Husk as he spoke, more desperately yelled, his case to him. The whole time he kept rubbing his fingers through the fur on the cat’s hips hoping that he’d shutter them into moving. He moved his palms up and down, twitching his thumbs on the upper part of the cat’s hipbone. His face appeared dreamy, whimsy with his glance. Without changing his position too much, Alastor managed to hike Husk’s legs onto his shoulders, the sudden motion making him growl in anger.

“Good, because I also remember how your paws felt as I shoved them into the mud, or the way you groaned as you pretended to hate me. But I also remember feeling…”, he trailed off removing his hands from the cat’s hip to grab painfully at his throat, pushing down on his windpipe suddenly, “your nails in my legs as you surged up to nearly rip out my throat.”

“I-I- I w-won’t apolo- apologize for-for that!” Husk wheezed to the point of asphyxiation. The bending of his body made the suffocation much worse; the pressure Alastor caused was making him grip the Radio Demon’s shoulders tighter with his legs.

"I wouldn’t expect any less,” Alastor closed his sanguine red eyes, relishing in the clenching of the cat’s legs tightening around, “I don’t think you can comprehend how much I wanted to ravish you the time we met.” The Radio Demon began to grind into Husk’s rump, seeing him twitch and squirm as he fought to remain still.

The giant cat bit his tongue, forcing a whimper that wanted to make this situation much worse. His thighs trembled softly as the taller demon pumped against him with vigor. For a few aching minutes Alastor ground himself into Husk, occasionally leaning over to peck him on his cheek. Electricity shot through the cat as he felt Alastor’s genitals brush against him. Unconsciously, Husk began to grind his body down in order to reciprocate those jolts of dizzying pleasure. His face began to warm, wings near his back fluttering with the exasperated pants of the large cat.

Feeling the older male giving in, Alastor removed his hands from the previously strangled cat’s neck, granting slight reprieve. It didn’t last as long as the cat would like as Alastor moved back; his shoulders still bracketing Husk’s lengthy legs as he moved to get as low as allowed.

“Sweet kitten… my dearest sweet kitty,” Alastor started as his face hovered just above Husk’s panting belly, “I’ve been giddy with this urge to devour you for too long. I think the only thing that has kept you from me was my need to keep busy. That changes now.”

The fog in Husk’s mind subsided enough for him to notice Alastor was no longer grinding into him, instead his head was hovering just above his belly. That was when the realization dawned. In the time it took for him to muscle enough strength to move back, Alastor’s face was in between his thighs licking at him feverishly. A surprised cry came from Husk as his claws shot out to grab onto the Radio Demon’s horns, not entirely sure if he was trying to push him away or further him along. Either option made this torture worse. Not thinking on it, Husk’s claws grated into Alastor’s hair pulling the young man deeper.

The cat’s cheeks burned; whether from the shame of giving up so quickly or a new found rage for the demon who was currently tongue deep inside him, he couldn’t make himself know. What he did know however, was that this was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long while. It was so good, the cat’s body was beginning to do the opposite of what his mind was telling it. For every exhale of heated breath, Husk’s lower body arched in a bow in order to get feel for a better angle. When that tongue touched a sensitive spot; on or inside of Husk, the cat would crow and moan pathetically.

Alastor internally wished he could see the cat’s face contorting and fissuring from the strain of failing to contain his arousal. For now, feeling his thighs clench over his head as his tongue wriggled about inside him was more than enough confirmation he was enjoying himself. He wanted to hear more of the cat’s cries and purrs, so he lifted up a bit more while his right hand palmed the erecting phallus hanging loosely in between the cat’s legs.

“Stop! Al-Alastor! Pl–”, His fangs went into his lips, biting off the pleas before they were wrenched out. One of his claws remaining in the demon’s hair as the other ripped into his clothing.

A burst of hunger rattled throughout Alastor at the feel of those long nails digging into his back. A deep trembling growl came forth as his mind became laced with static. The cat’s willfulness to act on this was something the deer demon had counted on, but not so quickly. He wanted more of it! And so much of it. His gloved hand played about with Husk’s pecker more, his head and tongue still in between the cat demon’s thighs. Above him, he could continuously hear the begging falling from the cat’s lips, “No, No! Please… Oh, god” he’d be whispering and chanting to himself.

The whole scene went for what could have felt like hours but were merely minutes in normal time. One of Husk’s claws broke the flesh on Alastor’s back as he tried to either attack him or bring him closer. The fresh stinking of blood– fully well knowing it was his own blood– drove Alastor into a sex crazed fritz. His tongue left from the inside of Husk; much to his silent relief, and wrapped around the cat demon’s red, bulbous phallus.

“Oh! Alastor!” Husk screamed suddenly, his wings flapping frantically but not being able to get any lift. He began to struggle as he felt his impending climax surfacing; pressure in his lower back and hips giving the warning.

With the changing of position, Alastor could now see the cat demon’s face: And his eyes shot wide as he bobbed up and down on the older male’s cock. The male cat’s face was gloriously slack and strained. Ears fell back as his eyes rolled back in his head with fervor and ecstasy. His mouth hung open as he sucked in deep, loud pants of heated air. Seeing his old partner like his was everything Alastor wanted to see the first time he ever met him. Shame it took him this long to finally get him to this.

While he celebrated this victory, Husk had tensed and froze all together. His back had reached a perfect arch as he growled loud enough to vibrate the air. Alastor looked up at him as the male had reached his climax; jaws hung open in a silent shout as his talons pulled into Alastor’s back even more. He wasn’t even disgusted by the taste of the cat’s seed on his tongue. The warm liquid steadily pumped down his throat as he swallowed Husk to the hilt. Plus, he didn’t stop afterwards; he hollowed his cheeks more and bobbed his head in the same rhythm as before.

“No! No! Ala-”, Husk crooned weakly at the motion of Alastor’s tongue slipping over his cock, “I-I can’t ta-take it!” A sob bubbled from him as Husk kept kicking and fighting through his climax. About a minute later, Alastor released his hold, merely watching as the cat demon’s erection slid from his mouth.

He pulled forward his silk handkerchief from a small pocket, using the fabric to clean any residual seed from his lips. While that happened, Husk’s limbs shivered as he struggled to figure out what was going on. His eyes blearily looked around the room until he looked down at himself, and the Radio Demon hunched in between his legs.

“Alastor…” It didn’t come out as a question. Husk didn’t know what he wanted to say to him. The demon that had his mouth on his cock, took the words from the cat. Hard orange eyes had become softened due to his climax. Reflexively the cat demon’s claws dug into the silk duvet. His ears folded on the pillow that had been pushed underneath his head. The firmness made sitting up even a bit easier.

Alastor’s grin never wavered, his eyes going sharp as he drug himself atop the bed. When he was face to face with the cat, he leant in. The top half of his chest was now pressing down on Husk’s. He measured the slightly hitched breathing as his gaze went to Husk’s lips. He didn’t give Husk the chance to block his offense as his lips collided the cats’. Alastor kept his gaze on the cat, eyes never closing as their lips remained locked. Sanguine colored eyes shuddered in the vibrancy of the contrasting red and black room. Soon the quiet of the room was interrupted as Husk’s lips entangled with the younger demon’s in earnest. He made a futile attempt to push him off, only for Alastor to reach between them, gather both of his claws, and pin them to the top of the bed.

Well and truly trapped, Husk could only groan… His claws were held above his head in the manner similar to the way Alastor held him the first time. His mouth opened to breath in the air of Alastor, nearly crying out in his mouth as he felt the Radio Demon’s tongue delve inside. For a few solid minutes, their lips slipped and squelched off each other in wet, delicious pops and licks. Husk closed his eyes, not trying to observe what his body had been reduced to. Vocally, he purred softly. It came out of him so quietly, he didn’t acknowledge it until Alastor’s tongue was halfway down his throat.

The cat below him began to squirm with the intrusion of his long tongue. The appendage going down his throat, to the top of his mouth and more. When noticed Husk’s chest heaving he stopped kissing him, but merely hovered over the smaller cat. The old male couldn’t bring himself to look at his violator. He had to remind himself that what Alastor wanted was in no way consensual. This was what Husk should’ve been more careful to avoid. He should not have let his guard down for such an extended period. Husk had gambled his luck the first time; a successful gamble it was. The Radio Demon, at the time, didn’t know who he had been facing. And the desire to suddenly be inside of Husk made him clumsy, arrogant, forgetful, as well as neglectful.

Now the cards and luck turned against the old man as he shuddered to the feeling of the young man pecking and licking his neck, he cringed with the feeling of the sharpened teeth against his throat. A gesture reminiscent of the time Husk threatened to bleed the demon dry. He wondered if he would want to taste his blood. If afterwards, when he dumped himself inside of his abused body, he’d want the cat to experience the same pain of having his throat bit into. Would the demon revel in watching the light fade from his eyes as he gulped his fluids greedily and then depositing the drained corpse that was Husk?

A sniveling groan came from Husk as he felt Alastor’s teeth nip into his collarbone. Another pathetic noise mustered from Husk as Alastor’s teeth scraped along his arm.

“Stop it,” The younger demon said suddenly, a vicious snarl accompanying the words, “Stop making that putrid noise this instant.”

The cat was about to let loose a sob but remembered himself enough to hold it in. This whole scene was misery and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was pinned by the demon’s weight as Alastor began to feel on everything. His eyes darted somewhere else, at a place where wasn’t looking at the larger demon. He felt some relief when Alastor pulled himself off in order to undo his pants. The sound of clasps being undone and his belt unwrapping made Husk sick to his stomach. In a renewed strife, Husk fought back against Alastor’s hold. He kicked, shoved, and floundered all over the bed all in an attempt to get out of his grasp.

Alastor could see the fight returning to the old cat and began to maneuver his grip so that he was now holding both of Husk’s wrist’s. With that step done, Alastor dragged the cat’s body further up the bed, his wings scraping with resistance. Those noises from earlier, Husk crying and sniveling, came back and louder than before. In desperation and despair, the cat’s eyes; full of unshed tears, began to spill over, the wet drops sinking into his fur.

“No! No! Please, I don’t want this!,” He sobbed out, “What are you tryin’ to get out of this?! Why are you doin’ this?!”

Those questions struck a chord in the Radio Demon. He remembers a time too long forgotten when his victims would plea and snivel for their lives. And would ask him the “what’s”, and the “why’s”. Back then, Alastor didn’t tell them why. Or what for. There was no point in entertaining a dead guest. And the looks; their last living gazes as he butchered would solidify his “what’s” and “why’s”. He didn’t love tormenting his dead weight victims… He lavished in the sickened stinking of their blood as it decorated his suit. The adrenaline he got from his murders would shoot through every corner of his body, lighting up his veins with a cocktail that couldn’t be chilled out.

He hated how his body worked when he killed his prey. He shuddered with disgust at how aroused his body got at watching the dismemberment of a body. Often his cock would get unnecessarily hard. But he didn’t wish to enter a brothel, or head home to work it out himself. He hated how his own body distracted and bothered him. Unwillingly, he’d pull himself free with a violent tug and pleasure himself with the intermingling scent of himself and blood of the prey.

His orgasms left him empty, devoid of the rush he had gotten before. It left him cold and apathetic as he numbly looked at his spunk as it trailed down his fingers. He put himself away, choosing to gather his things and contemplated where his next kill should be. And who will be next.

“Why?…,” He could have been talking to Husk to answer his question, but he was looking at the pillow above his head. And not Husk, “For love, my darling.”

The trembling cat underneath him knew better. Nothing about this was about love. This was about getting something. This was all about taking something that he couldn’t have to begin with. Love was not a thing Alastor felt. Except for himself and his motives. But to love someone?

“This ain’t love!,” Husk snarled as he powered up again only to be forced back into the mattress, “You don’t love me! You never have!” Husk renewed his attempts to fight Alastor. Along with his grip.

Nothing verbal came from the larger demon as the feline tried to get himself away out of his grasp. His gaze intensifying as he looked down at the cat demon. Saliva began to collect in his mouth while he watched him wriggle and struggle. A quickening thrummed through his heart as he listened to the way Husk cried and groaned. Soon, the cat was beginning to tire; he had put too much effort into struggling to only realize that he wasn’t going to be released.

“Tired, sweet thing?”, Alastor jabbed with mock sympathy, “Poor Husk… don’t you worry too much now. This will feel good. You will love it. And I want you to tell me that ‘you want this.” Pulling his pants down a little further exposed more of Alastor’s cock. Pathetically, Husk worked by dragging his feet along the cool duvet, appearing to almost be grinding his hips in order to feel comfortable. His paws flexed in Alastor’s hands as he used his fingers to press into his paw pads.

Husk turned his head to the side now, since he no longer had fight in him, the least he made himself do was not look at Alastor while this happened. His body heat came out as a simpering cold, stages of shock starting to ice him over. He didn’t even move when Alastor pressed his lips against his cheek and chin. He whispered something to him, whether Husk was listening or not Alastor didn’t think to care, as he pushed himself slowly into the cat. He wriggled and squirmed with the intrusion, his back arching as he sucked in a sudden pant.

A shout was stuck in Husk’s throat as he felt the larger demon push himself in further. On instinct, his wing flared and flapped; the feathers loudly colliding with the sheets and headboard. Husk’s claws sheathed and unsheathed, the method causing Husk to think on that instead of Alastor’s short thrusts. Alastor panted in the cat’s massive ears, knees scooting inward as he bottomed out completely; causing both to make an exasperated or relieved noise.

He stayed like that, taking the feeling of Husk around him, watching the cat’s deflating persona as he looked away from him, instead choosing to look at his restrained paws. He stayed oddly silent, save his heavy breathing. The fight he had previously, the sounds of his sobs and cries, his trembling form, had ceased entirely. He was nothing now. His eyes illuminated in a way to show he was alive, but there was nothing that could seen beyond them.

Curiously, Alastor bit down on the cat’s neck harshly, hoping to a reaction from him. He flinched and breathed, but did not much else. He lifted a brow, feeling a bit different to Husk freezing underneath him.

“Husk…”, he moaned softly, trying to get him to rouse with his voice, “Oh, Husk…” He slowly moved his hips and chuckled when Husk gasped in response. When he felt he had the cat’s attention, Alastor began a languid but hard pace; he pushed on Husk’s body in order to bring him closer and on his thrusts. That made a little noise but it wasn’t satisfying. Still, he went with his slow pace but kept his movements sharp. He pressed his head into the cat��s chest as he thrust harder. The cat didn’t react.

Growing more irate than aroused, Alastor’s fingers dug into Husk’s paw pads with enough pressure to get Husk’s eyes to widen. That finally made the cat look up at his rapist. His face looked bizarre, empty looking. Not pain, fear, horror, or even pleasure. Alastor couldn’t tell what his face was supposed to look like. He hadn’t actually done this before… He had only touched himself and that felt disgusting. But he’s wanted Husk for such a sinful amount of time. This was his reward… so why wasn’t Husk enjoying it?

The idea of Husk not taking enjoyment in this made the larger demon snarl loudly. He pushed down on Husk’s arms more and bit him in the collarbone with enough force to draw blood. The cat demon growled and tried to wiggle a bit, but he was still trapped under Alastor’s thrusting form. He didn’t make much noise, save a few hisses from the thrusts, and that was now beginning to piss the Radio Demon off. He was seething so bad that he had released Husk’s paws and settled them on his waist to push himself in more, his gloved claws dragging bloodied lines down his frame.

Husk screamed. It wasn’t from the pleasure. His body couldn’t find any pleasure in any of this. In the blur of the quick slash down his waist, he could feel trails of blood leak out on the bed. With his paws free, Husk at least tried to shove at Alastor, but just didn’t have enough resolve to get him off fully.

Above him Alastor started to move faster, his thrusts becoming less hard and more pointed, his hips moving quickly to piston inside of Husk. During that, Husk’s back began to arch, loud symphonic purring coming to the surface now. After a few seconds, his purrs shifted into quiet but soft moans. Not as quiet to Alastor’s ears as he pursued the noises and pushed himself deeper inside Husk to get a taste of those delicate moans.

While he was doing that, his claws kept scraping and scarring the cat demon’s skin, leaving deep, pressured lines all over him. For the first time in his life in Hell, Alastor began to feel heavy pinpoints of actual arousal. Instead of rough, soundless pants, he was starting to pant softly, groan to the inside of his captor as he fucked the cat in the only way he could think of. He found himself hiking Husk’s legs up more, going much deeper than before. His claws went from his waist and grabbed onto the sheets on either side of Husk’s head; the cat pivoting his head to not look at him.

‘Not again!’ The larger demon snarled in his mind as he turned Husk’s head to look at him. To force him to stare directly at him.

“Look at me,” He hissed in an audible warning, “You are going to look at me. I want you to watch as I fuck you like this. Do you understand?”

The cat demon nodded. And then nearly cried out when Alastor shoved in much harder than previously.

“I didn’t get that. Do you understand?” He slowed his thrusts in order to emphasize the stroke. He waited on the reply. It wasn’t going to be a ‘no’. Not if the cat wanted to get out of this alive.

“Y-Yess. Yes… please.” His voice was cracky, weakening from the lack of choice he had at the moment.

“Wonderful!”, Alastor stated almost too jubilantly, “Oh Husky, I have every intent on making you feel good.”

While he spoke Husk suddenly started to feel woozy. Sickly looking as well. Before Alastor could even figure what was happening outside his world, the cat demon lurched hard to the left side and vomited violently.

The smell of it tingled on alcohol and a meal the cat had prior, but looked like bile. Husk coughed while retching, his chest huffing up and down as more came up. He shivered harshly before coughing again. The whole side of the bed and floor was soaked in the mess. With the combination of the sex and vomit, Husk felt awful.

And Alastor laughed, not fully, it was a half hearted chuckle as he pumped into the cat more.

“Looks like someone made a mess,” the Radio demon mocked as he stroked the satin duvet and thrust into Husk more, “I’ll clean it up later.” Then he pinned him down and began to pump harder and faster.

Husk moaned, much louder than he intended. His body flexed and arched with each precise, yet painful thrust. One pinprick of a thrust later, his wings shivered as his chest heaved. He pushed a forceful pant as Alastor reoriented a such thrust that forced him to put a claw on Alastor’s shoulder.

The whole time, the eldritch bastard kept that sadistic smile on his face. He leant down, placing his lips on Husk’s; the kiss deepening as Husk moaned into the kiss. He found he lavished in watching every twitch, every vibration of the cat demon’s muscles. But he was beginning to love watching his partner’s face in contort with each thrust. He was starting to like this. Every moan, groan, or sharp pant was saying so. Also, Husk barely began his bodily protest. There was not as much vigor to escape as there was to take in what was occurring to him.

When the thrusts became faster, Husk’s started to draw up his own legs into a better angle for each pointed shot. One such thrust caused the cat demon’s face to boil and eyes to roll back as he shivered. He felt Alastor’s lips raise from his as he was pulled in closer, his body being twisted to accommodate the hard hits. The whole while, the cat demon kept his claws in the Radio Demon’s back. He didn’t know if he should let him go, savagely tear his back open, or just leave it so he decided on the last; regardless of his muddled, lust filled mind.

“Al-Alas…”, Husk’s first vocal try to reach the Radio Demon came out as a weak moan. He started fighting back his need for arousal, but every move against him only made him moan more, “Alasstor…” He ended with a hiss. Unconsciously, Husk removed his claws from his back and rubbed softly against Alastor’s ribs. The gesture making Alastor groan a bit, his pace fumbling into a faster grind.

“What a good boy! Such a sweet, sexy kitty cat,” The deer demon was sounding quite pleased, winded even, yet so utterly pleased. This was what he was wanting out of Husk. His submission. His participation. But more than anything… His body. For the first time, which will not be the last time, He had Husk in every way. Now his servant would be serving him with not just his life, but with his body as well, “Keep this up and I’ll reward you so perfectly.” He emphasized by stroking his cheek and neck.

Husk’s moans sounded more frequently as his climax became an impending throb. He couldn’t reach himself in order to stroke off his aching phallus; said member abandoned, waving without stimuli. He resorted himself to arching and bumping against Alastor in order to keep himself a stir for as long as the larger demon fucked into him. At the last second, barely a thrust more before he’d keel over, Alastor placed his gloved hands behind Husk, slid up on his knees, and roughly bringing Husk onto his lap. Positioned on him so that his legs would now hang loosely on either side of Alastor’s hips, Husk screamed out suddenly as the penetration got deeper.

In this position, Husk’s wings were free to dangle of the silkened duvet, the feathers barely clashing the bloody red colors. The cat demon began to shake with vigor as Alastor forced him further down on his cock.

“Deep. So… Deep.” Husk chanted softly, finding out, in horror, that his body was starting to like how much further the thrusts could go. Unintentionally, he wrapped his wings around the larger demon, them being used as a way to hold himself.

While that was happening, Alastor’s claws moved to explore, grab, cut and slice, jab, and bleed Husk’s skin. Blood spots starting to form underneath his sooty fur, many wounds dribbling more profuse than others. Worse yet and adding to his powerful thrusts, Alastor began to bite, more maul, Husk’s neck. Wildly, he bit into the cat’s neck with the intent to bleed him.

“Alastor!” His screamed in rabid panic as he felt his fur being ripped, skin almost peeling, “Alastor! No! No! It hurts!” Husk’s voice cracked, tears spilling from his eyes as tremors of pain rung up and down his body.

Alastor’s eyes appeared to have almost blackened at hearing the weakness in the other’s voice. He didn’t respond verbally, the noise coming from him came out as a snarl or rumbling growl.

“It hurts…” Alastor repeated, pausing his pace for a second, “I’m not hurting you! I’m giving you everything you deserve! I’ve wanted you to have this since the first time I met you. How dare you!,” He snapped, raking his claws down the cat’s already sore back, “I. Would. Never. Hurt. The one. I. Love!” He punctuated every word with a thrust hard enough to make Husk bend and bow.

This couldn’t go on. It didn’t. It was only a matter of time before the dam broke.

On the last thrust, Husk clenched painfully around Alastor; wings flaring open before dropping onto the bed, he couldn’t make anymore noise, –it was barely a gurgled grumble– as he came harshly all over the lap of Alastor. He trembled, quaked, and shook before he became spineless in the Radio Demon’s lap.

The moment, as well as climax, came and went so abruptly, Alastor didn’t even know that the cat had passed out. Only when he prodded at the cat in a manner that was supposed to be painful did he notice he was unresponsive.

“Kitty cat?… Husky?” He tried, his clawed fingertips probing at Husk’s prone, stagnant face. He almost appeared to be dead. The barest, near invisible rising and falling of his chest; no matter how minute, showed that he was physically still living.

He pulled the creature off his cock and threw him atop the bed, body falling to his side like a limply made ragdoll.

He looked so beautiful… in such a way that aroused Alastor more. But it felt the same as being sexually into a corpse. Which he felt disgusted for thinking about. The cat was alive, in a sense. He didn’t even twitch when he smoothed his gloved fingertip down his chest and stomach. The cat never stirred. He was truly gone.

‘Disappointing.’ His mind muttered as he reoriented himself. Looking himself over he could see the cat’s release all over his shirt and open flaps of his pants. As well as he fully mast erection. He made a nasally grunt as he made himself stand. He felt incredibly tight near his groin area; with his inability to come to his own release. He wasn’t about to stuff himself back in his pants until he could work the pressured charge out of his lower body. But he wasn’t about to fuck the cat’s unconscious body to do that.

He went into his conjoined bath, turned the water to the coldest setting, removed his clothes and stepped in. He had been so charged that he never the bristling cold run over his head and spine. He flinched while feeling the cat’s various claw marks and gashes from where he held him last. Then the smell wafted up his nose. A stinking oily smell that indeed was his blood. He used his smell and the lingering jolts of Husk’s touch as the fuel needed to work himself off.

Alastor didn’t moan, or groan. Hardly any noise came from him, save his breathing, as he palmed and stroked his maddeningly hard erection. He closed his eyes, his head tilting against the freezing tiles as he came all over the floor; that pressure no longer causing him discomfort. After releasing a single relieved pant, Alastor shut off the water and stepped out, leaving his soiled clothes in front of the shower.

He left to his wardrobe to pick out his more casual ensemble: His staple salmon colored button down long sleeve, sharply pressed, tall and tapered simply colored black pants and his small red and black bowtie. He about made it out of his room until he looked over to Husk’s body; whom was beginning to stir but made barely noticeable twitches. He didn’t wish to leave him like this; atop his duvet with various bleeding wounds leaking all over the crimson red sheets. His scars would most likely be prone to infection nothing was done about them.

He grin flashed as he came with an idea to make the cat comfortable. What better way could he think of than a bit of after care?

Carefully, he wormed his hands across Husk, careful to keep his blood off his shirt, picked him up and moved to the bathroom. He kicked away his discarded clothes while he placed the cat inside of his blackened, red painted soaking tub. Humming a merry beat quietly, he rustled through his medicinal cabinet for supplies to treat any serious wounds. Once the herbs and small ointments were found, he came back around to see if Husk had moved. Save his ears twitching, Husk barely stirred. That came as good news for Alastor as he turned on the hot water, hoping to get him to fully awaken. He lifted a brow when not even that woke the cat. He was really out of it. Adjusting the water temperature a bit made it easier for him to touch him as he swabbed the caking blood off of his fur.

He continued like this for a while. Occasionally using his bathing ointment, often used for recurring wound pains, to soothe and wash out all of Husk’s worser wounds. Tenderly, he pressed his lips to the cat’s face whenever he hissed or groaned from the swabs. When Husk began getting well enough to open his eyes, Alastor softly hummed something others wouldn’t have heard. Whatever he did say managed to calm the cat down, his eyes lulling closed as Alastor wiped up some clotting blood. When he had gotten to his neck, the deer demon suddenly could see where he had gone too far.

He poured a great deal of medicinal alcohol onto the bite to keep it from infection. He knew what a huge amount of that would do, so he was prepared when Husk almost shot out of the tub.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He mumbled as he kept a fair grip on Husk’s wings and back. Another badly injured area yet to be cleaned or properly taken care of, which proved to be a worse mistake to touch. Husk yowled and flailed wildly; the pain almost making a run out of the tub.

“No! No! Husk, enough of that!” Alastor chastised before a swift swipe of Husk’s claw dug into his neck.

Calmly, Alastor pulled the nails out of his top collar, and pulled back on Husk to get him in the tub. He checked on his chest and neck for anymore blood, thankful when he found none.

“Alright, kitty. All done.” He spoke softly as he pulled him out of the dirty water. He reached behind him to gather the towel he would swaddle him in to keep him warm. The bath all taken care of, Alastor thoroughly dried off his small partner and leant him down to cover him in the blankets. Husk didn’t open his eyes as any, or all, energy left his body.

Fur now cleaned, skin tended to, as well as all wounds patched up, Alastor made himself pat the smaller cat as he slept; totally unaware of the surroundings he had been placed in. His chipper grin wavered a bit, forming something of a smile with genuine emotion behind it. Both of his hands moved down the cat’s prone body before he could process a reason to why. Indifference, apathy as well boiled out of the fearsome demon’s chest. An urge to just jump in bed next to the sleeping mass of fur had to be physically resisted as he moved away from the bed.

Grin restored Alastor chuckled to himself giddily. He wanted to head downstairs and brag to anyone. Everyone perhaps about his lascivious encounter with the Hotel’s barkeep. Alastor shook his head hard enough to rattle those intrusive thoughts out of it. He is one of a silent, less obvious pride. Unlike Angel Dust, who’d go on about who he had shared a bed with the night before, Alastor wouldn’t tell them. They would have to ask about a ‘sex life’ that he would make them believe he had. So long as subtlety remained apart of his guise, the heated tryst would be between Husk and him alone.

His room remained dark before he walked out of it, not concerning himself with opening the drapes for the moment as it was already sundown.

Feint dancing of candescent lighting made the study appear much brighter than it usually did. With blinks so slight, Alastor saw shadows move across the floor. Save his breathing tonight, the study was still. Large oak french doors didn’t creak as they were pushed by the gust of an exterior window on the far right side of the room. Papers, manuscripts, books of plenty; some opened to a chapter and left there, others sprawled out on the counter, their spines bent on the cherrywood table with the story that he couldn’t see.

An Ol’ Fashioned Manhattan in hand, Alastor strode through the quiet room. He doesn’t entertain Charlie or her company this evening, though he can he ghostly whispers of them, and a non too soft guffaw of Angel Dust. He continued his exploration through the dimly lit space, hands on each piece of parchment or note left in a tidy, or discordant mess on various high standing dining room style tables. Some of the letters had calligraphies that seemed like nonsense, others were scribble that a bored 6-year old would do.

Adjusting his monocle as it loomed off his face just a stitch, he could now see what the Princess of Hell was trying to bring into fruition for the benefit of all her people. For the full reach of Hell. He bent of the table to see what her plans might be, and wondered if there would be any room for his quiet adjustments. His chest rose and fell as he blew out the sigh he had held.

A knock on the double doors brought Alastor out of his fantasies. One of the heavy doors pushed open, creaking as it did, as a lone, blonde haired figure came through it.

Princess Charlie was actually not in suit and tie tonight. She garnished a reddish orange tank top with frills along the neck like a neckerchief, dress trousers were replaced with white flowing chiffon pants that scraped at the hardwood as she walked. Her hair had been put up well above her head in a coiling pattern reminiscent of a giant snake.

“I… noticed you weren’t at the table. And we didn’t know if you were hungry, so I left you some leftovers on the counter,” She kept her tone soft with him for some reason. Alastor knew she was much louder, so her change in tone was a change to him, “Also we’re having tea and cakes. Vaggie and I made them. If you want some, help yourself.” Her tone chipper despite her near muted tone.

“Supper had been missed already? Ha! The time does fly here! I’ll be around in a moment for the tea time since I’m still quite full from a previous meal.” The Radio Demon does have a knack or two of lying. Though him joining the small group for tea would be a refreshing afterthought.

“Great!,” Charlie’s infectious smile made him grin all the more wider. He just loved seeing her beam with such a smile. He lavished in being able to see everyone with that smile. She was about to leave the study before turning sharply, her elbow almost slamming against the closed door, “Oh! And see if Husk wants to come down too. He probably doesn’t want any tea, but we have some beer if he wants it.”

“I’m afraid my Husky dear will not be able to mingle along with the ritz as all. Poor dear’s had the longest of days and would much prefer to sleep. I’ll bring him some confections after the party,” With that, Alastor strode by Charlie’s side and to where she held the nighttime tea party, “Precious thing needs all the rest. Requires it, actually.” He placed his hands on either side of Charlie’s shoulders as they moved into the dining area. She laughed in his agreement, knowing fully that Husk isn’t the same when he hasn’t the decent amount of sleep.

_______________________________________________________________________

Him waking should not have taken as much time, nor caused as much pain as it did. Ghoulish numbness trickled all throughout his body, his muscles spasming and shaking. He could barely gain his body, feeling as if he had been maimed and mauled by a beast. He couldn’t process how such a severe pain warred and marred him, he had been sleeping up to now, what... who had attacked him in the night? He couldn’t get his eyes to open, or what have you, it hurt him try to. His limbs felt like large piles of lead. His breathing became much harder, coming out as gasping coughs. Finally Husk’s eyes opened, after forcing them to obey him and it hurt.

Husk scanned over himself... and instantly felt sick.

From the top of his neck down to his toes, he was covered in scratches, bite marks and claw patterns that seemed to puncture his skin. His limbs trembled as they soon started to cooperate with him, previous weakness in them dissolving as his senses worked back. Static of pain made Husk cry out when he tried to reorient his legs. They felt like they had been broken. Slammed by something repeatedly until the bones in them became congealed putty. He’d have to hope for later that wasn’t the case.

The more the cat demon thought and thought, the more murky and befuddled did they become. Clearly somethings had become remiss since he has now awoken injured. He wanted to know why. He had to figure out what happened to him. He strained and snarled loudly once his back choose that moment to betray him. His right paw shot up to apply pressure, it paused as one of his claws felt on the gashes on his nape and lower part of his back. Miraculously, he didn’t feel any blood on his claw tip, instead he felt fresh scarring that stung as he touched them.

He willed his voice to call out, but the only noise that came was a pained and hoarse rolling growl. He clenched at his throat while rooting around for something he could use to clear it. His breath smelt terribly of some kind of distilled, expired liquor he most likely never drank in his life, combined with dankness and dirtiness of stagnant water. And it made him smell horrible.

Shaking out the fuzz that began to occupy his mind, Husk tried his best to figure out where he was. He came to the conclusion that he was not in a bed he was familiar with. He didn’t sleep in his own room on more than one occasion, so that wasn’t what bothered him. What did though was that he had never seen the interior of this room before. The room itself felt too macabre to put away even normal guests of the hotel.

He glanced over the large solid brown oak door of the room, and then to the velvet red drapery of the nearest tall casement style window. To the left side of the bed, nestled in the corner appeared some kind of loveseat instead of a full couch. Atop it, the discarded scarlet jacket that must’ve been thrown away for a long time. It looked almost similar to Alastor’s jacket, but what was it doing in this room. He then gazed at the vanity in front of the massive bed he was sitting in. The mirror atop it reflecting his distressed appearance as his brow furrowed.

'Who in this place has a... Fuck!’ His reflection followed as the realization, and memory swiftly came back. He had only been in this room once. He never entered it unless prior permission had been given.

“This is Alastor’s room!” Husk wheezed out loudly, “What. The. Fuck?!!” His voice became stronger with dissonance.

His eyes widened, his chest had grown tight as the whiplash caused the room to spin. Husk’s right paw went to the scars on his nape, near his lower back. He felt up his scar at the same moment a tragedy played back in his mind.

Husk screamed, a sound that never came from his throat, no matter the situation, as he was grabbed from behind. His ears fell back and his body went numb as a gloved hand scraped into his nape. He overbalanced his head, tilting too far back, causing his hat to tumble to the ground. His face was brought up to Alastor’s, whom of which somehow transformed into a beast no one in Hell had ever lived to see.

His body quaked at the reminiscent feeling of those willowy fingers gripping deep into his fur. His ears dropped low as a rolling, coiling sensation rode through his guts. His vision swam as more of the memory played back in his mind. In it, he could hear a voice. Cracking. Wavering with something bordering on fear.

“Al…Alas…” He shuddered, his voice cracking. He stumbled Alastor’s name from his paralyzed lips.

His body twitched subtly as that voice replayed the Radio Demon’s name over and over. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell him to stop. Or beg him to. If he was going to beg him at all. Another wave of painful wave of dysphoric nostalgia crashed through him, and this time he gagged from it. His paws shot to his mouth to keep something… anything from coming out. Nothing came, but the iron ball in his gut remained there; pushing on everything, causing his stomach to sink further.

“Hush, pet… everything is alright…” Nothing about what happened, felt alright to Husk, “this time… you won’t be able to escape me.”

Husk remembered the barest of static in the eldritch’s voice. The sharpening claws digging into his fur. But the rest was a blur in the moment his shadow constricted him. Coiled around him like a snake before dragging him into the room where he is now. He should’ve tried. To escape. At least put up a fight before it all happened.

Knowing what he knows now, Husk makes a break for it. Shoving off the overly large red duvet, Husk lands one foot on the floor before it spasms. He gasps in pain as pain shoots up his right leg, to the joint on his hips. The gasps dissipates into a growl as he slides the rest of his body off of the bed.

Just in time for the massive oak door to creak open. And for him to see that grin that make Husk’s stomach drop further.

The Radio Demon comes in with a tray as he closes the solid door of the room. Cutting off any plans that Husk might have used earlier to escape. The cat keeps his eye on Alastor as he set the assortment of baked goods and hot tea confections on a stony, marble chest. He is in a suit more casual than other times he is seen; a simple salmon colored button down long sleeve, black, pressed loose-fitting trousers and his normal red and black bowtie.

The cat doesn’t take his eyes off him as he pulls out two china glass, floral patterned tea cups and pours two cups. The aroma is quite nice. Floral scented with hints of orange and lemon. Alastor keeps his eyes trained on the cups as he dots in a couple scoops of sugar and a drizzle of honey. He moves one of the cups off the tray to places it nearest to Husk. The cat breaks contact with the demon for a moment to look at the various brightly colored cookies and small cakes on a different plate. His stomach turns and gurgles. Unconsciously, he puts his paw to his belly, as if trying to silence his minuscule need to eat.

The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Alastor, who finally locks eyes with Husk, his showcased smile forever etched on his face.

“Evening…,” he starts, eyes gleaming at the cat who began to divert his gaze on something else in the room, “Supper has been eaten downstairs. Dishes done and tummy’s full. But Charlie thought it nice for a little nighttime tea time. And you have to wake up early in the morning, so I was considerate enough to leave you some confections! See now, don’t say I never gave you something nice.” He chuckled lightly at his words before placing himself on the far left side of the loveseat. Then encouraged Husk to sit next to him by thumping his hand on the spot indicated to sit.

Husk didn’t move. His tail thrashed slowly behind him as he rubbed and scratched at his left arm. He still wasn’t looking at Alastor. He growled silently, ignoring the flaring pains in both of his legs.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Alastor said sweetly.

The cat flinched at that. At his sweet, soft words. Just in the way he said that made Husk’s fur stand on end. Made something like tar bubble up in his guts as he seethed at him.

The cat looked down at his feet. A snarl coming onto his face, but it made him look as if he was being scolded. His posture looked as if he was being petulant and stubborn.

“You… Alastor you…ra… why did you?” Husk tried to make the mess of words tumbling from his mouth intelligible. He gripped at himself a bit tighter as the words became no more than intelligent garbling repeats of what he was trying to say.

“Sorry Husk. What was that?” Alastor tilted his head as he asked. His kitty had never appeared so frazzled before. Though he wasn’t worried about how he was feeling. He looked noticeably tired.

“You…raped…me.” Husk mumbled, slurring his speech purposely. He couldn’t make himself speak clearly. And it was beginning to anger him. Knowing that he’d have to tell Alastor what he just remembered.

Alastor’s brow arched curiously, seeming to want to know what begot the troubles of his older partner, but did not wish to ask again. Still, seeing Husk like this was disconcerting to say the least. His mood, even his temperament was unusual tonight; even for him. He kept his complaints long, yes but there was also simple, with no underlying innuendo or sugarcoating. He trained his gaze harder on the cat demon, who was looking more ruffled than late. His eyes were kept to the floor, tail batting around behind him in a thudding pattern. He also noticed that the cat’s wings rose a bit over his back, feather tips barely grazing the floor as the shuddered.

Curiosity ebbing, Alastor decided it best to comfort his sweet partner, so he got out of his seat, took a long, slow gait around the table while holding out a simple hand to meet him halfway.

Husk hissed ferociously, his wings banking over his body like a bow, claws coming unsheathed as his slumping, petulant posture transformed into the Hellcat that Alastor remembered too well. “ Stay back! You stay the fuck away from me!”

Alastor’s eyes widened, surprise brimming from them as he watched the cat’s violent display. He ceased his approach, hand going to his chest in a way to make it look as if he had been wounded by the audacity of his oldest partner and dearest friend drawing his claws at him. The stared long into each other’s eyes; the cat demon’s looking to almost brim with a deep, bloodied scarlet at the center of his pupils.

The whole scene was a bit of a torrent for the perplexed Radio Demon. He wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea to approach him to swoop him up in his arms while paddling him with soft, warm kisses. Or to take to arms and fight the beguiling, yet dangerous beast.

“You must be ill, my dearest Husk…,” Alastor said, his tone meaning to be used in a way to diffuse the cat’s aggression. Boldly, he took steps toward him, keep his tone the same as he said “Why don’t you come over and sit down? I’m not doin’ anything to hurt ya.”

Husk’s eyes flashed between dilating and constricting, claws not pulling back as he hissed viciously. All of Alastor’s words didn’t matter to Husk. He remembered. He remembered in great detail what the demon in front of him dismissed. The cat held his ground, puffing and spit-hissing at him in warning to keep Alastor at bay.

“Darling, this is nonsensical. What have I done to you to invoke such distress from you?” Alastor was now close enough to brush Husk’s wing but not his face. But he saw well and true the unadulterated rage in his eyes.

“What have you done?!”, Husk snarled lowly, “You don’t know what you did?! Well I can go back in details about all the horrible, vomit-inducing things you did!!,” He stepped right into Alastor’s face, claws dangling dangerously to the front, “You. Raped. Me. You son of bitch!”

They both were so close that Husk could see how Alastor’s eyes dilated when he spoke. And then constrict. He could feel the heat surfacing from the cat’s skin, could hear the palpable drumming of a long dead heart. The euphoria. The catharsis was too much for Alastor to take.

His hands dove into the cat’s fur before Husk could react, slamming and pinning him to the side of the bed. Before the roar would come, the much larger, younger deer demon lunged; shoving his tongue down the cat’s throat. He dragged out a ragged moan as his lips conquered the cat’s fully. Soon he had the smaller, older demon bent and pinned painfully to the bed, his claws stuck, frozen in the air, unsure of what was done to deserve this.

Bile rose in his throat as Alastor’s hand sought for Husk. He was going to try and pleasure him again. Wanted to take him by force again.

He put an abrupt stop to that by kicking Alastor, quite fiercely, in his genitals. Then his claws animated as they swiped and slashed his sides and under his neck. Both pains caused Alastor to yell out, shoving himself off the cat’s body now that he had his blood staining his shirt and the thumping pain where he was kicked to deal with.

He didn’t know which needed the most attention, so he just sunk to the floor, reeling in the pain. He braced his hands on either sides of him, head bowed as he tried to focus on any sensation that wasn’t a stinging pain. The blow to the genitals felt as if he had been gut-punched hard enough to rupture an organ. The addition of the slashed lines in his hips only made the first pain much worse.

Above him, Husk was staring at him. The fierce glint was there for a fleeting second before it passed. His fur looked less rugged as the adrenaline in his blood began to ebb.

“If you touch me like that again, I’ll rip your fucking head off,” He emphasized his words by kicking Alastor while he was down, “Now lay there and die, you living filth!” His last words were practically barked as he walked off, leaving the most feared demon in Hell on the floor, clenching his sides, head bowed in pain. With traces of what appeared to be slobber coming out of his mouth.

Husk about made it to the door when the air around him chilled, his soft breath began to steam as he gripped the door handle. Before he had the chance to turn it, two things happened: A sound so morbid and powerful filled his ears, then he felt long, spindly branches grab harshly at his sore body. He didn’t have the luxury of time to cry out, but he winces when he feels the branches are clawed fingers--the dragging of them ripping at his back and nape-- the delicate tips sinking into him, revealing new scars atop the older ones.

Husk makes effort to turn, and sees Alastor is still kneeling on the floor, one hand on his crotch and the other trying to congeal the blood underneath his nasty scar. If he wasn’t, then who--

Husk gasped in surprise as his form was suddenly, and none too gently removed from the floor. He went sailing into a nearby wall, his head and back colliding harshly enough to leave an imprint where he hit. Once the fuzz in his vision faded, he came face to face with the Radio Demon’s shadow. He could see the lightest of trickles of his blood staining the supposedly tangible figure. The shadow surrounded him, pushing the older cat closer toward the wall, hindering escape.

“That... wasn’t a nice thing to do...”, The cat’s ears darted in the direction of the half distorted voice. Seeming to be nearly fascinated with his shadow now, Husk’s eyes didn’t leave it as Alastor stumbled to his full height. His head was downcast, checking over his new wounds while he swiped away thick lines of his repugnant smelling oily blood, “I receive you. I pleasure you. I give you every part of me. And this is the gratitude that I am shown?” Alastor lifts his head, his grin-- his grin isn’t there. His permanently fixed grin is not on his face. What is on his face is a frightening snarl, his lips pulled back unnaturally as his teeth extend past his lips. Viscous, black blood comes leaking out of his mouth, in between his teeth and onto the floor. Eyes of the deepest scarlet are constricted so tightly, the pupils do not exist.

The older cat’s eyes dilate deeply, his faint heartbeat now sounding as a drum, pounding so much it physically hurts his chest.

“You... fucking raped me...,” Husk’s tail was swiping at the door behind him, “And then, you... you just kiss me like that never happened. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

“You. Are. Wrong,” Alastor starts to move, calculated steps measured. His pace slow as he flashed his teeth, “I already told you that I was not hurting you. That I would never hurt you.” He stopped in front of Husk, the cat demon staring up at him fully as his shadow fizzled away. He emphasized his last word by tilting the older cat’s chin toward him. It was so painful. The cat could feel his neck being pulled up and creaking.

“You. Belong. To. Me... You knew this the moment you signed yourself to me. I will do what I wish to you. My will is imposed onto you. And if you don’t like what I do to you... well”, he removed his fingers from the cat’s chin in order to wrap his hand around his neck. His digits scraping into the older male’s skin. Husk felt the warning, the condensation in the air turning to ice as the eyes of the Radio demon switched to dials, “then I will rid you of your existence in this Hell. And I will place you into a pit of abyssal torment for the rest of your days. And when you feel your skin and bone pulled from your miserable carcass again and again, and again”, he continued as he gripped the throat tighter, the cat’s eyes widening into bulbs of orange, ears falling flat against his head, even the breath he tried to force out became painful as it became lodged in his chest, “you will then become satisfied. And more grateful to me and the pleasures you will receive. Have I made myself clear?”

Husk was unable to nod, nor was he able to keep but a couple of breaths before he wheezed out a hoarse, agonized and simple, “Yes.”

Alastor released him after that. The cat demon falling gracelessly to the ground, wings splaying out on either side of him as his claws darted to his throat. There wasn’t a trickle of his blood, but his throat and neck felt different. It felt compressed, uncomfortable to touch, he choked and sobbed while slobber collected in his mouth before dribbling in a small puddle to the floor.

“Putrid. Insolent and stupid creature. You’ll keep everything between us. If I even hear you breath and didn’t allow it, I’ll tear apart your wings. One feather at a time.” And then he smiled. No. He grinned incandescently, face now lit with macabre jubilee.

Husk started to fold in on himself, his wings going across his body in order to shield his body from view of the demon.

“And please eat. I brought the cakes and sweets for you.” He now spoke pleasantly, the ice in his tone thawing back to normal. Ignoring the congealing blood at his sides, Alastor walked back over to the table to push the confections closer.

A few moments later, Husk stood on his four legs, silently heading over to the tray, eyes wide, body trembling.

Alastor regained his seat on the loveseat, crossing his legs over each other as Husk reached for one of the soft sugar frosted cookies. He popped it into his mouth without a word, his eyes still turned to the hard floor. He took another frosted cookie and ate it. He liked the taste of them, the colors in his eyes brightening with hidden delight as he sampled the tastes.

The younger demon handed him his cup of lukewarm tea while he took up his own. They drank of their cups with no words to each other. Husk finished his cup quickly, his claws going to the pot for another cup. Alastor doubts he even tasted the varying flavors while he made another cup.

“It’s meant to be savored, not wolfed Husk.” The deer demon stated a touch vindictively. This wasn’t alcohol, so he didn’t have to drink it down so fast.

The cat demon only nodded slowly as he put the cup to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it on the tray. As he did so, he watched his paw quiver. It wasn’t much to show that those words did something to him. It didn’t go unnoticed by Alastor. Nothing Husk did would.

Without a word, the young gentleman took the cat’s paw, guided him across the counter and pulled him into his lap. Husk was looking at the wall when he felt Alastor’s lips go to his neck, a featherlike touch, before pulling away.

“Touch me.” A simple, sultry command that Husk had no choice, or will, but to follow. His paws went to the larger demon’s shoulders as he leant his chest into Alastor’s face. He gasped softly as he heard, and felt, the demon growl deep in him.

He didn’t want him. Never wanted him. There was never going to be a feeling of love in what this demon wanted. He was just taking. Taking something he wanted from him at the time they first met. And now, he has it. And he will continue to have it. Over and over, and over.

To Husk, this was a Hell that Pentagram City would never be.

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