#but in the face of the time lords he was rendered helpless so easily | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mythicamagic · 4 years

Text

Funeral Flowers: a Sesskag Oneshot

Summary: Sesshoumaru knows what Kagome's favourite flower is- because it just so happens Forget-Me-Nots have been filling his throat for months. Hanahaki Disease fic. Sesskag oneshot.

AN: for @drosselmeyerwrites, who is also a lover of the 'suffering Sesshoumaru' trope. She's been a lovely commenter and wholesome person in the fandom ^^

Warning: body horror elements. This is a Hanahaki Disease fic with a twist on the concept.

Words: 10,000

Rated M

@cookieasylum drew an amazing fanart for this fic so please check this fic out on Ao3!

Funeral Flowers

It started as a mere flutter. Sesshoumaru could feel it at the back of his throat: the beginnings of something that tickled and irritated his windpipe- not enough to cause anything serious, but just noticeable. This sensation only worsened with time.

Kagome looked at him like he'd grown a second head after hearing him stifle a certain noise clumsily behind his fingers.

"Huh," she mused, peering closely at him. "I don't think I've ever heard you cough before."

After a few weeks, he'd begun coughing. A little blemish that he could easily hide behind his hand. Sesshoumaru had wanted no one to notice such a shameful thing. An unwilling action, but required in order to clear his airways.

"Hn," peeling long fingers away from his down-turned mouth, he looked away. Kagome shifted bare legs in the glittering water, lounging on some rocks by a river while half-heartedly sunbathing in a tank top and shorts. Golden eyes slid back to the slim, pale stretch of her smooth, toned leg as she swayed it.

"Kind of a human action, isn't it? Do demons even get colds?" her concern only seemed to increase. "You're not sick, are you?"

"No," he huffed, adjusting himself beside her. They kept a respectable distance. 'Friends' was what she called them. Sesshoumaru tried and failed to tear his gaze away from the parting of her thighs as she stretched languidly. "I do not get sick," he added, "such a thing is beneath me."

Kagome slid both arms behind her head to act as a cushion, laying down. "A few years ago you'd have said sitting beside a priestess ankle-deep in a river would be 'beneath' you. Things change."

Sesshoumaru tilted his chin up to regard her haughtily and gave a dignified snort, adjusting his rolled-up hakama pants. "It is beneath me."

Kagome rose a brow, fluttering one hand carelessly in a shooing motion, "go on then. Leave if it's so offensive," she sighed, trying and failing to hide her smile.

No.

His body flared alive at the thought, unsettled. Sesshoumaru bit back another prickling cough, settling for clearing his throat. "You should be the one to leave. This one was here first."

"Wha- no! I got to the river before you!"

"I was referring to age. Bratty mikos should listen to their elders."

Kagome burst out laughing, sitting up to lightly bat his shoulder. "That makes you sound ancient! You're such a dork. No one else knows how much of an absolute dork you are, do they? It's a crying shame."

Sesshoumaru did not know what a 'dork' was, but he assumed it to be something unflattering. He should've been annoyed by it, aggravated. Kagome's playful, happy scent made this notion impossible.

Thin lips twitched at the edges, dragging his heels through the cool current. He couldn't honestly put into words why exactly he'd shown up, following her scent. Logically, he knew he should leave her alone.

They fell into an amicable silence again, one that had been born from months of time spent together. Odd snatches of coincidental meetings had flourished into something more, and they'd begun seeking one another out for company whenever he visited the village. Sometimes she even paid him a visit the Western Stronghold. Any demons who complained about it were silenced by how… determined the miko was to make friends. A force of nature. It had amused him to no end watching ancients tripping over themselves to try to avoid her bad books.

He could also deeply understand those who had taken an immense liking to her.

Kagome was warm and teasing, a rare thing not wholly unwelcome. Her stories of the future were interesting, personality vibrant but down to earth and occasionally sassy. He enjoyed her more than he should, a quiet, snarky male by nature basking in her effortless glow.

"What's your favourite flower?"

He blinked, "this is a question belonging to Rin. I do not expect such fanciful notions from you."

Kagome huffed and flicked her hand to splash some water over his knee. "I can talk about flowers if I want to. Shinto asked me what mine were, so I got to thinking. I'd like to know what yours are too- or do pretty dog demons baring flower crests not have an opinion on them?"

He sniffed, bringing down one leg to create a splash that soaked her side. Kagome let out a yelp. "The Shiragiku flower. "

"Oh you can't be serious!" She giggled. "When I asked what your favourite colour was, you said 'white' of all things. White! That's the absence of colour!"

"This one is aware. You kept rabbiting on about it," he wiped some imaginary lint off one shoulder.

"But still! And now you tell me you like flowers that are infamously used for funerals," blue eyes rolled skyward, glittering with mirth. "Why am I not surprised, Mr Killing Perfection?"

Thin lips lifted into a sneer free of malice. "Very well, Shikon miko. What is your favoured flower?"

Kagome hummed. "Forget-Me-Nots."

Letting out a noise between a huff and a chuckle, he shot her an exasperated look. "And you give me grief over mine. Did you not say that blue was your favoured colour?"

"Hey, Forget-me-Nots can be pink, white or blue! I'm not as predictable in my tastes as some people."

That was most definitely true, he thought flatly. She had moved on from her first love, a Hanyou- only to bond with a Daiyoukai, and then…

And then…

Kagome stood, stretching both arms above her head. Sesshoumaru knew what she'd say before she even said it, wincing and bringing a hand absentmindedly to the base of his throat. It throbbed. Now the ache even seemed to seep lower.

What is this pain in my chest? He wondered. What is this strange sensation?

"I should go."

Sesshoumaru slid tired attention up to her and nodded silently. He would not wish her well.

"Shinto will wonder where I am," she needlessly elaborated.

"Indeed."

Kagome glanced at him and dropped her arms. "What's wrong?"

He thought to tell her, not for the first time. But it was silenced by everything else that had come before. Their history. Their species. Her lack of discernible interest, her new flame. A heavy weight pressed down upon his chest. His shoulder ached.

"Nothing. I am fine."

Dark brows pulled together. Sesshoumaru stood and nudged her away with a single palm on her back that lingered too long. "Go. I am… merely hungry."

"Oh!" a look of relief swept over her face. Kagome laughed, "okay, I'll leave you in peace. Happy hunting!"

Sesshoumaru felt his chest ache and constrict while his expression remained a blank mask. He covertly winced after she'd jogged away to a trail within the forest that would take her back to Kaede's village. She stopped to wave, and he quickly wiped his expression clean again, rendering it neutral.

Kagome smiled gently, her face full of friendly affection. Sesshoumaru regally inclined his head, eyes burning.

Do not go.

She left him alone, hurrying away to see her new flame in complete ignorance.

Sesshoumaru coughed and massaged the base of his throat as soon as she was gone, frowning.

Feeling something stuck to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he curiously parted his lips and reached behind a sharp tooth to pluck the soft, small thing out.

Damp from saliva, a tiny, pretty blue petal caught his attention, clutched between forefinger and thumb. Sesshoumaru stared. A sense of creeping foreboding slipped into the back of his mind at the discovery.

This did not bode well.

---

His affliction made visits to the village difficult. It was easier in the beginning when he could hide a few coughs and tickles of the throat. Steadily, however, the discomfort increased. Sesshoumaru needed to pick out petals from his mouth every day, and the number of them only grew with frequency. He had to remove the irritating little things every hour now.

"Lord Sesshoumaru has been picking at his teeth a lot lately," he heard Rin whisper to Jaken, pausing mid-brush. She had been tasked with caring for the old miko's horse. "Is it a toothache?"

"Shh! Don't comment on such a thing so loudly, girl! If Lord Sesshoumaru wants to do some teeth maintenance, then he may do so!" Jaken squawked, frowning up at her.

Sesshoumaru cut golden eyes to the sky and turned away.

"Ah, I didn't mean to insult you, Lord Sesshoumaru!"

"You're STILL drawing attention to it!" Jaken griped.

Pointed ears twitched, blocking out their animated voices and tuning into a set of quick footsteps. Sesshoumaru inhaled, wincing as his lungs protested- the scent of citrus, summer and home comforts reaching him long before Kagome appeared from around the side of a hut. She beamed. His heart ached.

"Hey," she called, trotting over.

"Hello, Kagome!" the little girl waved enthusiastically, wobbling.

Steadying Rin atop her wooden perch as she continued brushing the tall horse, Kagome flashed him a knowing look. "You look tense. Is it from being near the stables?" she teased.

Rin gasped, "does Lord Sesshoumaru not like horses?"

"It's their smell, you nitwit!"

Kagome frowned at Jaken, before searching Sesshoumaru's face for answers. Obviously his silence and demeanour was starting to worry her. Taking a breath, he tried to ignore the petals stuck in the gaps of his teeth. He could feel more building, pooling in the back of his throat like thick mucus.

"They are skittish and afraid of this one. It is better to keep distance."

Predictably, Kagome gentled- but surprised him by easing closer. She seized his hand, tugging- and he was helpless to do anything but follow. Heat touched his cheeks.

Kagome walked backwards, maintaining eye contact like the femme fatale she wasn't, shifting her soft touch to grasp the back of his hand, lacing lithe fingers through his. She then forced the Daiyoukai's palm to rest against a warm neck. The horse shifted slightly, tail flicking, yet it did not startle. With Kagome's prompting, Sesshoumaru glided the flat of his calloused palm down the length of its powerful neck, the thin layer of brown fur tickling his skin.

"Maji isn't like other horses, he's calm around demons. He has to be if Kaede is gonna ride him to fight Youkai," her voice glided through his ear canals like melted honey. Kagome hummed, "though she said because of her age that he might be mine soon. Weird, huh? It's like she's prepping me to be the village miko more and more."

"It is not 'weird,' it is expected," he uttered, thrilled at the prolonged touch. How foolish. The heat of her palm felt exquisite, hand clasped intimately around his. "You will make an acceptable village miko."

Blue eyes flitted up to him, smiling. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks, but… sometimes I wonder if-"

"Ah, so this is where you escaped to."

Sesshoumaru stiffened. Kagome ripped her fingers away- tearing open a gaping hole inside him. He quickly stifled a cough, but it was larger this time, throat clogged. His shoulders shook, sweat dotting his brow.

Kagome was busy being scooped up by Shinto, a large male. He dressed well, for a human, a jagged scar running over one eye. A momento from his mercenary days, he'd called it, though he was now reformed.

Kagome laughed and swatted his shoulder, demanding to be put down. Jaken piped up, yelling about indecency. All the while, Sesshoumaru fought not to let anything show. To not let the agony out. The jealousy. The consuming desire to act upon instinct and take what he ached for.

He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand seeing the male's burly, meaty hands drag over her hips to settle at the base of her spine. Like they belonged there. Sesshoumaru coughed again, drawing away.

Kagome caught the action, turning to him. "Sesshoumaru?"

He hated the concern swimming in her gaze. It would be so much easier to despise her.

"I have lingered too long," he said quietly, trying to mask the rawness of his voice. "This one should be going."

Kagome nodded slowly, "do you want some honey to soothe your throat? It sounds a little-"

"No," he quietly snapped, starting to walk away. Confusion immediately curdled in her scent, and he regretted the lapse in control. Now she'd worry.

Foolishness.

"Lord Sesshoumaru!" Jaken hurriedly ran after him, following his Lord from the village. "Bah, those humans get more presumptuous every day. I don't blame you for leaving in such a hurry," he muttered, keeping up his tangent long after they'd met the treeline of Inuyasha's forest.

Sesshoumaru unexpectedly stopped, slamming claws into tree bark and causing it to splinter.

Jaken yelped, jumping and dropping his staff. "Mi-mi Lord?" bulbous eyes widened upon seeing him stoop over slightly, silver hair obscuring ashen features.

Sesshoumaru's shoulders shook, dry heaving sounds reaching Jaken's hearing. The retainer gasped, watching him cough, gasp and choke. Thick trails of dewy saliva pooled onto the ground. Rasping noises shuddered out from clenched teeth. Trembling claws reached inside his mouth, feeling something at the back of his throat. Grasping it, Sesshoumaru fought not to gag, coughing while removing the thing and looking at it with stinging eyes.

A Forget-me-not flower sat innocently between forefinger and thumb.

Both demons stared. Phlegm soaked petals rested at Sesshoumaru's feet. Jaken stood gravely silent for a while.

"Mi Lord…" he said thinly. "You have fallen prey to something very old…"

"You will not breathe a word about it to anyone," Sesshoumaru coughed, eyes stinging. He straightened and wiped his mouth, collecting himself. He threw the flower aside.

"But-"

"No one, Jaken," Sesshoumaru hissed, molten golden eyes burning. "Or I'll kill you."

Jaken yelped and quickly bowed several times, promising wholeheartedly not to interfere.

"I-I understand! However, if it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could hear out a suggestion?"

Sesshoumaru sneered and started walking again, his breathing slightly hoarse and rasping now, no longer quiet. His lips pressed together, trying to silence himself. It proved painful, and he quickly breathed through his mouth again.

Jaken tentatively continued; "your affliction is something ancient. I know little about it, but I do remember that it's possible to have it removed before it claims your life."

Sesshoumaru stopped, hands curling into fists. Claws scraped palms.

"That will not do, either," came his soft response.

"W-why ever not, milord?! This matter is potentially deadly to demons!"

Sesshoumaru stared ahead unseeingly. He knew of the affliction too. Had recognised what it was immediately. If he removed the flowering bud from within his chest, wiped away all evidence from her from his body, then he'd lose the very thing that had made him catch the illness in the first place.

His feelings for Kagome Higurashi.

"My reasons are my own," Sesshoumaru coughed behind his hand. "I will not die. Do not fuss over trivial matters, Jaken."

His retainer gaped, hurrying after him. Fierce worry painted his features. The infamous and deadly Hanahaki Curse could fell even the strongest of Daiyoukai.

---

It interfered with eating.

Sesshoumaru thankfully did not need to eat too often, but hunger inevitably gnawed its way into his gut. Transformed, he raced through the forest on all fours in a smaller version of his true form. Low-hanging branches lashed at his face. Forget-me-not flowers lodged in his throat conglomerated into a thick mass. They were practically a ball stuck at the back of his mouth. Sesshoumaru managed to ignore it just enough to track the scent of a deer- only to lose it and find a green pheasant within range.

Barely a snack, but it would do.

With a gurgling snarl, Sesshoumaru sprang at some bushes. Squawking with distress, the bird took flight- only to be caught in his jaws. Bringing sharp teeth down elicited a satisfying crunch. The taste of iron filled his parched mouth. Tilting his head back, Sesshoumaru had every intention of swallowing it whole. He'd done so before. The bird was small enough compared to his form. However, this quickly became impossible.

Red eyes widened. The flowers acted as a barrier, preventing food from travelling down his throat.

Spitting out the bird, Sesshoumaru tore into it. He tried again and again, breaking the kill into smaller pieces. He even tried drinking from the river to wash down the flowers. Nothing worked. No food could pass into his stomach.

With a low crooning noise that hissed out between his teeth, Sesshoumaru padded away from his uneaten kill with an agitated flick of his tail.

---

It affected his sleep next.

At his Stronghold in the Western lands, Sesshoumaru set aside his paperwork and retired to bed. Curling into a nest of furs, he stretched out long legs, sprawling on one side.

Only to feel a dull ache thrum from his ribs.

Wincing and setting a hand over the spot, Sesshoumaru frowned. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, however, Kagome had once whined and complained about 'pulling a muscle.' Perhaps the tight, clamping sensation echoed that pain. Deciding to roll over onto his opposite side- he abruptly burst into a coughing fit. The angle had upset his breathing, lungs protesting.

This vicious cycle continued long into the night. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Even laying still made him feel tense and pained. In the end, Sesshoumaru rose from his futon and began running.

Too tired to think, he transformed, relying on instinct to guide him. He whined softly; the ache spreading. He wheezed a little, breathing constrained despite being physically fit.

The inuyoukai sprinted to the outskirts of Kaede's village. Scenting the air, he caught a welcome fragrance on the breeze.

Mate.

Clearing the hillside with a single bound, Sesshoumaru shrank his form even further to that of a regular dog. Sniffing around the outside of a hut, fluffy ears perked. She was not home.

Where?

Following the invisible trail in the air, he padded around the village, passing by unseen by some villagers. Their lack of vigilance disgusted him. What lax security. Stopping at the Monk and Slayer's hut, he listened, hearing a soft humming from within. The sharp tang of blood, vomit, faeces and afterbirth caught his frayed attention.

The Slayer had been pregnant. From the sounds and smells of things, she had given birth and now slept while Kagome remained awake. He could pick up the faint fussing from a young babe.

Sesshoumaru stayed still, listening to the miko gently hum. Slowly, his body weakened, and the inuyoukai lay down outside the hut, resting a weary head atop large paws.

Something stirred from within, the rustle of covers. "Mn... are you alright? Want me to take over?"

"No, I'm fine," Kagome answered in a hushed tone. "He seems completely zonked out, little cutie-pie."

The Slayer paused, "your head. You said it was aching again earlier."

"Heh, Sango! You've just had another baby! Focus on yourself!" her lovely voice tinged with exasperation. "Really, everything is okay. It just hurts from time to time ever since that night with the boar youkai attack. It's no big deal."

"Prolonged headaches and amnesia does not fall under 'no big deal,' Kagome."

Laughing this off breezily, he could hear the shrug in her tone. "I just blank on a few things from the month prior to the attack. I'm sure it wasn't anything important."

Tired lids slid shut, and Sesshoumaru gained some sense of rest while imagining the woman within cradling a newborn pup instead of a gurgling infant. The two women talked some more, lulling him into a false sense of comfort even as his throat thrummed with continuous pain.

---

Breathing was a struggle.

Every inhale became a wheezing, quivering thing. Like crumpled paper that had been smoothed out and squashed too many times. Mucus constantly filled his mouth, senses clogged. His breathing ranged from laboured to a noisy, rasping thing.

He could no longer afford to visit the village. Sesshoumaru took to monitoring Rin from afar whenever he felt the need to check up on her. Needless to say, he avoided Kagome at all costs. The miko was an infamous busy body who would become a nightmare to deal with if she knew of his suffering.

Yes, that was the only reason.

However, on a random day he briefly let his guard down, the unthinkable happened.

Inuyasha found out.

If Sesshoumaru had comprised a list of all the beings he did NOT want to know about his affliction, Inuyasha would be right up there, along with his meddling mother.

Inuyasha stared, watching him with a complicated, horrified look on his gruff features. Shifting, Sesshoumaru stood from where he'd been knelt by a river.

Forget-me-nots floated downstream.

"... What the hell is wrong with you?" were the first words Inuyasha blurted out.

Sesshoumaru wiped his mouth, sneering. "I need not explain myself to you, whelp."

"Keh, if anything warrants a damn explanation, it's barfing up flowers."

He didn't need to hear anymore, turning with the intent to leave. No doubt the fool would talk nonsense, and he had no patience for such things with his current headache. His temples were pounding, throat parched.

"Why don't you just fucking tell her, you coward?"

That certainly caught his attention. Sesshoumaru halted. "What?" he croaked.

"Ya think I'm that ignorant, huh?" Inuyasha rolled his eyes, shoving both hands inside his sleeves. "I know."

"Know what, exactly," silken tones rasped. "You are but an ignorant pup. You were not raised within youkai circles, and so could not possibly understand."

"And whose fault is that?" shaking his head, Inuyasha huffed. "I dunno what crap you're yappin' on about, anyway. I'm talkin' about your secret relationship with Kagome that you had a couple of months ago."

Stiffening, Sesshoumaru felt his bones lock and throat inflame. He swallowed, wincing slightly. He flashed his teeth, "whatever you think you know, it is incorrect. A baseless assumption."

"Bullshit!"

Continuing to walk with every intention of escaping the pending conversation, he stopped dead the second Inuyasha opened his mouth; "I could smell you on her! But that all changed the second she hit her head. Did she forget you or something? You were happy to just abandon her after she stopped being useful for a good time?"

A deafening snarl upset his aching throat, ripping something inside. Blurring through the air impossibly fast, Sesshoumaru snatched up his sibling's throat and slammed him into a tree, causing the trunk to shudder.

"Silence," a blood-curdling rasp hissed out from clenched teeth like boiling steam. Crimson eyes glowed, claws itching to bury into the nuisance's windpipe.

Even while choking, Inuyasha managed to bark out a laugh, grasping a striped wrist. "You really do like her, huh? Never thought I'd see the day, bastard." White ears pulled back flat against his skull. "What's the deal? Just open your mouth and tell Kagome. Then I don't have to smell your pining ass all over the forest while you stalk her."

Burning embers were snuffed out. Sesshoumaru coughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. His shoulder thrummed, aching. "I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"She does not remember," releasing him, the Daiyoukai stepped back. "The miko fell quite quickly for the male who rescued her that night. The fault lies with me that she sustained injury. If she is content with another, I cannot force her gaze to me."

It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. However, Kagome seemed happy with their relationship as friends. Guilt, stung pride and other such ugly emotions were all tied up with the incident.

Inuyasha blinked with disbelief, sizing him up. "When the fuck did you get so noble?" Sesshoumaru sneered, glancing away as his brother continued. "And anyway, what does that have to do with you coughing up flowers?"

Since he'd revealed more than intended as it was, Sesshoumaru felt no inclination to divulge extra information. He turned and this time; resolved not to stop walking. "Drop the subject, whelp."

"Maybe I'll tell Kagome about it."

Sesshoumaru did not falter, knowing the fool's game by now. "Do as you please," he dismissed in a wheezing, thin voice, stepping under the cool shade of weeping willow trees and leaving him behind.

---

He did not intend to revisit their old rendezvous point. Sesshoumaru had wanted to put it behind him, to let everything that had happened within the cave fade into obscurity.

The second he stepped foot within the mossy mouth of its opening, however, Kagome's lingering scent fanned over a striped cheek like a breathy exhale.

Long white lashes slid half shut. Hooded golden eyes became hazed. The memory of her salty, sweet taste wrapping around his tongue flooded his senses. Claws twitched, recalling the phantom sensation of full breasts falling into his palms as her back arched exquisitely. Her eyes had darkened into a lush, deep blue.

She'd been memorable, to say the least.

Walking further in, so that he stood fully submerged in their love-nest, Sesshoumaru basked in the illicit scents and breathy whispers he could remember caressing his hearing. It hadn't just been about sex. It never was with her.

Kagome had held his demonic hand without fear and stroked his cheek, murmuring ardently or giggling quietly. She told him things he hadn't thought he'd wanted to know before.

'You're nothing like your father' she'd said easily but with a conviction that made the ageless demon believe her. The notion should've been insulting. His sire had been unbeatable in strength, so of course he should wish to be like him.

Yet Sesshoumaru had never appreciated such compliments. He wished to be unique, bold, powerful, walking an entirely different path. Her words had been strangely welcome.

"And yet here I stand, Father," Sesshoumaru uttered to himself. In love with a mortal. Dying, because of a human woman of all things.

Just like you.

"Sesshoumaru?"

Golden eyes snapped wide open. A wave of elation, dread, guilt and longing washed over him. Every fibre of his being flared to life, muscles stiffening, heart racing. His lungs constricted.

Sesshoumaru swallowed a rasping breath, shifting to face the priestess.

Kagome crept closer, glancing around the cave curiously. "Was just in the forest to collect some things. I thought I sensed you close by. Looks like I was right. What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing," he said softly. His voice sounded fragile these days.

He could tell she was confused, radiating hurt. He hadn't visited in so long. No doubt she'd wondered why. The flowers buried within his windpipe felt heavier in her presence. He cleared his throat.

"Oh," Kagome scuffed a sandal over the dirt-covered floor. "Well... I'm glad I caught you-" she offered a tentative smile. "I've missed talking with you."

Sesshoumaru's insides screamed at him. The marks on his shoulder felt like blistering iron tongues being thrust into his flesh they wailed so loud.

Mate.

"I dunno what's kept you away," Kagome continued talking, making her way out of the cave. He followed, "but you haven't missed much. Rin is progressing nicely with her riding though. I'm not too shabby with that thin sword you gave me either, though Shinto says I need more practice."

That very sent icy needles piercing his skin. Stepping foot outside, Sesshoumaru couldn't stop the abrupt bite in his tone; "why are you here, miko?"

Kagome blinked and glanced at him over one shoulder. She then threaded her fingers behind her back, attention sliding away, voice unreadable.

"Shinto proposed to me."

Sesshoumaru stopped. A profound sense of loss rendered him breathless. He anticipated a coughing fit. Wheezing. Pain. But there was nothing, just him and Kagome standing alone in the silent woods. But she'd be beyond his reach for good soon.

He'd tried. He'd tried hard to forget, as she had. To push all the feelings and words right down from his throat into his chest. Maybe that was how the curse had started.

But he'd have kept the curse for good if it meant lingering in the 'almost' fantasy of them.

Now that illusion would shatter.

The very idea of her belonging to another felt like a wound somewhere inside him that he couldn't locate. The sensation of teeth on his shoulder thrummed, and he coughed, snuffing out the sound behind his hand.

"I didn't really know what to say," Kagome was muttering. "A part of me feels like it's too soon. I wanted to talk to you about it-"

"This one is needed elsewhere," he said in a clipped tone, turning on his heel.

He couldn't be her confidant anymore. Not about this.

"What?"

He began walking, trying to put distance between them. He should've known it wouldn't work as Kagome quickly caught up and planted herself firmly in his way, halting the demon.

"Okay, what is going on with you?" she demanded. "Is it the cough? Are you in so much pain that you can't talk to me?"

Sesshoumaru flashed his teeth in a faint sneer, throat protesting at the extended use of his vocal cords. "is it so unthinkable that for once, I may not have time for you, miko?"

"Yes," Kagome planted both hands on her hips. "Because this isn't an isolated thing. I've hardly seen you all month! And besides that, you're my friend, Sesshoumaru. Friends tell each other things. Remember how you talked about the court and how obnoxious General Kito was to deal with? Things like that. I need to talk to you about this- and clearly, you need to talk to someone about whatever's going on with you. I'm worried about you!"

His heart clenched, and Sesshoumaru bit back a hiss at the stab of pain it caused. Thin breathing rasped and rattled. He raised a hand, urging her aside via a gentle grasp on her shoulder to continue walking.

Kagome's grip was not so gentle as she latched onto his arm.

Frustration abruptly burst in his chest and Sesshoumaru snarled, whirling with the intent of spilling everything to her. Ruin their friendship. Burn everything they'd built and admit his failure to protect her-

-only to cough up a mouthful of blood onto her collarbone.

Kagome yelped in surprise, eyes wide. Touching the wet substance dazedly, horror paled her complexion. She looked up at him with palpable fear.

"S-Sesshoumaru?"

Humiliation stung white-hot and burning into his body. The visceral, blinding sensation of being exposed- of being seen- felt like too much. Too raw. As a demon unused to such things, his first instinct was to remove himself from the situation.

Sesshoumaru blurred away from her outstretched hands, putting the length of the clearing between them.

Kagome called his name again with alarm, asking him to wait, but he would not heed her call.

Taking to the skies, he flew fast and erratically, a wobbly figure. Coughing hard and feeling blood clog up his windpipe like mud, Sesshoumaru had no choice but to land not long after.

Within an overcast clearing upriver from Kagome, he steadied himself against a gnarled tree.

"Hah- hah-" he wheezed, doubling over and squeezing stinging eyes shut.

Something suddenly constricted tight around his lungs, around his very ribcage. Bones protested and ached. He gasped for breath, blood leaking from his open mouth to pool on the floor. Forget-me-nots mingled with it, petals stained red.

Jolting and snapping upright, Sesshoumaru arched his back, throwing back his head. A cry escaped him unlike any other. Loud, agonised and roaring in its ferocity tinged with pain.

Stems shot out from within his ribcage, tearing his chest asunder.

---

Her friends made noises of alarm at the sight of Kagome's bloodied clothes, but the miko ignored Sango and Miroku's questions, bypassing them in favour of finding and grabbing Jaken by the scruff of his robes.

"You're going to tell me in 10 words or less what the hell is going on with your lord," she demanded.

Jaken yelped and squinted, hanging from her hold. "Haven't the faintest idea of what you could be alluding to!" he sniffed.

Kagome snarled and bared her teeth, lifting him closer with a menacing expression and gesturing to the red substance marring her priestess robes. "This is HIS blood. He looked awful. Like- like he was dying, Jaken," her voice broke. "Please. I need to know what's happening. He won't tell me what's wrong and I'm scared."

Yellow eyes rounded wider, swallowing the imp's face. He appeared conflicted.

"Kagome!"

Releasing Jaken, Kagome shifted her attention to Inuyasha, who leapt towards her with alarm pinching his gruff features.

Dread dropped low in her stomach. That was never a good sign.

Distant snapping noises like wood being felled reached her ears. From behind the approaching Hanyou within the forest, large vines could be seen shifting and slithering over a portion of the trees.

"What is it?" Miroku gaped. "I sense a demonic aura, but it's distorted."

Kagome shuddered, feeling strange. She recognised that energy. Identified it as easy as breathing.

"Maybe a forest spirit has been disturbed?" Sango guessed, clutching her son a little more protectively.

"It ain't that," Inuyasha dropped from his jump, landing before them. He panted, white hair windswept. Of all people, his gaze landed upon the miko first. "It's Sesshoumaru."

----

Their way became blocked by a thick mass of vines crisscrossing through the forest. It created a wall, preventing any from entering.

"Lord Sesshoumaru must be further in," Miroku observed, leaning to inspect the leaves. "Beyond this 'barrier' I suppose you could call it."

"I wonder what could have happened," Kagome murmured, brows pulling together. "Sesshoumaru doesn't even have nature powers."

"Why on earth did you bring ME along for this?" a high pitched, nasally voice reached their ears. Sango and Inuyasha readily ignored it, while Kagome frowned down at the imp she held by the scruff of his robes.

"Because you're clearly hiding something, and until you come clean, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

His mouth thinned into a stubborn line, glancing away.

Kagome turned her attention back to the vines. Worry took root in her stomach. The memory of the Daiyoukai spitting up blood remained fresh in her mind, evidence of it staining her clothing and plastering it against her skin.

Handing Miroku their son, Sango went first. She swung Hiraikotsu with a seemingly effortless toss- the bone boomerang spiralling, cleaving trees in half but bouncing straight off the vine wall. It didn't so much as leave a dent.

Not wasting another moment, Inuyasha unsheathed Tetsusaiga. Everyone immediately gave him a wide berth, watching as he shook the sword out into a monstrous blade. He swung it back over one shoulder, feet planted far apart- delivering a swift blow downwards with a loud cry.

A burst of power shot out, heading straight for the vines. They made contact, and for a moment Kagome thought the consuming golden light might break through, only for it to fizzle out. The insurmountable wall remained intact.

Inuyasha tried again and again, using different techniques. None of them worked.

Nocking an arrow in her bow, Kagome took aim. Pale pink reiki split forth, coating the arrow while glowing ever more blinding until she set it free.

She held out hope as it shot through the vines, managing to burst through the dense foliage- which repaired itself almost immediately, covering up the hole.

"Nothing appears to be working," Miroku muttered, turning his friends. "Perhaps we should seek advice elsewhere first before trying to continue."

Her friend's voices faded into background noise as Kagome approached the vines. Frowning slightly, she stretched out her senses, using her aura to touch and brush against the barrier. It felt like him.

If that were the case, the wall was of Sesshoumaru's own making, whether he'd consciously chosen to hide away or not. Perhaps they were going about things the wrong way.

Thinking back to Maji and how carefully they'd run their linked hands down his neck, she raised a palm. Gradually easing closer, Kagome set it down gently onto the vines, stroking downwards.

Hearing outcries of alarm as the greenery parted, only for swirling stems to curl about her shoulders- Kagome quickly grabbed Jaken.

"It's okay, guys. Just find a way to follow me in later," she met their startled gazes. "I feel like I need to reach him quickly."

"Kagome, wait!"

Ignoring their protests, Kagome lept into the fray. She welcomed the green vines that wrapped around her, enclosing the miko and wailing kappa securely behind its wall.

---

Mercifully the winding tendrils of vines that moved as though infused with a will of their own allowed her freedom of movement. Kagome climbed through their moving, twisting stems, occasionally losing her footing and having to grasp hold of some.

"Again, I ask; WHY ARE YOU BRINGING ME ALONG WITH YOU?!" Jaken shrieked, clinging to her back and looking around fretfully.

"You know the answer to that. Tell me what you know about Sesshoumaru's situation and I'll let you go," Kagome hummed, shielding her eyes and looking up at sprawling branches above where sunlight streamed through. Maybe she could punt him over the treetops.

"I have sworn not to break my vow of silence on the matter!"

Grinding her teeth, Kagome stopped and reached over her shoulder, tearing him from her back to frown at him. "If your silence ends up hurting him, is it even worth it? Which means more to you; Sesshoumaru's trust or his life?"

Jaken clamped up, thinking about this for a moment. His eyes abruptly filled with tears, "fine! But you had best save me from his wrath once this is over."

Kagome grinned and patted him on the head, continuing to walk. "I promise."

He huffed, "Lord Sesshoumaru is suffering from a curse."

Blue eyes widened, and Kagome set Jaken over her shoulder like she would Shippo. He did not appreciate the gesture as the kit would while she minded swirling vines aside from their path and ducked through. "What kind of curse?"

"How much do you know about youkai mates, foolish mortal?"

At that, she tilted her head, noticing a blue flowering bud among the vines and gently touching it in passing. "Very little. I know they're like married couples. They, uh... make love and bite each other instead of having a wedding ceremony and stuff. That about sum it up?"

"Insolent girl!" Jaken griped, noticing the bud she touched opening up into a flower behind them. "It is far more than that! Their energies synchronise, aura's linking. However, it's quite imperative they both bite one another."

"Or else the mating is incomplete? What's so bad about that?"

"The partner that was bitten will consider them mated and suffer a one-sided attachment. This isn't so terrible if they have the bite mark healed and lose their troublesome feelings towards their mate," he continued with a self-important air. Kagome didn't mind it if it meant getting answers. "But... if they choose to linger in longing and are prevented from completing the mating, then their energies become distorted! Their youki takes on a life of its own as flowers."

"That's what these vines are," Kagome mused. She shifted, a strange, unsettled feeling churning in her gut. "You're implying someone bit Sesshoumaru? He'd never allow someone to do that if he didn't want it- let alone not reciprocate. Besides, if he could remove it, he'd have surely done so."

"I agree this situation is unprecedented! Unthinkable! Besides that, ANY partner resisting Lord Sesshoumaru's advances is unworthy of being his mate! AH-!"

Kagome jolted, feeling a weight lift from her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she gaped and strained to reach Jaken. Vines had wrapped tight around his mid-section, lifting him away.

"Hang on!" she shimmied her bow off her arm, quickly taking aim. Releasing the arrow, she watched as it hit the mark, sailing through a vine and breaking it in two. Jaken yelped, falling, only to be caught by another vine that continued dragging him back the way they'd come.

"J-just leave me!" he wailed. "Go save Lord Sesshoumaru!"

Kagome blinked, strangely touched. Nodding with conviction, she turned and hurriedly continued to make her way through the dense foliage.

---

Her breath caught the second she caught sight of the flowers.

Forget-me-nots littered the area, becoming more frequent the further in she ventured. Soon she practically waded through a sea of blue petals. They hugged trees, peppering logs, the ground beneath her feet, even climbing above to hang from branches. The vast mass of familiar flowers eventually opened out into a huge clearing packed full of them.

And there, at the centre of it all, Kagome finally saw him.

Vines had burst his chest open, putting quivering lungs on full display. To her horror, she witnessed them expanding and deflating with each struggling, wheezing breath. His ribcage had been repurposed for a vase of flowers. Vibrant blue forget-me-nots poked out between his ribs, green stems tightly wrapped around his bones, constricting.

Sesshoumaru's body lay tilted back, face turned upwards to the sky. Glassy eyes were vacant, blood caking his chin. His armour and hankimono lay shattered and torn on the ground. Around him, the stems that had spilt forth from his gut propped up his lifeless form, clearly part of the mass of greenery that had hindered her approach. Kagome covered her mouth, hand shaking. Tears pricked her eyes. Blue veins visibly spread over his flesh, causing her to wonder if the stems had buried beneath his very skin.

This was not Sesshoumaru. It couldn't be.

Choking on nothing, Kagome hurried closer with a thin noise. Reaching his motionless form, her hands hovered uselessly over his decimated chest. She didn't know where to start. How could she even help him?

"Who did this to you?" her voice wobbled. Stinging eyes misted over, running over his body. He looked like a corpse that had been picked clean by crows. His moving lungs moving were the only indication he was even alive.

"Sesshoumaru- I don't know if you can hear me," Kagome tried, reaching out and touching his cheek. It shocked her skin, icy to the touch. "But please- let go of the person who caused this," she said, locating what she assumed was the mating mark upon his shoulder. "No one is worth dying over. You could start over with your mate. Ask them out- anything!" she shuddered, looking at the flowers poking out from his ribs.

"Just don't die! This isn't like you!" Kagome snapped, tears rolling hotly down her cheeks to slide free from her chin. "Fight this! Keep living. T-there's still so much I want to talk to you about."

The tears landed upon pretty blue petals.

Leaning against him slightly, Kagome sobbed. She wondered if she could just reach out and rip the awful things free from inside his chest.

Why Forget-me-nots, anyway? Why not another flower-

The mating mark halted her hand, fingers brushing the stems. It didn't look like an animal bite, nor did it belong to a demon.

Kagome's eyes slowly widened. She had a distinct tooth at the back of her mouth.

The tooth marks looked like a perfect mould of her teeth.

"Was it...me?" she breathed, glancing up at Sesshoumaru's features dazedly. "Those blank spots in my memory. Was I... with you?"

The puzzle pieces slotted into place perfectly. Kagome stared, feeling like a fool for having not noticed. She'd just thought, assumed- he would never look at her like that.

But if the miko cast her memory back and pictured Sesshoumaru's lovely features, his honeyed gaze resting upon her face, half-lidded, lips quirked, face soft and drinking her in- maybe he had been looking at her 'like that' the whole time.

Kagome shook her head, feeling frantic. She latched onto his shoulders.

"I-I'm so sorry. I'm sorry! I never meant for this to happen. Why didn't you bite me? Why didn't you TELL me, you stupid demon!" she snapped, cheeks reddening as a fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. "All that time we spent together goofing off and talking- and you were suffering in silence? You're so stupid, Sesshoumaru!"

His anguished face did not stir. Kagome mindlessly wiped away the dried blood from his chin with shaky fingers.

"There's no taking this back now," she said quietly, glancing at the bite mark. "So... I guess there's only one thing for it."

It sounded terrible, but Shinto was far from her mind as she lay a hand over her mating mark and began concentrating. When resolving to save someone, Kagome became bullheaded. Sesshoumaru was all she could see as her aura rose out from her body, seeping into his bloodstream via the bite marks.

"You need to wake up," she mumbled, using her free hand to adjust the parting of her white kosode. Sliding it off one shoulder to bare her flesh, Kagome remained heedless of the vines growing and curling around them. They seeped into her ebony hair, twining into the long locks like a lover's hands.

Kagome straddled the Daiyoukai, shuddering a little at being so close to his bare bones. She couldn't have sex with him, obviously, but she suspected it wasn't truly needed to complete the bond. Feeding her energy into his body, she bit her bottom lip. Sweat beaded on her brow.

She began to mumble and pray under her breath.

When her spiritual energy had spread through most his system, Kagome grit her teeth and hoped he'd forgive her. Laying one hand atop his rib-cage directly over his heart, she raised her voice.

"Wake up!"

A pulse of reiki shot out through her palm.

Sesshoumaru jerked beneath her. A ghastly, chocking noise escaped him. His head lolled to the side as he looked at her unseeingly, a trickle of blood welling from the corner of his pale mouth. Kagome quickly wrapped an arm around him, guiding his head to her shoulder.

"Bite down, Sesshoumaru," Kagome whispered fiercely into his ear.

Sharp canines brushed her skin, causing a shiver. Wet flecks of blood accompanied it as he coughed. Whimpering with desperation, the miko curled trembling fingers into silver hair. She pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"Please- I want this." She'd do anything to save him. Besides that, a small, buried part of her felt strangely at peace with the action and its meaning. "Bite down!"

A blood-curdling snarl vibrated out from his open chest. Fangs sank deep into her shoulder. At once, dark, dominating youki burst through her system like a shot of adrenaline. Kagome gasped, back arching. It turned her heart into a burning star. Sesshoumaru's presence filled her until she practically burst at the seams. She distantly understood why youkai had sex before biting each other, reeling from it. The orgasm probably softened the intensity. Completion was something the mind could fathom, a release, the pooling of cum inside her.

This felt overwhelming. He was everywhere. His energy burned and licked, igniting and soothing her body like burning whisky.

Kagome felt the pinpricks of fresh tears in her eyes, overcome with a hurricane of emotions she couldn't quite name. She could feel his weakness. His exhaustion. The part of him tethered to her became a lifeline between them, feeding him the energy he'd lost.

Sesshoumaru's mouth peeled back from her flesh. He panted, sinking back. Kagome caught him about the shoulders, cradling him close.

A wave of tiredness sent her sinking down against him, lashes falling shut as dizziness spun her vision.

The last thing she saw before surrendering to the lure of unconsciousness was a canopy of Forget-me-nots surrounding their weary bodies.

----

Drowsy lids slowly cracked open- wincing at the setting sun's harsh orange light peeking out from between the trees. Golden eyes averted and Sesshoumaru stirred with a dusty rumble.

Something heavy lay over his bare chest. He lifted his head.

Kagome rested against his shoulder, dark hair spilling everywhere. Sesshoumaru stared, feeling he must be dreaming. They were laying within a clearing together, which looked clear, quiet and picturesque.

Squinting, he sat up, adjusting the woman against him. Kagome sank against his side, revealing a gaping hole in his flesh, exposing his rib-cage.

Ah, that's right.

The flowers. The vines spilling forth from his chest as blood asphyxiated him, making breathing impossible.

And Kagome...

The miko had come for him. Saved him.

Sesshoumaru ghosted stiff fingers over his mouth, dragging clawed nails down to the fresh bite mark branding his shoulder. He then shifted Kagome, running an aristocratic nose to similar marks adorning her shoulder- a tongue sliding out to drag over bloodied flesh. She tasted wonderful.

Kagome groaned and wrapped her arms around him tighter, burying her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Sesshoumaru held her close and revelled in the sensation. However, he soon picked up on the far off shimmer of his barrier enclosing them within their mini safe space. He could sense Inuyasha waiting outside, along with Jaken.

Deciding to lower it, Sesshoumaru rested his lips against the crown of Kagome's head before drawing himself up to stand unsteadily, lifting her into his arms.

When Inuyasha burst into the clearing, leaves scattering and clinging to his thick white hair, he brandished Tetsusaiga, only to lower it with a raised brow.

Sesshoumaru stood clad in his hakama pants, arching a regal brow in return. He approached the hanyou and passed Kagome over wordlessly, ignoring his noise of surprise at the sight of his ribcage.

"It is healing," the demon dismissed.

"Uh, alright," Inuyasha grunted, supporting Kagome. "Should I even ask what the hell happened?"

Sesshoumaru ignored him in favour of looking at the miko. His shoulder ached, and when he drew back his heel with the intention to leave- a fresh wave of discomfort elicited a wince.

Kagome stirred, blue eyes blinking open. She then drew a hand out towards him, "where are you going?"

"This one is..." he trailed off. "I must..."

"No, you don't," she murmured. Patting Inuyasha's shoulder to prompt him to set her down, Kagome flashed her friend a smile. "Thanks for coming for me, but I need to stay with this impossible guy to make sure he heals alright."

Inuyasha eyed the bite mark on her shoulder, nostrils flaring. "You sure?"

Kagome nodded firmly.

"What do ya want me to tell Shinto if he asks where ya are?"

Guilt passed over her face, and blue eyes flicked away, before finding him again. "Just say I'm visiting another village. I need to tell him the truth myself."

Relenting, Inuyasha stepped away, shooting Sesshoumaru a warning look before reluctantly leaving them be again, feeling like the wind had been thoroughly knocked out of his sails.

The Daiyoukai watched her, stunned.

"It's crazy you're even up and walking around in your condition," Kagome rubbed at her forehead, reaching out and seizing frozen fingers. "Come on, let's find a cave to take shelter in for the night."

----

The demon lord stopped and slid unrelenting attention down to her once they reached the mouth of a cave. "What made you choose this place?"

"I dunno, it wasn't far away and it felt familiar," Kagome hummed, meeting his gaze. "Have we... used it before? In the past?"

Golden eyes cracked wider. "You remember?" he asked in a quiet, brittle tone.

She shook her head, "not at all. I just figured it out. Would've been nice if you'd told me," releasing his hand, she wandered inside, finding a bed of furs awaiting them further in, cracks of sunlight streaming in through holes in the rock ceiling. Her cheeks reddened a little, imagination running wild.

"You really scared me back there," she murmured, back turned to him. "I thought you were going to die."

"That is why you completed the mating," Sesshoumaru uttered. To save him, and for no other reason.

A part of him had hoped she'd remembered, but another had immediately recognised the sacrifice she'd made. Kagome was a selfless individual in the face of danger. If Inuyasha were dying, or any of her other friends, he wondered if she'd mate them if it meant saving their lives.

With a benevolence he did not truly feel, Sesshoumaru forced himself to prioritise her comfort. "If this is not something you wish for- there are ways of severing the bond."

"Stop," she grit out, whirling to face him. Flinty blue eyes took his breath away. "Stop lying all the time. I remember valuing your company and opinion because you were always so blunt with me. You never held back your opinions."

"I am not lying, there is a way to sever it."

"But that's not what you want! Damn it- you nearly died because you couldn't open your mouth! Just be honest for once and tell me how you're feeling, Sesshoumaru. What do YOU want?"

Energy lashed at the air, kicking up a breeze that caused dark hair to fly back. Hands closed over the back of her neck, cradling her skull. Lips were shoved against hers, smothering startled breath.

"You," Sesshoumaru breathed in a brief parting, kissing her fiercely again. His mouth slanted ardently over hers, the hint of a fang brushing her lips. "Is it not obvious I cannot abide anything but having you? Foolish woman, it is for your sake I held back. Once you submit, there is no escaping me."

Kagome gaped, unable to keep up with the sheer amount of heated kisses. Her hands settled over his arms, heat igniting her cheeks. She'd never received a kiss like it before and tentatively returned it. A small gasp and accompanying noise from him only confirmed to her how much he wanted it. She could feel the tension in his frame. He was holding back even now.

When he pulled away, she panted, thumb dragging over magenta cheek stripes. "Didn't that feel so much better than burying everything?" she teased weakly. "Even if I'd rejected you, surely that would've been better than regret- than nearly dying."

Sesshoumaru's gaze slid away. He then released a long sigh, clawed hands curling in her hair. "You seemed happy with the mercenary."

"Ex-mercenary," she corrected out of habit, leaning into his touch. "And I was. I like him. But..." Kagome looked at him. Really looked, and somehow it clicked that his face was the only one she wanted to wake up to in the mornings to follow. When had things gotten to that point? Had she wanted this while lazing on the riverbank with him so long ago? Things would've been so much more simple if she'd identified it sooner. If he'd said something.

How foolish they both were.

Stepping closer, she blushed and tilting her head back in order to ghost her lips over a firm jaw. "I like you more."

Power sparked her insides at the ensuing shudder he gave. "Mating entails more than 'liking' one another, miko. Can you deal with my extended company? Being mine?"

Kagome pretended to consider this. "For how long?"

His lips quirked. "Centuries. Possibly thousands of years."

"That's a long time," her eyes danced. "I guess I'm okay with that if you work on your communication skills."

He inclined his head gravely, dipping his nose into her hair and inhaling a lungful. It felt so good to have clear airways again.

"Sesshoumaru, there is something I want to ask you about; Why didn't you bite me? And what happened during that night I lost my memories?"

"I intended to, miko," he said with dark promise. Displeasure curled his lip. "You managed to bite me during climax. I do not think you understood the ramifications of it at the time. I would have reciprocated nonetheless. Unfortunately, my senses- brilliant as they are- sensed a disturbance in the forest. A herd of boar youkai were bolting towards your precious village."

He could scowl all he wanted about it, but Kagome knew of his attachment to Rin. No doubt they'd both wasted no further time in lovemaking and quickly made for the village.

"We fought them, tried to redirect them. You asked me to save a boy that had fallen during the village's impromptu evacuation. Naturally, I did so- but it meant leaving you alone."

Kagome winced. Her hand found the back of her head, remembering waking to a sizable bump and stitches. "They got me, huh?"

"One struck you down," Sesshoumaru uttered with a weary tone. "I did not know where you were, as we had become separated in the chaos. When I eventually found you... the mercenary was nursing your wounds."

"I remember," she said gently. A stab of sympathy clenched her heart. Stroking a hand down his bicep, she sighed. "That must've been awful, to lose me so soon after almost completing the mating. I didn't realise, didn't recall our relationship. I greeted you so casually and didn't get why you were lingering around in his hut."

"The fault is not yours," Sesshoumaru rested large hands possessively on her hips.

Kagome glanced at him, squinting. "Neither is it yours," she pressed her fingers to his lips when he opened his mouth. "Nope! Not yours. I wouldn't have wanted you to prioritise guarding me that night. If you had, that boy you saved might've lost his life. Besides, I can usually take care of myself. They caught me on a bad day."

The two fell into silence. Sesshoumaru closed his eyes, resting thin lips against the crown of her head while Kagome leaned carefully against him.

"I find it weird that we've had a whole conversation while you have a massive hole in your chest. At least I can't see your whole ribcage like before. Seems like the skin and muscle are repairing," she mumbled.

"It will heal quickly," he dismissed, palms gliding over her back.

Kagome made a soft noise, basking in his warmth. "It's also weird that this feels so natural to me," she lifted her head, catching his eye. "I might not remember us. Ever. So just... promise me you won't search for my past self in me. I've been through that before."

He swept her down into the furs, covering her form with his own. "Hn, we will live in the present."

Heat flushed her cheeks as she sank into the soft, comforting furs. Her heart fluttered, stomach jumping. "Thank you."

A silver curtain of hair blocked out their surroundings as Kagome pulled him closer, both mindful of his injury. She smiled, searching his gaze and slowly delivering a sweet kiss to his lips.

Sesshoumaru let out a long sigh of relief, their foreheads meeting.

"Hey, on the bright side..." Kagome gave him a cheeky grin. "I get to experience my 'first time' with you again."

Astonishment painted his features. A simmering, darkly satisfied look soon replaced it, transforming his face into something more raw and honest. Kagome accepted his anticipation, his hunger, not dissuading him from it. She endeavoured to encourage even more displays of emotion from him.

"You don't need to hold back," she murmured, accepting his searing kiss. "Tell me everything you've wanted to say to me since losing my memory. I don't mind."

Their energies twined once more, and the miko hooked her leg over his hip to anchor him against her without any seductive intentions. She merely wanted him close, and Sesshoumaru did not argue, burying closer to her the second he healed. Skin met skin, noses brushing.

In the hush that followed, Sesshoumaru took his lips to her ear and began talking.

End

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #sesskag fanfiction #Inuyasha #Kagome Higurashi #Sesshoumaru

147 notes · View notes

koorinohebi · 3 years

Text

They Called Him Death

=== + ===

@raichoose in relation to that one ask.

Characters

Sidapa – He is known as the Visayan God of Death. Once also considered a god of the skies, Sidapa descended from the Heavens and instead made residence atop Mt. Madjaas. Here, he carries out his job of overseeing the existence of men. On his tree, he carves lines that signify a human’s lifespan. He is also in love with the seven moons that are up in heaven.

Bulan – He is the youngest of the seven moons and is the consort of Sidapa.

Hangin – A Diwata or Fairy of the Wind. Her name “Hangin” literally means wind.

Mermaids/Sirens – They are water spirits that possess an upper body that resembles that of a human girl or woman while their lower halves resemble fish tails. Apart from being beautiful, they have enchanting voices which they use for singing.

Saragnayan – He is known as the Visayan God of Darkness. He is considered as the god whom the evil creatures of the night obey as their leader. He is also known to cause chaos in a peaceful community. Saragnayan is said to be a superb spell caster who can control malevolent spirits and that he causes men to do evil things. Despite this, he is a very loving and loyal husband to his wife.

Luyong Baybay – She is known as the Goddess of the Tides. It is said that she is the one who controls the rising and falling of the tide. Luyong Baybay is also in love with the moon.

Kaptan/Makaptan – He is the Visayan Sky God and is considered to be the King among all of the Gods. In myth, he is said to be the equal of Kan-Laon. His stature reminds the Visayans of a proud Datu and he is very protective of his domain. He also has a fiery temper and is easily displeased when people worship other gods or idols before him.

Bakunawa – The Bakunawa is considered to be a creature that resembles either a sea serpent or a dragon. In most legends, he is in love with the moon. He finds them so beautiful that he eats them.

Nagmalitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata – She is the wife of Saragnayan.

Kan-Laon – He is, among the Visayans, known as the Supreme Deity. Unlike Kaptan, he is a kind and gentle God who chose to live in solitude in a magical hut that is located at the top of the Kan-Laon Volcano.

Minokawa – The Minokawa bird is considered to be a creature that belongs to a family of dragons. It is also a creature that eats the moon and could possibly eat the sun too. The Minokawa’s feathers are as sharp as blades, his beak and claws are made of steal and his eyes of glass/mirrors.

Kataw – The Kataw are mermen of the highest rank and the rulers of the ocean. They resemble humans almost completely except for the fact that they gills and they have fins on their arms. Unlike the mermaids, they don’t have tails but instead have feet. They have the capability/skills to manipulate water.

***

They called him death, yet all I could see from him was life.

Love is perhaps the most curious of things, vaguest of concepts and the sweetest of thoughts. It is probably the only thing that moves the cog wheels of one’s heart no matter how much time and feeling has been eroded by both emotions and senses. It is truly a most beautiful thing that gives a sense of completion to those who feels it.

Yet it is also wicked despite its splendor. How many have lost their lives for love? How many had been driven mad by the very notion of it? There are those who were forced into silent desperation, always longing and always wanting. Those who yearn for love were always in the company of despair and insecurity. There is always a certain fear that lingered in their hearts one which, when realized, could make even the strongest of those beyond or beneath Heaven and Earth break and crumble.

Oh, what fragile creatures are those who are in love; hearts became malleable despite possessing a spirit of insurmountable will.

Though perhaps that is the beauty of it all; despite the consequences of taking a road led by love, almost everyone still threads it. While hesitant, those influenced by it allowed themselves to be enraptured by it as they miraculously find comfort in their strange actions. Regret hardly exists if the sensation is real. It is a cause that unites not only the mind and body, but also both heart and soul.

Love is indeed, despite its pristine magnificence, a terrifying thing for love is the only pain that humanity gladly embraces.

Of course, Love was never exclusive to humanity. Before them or more appropriately, like them, even those within the seat of divinity also fell prey to this beautiful monster’s embrace.

***

“Bulan! Bulan! Let’s play, let’s play!” A choir of melodic voices called to a passing young man.

A smile was easily painted on his face when he heard and saw them.

Oh how gorgeous they were, the inhabitants of the lake hidden within Mt. Madjaas. A myriad of beauty paraded themselves along the water’s edge. Their iridescent fins under the light of the sun were truly the embodiment of magnificence. These fantastical creatures often did not come out during the day but whenever he came to pass this heavenly retreat, they were always there. They were always waiting with vigorous eagerness. They were wonderful...as wonderful as their peerless hymns.

“Oh...!”

“Oh”

“Oh...” A unison of murmurs resounded. Even those seemed like a song. Their gentle voices coupled with the sound of splashing water made them appear shyer than their normally playful selves. There was of course only one reason for this.

Ah, they must be the younger mermaids. Bulan thought.

Along with the boy was a rather dreaded existence, or so thought the blooming sirens. With him was Sidapa—The God of Death and ironically the ruler of a place that flourished with life, Mt. Madjaas.

Sidapa was a handsome man, and in Bulan’s eyes did not pale in comparison with the other spirits or deities that lived amongst them. His skin was as pale as the ash that had fallen from freshly burned wood. His raven colored hair was as dark as the night, but was as soft as the light of day. Though his countenance was stern in nature, he was quite a gentle god. More than anyone he understood the value of life because he was the one who marked its end. It was a little sad that humanity, along with some of the inhabitants of his own abode, saw him only as a monster.

Though according to the God of Death, none of this mattered so long as Bulan himself didn’t believe it to be so.

And Bulan never did share the majority’s sentiments. Along with the others who had seen the softer side of Sidapa’s nature, he understood that he was not someone who deserved the reputation that preceded him.

“Sidapa,” Bulan called. There was an almost childish gleam of playfulness on the boy’s face that made the temperamental god loft a brow out of curiosity.

“What is it?” He demanded.

“Can I go and play with the sirens?” The boy asked.

How could he say no to that face? Bulan had the exuberance that could be matched by no one. Such a pure boy he was that Sidapa was rendered helpless to the child’s innocent whims. How hard it was for him to say yes…ah, he wanted to greedily keep the boy for himself because they did not always have the leisure to stroll around like this.

What was harder to do though was deny Bulan of his request. Ever since the boy arrived, he had never made any selfish claims (If wanting to get to know him could even be considered selfish) and instead willingly followed whatever it was that Sidapa himself wanted.

Of all the days the mermaids had to come out, it really HAD to be today. This was giving him a headache.

"I can't?" Bulan asked once again.

The Lord of the Mountain groaned his approval. "Do as you please."

Overjoyed, Bulan wrapped his arms around Sidapa briefly before joining the mermaids by the lake. The boy's kind gesture caused the god to freeze momentarily. Even up till now he still could not get used to feeling another person's touch. He was, after all, death incarnate. Whatever he touched was forced to draw their last breath and it frightened him that one day he would accidentally steal the boy's.

But Bulan had been patient, and had ask to be taught a workaround for the curse. Now, even he could hold hands with the boy without it being fatal.

He smiled to himself discretely. Bulan was such an enchanting existence.

Leaving the child to his devices, the Death God went ahead and took his rest under a tree whose shade extended over to the waters. From there, he watched his consort associate with the playful water sprites.

Oh how bittersweet it was to see his lovely Bulan smiling while he was not by his side.

…A dreaded reminder that he could be perfectly happy without him.

“Bulan sure has grown.” Said a voice.

“Shouldn’t you be guarding the forest, Hangin?” Sidapa said without even sparing a glace to show his evident distaste for the unwelcomed intruder.

“You shouldn’t be so grumpy since you’re watching over the boy Moon, Lord Sidapa.” Hangin said. The god simply quirked a brow before facing her; she was at it again with her witty but unnecessary comments.

Hangin was one of the Diwatas of the Wind (Wind Faeries) that resided within the expanse of the mountain. Though the Fae was quick-witted and wise, he often overlooked this due to how mischievous and playful a sprite she could be. Despite such, he still considered Hangin one of his more trusted confidants as she was both a friend that he had learned to accept and a guardian to whom he had entrusted his forest. The wind fairy initially insisted upon this for being allowed to make Mt. Madjaas her home.

“Look, Bulan’s waving over here!” She said.

In an instant Sidapa’s attention fled the mischievous nymph only to find that his dear Bulan was still busy fraternizing with the sirenas.

“Made you look, tee he he!” Hangin teased.

“As always, your jokes are distasteful.” He snarled. “Though I suppose it matters not,” He said, continuously gazing at the boy. “You are correct, however; he has grown quite a bit hasn’t he?”

“He has. The first time he came here, he was barely taller than me. And now look at him; the sirenas are enamored by his presence.” She agreed.

“MUST you point it out? Look at how annoyingly they fawn over him.” He still couldn’t believe they stole Bulan away from him just like that. Willing the thought away, he instead focused on Hangin’s sentiments. “The first time that he came here, how long has that been now…?” Sidapa’s voice trailed off when he decided to lean back and close his eyes. He reminisced that time, that turning point in his life when he had been saved by this unsung hero of his existence.

Bulan’s descent from Heaven was the pinnacle of Sidapa’s happiness.

***

Ah, how beautiful they are…

Atop the mountain and under the comfort of his tree, the God of Death looked up at the sky and watched as the seven moons danced amidst themselves in a sea of stars. To him, they were far more radiant than the sun. Their brightness did not outshine one another as they illuminated the gloomy veil of night.

Night time was Sidapa’s favorite part of the day because of this. It was only during these few hours that he could revel in the grace and elegance of these celestial bodies. He often would think that they danced just for him…a silly delusion, but that alone brought solace to the life of solitude that he had chosen. Seeing the seven moons play amongst themselves made it a little easier for him to continue his work. He was the one who oversaw the end of things— the end of life, surely no job was more depressing than his. A night like this up in his mountain was his only saving grace, a reverie that he chose to drown in for even just a while.

And he was content. To look at them from afar was enough. He dared not to covet the moons that he loved so much for his touch was the very kiss of the end itself. Ironic how despite being a god he was cursed by the very thing that he was; all he did was take and take and take…he could not even begin to imagine the horrors he would feel if he caused one of the moons to draw their last breath.

He was like a madman in his desire for them, wanting them for his own, only to keep holding himself back because that was how it should be. A sentiment kept for the sake of those that he held dear.

“If you don’t act soon someone else might steal those precious moons that you love so much.”

“Saragnayan, who allowed you to step foot on MY mountain?” He didn’t even need to take a look to know who had arrived. And of all those that could, it really had to be another who was as vile as he was; maybe even more.

“Is that how you treat your friend?” Saragnayan scoffed.

“Go back to Gadlum, I don’t need you causing trouble here, again.” Sidapa ordered, whisking the other away from whence he came.

“You can’t still be mad about that, it was just a joke.” Said the accused instigator of chaos.

Sidapa should learn to take a joke or better yet get used to what it is that I do. Saragnayan was the God of Darkness and Sidapa of all people should know the kind of things that he enjoyed. So, he may have manipulated some of the people who got lost along the steep trails of Madjaas; and he may have influenced them to set a few things on fire…but it was all in good clean fun…for the chaotic god at least.

“A joke?” That sent Sidapa’s senses ablaze. “A JOKE, SARAGNAYAN? LEAVE. Leave now before I carve whatever life you have left onto this tree!” Came the god’s outburst as he stood from his place, marching over to his unwelcomed guest.

How could he see something like that as a joke? The creatures under his protection almost lost a home along with their lives due to the mischief that the distasteful god created. While the animals on his mountain were unharmed, the same could not be said for the forest itself. Had he been slower, his home would have probably burned to the ground. How could Saragnayan even think of doing such a thing when he himself, from time to time, gathered flowers for his beloved wife from the flora and fauna of Madjaas.

He considered him his friend on some occasions, on others; he was the type of companion that needed a proper beating.

“And you’re just a stick in the mud.” The other taunted further.

“Get off of my mountain unless you want me to k—!”

“Fine, I shall take my leave. It IS clear that you are not interested in Luyong Baybay’s attempts to coerce the moons to descend from Heaven.” Saragnayan didn’t even give the Death God a chance to finish his rant.

This was the part that he loved the most. Sidapa’s expression drastically changed. His already pale face was getting whiter and his body quivered; practically shook from the news! Saragnayan knew of his friend’s infatuation with the dancing beauties that illuminated the night sky and often saw him gazing at them longingly; lovingly as if a child possessed. How could he not share this little piece of information to him? The deity had every right to know, every right to feel agonized and had every right to act upon his desires. For him, that was how gods like them should act.

“What has Luyong Baybay been up to?” Finally, the silence was once again broken.

“NOW you want to know?” Saragnayan goaded.

“Just say it.” He answered, an apparent jealousy beginning to seethe through his voice.

“She has been singing to them.”

"Singing?" Death repeated. The building frustration he felt simmered and was slowly replaced with curiosity instead.

He had noticed it lately. Was Luyong Baybay’s song the reason for this? Was it her singing that made those seven heavenly creatures more joyous during their nightly affairs? Were they happy because they were fond of the singing...

...They were happy because of Luyong Baybay?

“Sidapa, are you alright?” Asked Darkness.

The Death God couldn’t have been in a more murderous state than he was right now. Even Saragnayan felt the ominous intent emanated by the other. He could not blame Sidapa because more than anyone, he knew every nook and cranny of this thing called love. After all, Saragnayan had himself a beautiful wife that was sought after by most. Of course, no other fate befell those heathens other than death. Their efforts though were valiant and commendable...foolish, but commendable indeed.

This was how he knew of feats that were fueled by jealousy.

Envious men were dangerous since they exhausted everything for the sake of obtaining what they want. They were desperate enough to cross the threshold of madness.

And looking at Sidapa now, he was envy personified.

Saragnayan had to admit that he liked it this way. By being in the midst of anger, he could compel Sidapa to his will. For an alleged God of Death, he always viewed the other as somewhat soft and sentimental. It was unbecoming of his post and surely needed a little push in the direction of chaos. What better opportunity than now, right? Now that Death was green with envy, the God of Darkness was all the more compelled to sow and nurture seeds of discord.

“Saragnayan,”

Or perhaps he didn’t need to do anything more. That odious glimmer in Death’s eyes said it all.

“I hope you told your wife that you’ll be gone for quite some time. You’re not leaving until I drive that harlot Luyong Baybay to her knees.” Sidapa informed his guest.

“My darling is an understanding woman, I’m sure that she’ll—wait…what?” And here he was about to boast about the good qualities of his beloved only to realize that he had been dragged into something that he initially only wished to see…not participate in.

“This is me cutting you some slack for almost destroying Madjaas, Saragnayan.”

“But…but my wife!” He protested.

“Your wife can wait.” Sidapa replied coldly.

***

“Ahaha!” Hangin laughed. “I’m sorry Lord Sidapa. I really just can’t see Master Saragnayan allowing himself to be dragged around like that.”

“You’re right in thinking so.” He chuckled, remembering how valiantly the god tried to escape again and again as he declared disinterest in participating in the little revenge plot.

Saragnayan deserved whatever it was that the God of Death had pitted him with. Besides, he was also the one who told him of Luyong Baybay’s infatuation with the moons.

“No need to feel anything for that one. Whatever misfortune that befell him was of his own doing.” He said, actually quite pleased for once. Just remembering how Saragnayan endured those countless nights at sea without as much as a word from his other half was a spectacle.

“But what happened to Luyong Baybay?” Hangin asked curiously.

“I tortured her, of course.” He answered, an air of indifference suddenly hanging over his features.

“You would torture someone merely for singing to the moon?” She asked again.

“Yes.” He confessed.

“Was it even Bulan that she sang to?” Hangin questioned further.

“At that time I did not care which of the seven moons she sang for. I loved them all, you see.” Sidapa chuckled.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he had been too drastic in his approach.

If he cared to try hard enough, Sidapa could still hear the agonized screams of the Goddess of the Tides, Luyong Baybay. The Death God kept her confined in a veil of darkness, away from the prying eyes of those who held her sacred. There, in Saragnayan’s domain, the goddess was bound and shackled by shadows that slowly ate away from the knee down. Her shrieking was like music, while the curses that spilled from her shaking mouth were not unlike the sweetest of delicacies. To see her desperation was enough. A quick death was not something that the deity of the tides deserved. Sidapa had no intentions of ending her. What he wanted was to watch her suffer.

“Lord Sidapa?” Hangin called out, putting an end to his bittersweet memory.

“Tell me, Hangin.” He started. “If someone threatened to steal away that one thing you loved and cherished, would you not entertain thoughts of cruelty against your rival?”

The wind fairy thought about this for a while. As someone who had not experienced the same feelings as her lord, she could not tell. She was a simple free spirited sprite and cared only for what she wanted to care about. For now, the only real thing she saw as important was Mt. Madjaas itself, her home. Without it, where would she be? If it wasn’t for this place, Hangin may still have been wandering the land. She might have simply left her fate to the unforgiving winds that blew. If what Sidapa felt was anywhere close to how it felt like being robbed of a home, then that was the closest that she could possibly comprehend.

“I don’t know.” She said with a light-hearted smile. “But if someone tried to steal something that I love, I think that I’d be really sad.”

“You would be devastated.”

When it came to others trying to take what he saw as his, Sidapa had bigger problems than just Luyong Baybay…rather, that pitiful goddess barely scraped the surface of his nuisances.

If obstacles had a living, breathing form then Kaptan was probably the biggest one he had encountered next to that unsightly excuse for a sea dragon, Bakunawa.

What did he have to do just so that he could live in peace with the one person that his heart held dear?

***

“KAPTAN!” Sidapa’s voice echoed throughout Heaven as he stormed the Sky God’s palace gates.

How dare this man? How dare Kaptan for invading his mountain and simply taking Bulan away? The child went to him on his own accord, so why did he have to take his little Moon Deity back? He had done nothing wrong apart from falling in love with the child who had descended from the skies. It was not his fault that he was enchanted by his endearing smiles and his kindness…nor that he helplessly grew to love the boy for teaching him how to feel. So why…why was he being taken away from him?

“Sidapa!” The god heard a familiar voice. And up above, as he looked beyond the gates of Kapata’s heaven, Bulan was imprisoned. The boy called out to him. For a second there, he felt his chest throb. This must be how Saragnayan felt whenever Nagmalitong Yawa Sinagmaling Diwata, his wife, called for him.

“Bulan, I’m coming for you!” Sidapa cried out, letting the boy know that he had heard his cries.

“No one is coming for anyone.” Without much as another warning, a volley of thunderbolts rained down upon Sidapa.

This bastard! The God of Death barely escaped the thunderous onslaught that was hurled at him. While he was able to deflect a few of them with his blade, he still suffered damage from the assault. Drawing in breaths, Death held his ground and searched for where the attacks were coming from.

Floating above the steel gates of his ethereal abode stood the one recognized by all as the king of all the gods, Kaptan. His dark eyes looked down at the lowly God of Death as if disgusted by this very presence before him. Raising his hands up, the space above seemed to distort itself and thunder bolts began to gather atop his palms. With a simple flick of his wrist, again, those bolts of pure electric energy plummeted towards Sidapa.

“You dare invade my heaven after abandoning it once? What an insolent cur you’ve become, Sidapa.”

“I only came here for Bulan!” It didn’t matter to the Death God that he was sustaining injuries despite parrying Makaptan’s bolts of lightning, what was important right now was for the pompous bastard to see how serious he was in terms of taking the child back. So despite his bleeding arm and labored breaths, Sidapa ignored the pain and once again stood his ground.

“Ho…” Lofting a brow Kaptan descended from his station, landing merely a few feet away from the other god.

He had to admit despite not wanting to, that Sidapa was holding himself quite well. No one had yet survived that large an assault from him. As much as he did not wish to recall past events, even his grandchildren were unable to survive his rage. And yet here was the other former sky god, holding his own against he who was Kan-Laon’s equal.

“Hmph, I suppose you are deserving of a chance.” Kaptan said, drawing his own blade from the sheath that hung by the side of his hip. With a smirk tugging at his lips, the Sky God pointed the jagged zigzagged blade at his adversary. “If you win against me, you are free to take the boy.”

“Consider it done.” Sidapa did not waste another second. Brandishing his blade, he sped towards Kaptan to take the offensive.

The two exchanged one blow after the other with neither of them falling to each other’s tricks. Whenever the God of Death would deal a blow, the God of the Skies would block it and return a strike of his own. To the young Bulan who watched, it was as if the two were dancing, locked in steps that could only bring about ruin for either one of them. Even if the Moon feared for Sidapa’s safety, he could not help but be mesmerized by their bout. As much as he wanted them to stop, he could not speak a word as the two locked themselves in battle.

“What a magnificent sword you have there.” Kaptan praised as his eyes noticed the shimmering silver blade that Sidapa used against him. It absorbed his blows well and sustained not even a single dent or scratch.

“The Minokawa isn’t feared for nothing.” Answered the other as he pushed Kaptan back. He could feel the frenzy coursing through his veins as the heat of battle consumed him. And as he charged once again to deliver a critical strike, the King of Gods blocked it with uncanny ease.

“You chose good but that sword is wasted on the likes of you….GHUAAAA!” As their weapons once again collided and Sidapa was at close range, Kaptan grinned wildly. In an instant, his sword was enveloped in a blue-ish silver light that erupted upon impact. The rawness of the electricity propelled Sidapa back, knocking him off his feet, his sword flying from his grasp.

The shock of the attack cause the Death God’s breathing to become shallow. His body felt like it was on fire after being caught by that explosive mass of energy. He was on his back right now with blurred vision and aching limbs. How could he have allowed for something like this to happen? Was he going to lose right here? Was he going to be killed by Makaptan on the spot?

No.

Was this where he’d lose Bulan?

NO.

Flinching, he tried to get up only for his head to be met with Kaptan’s foot.

“Did you really think that I’d let you stand?” Now that his enemy was on the ground, the furious god continued on with his abuse. He dug his iron sandaled feet against Death’s skull before stepping on it repeatedly, laughing as he did.

This was only halted when ear piercing screams broke through the groans that were emitted by Sidapa.

“Who dares—“ Kaptan’s eyes widened. Another one, there was another one who dared invade his territory.

This time it was that troublesome dragon serpent, Bakunawa.

As Kaptan moved away from Sidapa in order to deal with the new problem, the Death God instantly rose to his feet and as if a man possessed, and began to make his way to where Bulan was. Before he could though, Kaptan grabbed him by the foot before slamming him on the ground.

“And where do you think you’re going? I am not done with you yet.” He snarled.

“Bulan…is crying…he needs me…I have to go…” At this point Sidapa had already drowned out the king’s voice. The only thing that he could hear was the flood of screaming voices, but among them, heard Bulan’s as clear as day. The pain in his body did not matter to him anymore. Even if every movement was an excruciating effort, he didn’t care. “I have to go…I have to go…I have to go.” The light in his eyes were replaced with an animalistic glow and in the moment when Kaptan forced him down once again, Sidapa mustered an unseen force that eroded the air, making it stagnant. This caused Kaptan to jump back lest he wanted to get caught in that ravishing air of decay.

Again, he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control the essence of demise coming from him but because of that he was able to free himself. Instincts overrode his thoughts and now that he was undeterred by anything he charged at the moon-eating dragon.

“How desperate you’ve become…” Though in a way Kaptan could understand the feeling…

Once upon a time, he too had been a prisoner of love.

I will treat this as your test then.

Kaptan merely watched as Sidapa fought Bakunawa in an attempt to rescue the boy, Bulan, from being eaten. Why did he even bring that child back? The Sky God was not infatuated with the moons unlike the rest. He simply thought of them as children who needed to be protected. So wasn’t it only natural that he brought Bulan back home? Though perhaps it was part of his sentimentality that allowed for such a thing to transpire. Bulan reminded him of his beautiful and kind granddaughter. They were both sweet and shy, and shone brighter than any gem. He simply could not let him fall in the hands of someone or something that displayed the picture of decay.

“What a helpless man you are.” He whispered to himself, amused. Just this once he would allow someone to whisk away something of significant value.

Kaptan would join the fight then, striking the great Bakunawa with one of his prized bolts in order to catch its attention.

“Go, before I change my mind.” The King of Gods ordered the moment he saw that Bulan had been secured.

“You have my thanks.” Sidapa said.

“I have no need for it. Go.” Kaptan urged.

***

Suddenly the young mermaids were in a flurry of giggles.

“So he saved you from the moon-eating monster?” One of the sirens asked, giddy.

“He did.” Bulan replied with a nod.

The water nymphs had been so adamant today. Since they were the ones who did not know of the story yet, they couldn’t help but be curious after expressing a clear fear for the Lord of the Mountain.

Compared to Bulan and the older inhabitants of Mt. Madjaas, the younger generation of creatures and spirits still saw Sidapa as a terrifying god. He was, after all, the one who oversaw the end of days for all. He carved it on his tree atop the mountain. Sidapa probably had the loneliest job as a god. And on top of that he was wrongly feared and was in fact misunderstood.

The Moon glanced at where his husband was and saw him talking to a familiar spirit. No wonder it became slightly windy, Hangin is here. He noted.

His train of thought would come to a halt when he felt a light tug on his arm. When he looked toward his left, a curious young siren was holding onto his arm.

“Um—aren’t you afraid of Lord Sidapa?” She asked.

“I’m not, but there was a time back then when I was,” Bulan explained.

“I remember those days. You were so young and you always cried when you saw Lord Sidapa’s face.” Said another nymph.

Surprised, Bulan looked to see who had spoken and in an instant, he found himself walking into the water. “Kataw!” He cried, giving the woman a warm embrace.

Kataw returned this with equal fervor and even brought a hand to pat the boy on the head. No matter how much Bulan grew, he would still be a little boy in her eyes.

“So the lord really IS scary!” One of the mermaids chimed in.

“Lord Sidapa may have a scary face, but he’s not THAT scary.” The Kataw explained. “He is a very handsome god. Now, he just looks scary because he paints it so. He’s doing that on purpose.” She added. Oh how the water sprite knew of Sidapa’s agenda. The more the others feared him the fewer problems he’d have keeping Bulan to himself when others were being too bothersome.

Today, his plan seemed to have backfired.

Though perhaps more importantly, Kataw knew that their lord’s frightening façade kept others from being accidentally hurt. Fear was a very important weapon for Sidapa. It was a means that enabled him to sternly keep others away from harm’s way.

“Speaking of scary, I should go back to him,” Bulan chimed in.

There were a couple resonating protests coming from the sirens, but the Kataw had willed them into silence by offering to tell another story. That bought the Moon God enough time to finally escape and return to Sidapa’s side.

When he finally reached the tree where the god rested, he saw that his husband had fallen asleep.

“He’s been talking about you, you know,” Hangin suddenly spoke up.

“It’s good to see you, Hangin,” Bulan greeted.

“Likewise, hehe!” Replied the wind fae.

“The mermaids were asking for stories about Sidapa and I. I think we got a little carried away with the time.”

“Don’t worry, Lord Sidapa and I were talking about the same thing,” she explained. “A long time has passed and none of us believed that you’d stay by our lord’s side.”

“Even I, Hangin…even I.” The Moon answered as he took a sit beside the sleeping god. When he looked at Sidapa like this, he seemed completely harmless. Then again, he never meant to harm anyone. The animals of the mountain loved him and the flowers bloomed for him. The older sirens sang hymns for him while the newly sprouting life within their residence grew curious of him day by day.

More than anyone, he was oozing with life no matter how much he may deny it.

Bulan could never forget the day that they met. Even now he could still remember the alluring scent of flowers that perfumed the air.

Even now, when he closed his eyes, Bulan could still see the sparkle of fireflies as they lit his way to Mt. Madjaas.

Even now, when he drew close to Sidapa, he could almost hear the sirens sing.

“You are the light that makes the flowers bloom.”

Bulan hummed it softly. The mermaids’ hymn was like a mirror that reflected the Lord of Madjaa’s heart. He was certain that the particular line of the song was meant for him…that to Sidapa, he was something that showered him with a feeling that made his heart bloom into love, but the same could be said for the god.

“You are the life that’s breathe into me.”

For Bulan, Sidapa was the life he had never known. To be in awe yet at the same time feel fear. To feel like there was something that he didn’t want to lose. Recalling that time when the death god fought with Kaptan was the first time that he felt a feeling of fear. Would he be lost to him? It was a thought that he could not bear. Things were much different now than it was back then. During that time, he was so young that he mistook fear for something that mesmerized him…but now, now that they were together, he understood what it was that he really felt.

In a way they were each other’s mirror, without the other their reflections did not exist...could not exist. It was only when they were together that everything was clear.

How frightening it was and yet at the same time, so beautiful…

Bulan careful laced his fingers with Sidapa’s and leaned in beside him. The Moon closed his eyes as well and enjoyed the breeze that the wind fairy gifted them upon her departure.

It was alright like this. No matter what they were or how different they seemed to be…just like night and day, one cannot exist without the other.

They call him death, yet he breathes life into me.

#|| The mun's art Things ||#|| Story Time ||#So this is the thing. About Sidapa and Bulan.#enjoy #Sidapa #Bulan #mermaids #sirens #lore #Myth #fiction #Bakunawa #Makaptan #Saragnayan

7 notes · View notes

29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 21 - Good Omens

Day 21: Hypothermia Fandom/Setting: Good Omens, post Apocalypse Read on AO3 Read on FF.net For nellsnail56, hope everything’s okay, hon!

~*~

Aziraphale watched his breath evaporate into the bleak emptiness of the forest in a puff of condensation. He imagined the breath carrying all the way up to Heaven, maybe even to God's ear Herself, hearing his desperate plea for help. It didn't work like that, of course. For one thing, Heaven wasn't actually up so much as elsewhere, and for another thing, God didn't make a habit of rescuing him from these dreadful scrapes he always seemed to find himself in.

She did, however, seem to have a habit of ensuring Crowley was in the right place at the right time.

Aziraphale hoped and prayed that trend would continue today. Soon. Er, rather immediately in fact.

The angel shivered again, eyelids fluttering. He knew he had to stay awake or he would discorporate for sure... but... he was just so tired... and he was just so cold... His head lolled to the side and the jarring sight of the dead human nudged him back awake. The hunter's expression was frozen into a face of shock, marred by a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. It was so cold that the human's face was already blue, no blood trickling from the wound. Aziraphale felt only a very little bad for having killed the man, but then again not so terribly bad that he wouldn't do it again.

"C-Crowley," Aziraphale chattered, adding his pain-filled voice to the breath carrying his prayers to whoever might hear. "H-h-help... h-help me..."

Though he knew it was useless, Aziraphale tried once again to lift himself off the icy ground. Enormous white wings splayed over the forest floor on either side of him, feathers tipped in frost that might otherwise have been beautiful if he didn't hurt so awfully. One wing curled up slightly at the command of his swiftly numbing muscles; the other was useless. Aziraphale twisted his head to look at that one, the one that stretched through a small trickle of water at the bottom of the gully he was in. The ice had already frozen over the appendage, attaching him to the ground. And he had no strength to pull himself free.

Closing his eyes, Aziraphale willed a miracle to thaw the ice, warm his frozen bones, and wash away all the pain. The metal ring wrapped around his wrist thrummed, preventing him from using the slightest bit of angelic power to help himself. Aziraphale choked on a sharp sob of pain and gave up. The hunters might not have succeeded in their hopes of killing him themselves in this twisted hunt of theirs, but it was going to end him all the same. Frozen and helpless, alone in the middle of the winter woods, and oh gracious this was never how he'd imagined his end.

Aziraphale tried to force his eyes open, but his lashes were already icing over and it took too much work to fight them open. At least, he thought fuzzily, the cold was starting to drift away, replaced with a blessed nothingness.

~*~

"Aziraphale!" Crowley bellowed into the evening gloom, shivering violently and cursing everything in sight. Killing the human hunters who had kidnapped Aziraphale for their game had warmed him for a moment, but he was cold-blooded and it was actual torture being out here in sub-freezing temperatures. He couldn't turn back though, not until he'd found the angel.

Drawing a bit of Hellfire from his connection to the Pit, Crowley tried not to shudder at the evil keeping him warm. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again. "ANGEL! Where are you?"

The hunters had been only too happy to answer his questions once they saw his fangs and his fury; they'd sworn the hunter with first dibs at taking a crack at the angel hadn't come back, which at least meant he hadn't won. They were out here somewhere. Leaves crunched, the frozen forest litter crackling under Crowley's feet as he half-jogged through the woods in growing desperation. It was getting colder by the minute and he knew if Aziraphale had been more or less rendered human, out here without proper protection from the cold, he would never survive the night.

Then he'd be sent to Heaven, and Gabriel wasn't likely to allow him another body, and they'd probably toss him in a jail cell and throw away the key. Did Heaven even have a jail? Well, they'd probably build one for the angel who'd screwed up the Apocalypse. Either way, Crowley had to find him, fast.

The demon's eyes swept over the landscape, watching the colors rapidly turning cooler. A hunting blind was tucked into a little copse of trees packed tight together, traces of heat still inside from where the hunter had been sitting, waiting. So it must not have been too long ago, or the colors would have faded into the rest of the background. Crowley stumbled to a stop and looked wildly around. He was on a ridge. If the hunter had shot Aziraphale from here...

Crowley hurried to the edge to peer over. His eyes widened.

"Angel!"

Aziraphale lay on his back, unmoving, as Crowley scrambled down the embankment to reach his friend. The angel's eyes were closed, but Crowley's reptilian vision showed him the barest hint of warmth still. There was time, he told himself over and over. There was time, he could still save him. The demon splashed to a stop next to the motionless angel, taking in the predicament. The human was very dead, a crossbow at his feet and a pistol missing from an ankle holster. But there were no wounds on Aziraphale. It seemed that the hunter had missed; the angel had not. Good on him.

Nothing else was good, though. Aziraphale's wing was frozen to the ground in the pool of water, the fingers of his outstretched hand a sickly blue-grey of frostbite. His wrist still bore the metal ring that blocked his powers, which Crowley immediately ripped away and crushed into pieces in his furious grip. Carefully, the demon used just enough Hellfire to melt the ice around Aziraphale's wing, sweating with the concentration of not letting a single bit of the flame come near the actual feathers. It was ticklish business but he managed to free the wing (with a good bit of ice still attached, but they could worry about that later).

Without a second of hesitation, Crowley gathered the terrifyingly cold angel up in his arms and flew.

~*~

Bitter cold.

Mostly frozen water running over his wing, trapping him in ice.

Chattering teeth, pins and needles in his skin.

Everything fading, confusion...

...nothingness...

Crowley.

Crowley? Aziraphale blinked his eyes blearily open to see the demon hovering over him. He seemed to be saying something, but Aziraphale could only stare blankly. The words washed over him, something about miracles, something about heat. The angel considered reaching out to calm his obviously distressed friend, but his joints felt locked in place. He held still, not even moving when Crowley waved a hand in his direction. Aziraphale wasn't sure what he'd done—wasn't that the demon's way of miracling things?—though some part of his foggy mind told him the wet fabric against his skin had disappeared. His wings were still out though. They were so cold. He should really put them away, the sodden feathers couldn't be a good thing, but Aziraphale was too tired.

Now Crowley was crawling onto the couch with him, wrapping his body around Aziraphale's, which felt like it ought to be improper since Aziraphale had nothing on, but that thought was too much trouble to articulate. The demon's teeth were chattering; the poor dear, he had to be freezing, he got cold so easily, and yet his body was like fire against Aziraphale. It burned, and the angel instinctively tried to pull back with a whimper.

"S-sorry, angel, it's all I've g-got, you g-gotta warm up or you'll d-d-d... you'll d-die."

Hmm, the words were starting to make sense again. Aziraphale didn't move as Crowley pulled a heavy blanket over them, his heart sluggishly pounding in his ears as though the blood was just starting to flow anew. A minute later, he whimpered again as his fingers and toes began to burn in earnest.

"Ang-angel, will you p-please come b-back?" Crowley groaned next to him. His skin felt like it was pulsating against Aziraphale's, a current of something that felt too much like Hell for comfort. Where he made contact with Aziraphale's wings, the slightly charred scent of smoldering feathers filled the cabin.

The hunters' cabin. Yes, there had been hunters. They'd put that horrid bracelet on him, it kept his wings exposed and the rest of him helpless- wait, he'd been in the woods. Aziraphale blinked slowly, looking around again.

"Crow-ley?" he croaked.

The demon froze, then lifted himself off of Aziraphale to regard him. The absence of his warmth made Aziraphale shiver, so Crowley quickly lay back down.

"You with me, angel?" he demanded. "C-can you miracle your wings away yet?"

Oh. Yes, he really ought to do that. They were so cold, putting them back in the ethereal plane would be good, wouldn't it? Or could he just use a miracle to warm them up? Oh... oh, that's what Crowley had been saying when he first woke. Yes, he was cold, he needed to warm himself up- good lord, Crowley was freezing himself to get Aziraphale warm! The angel inhaled sharply as his mind struggled through the hypothermia-induced fogginess.

He had to close his eyes and focus with all his might, but Aziraphale finally felt his wings disappear from the physical plane, and much of his discomfort along with them.

"C-Crowley," he murmured, teeth starting to chatter now as his body seemed to regain feeling, the cold coming back with a vengeance. "S-so... c-c-cold..."

"Good," the demon said. "Good, that m-means it's working..."

"You're f-freezing..."

Crowley snorted and didn't move. "Leave it to you to worry about that," he muttered. "C-can you miracle the rest yet?"

Aziraphale tried, he really did, but he was still hazy and exhausted and after a second he slumped and jerked his head to indicate a negative. "S-sorry," he whispered. "You d-don't have to-"

"S-shut up. Is the H-hellfire too much? K-keeping it low but y-you need heat..."

Aziraphale shook his head. The Hellfire glowing under Crowley's skin did hurt, but so did his hands and feet even without that, burning worse as feeling returned.

But he was alive. The Hellfire and shared body heat did the trick, along with the more ordinary fire Crowley eventually got up to stoke, and the dozens of thick flannel blankets he procured from nowhere, and the hot tea he all but poured down the angel's throat to help warm him from the inside. Gradually the mind-fog disappeared and Aziraphale tiredly brushed the rest of the cold away. Eventually he would want to go home and get out of this awful place.

But for now, he was finally warm, and well taken care of, and Aziraphale closed his eyes to the sight of Crowley settling in beside him to watch him through the night.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #hypothermia #good omens #fanfiction #aziraphale whump #crowley to the rescue #shared body heat

21 notes · View notes

sserpente · 5 years

Photo

A/N: Request from anon. Finally wrote this. Lots of fluff and tears coming your way!

Words: 2634 Warnings: fluff

It wasn’t too bad, living on Sakaar. If the Grandmaster liked you—and he did—you could live the luxurious life you would have never imagined. In return, you worked for him and collected slaves like cattle to sell and keep his lunatic ruling going.

If anything, the Grandmaster was a convenience you had to deal with. Your life on the trash planet made up for it and then, maybe, once you had earned enough money, you would be able to travel the nine realms and settle somewhere else. You could not put your finger on why but you had always had a fascination for Asgard. The shiny, golden realm… reminded you of something, almost as if something was waiting there for you.

You smiled at the thought. All you needed now was a gem. A precious victim one of the ugly wormholes in the sky spat out and into the landmines for you to pick up and sell the Grandmaster as another gladiator. In the past week, three of which you had brought him died fighting that green monster. You needed someone special. Someone like… him.

You heard him grunt in pain before you saw him, emerging from in between two piles of trash and debris. But when you lay your eyes on him for the first time… your heart seemed to skip a beat, your lips parting underneath the cloth you wore to shield your face.

Like an invisible force, something appeared to be pulling you towards him, every fibre of your being longing to be touched by him. He looked familiar, his blue gaze… mischievous. The man stood, brushing the dust off his leather trousers and then flashed you a disarming smirk.

“Hello.” He began simply, sending shivers up and down your spine. Pleasant shivers. You were frozen on the spot, paralysed even. His voice… his voice was familiar too. Like you had heard it before. Like it had soothed you and lulled you to sleep before.

You should be acting quickly. Using the obedience disk at hand to fling at him, to render him helpless and drag him straight to the Grandmaster. He looked powerful—intelligent, cunning—like someone who could, if prepared well, defeat the Hulk. Raven hair, tall, not too muscly but well-defined, eagle-eyes. Who knew what other skills he hid.

“Who are you?” You found yourself asking before you could stop yourself. You wanted to get to know him. You needed to get to know him. If anything to find out if he was worth the catch and an audience with the Grandmaster; but mostly because you had to know why he seemed so familiar.

You blinked when you imagined yourself stroking his cheek, your palm resting against his chest to feel his heartbeat.

The stranger’s smirk widened. “I am Loki, of Asgard.”

Asgard. Was this the reason you were drawn to him so much? But then again how could you have known where he was from?

“Loki…” The name rolled off your tongue easily, like you had said it a million times before —crying, laughing, concerned, angry, sad, aroused…

“Who is in charge here?” He asked then, lifting his chin proudly. Lifting your eyebrows, you folded your arms.

“Right now? Me.”

He chuckled. Seriously—he had the audacity to chuckle. What was it that stopped you from throwing one of your obedience disks at him?!

“Oh, I dare to doubt that. Take me to the ruler of this realm. I am the king of Asgard. Tell him I request an audience.” He had stopped panting now, regaining his full charm. You swallowed thickly. It was like his words jinxed you into obeying him, knowing he would never cause you any harm.

But… what was it he had said? He was the king? Was that what your gut feeling had attempted to tell you? He was the gem you had been looking for. Your ticket away from Sakaar and straight to Asgard. You could not possibly hand him in by force. A king was powerful; too powerful—you wouldn’t stand a chance. Besides… if you gained his favour then he might take you back with him.

“Alright… I will take you to him. But I am warning you. The Grandmaster is a lunatic.” You said, beckoning for him to follow you.

“The Grandmaster?”

“Yes. That’s what he calls himself. Nobody knows his real name—if he even has one.”

Loki frowned. “He is not, by any chance, related to the Collector?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… avoid asking him personal questions. I am (Y/N) by the way.”

Loki went silent, making you stop dead in your tracks. “Did you just say (Y/N)?”

“Yes?” Shaking your head in an almost amused manner, you tilted your head and kept on walking.

His questions did not stop coming the closer you came to the Grandmaster’s residence, stepping over trash and soon, fighting your way through the chaotic city.

“How long have you been here, (Y/N)?”

“I don’t know, a few years maybe?”

“How did you end up here?”

“Bright lights, pain, screaming… aliens and monsters… I was swept off the street and hurled up into the sky before I blacked out. When I woke up, I was here and soon got recruited by the Grandmaster.”

“When? When did this happen? What planet are you from?” Stopping yet again, you spun around quickly.

“Earth. You’re asking an awful lot of questions, Loki.”

He smirked in response, lifting his hands up in defeat. “I am curious by nature. I am the God of Mischief, after all. Surely you have heard of me.” The God of Mischief? You knew the gods lived in Asgard, of course. But the chances…

“Great. You just gave me another reason not to trust you then, Trickster.”

Again, he fell silent, his lips parting slightly. His blue eyes darted to the ground, pondering over something you would only love for him to share with you.

“Come on. We’re almost there.”

Trickster. That’s what you had always called him. Loki was unsure. You could be any woman. Any woman whose name just so happened to be (Y/N), after all. But then there was your voice. There were your eyes and that invisible force within him wanting you close to him.

“My lord…” When she entered the room determined, Loki quickly scanned the situation. Three guards and one right-hand woman, so it appeared. Behind them, huge glass panels he could use as a quick escape if need be. The Grandmaster must indeed have been a relative of the Collector. His appearance was both funky and repulsive as it radiated lunacy like heat. He sat there on his ridiculous moving chair. “Forgive the spontaneous intrusion but I’ve brought someone special. The king of Asgard, one of the nine realms of the Yggdrasil, desperately wished to be introduced to you.”

“King?! Come closer, come closer.” You obeyed, hoping that Loki would do the same.

“So, uh, king of Asgard…”

“Loki, my lord.” You interrupted gently.

“Loki! What brings you to Sakaar?”

“An unfortunate accident, I’m afraid. Yet I must admit that I did not expect stumbling over such an empire. I would be most grateful, Grandmaster, if you granted me your hospitality until I have found a way to return to my own realm.”

He was quick-witted, a silver tongue. He loved compliments. There went your chances of receiving money for a skilled gladiator. You should have used an obedience disk after all.

“Nobody leaves this place, Loki. Sakaar…”—a dapper wave of his hand followed his words—“…is a collection void for all lost and found things. Tell me, uh, Loki, if you’re a king… you must love a spectacle, no?”

“I most certainly do.”

“See, there is this ‘contest of champions’ I hold every week. Gladiators from all over the universe unwillingly fighting each other to death, how does that sound, huh?” The Grandmaster grinned, seemingly pleased with himself.

“That sounds… intriguing indeed.”

“My lovely (Y/N) will show you to your brand new apartment. B32, (Y/N). B32.”

B32… that was the empty apartment next to yours. It was exceedingly luxurious.

You frowned. Finally taking off your cloth so he could see your face properly, you opened your mouth. “Grandmaster, with all due respect, do you truly think it is wise to—“

“Go, (Y/N), we don’t have all day!” He dismissed you by throwing you a key. The key for Loki’s new apartment.

You sighed. Nodding obediently all the while gnashing your teeth, you motioned for Loki to follow you with dismay. But his expression… his expression was odd. It was like realisation hit him, along with incredulity, relief and… affection? All when he first looked you in the face.

Suspiciously, you lead him through the hallway, then unlocked the door with the letters B32 on it and pushed the green button so it would open.

“(Y/N),” he said your name again. He smiled when you turned around to face him—genuinely this time—and approached you slowly. There was only one way now. He had to jump in at the deep end. “You… do remember me, do you not?”

“I’m sorry, what? We’ve never met.” Loki’s face fell.

“Yes. We have. Centuries ago.” He replied quietly.

“What are you talking about?” You were only (Y/A) years old, not an immortal vampire.

“I have roamed all of the nine realms to find you,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I found passageways of which I could have never imagined that they even existed, even Heimdall could not detect them… (Y/N). You must remember me.” Who was Heimdall? What passageways?

With a start, his confident and cheeky demeanour was gone, replaced by that of a vulnerable and tender man.

“Please, (Y/N). My little dove… tell me you remember me.”

Had he lost his mind now? My little dove… the words rang in your ears. His voice, his looks, his eyes, the way he walked, the way he smiled… Had you not imagined Loki being familiar, after all? But that was impossible. How could you forget him then? And how could you even know him in the first place?

“I think you are mistaking me for someone else.”

The God of Mischief slowly shook his head. “Centuries ago, when the mortals still worshipped us as gods on Midgard, I fell for a young woman. She was beautiful, intelligent and about as daring and mischievous as I. Against Odin’s will I took her to Asgard, I showed her all of the nine realms. But time took its toll on her. She died of old age, only a few decades later.”

Compassion spread in your chest. And yet… “Oh… so you fell in love with a mortal. I’m… I’m sorry. But I don’t see what that has to do with me.” But you were getting there. There was something… something you couldn’t quite put your finger on yet.

“You were that woman, (Y/N). You are that woman. You have the same eyes, the same appearance, the same voice. You reincarnated. I searched for you for centuries. When I stopped…” He had stopped searching for you the day he had let go of the shattered Bifrost. Darkness had surrounded his fate ever since.

“You… I… this can’t… I don’t know you.”

“You will.” He insisted, coming even closer—like a predator, he carefully took one step after the other.

“No. Loki, this is impossible. Wouldn’t I recognise you? You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

For just a brief moment, hurt flashed over Loki’s face, your refusal tearing at his tainted heart. Nothing but bad luck had overcome him since the night he had found out he was a Frost Giant. He had been lied to, abandoned, fought, rejected, tortured, used like a puppet, mistrusted, locked away… He had been told his birth right was to die and now he was stranded, his brother blaming him for Odin’s death and Hela’s return.

He was not going to lose you too now. Not after he had finally found you again. Loki had almost forgotten what it felt like to harbour unconditional love for someone, to feel an unconditional desire singeing his skin like fire. None of the women on Asgard had ever piqued his interest after your death.

Without a warning, he lunged forward, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you flush against his body. Warmth spread in your chest, along with that strange magnetic sensation and a rapid heartbeat.

Then, his lips came crushing down on yours, seducing you into the most passionate kiss you had ever experienced. A moan escaping your lips, your eyes fell shut as you allowed his tongue to deepen the kiss and take your breath away, his right hand buried in your hair. Your body took over, like it knew exactly what to do. You dug your nails into his back, pressing your body against him for more contact. You reciprocated the kiss, much to your own surprise. You kissed him like it would be the last time you had the chance to… or like you hadn’t kissed him in… centuries.

You ripped your eyes open immediately, pushing him away firmly. You were breathing heavily, your lips swollen from the affection you had exchanged. Your mind did not remember him. He was a stranger—an oddly familiar stranger whom you had no memories of. But your body and your heart spoke a different language. They remembered. Whatever it was, there was something there. And you were willing to find out what it was.

Loki’s smug smirk returned. He seemed pleased with himself—dazed even. From the kiss, perhaps? Had it flustered him, too?

“If only you knew what pains I had to endure after you passed away.” He swallowed, the composed expression returning to his stunning face. “(Y/N)…”

You were still panting when you regained your ability to speak, swallowing thickly for courage.

“Stay with me tonight. Tell me about the woman. A-about me. Please…” Gone was your suspicious and arrogant behaviour, your attempt into manipulating him to take you to Asgard or sell him as a gladiator after all. You were willing to fall to your knees before him—not in submission but in affection and trust.

Loki nodded, smiling triumphantly.

“Sit with me.”

You obeyed. And then, for the next few hours as it dusked outside, you made yourself comfortable on a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the window, with an odd view over Sakaar and the wormholes now gleaming dangerously in the dark.

The woman Loki spoke about sounded familiar, too. He told you about her habits, her way of speech, her adventurous ideas… all of which you shared. He told you about the pleasure they had shared in bed, about the books she had liked to read and the meals she had liked to cook, the clothes she had liked to wear. The more he told you the more you realised… you were indeed the same person. Loki couldn’t possibly know these things about you. And he remembered every last detail. He was telling the truth. You were a reincarnation of the love of his life.

“You… you really loved her.” You choked out, tears worsening your sight when realisation hit you. He had loved you. Or… a former version of yourself. And suddenly, you felt incredibly sorry you did not even remember him. The God of Mischief reached forward, wiping away the one tear escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek. He smiled.

“I still do, my little dove.”

He would make you remember him. Sooner or later and this time, he would make sure not lose you again. This time was different. He would find a way. He was the God of Mischief, after all.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! kofi.com/sserpente ♥

1K notes · View notes

junqkook · 6 years

Text

— LIONHEART; 01 (m.)

— notes; this is based on the bbc show merlin and arthurian legend, but isn’t the same world (aka not camelot, not england) and is instead its own fantasy world. also, a king’s ward is like an adopted son/daughter to the monarch. listen to the lionheart playlist.

pairing; jungkook/reader/taehyung genre; prince au, magic au, smut words; 11,104 rating; explicit

— synopsis; as a sorcerer, it is of the utmost importance that you keep your magic a secret from everyone. when you become prince jungkook’s servant, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep your identity hidden; especially when you fall in love with him.

contents; prince jungkook, knight taehyung, sorcerer reader, magic use, prejudice and discrimination, depictions of violence, pining, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, rough sex, unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, dirty talk, dom taehyung, clothed sex, he fingers you with a glove on, overstimulation, teasing, marking/biting.

— chapters; one. two. three. four. five.

You fell in love with Prince Jungkook when you accidentally saw a moment that you knew was never meant for your eyes.

As a maidservant, you were rushing to grab a candle and some fresh water for your master, the king’s ward. It had been late, the sun already beginning to set, and the day had been tense and rough. There had been an execution of a sorcerer in the square, and the screams as he’d burned seemed to fill the entire kingdom.

The door had been cracked open and you’d seen him as you passed, his head ducked and hand to his face. It was never easy to watch the executions, and there had always been word spread between the servants about the arguments that took place between Jungkook and his father. The staff whispered about how the man accused of witchcraft had been a friend to the prince, and he’d asked his father for clemency but had not received it.

You thought he must be crying.

Without meaning to, your feet had stalled by the crack and your eyes caught on his dark hair, on the shine of his armor that he’d still yet to take off, on the hunched slope of his back betraying his exhaustion. You still didn’t know if you’d made a sound while standing there watching him, but soon after Jungkook had lifted his head from the warmth of his palm and his eyes had briefly met yours.

You scurried away from the door, your heart beating a frenzy in your chest from the sudden contact. The water sloshed over the rim of the cup onto your hand and you made sure to slow your pace, keeping the burning candle away from it so as not to put out the light accidentally and waste another trip.

Jungkook had not been crying.

You mused about the discovery, wondering if he’d even really seen you when he’d looked up. You climbed the steps quickly as you thought, finding your master’s chambers on autopilot and the guards barely even acknowledging you as you walked past and into the room.

“My lord,” you greeted quietly, nodding your head briefly.

Hoseok sat up in his bed and reached out for the water, which you gave him gladly. You set the candle on the table beside his bed and waited patiently as he drank. “Thank you, dear,” he said after making a noise of refreshment. “You’re too good to me, as always.”

“I am honored to serve you, my lord,” you replied easily, not missing a beat. It was always like this after an execution, with the nobleman laying awake in his bed and calling for you to bring him water and sit with him a while. It was nice, really. It was almost as if you were friends.

He hummed and handed you the nearly empty goblet. You took it from his hand and set it down on the table in case he needed another drink later. The king’s ward’s eyes were a little red and you knew from experience that he must have been crying after being forced to stand beside the king and watch the execution in full.

The prince hadn’t cried. How strange, you thought to yourself.

You hadn’t realized it then, but it was at that moment when your heart had been truly captured by the prince, with little defense against him. You hadn’t realized it then, but you had only just begun a fate that the gods had imposed upon the two of you, your paths destined to intertwine from long before you had been born.

Your thoughts were filled with the not-crying prince the entire night, even after an hour of sitting with Hoseok and after you’d gone to bed.

No one knew you had magic. No one knew that you were magic; you hadn’t practiced it simply for fun, hadn’t practiced at all, really. You’d been born with it, could do things no other around you could from the moment you had taken your first breath. Your small village had proved too stifling, too dangerous, and your mother had sent you away, sent you here to this castle for safety, and you knew better than to ever use your magic in the heart of the kingdom.

You’d kept your head down and served your master, finding said job quickly as a way to belong somewhere and keep an eye on what you would need to look out for. You hadn’t used your magic at all in a few months and you could feel it thrumming under your skin, coiling tightly from underuse.

At the moment, you had helped the other servants prepare for the banquet for a Lady that was coming to visit the king. The temptation to use your magic to hurry the process was almost overwhelming. You’d never felt a sizzling in your limbs from your magic similar to this and you couldn’t begin to guess why it was acting up like this. You stood behind one of the noblewomen seated at the large dining table, the noise level reaching obnoxiously loud levels. You blinked your eyes and refilled the wine goblet of the woman in front of you, making sure to keep the tremble from your fingers too noticeable as your magic swirled at the tips of your fingers.

You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to wander, to find the dark hair atop the prince’s head, and watch him for but a moment. Even in a room full of nobles, he stood out like a beacon. Your fingers thrummed once more, twitching on the pottery in your hands. The prince did not look over to you, did not notice you, his smile firmly in place on his lips as he sipped from the goblet of wine in his hand.

Strange, you found yourself thinking again. Had you misread the situation in the room that you’d seen days before? You didn’t think so; as a servant and sorcerer, you’d honed your observation skills enough that you knew what you’d seen that day and you knew that you weren’t wrong.

You stepped forward to refill the goblets of the noblewomen once more, and something happened. Your magic seemed too restless under your skin, swirling through your organs as if to warn you of something. Time itself seemed to slow around you, no one noticing as their eyes began to droop and their limbs ceased to move. Before you knew it, everyone had fallen into a deep sleep, the noise abruptly disappearing.

Something sliced through the air and your magic exploded, eyes flashing gold as you stilled time itself, everything moving in slow increments in front of you. A dagger had been thrown from across the hall, at the end of the table. You saw it inching forward through the air and you followed its path with your eyes to the prince, seated with his eyes shut and head lolled to the side.

With a surge of panic you hadn’t known could take root inside of you, your magic burst from within you and undid whatever spell had blanketed the people in the banquet hall. They woke slowly as you moved, your magic already undoing itself as your limbs tired from keeping it held in place. By the time everyone had started to blink, time returning to its normal pace, your hands were fisting into the lapels of the prince and you were tugging him toward your own body.

“What—” he started to exclaim, but you yanked as hard as you could and he toppled half over the chair as you dropped down, the dagger missing him by only a few centimeters and lodging itself in the back of his chair.

All the noise faded away as what had just happened started to register with the nobles. Then, the king stood and pointed down the hall, his face twisting with rage. Your own eyes followed in the direction he gestured, finding the visiting Lady with her arm outstretched, her own face contorted from her failure.

“You!” the king roared. “Filthy sorcerer! How dare you make an attempt on my son’s life? Guards, restrain her!”

The Lady in question struggled against the guards restraining her, shackles closing on her wrists. You knew they had been enchanted to hold any magic locked within them, to render magic-wielders helpless. “You took my son!” she cried out as they dragged her away. “It is only fair! I will take your son so you can feel the grief that I feel! One day you will know what it is to—”

The doors shut as they dragged her away, her voice cut off. You looked up into Jungkook’s face, which was only a breath away from yours. Your hands were still fisted in the fabric of his attire, and his eyes were wide and focused on you. Flushing, you released him and stood straight, fully prepared to return to the shadows and serve the nobles around you.

“You,” the king said before you could move any further away. Your head shot up and you met his eyes. “What is your name?”

“____, Sire,” you replied quietly, ducking your head.

“Well, ____, you have saved my son’s life,” he continued, loudly enough for the entire hall to hear. Your cheeks felt hot and you kept your head dipped to avoid the stares. “I shall reward you greatly for this.”

“Oh, no,” you said, startled. “There is no need, Sire—”

“Nonsense!” the king interrupted, waving his hand to quiet your protests. “You shall be Jungkook’s maidservant from now on.” Before you or the prince could say anything, the king turned to face his guests. “Let us continue our feast!” And the noise resumed, everyone cheerfully eating and talking with one another.

Prince Jungkook fixed his seating position and cleared his throat, not looking at you as he gestured toward his cup. You quickly stepped to his side, making sure to stay a bit behind him, and took the wine from the other servant behind him. You refilled his goblet and stepped back, barely noticing how the thrum of your magic had settled, as if satisfied with the recent events.

You continued to serve him for the rest of the evening, your feet long used to the time you had to stand during feasts and celebrations. You saw Hoseok stand from his seat on the other side of the king and you met his gaze briefly, almost stepping around to leave with him. His mouth was turned down into a frown and he left the hall quickly, telling the king he was retiring for the evening.

Jungkook did not leave until late into the night, and you found yourself increasingly struggling to stay awake, having been long used to leaving and going to bed. By the time Jungkook chose to retire for the evening, many of the guests had already left, as had his father.

You followed the prince quietly, staying a few paces behind him in the empty halls. He stumbled a few times, and you knew it was because of the wine he had consumed, impairing his abilities as he walked toward his rooms. While walking up the steps he nearly missed one, stepping right on the edge, and tumbled back a step. You reached out and steadied him from behind, hands on his warm back as he righted himself.

“Thank you,” he muttered quietly.

You said nothing, the air feeling odd and your magic once more swirling at the tips of your fingers, as if it wanted to reach out and touch him. You clasped your hands together tightly to keep back the urge, not knowing what you were meant to do.

When you’d reached his room, you slipped inside after him when he kept the door open instead of shutting it. You idled awkwardly by the door after shutting it, not sure what he meant you to do. Were you to undress him and ready his sleeping clothes? You’d done so for Hoseok for years, but with Jungkook it was different.

Seeming to realize your inner plight, Jungkook met your eyes from where he plopped onto the side of his bed.

“You can go,” he told you kindly. “I’m sure I can manage to dress myself this evening.”

You ducked your head. “Sire.”

“Make sure you are here in the morning,” he continued. “My schedule is much different than Hoseok’s and I’ll have one of the other servants explain to you what your duties will be.”

You nodded your head again. “Yes, my lord.” You heard him sigh and you peeked at him as you turned to leave. “Goodnight,” you said quietly, not sure if he really heard you.

Jungkook did not respond as you left, shutting the door behind you and wishing a good night to the guards outside as well. You moved quickly, going back to your own room, which was in Hoseok’s antechamber. You wondered if the prince would request that you move closer to him tomorrow. As you reached your quarters, you realized he’d known you were Hoseok’s servant. The knowledge that he knew you and who you served startled you, as you’d never thought he would remember any of the servants, let alone you. He was the prince.

You shook your head to rid the thoughts of him, trying to ready yourself for bed without the worry of how much more vigilant you’d need to be in order to keep your magic hidden now.

Hurrying, your feet pounded on the floors of the hall as you rushed past other servants and guards, ducking into passageways to try to get up to the prince’s chambers faster. Your hair was a mess and you couldn’t care less, having realized you’d be late no matter what from the moment your eyes had opened and the memories of the previous night sinking in.

You nearly slammed into the wooden door while trying to open it, stepping inside and shutting it behind you quickly as you caught your breath as quietly as you could. Your eyes fell on the prince, who was already seated at his desk and eating his breakfast, his brow quirked up. You tried to give him a smile, though you weren’t sure that it came out right.

“Late on the first day?” he quipped, tearing off a piece of bread and putting it in his mouth.

“I—I’m sorry, Sire, I—”

He cut you off with a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s fine, I realize it must have been confusing for you. I’m sure Hoseok doesn’t get up until much later.” You nodded slowly, not sure what you should be doing or saying. Jungkook cleared his throat as he finished his breakfast and stood from his desk. “For now, attend me. I need to go out onto the training field with the knights.”

He rounded the table and you rushed into action, walking over to him to help him dress in proper attire for the day. He had his chainmail on the side and you made note of it as you helped Jungkook slip his sleeping shirt off. Your eyes roamed the expanse of his torso quickly and your cheeks felt hot as you hurriedly grabbed a thicker shirt for him to wear. You held it out for him and he followed your lead quietly, his eyes watching you curiously. Taking note of his gaze, you made sure to stay as professional as you could lest you embarrass yourself in front of the prince.

Once he had his chainmail on, he lifted a hand to stop you when you reached for his sword and helmet. You paused and looked at him expectantly.

“Carry them with you,” Jungkook said. “You’re to come with me to the training session and attend our needs there.”

You nodded your head and it took all you had to keep from twisting your mouth down into a scowl. You hated going to the training sessions; it was always hot, the sun beating down on you, and it meant you had to run around the grass to give haughty knights-in-training whatever they wanted. Hoseok hated it as well, preferring to practice his swordplay on his own or one-on-one with Jungkook, so you typically didn’t have to deal with those chores.

Now, it seemed, you would have to find a way to adapt.

You carried his sword and helmet, along with the other pieces of his armor, in your arms awkwardly whilst following him down to the training field. The training knights, along with other noblemen come to be granted knighthood from the king, were already mulling about the grass with their dulled swords. Jungkook raised a hand in greeting to them and you made sure to stay only a few steps behind him so you could hand him his sword.

When he finally stopped and turned to you, you stretched out your arms to offer his sword and helmet. He took them from you without a word, gesturing over to the wooden tables and racks, other servants standing beside them.

“Take the armor over there,” he told you. “I won’t be needing it today, so you can just polish it and make sure to keep the water full.”

You nodded. “Of course, my lord.” At his quick dismissal, you hurried off the field and over to the other servants, one of whom gave you a short smile. You smiled back at her and set the armor down on the table, sighing as you got to work.

Not able to help yourself, you continuously found your eyes dragging across the field to watch the knights. Many of them were young and attractive, laughs echoing as Jungkook trained them first-hand. Your eyes were drawn especially to the prince himself, who just so happened to be pushing his dark hair away from his face, sweat dripping down his neck. You pursed your lips and grabbed the water, making your way across the field to him when the knights started to take a quick break.

“Sire,” you said, appearing at his side. He turned to you with a startled look, not having realized you’d made your way over. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook replied, taking it from you and placing the cup to his lips. He drank in large gulps, a few droplets escaping down the side of his mouth and to his chin. You followed it with your gaze, heat blossoming in your cheeks. He handed it back to you and you bowed briefly, beginning to move back.

“And who’s this?” a deep voice called, appearing beside Jungkook.

“My new servant,” the prince said easily, pursing his lips.

“She’s quite the beauty,” the knight replied, dark eyes focused on you. You shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do; you didn’t like having this attention, it made you anxious. Your magic swirled in your veins like a stark reminder of why you would rather keep your head down.

Jungkook nudged the knight. “Taehyung, stop. Anyway, I hadn’t really noticed. And neither should you, you idiot, get back to training!”

You hated that the words stung; you didn’t want his attention, anyway.

The knight, Taehyung, reached out and placed an ungloved hand on your cheek lightly. Your eyes widened and you snapped your gaze to him, shocked.

“Don’t mind him, he’s prickly,” Taehyung faux-whispered. His thumb trailed lightly across your cheek.

The prince shoved at his arm, dislodging his hand from your face. You stayed rooted in place, unused to this type of situation, and moved your gaze over to Jungkook. “Stop bothering my servant,” he snapped, dark brows furrowed in a way you hated to admit had heat pooling in your belly.

Taehyung chuckled and winked at you, turning and jogging back toward the others.

You and Jungkook met eyes and neither of you spoke for a few beats of tense silence. “Well?” he chided. “Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

That snapped you back into reality and you ducked your head. “O-Of course, Sire. I’ll get back to them immediately.”

“Yes,” he responded harshly. “Yes, you do that.”

You walked briskly back to where the other servants were, choosing to stay there for the rest of the training. Though this time your eyes were equally darting back and forth between the prince and the knight.

“The tournament is tomorrow,” Jungkook informed you, allowing you to help him shed his chainmail and replace it with a suitable jacket. “There will be knights and noblemen from all houses coming to participate.” You fixed his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles as he talked, barely listening. “You will need to take care of any of them who ask for help, as many of them don’t choose to bring their own servants along with them.”

“Understood, my lord,” you replied easily, satisfied with how the jacket looked now. “The king and ward are awaiting you at the banquet hall to dine.”

“Have some of the men already arrived?” he asked.

“Yes. Many of them are getting prepared to dine with the king as we speak.”

“Good, good,” Jungkook said distractedly. He looked you over once, furrowing his brows. “Change into something cleaner and come attend me at the table.” Your eyebrows shot up. Usually you did not attend any of them at the banquet hall unless Hoseok specifically requested you to. When you didn’t answer, Jungkook paused in his stroll toward his door and looked back at you. “Is there some reason you cannot?”

You cleared your throat and shook your head. “Of course not, Sire. I will be there shortly.”

The prince nodded. “Good. Don’t take too long.” He smiled at you oddly, as if the two of you were sharing some secret that only he knew. “We wouldn’t want my goblet to remain empty all night, now, would we?”

You had to hold back an eye roll. “No, my lord, that would be of the utmost offense.”

Jungkook snickered as he left the room, calling back loudly for you to hurry up. You didn’t have to be told twice, almost breaking out into a sprint back to your own chambers and changed into a cleaner dress that didn’t have mud and dirt all over the hem from the training fields.

Sir Yugyeom had been giving you the strangest feeling all evening. Every time you looked at him, something about the way he held himself while dining made the hair at the nape of your neck stand up on end. You tried not to think about him, focusing only on refilling Jungkook’s wine as he instructed you to.

Which he was now ordering you to do. Your eyes snapped away from Yugyeom at the other end of the table and you stepped forward to the table, pouring the wine into Jungkook’s goblet slowly.

Leaning down as far as you could without seeming inappropriate, you lowered your voice so only the prince could hear you. “Sire,” you started slowly. “I think you should watch out with Sir Yugyeom.”

Jungkook turned his face only slightly, to give you an indication that he’d heard you without alerting anyone else that either of you were speaking. “And why is that?” he asked lowly.

You stopped pouring right before the wine began to spill, not wanting to deal with having to clean it if it did. “He just... He seems off. Wrong.”

Jungkook could barely hide his snort, drawing the attention of another nobleman seated beside him. He smiled at the young man beside him and waited until he turned away to turn back towards you.

“And I’m supposed to be suspicious of a knight based on a servant’s feeling?” he asked mockingly. “Just try not to think about whatever silly feeling you have. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

You bit your tongue, tightening your grip on the pottery in your hands and nodding your head shortly. Stepping away from the table, you straightened your back and kept your mouth shut for the rest of the dinner, waiting alongside Jungkook to give him whatever he needed. But you didn’t take your eyes off of Yugyeom, his smile seeming too vicious for your nerves to rest.

After a while, Yugyeom excused himself from the table and bid the king and his family a good night and luck in the tournament tomorrow. You watched him carefully as he left and when he turned back briefly, your eyes met.

Something shot through you and it felt suspiciously like death.

You gnawed on your lip and tried to see where he went, but you could no longer follow him with your eyes as the doors shut. You glanced impatiently at Jungkook, but he seemed to be in no mood to leave just yet, laughing and joking with the people seated around him as he ate.

He gestured to you for more wine and you stepped forward, dipping low once more to speak to him.

“Haven’t you had enough wine, Sire?” you pressed. “It will do you no good to be incapacitated tomorrow morning.”

Jungkook whirled to look at you and you backed up only a few centimeters, not expecting him to be so close. He glared at you without malice. “Don’t dare to tell me what I can and cannot handle, ____. I will be perfectly fine for tomorrow.”

“Oh, be easy on her, Jungkook!” the man beside him said, surprising you as he got involved. “She’s just worried for her prince! It’s cute.”

Jungkook grumbled, but said nothing else to you. Glancing at the door, you decided now would be a good a time as any to ask for leave.

“Sire,” you said lightly. “May I retire for the night?”

“What?” he asked loudly, furrowing his brows as he turned to look at you again. “Are you—”

“I’ve much to do tomorrow to prepare, my lord,” you interrupted. “I’m sure the other servants will be more than happy to take over my duties here.”

The same man as before chuckled, patting Jungkook’s shoulder lightly. “Come on, Jungkook, let her go for the night. She is indeed a sight for sore eyes, but she’s probably been running after you all day.”

Jungkook sighed and waved his hand in your direction. “Fine, fine, you may leave. I expect to see you early for your duties tomorrow.”

You bowed briefly and tried to smile at them, not particularly enjoying the way the other man was watching you. “Thank you, Sire,” you said to Jungkook, handing the wine over to another servant and backing away from the table. You hurried over to the servants’ entrance and left the hall, walking as quickly as you could down the corridor.

Once you were out in the halls, it was as if you could sense it. Sense him. You walked slowly, following the tendrils of magic that you could feel in the air, knowing it would lead you where you needed to go. Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you found yourself at one of the chambers for the knights, the door cracked shut. You knew the guards would be making their rounds soon and you let your own magic seep out to the door, push it slightly ajar without making a sound, before wrapping it around yourself like a makeshift shield.

You squinted in the dark, shifting slightly to try to catch sight of him. Yugyeom walked over to the bed, tugging his shirt over his head. You held your breath as you watched him, eyes catching on a jewel hanging from his neck. It shone brightly in the dim light from the candle and drew your gaze, as if compelling you to focus on it.

Yugyeom reached over and put on his sleep shirt, hiding the jewel from your gaze. He tucked himself into the bed and reached his hand out toward the candle, snuffing it out from afar. His magic felt—different. You couldn’t explain it, but your own rejected it, as if it were a poison trying to infect you. Barely able to stand it any longer, you brought your hand up and curled your fingers into a fist slowly, shutting the door quietly again; as if you’d never been there.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Yugyeom was going to make an attempt on Jungkook’s life. But you had no proof, besides the bad feeling, and you kept your mouth shut as you made your way to your quarters, an uneasy churning in your gut.

You hadn’t slept well at all, nightmares plaguing you as you lay in your bed. Flashes of visions, of Jungkook being struck down helplessly by Yugyeom, slid into your unconscious and you woke with sweat dampening your face and nearly choking with your magic, stuck in your throat.

You went to wake Jungkook early, preparing his breakfast on the table and getting his attire ready as he trudged over to his desk and ate silently. You could feel his gaze burning into your back while you worked, tidying up his room as he finished his meal and stood.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Jungkook said as he shrugged his shirt off and you handed him another.

You shrugged when you moved to stand in front of him, biting at your lip anxiously. He watched you do so with barely contained annoyance, before sighing loudly while you put his chainmail on him.

“Oh, for the love of—what is it?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s just—” You sighed, not knowing how to phrase it so he would believe you. “I think Sir Yugyeom is going to use magic to kill you,” you finally settled on saying bluntly.

Jungkook blinked at you owlishly before chuckling. “You know he’s a knight, right?” he asked incredulously. “Why would he do that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But I had a dream last night, and I saw—”

“You had a dream?” Jungkook interrupted. “It’s very kind of you to be dreaming about me, you know, but—” You rolled your eyes and mumbled something about his ego while you fitted his armor on his limbs. “—but I highly doubt a knight would be stupid enough to be using magic in a tournament.”

“Can you please just be careful?” you sighed. “I saw him.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes. I saw him do magic last night, after I left the feast.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you and you handed him his gloves, which he put on slowly. “So you left to go spy on a knight?”

“Sire, please,” you complained, nearly at your limit. “I was getting a—a really bad feeling, so I followed him and I saw him put out a candle from across the room. And he had a jewel that had to have been magical with him.”

Jungkook watched you seriously for a few moments, and then his door opened and Hoseok peered inside. You smiled at the king’s ward, who smiled back at you easily. You inched away from Jungkook, realizing that your distance might not be exactly appropriate after you’d already finished helping him.

“Kook, it’s time to go,” Hoseok said.

“Right, right,” Jungkook replied. “I’ll be right there.” Hoseok nodded and stepped back out, shutting the door again. You faced Jungkook, who was already looking at you without a hint of his usual haughtiness—though, you had to admit that his haughtiness was charming sometimes. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”

You shook your head. “I would never lie to you, Jungkook,” you said quietly. “I know I’m just a servant and Sir Yugyeom is a knight, but I swear I saw him using magic and I fear his intentions are not for your good health.”

Jungkook seemed to deliberate on what you’d told him and nodded his head, sighing deeply. “Alright. I believe you.” He took his dulled sword from you and placed it in its sheath at his hip. “I’ll be careful when I fight Yugyeom.”

You didn’t have to reply as the two of you left, meeting Hoseok in the hall and all three of you making your way down to the tournament. And you knew that you would be watching vigilantly for any sign of magic aimed at Jungkook.

You’d seen Yugyeom’s magic use as the tournament went on, focusing on the way his fingers curled lightly or how his eyes seemed to shine bright for a few seconds, his opponent falling at the most inopportune moment. He didn’t seem to use it at first and you’d started to seriously doubt what you’d seen the night before, but as he advanced in the arena and his opponents became stronger, he had to rely on the magic he was using.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a flurry of strength and striking beauty. When he was in the arena, you couldn’t help but trail your gaze to him and the way he moved, seeming to effortlessly best the other knights and nobles that fought against him. Before long, the prince had advanced to the final round and—to your dismay—so had Yugyeom. Their fight was scheduled to be held in an hour, giving the two men some time to rest and replenish themselves.

You darted around awkwardly until Jungkook came over to his tent, where you followed him inside quickly. He sat down with a thud onto the chair, the lighting of the tent cascading onto him like honey, and you grabbed one of the towels on the table. You handed him some water and started to lightly dab at the sweat on his face and neck while he drank. Your eyes dragged across the way his Adam’s apple was bobbing as he swallowed, but you quickly focused on drying his damp hair as best you could.

“Yugyeom’s an impressive fighter,” Jungkook said, breathing heavily.

You made a face. “I know he’s using magic.”

Jungkook turned to give you a look, sputtering very un-princely when you shoved the towel right into his face to dry him. He batted your hands away lightly and there was a small smile on his face. “And how, exactly, do you know this so matter-of-factly?”

You shrugged one shoulder and tried not to fidget. “I just do.”

Jungkook sighed and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head lightly to himself. “Alright, alright.”

When you asked him if he’d like you to get him something to eat, he refused, saying he’d rather feast after he won. You stood beside him as he relaxed, wiping the sweat from his brow and working on cleaning his armor to keep yourself busy. You peeked your head out of the tent and saw everyone returning to the stands of the arena, you turned back to Jungkook.

“It’s time, Sire,” you said.

Jungkook nodded and stood from his seat. You helped him place his helmet on his head and then handed him his sword, following close behind as he walked to the arena. You stopped by the spectators, giving him a hesitant smile when he pivoted as he walked, knowing he was looking at you.

Your eyes found Yugyeom’s form, his helmet off and standing at the middle waiting for Jungkook. They shook hands briefly and waited for the king to start the final round.

“It is time,” the king announced, standing from his wooden throne in the stands. “You may begin. May the best man win!”

Their swords were up immediately, and you heard the clash of metal before you saw it. They were both moving so quickly that you almost couldn’t see what was happening. You made sure to keep your gaze completely on Yugyeom, not wanting to miss a single moment of his actions, even if it meant you had to tear your eyes away from Jungkook.

Jungkook ducked from a hit, lifting his shield just as Yugyeom’s blade came down on him. The loud clang as Jungkook pushed him back and gained the upper hand had the crowds cheering for their prince. Yugyeom stumbled and fell to the ground and—

There.

You saw his eyes flash gold for a second and Jungkook’s foot caught on a rock on the field, dislodging his balance. Yugyeom brought his sword up faster than you could follow with your eyes, but Jungkook jerked his head back and the tip only knocked his helmet askew. The prince threw down his shield and grabbed his helmet, yanking it off and tossing it aside so that he could see.

Yugyeom got to his feet, swinging his sword down on Jungkook. The prince quickly held his own up, blocking the attack. The audience was cheering loudly, but you stood with baited breath, waiting for the crackling in the air to come full force. You knew it was coming, could sense the jewel on Yugyeom rolling magic out in slow waves, like blood.

Jungkook had gained the advantage again, shoving Yugyeom back and nearly knocking him off his feet a few times. You narrowed your eyes and saw it again, a flash of gold from the knight as he overpowered Jungkook. The prince’s hands seemed to betray him, weakening under Yugyeom’s magic.

You felt your magic build up at your throat, crawling its way up to your mouth. You blew out the air, magic sprinkled along the wind, and darting its way to Jungkook. It wrapped around him like a coiled snake, making its way up his legs and thighs to his torso, slithering to his arms and ending at his wrists. Your magic pushed back against Yugyeom’s, giving Jungkook the strength of ten men as he shoved forward and knocked his opponent to the ground. Jungkook kicked the fallen shield away from the knight and held the tip of his sword at Yugyeom’s neck.

Yugyeom’s hands stayed still on his sides, looking up murderously at the prince. You took in a deep breath, allowing your magic to dispel from Jungkook’s form and dissipate in the air around him.

The king and Hoseok stood from their seats, clapping loudly. “My son, Prince Jungkook, is the champion!” Cheers erupted around you and you smiled widely, catching Jungkook’s gaze as he looked back at you briefly. His smile was soft and intimate, like it was meant for you alone, and you thought you must look silly with the grin on your face. He turned back to the others in the crowds, lifting his sword up into the air to signal his victory. After a few turns to everyone, he turned back and offered a hand to Yugyeom, who took it reluctantly and allowed the prince to help him to his feet. Jungkook brought the knight in close and said something to him quietly, something no one could hear, and the knight jerked back in surprise, eyes wide.

Even after they both left the arena and Jungkook gestured for you to follow him back to his tent so you could attend him, you wondered what he’d said to Yugyeom.

“You were great out there,” you said, grabbing the water and handing it to him. He drank in large gulps as you unbuckled the clasps of his armor and slid them off his limbs. You set them aside and fluttered around him, grabbing a clean towel and cleaning the sweat as much as you could.

Jungkook handed the water back to you and raised an eyebrow as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Just ‘great?’” he asked teasingly. “I would’ve thought you’d say something much more suited for your prince.”

You rolled your eyes when you turned away from him to set the towel down. “I’m sure the cheering crowds inflated that ego of yours much more than I ever could, Sire,” you replied lightly. Jungkook laughed heartily and you turned back slightly in surprise, staring at his expression unabashedly. His face was so young, so open and happy, and you suddenly wanted to do something silly, like press kisses to every inch of skin you could reach.

Clasping your hands tightly together so you wouldn’t, you cleared your throat and grabbed the chainmail, tugging it off of him.

“What did you say to Sir Yugyeom?” you asked lightly, trying to be inconspicuous.

Jungkook sighed and pushed his hair back away from his face. “Nothing you need to worry about.” You took the dismissal at its value, knowing that there was a very slim chance he’d tell you what he’d said. “Now, will you go ahead and get me some clean clothes? I still have to speak to the people outside and I’d much rather do so without stinking of sweat.”

You grinned at him. “I think the stink adds character,” you told him, barely able to hold in your laugh. He made a sputtering sound and looked around for something light to grab, settling on one of his gloves, making you yelp and laugh as you hurried to leave. “Of course, Sire, I’ll get going!” you shrieked, the giggles still tumbling from your lips as you ducked out of the tent.

“Yes, you best do that!” he called after you, and you could still hear his grumbling as you jogged away from the tent to go get him some clean clothes to change into.

And as you went, you’d heard that Sir Yugyeom would not be joining the festivities after, having told the king that he was needed back at his home immediately.

Jungkook groaned as you helped him shed the chainmail and his thick jacket underneath that he’d slipped back on when he went to greet the crowds and speak to the other knights and nobles that had stayed. He had fought the men hard and pushed himself harder during the fight with Yugyeom, and you were sure that his muscles must be sore. You didn’t dare allow your hands to caress his skin where it was exposed at the neck of his shirt.

“Would you like me to get some ointment?” you asked quietly, setting his chainmail aside.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied, stretching out his arms and stepping away from you. “Has my father dined yet?”

“Yes, my lord,” you informed him. “The king chose to dine with Sir Hoseok early, as your duties ran later than usual.”

Jungkook sighed. “Bring me something from the kitchens, will you?” he asked, going to his desk to read through the papers on them.

You nodded. “Yes, of course.” You grabbed the chainmail and carried it with you as you left, dropping it off in the armory before you went to the kitchen. You snuck a piece of bread and an apple for yourself while the kitchen staff prepared the prince’s meal quickly. You thanked them before you left, used to carrying Hoseok’s meals—he often ate in his own chambers, since he had many disagreements with the king.

You reached Jungkook’s room quickly, setting the tray with his meal on it down in front of him, and away from the documents. He thanked you quietly and began to eat. You bit your bottom lip as you moved around to the other side, placing yourself directly behind him. Jungkook’s eyes stayed focused on the document in front of him while he ate, and you slipped the ointment you’d grabbed from the armory out of your pocket. Dipping half of the contents into your palm, you rubbed your hands together and then placed them on the prince’s shoulders.

“What are you—” he shouted, startled, attempting to shift to face you.

You pressed down harder, squeezing his shoulders and working your hands on his skin. “Let me help you relax, Sire.” He sputtered for a few more moments, but you continued to work your hands on his shoulders until he finally relaxed, no longer tense under your fingers. You allowed your hands to slip under the neckline of his shift, working down his back. Jungkook stilled under your ministrations, his breathing deepening and evening out as you moved.

When you couldn’t reach any farther and felt you had massaged enough, you slipped your hands out of his shirt and brought them back to your sides.

Jungkook turned to look at you, mouth open and eyes glazed over. He looked open and vulnerable, and you saw a flash of the man through the crack of the door, the man grieving for a friend who received no mercy from his father, the man who saw past sorcerer to friend.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you whispered. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

Jungkook’s face betrayed his shock for only the briefest of moments before it pinched up and then remained carefully blank. The look was so brief, in fact, that you thought you must have imagined it.

“Get out,” he snarled at you.

Your mouth opened and you couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped your lips. “But—have I offended you—”

Jungkook stood from his chair, scraping it across the floor. You stepped back to avoid being knocked by the chair’s edge, wide eyes trained on the furious prince. Your magic licked at your insides, as if reacting to the force of his anger.

“Do not dare to assume you know me,” he spit out at you. “That sorcerer was a traitor—he was not my friend.” You did not move, fingers trembling so badly that you had to clasp your hands together to quell the shaking. “I said get out.”

“Sire, I’m—I’m so sorry, I did not mean to—” you started shakily, heart beating hard in your chest.

“Get out!” he yelled, slamming his fist down on the table.

You lowered your head, too afraid to hold his gaze, and fled the room, not stopping your run until you were safely back in your own quarters. You shut the door as quietly as you could with quivering fingers, your breath coming out in shaky pants, and turned to press your back to the wood.

You met Taehyung’s eyes and yelped, nearly shooting up five feet into the air.

“What’s got you so startled?” the knight joked, standing from where he was seated on your bed. You blinked a few times, trying to understand both what had just happened and what he was doing in your room. “I asked around and found out you were staying here,” he said in way of explanation. “How did you manage to become Jungkook’s servant when you were already Hoseok’s?”

“I saved Prince Jungkook’s life at the banquet,” you said numbly.

Taehyung’s brows shot up. “A servant against a sorcerer out for revenge?” he asked. “How noble of you.”

You’d known. You’d known she was a sorcerer; having him say it out loud made you want to hurl what you’d eaten right back up. You were a traitor to your own kind, a traitor that would be condemned by both sides of this on-going war.

You were not noble.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung said gently, coming close enough to bring his hands up to your face. He held your gaze and your cheeks, not allowing you to look away from him and not allowing you a place to escape, your back against the door. “You look sick; are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as quietly. “I’m just not used to running around so much. Sir Hoseok is much less active than the prince.”

Taehyung chuckled and released you, stepping back. “I’m sure that’s perfectly true.” He watched you a few more moments, as if he didn’t quite believe you but thought better of pressing the issue.

“What are you doing here?” you asked him, when the silence became too much, reminding you of how you had condemned that sorcerer to death by stopping her, when she had only been grieving for her son—her son, who had been the prince’s friend, who had been a sorcerer himself and hidden it, betrayed—

“It’s quite embarrassing, actually,” the knight said, clearing his throat and looking away from you. “I came to—inquire if you would—well, if you would—”

“Warm your bed?” you interrupted, amused.

In the dim light, you could see his cheeks darken and he coughed into his gloved fist. “You put it so crudely!” he complained. “But, well, yes, if we’re going to be completely honest about it. I find you quite the beauty and would be honored to be intimate with you.”

“But you’re a knight, and I’m a servant,” you explained for him. “So it cannot be a courtship.”

“You misunderstand,” he said, holding out a hand to stop you. “I do not regard titles as a way to lift myself higher than others. I simply thought this the best option for any relationship between us at the moment.” He paused and looked at you shyly. “That does not mean it could not lead to a courtship later.”

You hummed. “And if I do not desire a courtship with you?”

Taehyung looked startled for only a quick moment, schooling his features back into a sly smile. “I highly doubt that to be the case, my lady, but I will never do anything you do not wish me to do.” His smile fell from his face and his eyes bore into yours, the atmosphere becoming much more serious than it had been just a few seconds ago. “That applies to sharing my bed, as well. If you do not want it, feel free to tell me so and I shall not hold it against you.”

You bit your bottom lip and then stepped forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He watched you hungrily, his hands firmly at his sides as you retracted. “And if I wish to share your bed?” you whispered, keeping your gaze on his dark eyes.

“Then I shall ravish you completely and leave you wanting no other but me,” he whispered back, leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours, biting down on your bottom lip harshly. His hands came to grope at your hips, turning you how he desired and nudging you back until you were at the foot of your bed, dropping you back onto the mattress and following suit.

Taehyung straddled your thighs and dipped down to kiss you again, his tongue swiping at your lip. You parted your lips readily, allowing him to greedily lick into your mouth like a man starved. His hands moved to grab at your skirts, shifting himself to place his knees between your legs while you spread them for him, aiding him in lifting your dress.

The knight moved down your body, lifting his hands to undo your flimsy corset as he went, ripping it open and pressing his open mouth to the swell of your breasts. You threw your head back and let out a shaky breath, bringing your hands up to cradle his head and tangle your fingers in his hair. You couldn’t help the rocking of your hips up into his when he sucked harshly on your skin, biting down gently and continuing.

One of his hands lowered between your thighs, his gloved fingers finding your undergarments easily. Your breath hitched when he pressed two of his fingers against you, rubbing them up and down. The fabric clung to your folds, already soaked and ruined.

“Wet already?” Taehyung purred. “I haven’t even begun.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him as coyly as you could with your harsh breaths and heaving chest. “Then begin,” you commanded.

“As my lady wishes,” he growled, leaning close to your lips and nipping at your bottom one. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your lips, a squeal tearing out from your throat when he dipped two gloved fingers into your undergarments and pressed the pads to your folds. He rubbed them over your slit deliciously, the rough exterior of the glove making you shudder, more arousal pooling onto them. He simply raised a brow and then slid one of them inside all the way, curling it when it was in to the knuckle.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan, your back arching. You clenched around the finger, the unfamiliar texture only adding to the pleasure starting to spike at your abdomen. He pressed a second finger inside and rubbed them along your walls, as if searching for something. You tightened your grasp on his hair and grit your teeth to stay quiet, allowing your hips to rock slowly into his hand. Taehyung’s thumb found your clit and he rubbed it roughly, still working his fingers inside of you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your movements erratic. “Please, I need more—”

“You need more?” he cooed, tone mocking as he moved his fingers inside of you, thumb still rubbing rough circles against your clit and making sweat bead at your temples. “What more do you need, sweetheart?” he whispered, shifting his head down toward your belly.

“Your mouth,” you panted. “Please, I need your mouth—”

“Oh, you need my mouth?” he interrupted, smiling wickedly at you. “I’m sure you could get off with just my fingers, my lady,” he continued.

You whined and he shoved his fingers in harder, your noise straining at the movement. Your back arched off the bed and you felt too hot, your dress almost completely constricting around your body. His fingers found the rough patch of nerves inside you and your moan came out loud and broken, and you clenched around his fingers. Noticing, he pressed up as hard as he could on that spot, not letting up any pressure, and his thumb pressed harder onto your clit until the pleasure was almost too much for you to handle.

Your release snapped over you, the pressure unleashing and you gasped for air at the intensity of it. You rode out your high on his fingers, moving your hips slowly as you started to come down.

Taehyung pulled his fingers out of you and dragged your undergarment halfway down your thighs. You were clenching sporadically around nothing, the sudden emptiness jarring, and he brought his mouth down onto you, pressing his tongue to your folds and swiping up your slit.

One of your hands found his hair again and gripped tightly, squeezing around nothing. The knight moved his lips on your folds, tongue darting out to lick up your arousal and the lewd slurping noises paired with his groans had another bout of heat pooling in your belly. You moaned and pushed yourself closer to his face, wanting nothing but his tongue.

Your hips rolled erratically and Taehyung brought his hands up to your thighs, gripping them tightly and shoving them open farther. He held them down to the bed while he pressed the flat of his tongue to your clit and allowed you to move as you pleased. One of his hands was sticky and wet where it touched your bare skin and you shuddered, your movements gaining in speed.

A second orgasm rushed over you, pleasure spiking through your veins like static. It was so close to the first that a tendril of pain rushed in with the ecstasy. You could feel your magic build up within you and your throat clogged up, your breaths strained and broken with your attempt to hold it in place. You knew your eyes must be giving your struggle away and you shut them, riding out your release with Taehyung’s tongue pressed to your folds, and attempting to focus on containing the excited burst of magic trying to escape you.

When the pleasure faded and you were still choked up, eyes clenched tightly, Taehyung licked lightly at the mess you must have made, the obscene noises traveling to your ears. Your magic was burning inside you, making everything feel too intense and every brush of the knight’s tongue on you had you shivering and wanting to pull away but simultaneously push against him harder.

With a last shuddering breath, you allowed yourself to open your eyes and the magic inside you quelled, swirling inside your limbs unhappily. You blinked blearily at Taehyung, who was bringing his head up from between your thighs with a messy smile on his face.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you asked breathlessly, giving him your own wicked smile.

He chuckled and crawled up your body, pressing a sloppy kiss to your mouth before sitting up. Taehyung undid his belt, shoving his pants down his thighs along with his undergarments. Your eyes trailed down to his cock, hard and erect and much larger than you thought it would be. You licked your lips and couldn’t help but allow your thighs to spread wider, as if beckoning him to come closer.

Taehyung groaned and knocked his knuckles lightly into your knee. “Don’t do that,” he chided. “You’re going to make me lose my mind, you know that?”

“I’d rather you be losing something else, and preferably inside me,” you purred, pushing yourself up to help him take his shirt off, greedily wanting your hands all over his toned chest.

“You’re a dirty girl, for a royal maidservant,” he joked lightly, leaning down once his shirt was completely off. You grabbed his gloves and tugged them both off, tossing them over the side of your bed to the floor. One of his now-bare hands came to brush your cheek lightly while the other moved down to pump himself a few times. He looked down between your bodies and brought the head to press against your slit, rubbing it tantalizingly slowly up and down. Pulling back after a few times, he used your slick to spread up and down his cock and you bit the inside of your cheek when you could feel arousal dripping down yourself and surely ruining your sheets.

Taehyung finally took mercy on you and brought the head back to your folds, pressing harder than before and sliding into you slowly. You shuddered and clenched around his cock as he pushed deeper inside. The burn from the stretch of his cock was sending small tendrils of pleasure through you, tangling with your magic in the most pleasant way.

When he was completely buried inside of you, you let out a low moan, clenching around his cock tightly. Taehyung groaned from above you and lowered himself to his elbows, which were right beside your head. The action brought his face closer to yours and he gave you a charming smile while he panted, holding himself still inside you while you adjusted. You leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, pecking it lightly and then laying back down.

“You really are a beauty,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “The prince is lucky to have the privilege to look upon you so often.”

The thought of Jungkook had different feelings coming up inside of your chest. The memory of how defeated he’d looked, the memory of his skin under your hands, the memory of him shouting at you—

“Fuck me,” you pleaded. “Fuck me until I can’t breathe, Taehyung.”

He peered into your face questioningly for but a moment before he tilted his head to the side with a sly smile, as if he’d realized something. “I am at your disposal, my lady,” he purred, pulling his cock almost all the way out of you.

Then he shoved back in and started a brutal pace, knocking his hips into yours punishingly. You wrapped your arms around his back, digging your nails into his skin and met every thrust with your own. Taehyung lowered his mouth to your neck and bit hard, sucking at the flesh until it hurt and you squeezed around his cock like a vice.

Your eyes fluttered open as he rolled his hips into you harder, his mouth working up and down your neck and his hands fisted in the sheets beside your head. The ceiling looked back at you and your magic swirled at your fingertips, begging to be released. You tried to hold it back, but a candle by the door flickered to life and you moaned, the trickle of magic seeping down to your abdomen as Taehyung’s cock dragged against your walls.

His heavy grunts filled your ears along with the slapping of his skin against yours and you rocked into him harder, faster, selfishly chasing your release. His fingers dragged roughly down your dress until he reached your hip, and then he pressed them into your bare skin hard enough that you were sure he’d leave bruises. Gasping, you arched your back and threw your head back, pleasure swimming through your veins and making you almost careless.

Taehyung’s fingers finally moved to your clit and he rubbed it a few times before sliding his hand down to your folds, dragging up and down them around his cock which was pistoning in and out of you harshly. You keened and he brought his fingers back to your clit, now slippery with your arousal. He was relentless in his movements, and then he shifted his hips slightly upward and the head dragged against your sweet spot.

“Oh, fuck—right there, Taehyung, right—”

“Yeah?” he groaned, chuckling as he aimed for the same spot, rubbing the head of his cock against it repeatedly. “You like that?” You nodded your head, but he slammed in harder and held himself still. You swore you could see stars with his cock pressed into you like that. “Is your cunt hungry for my cock?”

“Yes, yes—gods, please, I—”

Taehyung was grinding his hips against yours, keeping himself buried completely inside your walls. You clenched once and then shut your eyes as your release washed over you again, spikes of pleasure and tingles running through your abdomen to the rest of you. You tried to hide your face as best you could, unable to hold back from your magic lashing out of you this time.

You grabbed Taehyung quickly and brought his face down to yours, kissing him hungrily. He made a noise of surprise and then kissed you back, starting to move once more. You gasped into his mouth as the overstimulation took hold, but the pleasure soon started to build once more as his cock moved in and out of you. You allowed your eyes to open and your magic darted from your fingertips immediately, shaking you to your core. You could see all the candles lighting up around you, basking Taehyung’s tan skin in a dim golden light that somehow made him more beautiful. You were just thankful that the kiss had distracted him enough to close his own dark eyes, unable to see the gold swirling in yours as your magic released around the two of you.

After another few dozen strokes, Taehyung slowed his pace and pulled away from your mouth to breathe heavily, his cock twitching inside you. He shoved his cock as deep as he could into you and then emptied himself inside, spurts of his come filling you. You shut your eyes at the feeling of his release warming your walls, another weaker orgasm hitting you like a wave.

Groaning, you brought his face down to your neck, shuddering from his kisses as he rocked gently inside of you while you both rode out your highs. You kept your eyes open and swallowed as you tried to tame back the magic running freely, the fire from the candles growing higher and higher as Taehyung panted against your skin. He started to lift himself up and you held him tighter, wrapping your legs around his hips to keep him inside. As quickly as you could, you let your magic reign freely once more, snuffing out the candles in the room except for the one by the door, and then dragged it back inside. Once you were sure there would be no more golden hue to your eyes, you relaxed your grip on the knight and allowed him to sit up.

He pulled his softening cock out of you, his seed mixed with your arousal and release dripping out of your spent pussy. You were breathing as heavily as he was and he simply looked at you, smiling gently.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

Something tugged at your insides and you allowed yourself to smile back, though you weren’t sure how it appeared to him. “You’re just saying that because I’m fucked full of you,” you teased.

Taehyung grunted and brought a hand closer to your forehead, flicking you lightly and laughing at your offended yelp. “Don’t say that, you’ll get me rearing and ready to go again.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And who ever said that wasn’t what I was hoping for?”

The knight laughed heartily and dropped beside you on the bed, laying down completely. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you snugly to his chest. “Let’s sleep a bit, first, and then we can see about another go at it. What do you think of that?”

You made no mention of how he had invited himself to your bed for the night and simply allowed him to keep hold of you. “Goodnight, then, Sir Knight,” you joked, though a bit of something genuine slipped through your words.

There was a huff of breath against the back of your neck and you assumed it was a light chuckle from his end. “Goodnight, my lady,” he murmured, and somehow you knew he had heard you perfectly.

You woke to a banging on your door and then it was being thrown open. You sat up in your bed, surprised at the sudden intrusion. Taehyung’s arm slipped away from your waist and he was sitting up beside you, already half off the bed.

You met Hoseok’s wide eyes, the light from the hall brightening your room and leaving nothing to hide from his view.

“The knights,” Hoseok said, eyes darting between you and Taehyung, who was busying himself getting dressed. “The knights have fallen ill.”

You fixed your dress as much as you could and stood from your bed, running a hand down the cloth. Taehyung, having finished getting dressed, grabbed his sword and belt and walked over to Hoseok quickly.

“The cause?” he asked, fixing his belt and looking completely unbothered while you stood nervously fidgeting, heat blossoming in your cheeks at being caught by Hoseok.

“Magic,” Hoseok said solemnly. “It’s magic, and we don’t know how it’s spreading.”

Your heart dropped and you watched the two of them leave, fixing your dress as best you could before running after them, realizing the king would be holding an audience to discuss what had happened.

A feeling of dread slipped into your belly and wrapped its claws around your heart, trying to drag it down.

5K notes · View notes

etherian-affairs · 5 years

Text

The Wolf of Dryl.

A fic commision for @strawberryoverlord in her Werewolf Entrapta (Wolftrapta) AU. There’s a ‘wolftrapta’ tag and everything.

Entrapta's eyes shoot open suddenly. As suddenly as they were forced to close by the shock prod jammed into her spine. The memories flood into the forefront of her mind. The Portal. The stun baton. Catra. Entrapta's nose flares, her lips pull back in a snarl at the thoughts. Her anger is immediate. The normally bubbly scientist finds herself enraged.

Rage does not preclude analysis though. Entrapta takes stock of her surroundings. She's being dragged along. She's outside. The air is thick with the smog of the Fright Zone. She can hear whoever has her complaining, groaning at the strain of carrying her so far. "What is this woman made of?!" The goat curses out. Complaining about dragging Entrapta. The rage only grows. Her vision turns red. She can feel herself losing control of her form, just a bit.

The Wolf of Dryl does not care. She has been betrayed, attacked, and her Hordak is in danger. The crack of bone can be heard, the tearing of her gloves. The transformation is only partial, an increase of mass, the growth and lengthening of hands into claws, the bulking of muscles in her already sturdy limbs. The Wolf does not overtake her completely at this time, she is still clearly Entrapta to anyone who looks at her.

But she is also clearly dangerous.

The goat woman dragging her pauses at the sounds, and then at Entrapta's growling "What the?"

There is no time to finish the thought as the Wolf lunges. Her hair helping her spring up and launch herself at her prey. Claws tear, rip. She snarls, sharp teeth bared. Flesh is ripped apart, torn and shredded. Limbs are broken. The bandit from the Crimson Wastes wears fear and pain on her face so clearly. It's likely they have never seen anything like Entrapta. It is likely this is the most horrific moment of their lives. Good. The horror moves through her throat and forms into cries of anguish as Entrapta does her work.

While the screams echo around Entrapta she remembers again; Hordak, the portal. Entrapta growls and rises just in time for bright light to overtake the world.

…

“We have to regroup.” Catra's voice is demanding. Almost threatening. She is trying to give him orders. Hordak can barely process the insubordination that implies through the haze in his mind. Entrapta's betrayal, the very thought of it, decimates him. He can't focus. Everything she had said, everything she had done, all the work they had done together.

It was all a lie.

Even the portal failed so spectacularly. That which they had worked on together, which they had bonded over and learned each other through. It was all a ruse on Princess Entrapta’s part. Of course it was. Deep down Hordak knows he was a fool to think otherwise, to believe that he could deserve what he thought she gave him. Hordak allowed himself to feel as if someone saw worth in him. He allowed himself to believe a pretty lie and it had weakened him. It had led to the destruction of all he has been working toward for decades.

Catra is speaking again. Forcing his mind into the moment. “Come on Hordak, we have to fix what Entrapta broke.”

Suddenly rage sparks inside of the Warlord. He roars and slams a hand into the wall, ripping right through it. “Do not speak that name in my presence any further!” he commands, hard and angry. Catra’s eyes are wide. Glancing at the damage he just caused to the hall and then at Hordak himself. He spots something in Catra’s eyes, a fleeting thought. A Gleam of something. It only serves to anger him further.

“And what are you thinking of you scheming whelp?!” he adds on. Catra blinks and steps back. Then her gaze hardens, and she smirks.

“What am I thinking? I’m thinking about what the Horde needs.” Her tail flicks behind her, and as Hordak is about to speak again, about to reprimand her properly for everything she has done, she lunges. A roar escapes her, and Hordak in return. It is only a momentary grapple before Catra tears the crystal out of Hordak’s collar and leaps back.

The effects are immediate, the armor gives in. The incomplete design malfunctions. Electricity wracks through Hordak. Pain follows it. He collapses despite himself.

He can hear Catra laugh. It forces him to look up, to try and stand. She’s backing away and looking over the crystal. “Wow. That worked better than I expected. I thought maybe you’d just lose your strength or something, not fall to your knees.”

“I will break you.” Hordak says slowly, beginning to stand and take a step. Another shock hits and he stumbles forward.

“Oh I don’t think so Hordak, I think this is where the Horde leaves you behind actually.” She’s smirking, then she shows off her claws for effect, starting to step forward with a sway in her hips.

The warlord again tries to move, again he falters. He falls. His anger, his rage, and his helplessness are all apparent and immense. A part of him begins to admit that this may be the end, brought about by Entrapta and her betrayal. Brought about by his own idiocy. Dealt through Catra.

Then suddenly a voice roars out. A single, furious word. “CATRA!”

It’s Entrapta’s voice. Loud, angry, snarling. Hordak’s eyes go wide and he freezes in place completely. His mind begins to race in shock and confusion. Even Catra herself seems shocked stiff by the sudden interjection, though she does turn to look towards the source of the voice. Entrapta is marching down the hall. She looks angry, deeply angry. Her hair is a frizzed puffed up mess. Her gloves are strangely torn. Her already normally sharp teeth look somehow larger. What is she doing back here? Why is she here? Why did she not escape with the rest of the rebellion forces that she had let in here?

Catra shakes herself loose of her shock, glaring. "The traitors back! Come to rub it into Hordak’s face some more?" She says with a smirk. The words hit Hordak like a blow. Traitor. Entrapta is running in here ready to fight though, ready to fight Catra. Perhaps she is ready to fight Hordak as well, to finish what she started.

Hordak's twisted view of the situation is suddenly shattered as quickly as he had formed it. Entrapta roars. It is a world shaking, bestial, sound. It is followed by a change, or more aptly a transformation. It happens so quickly. The sounds of bone cracking and splintering, of flesh tearing and ripping apart. It fills the hall they are in, echoing around them, louder than the machines. Limbs lengthen, the face elongates, the teeth grow, claws erupt from her hands and tear at the clothing this thing is confined in.

Entrapta quickly vanishes, replaced instead by a monster. A large purple furred hound, with eyes like blood. The beast is massive, broad, strong. It is easily Hordak's size. For the briefest moment Hordak's own eyes widen in fear at the monster. Then he realizes what's going on.

He realizes that there are no wolves in Dryl.

It is Entrapta. It is the woman he was so ready to believe betrayed him. She is the Wolf of Dryl that the Etherian locals have sometimes mentioned, and she is angry. Some sarcastic part of Hordak’s mind reminds him that he needs a better information network on Etheria if things this important are slipping by. Still, even as realization and some intrusive thoughts flood him the Lord is frozen in place by both his shock and the failing of his armor.

Entrapta is not frozen though, not at all.

She lunges forward. Snarling and howling in rage as she leaps at Catra. The former Force Captain leaps out of the way. One of Entraptas clawed hands cleaves through the metal wall. For a moment Hordak believes that Entrapta cannot keep up with the feline soldier, but then suddenly the wolf changes direction and lunges again. Catra matches, trying to dodge around and under. It is a mistake.

Entrapta catches the traitorous feline and slams her into the walls. Catra kicks back out, catching Entrapta’s snout. There is a roar of pain and rage, she drops Catra. The battle continues like this, brutal and bestial but also short. Catra simply cannot match the strength and durability of the beast. Inevitably claws wrap around Catra’s skull, and she is slammed into the ground. With her opponent rendered unconscious the wolf looks up to Hordak, teeth bared for a moment in residual snarl.

Hordak starts to stand one more time, a shock coursing over him. He yowls in pain and falls to his knees. “Just end it.” he spits out, having to look away, to the ground.

“Hordak…” The wolf speaks. Her voice Entrapta’s, but also something else. Something deeper and guttural. The sound of her plodding forward forces Hordak’s gaze back. Her eyes look softened, her teeth no longer bared to the world. She looks concerned. Then she drops down to the floor with him. A large paw tilting him back, the other holding the crystal in its claws. Carefully she re-inserts it into the armor. "What did she do…" Entrapta speaks softly.

“Entrapta.” Hordak begins, the Armor starting to re-initialize properly. “Are you not here to end me?”

The wolf looks up hurt. “Of course not! Never! I am sorry I vanished! Catra…”

Realization hits Hordak like a truck. "Catra." He growls.

Then suddenly Hordak feels arms wrap around him, and his head is buried in Entrapta’s neck floof. It’s surprisingly comfortable. Surprisingly right. The pain inside of Hordak begins to melt away.

“I did not know you were...” Hordak cannot stop himself from speaking his surprise as he reaches up to hug her back. He also cannot stop himself from letting out a follow up comment in the form of. “This explains why you smell of dogs.”

Entrapta gasps! “That’s still rude!”

#wolftrapta #my writing #entrapdak #commisioned fic

85 notes · View notes

crqstalite · 5 years

Text

SHADOW OF THE SITH. Ch. 1.

TRI'AMA._MANAAN.

There were only a few things in this small galaxy that could piss off Tri'ama Amarillis. Well, that was a lie, she was very easy to anger, she wouldn't even attempt to kick that ideal from her character or people's assumptions of her. Sith, and the Emperor's Wrath, usually she had to pick and choose her battles, decide what was worth getting all up and arms about.

Still, this had to top her list of screwed up missions, rage still rolling off her in waves as her armor soaks through with the salty water of Manaan's endless ocean. Whether Lana had intentionally set her up this way, or if it really had been a fluke had yet to be seen. There wasn't a lot of trust between the two women yet, and she's beginning to see why. Whatever Lord Beniko intended to have her do in the future for her or anyone close to her, she'd have to definitely sign a waiver next time. Not to mention the Republic agent that the Jedi had been so ecstatic to see open them an escape pod, she had plenty of questions for the blonde Sith at the head of these operations.

The woman that had surely followed her and later assisted (as grudgingly as Tri'ama would admit) with the destruction of the Selkath cyborg was a mystery though. Her blonde hair hung in her face, though she'd tied up what she could in a messy bun at the base of her neck while her soldier companion carried her on his back. The way her face contorted in pain, she figured the Jedi had broken her ankle, or possibly simply twisted it when she'd fallen earlier. A reason to allow someone else to take the brunt of the situation, Tri'ama scoffed at the idea. If she'd allowed Quinn to do such a thing, she might as well wilt from the embarrassment at succumbing to such an injury. Then again, she'd never met a Jedi who wasn't out for their precious Order, so she figured it was learned helplessness anyways. No wonder they continued to lose battle after battle, unable to fight through the pain.

The kolto still stung where it'd been applied rather generously on her pale skin, she'd admit that much. Not to anyone out loud, but she shifts an armor plate stealthily to mitigate the pain. A portion of her armor remained in the ocean because she'd had to rip it off to allow Quinn access to do his magic on the cuts that decorated her arms and the blood that gushed out of the many wounds she'd acquired while in the lab. Money lost, though apparently they were oh-so severe that they needed to be dealt with right then and there in the escape pod. She shoved him off her as soon as she could move her arm again, she wasn't interested in being pored over like a holonovel for much longer than necessary, especially by someone such as the Captain. Not to mention they weren't alone either, a Republic soldier and a Jedi sharing the pod with them. Pulling stitches, that was a bridge they'd burn when she got to it.

The Jedi (who still hadn't revealed her or the soldier's name) was still a mystery. Maybe a tad taller than she was, whether she was wearing heeled boots was another question, with blue eyes that were more grey in the sunlight of the planet. Just as the last bolt of lightning from the Shaasa adherent had ripped through her system, a blinding light of green and tan robes had appeared from somewhere in the room and taken down the injured Selkath with a single slash of her double bladed lightsaber. Pissed by the loss of kill, of course, she didn't even offer her own name though the woman had asked. Very conversational at first, but the fact Tri'ama kept ignoring her definitely made her put a sock in it. She'd also believed the woman wasn't half bad at first, but she also had kept Jakarro from murdering Gorima as Tri'ama had originally requested of the Wookie.

Stand in the way of justice then, be that way.

Tri'ama decided she didn't like her after that.

"My Lord. You've returned in one piece." Lana's facial expression is unwavering, but her tone changes slightly into one of being content with how the events had panned out. The woman was nothing short of being infuriatingly professional in the face of danger, though she seems to have a sense of humor, if their past conversations in Vaiken's cantina were anything to go by, "I'm assuming your injuries haven't rendered you inoperable?" She questions, placing her datapad down on the table behind her.

In other news, the Republic agent had also joined them, and he leaned against one of the tables in mock boredom. A red jacket, most notably, and cyborg implants on his temple and above his eyebrow. Good-looking, if she were being entirely honest. She'd never met the man before, much less knew his name. She'd have to ask Lana once he (and hopefully the Jedi) left.

"No thanks to Arkous." Tri'ama responds, crossing her own arms as Quinn stands behind her. She moves away without a second thought, attempting not to seem too at odds with him. That mess was something she'd sweep under the rug for now, probably for the rest of forever while she was at it. If Lana ever asked...she wouldn't get an answer, it was that simple, "You could've told me you were sending me into a death trap before hand, Lord Beniko."

"It wasn't intentional, my lord." Lana reassures her, her expression unchanging and golden eyes boring into her as if she were the one who'd done something wrong, "Manaan isn't allied to one side or another, so the way this mission turned out could not have been foreseen. What Arkous and Darok did is unforgivable, yes."

"Tell me we got more from this mission than only losing two of the Republic and the Empire's more important people in their hierarchies." Tri'ama shakes her head in disbelief, a note of sarcasm in her voice So Lana wasn't the apologetic type she was used to dealing with. Most respected her as the Emperor's Wrath -- there was no one above her in the Empire but the Emperor himself -- but it seemed Lana was not one of those people. That would have to be taken in stride, because she was already in too deep to simply pull out of the mission entirely because of someone who annoyed her for pretentious reasons. A cult on the rise, along with both a Colonel and Darth defecting to said cult? That would make galactic news within the week if it got out. If she or Lana were connected to it, she could consider her reputation destroyed.

So, as self-serving as it sounded, it looked like she was in this for the long haul.

The clanking of the soldier's boots and then the hiss of barely hidden pain makes her privy to him putting the woman down, and the agent's eyes widen in surprise at the scene, though he's clearly trying to keep his emotions under wraps. They must know each other rather well then.

"Master Iresso, I didn't know you'd been injured." The man responds, concern evident in his voice, as the woman hobbles to join their small circle. She has to lean against the soldier to regain her balance properly, but gives the man a reassuring smile, grey eyes tired but still bright after the mess they'd been through. How or why, she wasn't entirely sure and didn't exactly want to know either.

Jedi.

"I'll be fine, really Theron. A few days and continous healing should be enough to have me back up and running. No need to worry that much." Master Iresso says, shrugging him off, a chuckle on the undertones of her voice. Her face falls and loses it's smile though as she shifts her posture to test the weight on her injured ankle before sliding back into the position that she'd been in before, "What matters is that Darok got away."

"Which brings us to our main point, both Darth Arkous and Colonel Darok have escaped Manaan. For now, no one knows where they've gone or where they're headed, though they are tied to the Order of Revan," Lana repeats, moving to stand in a nearly identical stance to most Imperial agents when briefing, hands folded behind her back in a strong stance. "It seems though, that some of us aren't acquainted yet."

"Clearly." There's a touch of sarcasm that she lets slip into that admission, though Lana's glance toward her is one of 'play nice or else'. Getting out of here as soon as possible was her first idea, not making friends with the Republic. She sends a veiled glare towards her Sith ally, but it's easily deflected and ignored to her dismay. Then she'd play this game as long as the players were around. As much as she was the unwilling participant.

"Theron Shan, Republic SIS-and your new ally." The agent nods, seeming not exactly talkative or intending to reveal much more about himself. Tight-lipped and quiet then, how had Lana managed to score him as an ally to begin with? There were more mysteries to Lord Beniko than she'd thought at first then. Possibly they were here at the same time as each other, but to be hunting down the same people they were?

Too much of a coincedence.

At least he had a pretty face. That, she could get used to.

"Master Naji Iresso, Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, another ally of yours." The Jedi responds, her face falling into a content, blank face as she looks to Lana and Tri'ama. Kinder maybe, but also somewhat younger than Theron, clear from her attentive attitude, and the fact she isn't as quick to shove them off, "My partner here is Lieutenant Felix Iresso."

Brother? Husband? It isn't immediatly clear to Tri'ama when she looks the two over and tries to find the connection between the shared last name. The contrasting skin colors of a sun-kissed tan and even more desert sun-kissed chestnut throw a wrench into the mix. Distant family, maybe. If there was one thing she knew about Jedi, it was that chances of having a lover and still being a Jedi, were very slim. There is no passion, there is serenity bullshit or something along those lines.

Then again, looking at how well her own marriage had worked out, she's considering not pointing as many fingers as she is right now. A shiver runs up her spine at the thought, holding back the want to turn around or even glance over her shoulder at Quinn.

He wouldn't do anything with other people here.

She hoped.

"Lana Beniko." Lana says, as polite as always as she gives a small but tight smile to the three. So her trust didn't lie with them as fully as Tri'ama had assumed, "I trust you both already know Jakarro."

The wookie says something she can't translate, though the Barsen'thor smiles knowingly, as if she knows good and well what has just been said. Because the others don't make any note to ask what he's said, she doesn't either. Even though she knows next to nothing about the furry species and their more-complicated-than-necessary language, she is a woman of appearances. Weakness or otherwise, that wasn't something she was about to admit defeat in front of so many people. Theron says something in response she doesn't immediately catch, but he isn't a bad face to look at, she realizes. He probably meddles less than Quinn ever did, anyways.

"C2-D4, former translator to her imminence, Queen Lina of Onderon." The droid strapped to the wookie's chest answers. A rather sarcastic bucket of bolts that they'd picked up out of the prison, he'd be if the rest of his body was attached to his head if he kept talking though, by her hand or the Wookie's. She wondered what sort of business required a pair like the two of them, and where the rest of the droid's body had gone. He'd been without it for a while, apparently. She assumes that Jakarro must be some sort of pirate, or possibly was just here at the wrong place at the wrong time and got swept up into the mess -- just as she did.

"Darth Tri'ama Amarillis-Quinn, Emperor's Wrath." She keeps herself from growling out her own introduction, though she's still curious about the presence of three Republic citizens. "My medic, Malavai Quinn. Really Lana, I wasn't expecting the Jedi or the agent. Had I known I would've polished my armor before I came."

"I'm sure you would've, Wrath." Lana turns her attention away from her though she's clearly a tad annoyed by the sarcastic comments of hers. They'd both see how long this allyship would last, between them and between the Republic, "Then on the matter of Revan and his followers, who it seems Arkous and Darok are..."

"You were on Tython, when the Empire attacked. I remember you."

It's the last thing she expects to hear, preparing to leave Manaan. The still hobbling Barsen'thor is standing rather strong in behind her, frowning with her eyebrows knit together but not inherently angry. Her presence remains stable, though there are chinks in the armor of it. Raising an eyebrow, Tri'ama turns from the panel to open her own star ship hangar. That meant that the woman had followed her all the way back here from the Welcome Center and had finished her debriefing with Theron earlier than expected. Maybe she should feel honored she's even being graced with her presence?

That was most definitely odd. What good was she to the Warden of the Order? Well, that had an obvious answer but the point remained clear. Her weapon isn't even lit, and she's not in any position to be attacking her or starting anything. Clearly Tri'ama has the upper hand, but she'll entertain the woman if that's what she wants.

"And if I was?" She asks, after waving Quinn off to start the Fury's engines. Once he's gone, she turns back to the woman, fully ready to grab her sabers in case this was all a facade for sympathy. What else could she be here for, friendly conversation? Tri'ama would watch Dromound Kaas burn before that happened, "What would it mean to you?"

"Padawans were massacred because of you. Innocent children because of your Empire's unsated thirst for blood." The Barsen'thor narrows her eyes before she continues, "They weren't any threat to you, and yet their bodies litter the courtyard because of your bloodthirsty ways."

"Is that why you came and tracked me down to my hangar? To berate me for killing a handful of whelps?" Tri'ama stifles a chuckle that still makes itself known through her respirator. Shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips, she slides into a more relaxed stance once she realizes that there isn't any actual violence present, "I thought you would've had better things to do than lecture me on my actions, great Barsen'thor."

"How can you just live with yourself after doing such a thing?" She questions, balling her fists at her side, though looking away from her for a moment. She holds back another laugh as the woman breathes first before focusing back on her with a renewed look of passion in her eyes. Containing herself then, lowering herself to a simmer before she continues on her tirade, "And then act as if you're all righteous trying to help track down Revan?"

"If I remember correctly, your Republic assaulted my homeworld as well without any precedence. I'm sure your precious Agent Shan had a hand in it as well, I can nearly promise it. They killed my people, and plenty of acolytes while they were at it. I say we paid you all back rather well in my opinion afterwards. You knew what you were getting into when you stepped foot on Korriban, and you knew the Sith would retaliate. Or is that unfair because we're the bad guys?" Tri'ama raises a well-placed eyebrow, using a tone that was reminiscent of one her mother employed when she was but a child herself, knowing she's caught the Jedi in a trap of morals. The woman's eyes widen, surprised as Tri'ama continues speaking, "Because we're the big bad Sith, it's okay that you've murdered our acolytes but it's a horrible tragedy that your precious padawans were struck down? Pick your battles accordingly, Barsen'thor. That was one you could not win without casualties. I do hope you're firmly aware of that."

"Padawans are children, Wrath. Your acolytes were nothing more than wayward souls." Her words have a bite to them after she collects herself, something she didn't immediatly expect from the woman. A welcome challenge at the very least, though. Tri'ama was one thing, and that was a debater. A welcome one, at that. If Master Iresso thought she was going to take this lying down, well then she'd have to get her eyes and thoughts checked. She was Sith, not some weak-willed Jedi, surely what she was used to dealing with in the Order.

"A moral dilemma then. Our future versus yours, and I see you favor your own more than ours. Were you also there for the decimation of the Academy? To see the lights of overseers and Sith alike go out like a power outage over a city? Were you the one who dealt the final blow to Soverus?" Tri'ama sneers, and the Barsen'thor nearly takes a step back in mild fear. That's all she needed short of the actual admittance to doing the deed. Her rage flares, that meant she had done it. Tri'ama had never been particularly close to Soverus (she didn't bother with the petty in-fighting of the Council) but the ripple through the Force was still evident to most stronger Sith. Now knowing the Jedi aren't even above that, she wonders what happened to these lightsided space wizards that were all so prissy and so perfect. There is a chance that the military was the one who organized this, enough soldiers fell before her as she defended Korriban from the assault, though it wasn't as if she'd just simply pass up the chance to get any more information from the Jedi themselves. She could imagine that this one would be happy to provide in it her quest towards moral righteousness.

"You...you killed Master Traless!" She attempts to rebutt. Her frustration is evident, and it's a welcome difference that she wasn't expecting. Tri'ama wonders where all that 'there is only peace' went as her presence flares. It prickles her own senses, which is confusing in itself as she buries it down within herself. How many buttons she would need to press, and where they all were was still a mystery to Tri'ama, but give it time. She'd figure it out, "You decimated the Jedi homeworld, and all for what?"

"And if I did? All's fair in love and war, Barsen'thor. Whether we come together to fight Revan or not, nothing will erase what the Republic has done to advance themselves in this Galactic War. Maybe the Empire has done some wrong too, but on this side of the fence it seems as if your precious Jedi have more to admit to than they'd like to say." As fun as it is to both tease the girl and watch as she progressively keeps trying to make up excuses for the distorted version of reality she lives in (really, acolytes might be older than a few saber-wielding toddlers who'd sooner whack off their own arms than protect the galaxy from anything more than nightmares, but they are still useful to forward one's own plans), she's also beginning to get angry. Lest the Barsen'thor walks away now and closes her bloody trap, she's concerned she may just choke the woman to get rid of her entirely. Lana would have her head for it, but at that moment Tri'ama isn't entirely sure she cares, "Anger. Does it feel foreign to you Barsen'thor? Tell me, have you ever used it against someone before?"

"I-I, never! That's not our way." She sputters, trying to reign in her emotions once she realizes what Tri'ama tries to get her to admit. She's realized all too quickly that Tri'ama is manipulating her into becoming angry, and instead sets her mouth in a thin line, thinking out her next response, "I'd never do such a thing, everyone deserves redemption."

"Then explain Soverus, please?" Tri'ama asks, her fake smile dropping as she speaks the name. She'd like to know what her excuse is, really. Was it traumatic for her? Was it just another battle? Tri'ama may not want to admit it, but she can't identify the type of Jedi that the Barsen'thor is just yet.

For once, the Barsen'thor is silent. Maybe she's thinking, maybe she tries to combat with her own excuse. Tri'ama wouldn't be surprised. She would hate to admit it, but the Jedi has a point. The Sith have murdered more Jedi than the Jedi have Sith. Capturing and rehabilition seems to have always been their so-called 'way' for some reason. Whether it actually worked was another problem entirely and...well Jaesa was a prime example. Not all Jedi were perfect, and maybe not all Jedi were the lightsided pawns the Order needed them to be.

"If you can't, then don't sputter and act like a fool. I'm not asking for you to admit you are wrong, I already know you are, but think of this Barsen'thor. I will not be told I am wrong for the morals that I grew up with and was taught. I will also not allow you to act as if the decimation of my training grounds did not affect me and did not make me more unable to trust you and your kind. To know what you are capable of now, is enough to convince me of where my loyalties lie. Do not act as if the killing of your homeworld and your people was a moralless job either. I had my reasons, as you had yours." Turning to leave and enter the hangar, she stops for just a moment and says, "Make your decision Barsen'thor. Stab me in the back and lose me and Lana as your allies to the other half of the conspiracy. Hopefully, I won't have to trust you long enough to finish this mess and allow you an opportunity to do so."

A glance over her shoulder shows that she is far from being wrong, as the Barsen'thor has closed her flapping mouth that almost seemed like a fish's before she and her ever-present soldier disappear back into the halls of Manaan's centers. The fury is up and running as she heads up the plank, 2V-R8 welcoming her back into the ship. As frustrating as the Jedi seems to be, she also seems like a feasible partner. Willing to argue her own points until the point of being backed into a metaphorical corner was fascinating, if also not a tad stupid. Good to know that she had someone like that on her side...well, she still didn't trust her, but that was in short supply these days anyway.

She could end up being a worthy ally, Theron included. Whether the woman flew around with a crew or not would be seen down the road, but she also wasn't sure what to tell her and what to leave firmly outside of their little discussions. Allying with Jedi in the past had never gone well for her, there was a lightsaber wound on her left bicep that was proof enough, and she was afraid she'd end up with a vibroblade in her back if she wasn't careful this time around. Keeping her guard up was a firm must.

But, she realizes as Quinn sets a course for Vaiken, if Revan really still is out there, then they could all be in more danger than anyone would like to admit. Revan was extremely powerful from what she did know, and he was no Baras either. Making a gamble of whether she'd make it to tomorrow was already tricky enough. And having a singular, one woman strike team, wouldn't be in the cards for an Empire that wished to survive this upcoming Cold War with the Republic. Forget that she trusted her life to her crew, forget that she essentially had the army on her beck and call if their absentee Emperor willed it, she may admit she needs help this time. And this time, not from Darth Revel.

Settling in to seethe upon her anger in her personal quarters, Tri'ama can't help the feeling of uneasiness growing in the pit of stomach. Something isn't right, but for now this was how things would have to be. An SIS agent, a Wookie with his droid, a Barsen'thor of the Order, Lana and herself.

It was anyone's game, and Tri'ama Amarillis did not intend to lose.

(Edited March 20th, 2020: added 2,146)

13 notes · View notes

dillion-langdon · 6 years

Text

I Fell out of Heaven to be with You in Hell Part 2

Sub!Michael x Reader

Summary: Reader experiences traumatic flashbacks of Michael’s past when they are intimate, so they consult his Ms. Mead. Little bits of humour in the beginning. The sex starts closer to the middle if you just wanna skip to that part. lol

First part can be found here.

Warnings: sub!Michael x Reader, young!Michael, fem!reader, smut, fingering, sexual intercourse, mention of post traumatic stress, mention of disassociation, talk of Christianity and demons, dirty talk, sexual tension, humour, fluff.

Word count: 4K.

Side note: I based the sex part off of my own personal experiences with boyfriends(two that is) I was in love with. Even the post traumatic stress part. My first boyfriend had an episode in the middle of us doing it and it really sucked... Anyways! *sigh* Can you tell I’ve been single for far too long? Cause I can lmao *I need help*

________________________________________________________

One late night, in your room, you and Michael were in a pretty heavy make out session, when all of a sudden you were seeing flashes of a little blonde boy inside of your head. He was holding a bloodied, mangled cat and he was crying. An older lady, you assumed who was Constance, was scolding him but you couldn’t make out what she was saying. As if on cue, Michael abruptly pulled away, eyes wide with fear and shoulders tensed.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry! I didn’t know that was inside of me.”

You gaped. This never really happened before, you seeing intimate, hidden memories of his past. Memories he chose to bury deep. Memories he had long forgotten. You remember him telling you once, how his childhood was a blur, how it was too painful for him to deal with and how he somehow forced himself to forget most of it. This broke your heart. You loved Michael so much and couldn’t bare to imagine him in that much pain where he basically had to disassociate with it.

“Baby, it’s okay,” you soothed. You caressed the side of his face and lovingly took his hand into yours. It easily engulfed yours and you gave it a reassuring, affectionate squeeze. His shoulders relaxed.

“Why is this happening to me, (Y/N)?”

You paused. Ever since you two became sexually involved—which was months after you guys started dating, you would see instances of him when he was younger. They happened abrupt enough where you could only see flashes of his face and that was it. Never like this. This is was a full on scene and this was the first time you saw someone else, and Constance above all.

“Mmm, maybe it’s because—you know, that we’re intimate now?” You wondered out loud.

“But I don’t wanna remember those things,” he weakly spoke. His eyes started to water and his bottom lip quivered. Your heart sank. You scooted closer to him and wrapped both of your arms tightly around Michael, right away he buried his head into the crook of your neck and started to lightly sob. His body shaking against yours. You could feel his pain. It was too overwhelming. All you could do was to hold him close and tight. And you never wanted to let go. You absolutely hated seeing this beautiful young man of yours being rendered into a hopeless, broken little boy.

“Please make it stop,” his voice was muffled by your neck and it hitched as he sobbed harder. You felt so utterly helpless. He was in ruin.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Michael,” you kissed the top of his head and started to gently rock him back and forth. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” You felt his long arms hug you harder, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he was still sobbing into your neck, his tears soaking your sweater. You had to figure this out, whatever it took.

The next morning, the both of you sat nervously at Miriam’s kitchen table. Despite breakfast being his favourite, strawberry French toast, Michael didn’t touch his food. He coyishly played with his fork, knowing that he had to talk about something embarrassing with the one person he considered the closest thing to a mother.

Miriam sat down across the table and quizzically looked from you to Michael, who was clearly not scarfing his food down like usual. “What’s the matter? You love French toast, more than my first husband did.”

You apprehensively put your arms on the table and started playing with your fingers, not knowing where to start.

“Uh, we sort of have a problem...” you spoke hesitantly.

Miriam’s eyes bulged and she exclaimed, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What! No!” You and Michael both shouted in unison, quick to defend the obvious. You turned to Michael and he looked scared shitless. His face was pink. Clearly his dear Ms. Mead must of found out about the two of you having sex.

“Oh, dear Dark Lord!” she rolled her eyes and sighed heavily with relief, hand on chest in exasperation. “I know there’s supposed to be a backup, but that’s not for years, not until after you won the witches—”

“We keep seeing flashes of my past,” Michael cut her off. You could see him shifting in his seat, not wanting to say exactly how and when these flashes occurred. You took notice and cleared your throat.

“When we… er, are together-together,” you did air quotes, not wanting to say the dirty word in front of her. After all, she was your close friend and you were technically banging her adopted son. “We end up seeing memories of his childhood, the ones he forgot about...” You darted your eyes back down to your hands, closely examining the dark nail polish that was chipped.

Miriam was quiet. This made you nervous so you quickly looked up and she was deep in thought. She suddenly stood and walked around the table to her altar. You could hear books and trinkets being shuffled around until you heard what sounded like a heavy thud and something hefty being pulled out from underneath a heavier object. You turned and saw her holding a large, threadbare book that was titled in Latin. You only spoke English so you had no idea in hell what she was reading. She flipped through a few pages until she came across something that made her go, “Aha!”

Michael grabbed your hand under the table and squeezed hard, you gave him a reassuring look, hoping his Ms. Mead found the answer.

After she was reading, she explained how is father wanted him to remember his past. How it would fuel his powers and make him stronger, and the only way this were to happen was by being with you. When she said that you blushed. You knew Michael was special, but you? What’s so special about you?

She continued on about some Christian mumbo-jumbo that you had trouble following, but what you could get out of it, was that somehow you were the incarnation of Lilith or Awan or one of those demonesses; you were put here on Earth to shepherd Michael, the Antichrist towards full reign and terror of the Apocalypse.

You were stunned into silence. Michael was still holding your hand, albeit they were sweaty, he still held on tight. With the book still in hand, Miriam made her way back around the table and took a seat. Her head turned from you to Michael, then back to you, awaiting a response. She slapped her hands down on the table, startling you both.

“Well, I think that solves that there kiddos.”

Still nothing. Just shock.

Miriam heaved her chest, “C’mon, it’s not like I didn’t know what was going on!” Your cheeks flushed harder. “It was bound to happen, I just wasn’t sure when.” She laughed and you could feel Michael’s horror.

His mouth fell open, and shaking his head, he quickly said, “It’s not like that,” he suddenly stood up and you were forcefully yanked out of your seat as Michael still had a Terminator grip on your hand and you awkwardly stood up, trying to find your balance. “We love each other.” That last bit came out louder than he intended and his voice cracked mid-sentence.

You and Michael loved each other. You just never told anyone.

Miriam’s whole face beamed with joy at those words and before you could react she was hugging you both, her one hand in Michael’s hair as she playfully ruffled it. This was literally the most awkward sex conversation you ever had. You normally pride yourself on being comfortable with your promiscuity and sharing details with others, but this, this was weird and uncomfortable.

As soon as Miriam let go of the overly enthusiastic embrace, she grabbed her coffee mug and left the room, humming to herself. You and Michael—with his now messy hair, just stood there, gaping at each other. What the hell just happened?

It wasn’t until later that Miriam mentioned to you over coffee, how she found a condom pack in Michael’s jeans one day when she was doing laundry and how it made her smile. You spat out your coffee.

What the fuck.

You had to gently put it to her how yes, you two are close friends but discussing you and Michael’s sex life was off the table. She just laughed at this and said, it’s not like she bore him when he was a child. You had to sigh and just remind yourself to be, very, very vague about these things around her. The last thing you wanted was to picture Miriam standing in the corner of the room as you and Michael went at it. The thought of this made you shudder in horror. Why did you guys have to go to her? Why couldn’t you just pick one of the other Cardinals at the Church for advice? Ugh.

Unfortunately, this whole incident put sex off the table for a few days.

A few nights have passed and Michael was over watching Netflix with you. He was laying on the couch with his head in your lap and his hand conveniently resting on your thigh. You guys were watching The Omen 3, Michael had insisted on it. He was eager to devour every bit of pop culture that detained any reference to the Antichrist. You thought this was so adorable. He also insisted you do the same, after all, you were put on this earth to solely serve him. This gave you all sorts of warm fuzzies.

He was the Dark Prince and you were his companion. His partner in crime, as cheesy as it sounds.

And your dark prince was being mischievous. As he was slowly rubbing his hand on your thigh, it was gradually getting closer, and closer to in between your legs. You had no intention of stopping him, as this little abstinence period had you craving him more than ever. A dull ache had grown down there and you could feel your panties getting damp.

His pace was torturous so you moved his hand with yours up into the spot where you desperately wanted to be touched. With his head still facing the TV, he smiled.

“You’re such a little shit,” you teased and this only caused his smile to broaden.

You slightly parted your legs to make room for his large hand and he eagerly stroked you, lightly grazing the fabric of your underwear with his fingers. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, stifling a moan. You swore you could just cum right then and there just by his simplest touch.

Michael continued to gently caress your heat, feeling it get hotter and more moist with each delicate stroke. He was reveling in this. Your eyes scanned his body and you could see a thick bulge form in his black jeans. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged. He was so good to you.

He suddenly stopped and you pouted. His head turned up towards you and with a breathy voice he said, “Take off your panties.”

While still sitting down, you hitched up your skirt and slide them off in one fluid motion, not wanting to waste any time. Michael sat up and just as they were off, he scooted himself next to you and his hand was back on your thigh. His soft, cushiony lips crashed into yours and it was like the first time all over again.

The same zap of electricity washed over your body, and you could literally feel the chemicals inside of your head crashing in waves. It was ethereal.

You pulled away slightly, your parted lips grazing his as the heat radiated between you. Catching each other’s breath in your own, you hovered your lips over his, taking him in. You let a hand rest on his upper arm, feeling how long and lean it was, how the veins seemed to protrude. It never ceased to amaze you just how hot Michael was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Michael breathed. This sent shivers down your spine. He always made sure to never let you forget just how beautiful and hot he thought you were.

You moaned at those words and sank your lips into his in a passionate exchange. His hand roughly squeezed your thigh, marveling at your softness. He started to stroke your leg, inching closer to that certain spot. All of a sudden you could feel his fingers slide delicately in between your folds, revering in your hot wetness. You let out a long moan into his mouth. Michael was always so eager to please you. When the two of you first started having sex, he was so eager it was almost aggressive. You had to stop and chide him, telling him to slow down and how his eagerness was hurting you. You had to teach him, which was expected since you were his first (and by the sounds of it, his last), how to pleasure you properly. He was a fast learner . His eyes would go big and hungry like, earnestly drinking up every ounce of criticism you offered.

Now he was such a good boy to you, you didn’t even have to tell him. Also mind you, he started to develop his telepathy around this time so he was obviously using that to his advantage. You didn’t mind this, since it served you well. You’ve had a number of sexual partners in the past, but they all paled in comparison to Michael.

Michael was phenomenal in bed and partly because you were madly in love with each other. You knew that being in love always amplified sex to a whole new level. You’ve been in love a couple of times, but never like this. Michael was your twin flame. He was your person.

The kissing started to become more wet and sloppy, and fast as he quickened the pace down below with his fingers. He was fondling your clit and you could feel your arousal heightening. Not wanting to climax so soon, you put your hand over his to stop him and pulled your face away.

His mouth was still parted, his lips slick with saliva, red and swollen with lust. He slowly opened his eyes and they were so dilated they almost looked black. Without saying a word to each other, you both went upstairs. You took his hand and guided him to your room. All the lights were off except for a string of pink Halloween lights that strung above your bed. You laid your hand on his chest and softly pushed him onto the mattress. He moved to where he was sitting with his back against the headboard. He knew too well that this was your favourite position.

You suddenly straddled his lap, lowering yourself onto his still clothed erection. A pulse of energy shot between your legs and up into your core. You aggressively moaned and you could feel his whole body shudder with pleasure. Michael wrapped his strong arms around your waist and up around your shoulders, greedily burrowing his face into your chest. You gently rocked your hips and you could feel him sigh with ecstasy into you.

Arching your back, you pressed yourself deeper into him, letting his hard length stroke you through his jeans. His breathing hitched. The friction was making you so wet, you could feel the fabric of his pants become soaked with your juices. Michael gently lifted your sweater above your head and removed it, leaving you only in a thin t-shirt. He nipped at your breasts through the fabric and the tender area around your nipples, eliciting a cry of pleasure from you. Your hands found his hair and you affectionately pulled on his curls, letting him know how good of a job he was doing. He softly growled, you were all his and he wanted nothing more than to be suffocated by you.

In between nibbles he would look up towards you for approval and you would reward him with a deep, lustful kiss, your hips still humping him with an intoxicating pace. You could feel his member start to twitch. You stopped and removed the last upper article of clothing, exposing your tender breasts to him. He aggressively cupped them with his mouth, obscenely moaning with hunger for you.

The only sounds in the room was of the bed squeaking and two of you panting heavily, with the occasional sound of a wet, sloppy kiss.

You sunk your lips into Michael’s when all of a sudden you saw a flash of red, then you saw a beautiful, older lady—sprawled lifelessly on a couch, with a scotch glass loosely in her hand and a cigarette in the other. Then you saw what looked like Michael, but he was dressed much differently, he wore khakis and a colourful striped shirt. He was holding the older lady and crying for her to come back, how he was sorry. Constance?

You stopped and opened your eyes. Michael’s eyes were still closed and tears were spilling down. He didn’t open them and with such vigor that you never experienced with him before, he pulled you in closely. He kissed you with such tenderness it made your head start swimming again with chemicals. You felt this pain but you also felt this enormous gratitude he had for you. Even though he was suppose to be the antichrist, the amount of incredible warmth and love that was radiating out of him was absolutely divine.

Michael never kissed you like this before. No one ever kissed you like this before. It was on such a different level, the gulf between you and reality was palpable. You felt like your whole being was levitating into the heavens and Michael was right there with you. Or more like hell, if you may.

“Thank you,” he whimpered into your lips, his voice sounded different. It was needy and wounded and grateful all at the same time. You could feel his body shaking with emotion. Despite all of this, neither of you wanted to stop. You and Michael were too far gone and wrapped up in the moment.

Still having your legs around Michael, he shifted your bodies where he was laying on top of you in the missionary position. Your second favourite position.

In between heated kisses, Michael removed his shirt. You slid a hand down his smooth chest, across his abdomen and onto his now soaking wet jeans. Despite the emotional turmoil, he was still rock hard. You squeezed the shaft of his member through his pants and his jaw slackened as a loud moan erupted from him. He buried his face into the side of your neck and started softly gnawing on your skin, leaving the faintest of bruises. He nipped and kissed his way up to your ear, where he nibbled the earlobe. You squirmed under him. He knew all of your weak spots down to a T. You could loudly hear his heady breath in your ear and it only made you want him more. You couldn’t take it.

“I want you inside of me, Michael,” you exhaled. With that he gave you a long, profound kiss before he slid off his jeans and boxer briefs. His erection sprung out and was drenched in a combination of your wetness and his pre-ejaculate. He dug into his jeans and pulled out a condom. Without breaking eye contact with you, he slipped it on. He lined himself up at your sultry, swollen entrance, gently pressing into your opening just the way you like it. Your head fell back onto the bed, mouth opening and closing. Michael cradled your head in his arm and pressed his forehead into yours. While looking deep into yours, his eyes bore those same holes as they did when you first met him, down right into your soul. His hips bucked forward and he slid into you, filling you right up with a burst of sensation.

“Michael!” You loudly gasped, no matter how many times he entered you, you were always taken aback by the severe amount of pleasure and how he seemed to fill you up just perfectly. As if you were made for each other. Two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.

With unwavering eye contact, he slowly pumped himself into you, making sure to feel every inch of your innermost walls. He began to pant and whine with each thrust. Your hands wrapped around his smooth, soft back. You could feel how his body temperature was rising. Sweat slicked his hairline and a bead of moisture fell onto your face. You opened your mouth, letting yourself taste him. The taste and smell of his pheromones inebriating you.

The tip of him hit your cervix and you yelped with delight, your fingernails digging into his porcelain skin. You dragged them down his back, making sure to leave scratches. Michael arched his back and obscenely groaned. He loved it when you marked him, it always gave him loving reminders how he belonged to you.

Michael pressed his mouth into the side of your face and panted, his voice hitched with ecstasy, “Can I go faster, baby?” You nodded and as he quickened his pace, you let your hands slide down to his ass and you clutched his cheeks, wanting to feel his hips buck in and out of you with each push.

Your bodies were entangled with each other in perfect harmony. Each breath, each kiss, each stroke of his penis sent you closer over the edge. Now all you could hear were the wet, pounding sounds of your bodies, laboured breathing, and the smell of each other’s sweat. His moans turned into blissful whines as he was nearing his climax. There was not a sweeter sound in the world.

“You’re such good boy, Michael. I want you to cum for me,” you exhaled. Your voice heavy with lust.

Just as you spoke those words, your whole body tensed and your vision blurred, you were seeing stars. Your whole body was on fire and you could feel this thunderous wave of energy course through your being. You tightly wrapped your legs around Michael and squeezed your inner, spongy walls around him. Feeling this enormous amount of energy being released from your core and into Michael, your orgasm was so intense, not a sound was to be heard, despite having your mouth wide opened. All you could do was hold onto Michael and ride out this high with the man you love.

Right as he felt you clench around his length, Michael’s jaw slackened and his lips parted further, making a perfect O. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and you could feel the vibration of his groans inside of your body. Both your bodies tensed with rapid concessions of pleasure.

“(Y/N),” he whined as the last wave of his orgasm washed over him. He went limp in your arms and rested his face on your chest. Both of you panting and trying to catch your breath. You could feel his heartbeat race a mile a minute through his chest, like gears of a clock. You ran his hands through his soaking wet curls and kissed his damp forehead.

“That was incredible!” Michael gasped after he finally caught his breath. His arms were loosely wrapped around you and he just basked in the glory that was you.

After several silent minutes of lying in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and crumpled sheets, the two of you properly got under the covers for the night. Michael was worn out and had his back to you, already fast asleep and snoring softly. Usually he never got this tired after sex, but considering the traumatic recollection of the night, him crashing out completely was a given. You snuggled up to him, wrapping an arm tenderly over his waist. You kissed his shoulder.

With a smile you said, “Goodnight, my antichrist.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon smut #sub!michael #young!michael #fem!reader #sub!michael x reader #smut #american horror story #ahs smut #michael langdon imagine #cody fern #michael langdon fanfiction #i fell out of heaven to be with you in hell

121 notes · View notes

ryouverua · 6 years

Text

Trial 6 - Retrial (1)

...... Alright, let’s do this.

Speculation post with theories are here.

It’s so... blue....?

i’m not saying this shade of blue makes me think of anyone in particular but I’M TOTALLY SAYING IT MAKES ME THING OF SOMEONE IN PARTICULAR -

Is that a ‘the results will speak for themselves’ thing or literally ‘someone else will choose’ thing??? We’ve had to deal with ‘an outside force is actually a part of this’ thing, but last time that was a force for good and they were pretty much rendered helpless. What are the chances that’s the same this time...

Probably because he and the mastermind being threatened with exposure are two different entities??? It sounds like he doesn’t have anything on the line this time!

MONOKUMA DO YOU REALLY HATE US THAT MUCH

LMAO

Damn you Monokuma you really can make me laugh sometimes when I’m not ready for it.

“’They’ being ‘me’, in case I didn’t make that clear.”

And then, after setting up for the trial and a long pan around the remaining participants, we land on....

.... one Very Tired Detective.

There’s one pretty glaring reason to have a class trial even if there hasn’t been a murder; someone incredibly significant still left to identify....

.... I-I guess this is the way we’re doing it though! Okay! We’re going to straight-up retry it!

I guess this is as good of a way to do it as any! This all pretty much revolves around the events of that night in the end!

“Incredibly ironic, considering the circumstances.”

lmao I swear I mentioned the Ultimate Mastermind as a joke possibility at one point whoops

I do like how we have Himiko to confirm it for us. Actually, that works out perfectly - we have a classmate almost every step of the way to confirm most of the evidence, except... I guess in the case of the flashback light room, right? Which is, y’know, good, considering we’re probably going to be accusing one of them within the hour... 8′D

And he wanted a second. Most people don’t want to go back in for seconds. Here’s a question though - did he remember the last killing game in the prologue? Is that why he recognized Monokuma? But.... why wasn’t he freaking out at that point? Or maybe that’s just because of his apparent ability to keep calm under pressure...

HE GOT FUCKING PLAYED

This speaks to the hidden trap that’s always existed in Shuichi’s own mind - that he often assumes that anything he can do, such as notice the hidden door, other people can do just as easily. Because ‘if someone like me can do it, who only became the Ultimate Detective by accident, then surely it would be presumptuous to think that no one else could make the same observations as me’. N-Not that I understand those feelings on a personal level or anything.............

Out of pure curiosity, I wonder if he was given the Monopad specifically by Monokuma or if he just woke up with the second one? Or maybe it was left for him in his room? He had to have reviewed it at some point in isolation, because he was clearly shaken up by it. For that matter, when did he see it? Just after we first originally met up in the gym, post-talent acquisition? Or later than that? I wonder if it’s possible to pinpoint before and after him going through the Survivor’s Perk based on his reactions? I do remember he was checking out the library during one of Kaede’s FTEs when we approached him, but I can’t quite remember when that was...

Wait, are you telling me the video itself was on his Survivor’s Perk? I thought it was just in that safe - then why was there a copy of it on a USB in his lab??? Was it to paint him as suspicious if we got that far? A bonus prize for someone if they were able to figure out the clues?? Hell, was it a ‘motive’ to paint a target on Rantaro’s back the same way the flashback light targeted Kokichi in Chapter 5, in case he made it that far? WHY WAS THE DECK SO STACKED AGAINST THIS POOR BASTARD

“He just had an incredibly scary face while coming to that conclusion, so naturally it was very suspicious at the time.”

.... Man, what’s with all these people with our best interests at heart having such terrifying sprites? Rantaro, Kokichi, Gonta, Ryoma, and I’d argue Angie in her own strange way - all of these guys had some of the creepiest reactions in the game. the lesson is it’s the plain cute ones you gotta watch all the pun intended -

don’t be rude Himiko

“If only I’d had the protagonist power at the time - I could have wooed him. I could have wooed him!”

This is pretty damn sad, though. I wonder if there was anyone he was considering reaching out to? There’s at least one person that comes to mind immediately and I 100% guarantee it’s not who you think it would be:

.....

Ready? No, it’s not Kokichi.

It’s Ryoma Hoshi.

No, seriously! Ryoma literally made it clear that he was willing to give up his own life to end the game. He showed the resolve to help someone get out of there in order to rescue the rest of them. Rantaro literally had to argue him down from doing that. I know at that point it was the day of the deadline, but... man. What if Rantaro had come clean with Ryoma about what he knew? Could something have changed?

Behold: Rantaro Amami, the Ultimate Cryptic.

How heavy was this burden on his shoulders...

I know it’s not relevant to the flashback but SHOW HIS SCARY SPRITE YOU COWARDS

RANTARO WE WILL MAKE UP FOR THIS IN THE BONUS SALMON MODE, I SWEAR IT TO YOU RIGHT NOW -

Behold: Rantaro Amami, the Ultimate Sacrifice -

if there aren’t what-if AUs out there about potential scenarios where Rantaro opens up to someone I will riot.

I-I mean, we weren’t going to explicitly say that but -

“.... Patience, Shuichi. Their time will come. And they won’t know what hit them.”

I see you, sneakily trying to sneak that truth and lie theme back into the trial, and I wholeheartedly approve ~

Are you just saying that...? You were there, right? You saw that we found the Survivor’s Perk. You know we found the lab, so why are you not trying to redirect us? Will you try to do that in the debates or -

oH -

SHE DOESN’T KNOW WE FOUND THE HIDDEN PASSAGE FROM THE BATHROOMS

SHE DOESN’T REALIZE WE CAN PIN HER DOWN WITH THIS

LET’S DO IT!!!!!

Well THIS explains why the Monokubs are participating in the trial. 8′D

E N O U G H

We can match it... aaah, we can match it to the picture that shows him holding it! And it wasn’t there with the body, but in the mastermind’s room!!! Man I’m so pumped up!

I love how Shuichi’s shutting down the Monokids lmao - I’ve never seen him act so aggressively in a Rebuttal Showdown before. 8′D

Man that’s a lot of blood to have landed that way, but who am I to argue about blunt trauma blood physics. THE POINT IS WE HAVE PROOF, BABY! CONFIRMED SECOND PERSON IN THE ROOM!

oh right also this happened:

So we’re just gonna lose them one-by-one during the trial, huh? I’m okay with that.

can you let it slip again

pretty sure you’re thinking of Scar and Simba was Mufasa’s cub -

THAT TOO

DO MONOKUMA AND TSUM - THE MASTERMIND HAVE BEEF OR SOMETHING DEAR LORD

“And it’s totally not someone in this room.” awkwardly attempts to not make eye contact with a certain plain girl -

In those brief few precious seconds...

Cutting all the fluff out, but all you need to know is that all the Monokubs are absolutely useless and don’t know anything except for Monodam because of course.

T... The interval timers. We’ve talked about this already. It was a big thing in the last trial - literally why Shuichi was suspected for a while, and how it got narrowed down to her and Kaede.

It’s always her. It’s always her.

TSUMUGI IS LITERALLY ‘CASUALLY’ TEAMING WITH MONODAM TO DISPROVE SHUICHI I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW BALLSY SHE’S GETTING

Didn’t the mastermind have the advantage of Rantaro triggering the camera both times and setting the ‘30 second’ clock between intervals? Just sayin’ ~

I’m so glad and not surprised that K1-b0 is the one remembering Miu’s contribution. look I have room for kiiruma in my heart too okay

with that said I love the ‘so done’ look he has while he’s next to her in this picture

30 seconds sounds like a short amount of time, and it is. but it can also be surprisingly long. She would have to be quick and deliberate... but she could do it. Dart out, grab it and go. And she’d probably be watching the live feed so she would know exactly when to do it! Between the flash and the ball dropping on him, she has two cues to work with!

I see you too debate online.

this is the ‘take a minute to appreciate the text and graphic design’ minute, don’t mind me - I just really l ike how they have such different styles denoting who’s speaking. Man I can’t get over how well designed it is.

....

Wait, we really have to bring up the idea that they have surveillance cameras? When one of the biggest sticking points of the last trial was that Monokuma didn’t know who the victim was because Kokichi interfered? YOU THOUGHT WE WOULD GET THROWN OFF BY THAT POINT -

This is K1-b0′s big win, so I’m glad he’s the one sassing them and presenting the sixth cub ~

this better be the last damn time we ever agree on anything EVER

I mean, I guess we had to clarify that for the sake of being able to move on but... eh.

Though! Though it does help us confirm that the mastermind had to have been in the room and not one of the people who were known to be downstairs, so that is good! I mean, we honestly pretty much knew that already, but it definitely doesn’t hurt. Gotta tighten that trap after all!

I DUNNO TSUMUGI, WHY WOULD THEY?

“The mastermind is a punk bitch -”

“O-Okay, we plain get it, that’s enough -”

“No. No, I think I need to elaborate on what a scaredy-cat coward the mastermind is -”

LMAO HE’S REALLY INTERRUPTING SWEETCHEEKS ON THIS

..... What a weird point to be hung up on. And the way you’re talking, like you are the mastermind rather than an independent AI, is definitely different than before.

i-i mean look what just happened with kokichi and maki but okay, yeah, we’d totally work together and not have a random student try to make a stand on their own or, hell, have a flashback light designed to instigate chaos and confusion -

Yes............. but. Uh, I’m going to bring this to the point below actually - *

okay blow up a Monokub now

....

damn it

Oh damn, I didn’t think that rule would ever actually come up in a trial. Cool.

LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU -

YOU LITERALLY SET HIM UP YOURSELF!!!

.... Or, the mastermind did. One of you did. I don’t know - I know in my head that I should probably be treating them as one and the same - but they just feel like different entities to me. And if I’m going to humour that idea, that means there is the very real question of ‘who decided to set him up with that message’, ‘who decided they had to steal the Survivor’s Perk back’ and for that matter, ‘were these decisions made independently of each other or was the idea to take back the Perk back conceived the moment the Perk itself was created?’

* To pick up where I left off earlier -

It sounds like discrediting the idea of the mastermind would all be much more important to said mastermind moreso than Monokuma... right? Because Monokuma seems convinced that everything will be fine (the game will continue) even if they find the mastermind, right...??? So I don’t know if the reason was to keep the killing game going, because she clearly showed she is able to create a motive even when the students are banded together against a single person, and she can even misdirect them - I think it’s more to protect herself, because she never wanted that to happen in the first place. Iunno. It just feels a bit different to me than how Shuichi put it.

Oh....?

B-BUT, LIKE, WE CAN STILL FIGURE OUT WHO IT IS FROM THAT... >:( let me accuse my cosplay girlfriend you monojerk

So, erm. Right.

At this point, if you weren’t seeing my little spur-of-the-moment text reactions, you wouldn’t know that I did a double-take when I saw this happen live. Because, well... I’d figured out the whodunnit, the whydunnit, the when, the how - but apparently I’d managed to miss the fact that there was a ‘what’ to resolve. So I figured out the culprit.... but didn’t realize that we weren’t just investigating a theft, but the actual murder again.

With that in mind -

[funky murder mystery jazz music stops]

IT’S A W H A T ? ! ? ! ? !

TSUMU - I-I MEAN -

MISS MASTERMIND, WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?!?!

#Ryou plays drv3 #Shuichi Saihara #Tsumugi Shirogane #Maki Harukawa #Himiko Yumeno #spoilers #drv3 spoilers #Monokuma #Kiibo #Keebo #K1-b0

26 notes · View notes

dawnshadowlegacies · 4 years

Text

Ambrose Dawnshadow

Face Reference: Paul Wesley Vergil from the Devil May Cry series, Tom Ellis, and Kate Beckinsale mix

Name: Ambrose Dawnshadow

Race: Sin’dorei

Gender: Male

Age: Adult

Class: Death Knight (Second Gen)/Warlock

Height: 6’1

Weight: 180 lbs

Body Shape: Athletic

Occupation: Death Knight, Relic Seeker, Former Magister, Enchanter

Nicknames: n/a

Titles: Magister of House Dawnshadow (formerly) Herident Arch Lord (Formerly)

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Appearance:

Ambrose is an athletic toned elf with a near death like pale complection and long silver hair pushed and pulled back. He keeps a clean shaven face that one may consider handsome with a strong jawline.He appears He keeps a normally stoic expression on his face. He has deep discerning eyes which are highlighted by the lich fire that runs through them now. His body bares minor scarring from various battles over the years. His body also bares the Dawnshadow sigil on his left arm as well as other runic tattoos along his body some infused by arcane or fel magics.

Ambrose Typically wears dark blue with hints of white robes and clothing over his fusion of saronite and Azerite armor. His armor isn’t too bulky and seems more fitting for a battle mage than a death knight that rest easily over his white shirt, black pants and boots.. Two hilts rest at his side, one a rune blade known as Blackrazor and another a broken hilt. At his side is a what could only be described as a fusion of a glaive and a polearm.

Personality:

Some would say Ambrose is stoic, hardly showing his emotions to an outsider. Well learned and well read he keeps his emotions in check giving off a colder icy personality. When around someone he cares for he still keeps his emotions in check but is likely to open up to those he considers close. Ambrose can be blunt and to the point and follows his own sense of honor while seeking power and knowledge in his personal quest. Ambrose is more cautious than impulsive and is likely to think and plan out a situation two to five moves in advance.

He likes poetry. dragon riding. researching new spells or relics, and the occasional duel. He dislikes his twin brother, people who seek power for in his mind unworthy uses, the light, and being forced into a magical servitude.

Gear:

Blackrazor: A curved void corrupted titan forged Blade. Blackrazor is a sentient being bent on dominating its wielder and push them to serve the void. Only a being of iron will can hope to defeat this blades ego and wield it into battle for any length of time. The blade was thought to have been vanquished by Gwen Dawnshadow. Recently it’s shards were reforged with Ambrose’ runeblade to be reforged anew.

Blackrazor’s blade has a keen edge able to cut through armor like hot butter through ice. It’s black blade also drains the life force from any whose blood it drinks from as well as deal a hint of frost damage in its wake. Ambrose can summon Blackrazor to his hand due to his connection to the rune blade.

Clothing and Armor: Ambrose normally wears blue and white clothing with black boots which are enchanted to self repair and remain clean on most occasions. His armor adds an extra layer of defense from both mundane and magical attacks. His inch thick armor is made from saronite and azerite and enchanted to weigh nothing as well as be flexible. He also wears a dark hood from time to time that is enchanted to withstand mind based attacks and compulsion. He wears dark blue nearly black robe over his attire that provides the same enchantments as his clothes.

Jewelry: Ambrose wears two rings made of silver with the right containing a sapphire gem in it and the left which he wears on his middle finger contains an emerald that also doubles as a soulsone. His ring on the right helps augment his shadowfrost magics.

Miscellaneous: Items: Ambrose keeps an elegant silk coin purse on his fine leather belt. Also attached to his belt is a scroll case and a bag of holding. His bag of holding carries various spell components for rituals and what not as well as rations should he feel the need to eat. A tent and bedroll also rest in his bag.

Armaments and Trinkets: Resting in a scabbard on his belt Ambrose keeps a magical saronite dagger for rituals and defense should he ever be disarmed. It has a faint necrotic aura around it.

Ambrose also carries a glaive for mounted and ground combat. It has a dark silver sheen to it with runes covering the blade as well as the shaft which is made from blackwood oak. It’s bite is deadly and the blade is keen enough to tear or pierce through most mundane armor.

Abilities:

Ambrose comes from the Second Generation of Death Knights. He is careful enough with his necromantic powers to maintain his living status but only just barely. Due to the necrotic energy running through his veins as well as the fel energy from undergoing a ritual similar to what a Demon Hunter endures he is stronger and faster than most elves. He has a higher stamina threshold to boot as well as a healing factor.

Before the fall of Quel’thalas Ambrose was trained to be a skilled Spellblade and eventually rose to the rank of Magister. He had mastered the forces of arcane frost in his rise while secretly trained and learned the fel arts from his time around some of the more rebellious students, namely in how to manipulate life energies and curses. After becoming a second generation Death Knight Ambrose combined his new found knowledge of necromancy with both his knowledge as a warlock and spellblade. Able to create new ways to use his magics together on the fly Ambrose has tamed and learned to control his increased life draining capabilities as well as mastered the use of Shadowfrost. He can also summon his old demons to his side as undead monstrosities as well as raise the dead into undeath.

Though not as skilled with a blade compared to his brother Ambrose is no slouch with one either as well as a glaive or staff. He is skilled enough to fight from horseback as well. Being well learned he is adept at researching and solving magical mysteries or rituals. He has also learned to become a dragonrider.

History:

Ambroseas born a bastard into the Dawnshadow family along with his twin Ambrose to their mother Lana’thel. Despite his status him and his brother were never treated as such within the family. Ambrose under his Grandfather Avendeth’s tutelage would learn how to use a sword though he didn’t take to it as well as his brother. With a suggestion from his Grandmother Kayleen and his mother’s blessing Ambrose began to study the arcane and even performed his first spell a humble frost bolt at the age of six, though his twin seemed unimpressed by saying “Neat” before running off to wack a tree with his wooden training sword. Ambrose would never forget the slight nor his family seemingly more impressed with how Dem’s training with a blade was coming.

Once he became a young adult he left his home and went to Quel’thalas to further his studies and secret desires to gain more power as well as to best his twin in every way possible. In time he would become an uncle and though he was jealous of Dem he would not blame his new bride and daughter and secretly approved of his niece Melissande’s desire to use magic over the sword.

In time the scourge lead by Arthas would attack Quel’thalas. Ambrose had become a magister at this point but even with the power he amassed he was eventually rendered helpless by the Death Knight William Sloan a former Knight of the Silverhand turned Death Knight. Impressed by Ambrose’s aptitude and cruel beyond measure he forced upon Ambrose and his mother a choice. One would live and become like him, the other would die. He tossed the pair each a runeblade. Ambrose and Lana’thel would each pick them up with Lana telling her son it would be alright and ran herself through Ambrose’s cursed sword to save his life so that he may find a way to live and be free of the scourge. Ambrose was devastated by what happened, blaming himself and his lack of power for not saving his mother as well as blaming his twin who was always the hero for not being there. Subjected to the Lich King’s dominance these were the only feelings Ambrose carried with him for some time.

Eventually he would encounter Demetrius years later. Spiteful of his twin and angered by the power Dem gained by becoming a Demon Hunter he lashed out at Dem and nearly killed his twin by stabbing him in the chest just missing his heart. Ordered to bring his broken brother to Icecrown for conversion into the scourge, Ambrose’s jealousy and hate for Dem only grew. He would gain some sembalance of happiness though seeing the San’layn torture his brother as well as nearly breaking Dem by telling his twin that he was the one to kill their mother, a partial lie of course, but one meant to break Dem as well as end Dem’s foolish quest to turn Ambrose from his new existence. Eventually the Lich King would fall and Ambrose would gain his own free will back. He sought to gain more power so he would never be a slave again and he could do what he and his brother failed to do, save their family. Alas Deme in cold vengance at the hands of the torture he underwent fought Ambrose again in Icecrown and slew him. The last thoughts on his mind were of his failure to save his mother and of course his regret for not telling Aelrin how he felt before he only saw darkness.

A few years later Ambrose suddenly found himself pulled back to Azeroth’s world of the living. Before him stood the man he knew to be his father; Antheleos. Antheleos explained to Ambrose all that transpired before sending him away to fulfill his promise to himself, to seek power to protect his family save his twin. Ambrose would watch from a distance as Antheleos and Demetrius fought and son killed father trapping the mostly demonic elf in a soul stone. Ambrose knew what he had to do. He sought the Legions power and joined a group of former allies of his twin who had become fallen Demon Hunters known as the Heridents. He undertook the demon hunter ritual but feigned actually ingesting the demon’s heart but still took the blood. He would use this power and the knowledge gained to further his studies while being a throne in Dem’s side. Though he hated his brother he also wanted Dem to grow in power now as well so that he may also serve to protect their shared family. The twins would again clash on Argus before Deme proved to be the victor again and seemly kill Ambrose. Yet Ambrose saw this as a possibility and placed his own soul into a soul stone and returned from the dead once more.

Ambrose began to work with Sylvanas using her as a tool to further his own agenda. E knew what he had to do. He wanted a legacy of his own now and much more. Ambrose vowed to find and accumulate power to change the world for the better to suit his own interests. Sylvanas’s war would prove to be a great distraction of course though he was sickened in her killing innocent lives when Teldrassil burned. Nevertheless he needed this distraction to find a book of fel secrets the Illidari kept hidden. With it he would learn new rituals. During his time out there he would encounter his Great Great Grandfather Demetrius Starshadow and fight him before being forced to retreat from Darkshore with the rest of the Horde army. Luckily Ambrose found his book before the battle. Next on his list was the blade known as Blackrazor. Though destroyed by his sister in law it’s remnant power was faint. He found where the blade was seemingly vanquished and gathered the shards before forcefully binding them to his runeblade and dominating Blackrazor’s will. Now he had a blade to rival Dragonkin, a blade that also despised his brother as much as he did. A new plan began to form and though with his regrets and failures still haunting him he planned to form a truce with Dem and reveal the truth of their mother’s fall. Once Ash became a full fledged member of the family Ambrose began his true path of redemption through her and Dem’s children. As of now his soul is being reforged with the foresworn portion captured by Dem during his odyssey into the Shadowlands.

1 note · View note

tehlaen · 6 years

Text

Descent

[[tl;dr: Wherein a Jedi learns of her family, past and present. ]] Timeline: A few months after Vaylin’s defeat.

“Soldiers of Zakuul, we apologize for the manner of our approach.” The normally soft-spoken Jedi raised her voice, projecting so that her words rang clearly across the fifty meters separating her from the Zakuulan loyalists. “We regret the damage done to your ship, and offer our assistance in making the necessary repairs, once our parley is concluded.” Years of diplomatic training kept her from pointing out the obvious, that this parley was somewhat less than voluntary on her audience’s part.

The Twi’lek Jedi’s gaze slid over the dozens of reprogrammed skytroopers, focusing on the visored faces of the holdouts from Vaylin’s forces. “My name is Qerines Hadze, Jedi Master and Emissary of the Eternal Alliance. I come bearing a message from the Alliance COmmander, and an offer.

“Empress Vaylin has been defeated. You acquitted your duty to the Eternal Empire. Your duty now is to the people of Zakuul; peace has been restored, but the scars of war remain. Your countrymen need your help in rebuilding.

“The Alliance offers an amnesty to those of you who will lay down your arms and return with us to--”

Qerines tried not to be disappointed with her own lack of disappointment as her double-bladed lightsaber blazed to life and deflected the first blasterbolt into the low ceiling of the corridor. This marked the fifth time in as many weeks that she’d delivered the Alliance’s offer to a group of Zakuulans still fighting for a mad tyrant who’d been defeated months ago and had been met with the same emphatic, violent refusal.

The purple beams of hard light issuing from her saberstaff became a hazy curtain between her and the fusillade of blasterfire as she windmilled the weapon with the ease and blinding speed of two decades of practice. Her eyes drifted half shut as she reached out, seeing the trajectory of each of the hundreds of bolts of energy originating from the skytroopers’ blaster rifles and converging on the center of her chest. Once she knew which bolts would strike where, it was a simple matter of interposing her saber between her and the killer light in the right order and at the correct angle. The Force and her own reflexes guided her movements, ducking and spinning and twisting to dodge those blasts she couldn’t easily deflect. Her mind wove the deluge of information from her senses both mundane and mystical into an intricate choreography, positioning body and blades to evade and parry as necessary, redirecting the bolts’ hateful energy and turning it on its former masters.

The corners of the Jedi’s mouth twitched downward as a single, carefully-aimed shot flashed over her shoulder with scant centimeters to spare. It wasn’t worry for her own safety that sparked her quickly-stifled flash of irritation; Minev, the sharpshooter late of the Sith Empire who’d been assigned to her small team, was certainly not reckless and, moreover, was intimately familiar with the Jedi’s combat style and capabilities. No, her disapproval stemmed from Minev’s subtle but unmistakable defiance of the team leader’s orders. One of the handful of Zakuulan loyalists crumpled to the ground, a smoking hole burned through the hollow of his throat. Even without her connection to the Force, Master Hadze could tell that the man was dead before he hit the ground.

It ended quickly.

Lieutenant Minev walked up behind the Jedi standing hunched over the commandeered ship’s primary memory core. Years of training as a sniper had rendered moving soundlessly second nature for the Imperial soldier, and she stopped a polite few meters away before coughing softly.

Qerines wasn’t sure whether Minev’s gesture was meant as a courtesy to indicate her presence and avoid startling the apparently distracted Jedi, or a tacit request for her commanding officer’s attention and permission to speak. Regardless, it was unnecessary, and Qerines stood, stretching her tense shoulders and gave the woman a small nod and an easy smile.

The soldier gave her a perfunctory nod, standing at parade rest as she delivered her report. “Master Jedi. All skytroopers have been deactivated and rendered inoperative. This ship is severely damaged; getting it spaceworthy again would require time, technicians and parts that we don’t have. I recommend notifying the Alliance and requesting a salvage team. Failing that, the vessel should be scuttled to deny it to the enemy. I’ve taken the initiative and placed demolition charges, though they’re not yet armed.”

Master Hadze nodded, giving the soldier an encouraging and appreciative smile. “Very thorough, Lieutenant, thank you.” Minev nodded sharply, then shifted one foot behind the other. Before she could execute her crisp about-face, the Jedi cleared her throat. Minev paused, then resumed her former stance. One thin blonde eyebrow cocked, jumping a centimeter and a half closer to the line of her close-cropped hair. “Yes, my L--Master Jedi?”

She let the slip of the tongue go without remark; the mannerisms and speech taught by a lifetime in the Sith Empire weren’t to be unlearned in the year and a half since Minev joined the Alliance.

Besides, she had greater concerns. She kept her voice soft and level as she asked, “Have the surviving loyalists received medical attention?”

If the other woman read anything into the question or Qerines’ manner, she gave no indication. “No, sir. The Zakuulans fought to the last and refused to be taken alive.” She paused a moment, lips pursed in thought, then added, almost as an afterthought, “They died well.”

If she’d expected that to offer the Jedi some consolation, she had gravely misjudged her audience. Qerines tried and failed to keep the bitterness and derision out of her voice as she shot back, “They died pointlessly.”

Minev watched her team leader’s face as the Jedi closed her eyes and steadied her breathing to compose herself. After a moment, the Twi’lek opened her purple-irised eyes, and Minev gave a one-shoulder shrug.

The gesture only served to further exasperate Master Hadze, and she fought to keep her crimson skin from flushing an even darker red in response. “Our mission is to convince the remnants of Vaylin’s forces to surrender and accept the Alliance’s offer of amnesty! Not to kill them! If that were the case, we would have simply destroyed this ship and saved ourselves the trouble.”

The sharpshooter’s expression was unreadable, and Qerines was struck by a thought. Is this how other people feel talking to Jedi? Are we this exasperating? After a pause to gather her thoughts, her subordinate spoke, her tone level. “Respectfully, Master Jedi, no, it’s not. I was in the briefing, and our orders are to offer the amnesty. They made their rejection quite clear. We carried out our orders, and more to the point, I carried out my orders.”

The conversational curve took Qerines by surprise and she temporarily postponed her objection to the soldier’s interpretation of their task. “What do you mean, ‘your orders?’”

The lieutenant met her eyes unwaveringly. “Lana Beniko instructed me to keep you whole, hale and hearty. I believe her exact words were, ‘don’t let her naïve idealism get her killed for idiotic reasons.’”

Qerines’ brows drew in. “And you interpreted that to mean you should summarily execute someone who posed no real threat to my wellbeing?”

“Again, Master Jedi, respectfully, when the Sith Lord spymaster of the Eternal Alliance tells me it’s my ass if you get yourself killed, I’m not taking any chances. I’m way more afraid of pissing her off than you.”

She searched the sniper’s face, then nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for the explanation… and the backup. In the future, please make every effort to take our adversaries alive.”

“I’ll try.”

The Jedi laughed softly. “I suspect that’s the best I’ll get from you, so I’ll take it. I’ll finish--”

Qerines broke off as a panicked voice broke in over the earpieces she and Minev wore. Both women winced in pain as the comms adjusted the volume to compensate for Garis’ shout, but not quickly enough.

“General! Sensor contact!”

Now wasn’t the time to correct the young Republic pilot’s nomenclature. “What is it, Garis?”

“Sith Fury-class interceptor, sir! She just dropped out of hyperspace right off our stern! Charging weapons on an intercept course!”

With their own Defender transport docked at an airlock and the loyalist vessel’s shields still disabled, they were practically helpless. “We’re on our way, Corporal. Recall everyone to the ship and prep for takeoff. Do you have an ID on the Fury?”

“That’s the thing, General. She’s showing as the Rage of Iego.”

Minev and Hadze exchanged a worried glance as they jogged across the bridge to the open blast doors and the corridor beyond. “That’s the ship that’s been shadowing us for weeks, sir.”

Qerines nodded, her expression souring. “Longer than that, Minev.” The soldier looked at her questioningly, and she expanded as they trotted down the passage toward the airlock and their ship. “That ship--it’s been pursuing me for years, since before the war with Zakuul. Showing up on planets I’ve visited, asking rather pointed questions about me and resorting to brutal methods to get answers to those questions.”

The lieutenant nodded once, sharply. “Then we’re leaving. Now.”

“Do you hear me arguing?”

“Sir! They--” Garis’ shouted warning drowned in a deafening flood of static and high-pitched squeals as their nameless foe jammed their comms.

The Jedi allowed herself a rare curse, one ear ringing even after the device adjusted the volume. The Imperial cursed a blue streak, and the two broke into a sprint.

A flash of either premonition or simple intuition struck her, and the Jedi slid to a stop, one hand grabbing the back of the other’s jacket and yanking her backwards a fraction of a second before an explosion filled the corridor with shrapnel. The flying bits of metal bounced off the Force barrier Hadze gestured into being, and the echoes of the breaching charge rang in the tight confines.

The secondary hatch of a Fury interceptor was visible through the smoke and the new hole blown in the ship’s hull. The hatch slid open with a hiss, and the darkness beyond was rent by the ignition of a lightsaber. A corona of vibrant green surrounded a core of blacker-than-black--the black of the Void, of nothingness and nonexistence. Fitting, the Jedi thought as her hand dropped to the saber at her waist.

Minev shared none of the Jedi Master’s restraint. In one smooth motion, she unslung her rifle, snapping it up and loosing one hellish bolt, aiming purley by reflex. Even without conscious effort, her aim was true, the shot perfectly centered in the silhouette emerging from the darkness.

That green and black saber snapped up, reflecting the bolt with aim just as perfect. Qerines drew her own saber and ignited it, whirling it up to interpose between the Sith and the sharpshooter. Instead of splitting her sternum and consuming both of Minev’s lungs, the blaster bolt slammed into the bulkhead, leaving a carbon scorch and glowing durasteel. Without taking her eyes from the approaching Sith, Qerines stepped in front of the soldier, weapon still in a low guard.

“Go. I’ll catch up.” She didn’t really hear the protest, but recognized it nonetheless. Doing her best impersonation of an Imperial officer, she curled her lip and snarled, “That’s an order!”

Her training complied with the command before her conscious mind had fully parsed it. She sprinted back down the way they had come to a T-junction that would take her back to the ship via an alternate route that would hopefully avoid the Sith. She paused, looking worriedly at the Jedi.

Qerines turned her head just enough to call over her shoulder. “Launch the ship, but stay close. I’ll be along shortly.”

Emotions warred on the young soldier’s face, then she nodded and disappeared around the corner.

The Jedi turned her attention back to the Sith, walking deliberately through the smoke and debris choking the improvised ingress. Qerines kept her saber at the ready, reaching out with her senses to anticipate her foe’s next move. The Sith stepped out of the shadows, into the light of the corridor, and Qerines studied her through half-lidded eyes.

Like herself, the Sith was Twi’lek; that was surprising enough, given the Sith Empire’s disdain for non-humans. More striking still was the genetic mutation she apparently shared with the Jedi, giving them both the same deep, rich red skin tone that marked them both as Lethan.

If she had to guess, she would put the darksider’s age at early to mid 50’s. Judging the age of Sith was difficult under the best of circumstances, given the horrible physical toll channeling the Dark Side took on a body. The green-eyed Twi’lek appraising her from a dozen meters away showed none of those signs of deterioration, though whether to attribute that to limited use of the Dark Side or to some Sith-Alchemy exercise in vanity, Qerines was unsure. She suspected the latter.

"You are the Jedi Master known as Qerines Hadze?" The Sith broke the tense silence, spitting her name with such vehemence and disdain that the Jedi was taken aback. She allowed herself a small grin and a very un-Jedi-like flash of pride; to have any Sith hate her so was surely a compliment of the highest order.

Qerines extended her senses, probing, assessing, gauging her adversary’s strengths and vulnerabilities. She reached out with the Force, prodding--and her breath exploded from her lungs like she’d been kicked in the stomach. The Sith standing before her roiled and raged like a wildfire, her entire being fueled by--and simultaneously consumed by--a burning hatred, and at the core… a soul-deep anguish, a heartbreaking sense of loss.

“I would speak with you,” the Sith intoned imperiously, regarding the Jedi through slitted eyes.

“I suspected as much,” she answered dryly. “There are easier ways to reach me.”

The older Twi’lek’s brows drew in slightly, having clearly understood the subtext. “That--those--were… another matter. A personal one. Not some kind of message for you.”

Qerines shook her head. “Whether you intended to send a message was irrelevant. I understood your message perfectly.”

Those narrow brows, emphasized by the menacing spikes tattooed all around them, arched in cryptic amusement. “Clearly, you do not.”

The younger shook her head. “Enough, Sith. This conversation is over.” She snapped her saber up in a high guard, then whirled it around her head, bringing it down in a slash aimed to remove the Sith’s head from her neck.

The vile green and black blade looped up in an easy, almost dismissive parry. Just as well; the strike had accomplished its purpose, momentarily blocking the Sith’s view of the Jedi. Qerines let the inertia tuck her into a low spin, and by the time the green and black saber had recovered into a guard, she had exploded out of her crouch into a dead sprint down the corridor, away from her crew and her ship.

Have to buy them time, she thought to herself as she ran. Behind her, she could feel the Sith’s flare of frustration, even before the accompanying curses reached her hearing. A plan started to take shape as her eyes passed over an arrow emblazoned with “Cargo Hold #2.”

She rounded the corner without slowing, a lifetime of athletic training and a nudge with the Force allowing her feet to transition seamlessly from deck to bulkhead and back.

She could sense the darksider’s approach, stalking after her in pursuit, the Sith’s footfalls heavier in the Force than on the deck. “The Jedi move lightly through the world, carried on the currents of the Living Force as a leaf on a stream,” one of her early teachers had been fond of saying. “The Sith do not; they want to be noticed and to leave their mark on the Force and on the lives of those around them.”

Qerines tried--unsuccessfully--to suppress a dark thought. Her footsteps sound like inevitability.

She ducked into the hold, eyes scanning the towering stacks of cargo containers and smaller racks of supplies and spare parts. It was second nature, as intuitive as breathing, to wrap herself in the Force and vanish from sight, and she slipped between rows of freight pods. She didn’t know if any of it would fool the Sith hunting her, but all she had to do, she reminded herself, was buy time for her crew to circle around and pick her up at another airlock.

How much time, that’s the question.

Qerines felt the Sith enter the hold before she saw her--standing in the hatchway, green eyes narrowed, searching the dark corners and crevices.

“Jedi, come out.” Her voice echoed ominously in the cavernous hold. “We have much to discuss.”

The hidden Jedi answered by grabbing a shipping crate with the Force and hurling it through the air at the Sith. The green-eyed Lethan’s lip curled in a snarl. One hand came up, the lightning flowing from her fingers superheating the plexoid crate and blasting it to pieces well before it hit her.

Qerines’ breath caught in her throat, and as the Sith’s emerald glare settled on her hiding place, she dashed down one of the seemingly infinite narrow passages that snaked maze-like among the cargo containers.

It devolved into a running battle; the Jedi struck from ambush, then faded away before the Sith could bring her considerable power to bear. After several such engagements, the Jedi came to a pair of realizations: First, while she was unquestionably the more skilled duelist, she was hopelessly outclassed by the sorcerer in terms of raw power… and she suspected her own strength would fail long before the Sith’s reserves were exhausted. In short, any protracted battle would be one she would lose.

Secondly, it was becoming increasingly clear that the Sith was not striking at her with anything approaching her full capabilities. Why, Master Hadze couldn’t fathom, except for the possibility that the Sith wished her alive and didn’t want to kill her prematurely. She didn’t know why, but she still had nightmares about the horrors the Sith had left in her wake. She would not allow herself to be taken alive.

She let the shroud concealing her drop, and she stepped sedately out from hiding. She faced the Sith across a mostly open “clearing” among the containers, and her amethyst gaze met emerald unwaveringly. She folded her hands in the sleeves of her robes, her lips speaking the words for what, she suspected, would be the last time.

“There is no emotion; there is peace.” The Sith had stopped, some fifteen meters distant, and her eyes narrowed.

“There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.” In her peripheral vision, the green-and-black blade swept up into a guard and the other hand clawed its fingers, gathering power for another blast of lightning.

“There is no passion; there is serenity.” Those lips curled in a derisive sneer, and Qerines felt the surge of anger--beyond what she’d expect from the standard-issue Sith disdain for the Jedi teachings.

“There is no chaos; there is harmony.” Her steps brought her closer, close enough now to register the decades-old scars--brands, she corrected herself--that marred her cheeks and forehead and marked her as one of those Sith Lords who’d risen from slavery to the highest rung of the brutal ladder that was Imperial society.

“There is no death; there is the Force.”

Qerines came to a stop barely a meter and a half from the Sith, well within the reach of that balefully glowing blade.

“My name is Qerines Hadze, Master of the Jedi Order and emissary of the Eternal Alliance.” The rage that fueled the Sith swelled and the Jedi felt the power gathering to strike the killing blow. She imagined herself for a brief instant as standing at the floor of a narrow canyon as a dam burst, the rushing wall of water about to overtake her. There was a certain peace in knowing that death was imminent, inexorable and inevitable.

There is no death; there is the Force.

“I do not fear death, Sith, and I do not fear y--”

The Sith Lord’s fury exploded out of her, and Qerines had enough time to twitch her lip in a defiant grin--

Her grin died instantly as the power was unleashed as a lightning storm that encircled the two of them, savaging the crates and containers all around them, leaving glowing scars and gaping rents but leaving the two Twi’leks unscathed. Above the crackling lightning and the sounds of devastation, the Sith’s voice rang out angrily.

“THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME!”

The fury in that voice was hardly a surprise, but the sorrow and anguish underscoring the words took the Jedi off-guard and hit her with a palpable force. She doubled over, gasping for breath, and felt tears course down her cheeks in sympathy with the soul-rending sadness emanating from the Sith. She craned her neck up, looking in wonder at the tears flowing freely from the Sith’s eyes.

“That is not your name,” she repeated, and with a visible effort unclenched her clawed fingers and snapped off her lightsaber.

“Qerines’Hadze,” she scoffed. “A bad joke.”

The Jedi straightened slowly and set her jaw. “Many cultures name their children after virtues they hope they will exhibit or embody. Is ‘redemption’ so surprising?”

The Sith’s lip curled derisively. “That name wasn’t picked for your sake. It was directed at me.”

“How--”

“Your name,” the Sith continued in a hushed, almost reverent voice, “is Hirani’Tarkona.”

The question died on the Jedi’s tongue. Those words, that voice… She remembered them, from beyond the fog of forgetfulness. She was certain she’d heard them before, before even her earliest memories of training at the Jedi Temple on Tython.

“How--” Hirani began, faltered, then tried again: “Who are you?” she asked, and from the expression on the other Twi’lek’s face, both already knew the answer.

“My name is Gnoxis,” she said slowly, her tone marked by a gentleness that visibly surprised both of them, “and I am your mother, Hirani.”

#my writing #my swtor ocs #hirani #gnoxis #swtor rp #not teh'laen but related #lt. minev

3 notes · View notes

lifeinechos · 5 years

Text

A Cult named “AF Matthew”

Preface:

26 June 2017:

I joined IIM Kozhikode to pursue my Masters considering:-

Engineering job at an MNC in India is low paying and has a low growth curve (Though my work was exciting, and for a fresher R&D job was a dream come true)

My family’s financial health didn’t allow me to go abroad and take admission in a great MS institute (i loved engineering), and didn’t want to settle there as well in the long run in order to pay-off the loan undertaken

So, i wrote CAT(admission test for MBA in India) and got into this college. Though i was engineer by blood, but who cares. You have to feed yourself and in India, you need an MBA to swing up the ladder. It was here i came across this legend!

5 March 2019:

I bid like all my fortune(in this case grade-points), to get allotted the subject taught by AF Matthew! Had heard a lot about him, and as i was few of those unlucky souls who weren’t given an opportunity to attend his sessions in the first year, this was long due.

And, well fast forward to the end of the session, it was all worth it! He challenged my thoughts, ideals, questioned my beliefs and swiftly moulded me. Whatever he said wasn’t at all sweet and soft. There were times when the entire world which i was a part of for 25years in my life, came tumbling down. But he had his facts, and he was RIGHT!

He showed us the classics which was too much for a mainstream person i was, for whom a classic meant Lord of Rings franchise or Rocky Balboa Series, and then i was a transformed intelligent soul, now who could sit in a group and take part in knowledgeable discussions, and not fight based on mob-opinions. Also was I struggling with the aftermath of a life-threatening accident i had on Sept 14th,2018. I was no more a confident girl who was strong-headed in her stance and could think clearly in the midst of difficult situations. I was running from my inabilities and HE gave me the strength to face them!

The following piece is a tribute to him and the art to which he exposed me and built a better person if not perfect. The journey is long no doubt, but i am forever indebted to have had the foundation stone laid by him.

PS, this is a reflective essay which i wove around my life based on the movies and art (highlighted and referenced in the piece) he exposed me to.

“Everyday I breathe, effortlessly I lie Roll back my tears and curl up a fake smile There THEY stand, every movement do THEY eye With my head held high, its time to push another mile”

The statue of Liberty… Yes, this is where my earliest memory of the word “liberty” takes me to. Today, as I write this piece after 30 hours of mental turmoil, I found myself in GC’s class, it would be rather befitting if once I could stand straight, look into the mirror and confront myself. Its long that I have hidden myself in a cocoon of safety and comfort, and hopefully here in this reflective narrative I am able to “woman-up” to my vices and insecurities. 3 Colours: Blue incited in me an emotion which until recently was a far-fetched dream. For the first time in my life, I felt “liberated” too much to the extent that I don’t shy away from the idea of being alone. The night of 14th September 2018 changed my life or so did I think. Now, as I look at it, I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I speak out loud that it “completed me”. Empathising with Julie’s struggle to let herself free as she tried to pay off all her debts and run away from her past, I understand clearly now why after my accident I found it difficult to be at rest. Always was I trying to push people away- blaming & snapping away from someone who’ll try to give me solace.

It was a time when all I wondered was what could I ever do wrong to have had this fate. After 6-pelvic fractures, 1-shoulder fracture, 1-hip surgery and a bleeding clot that rendered half of my brain unreceptive; I feel I am in a good condition to vouch for Julie’s behaviour to untie herself from all bodily aspirations when you are not able to settle the turmoil of emotions that challenges your mere existence day in and day out. Countless times have I found myself since that day questioning my actions, feelings, thoughts and more than that the people around me. “Why me” was something that kept me up at night and tired & helpless all I could do was hide myself in my room away from the eyes that always seem to follow me. It took me long to realise that those eyes actually were supportive of me and some of them genuinely were ready to take part in my sufferings as I once again started a quest to discover myself. But even that was not enough. No matter how much have I been the admirer of the emotions with which HW Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life” claims that “Life is anything but an empty dream”, there were times when everything around me felt futile. When anyways everything is supposed to end, why the struggle to end everyday with perfection? In fraction of seconds, the course of life can be changed so much that you never know if it’s the end. These months have been long, tiring and restless to the extent that I would end up scratching myself, inflicting pain just to remind myself that it would all be over soon. Everything is supposed to end and this too shall pass.

In the beginning of the end, you try to treasure onto the memories you have in order to make them last longer. Same did I experience in these last few weeks. Change is inevitable and no-one is ready to accommodate it into their lives that easily. My days in campus are about to get over and all I can see now is a life full of competitions and unnecessary races for which I am not prepared for, rather not been accustomed to for long. Then one day sitting by the edge of my classroom, lost into the serene surroundings into which my college is built; I let my thoughts take a flight just like the flapping wings of the bird I was staring at. I was no more scared to be lost. There is a world full of possibilities and it stuck me that just one setback doesn’t define your future or justify your past. I came onto terms with my life. I accepted my limited ability and sufferings that accompany the same, something which I know will eventually pass no matter how hard it seems now. Something which I was looking and searching for outside, was inside me. That thought gave me power. It gave me freedom. I accepted that the unfortunate incident was no-one’s fault and accepted the things as they are now. I forgave myself,those who were in the car with me that night and decided to move on, following my life’s route destined. The moment I faced these things, I was no more caged. Neither did I feel helpless, nor did I want to hide. Rather, I started respecting and treasuring all the more those who were throughout besides me in these unfortunate times no matter what. And then I decided lets “Leave Footprints on the sands of time”.

Yet another gush of emotions I felt was in the face of acceptance of the fact that how society has long demeaned women and have pre-decided their boundaries from the day they were born. And if you decide to over-step these “Lakshman-Rekhas” created, you have exposed yourself to the barbaric world and are immoral for sure if not unholy. The movie Caterpillar lays out one such example and shoves conservatism straight in the face. Lieutenant Kurokawa serves the right-wing parties and rapes the women on his way claiming them as the spoils of war. But once he comes back home mutilated, the desire to dominate still doesn’t seem to leave him which can be easily seen in his sexual intimacy with his wife. He seems to force again himself on her with aggression when all she does is take care of him, feed him and carry out all other “duties” that a woman is bound to carry out for her man. Well, in this case, he is the “War-Lord”. Many-a-times have I seen this in my surroundings, silently closed my eyes and kept quiet because this is how the system has trained me till date. My mother used to feed us, wash our clothes, clean our mess and all I would do was to accept it as it is because its her duty. And why was not it supposed to be? Didn’t I fill in my school almanac “Housewife” against her occupation field! The pain and cries of the women in Invisible War even more made me question the system I have been brought up in. There are facts and then there are beliefs. When and how did I start accepting, or when did my mother start accepting that she has to subdue to my father’s wills. Or when did I justified the sad reality that dress modestly else you can get molested, or worse raped! I was mere 10 years old when every morning while going to the school a man used to swiftly pass by pulling my skirt from the small gaps under my rickshaw. At that time, I didn’t even know how to behave or react. Though I knew something was not right- something that stopped me was the thought that how will I explain it to others or come out in the open. Maybe I am overthinking and wrong about my feelings! Well, now I know the reason to all these questions. The system had trained me to come to consensus with the supremacy of male gender who considers women as objects meant to be fu**ed.

When was I immodest in my simple school tunic, or where did I go wrong when I used to follow the Catholic principles in my missionary school? But in the image of Father Amaro, I received an answer to the same as well. Why is there the need to depress the bodily desires and preach in the name of religion the things which you can’t follow. Humans, so petty they are! They lead sad, depressing and meaningless lives. All they need is a religion to back them up and fulfil the void in their lives. But thousands of wars are being fought under the name of same religion and not to mention countless women get grilled under the expectations that the system imposes on them. Who’s responsible for it? But, yet again if you have power and hold a reputable position in the society, no-one will question you. Rather the voices against you will be silenced at the hands of the mob itself who want to stay in their safe, comfortable cocoons around them. Similar thing was seen in the smile of Gomez in “The Secret in their Eyes” that in its entirety meant that he is untouchable. No matter who he rapes, no matter who he kills, he is the hitman of the right-wing conservatist party and is bound to walk free as he is indispensable to the system; The system that can silence anyone, crush voices and indulge in anything to protect itself and its “ideologies”.

The manner in which the glory of war is demystified and we are exposed to this grim reality of the war, something which physically and psychologically transforms you, is shocking. The idea that the movie Caterpillar and Invisible War highlights is something that stays out of the green light and is something which the system won’t let you talk about. Lost in these wars are the futures of countless children who have witnessed it in their surroundings, suffered losses of their near and dear ones and felt pain which is unexplainable for them. But more than this what I am worried of is the loss of Innocence. At small ages they have seen things which shall scar them for years to come. The character of Chava in “Innocent Voices” brings it in light how these children constantly live in fear of death and even are hesitant to openly discuss on the idea of birthdays as that brings them closer to the D-day, when their childhood officially ends. In Baran as well, the same issue is highlighted as the plight of Afghans who live in Iran as refugees is pictured out. Feelings such as first love, innocent emotions- all get eroded under the idea of things that are beyond their control and they can’t even understand them. The mere thought gives me chills down the spine if today in my cosy surroundings I think of the continuous terror under which the children in Kashmir are living. How difficult life has become for them under the whims and fancies of a selected few who are staying true to their beliefs and justifying their actions throughout in the name of Nationalism.

It’s a common saying that “All is Well that Ends well”. As I end this piece, I don’t want to be true to the system and the common beliefs where everything is rosy and turns all fine. Rather I wish to confront myself and accept that there are insurmountable pains that lie under the lies that are spoken and preached. There’s a propaganda that is followed by those who are in power and its they who decide the rules to play their game. Amidst all this, An Affair of Love gives me hope. A woman putting out an idea of string-less and pornographic affair was more than a bold step. It challenged the beliefs where identity has to be put on such women & an affair of gossip for all those witnessing it. It was erotic and had its charm at the same time. Similarly, the tale of Yossi and Jagger was moving in the sense that their love was pure and Yossi articulated it as Jagger “died in his arms”, a phrase and scene which is defines tragedy in an ideal girl-boy movie story. It was heart-breaking and sad to find Yossi lamenting his loss as in the funeral he sings Jagger’s favourite song. Last but not the least, the character of Nora in “The Divine Order” stands for women’s liberation and freedom as she fights her way against the social norm to make a place for herself in the society. The day all these emotions shall be respected, and unheard voices given an ear, can we expect an uprising against the system.

#afmatthew #iimk #change

0 notes

backseat-imagines · 7 years

Note

Are asks open? Sorry if it's not you can delete this sorry. But how bout a h/c or a ficlet about ignis' s/o discovering ignis' injury/blindness after the fight with leviathan? ;; ꒰⁎′̥̥̥ ⌑ ‵̥̥̥ ꒱

This took awhile to do, but I went ahead and made a fic and I think I got a little carried away with this! (It’s a long one so it’s staying under the readmore)

High Tides

Word count: 3027

Things were really going to the dogs in Altissia.

And you knew the exact moment it had as well.

Bright blue skies with barely a waft of fluffy whiteness rapidly turned dark and perilous storm clouds formed at an alarming rate.

Just as soon as the first drop of water touched down on your shoulder, the streets of Altissia quaked.

“The Tidemother has awoken…” You mumble.

Something about this was already giving you a terrible, sinking in your gut. You knew that Leviathan was going to be woken up, she had to be in order for the Oracle or the Prince to do anything.

And though you couldn’t see her, you figured the roaring that caused the quake was likely one of anger.

You already half expected a less than warm welcome from the Astral; Titan extended one out that left everyone with a massive headache, and you already read the old stories about what the Infernian had done. It seemed almost has if Bahamut’s light had left Eos- Ramuh so far seemed to be the only one that had an outward fondness. Something in your gut was telling you the Hydraean wouldn’t share that same fondness.

But your gut was also telling you to be afraid.

Another rumble, another roar. The wind picked up, the strongest you had ever felt it before, and nearly swept you off your feet.

The blood in your very veins began to run cold as you bolted off. There was no more you could do for the citizens of Altissia, you already escorted as many off to safety as you could. It was time to rendezvous back with the others.

Easier said than done.

The further you went through the streets the worse the sudden storm became. Rain turned heavy, and random street debris and foliage were being kicked up at you by the wind- a wet newspaper came slapping against your face and tightly clung until you pried it off. The tide of the water began to crashed over the the low streets and beat against the hard architecture, water still steadily rising.

Now there was no safe area down below that you could run. And that worried you. Not only did it cut off paths, but at the rate the water was rising you couldn’t help but to worry about one of the others getting caught in the flood.

“Please be alright, please be alright guys.” The words sequenced in a chant.

They were alright, they had to be. Every last one of you were strong and quick on your feet, you reasoned with yourself. No way any of you could just get swept up by a little storm…

But chants and self-assurances were nigh meaningless in a time like this.

Suddenly you heard something- not a roar but rather a voice. Loud and commanding; the Tidemother shouted in a tongue you couldn’t understand. But whatever she was saying must have been-

You had stopped running and stood in awe. The hair across your body began to stand up and an all too familiar tingle spread across as the goosebumps shivered you all over. Altissia began to crumble away at the very seams. Quite literally.

Buildings were being ripped apart in the far distance and the ruble slowly ascending and stayed floating in mid air. And other pieces were flung across and destroying other structures.

Such glory and such power… So the rumors of her powers were at least true.

Never before had you witnessed such a thing and it made your heart feel like it was sinking further down and against your spine as it’s beating quickened. Time was running out; you snapped yourself from the awe and pressed forward as fast as your feet could take you.

Soon thereafter, the cool rain began to pour down even harder. It already took no time at all to soak anything that was taken outside, but this time it came down fast and nearly as hard as hail and each pelt of a drop stung. And gods did the downpour become nearly blinding.

The further along you went the worse the situation was becoming. You managed to cross out of the main tourist attraction of the town and pressed further on back, long passed the arena and to the main portion of Altissia. Meaning now you were stepping in to where the buildings were crumbling- meaning now the wind was hurling rock and rubble and glass and metal towards you.

Between that and the downpour, it was far too dangerous to try and keep to what was left of the streets. Lest you get crushed, impaled or have shrapnel embedded into you, you ducked inside of the buildings that still remained to stand.

It was safer inside, though not by much.

The buildings still creaked and quaked and shifted, but at least now you could see.

However there was one problem that you had forgot about entirely-

“Shit… Damn it, of all the times!” You hissed through gritted teeth.

-Magiteck Soldiers.

Ready and poised to attack, the MTs stood in your way. Upon sight they unleashed a wave of bullets at you. And a few of the ones armed with blades charged in with no regards.

Calling forth your weapon, you fought your way with the first initial hoard. The MTs are weak, it doesn’t take much time. But the amount of time doesn’t matter because it’s all precious seconds going to waste.

And boy, the Nifs sure did love to waste time.

Room, hall and pathways were started to get just as flooded with MTs as the outside was with water. Even the upper streets, which you had just ran out to (back out of the fish tank and into the rapids; if there was any spot that had dried then it was back to being soaked). And it became clear to you that they weren’t just here to try stop the other two and Leviathan; They came to overtake Accordo.

You took up your weapon once more, cutting through soldier lines as you went forward. “Damn it! I don’t have time for all thi-”

“Hey Iggy!” Suddenly you heard a shout from just a little ways away, “This way!”

Was that-

Clang

Another sword swinging down and sparking against your weapon and interrupted your thoughts, and plans to chase after the voice. This time, the Soldier you were against seemed stronger than the rest you had fought, and your struggle of holding it’s blade off only served to bring you down on your knees, still trying to fight it away.

“Gladio!” You shouted, knowing it was his voice you heard.

Lord knows how badly you wanted to meet up, but you couldn’t. Six only knows how relieved you’d be if he, or one of the others, heard you and swung by to tear this thing off of you.

But there was no such thing.

You shouted again and again, and even once more. But your words fell on nothing and was carried off by the wind as easily as a leaf.

The grip you held on the weapon was starting to get shaky as your struggle was going down hill. This was bad… No way to shake it off without being hit, and no way to fling it’s weapon to the side and land a blow either.

Think… think…

If I move just right, I can back out of this… I might have to deal with a wound, but then I could still weasel my way out! I just have to-

No…

Two more MTs were stepping up behind the other.

There was no way you could escape from this now. Even if you deflected one now, the other two would be able to get you.

Your eyebrows shot up and your teeth grinded into a sneer. Everything you see speeds up, but you feel like a slug caught up in molasses. Your anxiety further rears up as you realize your failure has rendered you helpless and your doom is impending, and you can’t move away from the proverbial salt that you’re being swept into. And you couldn’t even so much as clench your eyes shut to brace for your fate- your eyes could only stare into the glowing red dots of eyes in the mask looming above.

This was it…

Or so you thought.

Before you could even realize what had happened, the MTs were swept off by serpents made of liquid and you were saved.

You weren’t entirely sure if what had happened was true, but by now you were thanking your lucky stars before going back to chasing after where you heard Gladio to be.

It wasn’t too hard to figure out where he, and likely Ignis, had been. All you had to do was follow the trail of MT remnants left behind, and sure enough you began to hear voices. But it had quickly became concerning when there was another crashing sound- another set of watery serpents tearing through the building all around you and you could hear them tearing away everything else.

The voices went from talking to shouting; Gladio called out for Ignis, and you could hear the sound of the sweet voice you had fallen in love with letting out an anguished cry. “I can’t- I can’t see. My glasses, Gladio… where are my glasses?”

Something was wrong and you knew it-

“Iggy! Gladio!” You cried out to them once more, hoping they’d hear this time.

-Couldn’t see? Without his glasses you knew Ignis could still see, still read, even if things had to be closer for him to be able to. His world was just a little blurry without them. But… “can’t see”? And the realization hit you; when those things tore through that something must have happened and-

Crunch

Kiriiiiiiik

Scrurnch

Creeeeeeeeeeeeak

Thw-ack

Those were the last sounds you heard before there was a sharp and hard pain in both your side and head and everything went black.

You woke up with a hard thumping in your head and a bright light shining in your eyes; it stung and eyelids kept trying to clamp back closed every time they opened a sliver.

Your body was stiff and the muscles ached as you moved to sit up. Tired and heavy, your limbs were, but there was a sensation especially sharp at your right side- lifting up the fabric that covered you, you saw reddened skin and stitches lining up.

For sure no elixir could solve this, you thought.

As bad as it might be to stand, you still couldn’t stand to just lay there in the bed like this. The stiff ache was bad enough that you knew it’d eventually drive you mad. All you had to do was be careful…

You moved yourself to the edge of the bed and stood up.

Looking and moving around, you were in a room entirely unfamiliar to you; clean, the room smelt of antiseptic and ocean air. Judging by what you saw looking out the window, you ventured to guess that you were still somewhere in Altissia.

At first you had wondered if it all was but a dream, but the aching in your side and the buildings that used to be in the distance which were now missing told you otherwise.

“So you’re up?” Softly spoke a low voice from behind you.

Quickly snapping around, you saw Gladio standing there. But the speed of your own movements stung and you lost balance. You managed to catch yourself from falling, but that didn’t stop Gladio from rushing to your side. “Hey be careful! You don’t want to open yourself up again.” He grabbed onto you, helping you stand back up right. “I’m fine Gladio. You just surprised me is all.” “Yeah, yeah, fine…” he scoffed, “So everyone keeps trying to tell me.”

Oh gods… that reminded you, “The others, how are the others doing? What happened? What went on?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” The big guy scratched at the back of his neck, “You still want to hear?”

You nodded, and allowed him to lead you back to the bed where you could sit and listen.

Everything turned out to be a bigger disaster than you could have ever even imagined. Leviathan herself wiped out a good chunk of the city (and you were thankful that you all had spent all that time busting your asses getting the townspeople out because you couldn’t imagine the toll otherwise).

Prompto suffered from some minor injuries himself, and apparently the adrenaline that had really got him going led him to crashing, so now he was now down and primarily resting. Noctis was found, and had yet to wake up. And The Oracle… There was no trace of her left anywhere, and you all had feared for the worst- if anything, perhaps Noctis knew what happened, but for now your hopes were low.

When it came to you, Gladio and Ignis had heard your call right before everything had been reduced to rubble all around you; by the time they found you, Gladio saw that you had been knocked out cold and with metal and stone firmly lodged in your side.

But then you had got him to start talking more about Ignis and… “Look, it’s pretty bad. I’m not going to say just how bad it is, I think it’d be best if you seen for yourself. Besides… With how he’s feeling, it might just be best for you to come by and talk with him after all. I mean, you two are an item, so maybe you of all people he’ll allow to help him out.”

Mostly a non answer and it left you a little on the dissatisfied side. You wanted the answer and you wanted it bluntly. But the fact that not even Gladio of all people would tell you… well, it left you feeling uncertain and wary.

Just how bad was it?

You wanted to know…

Walking was a tad difficult and it left your body feeling labored. If it had not been for Gladio’s presence, letting you lean on him whilst you moved, you might not have even made it to the room they had put Ignis in. But now that you were there, Gladio had left but not before muttering a ‘good luck’.

Rat-a-tat-tat

Your knuckles rapped against his door. No answer. You knocked again. Still nothing. Third time’s a charm. The first of the third set of knocks you finally heard his voice; exasperated and somewhat annoyed when he shouted for you to come in.

Nothing really could have prepared you for what you had saw when you came in.

Ignis sat there in a chair, cane by his armrest. Wounds covering over his face; at his lip and nose was the most mild, they would scar for sure but they wouldn’t be too bad, but the eyes… Both were terrible marred, a laceration going down the right one, and and the flesh at his left one was badly torn- angry, red and fending off infection. And the eyeballs themselves, from what little his lid were actually cracked open, were discolored and had gunk newly forming and needing cleaned away again.

“Oh Ignis…” you mumbled.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Ignis asked. He tilted and turned his head as if he was trying to find where you were.

“Yeah.” You sauntered over to him. The closeness gave you a better look at what happened to him (you own face starting to hurt in the same spots from sympathy pains). Reality was hitting you harder. You already had a suspicion he was blind on first glance, even the cane would have told you that, but seeing how it really was it was finally sinking in that this might be permanent. And that saddened you.

It also scared you. What did this mean for him? He wouldn’t be able to glance over the scenery that he loved and enjoy it like he once had. He can’t play detective in the ways he sometimes liked to. Won’t be able to see anyone’s smile- sometimes that was the only joy he could find in certain things. But most tragically of all, where does this take him in regards to his position and duty to Noctis, and the group as a whole? Surely he couldn’t fight, could he? Would he have to be left behind? Would you have the heart to even do it?

No.. you couldn’t…

“I’m right here, Ignis.” You say. Reaching down you took one if his hands into your own. Instinctively he grasped tightly back.

“You’re up… Good, I’m glad. How are you feeling, darling?”

“I’m… Okay. I’m as fine as I can be.” “Are you really? Gladio informed me of your condition. Needless to say I’ve been worried.”

“Yeah. I guess I took quite the beating, but I’ll live. I’ve been taken care of. Some stitches, but that’ll heal in no time.”

“That’s good I suppose.”

“But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” He quickly snaps. But his eyebrows quickly knit together and his lips drop into a frown, “I’m sorry, love… I didn’t mean to-”

Clearly this was already a sore subject for him, “It’s alright.” You assure him.

You stayed there with him, soothingly stroking over his hands. It was about all you could do. You couldn’t even find words to say to break the silence. But you didn’t have to- he did.

“As you can see… I can not.”

“Yeah, you were got pretty good there.”

“Indeed.” He sighed, “You don’t have to worry about it though.”

“Oh?”

“Though I may be blind now, they tell me there’s a chance that I might get my sight back. Even if some of it.” He said.

A chance. Just a chance. You wanted guarantees, not chances. A chance he might means there’s still chance he won’t. Knowing that luck had not been on anyone’s side lately, you were already fearing that he wouldn’t. But… that was something you were going to keep to yourself, “I guess we’ll just have to hang on to that hope then!”

#FFXV #Scenario #Ignis #hey now one of my fics has a fancy name! alright #we moving on up now!#but yeah that took awhile to do #and I tried adjusting my style a little bit just to see how that went #but I hope this is satisfactory

19 notes · View notes