#but manages to get like a vessel or something and is trying to tempt someone to release him.... (

[stolememory]

I think a lot about Moras abilities, the fact he can literally erase another Prince all on his own (others agreed but it sounded like he did all the work), and if I'm right about him stealing a sphere or more of it....

What's to stop him or worry of him deciding that he deserves all the sphere of secrets, or deals, or given how mortals go mad in apocrypha suddenly wants madness?

I'm not saying he would, I'm saying why wouldn't others be worried? Of course they don't have the memories now to spurr that worry but.... if / when they return, and if the stealing of sphere was not spoken in arrangement of erasure / mora never told the whole truth of his plan... and given Moras greed and habits of hoarding....

I wouldn't be surprised of a situation where the Princes decide Mora actually a threat and do something about it. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened.

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 7

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Strong allusions to/descriptions of to Self h@rm. bl00d, swearing, general 18+ content but nothing way too explicit this chapter. Some slightly fluffy vibes as a break from all the shit because my boy has been through it.

“Have you forgotten, my Vessel?”

“No.”

“Does it tempt you? The light?”

“Not as such. The light hurts my eyes, and there is no music in it. I cannot be somewhere where music is not.”

“You do well. Stay in the dark, my pretty voice. And wait for my words.”

“Yes…”

It’s not a dream. But at the same time, he’s not awake. He’s locked in the space between his mind and his eyelids; a dark place where he can’t move or think beyond the words coming out of his mouth, words that don’t even feel like his own. And yet here there’s a strange sort of peace here; a foreign, fearless, silence of his thoughts. He knows his purpose when he’s here.

“Yes…” his lips form the word over and over. He’s glad he’s finally found the point of having his mouth; to create the word and know that in this void, he is approved of because of it.

Suddenly there’s eyes in the dark. They’re blue as glaciers and round as planets and for a second he feels his Eden being invaded. Then the vision suddenly vanishes, and in its place is sunlight.

And a headache.

A splitting, horrible headache.

He blinks a few times to get the world into focus, and suddenly realizes that someone is standing directly over him. He barely has a second to process the enormous blue eyes blinking down at him before the person turns their head and yells out of the room, “guys! He’s wakin’ up, guys!”

It’s the drunk drummer he met at the bar.

Vessel tenses, fingers clawing the blanket now half on the floor and pulling it up over his bandaged chest. He’s still blinking, trying to figure out if last night's events were real and, if so, where the hell he is, when a second person comes into the room. He looks more put together than anyone he’s seen so far, leaning against the doorframe with a calmly curious look on his face. He eyes Vessel slowly, smiling politely when their eyes meet.

“Goodmorning.” He says.

Vessel is starting to feel enormous sympathy for every bug he’s ever uncovered and examined when flipping over garden stones.

There’s dusty sunlight pouring in through the window frames, bathing both him and the tiny living room/music room/three men live here and it shows room. And the big blue eyes of the drummer are still on him, hovering about two feet away and waiting patiently for him to do something.

“Hello.” Is what he manages.

“Damn, you’re a bit busted huh mate?” The drummer says, eyes sympathetic now as he swipes his unruly hair. “Not great.”

“No, not great.” Vessel has to agree. He still hasn’t moved. “Um, II, right?”

The drummer smiles. “Nice memory! Good on you, man. IV, come introduce yourself.”

the guitarist shrugs off of the doorframe, wandering over casually and nodding down at the man on the couch.

“IV.” He says.

Vessel nods awkwardly, trying not to stare at the very noticeable sling around his shoulder. But the guitarist obviously notices his inner turmoil, because he instantly waves him off. “aye, I’ve got a break from practice for a few weeks, I’m grateful. If III tries to blame you though tell him he’s crazy, it was my clumsy ass.”

Before Vessel can reply, another voice fills the room.

“Don’t try and make him feel better.”

All eyes suddenly turn to the doorway, where a now familiar figure is standing, messy hair pulled back in a knot and an enormous steaming mug in his hand. His robe hangs loose off his angular frame.

He just hovers there, eyeing the space between II and Vessel like at any moment the caffeine might kick in and he’ll jump for it; ready to tear the half-living singer a new one if given any reason. Vessel takes the warning and doesn’t so much as breathe too deeply.

Meanwhile, II sits down beside him without a fear in the world.

“Sorry you had to put up with III as a nurse.” He laughs, folding his hands in his lap. “One time I tripped on the step and sprained my damn ankle, and he had to carry me bridal-style back inside. Grumbled the whole way, then just fucking dumped me here too.” He gestures at the sofa and the man currently trying to shrink himself on it, a laugh still on his lips. He glanced back at III. “didn’t even make me soup.”

“I can’t fucking make soup.” The bassist says, gripping his mug with ring-decorated fingers- a few of the stones Vessel recognizes, some of the fatter rocks and symbols he doesn’t- and taking a long swig. “And if you didn’t get soup, there’s no way he is. We’ll probably have the cops beating down the door any fucking second looking for his busted ass.” He glares at Vessel, making eye contact sharp enough to cut new stripes into his skin. “Time to head out, bruv.”

A sudden flush of embarrassment climbs up Vessel’s chest, turning his bloodless cheeks pink as he blinks back. He feels practically naked right now; wearing his emotions on his face and a pair of baggy black sweatpants low on his hips. And the increasing certainly that he’s incapable of walking doesn’t exactly make him feel safe right now, either. Who are these people? Why are they held up in a cabin in the woods, and how much goddam witchcraft have they been doing up here? For all he knows, they could be in league with Venus. Is the voice in his head something they conjured up?

Silence!

The command rips through his brains like a bullet. He winces, scrunching his eyes as a gasp leaves his mouth. A gentle hand grabs his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright mate?” II asks, eyes searching his miserable face.

“He’s not going anywhere.” IV says, blinking down at the sight. He turns back to III, who himself even looks a little concerned at the way Vessel is shaking.

“He’s got no strength in him, man. I’m gonna make some fuckin breakfast, then we can talk.”

The guitarist walks past his friend in the doorway, sliding into what must be the kitchen.

“Fine.” III says, passing his mug between his two hands and tapping painted nails on the porcelain. “But if the cops show, one of you two is answering the fuckin door.”

And just like that he leaves, turning back down the hallway and closing himself up in the same bedroom he’d got the sweatpants from.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” II says, trying to look understanding as the trembles in Vessel’s shoulders settle and he gathers his breath, blinking his eyes back open to the world. “Whatever happened to you, you can tell us or not. ‘Matters is, you’re fine now, eh? IVy’s gonna cook something up, then you can just hang around long as you need. Make some music.”

The idea of singing feels like it hasn’t crossed his mind in millennia, much less doing it for them. But there’s a strange comfort in the way the drummer looks at him with those big, soft blue eyes.

He manages a grin, and nods.

Meanwhile pots are starting to clang in the next room, the smell of eggs wafting into the dusty parlor like a sign from god.

• • •

He remembers the feel of the carpet beneath his feet. The way his shoulder collapsed against the wall, rattling the picture frames smiling down at him.

“…m,mom?”

He remembers clutching his wrist, seeing double as something seeped dark and thick from between his fingers. He didn’t mean for there to be that much.

“M…mom!”

Her silhouette filled the end of the hallway, casting a shadow down to him. Her face went white as a ghost.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded, hurrying to him. She wrenched his arm off of his chest, a horrified gasp leaving her lips.

“Jesus Christ, how did that happen? Did you do this on purpose?!”

“It was an accident.”

“You’re fucking thirteen. You know not to play with knives, fucking hell…”

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed. His heart was gonna beat out of his chest. He was dying.

Her hands felt cold on him, prying at his fingers around the warm blood to get a better look.

“Get into the bathroom right now.” She ordered. She sounded like she might cry too, but not now- she always did her crying later.

“And stop crying.” She said, ushering him down the hallway. “You’re gonna wake up your sister.”

“I’ll do it.” II says, reaching an arm across Vessel. IV takes the salt shaker from his friend's hand and nods his thanks.

Vessel shakes from the daydream, shoving his arms underneath the table. The sleeves of II’s hoodie barely go past his wrists.

“Huh?”

“That bandage coming loose on your head?” III asks, picking at his steaming pile of eggs and toast. “IV was talking to ya.”

“Sorry.” He says, reaching for his own fork. The sleeve slides up his arm again and he tugs it back down with an age-old instinct, trying to politely search for a bite.

“What was that?”

“Just asking for the salt.” IV says, trying to smile at him. Though the thing comes out looking pretty full of pity. “Hey, how’re you feeling now, mate?”

Truthfully, he feels like he might throw up any minute. But at least the imminent threat of passing out seems gone.

“I could use a cup of tea.”

III’s face seems fixed in a permanent look of distaste, but he doesn’t say anything as II jumps up from the little round table and heads to the counter, filling the kettle from the tap. “Oh, fucking me too!” he says, bringing that same endearing enthusiasm into every word he says. Vessel’s heart flutters a bit at the man’s eagerness; when was the last time someone made him tea?

“Pick your poison, Vess.” He says, turning on the stove and reaching for a little decorated box beside the sink. “We’ve got Earl Grey, English Breakfast… and this funky Jasmine Rose one III got. Tastes a bit ass, honestly. Not good with milk and sugar.”

III shoves a forkful of eggs into his face and rolls his eyes. “Anyone who needs milk and sugar to enjoy tea doesn’t get a damn opinion.” He’s very blatantly avoiding Vessel’s face now, just glances at IV as II chuckles and pulls out two bags of English breakfast. “IV, you like it don’t you?”

The guitarist just smirks, taking a slow sip of his creamy coffee. His eyelashes flick down to Vessel, who’s currently fumbling with only his third bite of food. “No comment.”

“What?! I thought you liked it, I fully got another fucking box in my bag, man! You were slurping it down the other morning during practice.”

IV shrugs, seemingly content when a fourth bite passes Vessel’s lips. “Felt good on my throat… Still tastes shit.”

“You sing?” Vessel suddenly asks, surprised to hear his own voice. He sits up straighter, casting his eyes to the man beside him.

Suddenly II starts laughing behind III, clinking a lid down on a pretty brown teapot. “not like you, he doesn’t.” He says, eyes twinkling in the steam. “He screams. I swear to god, if we had neighbors they’d be scared shitless. At least the squirrels don’t seem to mind.” He pulls two mugs from the cupboard and sets them down. “I think they’ve made him their banshee leader.”

IV’s laugh is deep and soft, filling the little kitchen with even more warmth than the sunlight streaming in. “I can sing normal, too.” He swipes his hair out of his eyes, taking another sip of his drink. “ jus’ not as fun.”

“Aye, not so loud.” III says. And now his eyes dart to Vessel’s, gluing him down. “We’ve got a soft tenor in the room.”

Vessel’s eyes go a shade darker. He doesn’t peel them off of the bassist across from him.

“I can scream.” He says.

IV seems intrigued, though both he and II seemed fixed on the tension between the singer and bassist. “Oh? You like to fry?”

Vessel swallows. “Sometimes.” He says, breaking eye contact only long enough to take the mug II offers him. He mumbles a thank you.

“But I like it deeper, goes better with my songs.”

“You’ve gotta sing for us at some point, mate.” IV says. “That performance you gave at the bar was something else, but if you’re serious about it, you can’t hold out on us. We could harmonize.”

“Maybe.” Vessel’s eyes go a little wide as II tips a jug of milk into his tea, stirring a mound of white sugar into the mix like a true Englishman.

“Maybe later.” The tea scalds down his throat, but the taste is a comfort all the same. His tongue darts out across his lips and he rolls them awkwardly, uncertain how much longer he can take the eyes of the bassist on him. He forces a chuckle. “Not sure if III would uh, like that.”

“You kidding?” II says, smiling contentedly after a long sip of his nearly completely white tea. “III loved your singing, said it was the best voice he’d ever heard! Your pitch could go so well in a heavier mix, and he was about ready to play a riff for you right then and there when I found him before our show.” He doesn’t seem to notice how red III’s face is turning, instead smiling over at IV, who seems more than amused. “If shit hadn’t gone down on our set, I think III woulda hauled you up on the stage with him in a heartbeat.”

Vessel is speechless. There’s no way III actually liked his voice. Although, there was the healthy gap between his performance and the black eye he received for the man to have had second thoughts on the scrawny kid and his fucked up keyboard. Vessel’s wide eyes go straight to his lap, any and all words escaping him as III turns progressively redder across from him.

“Isn’t that right, III?” The drummer asks, now potentially aware of the effect his words have. He’s grinning too big. “Didn’t you say you wanted to hear him sing with some bass?”

“Bass can level up any performance.” III says, planting his elbows on the table. His hair falls into his face as he looks down to pick at his chipped nail polish. “But it’d be better with an actually good scream.”

“Don’t worry.” Vessel says, something brave stirring in his chest now that he’s got a sudden vantage on the man who’s been pushing him around like a trolly ever since they’ve met.

“I can scream loud enough, for you.”

The imminent silence is interrupted as II chokes violently on his tea.

[slithyt0ves]

What if Ed and the crew that are left on the Revenge raid a ship in the middle of the night. It's pitch black out, the stars are hidden behind the clouds, and the moon is a fresh sliver of light. Ed and crew are swift and silent, ruthless and efficient. The only sound in the darkness is the creak of boards beneath booted feet. Where is the crew of this little merchant vessel? Where is their lookout? If Ed took the time to puzzle it out, he might notice the plethora of empty bottles of booze scattered about the deck, or the colorful patchwork bunting falling from its place among the sails, or the tattered bit of cloth upon which someone had painted the words, "Happy Birthday Buttons". But Ed doesn't notice, because none of that matters. It's just a shitty little merchant ship, like a hundred before it, and he just wants to get this over with so Izzy will shut the fuck up and he can go back to the Revenge and sleep. Or drink. Or throw his knife at the bookshelves. Fuck ever, he just wants this to be done.

So Ed is making a beeline for the Captain's cabin, and then he's opening the door and he's slipping in silently, and fuck, it's dark in here. He can hear snoring coming from the bed nook and he makes his way toward the sound, moving slowly because shit, he really can hardly see. A little moonlight would be nice, just so he could be sure he wasn't about to run into a fucking trunk or something, and almost just as he thinks it, his thigh bumps into something hard. Wooden. Desk. There's a map on it, and a quill, and a ledger, and a dark candle that's been burned almost to the quick. And books. A stack of books. Ed continues on, fingers brushing a well-appointed chair with some soft bit of clothing draped across the back. Silk, he thinks, or cashmere, but that thought is painful and his mind skitters away from it, focusing instead on the couch ahead (with a little table stacked with books beside it) and some shape that's difficult to make out even though his eyes are adjusting to the dark, maybe a vase? Some fancy ass vase? He's tempted to scoff but restrains himself, and then promptly kicks over a stack of books that's just sitting there on the fucking floor, nearly tripping himself, and the urge to curse is so great it kind of feels like his head is going to explode but he still manages to hold his tongue and his breath. There is silence in the aftermath of his near tripping. The hairs on his arms stand at attention. He feels weird. A sort of eerie confusion. And it takes several fast heartbeats for him to understand why. Silence. It is silent in the cabin. No boots above, no snores within. And just as the thought registers, there's a fierce tug at the back of his shirt and the cold weight of a knife at his neck.

"Drop your weapon or bleed." It's a voice so familiar that for several frantic moments, Ed's heart refuses to beat. When it finally crashes back into rhythm, it is so haphazard that Ed remains simply stunned. Any other time, if someone had gotten the drop on him like this, he’d have slipped free and attacked like it was nothing. But just now he is completely flabbergasted, and all he can do is stand there in silence, trying to understand how a dead man can be holding a knife to his throat. Edward drops his knife.

“Good, now, we’re going to walk over to that desk and have a seat in the chair there, do you see it?” The voice is calm. Reasonable. Ed should be fighting, but that voice seems impossible for his shocked mind to ignore, so he allows himself to be prodded forward on numb legs. His brain scrambles to catch up to what his senses are telling him; the voice, the fancy shit, the lovingly folded dressing gown, the fucking books! Stede! His mind is screaming. This is unacceptable. He should be swirling around to face his attacker, knocking the knife from his fumbling fingers, thrusting it deep in his chest... But it seems all he can do is think Stede Stede Stede Stede Stede–

They reach the desk chair; Ed prepares himself to be shunted down into it, when the cabin door flies open with a bang so loud it seems to echo. “Captain, no!” Several voices shout at once, and Ed’s confusion and the overwhelming sense of unreality are nearly doubled. Tumbling through the doorway are several people. All familiar faces, though some he hasn't seen in quite a while. Oluwande, Jim, Lucius and Black Pete. As they rush into the room, Ed can just make out Buttons and Wee John in the dark of the deck beyond. He feels the pressure of the knife ease slightly, as though his attacker is having second thoughts. Now! Part of him screams. Now, now is your time, get him now! Then he hears that familiar voice again, shocked, shaking, breathless.

“J-Jim? Lucius? How– what–” And the knife falls from Stede’s trembling fingers and hits the floor with a clatter. The others are watching him and Stede with a mixture of breathless fear and joy that is very difficult to look at, so Ed keeps his eye on the knife on the floor. Then he feels a touch, almost a pat, tentative, soft, wondering, upon his hair. There is a sharp intake of breath from the man behind him, who has apparently fucking finally managed to put two and two together. Last chance then, Edward.

He dives after the knife, barely managing to snatch it before Jim, who has apparently realized only a moment too late that of course Ed would go for the fucking knife. He manages a clumsy swipe at Jim, not really trying to hit them, just stave them off. Then Ed, on his knees now, spins around to face the dead man who’d gotten the jump on him.

Stede is wide eyed and open-mouthed with shock, and apparently frozen with it as well, because he doesn't even flinch when Ed slams the chair into his midsection as hard as he can, sending him crashing to the floor with a small cry of “Ed!” Then Ed is leaping over the chair and landing on top of him, straddling his chest, one hand fisted in the front of Stede’s shirt, the other clutching the knife, drawn back and high to strike. There are shouts and the sound of more boots pounding, but Ed doesn't hear any of it over the rush of blood in his ears. Stede. Stede Stede Stede this is Stede. No, Stede is dead. Dead. Stede is dead. No, Stede is here. Stede is alive. He’s dead. He’s alive. He left you. He came back.

Stede’s eyes remain fixed on Ed, and he can see Stede’s lips moving but doesn't know what he's saying. He watches Stede slowly reach out and rest his hand on the hand that Ed has wrapped in Stede’s shirt. His other hand remains at his side, even though Ed is still on top of him, still has the knife clenched in his fist and raised as high as he can to strike. Stede is still fucking talking. Of course he is, he is Stede, after all. Ed sees that tears are streaming from the corners of Stede’s eyes and pooling around the tiny hairs of his sideburns. Then Stede’s face begins to blur as tears fill Ed’s own eyes, and he feels a surge of fury. No. He’s cried enough for this man. He will not cry anymore. At least not where Stede can see it. He doesn't dare blink. Stede’s lips are still moving. Ed can feel the others hovering behind him, no doubt ready to grab his arm should he decide to bring the knife down and bury it the dead man's chest. Finally, whatever war has been raging within Ed subsides enough that he can finally hear what Stede is saying, but the words are like a canon blasting into the middle of a ceasefire, and they send Ed surging to his feet. He turns, and whether his face is enough to scare the others out of his way, or the knife is, he doesn't know. But as he storms out of the cabin and across the deck to a dinghy that will take him back to The Revenge, no one tries to stop him.

Hours later, when Ed is good and drunk and worn out from crying and from Lucius, Jim and Frenchie trying to argue with him, Stede’s words are still reverberating through his mind.

“Ed, oh Ed. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

[haysgrove]

i need.

i need more info on this au.

patton bouta commit crimes.

virgils dead.

i need more

ok so im gonna put what i have abt the au under the cut

trigger warning about death, murder, and suicide mention

ok so the little bit i have of story is that Remus goes ghost hunting for fun until one day he finds a jacket and he thought it was cool so he just took it. But unbeknownst to him, that jacket works as a vessel of sorts for Virgil's soul, who has died 6 months ago.

Long story short Remus and Virgil kind of become friends and Rem is now always holding onto that jacket to talk to Virge

One day Remus sees a missing poster of Virgil, so hes kind of trying to see who is putting thrm up. He doesnt dare to call the number because what is he gonna say? ''oh yea hes dead lmao''? no thanks

Some time passes and Rem is walking down the street until someone straight up punches him in the face and demands to know where the fuck he got the jacket that he was wearing. And thats how he meets the person who was putting up the posters; Patton

After talking things through, Rem and Pat manage to become friends, mostly because Patton didnt have anyone to vent about Virgil going missing for 6 months because no one seemed to care about him other than Pat. But Remus was more than happy to listen.

Remus is willing to make himself look like hes insane and feels very tempted to tell Patton that he can see ghosts, Virgil's ghost. He tells Virge about this but Virge is quick to shut him down, once Rem asks him why, he says something among the lines of ''Remus. Im DEAD. Hes gonna be devastated'' But Rem manages to convince him ''Look if MY best friend went missing for 6 months id rather know that he, in fact, died, rather than just not knowing what the fuck happened to him for the rest of my life''

So, Rem tells Patton. And he actually seems to believe him, much to Remus' surprise. He leaves the jacket in Patton's bed and lo and behold, Pat manages to see Virgil again

Patton just glares at him. There no emotion in his face and Virgil is fucking terrified of it. Until he just. starts sobbing. He hides his face and just stands there. The fact that his best friend is dead just dawning on him. Virgil tried to kind of cheer him up by singing a song both of them used to love, but Patton just moves away. So Virgil throws a couple of jokes about what happened and Patton gets MAD

And Virgil just stand there, in silence, listening to everything Patton has to say. And once hes done, Virgil shoots him with the ''Well IM the one who got killed so how do you think i feel?'' And Pat goes ''What the fuck are you talking about? you killed yourself!''

And Virgil is fucking LIVID and asks Patton why the fuck would he think that he would ever kill himself. And Pat, also being absolutely livid, takes out a pendrive and shoves it on Virgil's face, telling him that theres pictures of them over the years, a playlist of all of Virgil's favorite songs, and a suicide letter in there

And after seeing Virgil and Remus' shocked faces, and hearing Virgil tell him that he did NOT make that pendive with a trembling voice, it dawns on Patton that his best friend was fucking murdered

[animeyanderelover]

💕Can I request all the senjus,orochimaru,shisui and itachi with a s/o who managed to make themselves immortal with out consequences and they did it without experimenting but they can make other people immortal but people keep trying to kidnap them for it,also they don’t age anymore?💕

This is what pretty much Orochimaru’s dream is.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, kidnapping, manipulation, clinginess

Immortal s/o

Hashirama Senju

🌳He is quite the more supporting and encouraging person. But in this situation even he finds himself a bit unsure how to feel. Your jutsu is quite amazing and something marvelous, but Hashirama is someone who wants to spend his whole life with his darling and die later on when both of them are grey and old together, that is his dream. But with you who stopped aging long ago and will never die, this is something impossible. The clan has definitely a huge interest in you, even though they are aware that your ability will end up being terrifying if it goes into the wrong hands which is why the Leaf guards you very observingly, not wanting to risk that a rival village gets their hands on you. If their strongest shinobi would be made immortal, that would end in a catastrophe. Hashirama himself makes sure that even in his own village no one plans on abusing your powers.

🌳I do not think that Hashirama would force you to either make him immortal nor to somehow tell you that you should try to stop your powers and start aging again. Not like he won't try to convince you to eventually consider finding a way to stop being immortal and instead settle down and live with him. Given the fact that are immortal, you might lived longer than he did and for that have knowledge he and his clan do not possess which is why you're treated from the Senju and the whole village really respectfully, if they need advice they will go and ask you. Hashirama can also only do this much and so he grows more clingy since he knows that he will die whilst you will live. And so he wants to be able to have a place in your heart for all the time to come and alongside with his brother and future generations, he trusts you to protect the Leaf Village once he dies. Even if his darling is immortal, he still wants to marry them since he is traditional.

Tobirama Senju

🌊Despite him being the harsher and much more intimidating and blackmailing guy from all the Senju, he has a rather simple dream as well. He wants to marry his darling and live with them together and one day die. And his dream is messed up with all of this as well and he is quite irritated by the knowledge that you made yourself immortal. On the one hand Tobirama is eager to invent new jutsu himself so from that perspective this is beyond fascinating, a wish many people before him had and tried to work on. But in a way this is honestly way too mocking for him as well because even if his darling might have to endure harsher lessons with him, they might honestly have the relieving thought that he will die one day anyways and then they're free. It is angering because it is true and depending on how old they are, they might nag him because of his behavior and he won't be able to say much against it since he knows they have more experience than him in life.

🌊This might be an advantage you have against him next to the whole being immortal thing. He will start being more respectful once he finds out how old you really are. He literally can not help it and that is why he sometimes, under the risk of his pride, asks you for some advice. He doesn't really want to be immortal either, even though he is more curious about it than his brother is. But what he has to do is always guaranteeing that you are under high protection because he know what terrible things your powers can do when being wrongly used. He might actually try to create a jutsu similar to yours because in a way you have been inspiring him. He also will end up marrying his darling. For starters he is a pretty traditional guy so marriage has a high meaning for him as well. Additionally he is not willing to let you that easily get away with your long life, he is possessive. He just kind of wants to set a mark on you for as long as you're part of the Leaf.

Orochimaru

🐍You have literally achieved what he has been trying to complete his whole life time without even having to experiment on anything and it is thrilling for him. No wonder he is after you as soon as he has heard the rumors, being in his way fervent about it and his obsession starts before he has even met you in person. And oh, he will hunt his darling down, no matter where he has to go and who he has to kill. He wants that jutsu and that talent who created it and no one will stop him. Not going to lie, at the beginning he is a bit salty, mostly because he feels like he has been beaten since you didn't even have to use anyone, you just had pure skill. But whilst he might have lost this, he still can owe the person who had the skills and intelligence and since he will totally force you to teach him that power and make him immortal as well, you might be stuck with him forever if you do so. And the bad part here is that if you don't, he will have no problems torturing you or using you as his next vessel.

🐍You're immortal, so it's not like you will die and he takes advantage of that if you refuse to lend him a hand. If you do help him, he will show his gratitude in a rather odd way, but it's better than his sadstic side. He simply keeps you, that much has to be said already. He can't effort to lose a talent like you, the experience not even to mention. His darling becomes his very special treasure who helped him earning immortality and in return he offers them a place to stay and protection. He knows that everyone wants to have that sort of abilities and he gets rid of all of them all to gladly, he won't let anyone dare to take his special underling away from him. He just always has you tagging along with him. Sasuke gets kind of interested as well since you are indeed powerful and you might as well get close to him since he is together with Kabuto and Orochimaru the only person you will see for a long time. Depending on how long you are already alive, Orochimaru also wants to know pretty much all jutsu and other knowledge you might have.

Tsunade Senju

🐌She looks quite young for her age which comes from the fact that she uses a jutsu that makes her appear young, but she is just like everyone else. She ages and is bound to die one day. And Tsunade handles this maybe a bit worse than some others do. You gotta understand, she just thought that she finally found the one person she can manage to live together with the rest of her life only to discover that they will continue living forever. And to know that she might be only one of many to come and that she might be forgotten one day is truly not very pretty, it makes her a bit more desperate. At first she was probably scared that you used to do the same things Orochimaru did to reach your goal so she was definitely more at ease when hearing that you succeeded without having to go with such drastic methods. For that reason she refuses to let her old teammate find out about you, knowing that he will be after you if he hears that you're in the Leaf which would only give him more reasons to attack.

🐌Tsuna might find herself tempted by the thought to be made immortal from you and live for all eternity together with you, simply because she is possessive as well and wants to be finally happy with the person she loves after all her beloved people dying on her. She's not completely sure, she knows that being immortal can be as much of a curse as it can be a blessing. The the council from Konoha is quite possessive as well, knowing how valuable you are and so they might want to use your powers for more selfish reasons from time to time. This leads to arguments between Tsunade and them because she is often against such decisions, seeing that they plan on making use of you. But one thing they do agree on is keeping you save from all other forces who want you in their grip. Funnily you might be a part of the eldest yourself if you lived long enough which gives Tsunade an advantage since you are on her side and not that narrow-viewed like the other eldest are.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂At this point in his timeline his darling might as well be already part of the village or at the very least known everywhere in the hidden villages for their special jutsu which is why everyone is on some sort of hunt for them. Shisui himself honestly probably never really saw himself falling for someone who constantly dominates the spotlight like you do, maybe also because he thought, despite the fact that you look young, the age difference would make him view you more as a admirable sensei because being able to make yourself and others immortal without having to do experiments on humans needs skill and wisdom. Shisui also just knows that even if you like him as well, this is a completely impossible love since not only might the superiors forbid it, but he does not desire to be made immortal. He already knows that everyone dies sooner or later and given his job being ready to die is a must since he is constantly exposed to danger.

🍂It would only break your heart in the end which is why he kind of feels like it might be best if he stays silent about his feelings at first. He just focuses on protecting you from potential enemies who plan on kidnapping you and tries to be someone who can leighten your mood up a bit since he sympathizes that life for you must be quite tricky. If he does confesses to you because he feels like you really like him as well or you tell him you like him first, he might hesitate and voice his doubts, but can be more easily manipulated since he loves you. Shisui kind of knows that he might not be the last since he doesn't want to be made immortal and you might find after his death a new person you love. And he accepts that, he doesn't want his darling to be alone only because they can't die. But he can make sure that he leaves some sort of impression on you so you will remember him. He wants at the very least a special place in your heart.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡He did not kidnap his darling so he could have their jutsu for himself, he definitely didn't. He did it because he lost control over his emotions and given the fact that you are constantly being chased by other power-hungry persons, he got triggered too much because he knows that some will hurt you to get what they want since you can not die. And afterwards Itachi just has to be really careful so that no one will find out because you are no ordinary person. You are famous and a living legend for your achievement and it'll cause a huge motion if he is being sighted with you because everyone will know afterwards, including the Akatsuki and he can expect that Pain will definitely want you to be a part of his organization since you not only have a very gifted ability, but might also possess knowledge and forgotten jutsu from long time ago. And Itachi doesn't want to force you to live the same life as him, even if you can't be killed on such missions.

🍡Itachi knows that he doesn't have long to live anyways and he already accepted that fact, he has his plans in mind for this. So he knows he won't be there for too long to protect you from all the greedy and selfish people which is why he might plan on making Sasuke look after you once he dies and he tells you about this as well, even though he knows you can handle yourself very well on your own as well. He respects people who are older than him and for that reason he might be far more respectful to the s/o than he would be already and he isn't embarrassed about it. Similar to Shisui he also knows that after his death his darling might find someone else and he won't be angry with them for it. They shouldn't spend their whole life grieving over him since he wants them to be happy. The only person he might ever tell willingly about his darling is Kisame since he is next to his younger brother the only person he really trusts with his darling.

[yeenybeanies]

Slaying Monsters

i started this three months ago, and decided it was time to finish it. i’ve been wanting to write a piece with dev & some other gang members for a while now i didn’t proofread it yet don’t @ me

red dead redemption | charles smith & devin clarke ( oc )

3,728 words

language, blood, & animal death warnings

thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon | ko-fi

Unattended bags are always tempting to a borrower. It’s partly survival and partly curiosity that draws the little beings to bags and boxes and other such vessels that contain stuff. Ideally, that stuff would be useful. 

Such is Devin’s idea upon approaching a lone saddlebag. They’ve been watching it for a while now. It has remained unbothered and undisturbed atop a tree stump for over an hour. Surely there’s bound to be something good inside, what with the many members of the Van Der Linde gang constantly coming and going. And surely, whatever those contents may be, small amounts won’t be missed.

The coast is clear. The camp is preoccupied in tending to the daily duties; no one is paying the bag any mind. Devin makes a break for it, keeping low as they run through the grass, to the stump. They pause at the base and give the camp a quick look, pleased to see that no one has taken notice of their presence. For just a moment, they allow themself a prideful smirk, then they refocus on the task at hand: climb the stump and get in the bag. The former is hardly a challenge; deep cracks in the bark provide handholds enough that the borrower doesn’t need their hook or climbing equipment to scale it. Despite the strap and buckle keeping the bag shut, Devin is small enough to slip through a gap and reach the interior. 

The space is dark and cramped, but some light filters in through the gap they’d entered. The first thing Devin notices is the smell of leather and sweat, and fabric beneath their feet. Clothing. It’s best not to take anything from these; missing scraps from a shirt or a pair of pants would definitely be noticed. Deeper down, past the clothes, another smell becomes more prominent: something earthy and floral. That could be useful. Devin crawls through the mounds of fabric, navigating the musty space, until their hand brushes something soft. A bit more pawing around reveals it to be an umbel of little flowers. Intrigued, they grasp the stem and pull the plant into the light for better inspection. 

“ What the hell…. ”   White flowers, jagged leaves…. Devin scrunches their nose, confused. Is their plant identification knowledge failing them? Or is the owner of this bag an idiot? 

Pondering is short-lived. Footsteps approach from the outside––a human. Devin’s heart speeds up. They drop the plant and dive for cover within the clothes just as the bag is lifted. It sways in the air with the human’s long strides, most disorienting. When the swaying stops, the borrower remains hidden, knowing full-well that they are not safe yet. There’s an exchange of words overhead, a brief moment of stillness, and then the world starts tumbling. Devin clutches hard onto the clothing concealing them. Much to their chagrin, this particular jostling is painfully familiar. They’re on a horse. 

Somehow, being in a saddlebag is worse than being stuck under a hat. 

Fuck. 

Suppressing the sickening feeling in their stomach and the myriad of emotions swarming their brain, Devin fights against the horrible shaking and pushes their way out of the fabric folds. Climbing is significantly harder, but they still press on, going so far as to use their knife and hook for more purchase on the tough leather. Slowly but surely, they manage to reach the opening they’d initially climbed through and peek out. The wind whips and frays their hair and makes it difficult to see much of anything. They catch glimpses of the ground speeding below at breakneck speed, and at the horse’s white-and-grey spotted pelt. 

Most surprisingly, and to some relief, though, is the rider. The long, black hair and the big, sawed-off shotgun identify the man: “Charles!” 

Alas, their voice is unheard over the wind. Devin growls, frustrated, and retreats back into the relative safety of the saddlebag. There’s no use trying to get his attention right now. They’re just going to have to endure the bouncing and the shaking until he slows down. They can only pray that it’s soon.

———

Only an hour or so elapsed by the time the galloping slowed, though, to Devin, it felt like a lifetime. Despite their queasiness (courtesy of the bumpy ride), the borrower pushes free of the mountains of fabric and scrambles up the leathery interior, to the opening. They pause at the rim and focus on swallowing the bile in their throat, then, once it’s clear, level the back of the human’s head with a hard stare. 

They breathe in until their chest burns, and let out the loudest yell they can muster: “CHARLES!”  

The man jumps in his saddle and whips his head around, one hand to the shotgun on his hip. His eyes scan the horizon behind him, well over Devin’s head. 

“Down here. Hey!” They wave an arm, trying to ignore how foolish they feel. Even after months of being around Arthur, it still goes against everything they know as a borrower to flag down a human. 

Were the situation different—were Devin not currently fighting some ferocious nausea—they might find it comical how Charles’s expression changes. First he’s struck with recognition, eyes still on the horizon, and then the color in his face pales with realization and horror. Slowly, as if he were making every effort to delay the inevitable find, his gaze lowers to the gap under the saddle bag flap and the little borrower peeking out. 

“Devin?” It still takes him a moment to process their presence, and then he’s all but falling out of the saddle (much to his horse’s displeasure). After he’s got his feet on the ground and his balance under control, the man unbuckles the saddlebag lid and flips it open. The color is rapidly returning to his face in a heated flush. “M-Miss Clarke, I didn’t know you were—why are you in my bag?” His hand nears them, but Devin waves it off. 

“Don’t. I might puke. It’s a marvel that I haven’t already.” They try to suppress a shudder.  “I didn’t know this was your bag. I just saw it sitting back at the camp, untouched for some time. Thought I could get something useful.” 

Charles grimaces sympathetically and lets his hand come to rest on his horse’s flank. He isn’t thrilled to hear that someone was rummaging through his belongings for things to scavenge, but such behavior is to be expected from a borrower, he figures. It does make him feel a little better to know that Devin hadn’t been targeting him specifically. 

“I should take you back to camp. Arthur would kill me if something happened to you.” Never mind the berating Charles would give himself. He might not know Devin as well as Arthur does, but their charm is infectious. They are well on their way to having another human wrapped around their teeny tiny finger. 

“I’d like that. Eventually. But I don’t think I can take much more galloping right now. Riding in Arthur’s hat was better than riding in here.” The borrower leans over the leather with a quiet groan. The nausea is subsiding, albeit slowly. They do stiffen just a little when Charles lightly rubs a knuckle to their back, but the gentle pressure draws another, more content groan from their tiny lungs. 

“I'm alright,” they say after a minute. They glance up at Charles, offering him a weak but grateful smile, and then look to their surroundings. It’s not anywhere they recognize, but that’s not surprising. “So where are we going? ” 

“Well, I was going out foraging,” the man says. “Now that you’re here, though…” He trails off, uncertain. 

“Oh! Speaking of foraging–––” the borrower vanishes back into the bag, leaving Charles perplexed. Once they emerge again, they hold up a sprig of white flowers. “What the hell are you doing with this?” 

Charles squints at the plant, then raises his brow in realization. “You know what that is?” 

The surprise in his voice is a little insulting. Devin scrunches their nose. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Smith. I’ve lived in the wild most of my life. I know what water hemlock is.” 

He holds his hands up and offers an apologetic shrug. “That’s actually what I was going to forage for. I found some while I was out with Javier the other day, but I didn’t have time to collect more.” 

“Okay.”  Devin inspects the flowers, twirling the stem between their hands. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re going to do with it. Are you planning to poison someone? Is it that Micah guy?” 

That earns them a snort. If only. “No. I use it on my knives and arrowheads. That and oleander sage. Gives them an extra kick.” 

Devin frowns, just a smidge disappointed.  “I suppose that’s a good alternative use. I used to do the same with my knife when I could find hemlock.” They drop the sprig and watch it fall to the ground far below. “It’d be so easy to poison Micah though…” They say so only half-jokingly. 

“Don’t I know it.” Charles shares the sentiment, but he shakes his head. Much as he’d like to see that snake gone, it’s not his place to do anything about his presence. Yet. 

Now that the nausea has passed (for the most part), the borrower pulls themself from the bag and climbs up the saddle, making their way up to the seat. “I’m okay now,” they say. “We’ve already come this far. We might as well go get that hemlock. I can use it too.”

Charles looks a little uncertain, but when he opens his mouth to protest, Devin levels him with a hard stare that makes him think twice. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you ride up here with me?” he offers. “It’d probably be a bit smoother.” 

Smoother would certainly be welcomed. Devin nods and climbs onto the man’s hand when it’s brought down to their level. His skin is warm and rough, similar to Arthur’s hands. Unlike Arthur, though, he carries them with greater caution. Devin pats his thumb. 

“Relax. I’m not made of paper.”  

“Er… right.”  

They can’t fault him for his caution. Charles has significantly less experience handling Devin than does Arthur. If anything, it’s comforting to know that he is actively trying to keep them comfortable. 

He grabs the saddlehorn with his free hand and hauls himself up. First he brings them to his lap, and then, after thinking, lifts them higher to his shoulder, where they climb off. Devin sits just outside of his beaded necklace and takes a handful of his hair. 

“Is this going to bother you?” 

“No, it’s fine. Use what you need. Let me know if you start to slip.” 

Once he’s sure Devin is secure––as secure as they can be on his shoulder––he spurs his horse gently in the ribs. They set off at a slow canter, something a bit less bumpy than the gallop before. Charles is correct: it’s more comfortable riding on his shoulder than it was in the bag, if only a little bit. Devin resigns themself to the reality that they will likely never enjoy travel on horseback, but this is at least tolerable. 

Charles is silent for the most part, which doesn’t bother Devin. They find themself occupied looking at the scenery. From their usual vantage point on the ground, they don’t much get to appreciate views of mountains and trees and vast prairies. Even on the off occasion that they hitch a ride on Arthur’s person, they often take to hiding in his scarf, thus dashing any chances of catching the view. 

Despite the ride’s discomfort, Devin finds themself enjoying this. They are grateful, though, when Charles tugs the reins and brings the horse to a gradual stop. He spares them a glance when they sigh. 

“You doing okay?” 

“Just peachy.” Devin gives the shoulder beneath them a pat. He dismounts rather awkwardly, trying not to jostle them too much. 

It strikes Devin that they have not just one, but two humans invested in their safety and comfort. It leaves them with mixed feelings fluttering about in their chest. 

Best not to dwell on it right now. 

Walking is a little choppy at first, what with Charles figuring out how best to adjust his gait with Devin on his shoulder, but, once he figures out a good rhythm, it smooths out. He steps carefully, eyes scanning the ground for the plants he seeks. Devin watches too, though they’re less focused on the hemlock and more interested in… well, everything else. Hemlock is but one plant in a new area full of things to explore. 

“Hey. Let me down.” Devin gives the man’s hair a light tug, drawing his attention back to them. Though he can’t fully look at them from where they sit, he still furrows his brow in an uncertain expression meant for them. Devin rolls their eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a big boy, Charles; I walk around on my own every day.”

“I’m sure, but–––”

“Either you let me down or I’m jumping.” That seems to work. Charles acquiesces with a reluctant sigh and gingerly helps the borrower down to the ground. He remains crouched after they hop off of his hand, still looking unsure. Devin waves up at him. “Go on. Keep doing what you were doing. I’m fine.” 

“Yell if you get into trouble,” he says, voice stern. Devin chooses not to take offense. 

“Sure thing.” They part with a final wave and dart off into the grass, out of the human’s view. Still he hesitates, but he does eventually get up and carry on with his task. Devin breathes out an exasperated breath. 

Having the care and concern of two humans is endearing, yes, but it can also be annoying. Devin might need to have a stern talk with the both of them if they keep this overprotective behavior up. They aren’t a child.

Charles does not feel good about just leaving Devin on the ground, but it wouldn’t have been right of him to hold them like some helpless creature. They’ve reminded him twice now that this is the life they live; he makes a mental note to try and be more respectful of that. After all, he reasons that he wouldn’t much appreciate it if someone else tried to keep him from doing the things he does every day. He isn’t palm-sized, but he imagines Devin still doesn’t care to be doted over. So he bites back his unease. He came out here for water hemlock. That’s what he’s going to find. Devin will be okay. 

Following the nearby creek, Charles begins his search. He tests the soil beneath him with his foot, feeling its spring, its moisture, then starts scanning. Familiar white flowers speckle the banks. A faint smile creeps onto his lips. There’s plenty here for him to make use of.

–– –– ––

Devin pushes through the tall foliage, looking high and low for anything that might be useful. They find medicinal herbs, and spices for seasoning. Mentally they commend Charles; he sure knows where to look when it comes to valuable natural resources. Some of these plants are a rare find back at Horseshoe Outlook. They pick and take as much as they can carry, stuffing their bag full. 

All is going fine. It’s going great, even. They’re making their way back down to the ground, munching on a sweet, juicy raspberry. The red fruit soaks their hands, their face, and their clothes, making them appear as though they’d just mauled something. It makes them snicker, thinking how Charles will react to see them like this. Their good humor dies suddenly, though. Devin feels a chill rush down their spine. They pause, alert, head on a swivel. 

In an instant, everything seems to slow down. Devin drops to the ground as a pink, gaping mouth sails just a hair’s breadth over their head. It snaps shut, long fangs closing around air, and the scaly head of a rattlesnake retreats back to its coils, gearing up for another strike. Berry forgotten, Devin pulls their knife and their hook out. They stare the snake down just as it does them. It’s big––not just to them, but by rattlesnake standards. It’s a big fucking snake. The borrower’s heart races in their chest, but they don’t run, nor do they back down.

–– –– ––

Charles takes several clippings of water hemlock and carefully stows them in his satchel. He doesn’t take everything that he sees, not wanting to clear the area of the deadly plant, but he’s pleased with his haul so far. Already he has enough to coat his knives twice over, so he thinks that he could probably give Arthur and Javier some as well, so as not to waste it. He takes a few more stalks, then stands and stretches his back, arms held out to the side. 

“That’s enough,” he mumbles to himself. He turns back to where he’d left Devin and scans the ground. Their tiny footprints are just barely visible in the dirt, and disappear into the grass. 

“Miss Clarke?” he calls, taking a knee near the footprints. They don’t answer. “I think I’m just about done here, so I’m ready to go when you––woah––!” The man jumps back as a rattlesnake head pushes through the grasses. Layers of alarm spike in his brain: it’s a big-ass snake; Devin isn’t here; it has blood on its face; Did it eat Devin––? 

“Just ‘Devin,’ Charles,” says the tiny voice. Charles flinches again. He swears he heard that voice coming from the snake. Did it eat them? He stares on in confusion, pondering whether or not he needs to cut the damn thing open, when its head flops to the side. Hauling it along is the little borrower. 

“Oh my god. Are you––did the snake–––?” He stammers over his words, which surprises Devin. Arthur stammers here and there, but Charles is always so clear and calm when he speaks. They glance down at themself, noting the red stain and slick coating their hands, their head, their clothes… 

“Ah! It’s okay! This isn’t––” they drop the snake and wave their hands, trying to placate the man, “I’m okay! This is all snake blood! And raspberry juice.”

Charles still looks horrified, glancing between the borrower and the rattlesnake. He does note that the blood seems to be coming from a deep wound on its head, right between its vacant eyes. 

“You… killed it?” He gathers himself on his knees and leans forward, gingerly prodding the lifeless body. 

“It tried to kill me first,” they say, sounding almost indignant. “Kinda lucky, though. I haven’t taken down a rattlesnake in a while. I can use it’s fangs and its venom.” 

Charles lifts the carcass from the ground, testing its weight in his hands. His eyebrows shoot up at its heft. When he stands with its head at eye-level, its rattle-tipped tail still touches the ground. 

It’s a big fucking snake. 

“You… killed this monster?” He can’t hide the disbelief––or perhaps it’s awe––in his eyes as he looks back down to Devin.

They huff back up at him, trying not to take offense. “Yeah. I did,” they say, arms crossed over their chest. Charles waves his free hand. 

“I don’t––I don’t mean to doubt you Miss––er, Devin. Sorry, I’m just… impressed.” Impressed would be an understatement. 

Devin rolls their eyes. They adjust their bag and their knife, then trudge on towards Charles. Before they can ask him to, he stoops down and lowers a hand for them to climb onto. Once he has them at his level, Charles can see their annoyance clear as day. 

“I tell you––both you and Arthur, you need to understand that I’m not helpless. I’ve lived my whole life out here. Half of it’s been alone. So spare me your patronizing looks and comments.” There’s venom in their eyes, in their words, as present as that in the venom in the snake’s fangs. 

Charles has no hand free to hold up, but he does dip his head apologetically. “You’re right. I admit, I underestimated you. And I’m sorry for it. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and it’s a learning process.” 

Devin’s features soften a little. They sigh and run a hand through their blood-slicked hair. It’s gross, but it’s not the first time they’ve been covered in blood. It won’t be the last time either. 

“I like you, Charles. A lot. It’s a learning process for me too.” They offer him a half smile, though it does look a bit daunting with their red visage. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” 

The man grimaces. “Think you want to… wash off first? Arthur is going to have a fit if he sees you like this.” 

Devin looks down to themself, returning the grimace. “...yeah, probably. What I can, at least.” The blood wasn’t going to come out of their clothes without any soap, but they could wash their skin and hair off. Maybe they could hide their outerwear from Arthur, too. They had their underclothing on that wouldn’t show bloodstains. 

Rattlesnake draped around his neck, Charles carries the borrower down to the creek and crouches at the bank. He brings his hands down for them to hop off and clean themself off. When they start stripping their outerwear, he turns his head to give them some privacy, and waits for them to draw his attention again when they’re done. Damp, but cleaner, and left in their long underclothes, Devin climbs back into Charles’ hands and scurries up to his shoulder, right next to the snake carcass. 

“You good?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” they say. They give his shoulder a pat. 

Charles stands, still a bit awkward with his passenger, but less so than before. “Pearson is gonna love this snake,” he says, tongue in cheek.

Devin bristles and glares daggers at the man. “This snake is my prize. That man is getting none of it. You can have some of it if you want, since you’re carrying it home, but I’m not sharing it with anyone else.” There’s that venom again.

Charles snorts. He pulls himself into his saddle and spurs his horse, gently pushing her to start trotting. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Devin.” 

[minijenn]

KH Comm #4

Another Keys related writing comm for @rosie-drawss, who wanted another “what if” scenario for what would happen if the glamor spell had faded following the ball and Cinderella’s Castle. Angst and hurt/comfort ensues as Sora has to fess up to all his many lies early! Enjoy!

***

Kairi is still in a haze of half-slumber when she gets up as quietly as she can so as not to wake Sora or Riku. She tip-toes to fetch a drink of water from the pitcher on the far side of the room before heading back to bed in a similar silent manner, eager to return to the pleasant dreams she’d been having of the enchanted evening they’d just had together. That happiness still hangs over her as she climbs back into her spot under the covers right beside Sora. She smiles drowsily as she takes in the sight of him sleeping peacefully, the ghost of a contented grin on his face, his white hair draped loosely, lazily over his closed eyes-

Wait… white hair?

Her sharp gasp breaks the quiet of the room, a startled cry soon joining it as she rolls backward out of bed, ultimately landing hard on the floor. Riku bolts upright first, calling for Kairi as he glances around the darkened room amidst trying to regather his bearings. But when Sora sits up only seconds later, he’s the first to find Kairi, still sitting on the floor, staring up at him with a look of nothing less than absolute shock. 

“Kairi?” he presses, concerned as he leans over the side of the bed. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?” 

When Kairi finds herself far too bewildered to offer him an answer, Sora turns to Riku next, hoping to get his help. Only to catch the same exact sort of stunned stare from him too. “What?” Sora frowns, glancing between the pair in apt confusion. “Why aren’t you guys saying anything? What’s going on?”

“...I think we ought to be the ones asking you that question…” Riku finally says, his tone and expression both tense. 

“Huh?”

“Sora,” Kairi’s on her feet now, retrieving a hand mirror from the nearby dresser. “W-what… what is this?”

She hands the mirror over to him, and the very second Sora so much as sees his own reflection within it, it slips out of his hand and shatters on the floor. Tears swiftly form in his now-golden eyes, a shadow-streaked hand slipping over his mouth as he tries to make sense of how this might have happened. Of how the awful secret he’s been hiding for them for so long could somehow reveal itself entirely on its own accord.

Kairi carefully steps past the broken glass on the floor to sit back on the bed alongside Sora, placing a gentle hand on his arm as he chokes out a small, frightened sob. “You… know what this is… don’t you?” she asks, gauging his mournful reaction for exactly what it is. 

Sora refuses to offer an answer, all but shutting down as he wraps his arms around himself, shutting his eyes so he doesn’t have to meet their piercing, questioning gazes. Kairi softens when she sees how scared he seems to be, but Riku knows he can’t do the same. Not when this is something that certainly can’t be anything good. 

“Tell us,” he places a hand on Sora’s shoulder, his voice coming out quiet and calm. Or at least as calm as it can be right now. “Please, Sora, if something’s wrong then you need to let us know what-”

“I-I’m the Organization’s thirteenth vessel!” Sora suddenly shouts, distraught and distressed. He’d been half-tempted to lie to them, but he knows it won’t do him any good now; not when they can both so clearly see the truth for themselves. “W-what you guys did to save me during the exam didn’t work and now I… I’m being… Xehanort is-”

“H-he’s taking over your heart…” Riku finishes in a whisper. A grave silence falls over the room as this horrific realization sinks in, a realization that none of them want to face. Kairi clings onto Sora’s arms, joining him in his sorrowful, ceaseless tears. But those tears aren’t something Riku shares. Instead, he continues staring solely at Sora, at the white in his hair, the gold in his eyes. He stares in solemn, saddened silence as he thinks about just how much he’s managed to fail Sora, how he failed to save him, how he failed to notice that something was even this wrong until he could see it laid so plainly before him. He stares and says nothing, shedding not a single tear as he realizes the only thing he can really do right now is to somehow be strong for them both. Even if he doesn’t really want to be. 

“Sora-” he starts, only to nearly lose his composure completely when Sora practically falls into his arms, Kairi following not long after. 

“I’m sorry!” Sora cries, completely despondent by this point. “I’m so sorry for lying and hiding this and trying to fix this on my own even though I knew I can’t! I don’t know how to stop this, and I’m so, so scared that there isn’t any way to stop it-”

“We will stop it,” Kairi speaks up, her tone tight and anxious as she holds Sora even tighter. “W-we’ll find a way, we have to and we will. Won’t we, Riku?”

Riku takes in a long, deep breath, if only to steady himself for the journey on the road ahead of them now. A road that is bound to be long and painful, but one that needs to be taken. Especially if what’s waiting at the end of it is what somehow sets Sora’s already captive heart free. 

“Go wake up the others,” he instructs the pair as he gets out of bed. “Tell them to pack their things. We’re leaving in an hour. We… have a lot to talk about.”

***

Word spreads between the other guardians of light like wildfire. Before they even leave Cinderella’s castle, each and every one of them hears about what’s happening, and very few of them are truly caught off guard when they see Sora’s startling change in appearance. The only three among them that had been in on his lie are surprised, however, to find out that the truth had slipped out so suddenly. Ventus breathes a sigh of relief, glad to know Sora won’t be able to drag this dangerous charade out any longer than he already has. Meanwhile, Donald and Goofy are both baffled by the mysterious failure of the glamour spell, something that the magician chalks up as a side effect of his magic mingling with Fairy Godmother’s. And since Fairy Godmother’s spell had worn off when the clock struck midnight, so too had the spell that had helped Sora hide his secret for so very long. 

The trip back to the tower is a long, quiet one. No one’s really sure what to say or where to start, so they decide to discuss it all in a proper meeting instead. Said meeting kicks off almost as soon as they arrive, and it starts with Sora having no choice but to explain the situation to the other lights in full. He soberly shows them everything: his hair, his eyes, his hands, his scar, his Keyblade, even his powers in steady succession. Telling the full, unbridled truth is strange, in a sense; because even as much as he feared the thought of doing exactly this before, he can’t deny that actually unveiling it all is something of a bizarre relief. Like every secret he’s shedding is a weight finally lifting off his shoulders, weight he should have let someone else share a long time ago. 

One he’s revealed everything he can, Yen Sid asks Sora to sit the rest of the meeting out. While the reasoning for such a request isn’t initially clear, he does so gracefully, waiting just outside the door for the others to emerge. And as he waits, his fretful thoughts wander to just how quickly things have gone wrong over the course of one night alone. Just how fast a night of dreams had turned into his worst nightmare. 

After what feels like ages, Riku and Kairi finally leave the meeting behind. The others hang back, likely to give them a bit of privacy to allow the pair to relay to Sora the verdict they’ve all just reached. 

“Ok, here’s the plan,” Riku begins, wearing the steadfast composure of the leader he was chosen to be. “The others are all heading out tomorrow to look for the rest of the Keys. Kairi and I are-”

“We’re staying here, with you,” Kairi interrupts, taking Sora’s hands and holding them tight. “At least for now. And while we’re here, we’re going to look into every way we can find to free you from… f-from this.”

“B-but… what if we can’t-”

“If we can’t find answers here, then we’ll look somewhere else,” Riku continues, resolved. “But we won’t stop until we find a way to help you, Sora. That’s a promise.”

“But it’s not a promise we can keep unless you promise to meet us halfway with this too,” Kairi insists earnestly. “Which means… no more lying, and no more secrets. You’ve always been able to trust both of us with anything before. That doesn’t have to change now, not even with something like this.”

Sora looks between the pair, caught off guard by the brazen plan he’s hearing. One that he desperately wants to believe will work, just as much as he wants to believe they actually mean what they say. But his anxious, guilt-ridden heart still finds room to foolishly doubt them all the same. “Y-you… you really want to help me?” he asks, his voice small and edged with shame for something he doesn’t feel he truly deserves.

“You know we do,” Riku vows as he gently pulls both Sora and Kairi close. 

“More than anything else,” Kairi adds just as warmly, just as lovingly. 

And… despite everything else, despite all of the fear and despair and remorse he’s still carrying… Sora decides to let that love--their love for him--lighten that load at least a little bit. “Then ok,” he finally smiles for the first time since the glamour faded. For the first time since he opened the door to let his two best friends back into his heart. “I promise.”

Commissions are CLOSED

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

No Happy Ending

Masterlist Ao3

Pairings: Implied Lyfrassir Edda/Marius Von Raum

Warnings: Major character death, Mechanisms-typical threatened violence, Coughing blood, Thoughts of suicide, 

Don’t worry, I don’t describe the death in a ton of detail, but be warned. 

This is my first fic for the Mechanisms fandom. I was listening to The Bifrost Incident again and thought "Hey I've seen a bunch of content where Lyf survives and meets/joins the Mechanisms. What if they didn't survive?" And because I had to deal with that thought (it's a Mechanisms album let's be real) now you get an hour's worth of straight stream of consciousness. Enjoy! :)

“Log of Lyfrassir Edda Inspector- oh that doesn’t matter anymore I suppose. Just Lyf then if anyone actually listens to these when I’m gone.” Lyf coughed wetly into their hand and stared somewhat disinterestedly at the blood that splattered across it. They took a moment to catch their breath. “This will be my final entry I imagine. None of the ship’s functions have worked correctly in weeks.

“First it was the-” they were cut off by a sudden blur in their vision. It took a moment for Lyf to realize they were still holding the recorder. “The navigation systems went down first, then one by one various systems shut down or broke. I am nearly out of food and water and the oxygen pumps stopped almost an hour ago.”

Lyf stared at their hands, shaking and covered in their own blood. “I know I was touched by the outer gods. Even I wasn’t fast enough to escape their grasp completely. But I know they will not save me. I wouldn’t want them to if they could. Perhaps in a moment of weakness I would fall to them as Odin did, but here in the cold of space I don’t even have the option. It’s for the best.”

They gazed at the sputtering lights around them, the broken gauges and stuck knobs. They had been tempted just to end it many times, but something always stopped them. If Lyf had been more foolish or perhaps just slightly less stern they might have called it hope. Hope that they could flee and survive. That they could take advantage of the gift Loki and Sigyn had given the Yggdrasil System with their lives. But they were austere as ever and chalked up their perseverance to nothing but fear of dying.

And Lyf was afraid to die. Even here, even now, as they felt the end approaching as they had for weeks now. They were afraid. They realized the log was still running. They might as well spend their last hours leaving something to be remembered by.

“The recordings of my findings and the events of the Bifrost incident are all here. You may even have listened to them if you’re listening to this. I sincerely doubt there will be anything left of my home system, not after what Odin released there. They might even leave there one day, consume the rest of everything. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be long dead.” Lyf laughed. A short bitter laugh that turned into another wracking cough.

“I didn’t have much on Asgard to be perfectly honest. No family to speak of, few friends. The one constant I had were those blasted Mechanisms. I suppose they’re the reason I lasted long enough to make it all the way out here instead of being trapped in that psychedelic hellscape. They’re the reason I asked for a transfer from the prison to transport police. The amount of violins I confiscated from Marius,” Lyf said as an afterthought.

“They always disappeared not long after I left them. I guess Von Raum and the others could always have escaped. They must have wanted another story .” Lyf put more malice in their voice than they felt. It was hard to feel real anger towards the Mechanisms, other than maybe Jonny. He was a piece of work, Lyf thought with a grimace. Jonny had taken the longest to capture and the most work to contain and recapture. Everyone knew- had known someone who’d been killed or injured by Jonny d’Ville. Lyf couldn’t say they had any love for the man.

Ivy, they could respect. She was incredibly logical in a way they found endearing. Raphaella la Cognizi scared them. True, Lyf had a ton of respect for her, but she was the closest thing they had ever known to a mad scientist before Odin. Brian was nice, as was Marius when he wasn’t being an idiot. Lyf had only called him Von Raum to annoy him, so Marius had responded in kind. A smile tugged at the edges of Lyf’s lips even as they struggled with each breath they took. Ashes and Tim scared him the normal way. The “We will destroy everyone and everything you love with a smile if you wrong us” way. Stay on their good side, and they’re nice enough. And the Toy Soldier… Lyf didn’t like thinking about the Toy Soldier. It unsettled them.

Lyf wasn’t sure how much of that they’d said aloud, if they had said any of it. Oxygen deprivation was really getting to them. They gave a tired smirk at the monitor above them as if any of the cameras still worked. “If the Mechanisms ever get ahold of these my message to you is; fuck you ,” they said with feeling, before doubling over in another coughing fit.

“I don’t have much-any time left,” Lyf rasped. “I-I Lyfrassir Edda signing off for what is likely the last time.”

They clicked off the recorder and set it down on the table by the chair they were sitting in, next to a small pile of similar recorders. Lyf took the deepest breath their air-deprived lungs would allow and closed their eyes.

In the greatest mercy the universe would ever bestow upon Lyfrassir Edda, it allowed them to die in their sleep. One might even have been able to call it peaceful.

Drumbot Brian stood on the bridge trying to puzzle out where that beeping was coming from. Nastya had added a lot of systems to Aurora before she left and well… Brian hadn’t had nearly long enough to learn them all. Finally he managed to find it. Ah a radar… thingy. He wasn’t really a pilot. Why was he the pilot? He would be much better as the doctor seeing as resurrection was his thing. Brian made a note to bring it up with Jonny or maybe Ashes seeing as they were the quartermaster (not that they ever did any quartermaster-like duties). The increase in beeping brought Brian out of his thoughts. That looked like a ship. Floating in the middle of nowhere?

Brian shrugged and left to go find Jonny. He always threw a fuss if he wasn’t the first one notified of anything and Jonny throwing a fuss generally led to him quite literally shooting the messenger. Brian didn’t much feel like dying today.

He found Jonny in the library, which was strange. He typically avoided books like a plague and Ivy hated having Jonny in there. Jonny gestured Brian over as soon as he saw him.

“Come on. Come on ,” Jonny whispered furiously as Brian took his time walking to him.

“Who are you hiding from this time?” Brian asked loudly. Jonny glared daggers at him. Ah well, he was starting to think antagonizing Jonny today would be worth getting shot.  

“Ashes. I might have stolen their favorite hat.”

“So you’re hiding in the library.”

Jonny gave Brian a knowing look. A look that made Brian wish he had the eyebrows to express his disdain, because that look said that Jonny thought he was doing something really clever. 8 times out of 10 he was wrong and the other 2 times ended up with someone dying. “Exactly. Ashes is banned from the library, too much flammable materials or something or other.”

“That’s why you’re banned from the library too.”

“Exactly why it’s the best hiding spot.” Jonny peeked around the corner at the sound of footsteps outside, hand over the gun at his side. He caught a glimpse of Raphaella’s wings as she passed the open doorway.

In the split second Jonny was turned away, and therefore less distracting, Brain remembered he had for once actually been looking for Jonny. And that it might be somewhat urgent. Oops.

“Uh Jonny?”

“Uh-huh. What?” Jonny wasn’t paying attention to him.

“There’s a transport ship outside.”

That got Jonny’s attention. “Any idea who?” he asked with a grin that meant he was in the mood to shoot someone. Brian shrugged inwardly, as long as that person wasn’t him.

“No clue. Looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Lovely.” Fight with Ashes forgotten, Jonny strode out of the library whistling Tales to Be Told and Brian walking just behind him.

They arrived at the bridge to find the ship had drifted even closer, or maybe the Aurora had gotten closer, it was hard to tell. Jonny studied it for a long time before snapping his fingers a couple times as he tried to remember where he remembered it from.

“That’s from As-as something.”

“Asgard?” Brian asked. Jonny nodded.

“That’s the one.” He put his foot up on Brian’s chair and rested his elbow on his knee. “Wonder what it’s doing he- Hey Brian, when are we in relation to the whole Yggdrasil system collapse thing. The Bifrost Incident? We were going to make a new album out of that story right?”

Brian checked one of the monitors, halfway surprised that Johnny remembered the Yggdrasil System. Although, to be fair, they’d been there for almost a century and even he couldn’t be drunk the entire time (events 300 or so years in the future ago were outliers and so could not be counted).

“We’re a couple months after. Why? You think someone escaped the train?”

Jonny shrugged. “No idea, but we might as well get the rest of the crew up here.” He turned and pressed a couple buttons until he found the comms. “Crew of the Aurora,” he exclaimed with his usual gusto, “this is your Captain speaking.”

“FIRST MATE!” They heard Tim scream at the top of his lungs from the armory. The armory wasn’t too far from the bridge and damn could Tim scream.

“ Captain. We’ve found something rather interesting, a transport vessel from the Yggdrasil System. If anyone would like to come with us to take a look get up to the bridge. You have five minutes.” Jonny poked a couple more buttons until it seemed like the comms had shut off.

It wasn’t long before they were joined by Tim, Marius, Ashes, and the Toy Soldier.

“We didn’t invite you,” Jonny sneered at the Toy Soldier.

“I’m just happy to be included!” the Toy Soldier said happily, oblivious as ever. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Right. Can we dock it or something?” Ashes asked, leaning on the door-frame with their hands in the pockets.

“Aurora?” Brian asked tentatively. The Aurora was unreliable at the best of times and now that the only person she would always listen to was gone, she was testier than she’d ever been. Still, they heard the satisfying clunk and hiss of the airlocks attaching and sealing. The doors slid open to reveal a small ship.

Close as they were, it was clearly Asgardian design, all sleek edges and intricate grooves. For a transport vessel, it was decent quality although obviously not built for the kind of travel it had been doing. Jonny stepped in first. Well… his gun went in first while the rest of him followed. The Toy Soldier trotted in behind him and the rest followed in a sort of amorphous blob.

There was just enough space for the 6 of them to fit in the largest of the two rooms. Everywhere they looked was broken equipment, a frankly impressive array of destruction for this thing to have gotten as far as it had when it wasn’t built for out-of-system travel.

“There’s no way anyone from that system could have survived this much system failure,” Brian whispered as if the likely dead person in the other room could hear them.

“They could have been, what was it? ‘Touched by the outer gods?’” Jonny asked.

“Who came up with that line?” Ashes snorted.

“Me,” Marius said distractedly as he moved towards the table by the door. There was a small mound of recorders on it. He pressed play on one of them. The sudden sound made everyone jump. Then they heard it.

“Log of Inspector Second Class Lyfrassir Edda New Midgard Transport Police. I was able to barter for a transport ship. I’ve spent most of my savings on this, food, water, and fuel. I have some left over that will hopefully last me until I can find work in another system. Already things have begun going wrong. I brought my recordings of the Bifrost incident with me, I don’t think anyone will believe if I didn’t, and attached to the last one are some messages we’ve been receiving on various frequencies from everywhere in the system.

I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I just left a copy of the recordings and got out of there as quickly as possible. I think I escaped the worst of it, though the nightmares I’ve been having are certainly nothing of this world.

If I don’t stop, I might survive this. I might survive this.

Log ends.”

The Mechs stared at each other for a moment before Marius shoved his way forward and thrust open the door. In the pilot’s seat sat Lyf, their eyes closed, blood spattered about the small room. Their uniform was long past wrinkled and blood-stained. Their dark skin was the palest Marius had ever seen from them.

Marius had seen war. He had been through horrors, and committed such atrocities in kind. He had thought that his many centuries of mechanization would have made him desensitized to death by now, and it had. But it was so much easier to come to terms with Lyf’s death when they weren’t laying in front of him, covered in their own blood. This touched him deeply, in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before.

He didn’t remember walking to the medical bay, but he must have because here he was. Lyf lay on the table that they usually put their dead crewmates on to wait for the resurrection process, but there would be no resurrection process.

Raphaella had come in sometime during the time Marius had been in there and given her verdict. Lyf could not be mechanized. They had been dead too long and even if they hadn’t been, the touch of the outer gods would not have allowed for mechanization.

And Marius was alone again.

Alone with a corpse that would never walk again. That would never tell him, and Marius smiled slightly at the memory, to shut the fuck up and put the goddamn violin away, again. Lyfrassir Edda was gone. For good.

They listened to the tapes. All of them. All of the Mechanisms had known Lyf and most of them had even liked them. Besides, they weren’t entirely cruel and oblivious. They knew this was something Marius needed. Not to mention it helped with the whole album-writing part of their gig.

Marius listened to those tapes. He listened to them over and over again until he had them memorized. Well, except for the final recording. It hurt too much to listen to it more than once.

Marius always had the one of them that approached immortality with the most skepticism of the Mechanisms. How disappointing that he had been right.

Let me know what you think! If you like to be tagged in other works in this fandom (or others) or have any questions my inbox is open. Stay safe! :)

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth,  we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule,  go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to  be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68  I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75 I Chapter 76 I Chapter 77

                                                   Chapter 78

The street disappeared behind him, he couldn’t see the angel or the delightful sky any longer, all faded until it mended to this new surrounding of marbled walls and strengthening pillars. As expected, he was alone, leveling until he gave a landing step that echoed rather ominously in this emptiness.

 He was fully in the third realm, no trace of the second seen in any of these walls, this floor, the ceiling, the directions that went on in darkness.

 Focus on moving ahead, the angel had said, and so, if even the uneasiness, he decided to tip toe his first foot forward, slow and testing, his body trying to follow with in the same hesitance and worry. He thought he could land his foot with nothing to worry about, but it was just as he did that there was a sudden glow, a gold tracing intricate designs all over the marble and pillars. This hall seemed like it had begun to breathe, brightening in these beautiful signs all around that despite the words of the angel, it instantly invoked panic. Feliciano burst with sudden energy to run, away from whatever was to occur. Unbeknownst to him, whatever was occurring, took a grasp of his feet, brightening in this beautiful gold that began to decorate with golden chains that hanged and flourished, raising up trying to completely engulf him all. Feliciano refused it, trying to shake it away, jumping awkwardly forward as he did. In that turn, a sudden light was shot at him, a rather rash push that almost tumbled him forward to a ground gloriously alight in reds and golds now. His whole body was now coated in a gold and red that completely eradicated the colors he had kept from his very entrance into the realms. He shone an outward that added to the lights of this hall, now no trace of the marble he had entered to.

 When he thought he was safe, away from whatever this could throw at him, he was suddenly bombarded with many more lights, shakes and new designs growing on the walls, stronger at each step Feliciano made to run away. He only continued to shine brighter, these new lights wrapping around him to make outward red marks, like flowers on pillars and walls, or stars above his village. From what he wore in the third realm, it began to elongate, giving him a long cape, other parts tightened and extended to cover him all in a suit that reminded Feliciano of imperial majesty, sewing symbols and forms with richness of rubies and gold. It decorated him in jewels, in coloring his face, up and up until he felt the weight of growth on the top of his head. It was a halo, large, with surely pillars that elaborated in detailed art, extended to always keep him heavenly and ruling. His eyes were now the red of wine, his hair the flame of fire, opening and flowing in an accept to all this magic that fell on him, his walk more peaceful, practically floating as he made his away across. The residue that was flown away in sparks and light, went upward, sculpting a set of white feathered wings, tall, expanding. Feliciano felt them suffocated in these walls. They should be free, they should be flying over a land his to rule as he pleased.

 He felt a grace of power, so definite that he already wanted to decree, shout and sing it all until everything was formed as he desired. Begone with this hall! He was ready to destroy it all, but he was still being granted image, power still reigning on him, his being joining the lighting of this hall, now much more until he could feel in it belonging and safety, like he was simply strolling one of the halls of his castle.

 He skipped, he danced, he welcomed himself in this form, one that had never made him feel so beautiful.

 Something was coming… he felt a sort of precipice…one he knew he had to accept in and take its passage. It was the entrance into the fourth realm, the hall ending in a beautiful, tall, decorated in flowers, vases, statues and gold, door. Pure darkness awaited at the other side, but Feliciano felt unafraid of it, in fact, he smiled as he dared to go through, like another splash, an exhale of new air, all behind him without a care. With the growth of his wings, he expected them to carry on through, but as his breath came back in…he realized that he was falling, into a void, nothing to fly or even hold on to. He screamed and was torn in worrying over falling endlessly or hitting a hard ground. He surprised himself with the control he kept on his wings. He couldn’t make them fly, but he could make them wrap around himself as he witnessed a familiar blue light coming, to keep him cushioned for what he thought would be a harsh hit against water.

 He did fall against something…hard, yet soothing, bouncing across these waters in ease before it decided to keep an even float, slow and content. The wings seemed to have fallen on their own, opening Feliciano’s gaze to a still continuing darkness overhead. Below him was polished wood, red, a triangular forward that Feliciano identified part of a boat. Once he settled his breath, he stood in what he realized was a small space, his wings much larger than it, having to stand up to not take any more area that Feliciano used to pace as he explored how this vessel was decorated. Of course, red, golden trimmed, flowers and medallions towering and flooding to two pillars that stood at the bottom of the vessel, they met at an arch with a beautifully decorated St. Mark at the top, kind, watching and expecting.

 Once he was familiar with where he stood, he looked overboard, to the same waters that continued in the darkness that he had met back in the first realm. He reached a hand and noticed that this time it could sink in, wet and translucent as water should be. There were no other boats as his…well, no other people, floating above releasing magic, or walking or flying. Nothing. He was the only presence.

 “Hello,” he called in the hopes someone could come. He repeated, he tried in all the languages he knew, but nothing came back to him. He sighed, then noticing a tremor from the corner of his eyes. It was the boat hitting against the water, sailing a path…it was moving! It was the realization that it was passing him on, to the rest of the heavens that all awaited when passing all the realms.

 This was the last realm…he only had a couple of hours, maybe even minutes, to get access to the Eternal Reserve and yet he still didn’t have the right approach, the right key. He startled himself up and began a harsh pace around the boat. He had to hurry! The desperation making him sweat and lose the ease of his breath.

 “Okay, okay, okay, what can you use? What do you have?” He told himself as his mind swam, as his steps turned into stomps that were a wonder it didn’t tip the boat over.

 The reserve needed to recognize him, to know him and accept him. His answers to this was standing tall, showing his full body, heart radiating, gathering voice to shout: “Support!” It echoed, it rang…but nothing came to answer. “Uh…the moon!” Still no answer. “Economy! Ruling!” He began to swing as if it could help his words carry on longer. “Cultivation! Pleasure! The Sun! Management!” He turned, he shivered, the words shivering along with him. “Unity! Own! Reservation! Improvement! Force! Oppose! Commerce! Intention!” With each word shouted, with each silence, his voice dwindled, the force on his chest gone, the wings, the glow, the marks, this imperial new suit, beginning to look like a ridiculous costume instead of the power he felt only minutes ago. He trembled…more than ever he felt dead as this darkness seemed to swallow him more, the loneliness draining him, the boat beginning to look like a haze as tears dwelled in his eyes.

 “Offering…equality…magic…ability…” whispers now, losing intensity and the strength to stand. “Representation…planification…prediction…cooperation…” he slowly came down, taking a kneel, his face meeting ground as the shiver shook him to a high whimper. “…affinity…relation…” his tone cracked, it chocked and scratched at whatever word that tried to escape. “…harshness…history…”

 What was the point? He harshly spat at himself with venom. None of the words he surely tried to memorize would work. And like this! A tearful mess, weak, alone, broken and given up, leaving at a lost his entire world…he was not worthy to show himself…prove he was whatever these words were. He felt himself tempted to sink into the darkness below him, forgotten and never to arise, let everything fall as he surely will, as everything was meant to crumble and die. Aloud went his shouts, his pain, reflected well on these waters, Feliciano already imagining all the bodies that were meant to pass here, disappointed, with horror and betrayal in their faces.

 These realms seemed like a great escape from the horrors…but he did not know how far these two monsters could go…these realms were just at risk…the heavens…it will cease because of his doing, and he coated the boat in the tears in his fault.

 It was time to give up, to face the ending that was to come and he did so with what started a calming breath…but then it trembled to misery, pain and shouts again.

 “And what, Signorino, are you doing here?”

 Feliciano arose and stilled at the warmth of this tone, embracing, welcoming…Feliciano already smiled, even with reddened eyes, a continuing shake, but he turned to meet the sudden shinning presence of his grandfather. “Nonno?”

 He stood in his own boat, a gondola, a lazy lean on the pole he held, as courageous, powerful and bright as ever, more intensified with this armor of gold with beautiful symbols, his own pair of wings, a tall halo, his eyes and hair the fire and gold he himself took. “I was hoping one day to see you again here…but it is still too soon.”

 “Nonno?” Feliciano was hesitant, for a moment wondering if it was a hallucination, a trick of the realm.

 “Ah! Chi se ne frega! Come over here and hug your old man!” It was undeniably him, Feliciano could feel his embrace from afar no matter where and how.

 “Nonno!” He shouted sure, running, letting the boat move as harshly as it wanted. Right now all he cared were those arms around him, that warmth, that cuddle and love that was so uniquely his grandfather’s. He couldn’t help these new tears that coated his shoulders, how he shook and gave himself into it. Augusto laughed and smiled loudly as he usually did, those last days of his life a faraway past that it was almost like it had never happened. They swayed, Feliciano began to grow his own laugh, letting them both settle into a safety that made them wonder if it could stand against whatever force the universe threw at them.

 It could, they knew it could, Feliciano had never felt so sure of something in his time here.

 As they were accustomed, as a normal train of thought returned, as the anxieties held above Feliciano once again came crashing unto him, he rose and moved back…while still keeping a tight hold of his grandfather’s hands, refusing any departure. “Nonno…what are you doing here?”

 “Can’t I visit my living grandson from the beyond?” Augusto pouted so comically Feliciano couldn’t help the chuckle.

 “You’re supposed to be in the heavens, nonno!” Feliciano scolded with a deep smile.

 “So what? I can do whatever I want anyways. The Aces can’t do shit!” He was sure, high and mighty as ever even as he spoke of the gods. “You won’t believe how they treat the Valenti over there! It’s like were Aces ourselves! They bow and join our feasts! We ask something and they give it to us without question! Your great grandfather Frederico holds balls every day and won’t stop talking about how he’ll be reborn as a prince, and your great grandmother Giovanna has created palaces for all that cannot compare to anything you’ve seen in your world!”

 “Nonno, that sounds wonderful!” Feliciano’s eyes alighted and grew in wonder.

 “It’s overbearing! Sometimes I can’t stand it!” Feliciano’s laughter swayed his boat slightly. “Sometimes I like to take this job to get away from it all, helping those who are here to pass on to the heavens, talk and know…whatever I can about you and the rest of my family.” And sincere he turned, deep and loving, Feliciano letting his hand caress his now marked and glittered cheek. “And you are looking absolutely beautiful,” Augusto complimented sweetly, Feliciano cuddling more into that hand. For a moment he had forgotten about how he was decorated, his wings a reminder that soured him once again, Augusto feeling him sink in his arms.

 “You knew I was in the realms?”

 “A young Queen of Hearts in the realms is bound to cause a stir. At first, I thought the worst. I suffered and begged it all to be a mere rumor. But more came with the news…then more cleared your reason and how this is a journey in which you are trying to find something…that you’re really meant to come back.” Augusto didn’t think he could see his grandson sink lower, even as he still held to him. “Amore…what is happening?” He tried to raise him, to at least meet him with his eyes, even when such misery lay in them.

 “I…failed, Nonno…” and the tears came again, his lean to hide and not show any disgrace to his grandfather.

 “What? Why? Why are you saying that?” Augusto continued to keep him up, shaking him if he had to.

 “There’s war raging in our world. Khaos and Destro are obliterating everything and whatever we do, it’s never enough! I spent weeks mourning over…mourning over…” the pain wouldn’t let him continue.

 “Ludwig?” Augusto guessed as much.

 Feliciano could only respond with a nod, as his voice was too hoarse to do so now. “You…you heard?”

 “I did. I was hurt immensely when I found out.”

 “Did you…did you ever see him pass through…?” once again he dared, even if it was like more needles to his pain.

 “I’m afraid not…no matter how long I waited and expected him…he never did.” Augusto didn’t dare utter more of what he wondered it meant. It was sorrow that was best not to let themselves sink further in.

 Feliciano couldn’t really always escape it, his loss was always painted clear on him, one Augusto wished he could wash away…but he knew what it was like, for he had gone through the lost of his dear Helena. Now, she was with him, they had a home in the heavens together, and Augusto still cried himself to sleep in her arms, not believing he had truly been reunited with her. He now wondered how he could have possibly lived in the old world after her death. Yet, he had this…he had the chance to meet with his wife again, even hope for a future where they could reincarnate together…Feliciano…as it stood…would not. He would never connect to this pain…and it hurt that all he could do was this caress, this presence to assure him that he was not alone even in this infinite darkness.

 “I…I came here to see if I could access the Eternal Reserve. There the power of the alignment is stored. I could have brought it back and…saved everybody…but…but…” he began to shake with tears again.

 “The…Eternal Reserve?” Augusto questioned, just as he noticed a wooden raft pass them, a marked man stood there, proud as he omitted beautiful spheres of fire. He sailed pass them, not taking notice, following the fastest current.

 “To access it, I must prove myself…but…I’m not worthy enough for it…it won’t come to me…I came here for nothing.” Feliciano didn’t bother to notice as a large canoe passed, rowed by several, all laughing loudly as they hurried.

 “How do you prove yourself to this?”

 Feliciano didn’t raise his voice as a raft flew above them, people there in a jitter that Augusto had to lean closer to hear his grandson’s answer. “The four stances.”

 “The Four stances?”

 “Yes, the four stances, Nonno. I’m supposed to know them, what each kingdom represents and I have to show those qualities myself.” There came larger metal ones, with sails enough to cover them, ignorant to all. People sang and shouted, but neither had the felicity to join.

 “The four stances…just the four stances…”

 “Yes, Nonno. I don’t know them, and it’s so complicated and I can’t- Agh!” Augusto hit him with his pole.

 “The four stances! I taught you this! I explicitly remember teaching it to you several times back when we started our teachings in the villa!” He was angry, groaning and huffing.

 “What?! No you didn’t, I don’t remember that!” Another hit of the pole, Feliciano groaning and trying to rub this new pain out from his head.

 “Well if you didn’t spend half the time doodling and distracted thinking about…prancing naked in red fields with Ludwig, then right now you wouldn’t have this dilemma!” Augusto had to stand so his shouts could land right on him.

 “Wait…so you know them!" Feliciano realized before he could defend himself from the new hit.

 “Of course I know them! And so do you!” He pointed harshly.

 “Nonno, I really don’t remember them and I am in a huge hurry. Just tell them to me and then we’ll have a chance to save everyone!” A sailboat passed them, an old Viking one, with Jokers shouting as they made their way.

 “No!” Feliciano was expecting a new hit, but Augusto instead brought the pole to his chest.

 “What?! Come on, Nonno! You can’t just leave me like this!”

 “I won’t be leaving you, amore mio. I am sure you know them. Even if sometimes your head was in other places, I know you kept the words, I know you have lived and proved them well, you just have to name them.” He was confident, to the point that as a large shine came in their backs, as the currents came faster, as more boats, rushing animals and whatever transport that Kingdoms have concocted with passed by them in beautiful shines, he was patient and knowing.

 “Nonno, please, just-”  

 “No. You must name them on your own. Feliciano, think! Think back to the days of our teachings. The four stances are what each kingdom represents…and who represents the kingdoms?”

 “The…King, Queen and Jack.”

 “Exactly. Now, how is it mostly shown?”

 Feliciano lay in silence as he thought, focused and determined, Augusto knew, even as a boat made of ice sailed past them, a whole array of people skating and dancing in it, and Feliciano was still in his own mind.

 “Through their unions...”

 Augusto thought he had to keep leading him, but Feliciano must have touched something in his mind, must have come just to the right reminder, laid forgotten in memories of sitting on those stuffy desks back in his home, for he himself continued, “it’s shown in what their union takes strength on, how they present themselves to their kingdom, what gives it energy and how even the King and Queen decide their relationship on.”

 And it was clear, in memories of his beloved Ludwig, of his dear Kiku, their coronation, their wedding and sacrifices. Their childhood ran past his mind, just as he saw two children souls, two Heartian girls, in the back of a St. Lion sprinting forward. He thought to their grown reunion…not the best… it was hurt, it was broken…but it was fixed, they fought and mended for it as every King and Queen of hearts has done, until it grew unto deep feelings of… “Love.”

 Augusto smiled.

 “Hearts’s stance is Love.”

 There was a sudden glow, pumping like the beat of a heart, alighting these oceans in red before dimming in beautiful marks that sparkled and glorified more this passage to the others. A man in a coach laughed and let his hand play with some of the red sparks that arose.

 “Good, go on. What about Diamond?”

 And Feliciano thought on Francis’ years, like a guided brother. Vash and Lili were so young…but this gap was always present in Diamond royals, for their purpose was to grow, mentor and learn between one another to always be sure of what would be the best outcome.

 “Diamond’s stance is Wisdom.”

 A yellow beat, to mix along with the red, gardeners taking from this energy to make flowers to add to their already plentiful rafts.

 Then he thought of Spades, a population mixed with so much magic and technology. Differences, tensions…it doesn’t help that the King and Queen are to be married without knowing each other until the year of arising. Yet they always manage to work, to unite, and above all… “Trust. Spades’s stance is Trust.” Then came that distinct blue to add, pattering stars all across. Some took baskets to take, others stared and tried to catch what they could with the simple palm of their hands.

 “One more, carino,” Augusto reminded with a teasing smile.

 Just Clubs…Clubs…only one more.

  The shakes were turning stronger…some had reported that parts of the castle had crumbled. Despite the hours that passed, many still stood in the same exact spot they had decided as their last face off. Their weapons were still brandished and some even had magic running in their hands.

 “Destro has officially entered the perimeters of the city!” One soldier came crashing in to announce before he settled off to help the next waves of attacks. A roar could be heard clearly, Augustino began to cry from it, and to add, the tremors they knew now were from attacks blown straight to their city.

 “How much time is left?” Kandake shouted to Renata, who shook as she gazed to her hand and then to the greying body in the water. “I can’t be sure…perhaps thirty minutes?”

 “We might have to get him out sooner,” Elizabeta realized.

 “Can we send him some sort of message to hurry?” Kiku wondered, moving back to join the Valenti family, to help in the necessary.

 “The music box!” Renata turned to Lovino.

 “I’m not sure, but we can try!” Lovino took it out and without a moment to wonder, he opened the chest to bring the melody.  

  Clubs was the biggest of the four kingdoms, with the most intimidating and mysterious of rulers. They kept the field that held Khaos, their mountains and trees a stronghold that guarded and was ready to face whatever threats. Like Diamonds, the royals were not expected to marry…they were expected to show… “Power.” To match along with the force of their kingdom. “Clubs’s stance is Power.” And the ocean was joined by the pulse of green. A row boat that had been trying to be quick, to keep up with all these movements, couldn’t hold their stop, their play and wonder as all arose and crafted.

 “Love. Trust. Wisdom. Power.” Feliciano enunciated them sure, this darkness now blessed with the four kingdom colors, colors that began to shine well on him from their reflection. He smiled, letting it spread on his body, feeling powerful again, hopeful, ready.

 Under the paint of these currents, something began to glow, to call. He was about ready to jump and answer it, but not before turning to his grandfather, with his very same smile, prideful and ecstatic for a sure future to come. Feliciano ran once again into his arms, a sure last embrace, warmth and belonging that Feliciano hoped could last until they were to meet again at his right time.

 “Most beautiful Queen the kingdom has ever had I always said.”

 “Ah, Nonno,” Feliciano rolled his eyes, but he accepted the words.

 “Little Augustino is the loveliest thing.”

 “How did you-”

 “I have my ways,” he chuckled, tightening more his body to him, hoping it could well imprint. “Watch over him, watch over your family, your kingdom, your world…save it…and make it ready for your own little ones.” Augusto rubbed the red jewels in his palms, knowing…how, Feliciano didn’t really care, he smiled and bowed in promise.

 This moment was interrupted by a melody…a highly familiar one that seemed to crack across this world.

 “I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom,

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall,

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet,

If you accept to be mine, my Queen.”

 It wasn’t sung, but Feliciano could feel the words already pouring from his heart, coming to life in his head. No one else seemed to listen, the boats continued on by him, in their own music, Augusto himself unware of this alarm that rung. He only continued to smile, behind him the largeness of the gates of heaven, immense, sculpted, living, beautiful…tempting even to Feliciano with a light that began to coat everything.

 “No heat, no cold, will stop me of my search,

No sun, no rain to go against my strength,

Just promise me your hand,

And love me in our eternity.”

 This song was stronger, what was below the waters joined in it with insistence to come and so Feliciano took one last breath, before he had to turn away from his grandfather, another goodbye, but indeed there was a promise he had to fulfill.

 He extended his arms in farewell to the realms, before he brought them forward to propel him, a jump, a slight flight and he was crashing into the surface, into the depths as heavy and moving as water should be. He helped this pull by swimming in it, deeper and deeper until the lights above weren’t clear, until the call from down below began to shine on its own, apart…in its world away from all.

 In a quick distraction, he could see the shocks and releases of the first realm, the bright colors of the second realm, the lighting halls of the third realm and the rushing waters of the fourth. He saw them all like webs around a grand network, and the call, coming from a center…in a unique place between the connections of all the realms. It took its form like a cabinet, rich, crafted and opening its door of elegance to the person it had found worthy.

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love,

I know it’s a journey you will overcome,

But I don’t need you to go so far,

I want you here to kiss me.”

 The melody still went on, hurrying Feliciano’s paddle across this expanse, the light reaching more, engulfing his approach. It widened as it felt him there, growing enough so it could take Feliciano into a center, truly in depth with all the information, all that was available, showcasing not in form, but in various feelings of power, going through him until he could recognize the true one he needed. He let that specific one take rest in him, mend with his skin, his blood, his spirit, his inner most power until he was well blended with it and…awake.

[impishnature]

Iron Blessing

So! Here we are! The first of what I’ve jokingly dubbed ‘Imptober’. This actually is number one in the list but I’m not sure I’ll stick to it as some I’m finding harder than others to think up ideas for. 

AO3 Fandom: Good Omens Rating: T+ Prompt: Shackled Summary: Crowley could really use some angelic intervention to get himself out of the hole he’s dug himself. Small warning for violence/injuries.

"What? No witty one liner this time?"

"I thought you didn't like them?" Crowley smiled, wide and vicious, bloodstained teeth visible as he spat to the side. This wasn't quite how he'd expected to be spending his day but then again, when did anything ever go to plan for him?

The man before him scowled, a deep, dark expression that was filled with loathing and disgust. "Whatever you're trying this time, it won't work."

Crowley rolled his eyes, hating that his sunglasses had been removed, although grimly satisfied as every movement of his pupils seemed to make the guy more nauseously repulsed. "Obviously." He rattled the chains that held him tight against the wall, his arms stretched further than was comfortable and his feet barely touching the floor. Every small jostle caused another spike of pain to spark down his arms, nerves alight with electricity, but he refused to show that pain as he nonchalantly looked around the room.

Whatever he did, it unnerved his target more and more with every passing second, and without a plan or any means of escape, it was about all he could muster in the hopes of somehow getting free.

"Mind slackening these off a bit? I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers."

The man snarled, stepping closer, their faces inches apart. "Why should I? You don't deserve any mercy."

"Charming. Real religious of you, that is." If Crowley could move he'd have tugged at the clerical collar around the other's throat. So, maybe he'd been trying to tempt him into things he really shouldn't have been, luring him away from his religious teachings and the like, but weren't these people meant to be all about forgiveness and that other rubbish?

"As if you're one to talk." Crowley bit his tongue at the once over he was given. His quick witted tongue had got him more than one punch over- well, however long he'd been chained to this wall- and he was slowly learning that perhaps staying quiet was more likely to get him out of here quicker. "I don't know what you thought you were going to accomplish coming after me, but you chose the wrong person to mess with..." He wished he could wipe that stupid smug smile off of his face. "And soon you'll be back where you belong."

"Oh? Where's that? 'Cause I could really go for a bite to eat right now- oof."

Crowley winced, coughing at the sudden gut punch. OK, so, he wasn't the fastest of learners, but who could blame him when he kept giving him openings like that? He grunted as his head was pulled back, his hair taut and tugging at his scalp until he was eye to eye again with his captor. 

"Joke all you want, soon your vessel will be free and you'll be back in Hell." Part of him almost wanted to laugh. His vessel? Oh, if only they knew how it actually worked. If it wasn't such a worrisome thing to be cast from his body the way they planned, he'd almost like to stay and watch their victory turn to horror as the body crumpled before them, only ever having been his. A particularly hard yank dragged him from that hysterical amusement, made him curse and the man's smile widened. "Just a little while longer. Enjoy yourself while you can." 

And with that his head was dropped, the jolt causing another bolt of electricity to snap down his arms. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the cry that wanted to bubble from his lips, refusing to be vulnerable, refusing to be anything but the monster they thought he was. He waited until he was left alone to give a shuddering breath, to wince at the manacles biting at his wrists and try to gently roll his shoulders from the pain. All it did was cause more issues, each movement a burn across already red raw skin, but everything ached enough that he couldn't quite stop himself from trying.

"Shit, what have I gotten myself into here..."

"Yes. What have you?"

Crowley's head snapped up in surprise, his entire body flinching and causing another stream of pain to circulate his system in a spasm. He cursed, eyes screwed shut, though the relief swelling in his heart outweighed it all as he opened one eye painfully and stared at the apologetically concerned, though also somehow irritated, face before him. "Angel, you have impeccable timing as always."

"I try my best." Aziraphale shuffled forwards, looking over his shoulder as he did so. "I'm not sure how much time we have-"

"Should be a little while, he only just left." 

Aziraphale nodded. "I thought I saw someone leave this room, it's why I'd hoped I'd found the right spot." His eyes trained back on Crowley's, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as his hands outstretched uncertainly, hesitant and hovering around him. "Why on earth are you letting him hurt you like this?"

Crowley huffed, rolling his head to one side to stare at him disbelievingly. "Like I'd let him if I had a choice." He shook his hands, belatedly hissing at the movement before grumbling through gritted teeth. "Ble- fuck- blessed chains. Thought your lot had stopped making these years ago."

Aziraphale winced sympathetically, though his eyebrows were vanishing into his hairline. "So had I. There were memos and everything against creating such things- I haven't heard about anyone being allowed to bless items for the humans like this since the 15th century."

"Yeah, well either this guy is an avid collector or someone on your side is ignoring protocol." Crowley shrugged, before looking between Aziraphale and the manacles pointedly. "So... any chance of a hand? Or did you just come here to gloat at my misfortune?"

Aziraphale ruffled at the accusation. "I came to find you, thank you very much." He put his hand on Crowley's chest, steadying him, as his other hand flew upwards, a faint miracle burning Crowley's wrists even warmer before the binding snapped entirely and with a groan of relief he fell forward into Aziraphale's waiting arms. "I will admit, I didn't think I'd find you in this state." 

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting it either." Crowley hissed as Aziraphale accidentally pressed on forming bruises, wishing yet again that he could put his glasses on as the other eyed him carefully, concern ever present amongst his fluttering hands. "Not every day I get a job like this."

"Why didn't you inform me you had a job? Isn't that part of our arrangement?"

"Yeah, well, couldn't have you interfering with this one." Crowley clung tightly to Aziraphale's coat as he made to move away. "Sorry! Sorry, don't-" He sighed as Aziraphale huffed and pulled him upright, steadying him once more. "I just meant that I was being watched. Kind of put my foot in it down in the office. Hadn't done enough demonic temptations recently and it was made rather clear that they thought I was losing my touch." He rested his head against the other's shoulder, relaxing into the hold as his legs felt like jelly beneath him. "Couldn't have that. Not if I wanted to be able to stay top-side with you." 

He'd probably hate being quite so honest when he'd slept for a week, which was entirely what he planned to do once they got out of here.

"You still should have told me." The words were faint, disappointed in a way that made his heart ache. "What would you have done if I hadn't found you?"

"Well, we don't need to- wait, how did you find me?"

The tips of Aziraphale's ears went red from where Crowley could see them. "I told you, I came looking for you."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"You weren't in your home asleep, and you hadn't been to see me in a while. So naturally I got worried."

Crowley blinked at him for a few moments as they wobbled forward, watching his rather determined stare directly away from him before grinning as widely as his forming bruises would allow. "You didn't."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, you do. What will management say when they find out you used a miracle to locate a demon?"

Aziraphale sniffed. "If I had done that- which I didn't- then I'm sure I could justify it, such as making sure you weren't getting up to any of your serpentine tricks."

"Mm-hmm? Maybe don't tell them your next miracle was helping me escape then."

"I have no intention of giving paperwork in on any of this." Came the soft mutter beside him. "And now is not the time for this discussion. I'm assuming you're not up to getting us out of here?"

"Unfortunately-" Crowley tried to stand on his own two feet, before promptly falling into Aziraphale's side. "-that'd be a no." 

"Of course." Aziraphale finally looked at him, expression trying for unamused but falling short at the image he was obviously seeing, something that Crowley would feel utterly mortified by if he wasn't still on a strange high from the angel coming to get him in the first place. "You owe me one for this." 

"Always, Angel-" Before the words were quite off of his tongue, there was a jarring pull to the back of his collar, not dissimilar to the jolts the manacles had sparked around his wrists, and suddenly they were back in a familiar bookshop, the smell of old paper and tea catching him off guard as he stumbled off course at the motion.

"Easy, I've got you. I've got you." Aziraphale muttered words to him as if it was a mantra. As if he was worried he would pass out on him as he shuffled them both over to the nearest couch, propping Crowley up like a limp puppet before kneeling back on the carpet with a wounded noise. "Dear me, you are a sight."

"Charming." Crowley huffed out a pained laugh, letting himself sprawl into a lying position as Aziraphale knelt before him. "S'not my fault I look good even with a few bruises." He couldn't help but smirk at the cluck of disapproval he received for his smart response. He opened his eyes ever so slightly, too exhausted to do much else. "Thanksss. Angel."

Aziraphale blinked at him, shocked and confused by the gratitude. "Of course. I couldn't just leave you there." 

"You could have." Crowley let his eyes fall closed again. "Probably should have, really." When his words gained no sharp response back, he opened them slowly, frowning as the other ignored him, eyes focused on something else entirely. "What?"

"What's that on your wrists?"

Crowley's frown deepened. He pulled his hands up towards his face with much difficulty, his limbs struggling to hold their own weight let alone fight gravity right now. He had assumed that there might be red raw skin from the manacles and was about to jest as much but the thick covering of black, charred scales that spread wherever the cold metal had touched made him speechless for a second too. "Oh, must be a reaction to the blessing." He winced, rubbing his fingers across them to assess the damage, as painful as that was, even as Aziraphale made a pained noise and pulled his hands apart. "Easy, angel, I just needed to see how damaged they were. Scales are weird, you don't really feel when they're burning. A couple of sheds will hopefully do the trick." He tried to smirk again, though he wasn't sure if it came out as more of a grimace. "Guess I'll have to make sure I wear long sleeves for a while."

Again, his words were ignored as Aziraphale continued to stare down at the hand within his grasp. Fingers trailed across his palm, sending goose bumps and heat across his body in a far different and far more pleasant way than the manacles had. The fingers slipped further, softly tracing scale and skin, flitting worriedly where they met as if testing the waters, testing if it hurt, before gaining courage and pressing on the wounded flesh itself. Crowley gasped at the moment of pain before a cooling sensation washed over every imprint, each touch a soothing balm that coated each individual scale and sealed it over, every press a wash of relief that melted into muscle and sinew and relaxed them all from their coiled state. 

Crowley stared down at his wrist quietly as Aziraphale moved onto the other. It looked the same as it had before, the softest of miracles caressing his skin as if the angel still held him, medicating him so that he could heal with some respite.

When Aziraphale was done with his other wrist, he sat back on his haunches, the pair of them staring at each other as if not quite sure where to go from here.

Another appreciative comment was locked to the tip of Crowley's tongue, unsure whether to let the moment lie or break it where it sat.

As the moment stretched on and on though, the other watching him for signs of further pain, he felt obliged to do so. "Tha-"

"Don't."

He knew he shouldn't have tried.

Crowley sighed as he was cut short. Of course they weren't going to talk about things like rational beings- when had they ever been rational? Communicated? He got it though. If they didn't bring it up then it didn't happen and Aziraphale didn't have to think about why he had done the things that he had just done. Didn't have to defend himself in fear that he'd have to do the same again once he went back upstairs. 

But maybe more importantly, if they didn't talk about it, he didn't have to think about what all of this actually meant, deep down.

Crowley knew all the things that could be spinning in his head, they'd spun around his own often enough. They were always orbiting one another but at different speeds, never quite connecting at the right time for both of them and always missing opportunities that could have changed everything.

He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed though, even as tired as he was in that awkward silent moment.

Thankfully, Aziraphale broke it, changed the entire momentum of their orbits, almost bringing their trajectory back into their normal, pleasant routine.

"Perhaps Downstairs was right."

"Excuse me?"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, mouth tweaking up in that way that suggested he was up to no good. "That you're losing your touch. You've never gotten yourself into quite that much trouble before with just a simple temptation."

Bastard.

Crowley tried to sit up, the hand on his chest stopping him as he was pushed back down on the couch. "How was I supposed to know the priest they were sending me after was a certified exorcist?"

Aziraphale stared him down, anger and shock mingling in his gaze. "They didn't tell you that before they sent you on the job?"

Crowley blinked back at him before groaning, head flopping back against the arm of the chair. "No. No, they did not. Happy? Fuck all details are ever given down there. You deal or you don't. No one cares." 

"...Of course I'm not happy. Not at all." 

Crowley looked back over as a hand softly trailed across his temple, that glimmer of righteous anger still visible in the angel's eyes as he no doubt took in every bruise across his face. He raised a hand to stop him, wrapping his fingers around the other's wrist and softly pulling it away. "No more miracles, angel. You'll start to cause suspicion." 

"I can't just leave you like this."

"You can. And you will." Crowley winced as he shuffled, twisting himself into a more comfortable position. "I just need some rest and I'll do it myself. Don't you worry. I'll be back to my stunningly gorgeous self in no time." His cocky grin was no doubt marred by the yellow and purple mottling across his cheeks but it seemed to soften Aziraphale's face nonetheless.

"Then you should rest." 

Crowley nodded. This was more than their arrangement had ever dictated, but he knew better than to push further. The last time he had tried he had moved too fast and he refused to break this moment, especially when he was so exhausted and vulnerable. He didn't want to cause distress, or for the other to feel the need to defend his actions and take him back to his own minimalistic flat to deal with this alone.

...He really didn't want to be alone right now.

So, if the angel covered him with a blanket when he thought he had fallen asleep, or softly carded his fingers through his hair, soothing his scalp... Or Heaven forbid, whispered softly above him-

"Rest. No one will hurt you here, my dear. I promise you that." 

Well, his lips were sealed. 

No one would ever find out that he had escaped only due to an angel's intervention.

And he would never bring up the obvious affection and concern the other seemed to hold for him, unless the other brought it up first.

[trickstercaptain]

POSEIDON’S TOMB  /  ‘YOU CUT ME YOU CUT THE BOY’ DRABBLE

tl;dr; here i am torching the entire canon version of this scene nearly four years later. it’s actually been a creative urge of mine for a while to revisit this part of dmtnt, but i finally got around to it after a little nudge from @lighthouseborn and therefore this is specifically dedicated to hannah <3

                                                               ~ ~ ~

          If Henry uncharacteristically barrelling towards the two of them hadn’t been the first sign of something being amiss, then there were two others: the boy’s speed, and his stance. Henry’s tuition with the blade was something of a patchwork of several different influences back on Shipwreck, one of which being Jack’s own ( whenever the boy wasn’t more content to scrappily solve an altercation with his fists, which was always his go-to preference ). While not being the superior swordsman himself, and having adapted his form and bent the rules of the engagement over the years to suit his own whims, Jack knew the boy’s approaching stance right now was one of somebody who had been schooled in the art of precision fencing for years ---- more akin to the boy’s father or even the man with whom Henry shared a name. It most certainly was not, could not, did not belong to the lad who he’d had to chastise on several occasions for holding a sword more like a blunt instrument than a tool --------------

          No, Jack knew who this was. He didn’t know how it was possible ( when did he ever? ), but he knew.

          The next few seconds passed by in a blur. Jack could only remember drawing his own blade, shoving Carina aside, and throwing himself forward ( in a rash move that would no doubt win him both Henry and William’s approval ) to meet Henry’s first strike with a shattering clash that rung out throughout the length of Poseidon’s tomb.

          The fact of the matter was that Captain Salazar was a much better swordsman than him. He also had the benefit of years on Jack if he was indeed using Henry as some sort of vessel, as well as a seething, roiling anger at the supposed injustice dealt to him that would see his stamina extend further than it might have done otherwise. These were all the things that Jack was sizing up as he went through the motions, parrying each blow as it arrived, trying to figure out his strategy to buy Carina enough time to get herself over to the trident and solve the final part of her diary.

          And then there were the things not to size up, but to swallow down and put to the back of his mind. That this was Henry staring him down with the look of a man who had wanted him dead for decades. That this was a familiar, always warm, always loving set of brown eyes now regarding him with such contempt. It was difficult to meet them and not contemplate the less rational questions of the moment. How Salazar had accomplished this. How Jack might even start to think about reversing it. Whether there was a chance in Hell that the Trident might in fact help matters, not make them worse.

          How he was planning to live with himself should the unimaginable happen.

         The last question was enough to re-align his thoughts like tacking a sail back to windward. Emotion made you vulnerable to mistakes and sloppiness. Much like Salazar’s anger exposed his own weak spots. And, as Jack raised his blade to block another blow and, in doing so, push the boy away from him, he spotted the opening.

          It was a mere flesh wound, a nick across the boy’s cheek in the hope that it would enlighten him as to the limits of this particular brand of magic. But perhaps that in itself had been too great a risk to take given the potential consequences. Perhaps it was too reckless. Too callous. Particularly when the halt in Salazar’s counter-strike, and the words he levelled back at him made the blood turn to ice in his veins.

                  “ You cut me, you cut the boy, Jack. ”

          Jack faltered, and Salazar advanced. With every frantic block and step backwards, all he could focus on was the way his freshly-inflicted cut blended in with the mottled, cracked flesh on the side of Henry’s face. On the side of Salazar’s face. Despite the confirmation that was lodging itself somewhere in the levelheaded part of his mind that the two of them were now one, now connected, the conclusion he subsequently reached of this making the Spanish captain human was meaningless. Not when he could see that fresh mark on that face, and could feel the revulsion rising in him that he was the one to put it there.

         Jack didn’t care how fallible this made him. Not when the fallibility was Henry’s. So, that left him no choice but to try a different approach, and summon up the guile from somewhere to make it convincing.

        “ Shame that he won’t let you kill me. ” Said with much more confidence than he felt as he planted his feet and met Salazar’s blade with another loud clang. Leaning towards the gap between their crossed blades, Jack lowered his voice. “ He’s still in there, Capitán, Kicking and screaming and attempting to thwart all that you’ve fantasised about for years. ” At least, he hoped that Henry was in there still. If he was, then he most certainly was fighting, and perhaps that meant that this assumption wasn’t entirely --- well, an assumption. “ Reckon that makes it two against one, and I don’t fancy your odds on this one, mate. ”

         It seemed to anger him. Salazar --- or rather, Henry ---- pushed Jack away with his blade and, with a cry of frustration, renewed his offensive. The back of Jack’s boot came into contact with a coral rock, and as he carefully stepped around it, he only just managed to parry the force of his opponent’s next blow. “ Did he make me do this, Jack Sparrow? ” He swung again, with even more power this time --- and for the first time Jack caught sight of the man’s crew at the ocean’s edge, waiting on both sides of where it had parted to reveal Poseidon’s tomb. “ Or this? ”

          The distraction was the first time Jack had let his guard down. It took a moment for the injury to register: a slash from just below the nape of Jack’s neck to his collarbone, but when he spotted the blood soaking through his shirt and waistcoat the potential severity of it became clear. How many times had he aimed for the same area, hoping to sever the vein that would swiftly put an end to a fight? Of all the people to think of in that moment, Jack saw Robby Greene’s face in his mind’s eye, and the warning he’d given him after his first duel to the death.

          If that had gone an inch or two deeper, you’d have been lying there dead, right beside Christophe.

         Was this how he would come full circle? Certainly, in this case, he very much hoped that it hadn’t gone any deeper ---- and for now, the adrenaline was stopping the wound from doing little more than stinging at the spray from the rushing ocean beside them. The more concerning matter at present was his own laboured breathing, in comparison to Henry who was barely breaking a sweat. He was half-tempted to glance over his shoulder and verbalise his frustration at being the only one here to pull his weight. Has Carina not worked the bloody thing out yet?

           Whatever was going on behind him, Jack was running out of options for the problem in front.

           “ Then why make it a fight at all? ” He noticed that Salazar’s ( or was that Henry’s? ) gaze was, for the moment, preoccupied with the growing bloodstain on his shirt, giving Jack enough space to briefly catch his breath. To glance around him. To look down at the lightly bloodied sword in his hand and debate his next choice. One that he should have made hours ago, when the Pearl had first encountered the Silent Mary and Salazar’s crew. One that, until now, he’d been too cowardly to make. “ All you’d have to do is let Henry go and I might just stop resisting altogether. ”

            “ No, no no no, Jack, don’t you see? ” There was a peculiar softness in the way the words were spoken, an intimate whisper between the two of them that was the most he’d sounded like Henry since this had started. Salazar didn’t raise his sword to strike again. Instead, he crossed the scant distance between them, and pressed his ( Henry’s ) hand into his blood stained waistcoat. Jack hissed, and fought against the black dots dancing around in his vision, but otherwise didn’t say a word. “ Don’t you see? ”

           Jack might have been forgiven for thinking that there was something kind in Salazar’s expression, then, but it didn’t last. The look on Henry’s face quickly morphed back into rage, and a hand tightened with surely supernatural strength around Jack’s throat.

           As things went, it wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to strangle him, but having had experience of such things never made it easier to resist the urge to struggle. Ringed fingers rose in a desperate attempt to claw the hands ( Henry’s hands ) off of his neck and release his airway, but it ended up not being his efforts at all that spared him. Instead, it was the loud, rushing noise of the Trident being released from its perch; loud enough, and promising enough, it seemed, for Salazar to momentary abandon any desire he may have had to finish Jack off.

            Besides, it wasn’t as if Jack was in much condition to resist being finished off even if he’d wanted to. As the air rushed back into his lungs, so too did the sea floor rush up to greet him. And only when he’d finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, using one of the rocks on the seabed as an aid, could he finally turn his gaze on the commotion at hand: Captain Salazar picking up the Trident, and Henry seeming to slide out of his control and physically collapse at his feet.

          Carina was nowhere to be seen, but he knew where, or indeed whom, the focus of the Trident’s ire was about to be directed towards. He also knew that, physically speaking, he was just about spent.

          He could have rushed to Henry’s aid, but he didn’t fancy his chances of being intercepted before he got there. Or whether he’d even like what he found.

          All he could do, really, was wait. And it took but mere seconds before Salazar’s eye was once again trained on him ---- though this time, more importantly, looking much more reassuringly like his unnervingly ghostly self.

          Jack steeled himself. You’d better have a bloody plan, Carina. He drew a deep breath, carefully pulled himself to his feet, and had just enough time to slip the girl’s diary under his waistcoat. Just below the bleeding wound. Just above his breastbone.

           One final gambit.

[natsubeatsrock]

Holy Grail Wars: Fairy Tail Edition

This year, I've been watching through the Fate franchise and had this post idea. (I'm sorry if you wanted a deeper explanation for this post.)

Here are the assumptions I'm making in this universe. Seven Fairy Tail characters are chosen as masters of servants in the seven main classes. Servants keep their powers from the main series and are generally stronger. Masters are generally weaker forms of their canon iterations. Remember, Fate masters are also capable of magic. I'm not doing stats, but I am doing Noble Phantasms. 

Before we start, I feel it necessary to recognize an important part of this war: the overseers. Naturally, the Zentopia Church will be responsible for overseeing the battle and providing shelter for losers. While their inclusion in the anime is potentially contentious, Kardia Cathedral is a part of the canon universe. It feels fair to use them for this purpose. For the sake of "I can't think of anyone else who could do this", I'll be considering Byro as the chief overseer. No, he will not be a master in this set.

Assassin Class: Erigor Noble Phantasm: Grim Reaper Master: Zoldeo

For my most obvious choice in this exercise, I chose Erigor as an Assassin-class servant. I hope the idea isn't terribly controversial. I envision his Noble Phantasm being his signature scythe. Given that I don't know its name, I've decided that it will share his Neo Oracion Seis nickname. As for his master, I figure that Zoldeo would most appreciate a servant that is as ready to kill as he is. Keep them away from kids (along with another certain servant) and things... I was going to say they'd be fine, but...

Rider Class: Natsu Dragneel Noble Phantasm: Blaze Dragon Mode Master: Romeo Conbolt

Yes, I know Natsu is notoriously motion sick. However, thanks to his partnership with Happy, he counts as a member of this class. So, yes, my favorite character ends up in my favorite servant class. I almost used Dragon Force as his Noble Phantasm. I feel that Blaze Dragon Mode fits more for him as a unique ability. And considering it's Natsu, Romeo is the only logical pick for a master. Hold on, Rider class master growing because of their servant? How good a teacher is Romeo?

Caster Class: Irene Belserion Noble Phantasm: Dragon Seed Master: Wendy Marvell

A decent argument could be made that almost any character in this series could be a Caster class hero. Though for my purposes, I wanted to pick between the master enchantresses. I went with Irene because of her current relationship with Wendy in the sequel. Similar to the Rider duo, this could potentially help Wendy's personal growth. Although, Wendy's growth may be more as a mage than as a person. Not to mention, she's also my pick for the vessel for the Greater Grail. My sincere condolonces.

Archer Class: Lucy Heartfilia Noble Phantasm: Sagittarius Dress Form Master: Makarov Dreyar

I mean... The Archer class is made up of archers. And, thanks to the Sagittarius Dress, Lucy technically is an archer. I just feel like there are not many good picks for this class within Fairy Tail. (Can using guns count as archery?) Naturally, she'd only get the one ability as opposed to her canon ten and change. While I could probably pick someone younger to be her master, I figure she would best be served by her canon guild master. Or is that the other way around?

Lancer Class: Erza Knightwalker Noble Phantasm: Ten Commandments Master: Mystogan

I almost forgot that this was a possible option for this class. There are not many other people in this universe who are known for fighting with lances. I almost picked Mystogan, just because of his use of various magic sticks. However, I picked them to work together as master and servant in this battle. Here's hoping Knightwalker has better luck as a member of her snake-bitten class. Though, consider the only character she couldn't beat in Fairy Tail was Erza, so...

Berserker Class: Mirajane Strauss Noble Phantasm: Satan Soul Master: Seilah

Yes, I did think to switch these two. Why do you ask? I went with this as the choice for two reasons. One, Mira has actually gone berserk in battle, which is an important part of this class. Two, I need more villains as servants. This might be the pairing I'd pay the most money to see realized. You have to imagine that we'd get more of old Mira as a servant. Or maybe a cross between past and present. 

Saber Class: Kagura Mikazuchi Noble Phantasm: Archenemy Master: Risley Law

I had a tough time choosing between Kagura and Ikaruga for this class. If you're asking who the latter is, you might understand why I went with Kagura. She gets the added benefit of her seldom-used gravity magic in addition to her famous unsheathed sword as a Noble Phantasm. I was tempted to put Millianna as her master. But, I decided that Risley was the more competent mage with a connection to Kagura.

"Wait a minute. Aren't you forgetting someone?"

While I've included Erza Knightwalker, the Sippy Cup of Sin will not be summoning Erza Scarlet as a servant for this set of skirmishes. 

My reasoning is simple. Erza's particularly difficult to place as a servant. Most people I've seen try this put her as a Saber. However, she's used enough different sets of armor, weapons, and fight experience that she could reasonably belong in any class. 

That being said, I feel like it wouldn't be fun to leave it at that. And, I mean, there was an eighth servant in the main Fate routes.

So...

I guess I could talk about her as a servant that managed to win a previous battle and lived on.

What armor would Erza use if she was a servant? 

Archer Class: Heaven's Wheel

Unlike the servant choice, this was an easy choice. Pick the one that allows her to control weapons at will. Thanks to HERO'S we know she has bows. However, I want her to keep the spirit of weapons that can fly towards enemies at her command.

Berserker Class: Nakagami Armor

Now, I can't say for sure that Erza's gone berserk in this armor. However, she's definitely gone berserk at times in fights. And this was the armor she used against Minerva. She may have contemplated killing her during their fight.

Lancer Class: Lightning Empress Armor

What does it say that both Erza's could be Lancers? There aren't that many sets of armor I could use for this. This might be the most well-known version of this armor she could use. Here’s hoping they don’t end up fighting each other.

Caster Class: Celestial Armor

The annoying thing about Fairy Tail is that "caster magic" means something different in Fate. I had to pick between a couple of different armor sets. I figured I should go with the armor she used in Dragon Cry to cast Grand Chariot.

Saber Class: Clear Heart Armor

Listen, I'm probably in trouble for making this kind of distinction with Erza in the first place. I get that swords are Erza's thing and there might be plenty of other classes I could use. But I'd be an idiot to use literally any other 

Assassin Class: Purgatory Armor

Let me put it this way. Erza herself says that no one has seen this armor and lived to talk about it. It doesn't matter that Ikaruga turned it to scrap. Did she end up living at the end of the battle? I rest my case.

Rider Class: Ataraxia Armor

Fun fact: this was the armor Erza used during the Avatar fight. She puts it on after jumping off her horse. You could argue that Blackwing is better because she's able to fly using it. However, being a Rider is about having a steed.

I eagerly await being told I'm wrong about these decisions.

[jacepens]

Feckless

Pirates!!!! Today we have PIRATES!! :) also this is about 5700 words so get comfortable! (All T!)

Feckless: weak, ineffective, or worthless

Lafayette wanted to be a pirate more than anything he’d ever wanted, but every day every captain he talked to turned him away. Scorned and desperate to join the crew of the famous Phrygian, Lafayette makes a bold move to impress Captain Washington and accidentally steals his heart as well.

***

They took one look at him and told him he couldn’t last a day on their ship. They grabbed his arms, pinched his belly, and laughed at his young face. Weak, they called him. They told him land was the best place for him. Made a ‘joke’ about selling his pretty face to desperate men who couldn’t get their hands on a woman. Lafayette spat on their boots and left them.

He’d been stuck in the same place for years now. He made his way by selling to traders, finding new targets, any sort of work he could get his hands on. It was always so varied. One day he was shipping goods off to a buyer he helped negotiate a deal with, coin heavy in his pocket, and the next day and he was cleaning shit off the stairs and porch of the brothel for a single coin.

Everyday he stared longingly at the sea. He watched the sailors laugh and swing their arms around the others, making loud boasts and claims of their daring sea adventures. Every fluffed up tale excited him more than the last. Left him craving to experience that adventure for himself.

He would hang around the docks and taverns to sit and listen. Listen to the details about how they lived life aboard ship in the little things they let slip. Sleeping quarters, portioned food, open baths. Even if not every little thing about their lives excited him, he knew he still wanted it.

He wanted the salty sea air to wake him up in the mornings, wanted the rush of attacking a vessel and boarding it to steal its treasures. He wanted to feel like he belonged somewhere. And where better than a ship? Where every hand is needed to keep it afloat, to secure vessels, to load cannons, to stop leaks. He wanted to be on a ship instead of withering away on this little island.

But every captain turned him down. It was the same story every time. Too small, too young, too weak. They took one look and decided they knew his heart, decided the sea was no place for him, decided he would be a terrified child, knees knocking together at the sound of cannon fire.

It was a miracle he did not bash their faces in every time they decided this for him.

He continued to stay on that island, live by the port to get a taste of what he so desperately craved. So many of his dreams were infiltrated by the salty smell of the ocean, turning his dreams to what he desired the most. Waking up became agony the more prevalent those dreams became.

A brand new ship arrived at the docks that day. The ship itself was not brand new, but its arrival was the first anyone had seen of it.

Workers clambered about to begin unloading the loot from the ship. The people began crowding around at the docks, an excited rumble began and Lafayette took interest.

He heard mumblings and whisperings as he pushed his way through the crowd, heart hammering louder each time the name was muttered aloud. The sea’s most notorious pirate captain wasn’t here of all places, was he?

He caught glimpses of someone through the cracks between people, standing on his toes to look just over the heads of the crowd. Then he saw what had them all so excited.

Captain George Washington.

He looked to be perfectly at ease, even as the crowd grew and grew. He was discussing something with a supplier, pointing out things on paper, likely negotiating a price or deadlines. It was like he didn’t even see the crowd of people gathered just to catch a glimpse of him.

Lafayette’s heart pounded in growing excitement as he strained to keep staring. He wondered how long he would stay here for, if perhaps his ship needed repairs, if he needed new crewmen?

Wouldn’t that be something? If he joined Captain Washington’s crew he could show up all the other captains that turned him down, prove himself on none other than Washington’s ship.

He smiled to himself at the pleasant thought, already worming it’s way into his heart.

Lafayette watched as he scribbled something down on the paper and without even a glance at the crowd, returned to his boat. The crowd started dispersing with a displeased grumble, but Lafayette was rooted to where he stood.

As soon as he saw an opening, he darted to the supplier Washington had been speaking to, trying to catch him before he left.

“Monsieur, wait!” He called out, grabbing the man by the arm and turning him around. “Did Washington say anything about needing new men?”

The man huffed, an amused smile pulled on his sullen lips. “Lafayette, I will tell you if there are Captains looking for new crew mates.”

“You did not last time.” He snapped.

The smile fell. “Because the position had already been filled, now please I must-”

“Answer my question first.” He glared, still keeping an iron grip on his arm.

He let out a long sigh, pushing the hand off. “He mentioned if there was a promising man or two he might take them in. But he does not need anyone else. He’s looking for seasoned men, not someone like yourself. The position isn’t yours to fill.” He said shortly, leaving Lafayette behind to glare a hole in his back.

So he was willing to hire new men. Lafayette could work with willing.

He was lucky enough that the crew would be in town for weeks while their ship was repaired and cleaned. In the taverns, everyone was glued to the people from Washington’s ship, asked dozens of questions, and bought drinks for them. Being a part of Washington’s crew came with unmeasurable benefits.

Lafayette tried to speak with them, tried to sneak in and see if he could figure out how to meet with the elusive captain, but the men kept their lips shut. Lafayette became tempted as the days wore on to march on the damned ship himself and demand a meeting with the captain to plead his case. But that surely wouldn’t be appreciated if he did not get shot first.

But the more and more days passed the more desperate he became. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he knew he let an opportunity like this slip from him. He had to do something bold, but what was there to do? Something that could gain the captain’s attention and maybe, just maybe, earn himself a place on the ship.

When night fell and the town quieted down, Lafayette enacted his plan. He grabbed his pack and secured his sword around his waist, throwing a dark cloak over himself to help him blend in.

The door squeaked shut behind him as he hopped down the old wooden stairs onto the street. Dirt kicked up behind him with how quickly he was walking, heart beating against his chest, stomach in knots. This could go horribly wrong or wonderfully right. He hoped and prayed this was the sort of bold thing needed to grab Washington’s attention. That it would not ruin his chances completely.

He saw the ship in the distance before any of the others. Looming tall and opposing against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He picked up his pace until he was on the docks, ships creaking and bobbing in the dark water.

He glanced around him, to check if there were any watching, but there was not a soul in sight. He approached the ship, stomach churning as he worried that his plan was foolish and would not work. Until he spotted the perfect little ledge go grab a hold of and pull himself over to where he needed to be.

With a final breath to ready himself, he jumped and grabbed a hold, led scrambling to just barely rest on some protruding wood. His arms already ached, but he pushed through the pain, reaching for the next ledge in his sight, stretching his arm out until it tingled. He grabbed and pulled himself up again.

He continued the agonizing climb until he finally managed to see the deck of the boat. And a man.

He gasped and quickly ducked his head, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. He heard a scrape of wood and the thud of boots coming towards him. His heart hammered louder and louder, did he really see him? Was it all over? Would he never get to achieve his dream?

“What are you doing?” An uninterested voice said from above. Lafayette looked up and gave him a sheepish smile.

“I was- er- well you see, monsiuer-”

“You wanna speak to Washington, that it?” His monotonous tone of voice did not betray how he felt.

Well, not just speak he thought. “Oui.” He smiled.

“And you climbed all the way up here just to do that? He’s nothing special.” The man shrugged.

“Yes, but it is something very particular I wish to speak about.”

“And what might that be?”

Lafayette froze, looked away from the man. “To join your crew?” He particularly whispered the words, cringed, waiting for the laugh, for the scoff, the disbelief in his voice.

“Yeah, alright come on.”

“What?” Lafayette cried.

“Yeah, why not? It’s clearly important to you, he’s not busy.”

“But-”

“What? Are you going to argue?” He laughed, holding out his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Lafayette grabbed a hold, already exhausted muscles aching from the final push. And then he was on board. His head spun just at the thought, the feeling.

He looked up at his savior and sprung up to throw him in his arms.

“Je vous remercie monsieur!”

“Vous êtes les bienvenus.” The man said with a playful wink. Lafayette laughed, not expecting him to respond in French, but was delighted to hear it.

“He’s just down there.” He said, pointing, “You’ll know which room is his.”

With a nod, Lafayette scampered down the stairs to the dark inside. Lanterns were lit and hanging off walls but it did little to light the darkness.

The door was the first thing he saw, Captain’s Quarters stamped on it with fading ink. He could see light pouring out from underneath the door and Lafayette took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn’t appear afraid, he had to hold his head high and prove his worth. Prove to Captain Washington that he deserved a spot on this ship.

He raised his fist and knocked against the door, the sound echoing throughout the empty hold. He heard a gruff voice tell him to come in and Lafayette threw the door open, leaving his fears at the door.

He looked up from the stack of papers on his desk, a confused look in his eye before it returned to quiet sternness.

“Who are you?”

“I have come here to prove my worth to you, sir.” He said, standing tall and proud, trying his best to enunciate every English word cleanly.

“How did you get here?” He quietly asked, head tilting slightly, shadow growing over his face.

Lafayette swallowed. “I climbed aboard, sir.”

“And Hamilton? Did he not stop you?”

“He did, sir. And then he pointed me here.”

An amused look shined in his eyes as he muttered to himself, “of course he did.”

“But I did not come here to talk, sir.”

“Oh?”

“I am here to fight you.” Lafayette gulped, waiting in anticipation for his response, waited to see his eyes narrow in scrutiny. No such event happened.

“What will you accomplish by doing that?”

“I will prove to you that I am a skilled man with merits.”

Washington’s gaze stayed locked on his eyes, blank expression was all he could read before his shoulders sunk with a sigh.

“Very well then.” He nodded. “I assume you have your own blade?”

Lafayette couldn’t believe his ears, it was working!

“I do.” He nodded slowly, holding himself back from jumping up and down. He needed to convey his maturity and strengths now more than ever. One slip up and he’d be back to square one.

He removed the cloak from over his shoulders and flung it to the ground. He wondered with the cloak gone if the man would reconsider his choice, now he was unable to hide his small form. Would it all end?

Washington stood and paused after Lafayette removed the cloak. His hands stayed perfectly still atop the letter and a chill ran through him as he was scrutinized. His eyes trailed lower, all the way down to his muddy boots before looking away from him entirely.

He let out a relieved sigh. He had passed the first test. There was a hum low in his mind and body as he pulled the cutlass from its scabbard, throwing that to the ground as well. He was not well protected against a blade, his clothes thin and not layered, but this was his only option. If he could just prove his skill at this surely he would consider letting him join?

He watched with a keen eye as Washington unsheathed his cutlass, shiny and much more clean than Lafayette’s. Lafayette backed up a step to give the captain room to move, but he would not pin himself to the door. He wanted to win after all.

Washington stepped in front of him, and Lafayette watched in wonder as his stance and expression changed, focusing on the sword, adjusting his grip, stepping back and forth on his feet. Once he stilled there was a charge in the air.

Lafayette lunged forward first.

He knew Washington was expecting it, would surely brace himself for it, which is why it was a light swing, a test. His blade did not come anywhere near the captain, but it did send him flying forward on reflex to block the attack that never came.

Lafayette jumped at the opportunity to strike him down, but the man was quicker than he anticipated, already adjusting himself to block Lafayette’s real attack. The man made no comment on the bold move, but tried to force him back, tried to shuffle forward so Lafayette would pin himself to the wall.

He almost growled at him. How foolish did he think he was? So young and uneducated he would let himself be pinned to the wall?

He quickly side-stepped, heart racing and adrenaline rushing, leaving the man fumbling but only for a second. Lafayette had truly never battled such a worthy opponent before. One who used every resource available to him.

Lafayette wasn’t about to try and destroy his room to gain his victory, but Washington made the first move. He suddenly grabbed the chair to push in front of him. He almost laughed at the simplicity of the move but damn, it worked well as it was the last thing he expected.

Not bothering to try anything fancy he maneuvered around the chair to get back at attacking Washington. Now that the room was free to use, books were tossed, papers were scattered, even ink somehow managed to splatter on his shirt.

He was running out of breath, out of fight, his tired muscles still not forgetting what he made them go through to get here. But he refused to quit, he could not quit. He pondered over using a risky move, one that would end this, but against Washington it might be completely ineffective.

He scorned the skill of his opponent. He soon found himself defending against the man who was charging forward and slashing and slashing, panting harshly, sweat running down his forehead. Lafayette’s eyes caught on the bead, watching as it traveled down his neck to his collar. Then he was being thrown against the wall.

He cried out, backside sore from the intense impact. At the sudden end of movement his cutlass clattered from his hand, stiff from holding it so long.

“Do you yield?” He asked, still catching his breath, sword delightfully cold against his neck. His hot breath was puffed into his face, a reminder that his distraction was what started all this.

Lafayette’s eyes slipped to the ground. “Yes.” He whispered.

Washington’s weight pulled back, allowed him to move and to stretch. Finally able to look away from Washington he noticed the terrible state the room was in, himself included. A sad smile pulled on his lips. He wrecked his room and lost the fight. There was no way he’d let him join now.

He grabbed his sword off the ground, sighing and scrubbing away the dirt with a little frown.

“Just what is your name?” Washington asked, amazement in his breathy voice. Lafayette did not realized he’d never given it. What would be the use now? To further shame him? Use his name to tell the other captains about the feckless young man who tried to join his crew?

“Gilbert de Lafayette.” He said, looking up to see Washington.

He smiled down at him, charming despite the fight that he had defeated him. He held out his hand as he began to speak, “Lafayette, welcome aboard the Phrygian.”

Lafayette cried tears of joy when Washington welcomed him aboard his ship. He threw his arms around him and cried French gratitudes, promising he would not let him down. Washington assured him that Lafayette would do no such thing. He said the skill, determination, and cunning was exactly what he was looking for, that he would make a fine addition to his crew.

Lafayette had blushed furiously under all the praise, so used to being scorned. Afterwards he might have even given him two kisses on his cheeks before running off with glee.

And now the day was here.

He signed his name under all the others on their list of rules and pledged his allegiance to his ship over Washington’s blade, done up beautifully in gold and jewels.

People in the town muttered when he rounded the corner, unable to believe that Lafayette was joining the Phrygian. It made him puff out his chest and smile wide. He had done it. He had really done it.

He boarded the ship with no hesitation, did not look back once even as they pulled the anchor up and dropped the sails. This was his home now.

Not everyday was expected to be peachy and fun, in fact, most days he was doing hard labor under the deck, if he was lucky. He slept on the floor or a hammock, depending on who was feeling generous that night. But overall, Lafayette felt he belonged. He felt each task given to him was important, needed to keep the ship maintained and floating, and ready for an attack.

The first ship he boarded had been a whirl. Tallmadge picked the next mark, had studied and deliberated over his map and intelligence for days. The day of, Laurens ordered the gunners and cannons to hit their marks, even taking hold of some himself when a man kept hitting the hull instead of the mast. He was a deadly shot every time. Hamilton ensured the men were ready to board, inspecting guns, swords, told them to focus and not get distracted unless they wanted to lose a leg. And Washington? Washington surveyed.

Lafayette was anxiously waiting with Hamilton, waiting as the other ships cannon fire died down, giving up. Lafayette’s gaze kept turning to Washington, calm and steady, occasionally shouting a command to one of his men when he saw necessary.

When their boat got close enough, Lafayette was shoved into action and out of his trance by unseen hands. He tossed grappling hooks and rope over the side, using all his might to get it across. Once they were close enough Hamilton and Washington alike were shouting orders to board, quickly following behind.

On the deck of the ship there was a shocking amount of destruction. For all of Laurens’s careful orders to make sure the ship did not sink, it was a dizzying and terrifying sight. He feared it would all suddenly collapse beneath him and leave him to drown in the sea.

He was roused from his thoughts by more shoving and pushing and Lafayette drew his cutlass. There was a battle to be fought.

Gunpowder clouded his vision and burned his eyes and nose, so much of it in the air it was like a storm cloud. Their captain put up a fight and Lafayette watched in awe as Washington struck him down.

Lafayette had only ever witnessed him in action once before and that time there had been no anger, no determination in his expression. This was completely different. He fearlessly cut and shot all in his path, raging about, throwing people overboard like they were an empty trunk. His wide chest heaved and the sweat that distracted him before glittered in the sun like he himself was a treasure. Lafayette wet his dry lips and tried to focus on what he was here to do.

At night, the men celebrated their haul while the coin was being counted. Lafayette joined in, singing along, drinking ale, cheering and joking. They all treated him like he belonged, like he wasn’t any different from the rest of them.

After that day Lafayette couldn’t have been more certain that he had found his home, his people.

Months later, they were still out at sea. Not enough treasures to justify bringing it back to be appraised yet. Lafayette was so content here, sore, but happy and full like he hadn’t known since before his parents died.

The candles had been blown out hours ago, curfew enforced so men could rise early, but Lafayette was above deck, breathing in the sea air, feeling the cool wind blow on his face.

He heard familiar footfalls behind him, but did not rouse from his spot gazing at the dark water. Washington stood next to him, eyes on the water, then turned to Lafayette with a tender look.

“Lafayette? What are you still doing awake?”

Lafayette tore his gaze from the water, pouting slightly, “We are allowed to stay awake if we are above deck.” He teased, tempted to poke him with his elbow.

The captain sighed, smiling and shaking his head, “I know the rules Lafayette. We wrote them. I only mean to ask if there is something on your mind.”

“Not especially.”

“Not especially?”

“I am just- well I am grateful, sir.” He blushed.

“Grateful?” Washington chuckled softly, bringing warmth to Lafayette’s cheeks. “I appreciate the statement but I do not see how you can be grateful for all the labor you do all day.”

Lafayette hummed, “Well not grateful for that, but I gladly do it. With you, on this ship, I feel so at peace and content. I am joyful like I’ve never felt, my heart is full.”

“I see.” Washington shifted beside him, Lafayette saw his hand in his peripherals and froze as he felt it plant down on his shoulder. “I am glad you feel this way.” His thumb gently passed over his shoulder and Lafayette melted under the simple touch.

The wind whistled in his ear, the sea turned and splashed below, the ship creaked all around them, but despite all the distractions, Lafayette could only focus on that hand. So warm and perfect, it spread warmth through the body he hadn’t even known was cold.

“Why did you become a pirate?” Lafayette asked delicately, turning his head to gauge if his question was warranted.

“I suppose the same reason any man becomes a pirate.” He shrugs, “I was a sailor on a wealthy Englishman’s ship. We got our orders from a man who didn’t even know his own crew. Our captain was a harsh man, no one was allowed to speak against him or he would withhold meals, give you lashes. He and the Englishman received all the profits we worked for, while we were lucky to receive one or two coin a week. I was not the only one on that ship who wished to turn to pirating. So we did, and years later I wouldn’t change my decision no matter what.”

Lafayette listened carefully to his story, got swept up in the way he enunciated and pronounced each word, listened with a certain care he did not apply to just any conversation. He was so wrapped up he didn’t notice when it had ended.

“That’s lovely, monsieur.” He whispered.

“And you?” Washington turned that nostalgic gaze to him.

“And me?”

“Why were you so eager to join my crew? So willing to prove yourself that you challenged me to a fight?” He grinned. Lafayette giggled at the memory, he remembered how utterly terrified he was, so certain he would not be allowed on board. That he would be scorned like he so often was.

“What can I say? The sea called to me like nothing had before. The idea of the- the camaraderie- is that how you say that?” He looked up at Washington with big eyes.

“I understood you perfectly, my boy.”

He blushed, shuffling his feet, “ah yes, well that and feeling like I belonged somewhere was what I craved. And I challenged you to a fight because of how frequently I have been turned down.” He added.

“Other captains turned you down?” He sounded shocked, his brows furrowing at the statement.

“Oui. But, look at me! I am not exactly an ideal pirate.” He chuckled, trying to make light of how self conscious he had become the more and more often he was turned away.

The hand on his shoulder moved down to grab a hold of his hips and turn him to face George. The air left his lungs as he looked up into those dark and thoughtful eyes, so full of tender emotion and care.

“Lafayette, you are absolutely perfect as you are.” Lafayette swallowed, unable to move and tear his gaze away from Washington’s eyes. He sounded so confident and sure of himself, he made it sound like it was fact.

Lafayette, overwhelmed with feelings surging forward at the declaration, the feeling of his captain’s hands on him, the warmth heating him so completely, he leaned up.

Washington was warm, oh so warm that it sent spirals of heat down his spine, had him shivering into the kiss. Washington’s other hand wrapped around to grab at his lower back, pull him even closer to that magnetic heat.

A content sigh escaped his lips as Washington kissed him, until he felt his hand grip him harder. He panicked, suddenly realizing what he had done and flew back. He could not even find the strength to explain himself to apologize. He had never done something as reckless like that before. He ran down the stairs to his quarters, heart beating so loudly he could not hear his heavy footsteps.

He cried himself to sleep, shaking and hiccuping into his blanket. What had he done?

They were attacked while eating breakfast.

A terrifying loud boom echoed from above followed by the whole ship shaking and slamming Lafayette into the table he was eating at. There was no time to clean, or even think about what was going on, they needed to act now. There was a reason they always kept their weapons on them, ready to fight at the drop of hat because they never knew when they would be attacked.

The men clambered up the narrow stairs, getting tossed aside when another boom shook them. On deck, men were scrambling. Hamilton, Laurens, and Tallmadge were all frantically ordering the men about, shouting above the destruction.

Lafayette frantically looked for Washington before he was pulled away by Laurens who stationed him at a cannon. Lafayette did as he was told, fumbling quickly to load and reload, light the fuse and watch the gunner aim and shoot. There was no need for precision today.

His arms ached from the weight of the cannonballs, threatening to tear him apart every time he picked one up, but he fought through the agony. He would not see the Phrygian go down.

He felt calm sweep over him when he heard Washington’s voice begin to ring out above all the commotion. He stole a look up to see him at the helm, large palms gripping the wheel, spinning it with ease and skill.

“Get your head out of the sand.” Laurens shouted at him. Lafayette yelped and did as he was told, focusing on his task.

The first cry from Washington to hit the deck was utterly terrifying. He realized immediately with terror what it meant. He breathed a shaky sigh when he felt a cannonball rumble just overhead. He shuddered to think what would have happened if a poor soul didn’t get down in time. With the threat eliminated for now, they returned to firing, desperately trying to sink the large frigate flying English colors.

It approached closer and closer, at full sail and Lafayette realized with a sickening twist, they were about to get rammed.

“Get down! Now!” Washington’s voice rang out, every man falling to the ground immediately.

The wood cracked loudly, it sent some men flying, it made their ship rock and sway and tip dangerously close to its side. Men started pouring from the frigate swords in hand and charging. They wore standard English uniforms and it was clear they were here to arrest them.

Hamilton called everyone to arms, loading guns and shooting the men as they boarded. Lafayette grabbed his sword and immediately sprung into action. His heart was hammering loudly, but anger brought his sword down with every swing.

Before, he had been doing it for treasure, but now he was doing it protect what he loved. Lafayette would kill a thousand men alone if it meant keeping his ship safe.

He felt rage burn hot in him with every man that stepped on board daring to take his friends. There was blood and more blood and screams and more screams. The fight was over before he realized. They were able to vastly outnumber the crew, the only man left was the captain struggling in Washington’s grasp.

Washington was panting and covered in blood, gripping the man by his shirt. He watched as Washington spat in his face and threw him overboard with a roar. Lafayette’s heart raced and the men around him cheered and celebrated, hugging their fellow men.

Washington looked up and their eyes met. Rage was still burning, his lips twisted in anger until he looked down at his own leg. Lafayette watched as the look turned to panic and he rushed forward, collapsing right before him.

Lafayette ran forward, heart thudding, hands shaking and fearing the worst.

“Washington!” He cried, grabbing at his lapels and desperately shaking him, “Washington!” He sobbed, tears overwhelming him as he slumped over the still body.

Lafayette never left his side once. Not since he awoke and grasped his hand so tightly his knuckles were white, begging him to stay.

Nothing broke his heart more than seeing Washington so weak and frail. His voice soft and his hands shaky, face far too pale for Lafayette’s liking.

Lafayette did not leave when the closest thing they had to a doctor removed the bullet, sewed his skin back up while the blood continued to flow. He cleaned it up and anxiously poured some spirits down his throat.

Lafayette stayed by his side day and night. Insisting he eat and drink, easing him when he began to panic about his men. He was overwrought with panic, the pain gripped his heart every day at the thought of Washington slipping away from him.

“Shhhh, George everything is alright.” Lafayette soothed, wiping his thumb against his tear stained cheek.

“I need to assess the damage-”

“You know your men are capable, George. You need to rest.” Washington looked up at him, shocked like he had not realized it had been Lafayette soothing him.

He frowned, his face contorting to Lafayette’s dismay as he shifted down in the bed, listening to Lafayette, and quickly falling asleep.

A few weeks later and the captain began feeling much more like himself. He began taking reports and giving orders from bed, demanding a tally of what was damaged in the attack. The reports sounded grim, but Lafayette knew Washington employed talented men who could repair the ship, keep them afloat and steady until they reached land.

A few more weeks and Washington was on his feet again, much to Lafayette’s joy. He had wrapped him up in a hug and kissed his cheeks like he had the night he allowed him on his ship.

Washington looked softly down at him, cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “I appreciate you looking after me, Lafayette.”

“You do not need to thank me for that. I would have not slept if I knew mon cher capitaine was in danger.” He grinned, so happy and excited he was bouncing on his toes.

“Lafayette, I-”

“Captain,” Hamilton interrupted, “the men are demanding to see you.”

“Of course.” The smile fell from his face until he looked back at Lafayette. “Lafayette, will you meet me here tonight?” He asked, giving him that same star struck look that caused him to kiss him many night ago.

“Why of course I will.” He nodded, smiling at the look, but unsure what his captain could want from him.

When the sun set and the moon and stars lit the black sky, Lafayette hurried to captain’s quarters. He had felt an anticipation humming in his chest all day ever since he knew he would be meeting back here with his captain.

With Washington back to his normal self, Lafayette could no longer pretend to forget the kiss that overtook him so that night, but the fear of losing his captain had only multiplied his feelings, had allowed them to bloom all warm and fuzzy in his chest. He knew what he needed to stay and express, even if his captain did not approve. Washington needed to know how he felt.

He raised his fist and knocked against the door, the sound echoing throughout the quiet hold. Washington told him to enter and Lafayette slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Washington looked up from his work and a wide smile broke out across his face. Lafayette’s heart hammered in his chest, face turning hot. The captain gestured behind him.

“Why don’t you go ahead and lock the door?”

***

As always, the most updated version will be here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/28515570

Oh! And I almost forgot (If you made it this far) today may or may not be the final day, we’ll see what tomorrows word is!:)

[fantasyoverreality98]

Fight the Darkness: Epilogue

Masterlist

Pairing: Gaius x MC

Summary: A thousand years later, everyone reunites to celebrate the Dark Solstice.

Word Count: 4,649

---

“Come to me.”

The voice echoed through space and time, beckoning her.

Somewhere, in the Mediterranean Sea, an island remained. Darkness raged on, the streams ran black, what had once lived had decayed.

“This is your destiny. Amy, come to me.”

She tried to ignore the voice. It would not tempt her again. For over a thousand years, she had enjoyed silence. No worry over losing control had plagued her mind.

And yet she found herself sailing to Mydiea.

Something stirred deep within her. The power needed a vessel. It would perish if it spent any longer trapped on the island, unable to reach its full potential.

Amy was the Bloodkeeper. She was the descendant of The First. She would become the goddess of blood.

The moment she set foot on the island, she felt like she was complete.

This was it. This was always how it would end. This was fate.

“Amy? We’re here.”

With a jolt, Amy returned to the present. She tried to hide the way her body trembled, but Gaius saw through the act. He looked at her, concern reflected in his eyes as he took her hand in his.

“What is it?”

She shook her head, unable to stop from shaking. “I had another vision. It felt so real, it was like—” To finish the sentence felt like cementing this future.

Gaius waited for the plane to empty before he spoke again. “Are you certain that everything is okay? You seem to have gotten worse since we received the invitation to the Dark Solstice ball last month.”

A holographic figure approached, watching them with lifeless eyes. “Please exit the plane. Passengers are awaiting the next flight. The plane has to be empty within five minutes.”

Sighing, Amy stood up, grabbing her carry-on bag as she made her way down the aisle. The hologram followed her and Gaius, repeating the message until they stepped off the plane. Shields immediately locked into place above their heads and on their sides, blocking the sunlight that streamed in through the glass.

“Why did they think putting those…things everywhere was a good idea? I much preferred the time when we had to deal with humans.” Gaius turned back to glare at the hologram one last time before focusing back on the current issue. “Where were we? Ah, yes. The visions. If you wish, we can get right back on a plane and return to Russia. I will support your decision.”

Amy smiled and reached for his hand. “You just want to leave, don’t you? How many times do I have to tell you that the chances of us dying are slim? It’s Christmas! Everyone has to put aside their differences and celebrate together.”

“They might make an exception for me.” His eyebrows drew together as he stared straight ahead.

The shields continued to lock into place until they’d reached the main building of the airport. Once they were out of harm’s way, the sunlight lit up the passenger boarding bridge again.

Looking up, Amy suddenly saw just how worried Gaius looked. “Hey, look at me.” She took his face in her hands and forced him to turn his head toward her. “We’re going to be fine. Okay? I would never let anything happen to you.”

For a thousand years, they had always had each other’s backs.

Trying to describe the connection they had would be next to impossible. Amy had found both her best friend and the person she wanted to spend eternity with, in Gaius. It was strange, the way someone could fall in love with someone who had once been their enemy.

There had been moments when they fought, of course there had. Some days she wanted to run back to New York to be with her friends. Other days Gaius had done questionable things, causing her to believe that perhaps that villain still lingered inside.

But the love they felt for each other always seemed to win.

“Have you told your friends that we’ve arrived?” Gaius leaned into her touch, his eyes remaining locked with hers.

Amy shook her head, running one of her hands through his hair. “Not yet. I figured we should get settled in at the hotel first. The ball isn’t until tomorrow night anyway. That gives us plenty of time to catch up.”

If she were honest, the idea of facing her friends with Gaius at her side terrified her. She had visited several times throughout the years, but he’d never come with her. Amy felt that his presence might add unnecessary tension whenever she traveled to New York.

“I just hope a thousand years has been enough time,” Gaius said, lines appearing between his eyebrows when he frowned.

With a smile, Amy reached up and smoothed them away, standing on her toes to press a gentle kiss to the spot. “You’re thinking about this way too much. Everything is going to be perfect.”

“It truly is remarkable how you managed to stay optimistic all these years.” Although there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, he grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

Amy hummed under her breath, wrapping her arms around Gaius’ neck to pull him closer. People walked around them, some stopping to shoot dirty looks or simply to stare, but she ignored them all. The only one who mattered right now was the man she held in her arms.

When an announcement for passengers to board a flight came over the intercom, they pulled away. Both of them were smiling, and he laughed under his breath when a small child nearby made a sound of disgust after they shared one last kiss.

“Shall we?” Gaius rested his forehead against Amy’s, looking like he would rather stay in this spot all day.

Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin. “We shall.”

They held hands as they walked through the airport to the service desk for transportation.

After a thousand years, the lines between the worlds of vampires and humans were almost gone. Services designed just for vampires were everywhere, making it easier for them to travel during the day. The thought made Amy smile as she and Gaius waited for a taxi made specifically to block out any and all sunlight.

“As strange as it seems, I think Rheya might be happy to see how far we’ve come.” She almost laughed after saying the words. “At least, I think a small part of her would have liked it. Our kind is finally free.”

Crimes against vampires still happened, and some still mistrusted them, but the world had grown much safer. Most people didn’t care. Plenty of humans had treated her with kindness when they found out, the memory of the Irish town now a tiny detail of the past.

Gaius snorted. “Perhaps. In the beginning, she did want humans and vampires to exist peacefully alongside one another.” He pulled his suitcase closer when someone took a seat beside him, eyeing them a moment before looking back at her. “I’m glad I lived to see this day.”

“I’m glad I decided to let you live all those years ago.” She laughed when he glared at her and playfully nudged him with her elbow. “You know that I love you, don’t look at me like that.”

Before Gaius could respond, they were told that their ride had arrived. The vehicle waited in a parking garage, safely hidden away from the sunlight. Amy threw their luggage into the trunk before sliding into the backseat, Gaius following close behind.

As they sped down the busy streets, Amy reached across the seat and took Gaius’ hand. A smile tugged at her lips when he laced his fingers through hers, and she turned away to conceal a grin.

It had been nearly a decade since she’d visited New York. Screens floated in the air, the blinding lights that lit up every corner blocked by the special glass designed for the vehicle. She still wondered what kind of technology it took to make sun-proof windows that could protect vampires.

“What should we do until the sun sets?” Gaius asked.

Amy turned to look at him and smirked. Words weren’t needed.

“Well, if you insist.”

She threw her head back and laughed, the nerves and excitement building in the pit of her stomach. Finally, her friends would get to see Gaius again. For so long, she had waited for when the moment felt right. She just hoped they were capable of forgiving him.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the hotel. The car parked close enough to the door that they could get inside without worrying about the sunlight. As the driver set their luggage down, he wished them well. Both of them returned the sentiment before turning to face the hotel entrance.

An incoming call made Amy’s phone vibrate, and she pulled it out to see Lily’s name light up the screen. “Hello?”

“Ames! Are you two here? I got a notification that your plane had landed.”

Grinning, Amy looked over at Gaius, who was beginning to look sickly. “Yeah, we just got to the hotel. What are you up to?”

While they got their room key, Amy stayed on the phone with Lily. She’d almost forgotten how much she missed her best friend. Almost.

Fifteen minutes later, the conversation finally came to an end. Amy hung up the phone and fell backward on the bed. The blankets almost swallowed her up, and she stared at the ceiling for a minute. It was crazy to think about how much had changed with the passage of time, and yet so much remained familiar.

“Are we to meet with them tonight?” Gaius asked, watching her from the other side of the room. His face was pale, the anxious way he looked at her almost cute, in a strange way.

Amy nodded, sitting up on her elbows. “Yes. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” she added when he tensed. “I’m sure they would understand.”

Truth be told, she still feared what would happen when her friends saw him again. Lily wasn’t the problem, she’d been surprisingly accepting of the fact that the two of them were together. But Adrian and Kamilah were a different story. They’d known the less pleasant side of him far longer than she ever had, and neither of them had spent much time with this part of him that wasn’t under Rheya’s influence.

“Are you certain?” It seemed as though her suggesting that he stay behind released most of the tension building up in his body, and Gaius relaxed, still watching her from across the room. “You would be okay with me staying here?”

She frowned, but nodded. “Whatever makes you feel the most comfortable. I only want what’s best for you.” Amy beckoned him toward her, reaching up to pull him down to her. “I love you,” she whispered.

Gaius rested his forehead against hers, and finally, finally, smiled. “I love you more.” He brushed his lips against hers, the gesture achingly gentle.

With a sigh, she pulled him down onto the bed on top of her. For a long time, they forgot about her friends.

By the time they finished, the sun was beginning to set. Traffic raged on outside as they lay tangled in each other’s arms. A smile tugged at Amy’s lips when Gaius kissed her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.

“I hope you know that there’s no way you’re getting out of attending the celebration tomorrow,” she mumbled, turning her head to look back at him. “You have to face everyone eventually.”

“I know.” He sighed, focusing his stare at the window across the room. The blinds were shut tight, but a flicker of bright orange sunlight peeked through, leaving a thin line across the hotel floor.

Amy turned in his arms, placing her hands on his face. “If anyone tries to cause problems, I’ll break their face.”

Gaius laughed, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek. “That seems rather excessive, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I mean it. If someone tries to do something, I won’t hesitate. But the Dark Solstice is about putting aside our differences.” Her face hurt from grinning, and she reluctantly slipped out of his embrace. “Well, I should probably get ready to meet up with them. You’ll be okay here?”

He nodded, watching from the bed as she got dressed.

A few minutes later, the sun had set, shrouding the room in darkness. The sounds of life continued outside, and Amy glanced at her phone when it began to vibrate.

Adrian.

Trying her best not to let her face betray her true feelings, she turned away from Gaius to answer the call.

“Hey, Adrian.” Her voice filled the quiet room.

For a moment, there was silence on the other end. She wasn’t sure whether that was something to worry about or not. Just before she could begin to panic, he answered. “Hi, Amy. Lily told me that you two landed a few hours ago. Are you joining us tonight?”

Amy glanced back at Gaius before moving to the bathroom. He would still hear, but she took comfort in the false sense of privacy. “It’s just going to be me tonight.”

“He will show up for the Dark Solstice, right?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, seriously considering taking Gaius up on his offer to hop on a plane back to Russia. “Yes. We will both be there. I promise.”

“Okay.” Adrian sighed, and she thought it might be out of relief. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.” She hung up and set the phone down on the counter, taking a deep breath as she stared at her reflection.

It was happening. In twenty-four hours, she would be at a mansion, Gaius at her side, facing dozens of vampires who probably still hated the man she loved. No amount of time would change certain people’s minds, and she could understand why. Still, her heart ached at the thought of them not giving him a real chance.

Amy liked to believe that somewhere, deep down, her friends were willing to give Gaius a chance. That they believed some goodness lived inside him. Why else would they let her leave with him so long ago?

Memories of that time flashed in her head, and Amy closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing when she remembered all the pain and suffering she had caused.

It had been a long time since she thought about the darkness, but a part of it would always remain with her. Not enough to cause her to lose control again, but enough for her to never forget what had happened.

She would always miss Jax. She would always regret not being able to bring him back. But she would never give in to that temptation again.

When Amy emerged from the bathroom several minutes later, Gaius had gotten dressed. He sat at the foot of the bed, giving her a knowing look when their eyes met. Without a word, she walked over to him, shutting her eyes when she fell into his arms.

They held each other for a while, ignoring the bombardment of text messages that lit up her phone.

“Have you been having a lot of visions lately?” Gaius asked, brushing her hair out of her face.

Amy sighed, afraid to look him in the eyes. “Yes. They seem to be getting worse.”

Once, she would have hidden the truth from him.

But after a thousand years, she had come to realize that, sometimes, there is no harm in being honest.

“What have you seen?” His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of fear that lingered.

Silence settled between them before she gathered up the courage to speak. “The island calling me back. I’ve seen the world burned to ash, and the person responsible for it all is me.”

Every time, it was the same scenario. The call of the darkness beckoned to her, and she could no longer ignore it. Power of unimaginable proportions lay within her grasp.

All she had to do was return to Mydiea.

Amy had not dared to go near Greece since leaving with Gaius. She knew the power still existed, that it was just waiting for someone strong enough to wield it once more. She was the only one who could possess the power of the First, and that knowledge sent shivers down her spine. For as long as she lived, the world would always be at risk.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. When the phone calls and messages became too much to ignore, Amy reluctantly pulled away, knowing she had to go see Adrian, Kamilah, and Lily. They were waiting for her at Raines Corp.

“I have to go now,” Amy said, turning to face Gaius.

He nodded, smiling briefly when she leaned down to kiss him goodbye.

Five minutes later, she walked alone down the busy street.

Advertisements for the next Christmas blockbusters lit up the city, loud music making the air thrum with energy. Amy zipped her coat up, though the cold didn’t really bother her.

On the way, she felt the need to feed, and stopped to grab some blood as she continued down the street. After walking for a few more minutes, she came to a familiar building.

In a thousand years, surprisingly little had changed. The building had clearly undergone improvements, but it still resembled the one she had stood outside so many years ago. She thought of the very first day she had walked through these doors. If she’d known then what would happen, would she still have stepped inside?

A part of her didn’t think she would.

An excited squeal pierced the air, and Amy jumped when a body charged toward her. The fright dissolved into joy, and she laughed, returning the tight hug that Lily gave her. It felt great to be back with her friends.

“You’ve been away for way too long! Why don’t you come visit more often?” Lily refused to let go, and Amy grinned when she looked at Adrian and Kamilah, who watched the two friends with smiles.

“Maybe we’ll have to look into visiting more,” she said, feeling a bit sad that Gaius wasn’t with her for this.

Lily seemed to notice the dip in her mood, pulling back to look at Amy’s face. “Why didn’t Gaius want to come tonight? Honestly, I was kinda excited to see how things would play out. We haven’t seen him since—”

It wasn’t necessary to bring Greece up again. The four of them seemed to have an unspoken understanding. Talking about what had happened on Mydiea often brought back unpleasant memories.

Screams. Blood. Destruction.

“I think he’s just nervous. The people we’re supposed to celebrate the Dark Solstice with tomorrow all wanted him dead at one point. Some of them still do.” Amy knew that she would also be on their enemy lists because of her relationship with him.

Lily watched her, sympathy shining in her eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Or him.” Her best friend smiled, reaching for her hand. “Now come on, we have so much to catch up on before the sun starts to rise.”

The two of them walked toward Adrian and Kamilah, preparing for a long night of reconnecting.

And for the first time since arriving back in New York, Amy’s worry about seeing her friends again faded away.

---

A large mansion loomed before them, and Amy slipped her fingers through Gaius’ as the two of them approached.

Curious gazes watched the couple make their way up the steps, a few sneers thrown their way enough to make both hesitate at the door.

“It is still not too late to make a run for it,” Gaius mumbled under his breath, watching Amy from the corner of his eye. “I will cover you while we run.”

She smiled and shook her head, turning to look at him. “We’ll be fine. I texted Lily that we were here. She should find us in a few minutes.”

A vampire glared at Gaius as they walked by her. Amy had no idea who it was, but based on the look of hatred she received next, she guessed it was someone who could not be considered a friend.

“Amy!” Lily’s voice drowned out the noise of vampires, and she burst through the crowd, pulling Amy into a hug. “I’m so glad you made it!” When she pulled away and turned to address Gaius, a slight bit of tension hung in the air. “Gaius.” Her lips twitched before she broke out in a grin. “It’s been a while, huh?”

He looked surprised to be greeted in such an informal way. “Yes…I guess it has. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Neither seemed sure what to do, awkwardly staring at each other before Gaius bowed slightly. Amy snorted, turning her face away to hide the amused grin. She had a feeling it would be even worse when Adrian and Kamilah found them.

“Who invited him?” A voice rang out, the sneer present in the man’s tone.

“Great,” Gaius mumbled under his breath as the man approached, his hands clenched into fists.

Amy stepped forward, prepared to stay true to her promise of breaking the face of anyone who became a threat, when another voice made the rest of the room go quiet.

“Today is a day for putting aside our differences. Including Gaius.” The crowd parted, and Kamilah slowly made her way forward, head held high. “He was invited, Nathaniel. Now get out of my sight before I escort you out of here.”

Everyone immediately found other things to do, the party appearing to return to normal. But Amy could see the curious glances thrown their way. She sensed the tension in the air as people watched with bated breath.

The vampire known as Nathaniel grumbled something incomprehensible before he staggered away, shoving people out of his path. Once he had disappeared onto the mansion’s balcony, the attention shifted to the other three.

“I apologize for his behavior,” Kamilah said, addressing Gaius, though she kept her eyes averted. “Some people fail to understand the meaning of the Dark Solstice.”

Memories of a long-lost love reflected in Gaius’ eyes, and Amy had to turn away. She felt no jealousy, only a tinge of sadness. Of course he would still have feelings for Kamilah. The same thing happened when Rheya came up.

Thousands of years spent loving someone would never really disappear, even if that love had been corrupted.

“I understand.” When Gaius spoke, Amy looked back at him. He looked like he was trying his best not to smile. “Well, may I say, you look as lovely as ever.” Although the two words were unspoken, they still somehow managed to linger in the air.

My Queen.

Kamilah managed to bring herself to look at him, pain flashing across her face when their eyes met. The betrayal would always hang between them, no matter how much time passed.

“Why didn’t you go with Amy to see us last night? We were expecting to have some time before this to have a proper conversation.”

Guilt over not convincing him to come washed over Amy. She should have tried harder, told him that he had nothing to fear, but the idea of forcing him to do something he didn’t want to only served to remind her of how Rheya had treated him. And she would do everything in her power to make sure she never forced him to do what he didn’t want to.

Gaius took a deep breath. “The idea of facing you and Adrian scared me. The person—I was not very pleasant. I guess I was worried that seeing me would bring back bad memories.”

“If Amy has chosen to spend the past thousand years with you, then perhaps there’s more to you than I thought.” Kamilah tilted her head to the side, studying his face. “Perhaps we could have a longer conversation?” She looked at Amy. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

Things were going far better than she had expected. Amy stepped back, trying her best not to grin. “Be my guest. But please, bring him back in one piece.”

With a laugh, Kamilah nodded, turning her attention back to Gaius, who once more looked like he might be sick. Together, the two of them made their way to a corner of the room, maintaining a small distance.

After socializing for half an hour, Adrian found Amy and Lily. The three of them continued to tell stories of their near decade apart while others around the ballroom chatted amongst themselves.

Amy stepped away after a while to look at the obelisk in the middle of the room. She stepped closer, searching until she found her name. The smile faltered when she noticed Jax’s, a few inches away. With a sigh, she reached out to run her fingers over the name, forever carved into the pillar.

“He’s here with us in spirit.” Adrian’s voice startled her, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side. “As long as we continue to live, a part of Jax will, too.”

Tears threatened to fill her eyes, and Amy sniffled, surveying the room for Gaius. She caught sight of him and Kamilah still talking in a corner. To her surprise, it looked like they weren’t on the verge of killing each other.

Music filled the air as the band began to play, and Amy pulled away from Adrian, excusing herself as she headed towards Gaius and Kamilah.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, looking between the two.

Gaius shook his head, stepping forward to stand by her side. “Not at all. We were just discussing what’s happened in the years since we last saw each other.”

Amy nodded, glancing back at the dance floor. Couples were pairing off, swaying to the slow music that played throughout the room.

“Do you want to dance?” She turned back to Gaius, looking up at him with a smile.

He returned the gesture, nodding before he looked at Kamilah. “Mind if I leave you now?”

Kamilah shook her head, her lips quirking up in the slightest of smiles. “Not at all. I hope I get to know more of this side of you…friend.”

Pure joy lit up his face, staying as they walked away to join the others dancing. Amy couldn’t stop from smiling, wrapping her arms around Gaius’ neck. “I guess a thousand years was enough time for Kamilah to consider you a friend.”

He chuckled, his hands resting at her waist. “Most of this new version of me is thanks to you. You made me want to be better.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You can’t let me take all the credit. There was some effort on your side too.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “You know, I think Jax would be happy if he was here. We finally get a party where no one tries to kill us.”

Gaius smiled, pulling her closer. “Yet. The night is still young.”

But something told Amy that, for once, the celebration would go uninterrupted.

After so many years of pain and struggling, she finally felt at peace. Her friends had been willing to accept Gaius, to attempt to know the part of him that Rheya had kept trapped away for so long. The man that she had fallen in love with, who believed in her when she felt like no one else did.

Time may not be enough to heal all wounds, but it was enough to make her believe there was hope. And as long as she had hope, she would continue to fight the darkness.

-----

Author’s Note: Finishing this has me feeling both sad and happy, honestly. It ended up a lot longer than I’d originally intended, but I had quite a bit of fun writing it. Also, I just wanted to give a special thank you to @theo-oface first of all for for helping me come up with the main idea for this epilogue but also just for being so supportive of me writing this. Seriously, I appreciate you so much, dear friend. Anyway, I hope whoever reads this fic enjoyed it and thank you so much for taking the time to read this. Every single like, comment, and reblog meant the world to me. I may say that a lot, but it’s true. Thank you so, so much for taking the time to read something from someone who’s still pretty new to the fandom. I really loved writing this (it’s the first fanfiction I’ve written in a long time--like eight years.) Alright, that’s enough. Thank you everyone once again! I love you all so much.

[aziraphallist]

When the world doesn’t end and Aziraphale suggests they go on holiday, Crowley almost bursts a vessel in his eyes trying not to say yes too emphatically.

It takes them some time to decide on an itinerary, of course, and a little longer still to be really sure they’re safe enough. If sentimentality is what leads Crowley to suggest the south of France—after all Aziraphale is so fond of crepes and good wine—there’s no one on earth who can prove it. Which is practically the same as it not being true.

However, it must be said that there are a few aspects of this vacation Crowley failed to adequately consider. To whit: even Aziraphale knows a full suit with bow tie, shirt, waistcoat, and jacket is inappropriate attire for someone on holiday in the south of France, and now Crowley has to cope with the sight of his angel in light trousers and—and Crowley cannot emphasize enough how completely this destroys him—a fuchsia linen shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. Jesus wept. At least he’s wearing socks with his loafers; if Crowley had to go straight from layered in triplicate to flashes of bare ankle he’d probably set the whole country on fire. He just helped stop the apocalypse; he’d like to enjoy the world he saved, not discorporate immediately.

They spend two days tasting all the local delicacies (Aziraphale), getting lazily drunk on the best vintages France has to offer (both of them), and gradually becoming used to the fact that Aziraphale’s forearms are extremely shapely, perhaps even bitable (Crowley) before Aziraphale suggests something moderately terrifying.

“Well, it’s what you do on holiday, isn’t it?” he says, indicating the upscale boutique. “And the weather is lovely…. It would be a shame not to take advantage.”

Crowley should have suggested a holiday in Antarctica. “All right,” he agrees, folding like a card table. “Whatever you like, angel.”

Unfortunately for Crowley, not even the most upscale boutique carries the sort of 1920s swim costume Crowley suspects Aziraphale would favor given the chance. He could maybe, nearly, almost live with that. Nor does Aziraphale seem particularly inclined to go for the wetsuit option, not that that would be any better. But no, Aziraphale’s insistence on purchasing real clothes that will last and also manage to suit his modesty requirements means Crowley has to endure him in knee-length white-and-coral striped shorts, with a white rash guard top that clings everywhere and leaves nothing to Crowley’s imagination, which works double-time regardless.

He probably shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always Crowley’s grand ideas that cause him the most trouble in the end.

Crowley miracles up his own swim costume to satisfy Aziraphale, but like Heaven he’ll actually let anyone see him wear it. It’s just the principle of the thing. Instead he lies on a large tartan beach towel the sand is too afraid to infringe upon, procures a cocktail with a little black umbrella, and presents Aziraphale with a swim ring shaped like a unicorn. “Go on, then. Have fun, angel.”

The beach is crowded, but beachgoers who venture too close to Crowley’s towel soon find themselves remembering they left their valuables unattended, or realize they desperately need a wee, or discover they’ve had too much sun and need to go back to their hotel for a nap. Apart from keeping them away, Crowley pays them no mind, focused on Aziraphale in the water, bobbing up and down in his unicorn float ring, beaming so widely Crowley has no problem discerning it from the beach despite his poor day vision. He’s obviously fine. No agents of Heaven or Hell here. Just the two of them, retired and on holiday, doing whatever they like.

Eventually even with the glasses the brightness begins to hurt his eyes, so he leans back and closes them, pulls the edge of the towel over his face for extra protection, conjures a very long straw for his cocktail, which he wedges into the sand. This isn’t so bad, really. The sun feels nice. He should sun himself more. Maybe he can convince his apartment it needs a skylight or two.

Everything is vaguely wonderful: rhythmic waves crashing on the beach, warm sun, excellent frivolous beverage. If he has to do this again tomorrow he’ll get bored, but, well, he can always summon a few jellyfish. No one’ll get stung, but avoiding the beach due to jellyfish will spoil their holiday all the same. Yes, that’s a good idea. And perhaps he can find Aziraphale an appropriate swim costume online. They do have overnight shipping these days—Crowley’s proud of that one. And—

A bone-chilling scream interrupts his idle daydream. Crowley has never heard it before, but he would know it anywhere. Aziraphale.

Before he can think about it, he’s discarded his glasses, leaving his drink and towel in the sand as he sprints to the water. The minute his bare foot touches ocean he sheds his skin, sheds it and sheds it and keeps shedding as he plunges into the water, a vast dimension unfolding from inside him, unraveling, uncoiling, until Crowley is sixty feet long and as thick around as a bodybuilder, made of teeth and menace and destruction.

Whatever hurt his angel is going to pay.

Dimly he registers the panicked screams of frantic beachgoers abandoning their earthly possessions and running for higher ground, but he doesn’t spare them a thought. He is hunting. What monster dared to threaten Aziraphale?

In the water, Crowley’s senses are more acute. He can sense Aziraphale just a few meters ahead. A few rapidly departing fish. One moray thinking oh shit merde putain fuck!! very loudly as it beelines for safer waters. An octopus that wishes it had stayed home today.

None of them are anywhere near Aziraphale, who is bobbing in an area populated only by some unusually old and therefore large Posidonia.

Crowley breaks the surface indignantly, treading water in human shape. At least, the part of him that is above the surface. “For fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, it’s just a little sea grass! The way you shrieked, I thought you were being murdered.”

Aziraphale goes pink-cheeked and sheepish. “Nonsense! I was merely startled.” He looks around the beach pointedly and then adds, pointing those eyebrows and his insinuation at Crowley, “Though I think my actions may have inadvertently led to something of a larger sensation.”

The beach was deserted, the remains of blankets and backpacks and lunches and sand toys lying abandoned in ruin. On the plus side, this would sour far more vacations than a simple jellyfish scare.

Before he can deflect, though, Aziraphale presses on. “I should have known, of course,” he says, and oh no, that’s the tone he uses when he’s about to pay Crowley a compliment. “You always come to my rescue, you old serpent.”

Crowley’s blood suddenly gets very warm and rushes to his face. “No, I—that’s—you’re—” Aziraphale smiles indulgently and Crowley stops trying to be cool and tries to change the subject instead. “Angel. I saw a little gelato shop up the strand a ways. Can I tempt you?”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says, so fond and sincere Crowley nearly burns with it, “I don’t think you’ve ever stopped.”

Then he pauses, and while Crowley is still frantically trying to stop his brain from turning into a snake again so it can have a blessed emotion without having to think about it, he shakes his head and adds, “Titanoboa, really, Crowley. You can be so dramatic.”

And he turns and paddles toward the shore, leaving Crowley sputtering and speechless in his wake.

(Inspiration post)

[theredhairedmonkey]

How would Aaravos react if he found out about Callum and his abilities?

Hmmm just like almost everything to do with Aaravos, his reaction to Callum would be complex. At first blush, he’d find him to be quite jarring.

You see, Aaravos thinks of himself as rather unique. According to Aaron and Justin in the interview with Cartoon Universe here, it’s really just Aaravos who can master a Primal Source other than the one he was born with. Elves can only be adept at using the kind of Primal Magic they are born with, while humans can’t use any kind of Primal Magic without an artifact. So, you have those creatures who naturally can use one form of magic, those who can’t use any kind of magic...and then you have Aaravos.

Additionally, he’s likely the “one of the Great Ones” who gifted Ziard his staff, along with gifting Dark Magic to Humanity at large. So, while he sees potential in humans, in his mind they can only practice the kind of magic he’s been generous enough to give them. No matter powerful they can become, humans would forever be in his thrall.

Except Callum.

Suddenly there’s this human, this boy who learned he had a knack for spells...and then goes and does the thing that made Aaravos unique, and creates his own connection to a Primal Source and masters its form of magic. After just a few weeks of effort.

And the more he learns about him, the more shocked he’d be. Callum flat out rejected Dark Magic, and he refuses to use magic for primarily his own benefit, the way Aaravos does. Instead, he genuinely helps, guides, and protects those around him. His moral code is diametrically opposed to Aaravos--to the Startouch elf, people are just means to his ends, but to Callum, those people are the ends unto themselves. 

Callum is just a kid who managed to pull off what Aaravos was once considered unique for, he refused Aaravos’ tempting gifts, and rejected using magic for any of the reasons Aaravos does. There’s just something shocking, upsetting, and annoying about all of this.

However, once Aaravos calms down, he’ll begin to see him as something else too. This kid is the only person in the world like Aaravos. Someone with boundless potential, who can tap into and master any kind of magic he wants. With the right teacher, Callum could become as powerful as him. 

Aaravos refers to Viren as his “vessel,” and Claudia as an “asset.” But Callum? He’s the ultimate prize. A perfect protégé. An Anakin Skywalker just waiting to be turned into a Vader. An equal. If Aaravos can get Callum to join his side, then the two of them can reshape the world in their image, as master and apprentice. Aaravos would crush Ezran, Rayla, and Soren without a second thought, but he will go out of his way to try to persuade and tempt Callum to join him.

And, of course, if Callum refuses, it doesn’t matter. After all, Aaravos knows there are other ways to harness his vast potential...