#eden is supposed to be lifting her mask up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainforestakiie · 4 months ago

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hello! here is my new omega au! i do hope you like it! it is loosely based on aztec and mayan mythology, with other mythology added in to make an interesting story, i hope.

this was originally inspired by @lilacwriter07's ask where they wanted some more omega adamsapple, and they allowed me to be more creative! do not worry, lilacwriter07, your ask will be in this au! i have it already written out; i just want to get the 'back story' out first! expect part 02 in a day or so, then your ask!

ahhh! i really can't wait for everyone to read this and let me know what you think!

Promised Soul (Omegaverse Mythology AU) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03. Part 04.

From a tender age, Adam knew he was unlike anyone else. His parents were breathtaking, with sculpted bodies and elegant frames. After their ash-fall, they had become even more radiant, effortlessly attracting admirers. Their skin was bronzed by the sun, their hair rich and thick like a lion's mane, and their eyes, large and glistening, held an otherworldly allure. They embodied beauty and fully embraced their heritage.

But Adam was different.

On the morning of his tenth birthday, Adam awoke with a peculiar excitement. A strange, burning sensation churned deep within his gut, coiling up into his chest. Lying beneath the lush red-and-green feathered blankets his grandmother had lovingly woven, his lips curled into a broad grin. Eagerly, he kicked the blankets aside, rolled off the bed's edge, and raced to the mirror. Practically bouncing on his pear-shaped feet, he twirled before the mirror, eyes wide with anticipation, searching for any telltale wisps of smoke rising from his skin—the first sign of the ash-fall. But there was nothing.

Adam's reflection stared back at him, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. Leaning closer to the glass, he tugged lightly at the soft padding of his cheek.

"I've gone grey," he whispered to himself, his voice tinged with disbelief. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Straightening his young body, Adam twisted and turned, desperately trying to glimpse his form from every angle. There was no steam, no smoke, no ethereal transformation seeping through his flesh. No glittering specks of lava freckles adorned his skin—another sign of the ash-fall. Instead, he looked... burnt out.

"Why?" he muttered, a deep frown etching across his face as he took a step back. His shoulders sagged, arms falling limply at his sides. "Why am I...?"

The morning was spent in a frantic attempt to disguise his appearance. He wasn't meant to look like a fire that had sputtered out before ever truly igniting. Adam bundled himself in thick, oversized sweaters, a medical mask, and a woolly hat, gloves, and scarf to match. When his mother saw him, she laughed, trying to peel away the layers, but Adam resisted until his father intervened, scolding him. Apparently, it was dangerous to be wrapped up so tightly.

He would never forget the look on their faces when they finally saw him. The horror, the tears, the screams—they had cut him deeply. Before his tenth birthday, his parents had been loving and attentive, their days filled with family outings and warmth. But everything changed after that fateful day.

Adam became the family's failure—the one who couldn’t burn like his cousins. Even Elly, his younger cousin, had her ash-fall the following month. His mother had broken down in tears that day too. No matter what Adam did, it never seemed to bring a smile to his mother’s face or draw his father's gaze.

Was he truly such a disappointment?

By the time he turned eleven, when no one even bothered to acknowledge him, Adam had begun to wander away from the family fire. He ventured through the oversized, thick branches and towering trunks of the forest he called home—Eden, the forest of flames, nestled at the leftmost point of Pentagram City. All his life, Adam had been repeatedly warned never to leave Eden.

The world beyond was far too dangerous for someone as fragile as him; his flame would be easily extinguished, or worse, stronger and more terrifying creatures would snatch him away. His mother had always assured him that once he experienced his ash-fall, he would be free to explore the city like everyone else... but that day never came. He was weaker than anyone imagined, more delicate than they had feared, and now, no one would care if he disappeared. No one noticed as the little, scrawny ash boy slipped away from the gathering of families and neighbouring clans.

Sniffling, Adam inched forward, his flat, grey feet sliding over the warm, red bark of the thick branches. He moved cautiously, with the delicate care of someone who knew that a single misstep could be his last. He had no fiery wings to catch him if he fell. A broken bone would mean certain death, for no one would come to save him—he’d be left to perish alone.

Adam had heard stories of Pentagram City and the beings that lived within it. Pressing himself against the trunk of a flame tree, he peered into the quaint countryside just beyond Eden. Scattered across the landscape were large red rocks that gradually gave way to the more structured outlines of a city. Squinting, Adam spotted a towering temple at the city's heart. It appeared to be made of stone, but from this distance, he couldn’t be sure.

He could see little else from his vantage point. Adam knew that Pentagram City had five points, with Eden being one of them. The other four points housed powerful clans of other beings, and the closer they lived to the temple, the more numerous and lesser the creatures became.

According to what little he had heard, a god resided in that temple, but Adam knew nothing about the deity or its role in Pentagram City. Did this god rule the city? His curiosity gnawed at him as he continued to stare at the distant structure, hoping for a glimpse of something—anything—divine. But there was nothing.

Sighing deeply, Adam let his head fall against the tree, his eyes drooping with a deep, sorrowful frown. He knew he should return; if he stayed away too long, he’d be forgotten, and no food would be saved for an ugly bird like him. His lips trembled as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. A sob escaped his lips...but something cut through his cry.

Adam blinked in surprise, straightening as he rubbed his grey lips together. He glanced around, his heart racing. He could suddenly hear a strange sound.

Adam pursed his flat lips, tilting his head as he strained to catch the sound again. It was like singing—a soft, whistle-like tune, reminiscent of the birds that flitted among the branches of Eden. His wide eyes darted around the trees, scanning the fiery foliage for any sign of who—or what—was making that eerie melody. But the sound wasn’t coming from above, where the branches intertwined like a tangled web of flames. It was coming from below.

With cautious, tentative steps, Adam edged closer to the red branch's edge and peered down at the golden, knee-length grass that blanketed the ground far below. The grass shimmered under the harsh glare of the white sun, each blade sparkling like a thread of liquid gold in the light. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. Would anyone notice—or even care—if he dared to climb down? They had always drummed it into him: never set foot on the ground until your wings had formed or at least until a few feathers had sprouted from your arms.

But then again, nobody would care. He was the disappointment, the one who would never fly.

Determined, Adam inched forward, but everything happened so fast. His vision blurred as his foot slipped, sending him tumbling down the bark of the giant tree. The flame trees were far from smooth; their surface was gnarled and blistering, scorching his skin as he skidded downward. His body scraped against the rough bark, his descent a painful blur, until he hit the ground with a sickening crack. His feet throbbed with pain, and he shakily inspected them—a bitter reminder that they were still soft and delicate, not the sharp talons his family bore with pride. His uncle's sneering words echoed in his mind: pathetic.

A gasp escaped Adam, his body aching all over, his arms limp and unresponsive. It took everything in him just to sit up, and when he did, tears flooded his eyes. His uncle’s jarring, smug voice rang in his ears, scolding him for being so foolish. No one would care—they would only find sick amusement in his accident.

A soft, strangled sob slipped from his lips, slow and tentative at first. His face crinkled, scrunching up as the overwhelming wave of sadness crashed down, twisting painfully in his chest until it finally burst forth. Adam let out another gasp, his sobs growing more desperate, his tears falling in a relentless stream over his ash-grey cheeks. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them, and buried his face, sobbing into the crook of his arms.

Everything poured out of him—the disappointment of not burning from the inside like all the others before him, the sense of failure that gnawed at him every day. The way his mother looked at him now, with a hollow sadness that tore at his heart, and the way his father couldn’t even bear to glance in his direction. His cousins, aunts, and uncles, their cutting comments and cold stares. The way the elders had dismissed him, deeming him unworthy to be paired with another in the clan. Typically, the year after an ash-fall, the elders would pair them up, but Adam had been brushed aside, not even a consideration.

The more he cried, the harder it became to stop. He felt as though he might choke on his tears, as though the sadness would consume him entirely. Eden was quiet, the ever-burning inner flames of the trees casting a warm, flickering light around him, but it felt so distant, so cold.

“Why are you crying?” a sudden voice asked, cutting through the haze of his despair.

Adam’s breath hitched. He squirmed, peering up through tear-filled eyes at the figure standing over him, staring down with glassy red-and-gold eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out—only more tears.

The figure appeared to be young, about his age, perhaps eleven. They were shorter than Adam, which was surprising given that he was often teased for being small. The stranger let out a quiet sigh and carefully sat down beside him, not so close that their elbows would brush, but not so far that Adam felt completely alone.

Adam continued to cry, his sobs echoing softly in the golden grass. The stranger stayed with him, silent and still, their gaze fixed on the swaying blades that shimmered in the gentle breeze. After what felt like an eternity, the figure finally tilted their head toward Adam, extending a hand that hovered hesitantly above his trembling shoulders before finally resting there. They began to rub his back in small, slow circles.

“There, there,” they murmured, their voice flat, almost emotionless. “There, there, don’t cry.”

Adam continued to sob, his tears soaking into the earth as he curled into himself, trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. The small hand resting on his back was oddly warm, a gentle contrast to the cold world around him. The warmth was even more surprising considering Adam’s lineage, his bloodline intertwined with the very essence of fire.

When his sobs didn’t subside, the mysterious figure beside him made a low, soothing sound deep in their throat. They shifted closer to Adam, their stiff hand continuing its rhythmic motion along his back. With a soft, deliberate motion, they straightened and tilted their head skyward, cherry-red lips parting ever so slightly. A familiar melody, one that Adam had heard before, slipped from their lips, echoing through the quiet streets of Eden, the flickering heart of Pentagram City. The stranger’s voice was enchanting, a gentle hum that filled the air with a comforting warmth, even in the darkest corners of the city.

Adam blinked through his tears, rubbing his hands over his tear-streaked face. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze wandering wearily around before settling on the figure beside him. He sniffled, trying to blink away the lingering sadness, as he watched the stranger sing softly, their voice wrapping around him like a tender embrace. For the first time, Adam felt a comfort so deep, it was as if the very air around him had transformed into a protective cocoon, holding him in a way he had never known.

The person beside him was unlike anyone Adam had ever seen in Eden. They seemed to belong to a different world entirely. Their skin was a pale, milky white, with a delicate flush of red framing their cheeks. Golden, fluffy curls crowned their head, with two tufts of hair playfully resembling horns. Their lips, full and stained a deep cherry red, contrasted strikingly with their mismatched eyes—one a gleaming gold, the other a deep crimson. Adam’s gaze drifted down their form, noticing the black and green claws adorned with rings of lush crimson feathers at their wrists. As he looked further, he saw green and red feathers peeking out before spilling around their hips, forming a long, soft-looking tail in place of feet. Scales of blue, red and white blended well into the tail.

“Do you feel better?” the stranger, now clearly a boy, asked, his voice soft and melodic.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes catching Adam’s. A mesmerizing array of green, blue, and purple scales shimmered across his neck, trailing up to his pointed ears, making him appear even more otherworldly and enchanting.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, his heart stuttering in a way it never had before. He had never laid eyes on a creature so mesmerizing, so otherworldly. The boy was beautiful, ethereal in a way that made Adam’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. He quickly rubbed his face with both hands, trying to hide the flush that spread across his skin, and managed a weak, shaky smile.

“Yeah, um, who... what...” Adam’s voice faltered, his words stumbling as his mind raced to catch up. His brows knitted together in confusion. “I mean, what are you?”

The boy snorted softly, his long, colourful tail flicking to the side with a playful grace. His lips curved into a deeper frown, and for a fleeting moment, Adam glimpsed two sharp fangs peeking out from behind those cherry-red lips. “That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? Asking someone’s breed like that.”

“Oh!” Adam squeaked in horror, his eyes widening with panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

But before Adam could finish his apology, a ghost of a smile twisted across the boy’s lips, and a low, rumbling laugh escaped him.

“I know. You’re just a baby,” he said, his tone gentle, almost teasing, as if Adam’s innocent curiosity amused him.

Adam blinked furiously, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, struggling to find the right words. The boy beside him tilted his head slightly, a sly smile playing on his lips as his gold and red eyes flickered across Adam’s face.

“I can tell you’ve never left your home before,” he mused, his voice smooth and knowing. “You’ve never seen anyone outside your clan, let alone someone like me. If you knew who you were talking to, you’d probably be beside yourself.”

“Huh?” Adam pouted, his confusion deepening. “Are you someone important, then?”

“Something like that,” the boy replied, rolling one glittering, scaled shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. Adam’s eyes immediately zoned in on the vibrant scales and feathers, captivated by their brilliance.

“Why were you crying?” the boy asked, his tone softening slightly.

Adam lowered his head, leaning back against the crimson bark of the tree behind him. “Because I’m a failure,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The boy hummed thoughtfully; his head cocked to the side as if genuinely puzzled by Adam’s admission. His gold and ruby eyes half-lidded, slowly roving up and down Adam’s plain form. He clicked his tongue, revealing a long, serpent-like tongue that flickered between his lips. “Because you haven’t burned away like the others in your clan?” he asked, his tone curious rather than judgmental.

“You know about my family?” Adam asked, his curiosity piqued. How could this boy, who appeared younger than himself, know about his clan? Adam shook his head, his voice trembling as he continued, “I didn’t... I was supposed to transform last year, but I didn’t. I look... like this.”

Adam glared down at his powdery grey arms, turning them over with a disdainful frown. He loathed the sight of them, so dull and lifeless compared to the vibrant flames his kind was known for. Even the green in his eyes had faded to a milky white, making him feel like a shadow of what he was supposed to be. He understood why everyone made fun of him—he was ugly, unremarkable, and utterly forgettable.

“Nobody will ever want to mate with me,” he added, his voice thick with pain. His eyes began to water again as he spoke. “I’m ignored, pushed aside. Nobody wants to be my friend. My Ma and Pa can’t even look at me. I’m going to die alone. It won’t matter if I present as an Omega in the coming years. I’m undesirable. I didn’t burn. I didn’t turn to ash, and I certainly wasn’t reborn. I’m just... a fire that smothered itself before it could even burn.”

The boy was silent for a long moment, his blank gaze fixed on Adam. Finally, he spoke, his voice a soft hiss. “You will be an Omega?”

“Probably,” Adam replied, his tone hollow. “But it won’t matter to my elders. They haven’t even bothered to find me a match. I was supposed to have one this year so I could bond with them.”

Adam’s hands trembled as he spoke, his breath hitching painfully. His nose flared, and his lips quivered as the weight of his loneliness pressed down on him. Just as the first tear slipped down his grey cheek, the boy’s long, snake-like tongue darted out, licking it away. Adam jerked in surprise, his eyes widening as he looked at the beautiful boy beside him.

The boy’s black and green scaled claws gently wrapped around Adam’s hands, pulling them close to his face. He examined them intently, rubbing his claws along Adam’s fingers, pinching and turning them over as if searching for something hidden. His clawed hands then moved up Adam’s arms, seeming to probe for something unknown to Adam.

The boy’s golden and ruby eyes met Adam’s as his claws trailed over Adam’s shoulders and pressed down gently on his chest. A spark ignited in his eyes as he felt the steady beat of Adam’s heart beneath his touch.

“Just because you didn’t go through the ashfall doesn’t mean you are undesirable,” the boy said sternly, yet with a tender undercurrent to his words. “I don’t find you unpleasant to look at. In fact, I find you... interesting.”

“You do?” Adam whispered shyly, a shiver running up his spine at the boy’s words.

The boy nodded sharply, slithering closer. His beautiful tail flexed as he raised himself slightly above Adam, his face drawing nearer. “As for dying alone, I don’t believe that will happen.”

“How would you know? Nobody in my clan would want to bond with me,” Adam said shakily, his voice tinged with hopelessness.

“I never mentioned your clan,” the boy replied darkly, his eyes growing hooded and glassy. His long, serpentine tongue slithered through his lips once more, licking firmly down Adam’s cheek. “From this moment on, I will be your mate.”

Adam couldn’t speak, his mind practically short-circuiting. His skin prickled with sensation as his head tilted back, the boy beginning to rub his cheek against Adam’s in a possessive gesture, scenting him fully. Adam’s heart skipped a beat as he imagined returning to the nest with the boy’s scent on him. What would his family say? What would everyone think? But those thoughts melted away as the boy’s sweet, intoxicating scent filled Adam’s senses, wrapping around him like a warm blanket and making him relax.

“I think you’re a beautiful Phoenix, whether you have burned or not,” the boy purred softly, nuzzling into the crook of Adam’s neck.

“I’m Adam!” the unburned Phoenix blurted out, the words slipping past his lips before he could think. “What’s your name?”

The boy chuckled, pulling back to look Adam in the eye. For the first time, Adam saw a true smile on his lips, his mismatched eyes growing tender with emotion.

“Don’t forget your mate’s name. My name is—”

Then, as if caught in a dream, the gorgeous boy’s voice began to fade, dissolving into a soft, melodic hum that barely reached Adam's ears. The words, the name, everything slipped away like sand through his fingers. Adam remained seated there, at the very edge of Eden, as the world around him blurred, the sharp edges of reality growing hazy and distant. He blinked once, then twice, his gaze drifting in bewilderment as confusion clouded his mind. A deep groan escaped him, and he pressed a trembling hand to his temple, trying to make sense of what was happening.

But in the next breath, everything shifted. The vibrant colours and strange warmth of the encounter melted away, and Adam found himself waking up in his bed, nestled within one of the intersection buildings of Pentagram City. The familiar surroundings of his room greeted him, though the memory of the boy and that strange, fleeting connection lingered like a fading whisper in the corners of his mind.

The blaring shriek of his alarm clock sliced through Adam's skull like a jagged knife, but he didn't rush to silence it. Instead, he lingered in the moment, his pale, almost ghostly eyes fixed on the worn and cracked ceiling above him. Time seemed to stretch as he allowed his body to awaken slowly, letting the dull hum of the city seep into his consciousness. The buzz of distant traffic and the occasional honk gradually filtered through his fogged senses. Finally, with a languid roll, he turned to his side and slammed his hand down on the alarm clock, the sharp sound abruptly cut off. A low groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. His tousled brown hair stuck out in wild directions, and a sheen of sweat clung to his clammy skin. He was naked, tangled in a cocoon of blankets, quilts, pillows, and sheets—the softest of his belongings—some of which even included his old hoodies and sweaters, adding to the haphazard nest of comfort surrounding him.

Adam groaned again, raising his arms above his head as he stretched, his spine crackling with the motion. He dragged a weary hand across his face, releasing a heavy sigh just as the brief silence was shattered by the blaring music from above. The familiar sound brought with it the knowledge that his neighbours were at it again—lovers wrapped in their passionate dance, the Omega upstairs a notorious screamer, their cries cutting through the walls even with the music attempting to drown them out.

Grunting in irritation, Adam swung himself out of bed and trudged towards his ancient chest of drawers, their surface as battered and worn as everything else in his room. He kicked aside a few pillows and sheets that cluttered his path and yanked open the top drawer. Inside, a pink and white box sat waiting. He pulled out a slender stick from within and slipped it into his mouth, holding it beneath his tongue. He knew it would take ten minutes to work, though he could have shortened the time by using his Omega-Hood privileges, but Adam wasn’t about to take the easy way out.

His tired eyes, heavy with a burden that seemed older than his years, found his reflection in the cracked mirror propped on top of the drawers. The fissure ran down the left side, spider-webbing across the surface, distorting his already grim visage. Adam stared at himself, a grunt rumbling in his chest. Nothing had changed in the passing years; his skin remained ashen, his eyes still a lifeless grey, and his hair, brittle and dull, like leaves about to crumble in the wind. Beauty had eluded him, like the sun had missed him entirely while showering its warmth on the newborn Phoenix eggs.

His gaze drifted to the old, tattered calendar taped back together and hanging limply on the wall. His eyes were immediately drawn to the red mark on today's date, a small but significant reminder.

"Officially, I'm twenty," he murmured, pulling the stick from his mouth and holding it up to the dim light filtering through his dirty window. The glass was so filthy that even if it were the brightest, sunniest day, the view outside would still seem drab and lifeless.

The stick revealed four little green lines, and Adam let out a sigh of relief. "Perfect. My heat's over."

He tossed the stick into the trash bin with a flick of his wrist and turned his attention back to the remnants of his nest. He had already begun dismantling it, pillows and sheets scattered carelessly from his restless sleep. It looked forlorn and abandoned now, a poor excuse for what a Phoenix nest was supposed to be. His mother, may her soul rest in peace, would surely be turning in her grave at the sight of it. Adam couldn't help but feel the weight of her disapproval, even from beyond.

Ruffling his sweat-dampened hair, Adam felt the burn in his arms and legs as he began the tedious task of cleaning up after his heat. Each movement was a reminder of the exhaustion that still clung to his bones, but he pressed on, gathering up the nest he had meticulously built. Quilts, blankets, and pillows—all the soft, comforting things he had surrounded himself with—were tossed into the laundry basket, destined for a much-needed wash later today. The bed was next, stripped of its sheets with a practiced efficiency. He unclipped the Omega mattress protector, scrunching it into a ball before shoving it into a trash bag, another item to discard when he had the strength to face the world outside his small flat.

The air was thick with the remnants of his heat, a musky scent that clung stubbornly to the walls and furniture. Adam grabbed the air freshener, spraying it liberally around the cramped space, as if trying to erase every trace of the past week. He threw open the small, barely functional windows, letting the stale air escape, carried away by the weak breeze that drifted in from the city.

By the time he was done, the clock was inching towards noon, and the mated pair upstairs were still lost in their passionate tangle. The Omega’s moans and whimpers echoed through the thin ceiling, a constant reminder of what Adam had yet to experience. He found the Omega undeniably cute, with a charm that tugged at something deep inside him, but no matter how attractive he found them, the endless stream of exotic cries grated on his nerves. It was hard to ignore, and harder still to find any solace in it.

Eager to wash away the remnants of his heat, Adam stepped into his tiny, run-down shower. The water, predictably cold, cascaded over his body, but he didn’t mind. The chill was invigorating, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had consumed him for days. He scrubbed his skin, rough and thorough, determined to rid himself of the sweat and Omega fluids that clung to him like an unwanted second skin. He twisted and arched his back, trying to work out the knots that had formed during his restless sleep. The cheap soap and shampoo did little to soothe his senses, but it was enough to make him feel somewhat human again.

Stepping out, Adam shivered as the cold air hit his damp skin, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Even as an unburned Phoenix, the flame within his chest would soon chase away the chill, warming him from the inside out. His eyes caught his reflection in the mirror again, and a grimace tugged at his lips. He looked like a drowned rat, his hair plastered to his face in wet, lifeless strands, the same dull, powdery grey that never seemed to change.

But as always, after his heat, his hands drifted to his chest, pressing against the spot where his Phoenix flame resided. A shudder rippled through him, his entire body prickling with the memory of a boy who had once promised to mate him. The boy had touched him there, right over the flame, as if to reassure himself that it was still burning inside Adam, still waiting for the day it would ignite into something more.

A sigh escaped Adam's lips, the sound heavy with the weight of unspoken longing and unfulfilled promises.

The boy had vowed to mate with Adam when they both came of age, promising that Adam would never have to 'die alone' as he had always feared. Adam had been utterly captivated, lost in the daze of the boy’s pheromones that clung to him like a second skin for a full six months before they finally faded away. When Adam returned home that evening, his clan had been mildly surprised by the unusual scent lingering on him, but when the boy failed to make another appearance, they dismissed it as a fleeting act of pity. A moment of kindness from someone who, perhaps, simply felt sorry for him.

It was a thought that haunted Adam daily. Had the boy truly only felt sorry for him? The exchange of scents, though powerful, was harmless before the age of eighteen, a promise that only became permanent with the passage into adulthood. But the boy had never returned, not even when Adam crossed that crucial threshold into his eighteenth year. Eventually, the hope that had once flickered so brightly inside him dimmed until it was nothing more than a dying ember. It had been a lovely dream, a beautiful fantasy.

But Adam would never forget the boy. He had been mesmerizing, almost otherworldly. Adam had always believed the boy to be a young Naga, certain of it because of the serpentine tongue, the sharp fangs, and the tail that marked his kind. But after leaving Eden on his eighteenth birthday—driven by a desperate need to escape the suffocating presence of his family—Adam had encountered countless Nagas. Some were nearly as beautiful as the boy, but they all shared the same dark, muted colours: deep emeralds, midnight blues, and such dark reds that they bordered on black. Not one of them had the vibrant, luminous hues that the boy possessed. Nor did they bear a single feather.

This discrepancy troubled Adam deeply. He had scoured the ancient tomes in Pentagram City’s library, searching through histories and bestiaries, trying to identify what breed the boy might have been, but the answer remained elusive. The few times he had been brave enough to describe the boy to someone else, they had looked at him as though he had lost his mind. The disbelief in their eyes stung, and eventually, Adam stopped speaking about the mystery boy altogether. He forced himself to write it off as a fleeting encounter with a kind stranger who had noticed a child’s tears and acted on a momentary impulse.

Even so, the memory lingered, like a thorn embedded too deep to remove without drawing blood. The boy’s ethereal beauty, his enchanting presence, where things Adam could never fully let go of, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was all just a dream.

Shaking off the lingering thoughts, Adam hurried out of his cramped bathroom and began dressing in clean clothes. He glanced at the overflowing laundry basket and groaned deeply. He hated this part—washing everything after his heat was not only a tedious chore but also an expensive one. It would cost him nearly fifty marrows, almost half of his paycheck, a price that weighed heavily on him. But he had no choice. He needed those fabrics, especially with summer approaching. If he went back into heat without them, it would be disastrous.

Dressed in an oversized green and red sweater that reminded him of the mystery boy’s feathers, and a pair of worn leggings, Adam grabbed the laundry basket with a firm grip and left his flat. He walked briskly, hoping to avoid running into the persistent Minotaur Alpha who prowled the apartment building. The Alpha had pursued Adam relentlessly, ignoring every rejection. His advances were aggressive, his intentions clear, but Adam knew better than to fall for the ploys of someone who only saw him as a conquest.

As an untouched Omega, Adam naturally emitted a scent that drew potential mates, especially other Omegas. Unfortunately, it mostly attracted the wrong kind—lowlifes who didn’t care about his failed Phoenix status. Respectful Alphas, Omegas, or even Betas wouldn’t approach someone like him. They knew better.

Relief washed over him as he entered the building’s laundry room and found it blessedly empty. Not even another Omega was using the machines. Perfect. This meant he could finish quickly and get back to the safety of his flat. He chose the washing machine in the farthest corner, placing his basket on top of the worn, cream-pink dispenser box, and then turned to survey the Omega laundry products.

There were countless options, each one more expensive than the last. Omegas required their fabrics to be soft, cuddly, and soothing to their sensitive skin, but this necessity came at a painful cost. Times like these made Adam wish he had presented as a regular Beta instead. As he scanned the shelves, his lips twisted into a frustrated pout. He clicked a few buttons on the dispenser, scrolling through strips of powders, washing cubes, and other options until he finally reached the heat detergent.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the updated price, disbelief flooding his system.

"They raised the price again?" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. His fingers twitched as he pulled out his battered wallet, prying it open to count his meagre supply of marrows. "I can afford it... but it's going to make things tight until my next pay check..."

With a resigned sigh, Adam slipped the necessary marrows into the slot. The price was almost three-quarters of his pay, leaving him with barely enough to survive. He would have to go without food for a few days, but this was a non-negotiable expense. If he didn't wash his things, he wouldn't be able to face another heat, let alone the encroaching winter.

Reluctantly, Adam fed the shards of bone marrow into the machine and began the laborious task of washing the fabrics that had formed his nest. It took a few hours, each minute dragging by as he waited for the cycle to complete. Once finished, he practically ran back to his flat, the weight of his cleaned belongings both a comfort and a reminder of the price he had paid.

~#~

The air in Pentagram City hung dry and brittle, a result of the relentless drought that preceded the looming summer. Unlike the rest of the world, their seasons defied reason—twelve months without a drop of rain, only to be drenched by a year's worth of torrential downpours over two relentless months. Beneath the city's surface, a labyrinth of ancient tunnels crisscrossed, designed to collect and distribute this precious deluge throughout the city. Or so they claimed. But the truth behind Pentagram City's water supply held darker secrets.

Adam’s gaze was drawn irresistibly to the temple at the city’s heart, a monolithic structure that dominated the landscape, casting a permanent shadow over the five points of the city. It was an ominous sentinel, its presence forbidding and absolute. No one dared approach the temple. The stones that formed its foundation were hallowed, forbidden to be tread upon by any living soul. The city’s construction ended abruptly in the temple’s vicinity, leaving a barren expanse marked by ancient altars and crumbling pillars—sacrificial grounds that held the weight of centuries-old rituals.

Adam swallowed hard as he stood at the very edge of the city’s bounds, staring into the desolate expanse of the sacrificial lands. Though he had never witnessed a sacrifice, the grim tales and ironclad rules had been seared into his consciousness, an unshakeable knowledge that permeated every citizen's bone and blood. The time for a sacrificial offering was fast approaching, an event anticipated by every inhabitant of the city with a mix of dread and resignation. No one knew who would be chosen, but the offering was essential, a grim necessity to appease the ruler—the unseen protector of Pentagram City. A pact had been forged between the temple and the city’s founders centuries ago, a contract written in blood and shadow.

Adam bit his bottom lip, turning away from the looming temple. His gaze shifted to the stone statues that lined the boundary walls, their presence a silent warning to all who might dare to trespass into the sacrificial lands. The statues varied in form—some were massive, hulking figures with jagged edges, while others were small, smooth, and eerily delicate. The memory of the first time he had seen them remained vivid; a moment of sheer terror etched permanently into his mind.

The first time Adam had laid eyes on the God that watched over Pentagram City—the ancient protector who demanded sacrificial blood in exchange for life-giving water—he had nearly fainted. The memory of that moment still haunted him, a visceral experience that defied explanation. When he saw the statue, it was as though the earth had trembled beneath him, his vision blurring as a wave of fear and awe coursed through him.

And yet, as always, Adam found himself drawn to the carved effigy, like a moth helplessly circling a flame. A dull ache burned in his chest, and an elusive pressure gnawed at the edges of his mind, just beyond his grasp. The God of Pentagram City was a force unlike any other, a being so powerful that the temple had sprung into existence by mere thought alone. Crafted from massive stones of gold, ruby, and black, the temple was adorned with seven hidden emeralds beneath its foundation and seven more atop its spires. Legend held that the stones beneath connected to the world beneath the sea, where creation itself was born and where it would inevitably end. The stones above were said to channel the light of the heavens. Their God, a serpent-like entity, could move effortlessly between these realms, bringing with it waves of unnatural energy that pulsed through the city.

The God’s form was a blend of the serpentine and the divine—a colossal snake with wings lining its back, a face somewhere between a dragon’s and a bird’s. Feathers carved from stone trailed down its head, looping up its immense wings and down its tail, which ended in twin rattles. The underbelly was a shield of impenetrable scales. Though countless paintings and toys depicted the God’s likeness, none truly captured its terrifying presence. It had been over ten thousand years since the last blood sacrifice, but the signs were clear. The city was drier than ever, and the skies refused to yield rain. The God’s return was imminent, and with it, the cycle of sacrifices would begin anew. Only when the quota was met would the serpent God spread its wings and allow the rains to fall again, ensuring Pentagram City’s protection for another era.

Adam raised a hand, tentatively reaching toward one of the six feathered wings carved into the stone. This was why people thought he was mad. The mysterious boy who had once vowed to mate with him had a striking resemblance to their God—a likeness that seemed impossible. The God was not a mere boy, and it certainly had six wings. Adam’s mother had been furious when he refused to admit he had invented the boy, but he hadn’t! The boy was real. But Adam’s stubborn belief had only brought shame upon his family, leading his mother to commit an unforgivable act.

“What are you doing?” a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

Adam recoiled, his hand snapping back as if stung by the very air. His cheeks burned with a deep, humiliating flush, his fingers twisting together in a desperate attempt to contain his nerves. He forced a wide, exaggerated grin onto his face, though it wavered at the edges, barely masking his unease as the figure approached. “Nothing! Just admiring our lord and saviour!” he blurted, the words tumbling out too fast, too forced.

Lilith’s gaze was as sharp as a blade, slicing through his facade with terrifying ease. “I’ve told you never to touch those,” she hissed, her voice cold and unforgiving. The intensity of her glare made Adam instinctively step back, his bravado crumbling. “This isn’t just about your twisted obsession with our Deity. No one is allowed to touch the statues of Quetzalcoatl.”

Adam’s eyes flicked to the statues, their stone faces impassive, indifferent to his suffering. A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping as he wilted under Lilith’s icy disapproval. The guards stationed nearby seemed to close in, their presence suffocating. They were there to ensure that no one, not even a fool like Adam, would defile the sacred ground. The punishment for such a transgression was brutal, swift—beheading by the very guards who now watched him with thinly veiled contempt.

Lilith’s voice cut through the tense air, her frustration palpable. “I’m tired of turning a blind eye,” she growled, her tone low and dangerous. “Our past can only shield you for so long, Adam. One day, someone else will be on duty, and they won’t hesitate to take your head off.”

Desperation clawed at Adam, and he forced a teasing smile onto his face, though it felt more like a grimace. “Have I mentioned how sexy you are when you’re angry?” he quipped, his voice strained, pleading for a reaction that would soften the moment.

Lilith’s expression twisted in disgust. “Not even in your nightmares,” she spat, her words like poison.

Adam flinched but pushed forward, clinging to the hope that something, anything, could pierce her icy exterior. “Why not?” he asked, his voice trembling with the weight of his hope.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lilith replied, her tone colder than ever. Her icy-blue eyes raked over him, each glance a cut. “Who would ever consider dating a burnout like you? You’re not even a real Phoenix.”

The words struck him like a physical blow, but Adam forced himself to keep smiling. He fumbled in his pocket, his hands shaking, and pulled out a small, sparkling stone. “I found something for you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It reminded me of you.”

Lilith’s gaze hardened as she stared at the stone, her lips curling into a sneer. “I don’t want it. Why would I ever want something as tacky as that?”

Adam’s hand trembled violently now as he looked down at the stone, once so beautiful in his eyes. “I thought it was stunning,” he murmured, his voice hollow.

“It’s ugly,” Lilith snapped, her tone biting. “How many times do I have to tell you? I would never be interested in someone like you. I would never want you as my Omega. You’re pathetic, Adam. The other guards laugh at you every time they see you hanging around here, clinging to some delusion that I’d ever want to court you.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, his vision blurring as he glanced back at the stone still in his hand. His arm, outstretched, felt frozen in time, a painful reminder of his foolish hopes. The whispers and sneers of the guards behind him echoed in his ears, a cruel chorus of his failure.

Lilith’s expression twisted into something darker as she snatched the stone from his hand, her nails scraping painfully against his skin. She held it up, barely glancing at it before locking her icy-blue eyes onto his. “This,” she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain, “is a terrible courting gift. If you were serious about trying to court me—which is laughable, by the way—this wouldn’t even scratch the surface of what’s required for the mating ritual. You’re the laughingstock of Pentagram City, Adam.”

“I-I…” Adam stammered, his heart constricting as Lilith carelessly tossed the stone over the wall of statues. It vanished in an instant, out of reach, gone forever.

Lilith’s patience snapped as she bared her fangs at him, stepping forward with a predatory grace. Her Alpha pheromones filled the air, suffocating him, forcing him to stumble back. “You can’t even handle a fully grown Alpha’s pheromones,” she snarled, her voice a low growl. “How could you ever hope to satisfy someone like me? And what’s worse, you’re not even a full Phoenix, Adam. There’s no passion in you, no true flame. You’re burnt out before you’ve even had a chance to ignite.”

Adam’s breath hitched, his world spinning as her words carved into him, each one leaving a deep, festering wound.

“We would never have worked,” Lilith continued, her voice unyielding. “I deserve better. So much better than… whatever you are.” With a sharp, decisive movement, she slammed her spear into the ground, the sound reverberating through the tense air. Her icy-blue eyes bore into him, and when Adam finally broke, bowing his head in submission, she relented with a sigh, almost rolling her eyes as she pressed her fingertips to her forehead.

“Adam, I get it,” she said, her voice softening slightly, but the damage was done. “I understand why you’re clinging to me. When we were children, I was your only friend, the only one who showed you kindness. I know how that must have seemed to you.”

Lilith paused, her expression hardening as if she were chiseling Adam’s fate in stone. “But you must accept it was a mistake, a misunderstanding. There’s nothing here for you, Adam. Nothing but pain.”

“We could never coexist together. Never. We are too different.” She clicked her tongue and took a step back, straightening her lean, sturdy form. Her body was a study in contrasts, her small waist giving way to thick, powerful hips and thighs that hinted at her lethal strength. Her chest was well-formed, her long golden hair streaked with black and grey that framed her face before fading back into gold. She was every inch the warrior, her beauty a deceptive mask for the predator beneath. “Maybe, if you had successfully burned as a Phoenix, there might have been a slim possibility. But since you haven’t, there is none at all. Absolutely nothing. We are far too different, and I am expected to birth strong offspring. My children are destined to continue the line of guardians for Quetzalcoatl’s temple.”

Her eyes locked onto Adam’s once more, and this time, he could see the sharp black slits within them, smaller blue eyes nestled within her primary ones, giving her a monstrous, otherworldly appearance. “Any offspring of yours would only bring shame and dishonor to my clan. Any children you produced with me would die the moment they left the nest, and I cannot bring such a curse upon my people.”

Adam swallowed hard, his lips trembling as he forced them into a tight, thin line. He nodded sharply, the truth of her words cutting deep. Lilith’s lineage was one of power, a female-only breed brought to life by Quetzalcoatl’s own webbing. They were guardians, trained from birth to fight and kill any who threatened their sacred charge. Adam had never seen Lilith’s true form, but he had glimpsed the warriors of Jorōgumo—deadly, alluring creatures who could transform from innocent beauty into deadly predator in the blink of an eye. They lured the unsuspecting with sweetness, only to devour them whole.

As a child, Adam had believed that Lilith cared for him, at least a little. She had never tried to devour him, never tried to ensnare him in her web like so many of her sisters and kin would have done to their ‘friends.’ She had been dismissive, yes, but she had also spent countless hours with him after he began venturing outside Eden. She had never once tried to lure him with sweet words or false promises, never tried to trick him into her web to be consumed. Adam had taken it as a sign that he was special, that their connection was special. But now, as her words sank in, he realized the truth: Lilith’s indifference was not a mark of affection, but of disinterest.

A true sign of love among the Jorōgumo was to be devoured after mating, to become sustenance for the next generation.

“I’m sorry,” Adam whispered weakly, the words barely audible over the roar of his own despair.

Lilith scoffed, her grip tightening around her spear. “Don’t be sorry. Just leave me alone. You’ve never been worth anything to me, let alone as a mate. Get your head out of the clouds.”

Adam nodded, a slow, defeated motion. He had hoped, perhaps against reason, that she might say something more, that there might be some spark of tenderness, however small. But Lilith’s icy-blue eyes remained fixed on him, glaring with a finality that chilled him to the bone. Realizing she had finished with him, that she needed him to leave, Adam offered a sheepish smile, his last shred of dignity, before scrambling past her and fleeing toward the city.

His eyes flickered to the other Jorōgumo women watching him, each one a vision of lethal beauty with golden and red curls framing faces of icy-blue indifference. Their gazes trailed after him, uninterested, as they began to whisper amongst themselves. He could feel their mocking laughter, even though they barely acknowledged his existence.

“I’m not gonna cry,” Adam muttered to himself, his voice breaking as he forced his legs to move faster. “I’m not gonna cry.”

But the pain clawed at him, a raw wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. The Jorōgumo were a dominant breed, their ranks filled with Alphas and few Omegas. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t disguise themselves as an Omega to lure their prey. It hurt more than he could bear to know that Lilith, the one he had foolishly hoped might see something in him, viewed him as nothing more than a speck of dirt on her perfectly polished boot.

“It hurts,” he whispered, his breath hitching as he ran, the snickers of the Jorōgumo echoing in his mind. “It hurts so much.”

“I’m not gonna cry,” he repeated, the mantra hollow and meaningless as the tears he refused to shed stung his eyes.

“I’m gonna die alone.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #au #guitarduck #a03 #fanficiton #omega x omega #omega adam #omega lucifer #omegaverse #omega pair #aztec mythology #aztec gods #losely based on Aztec mythology #promised souls

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caelestis-composition · 4 years ago

Text

⭒ little pistol ⭒

i think i might be scared,

of the man and the men with their hands inside

and the women, oh the women,

all they do is cry

and i,

well i lose my mind

- little pistol by mother mother

aiden and i have been discussing a fatui!brynn au and it’s a breeding ground for angst. had this idea in my mind all day.

childe is mean.

⭒

pairing: childe & brynn (oc)

characters: childe, brynn, eden (mentioned; belongs to @mercuribitez)

genre: angst

word count: 1092

⭒

Childe was well-acquainted with the look on Brynn’s face.

It was a look she only ever let him see, after all. A look that—when she dropped her expertly-crafted emotionless mask—revealed every bit of fear and pain she constantly hid. Brynn often ran to him during these times, her eyes wide and flooded with tears as she shook and cried and cried and cried. And it was during these times that Childe would do anything to get her to smile up at him, because he was her friend.

Childe had been the only person Brynn allowed herself to be vulnerable around.

Had been.

Then she had found Eden, and the two ran off together. Brynn had so easily abandoned everything she had worked for, everything she had sworn to. The Tsaritsa did not take kindly to traitors. So she sent Childe to take care of the problem.

This time, Childe was the cause of the look on her face.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he spat, slashing diagonally at Brynn with a Hydro blade. She parried with her own sword, her face falling even more. She wasn’t crying yet, but she was close. Childe could tell. Her strength was waning, her shimmering eyes staring into his own cold and hard ones, searching for something, pleading silently.

He lashed out at her legs. “I thought you were supposed to be smart,” he snarled. Brynn leapt away, wincing when she landed too hard on her left side. She didn’t make a noise. “You knew this was going to happen, you had to.” Long ago he had promised never to go after her weakest physical point when they sparred. But that was before she betrayed the Fatui, betrayed the Tsaritsa, betrayed him.

She fell much too easily. This time, she cried out: a short, sharp wail that had Childe gritting his teeth harder.

He loomed over Brynn, his gaze dark. She still had that stupid look on her face, she was still staring at him, her eyes swirling with a mix of fear, confusion, sadness, whatever. He couldn’t care at this point, his hands gripping his Hydro blades harder.

Brynn tried to push herself up. Her left leg didn’t seem to be working properly.

“Childe—” He cut her off by kicking her in the side, sending her flying. She yelped, rolling a few times across the grassy ground before she stopped, curled in on herself with her hands over her head. Her eyes were closed, but snapped open when she heard his footsteps approaching. His Vision glowed bright in the dark as he twirled his blades.

“Did you really think you could just leave?” He asked, dismissing one of his Hydro blades as he drew closer to where she lay. Brynn scrambled backwards, her good leg kicking while her bad leg dragged—practically useless—in the grass.

“No, but—”

“Did you really think Her Majesty would let you get away alive?” He glared down at Brynn as she frantically shook her head.

“But Eden—”

“Eden?” Childe all but growled, his blue eyes narrowing. “Really? You’re worried about Eden right now?”

Childe leaned down toward her, and she flinched. Her hands shot out in front of her chest, her head turned away as he reached down, grabbing the collar of her white button-up shirt. He dragged Brynn to her feet; he could feel as her left side buckled, her leg unable to support even just part of her weight. Adjusting his grip, Childe lifted her further, until she couldn’t touch the ground. Her hands clawed uselessly at his sleeve, her legs weakly kicking as her tail lashed from side-to-side. Brynn was struggling to breathe, her chest heaving shallowly. And her eyes. Her eyes were still wide, still searching, searching, searching. She was panicking.

Brynn sucked in a breath, blinking hard as she held back tears.

“Childe, please,” she began, her voice hoarse, strained. “What about us? Our friendship? Doesn’t—” She paused, taking another shaky inhale. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

He froze. They were silent for a moment, Childe glancing away before returning his gaze to Brynn’s.

His face was blank, his eyes empty.

“No,” he said, emotionless. “It doesn’t.”

He could see Brynn’s heart shatter.

And he didn’t care.

She went limp in his hold, and he watched as her tears finally spilled over, leaving dark tracks down her cheeks.

Effortlessly, he tossed her away. He watched her hit the ground, he watched as she screamed, but there was no sound—nothing—until she gasped, frantically attempting to draw in enough air to recover. Resummoning his second Hydro blade, he combined them into one polearm as he stalked toward where Brynn lay, convulsing.

She attempted to summon her own sword, but he kicked it from her grasp before she had a chance to do anything with it. He pinned her arm to the ground, digging his heel into her wrist as she thrashed in a pathetic attempt to get him off. Surprise flashed across Brynn’s face for a brief moment when he lifted his boot, replaced again with fear as Childe instead brought his foot down onto her chest. The toe of his boot bumped against her chin as she struggled, her eyes flicking between his face and the polearm gripped in his hands.

She gave up when he raised it.

Her searching eyes gazed into his again. They were full of… pity? Childe wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it deepened the glare plastered to his face. Brynn had gone still, her shaking had ceased. A neutral expression rested on her soft face. Tightening his grip on his polearm, Childe moved his boot away from the center of her chest. He raised his weapon higher, preparing to bring it down with as much force as he could.

He watched Brynn tear her gaze away, instead staring at the sky, starlight reflecting in her mismatched eyes. She inhaled once, exhaled. Her eyes slipped shut.

Childe stood, frozen, poised above her.

“I’m sorry.”

He barely heard her, but he snapped, plunging his polearm down until it stopped moving. He stood there for gods knows how long, hunched over, his shoulders shaking, his chest heaving.

When he was certain there was no movement—never would be movement again—under his foot, he stepped back. Childe kept his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

There was grass under both his feet again, and he stayed standing, breathing in the cool night air. His polearm evaporated. He looked to the sky.

Silently, Childe turned.

The grass whispered beneath his feet as he walked away.

#brynn’s writing #brynn ocs: brynn chanté #genshin impact #genshin #genshin oc #genshin fanfic #childe #tartaglia #genshin childe #angst #genshin writing

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milkttea · 4 years ago

Text

Journey of a Divine Slayer

Chapter 3: Rolling a 1 on Dexterity

<- Previous • Next ->

Note: Things spoken in dialogue that aren’t Japanese will be in italics and thoughts will always be in italics.

Warnings: self doubt.

Word Count: 2.2k

Demon Slayer x Reader; Female Reader.

With that Sabito rushed towards you as your eyes darted around to follow his body. Just in time you blocked his wooden blade and twisted your body to avoid another hit to your neck.

“Only avoiding my hits and not making any of your own! You’ve learned nothing!”

Now that is what we call shit talking and we don’t take that, especially from a guy. With that you jumped up to the trees and darted around as Sabito looked around searching for you. Taking this opportunity you jumped down, out of his sight, and swung your blade to his neck just as he barely blocked your blow. Unfortunately you miscalculated where he was and fell flat on your face.

Both Tanjiro and Sabito winced.

You quickly got up though and darted around again, doing the same move and this time landing a hit on Sabito with your blade pressing dangerously close to his neck.

You applied more pressure causing Sabito to falter slightly. Under his mask you couldn’t see it, but he had the faintest tinge to his face as he realized you were quite strong, it made him excited. The thing is, in your time you did weight lifting so you were much stronger than you looked. Pair that with the training you've been doing for more than a year and you are quite the force to be reckoned with.

Still it was no match for Sabito who overpowered you and threw you to the ground. Quickly gaining your footing you ran around him as he followed you with his eyes, losing sight of you as you equalized your breathing and ran faster than his eyes could see.

During your training you also trained your body to do Total Concentration Breathing. Not constant, but enough to be most of the day. It greatly helped with your speed and agility even though you still felt like a crippled bitch after you stopped using it.

Using his slight dazed look to your advantage, you quickly swiped your feet under his, causing him to fall and you pointed your blade at his neck.

“How’s that for learning Urokodaki’s teachings?”

You sheath your blade and offer a hand to help him up. He was still shocked that you could hold your own against him even slightly, but still took your hand to get up. Tanjiro who’d been watching the whole thing had been shocked. You were so fast! He could barely see your movement around Sabito and felt a slight twinge in his heart when Sabito just stared at you. He could see his ears get red.

“Wow! (Y/n)-chan that was incredible!”

Tanjiro proceeded to compliment you as you bashfully messed with your tattered clothes, worn down from a year of training.

Sabito meanwhile, had turned to another newcomer, a girl and told her, “I leave the rest to you.”

Then disappeared into thin air.

You finished speaking with Tanjiro and turned as you noticed her, she spoke first.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was very soft and judging by the fact that you weren’t as roughed up as Tanjiro, she was speaking to him.

“Ah Tanjiro-kun I suppose I should be getting back to my training! Good luck!” You then turned to the girl and smiled at her, startling her slightly, “I really like your mask! Take good care of Tanjiro-kun!”

With those parting words you left to your boulder to resume your training. You didn’t need to be with Tanjiro during this time and you needed to get stronger and practice Total Concentration Breathing more. Now instead of training with Tanjiro you would be practicing with Eden, who during this time had also been watching you during the year and would be aiding you. Eden helped you with agility and racing through the trees almost flying.

You still hadn’t opened the package that Eden gifted to you a year ago, but you did read the note that had been on it. The note stated that inside the package were your haori that had been custom made for you and a uniform made specially for you. How Eden got this you had no idea, then again you had been taken to another world so you supposed it wasn’t that outlandish.

You also learned that the two feathers you had been gifted were from Edens’ wings. The one with a ribbon was used to tie your hair. Both feathers however, could be sharpened, thrown and recalled back through your will. It worked greatly for hunting. Unfortunately you cut yourself many times from forgetting to grab them by the root. Along with Eden giving you those first two feathers, they also would give you more feathers which you would neatly pack into a box on your side of the shared room with Tanjiro and Nezuko.

During the time you’d been sharing a room with the siblings, sometimes you would just sit by Nezuko as she slept to watch over her. If her hair was messy you’d smooth it out and pat her head before you left for food or training. Tanjiro found this very sweet as you’d almost treat her like a little sister.

Most of the time while she was asleep though, you would just stare at her as you let your mind wander thinking back to the manga and the show.

"You're going to get so strong, Nezuko. It's incredible and it will be a painful, painful road and you'll want to give in, but you won't because you're so strong."

Meanwhile during your time without Urokodaki or Tanjiro, you also took the time to try to break the boulder in half with no luck. While doing this you got the chance to spar with both Sabito and Makomo. You learned both of their names when they had come to you seeking an answer to how you held up well against Sabito. Said boy had been impressed with your determination and strength. As well as a little frightened by Eden when he saw him for the first time in his human form and when he learned of what he was but would never openly admit it.

Makomo found your agility and speed fascinating and would frequently race you to see who was faster. They both reminded you to practice Total Concentration Breathing. If you didn’t they would hit you with their wooden swords.

You would train with one of them while the other was busy with Tanjiro. Tanjiro had been getting slightly frustrated with how close Sabito was with you though, he didn’t like him being so close and touching you to fix your form. He’d never felt this before since he never had time to interact with other girls his age and he figured it was just because you were his first friend that happened to be the opposite gender.

Sooner than you thought, it came to be around the time that Tanjiro would finally go against Sabito and break his boulder in half. You didn’t know exactly when it would happen, but you knew it would be soon.

Standing quite a distance away from your boulder, you unsheathed your blade and held it in front of you with both hands.

"Alright, come on (y/n) you can do this you can break the boulder, you can save people and you can survive."

But can you?

You faltered and your blade fell slightly.

While you didn't want to say out loud your concerns, it plagued your thoughts and haunted you in your dreams. The thought of all the people that you would come to know and the people that would die. It was vicious on your mind and you would cry every time you thought of it.

All of these people's lives depended on you. If you fail, they die. Not just as characters in a series in your world, but as real people in this world. Living breathing people.

If you were to try to split the boulder in half in this moment, your blade would have shattered. Not to mention the thought of dying, you didn't know if Eden would be able to resurrect you like the world's most attached Mercy and dying a painful death due to a demon didn't seem too fun.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath you cleared your mind.

'I can't think like that, a weak resolve won't save them. It will do nothing but cement their fates, I need to be stronger to save them.'

You opened your eyes with a glint in them.

'I will be strong and I will save people. It's why I'm doing all of this. I won't just stand there and let these people be taken from this world.'

You rushed forward and jumped high into the air and swiped your blade down the center of the boulder.

'I will succeed because they need me to, because I need me to.'

A nearly blinding line of light followed your blade and formed into a perfect cut down the center of the boulder.

Urokodaki and Tanjiro ran over to see you hunched over, blade still in the center, catching your breath. Urokodaki was the first to move and pat your head before pulling you into a hug.

"While I may not have wanted you to split the boulder, you have proven yourself to be incredible. When you go to the Final Selection make it back to us."

Tanjiro joined in with Urokodaki and held you tightly. It was a touching moment for you and for Sabito and Makomo to watch from the sidelines.

Some time later during the night, you were still up since you couldn't sleep, Urokodaki asked you if you wanted to go to the Final Selection first, but you declined.

“Thank you, Urokodaki-san, but I wish to go with Tanjiro-kun.”

He blankly stared at you at first.

"I know that this probably isn't what you wanted to hear, but I want to be there with Tanjiro when he goes through this."

He stared for a bit longer, but pat your head in understanding. You both had become very close and he could understand why you’d want to stay with Tanjiro. He only hoped you both would come back alive.

After that night you resumed your training. You would lift rocks and use them as weights, and continued learning more about medicine and first aid.

This became your everyday routine. It was now your lifestyle, but every now and then you would be hit with a sting of regret. You were living in another world while in your world you were in a coma and your family were worried sick and wondering if you would die.

It kept you up at night (along with the other thoughts of those that were supposed to die) and you had frequent anxiety attacks. You’d stifle them as best you could, but both Urokodaki and Tanjiro knew you weren’t as fine as you appeared. They would do tasks for you and offer you food and other things to help you de-stress. It was incredibly sweet and they helped you find habits that would benefit you to get your mind off of those thoughts.

One of those habits was going to the market every week to get supplies and other necessary items. This week you needed to get bandages and ointments, while heading out you realized now would most likely be the time that Tanjiro finally breaks the boulder.

“Urokodaki-san! I’m going into town to get some things!”

He said goodbye and went back to his carvings. It looked like he was carving masks.

While walking to the small town you looked to the sky and saw a gold dusted osprey flying and held out your arm for it to land. It lands on your arm silently as you brush its feathery head with a finger.

“It’s good to see you healthy Eden, even though I know you can't be sick, it still makes me happy to see you in a good state,” you smiled as Eden pecked your finger, “rat child, be ready to be imprisoned for your crimes.”

With Eden now perched on your shoulder, you walk into town ready to buy some medical and sewing supplies. During the year you’d been here you were gaining more experience in sewing and providing medical aid and you’ve been getting good at it. It benefited not only you, but Tanjiro and Urokodaki if they were in need of any help in those fields.

The clothes that you and Tanjiro wore to train would get damaged frequently so you would see them and fix them up, taking very, very special care of Tanjiro's haori.

With your supplies bought and you making the trip back up the mountain you spot Urokodaki and Tanjiro near where Tanjiro’s boulder should be. Walking faster to get to them and to unpack your things you see Tanjiro’s boulder cut in half perfectly. You started sprinting, causing Eden to fly off your shoulder as you ran straight into Tanjiro in a hug.

“Tanjiro you did it I’m so proud of you!”

Tanjiro was shocked at your sudden arrival and slowly put his arms around you and squeezed you tightly. Urokodaki joined the hug, embracing both of you.

“Go to Final Selection, but be sure to return alive. Nezuko and I are here waiting. I will see you both once you get back."

You and Tanjiro hugged Urokodaki even tighter as tears were shed from both of your eyes. This is where it starts, this is where the journey of Tanjiro and you finally starts.

#demon slayer #kny #kny tanjiro kamado #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kny zenitsu #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #Journey of a Divine Slayer

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perahn · 4 years ago

Text

Palliative Nursing

One of my patients died today.

I first met Arthur a couple of months ago. I’m a community and palliative nurse primarily, but I was covering a shift on the ward. He’d been transferred over from another hospital. I never really worked out why, since he was only coming in overnight before being discharged home.

When I came in, his wife Anne was trying to comfort him. He had only received his diagnosis recently – prostate cancer, which had spread to his bones and his brain – and he desperately wanted to go home. He was also frustrated to the point of tears at the way his body had betrayed him. He had been strong and independent, and now he was tired and weak. The struggle to find the words he wanted left long gaps in his speech, and so often neither Anne nor I could help.

He wanted to die. He wanted – he could convey that much – to leave the world ‘with dignity’; if it was time for him to go, he wanted to go. And Anne sat there, and tried to soothe and calm him. He wanted euthanasia, and he could not have it, and I was never sure whether she wanted that for him, or if she wanted to hold onto him as long as she could.

The next time I saw him, he was home again. They’d been in the process of selling their house and downsizing, but Anne cancelled it. So Arthur came home to a warm, sunlit room with an en suite, and they moved their bed down into it. He was a different man when I saw him at home. The words that had deserted him in hospital came more easily, and he smiled, and he could enjoy food again. By about my third or fourth visit – I was seeing him twice a week at that stage, just making sure he had everything he needed to be comfortable at home – he was telling Anne it was a pity all their sons were married and he couldn’t have me in the family.

He had time and support. His daughter Eden moved in for a while; his son and grandchildren live next door. The weather turned warmer, and he sat out in the garden. The family gathered around him, and they took a photo. He was, for the most part, free of pain. You don’t expect that once it gets into the bones, but I am grateful for it.

There is a distance, and there has to be. You aren’t there for every step of the journey, and you come into it as a stranger. Anne woke every time he did, and walked him to the toilet. She coaxed him to eat, helped him use the walker, rubbed ointment into his swelling legs and reminded him to elevate them. She nursed him, and so did Eden. I… stepped in for the other parts. The paperwork. The questions you never think about until someone you love is dying. How do you, and what if, and when, and what do we do about -?

There were changes, last week. Words began to slip away again, and sitting up grew harder. I asked Anne if they wanted a bedside commode for him, so she didn’t have to walk him all the way to the toilet three times a night. She said no, that the exercise was good for him, and they were managing. Then she rang the next day, told me he’d slipped while trying to sit on the toilet, and maybe they’d better have one after all. So my boss Sam and I got one out to their house on Friday. Eden followed me out to the car. She didn’t want to ask in front of Anne, but what needed to happen if, or when, Arthur died? Who did they call, what did they do about his body?

It was a long weekend, and we had the Monday off. Anne rang Tuesday morning. Arthur had significantly deteriorated over the weekend, she told us. She and Eden couldn’t get him up, and they’d been nursing him in bed. His painkillers didn’t seem to be helping as much, because he was restless, turning in bed and plucking at his clothes. My boss covered two of my patients so I could go see Arthur as soon as possible.

Anne was curled up beside him in their bed. Other family members were gathered around, and one of them left the bedside so I could go talk to him. “Here’s Katherine,” Anne said, and Arthur opened his eyes and reached out his hand. He tried to say something as I took and held it. I know he recognised me, even if I couldn’t understand what he wanted to say.

Later I came back with a syringe driver. We use these a lot in palliative care: little machines that very slowly administer a dose into the subcutaneous tissue over 24 hours. Usually, like this one, they’re loaded with morphine, for the pain; midazolam, for agitation and the restlessness that comes over the body in dying; and metoclopramide, for the nausea the morphine can cause. They’re smaller, simpler, and less invasive than an IV line, or repeatedly sticking someone with needles. Arthur didn’t even flinch as I put the first line in, or the second one. The second one is for top-up doses; I used it immediately to give him a loading dose, then taught Eden and her brother how to access it if they needed to give him more pain relief. I left an envelope with the verification of death form at the house.

I left the house not long before seven pm. According to the roster, I’d been supposed to finish at 4:30. That was all right.

The syringe driver runs over 24 hours, but I stopped in to see Arthur and his family around 11am. Arthur was lying on his side. Eden had needed to give him some extra, and so had Anne, but on the whole he’d had a good night, they told me. He didn’t respond this time, although he called out hoarsely a few times. I gave him another top-up, and told Anne I’d be back to change the syringe driver once I’d spoken to the doctor.

I discussed how much top-up Arthur had needed with the doctor, and then one of the other nurses made up the new syringe with me, and my boss covered a patient appointment I had, and I went out to Arthur around 2pm.

Eden was in the front room, continuing to work from home; Anne was on the lounge with a laptop. Arthur had been so peaceful and quiet, she thought she’d get the laundry and a few other things done. Anne and I went in, and she told him I was here to change the medicine, and she’d help him roll over so I could reach. She reached out and touched him, and then she turned to look at me.

“He isn’t-” and she backed away.

I checked the carotid artery.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Anne. “He’s gone.”

And then I held her as she wept.

She was so devastated. She hadn’t been there for him as he died. He’d been alone and she’d been sitting outside, and she hadn’t known.

And it doesn’t matter how many hours she lay beside him, how poorly she slept, half-listening and ready to help the moment he stirred, night after night, the literal around-the-clock nursing she gave him, the long years they lived together. It doesn’t matter how hard, physically and emotionally, it is to support someone you love dying at home, how much she and Eden had gladly sacrificed to give him what he wanted. It doesn’t matter how many people do die alone, waiting for the moment everyone’s back is turned to slip away in privacy. None of that softens the pain, not in a moment like that.

I pray they will eventually.

I got Eden for her, slipped out to the car to get what I needed, and to give them time to themselves.

They had him cuddled between the two of them when I came back, and eventually they chose to leave the room so I could do the necessary things.

I rolled him onto his back, heard the faint groans. Wiped his mouth and crusted eyelids. Removed the lines I’d put in yesterday, straightened his shirt. I was talking to him, every step. It’s just something you find yourself doing. “Sorry, Arthur. I’ve just got to roll you over and get these lines out. I’m sorry if this hurts...”

It’s… not an easy thing, verifying a death. I had thought he was dead the moment I came into the room, and I’d checked for a pulse. Even so, part of you almost refuses to be sure. His hands were so cold, but his throat was still warm. I couldn’t feel a pulse, but maybe that just meant I was doing it wrong (I knew I wasn’t, but what if? What if I had hurt these people so much, and I was wrong, and I had to go tell them he was still alive, and however would they cope with that?) I put a stethoscope to his unmoving chest and listened for a heartbeat, or for breath. I couldn’t hear anything, but I was breathing very loudly myself in my mask – would I hear it? Wasn’t his chest moving, just the tiniest bit? I had to rub his sternum very hard to see if there was any movement away from the stimulus, and I apologised.

Then I lifted his eyelids. ‘Fixed and dilated pupils’ is what the form says, clinical terminology that is accurate as far as it goes. What it means is that you look into those eyes, and they are still and glassy, and the soul behind them is gone.

I could doubt the rest of the tests. Not that one.

I went out, told them I was finished. We talked; I told them what an amazing job they’d done, how proud they should be, all the things that don’t mean anything to them right at the moment, but might later. I stepped into another room to ring the doctor and let her know. I filled out the verification of death form and hid it away in a plain white envelope. Eden rang her brother, and again we went over the final things to be done. Here’s the form. Ring the funeral directors when you’re ready for them to come pick Arthur up. There’s no rush. Call anyone else you think will want to come say goodbye. Give yourselves as much time as you need.

Eden’s brother arrived. She’d sent him a text to come over, but hadn’t wanted to say why. So he came striding in with a cheery ‘hello’, and Eden said ‘He’s gone’, and she choked, and he crumpled. He went softly into the room where Anne was lying beside Arthur, stroking his face and murmuring to him. Too softly; he touched Anne’s arm and she jumped.

Clearly despite herself, Eden laughed.

“I thought for a moment,” Anne said, “that he’d fooled us all. That he was just pretending.”

Which hurt, and still hurts, and I shall remember.

When I left them, it was with the three of them clustered around the bed, the son trying not to cry. They didn’t need me, but I’d drop by in a couple of days if they wanted, I said quietly.

Anne would like that, she told me, and she thanked me for all I’d done. That Arthur had always been glad to see me. “He had his favourite nurse,” she added. “Beautiful Katherine, he said.”

I don’t understand the depth of grace that lets you say something like that in the midst of such terrible grief, but I shall remember that, too.

The last time I made a post a bit like this, I had a little bit of a moral to share. I don’t, this time. I am writing because it helps me process, and I shared it because…well, I still think we need to talk about dying, I suppose, and this is a way to add to the conversation. Because it is such an honour and extraordinary privilege to be a palliative nurse. Because some of you might, like my patients and their families, have questions you don’t know how to ask. Because it touched me, and it might do the same for you. Because love and grief and service to each other are such essential parts of our humanity.

Eternal rest grant unto him, o Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Amen.

#nursing #personal #palliative care #tw: death #tw: dying #disclaimer: all names changed

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adiabolikpastel · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Lunar Eclipse Masquerade

Shu pt. 3

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,587

Pairing: Shu x Callista (mxf)

ღ Neither Shu nor Callista are thrilled about this arrangement. However, they may just need to bite the bullet. ღ

Mun Yu: We did it! These are the last pieces of the LEM story. The end to our Lunar Eclipse. I hope that you have enjoyed the ride, and gotten to know the stories on this blog better! Tune in at the end of it all for Authors Notes!

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ﾟ｡. +ﾟ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

Despite what most people think, demonic beings are very social creatures. The elites hold countless balls and parties, celebrating their immortality together, and entertaining one another with stories. Typically, they are done in celebration for something – though this is not always the case. All types of beings from across the Demon Realm will come if the host is of high enough prestige.

There would be no such host if it was not for Karlheinz. Seated as the head of the Bat Clan (vampires), Karl’s reach spans far. Being the widow for the former Demon King’s daughter, and having children of the first blood, an invitation from the Vampire King is not one to refuse. Though why would you? In his immaculate castle within the Demon Realm, Eden Castle, it is always quite the spectacle. While the celebrations held in his Human World mansion are nice, nothing compares to a true night of pleasure within the true home of the King.

On this night, there was to be a Masquerade in honor of the first Lunar Eclipsed Moon in over two years. While this night may serve each species differently, the idea to celebrate its return was simply too tempting. For this reason, Karlheinz took it upon himself – or rather – his house, to host the event. This extended to his offspring as well, regardless of their personal agenda. Members of every social elite race accepted the offer, and gathered for a truly unforgettable evening

The two walked along side one another through the gardens of Eden Castle. They were in full bloom – though Shu could not remember a time when they were not. His mother once told him that the gardens of this castle were only like this because of Karlheinz. The magnitude of his father’s power was truly incomprehensible. The pure amount of energy it took to, not only, preform magic, but to then have spells on consent – without being affected – that was on a level that Shu could only dream of reaching.

Callista couldn’t help but fell awkward about her current situation. This entire scheme was only presented to her days ago, and she had thought her father was going to turn the Vampire King down. Then again, perhaps he was put into a position in which he couldn’t refuse. Even so, she had thought her father was adamant on her rejecting this union.

However, when he came to her just moments ago, he seemed… different. As if his entire outlook on the idea had changed. No matter what she tried to say in protest, he simply dismissed her words. Her father simply kept saying that this was the best match for her. That through this marriage she would be taken care of. Well, despite what he said, Callista was more than happy staying forever with her parents.

Being able to stay with her younger brothers, tutoring them in their studies, working towards being a teacher herself – that was the life she wanted. Not to be married off like all her sisters. Well, not all of them – but still – she was not in love with this idea. It was obvious that her husband to be was not either.

“… The flowers here are lovely.” She broke their silence, hoping to be able to start a dialog with him. To no avail, it would seem. He simply walked on, leading her further away from the Castle. Just what was he planning? Surely he wouldn’t take a lady so far out alone. What if someone saw them as such without an escort? “Lord Ririe, perhaps we better go back? What would people say, seeing us two alone like this?”

Shu had planned on taking her far enough away so that he could possibly enjoy a taste of her blood. That would surely send this ‘innocent’ woman a lesson. However, that all seemed like such great effort now. She brought up a point about people seeing them – it would be annoying if they started to talk. Especially if Reiji found out. He’d never hear the end of it.

Instead, he walks over to the fountain, sitting on the walls that surrounded the water flowing inside. Shu let’s out a yawn, and removes his mask, letting it fall into the gathered liquid. Then, without any explanation, he brought himself down, and settled in to take a nap. This night had been nothing but exhausting. He could use a small nap.

Calli watched as the vampire laid himself down onto the fountain. What? Why was he doing that? Didn’t he care if his cloths got wet? What about catching a cold. “Lord Ririe, you shouldn’t lie there.” She looks around to see if anyone was watching them. A few scattered guest were about, but none paying them any attention.

“… Noisy… Let me sleep.” Shu mumbled, trying his best to focus on the calming sounds of the water. He wasn’t able to bring his headphone, which normally helped cancel out all the noise around him. Perhaps that had something to do with his panic earlier.

Unknowing how to handle this situation, Callista did what she would do if this were one of her brothers. “Very well then, if you insist on being difficult –" She wanders off to admire some of the new by flower bushes. If he was going to be rude and sleep, she would have some fun. After examining a few different types, Calli picks a couple of the blossoms.

With her arms full, she returns to the fountain, sitting next to her escorts head. With some hums, she beings twisting the stems into one another. Shu could hear the soft melody through the drops of water. He knew the tune she was humming, “… novice …” He says smirking softly. The familiar music was clearly Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

“Is it now? I happen to think it fits this night well enough.” Callista responds, smiling softly. She continues to craft her mixture of flowers. “Seems you are cultured to some degree, calling me a novice. That must mean you know more advanced pieces?”

Shu did not respond, instead he settled into his position. There was no point in having a conversation with her. Perhaps if he simply slept, she would go tell her father, and he would be finished with this mess. Just as he was thinking, he felt something slide onto his head. Followed by a small giggle.

“Haha… These flowers suite you, Lord Ririe. We almost match now~” Callista muses touching the feathers that were strung through her own hair. She waited for him to say something. Anything.

Silence.

With a small sigh, Calli looks up to the moon. “… I did not choose this either. If it were up to me, I would prefer a life like my sister. She has no husband, and travels the realms as she pleases.” She twirls one of her feathers. “That is the life I always wanted, as most of my kind do. It’s not like us to be caged in one place. Yet here I am… being given away. Doesn’t seem fair.”

Shu could understand her plight. After all, getting away was something he tried to do his entire life. “… There is no escape.” With a light grunt, Shu lifted himself up. The cement wasn’t comfortable anyway. “That bastard does as he pleases. Until he is defeated – there will be no way out.” This revelation was more for himself than for her. He understood that if he ever wanted to be free from all of this – there was no other option.

While it would be hard work, Shu had no choice but to ascend to the throne. None of his brother had what it took – hell, he barely did. However, it was the only way to be free. “For now… you will have to stay by my side. Until the day comes when I can free us both.” Shu looked at his fellow demon. Neither of them wanted this, however, they were without another option.

Calli was unsure about trusting this man. Not only had she just met him, but was he truly capable of besting the strongest demon known in the realm? “I suppose there is no other option.” She stands from the fountain’s wall. “I will be in your care then, Lord Ririe. Until we are both free of these obligations.” She offers him her hand, to shake on their agreement.

Shu sighs, scratching his head. “Drop the, ‘Lord Ririe’.” He lazily moves his hand into her extended palm. “It’s Shu.”

“I wouldn’t dare call my intended so formally.” She blushes slightly. “Shu-san then, will that do?”

Shu smirks slightly, “You could always sell it and call me Darling.” Callista’s face glowed in the darkness from his taunt. Just because their agreement was temporary, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy her while it lasted.

“Th-That is hardly appropriate.” She stammers. Moving to settle herself, Calli looks back towards the Castle. “In any case… the night is almost finished. Perhaps we could being our façade with a dance? I have waited all evening for one.”

Shu looked towards the Castle as well. Just moments ago he had been set on leaving. Giving up on Reiji’s crackpot idea. Content to a life spent on the run from his father. Now. Now there was a bit of hope. Perhaps with an alley like this woman, he could best his father.

“Very well…” Shu stands and offer’s his arm to her. “Only one… unless you want to be my pillow for tonight.” He comments looking down at her breast. Damn they looked soft. For a moment he thought of forcing her to take him up on the idea.

“My goodness, perhaps I mistook you for a gentlemen. You’re words are quite something.” She did her best to brush off his comments. As fake partners go, Shu wasn’t hideous. In fact, Calli found his blonde hair and deep blue eyes attractive. There was something to be said about the beauty of the Bat Clan.

Callista laced her arm with Shu’s, the two heading back into the Castle. There were less guest then before. She could see her father laughing loudly with a group, good to see he was in high spirits. As the two of them made their way to the dance floor, a familiar tune began to play.

“Heh, this must be some kind of joke.” Shu comments, moving one of his hands to rest on Callista’s waist. “Remind me to remove this song from my collection.”

She giggles, it must be in fates design that the two of them find one another in this moment. Calli moves so her back is to Shu, extending her opposite hand of his. “Now don’t be so harsh, as I said, this melody suites the night.” She smiles back at her partner.

Unknown to the future, but sure now of their intertwined fate. Shu places his hand under her extended one. “Perhaps you are right.”

☆+ ﾟ .+ .ﾟ.ﾟ｡ﾟ｡. +ﾟ｡ﾟ.ﾟ｡ ROUTE END ☆*｡｡ . ｡ o .｡ﾟ｡.o｡* ｡ .｡

#writing #Lunar Eclipse Masquerade #LEM

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imjusthereforbatfam · 4 years ago

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Never-Ending Encore, ch.2

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter Summary: Cookies make everything better, right? RIGHT!?

Warning: minor swearing, minor panic/anxiety attack

---

Chapter 2:

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?”

Eden silently cursed herself, the world, and everything in it. Some small part of her still hoped whoever it was wasn’t actually talking to her. Just… somehow magically right next to her without noticing her. And... talking to someone else on her fire escape. Yeah.

Eden quietly huffed at her own idiocy and slowly began to move. She scooted back onto the metal stair, shifting her weight off her aching toes. For a moment she just stayed like that. Praying for… she didn’t know what. Some kind of miracle. Then, with a gulp, she finally inched her head in the direction of the voice.

A man – a huge man – leaned casually against the metal railing of her fire escape. He wore a full red helmet that obscured his every thought and intention from the world. His arms were crossed as he, apparently, observed her.

"What, nothing to say?" he asked, his voice somehow modulated to sound almost robotic.

Eden just stared at him. The white “eyes” of his helmet were forever etched into an angry sort-of look that made her nervous.

Well... more nervous. She was already struggling with the fact that he had suddenly, magically, appeared on her fire escape on the 9th freaking floor. And with the fact that he was a thick, 6-foot-something mass of muscle who could probably snap her in half if he wanted. And that he had a pair of pistols holstered to his hips. And that this was happening in Gotham City; the place filled with not only violence and corruption on every corner, but actual, real-life, will-kill-you-for-funsies villains.

Needless to say, it was a lot to take in.

“Unless you wanna risk getting shot,” the man said evenly, apparently choosing to ignore her silence, “you should go inside now. Shit’s about to go down out here.”

“Are you a good guy,” she blurted in a high, fearful pitch, “or a bad guy?”

The man said nothing. After a moment, his helmet shifted very slightly to the side.

A stream of curses ran through Eden’s mind. She was so dumb. Why was she so dumb? Why was she like this? Why couldn’t she just keep her damn mouth shut? She knew, logically, that she’d eventually be fine no matter what – she always got another encore – but that didn’t mean she had to help dig her own grave, damn it!

The man shrugged and, after a moment, said, “Depends on who you ask.”

“I asked you,” she shot back, then blanched at her own brazenness. This was no time to be Louanne Smith’s daughter. “Sorry,” she said dropping her head. “I, uh— I meant… I asked you,” she tried sweetly. “Um, sir.”

A short sound came out of him. It was too distorted to know what it was meant to convey, but Eden desperately hoped it was amusement.

“As long as you’re not working for any drug cartels or mob bosses, you should be fine.”

“Oh, darn!” she said snapping her fingers. “There goes my five-year plan!”

The man didn't say anything. His head shifted back slightly. Eden had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

An actress needs to know how to read their audience, and Eden usually considered herself pretty good at it. But with Mr. Ominous Angry Helmet, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He could be amused; he could think she’s an idiot; he could be thinking about shooting her. She just didn’t know. That only made everything worse.

Anxious, jittery energy shot through her limbs, jerking her into motion. She swung her body away from the unnerving man, picked up the plate at her side, and turned back to him in one quick, unbroken movement. Her blanket fell off her shoulders with the action and the cool night air felt like knives against her hot skin.

“Would you like a cookie, sir?” Her voice was up a few octaves and moving fast. “They’re snickerdoodles. Homemade. My mama’s recipe. Fresh from the oven and still–” she lifted one trembling hand, hovering it over the few remaining cookies “–yep, still pretty warm.” She lifted the plate closer to him. “Do you want some, Mister, uh–” she glanced down at the symbol on his chest “–Red Bat, sir?”

The man’s silence was deafening.

Eden stared at the cookies, hating her brain, questioning her sanity, and cursing herself internally. She didn’t want to die tonight. More importantly, she didn't want to be shot tonight. Or ever again, really. Being shot hurt. If she were never shot again in her life, it would be too soon. And yet, here she was. Probably about to be shot again because she couldn’t shut her goddamn flap.

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally asked, “Did you really just offer me cookies... and call me Red Bat?”

“Yes?” she squeaked. Then, unable to stop herself, a slew of words spewed out from her. “I’m really, really sorry if I offended you, sir, but I only just moved to Gotham a little while ago, so I still don’t know who all the important masked people in the city are, and, in my defense, there are a lot of important masked people in this city, and honestly, I still don’t even know all the good guys from the bad guys yet, which is why I was asking you earlier, but I really don’t wanna get shot either way, so if you could maybe just consider sparing me this one time, I swear I’ll figure it all out and just forget this whole thing ever happened and move somewhere far, far away, or I could start a fan club for you or something if you really wanted me to, or maybe even—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Mister Not-Red-Bat said putting up his hands. “Easy there!” He knelt down, making himself far smaller. “I get it. You’re new in town.” His distorted voice wavered, like maybe he was either trying not to laugh or not freak out himself. “Calm down and take a breath before you pass out, alright? It’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. No big deal. Good to know.”

“Breathe,” he reminded her.

“Right. Sorry. Breathing. Important. I should do that."

The man nodded along, urging Eden to do that.

It took a few tries, but eventually, she was actually able to take a full, deep breath. The man breathed with her, moving his whole body with the motion to guide her. His movements were so exaggerated Eden couldn't help but feel like she was on a stage with him, performing in front of an invisible crowd. She watched him, following his slow lead as her nerves began to settle.

Eden turned away, letting out a long, even breath before doing it on her own.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah... Thanks." She looked at him again, wondering why in the world he even bothered to help her in the first place. "Are you... one of Gotham’s vigilante people?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Red Hood.” He reached behind his helmet and lifted a red hood attached to the back of his leather jacket for her to see. “Hood,” he said again. “Not bat.”

She smiled at the action. “Hood, not bat,” she repeated. “Got it. Sorry about that."

“It's fine. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Sor—"

He lowered his head in her direction. She could almost feel him giving her a "Really?" look.

"Uh— I mean—” Her cheeks burned against the cool night air. She offered up the plate of cookies again. “Snickerdoodle?”

Red Hood shook and lowered his head as a small noise escaped him. “I’m good.”

Eden's brows lifted up in surprise. She was almost positive he was amused.

“No, really, I insist!" she said quickly. "This is going to be burned in my brain as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life anyway,” she admitted with playful ease, “I’d at least like to know I compensated you for your role in it. Beautiful performance, by the way, Mr. Hood. Very well done. Excellent timing.”

Red Hood leaned forward again, clearly snickering this time.

“And besides,” she continued, excited now, “you’re a vigilante in Gotham City, of all places! That’s a tough gig, Mr. Hood. You deserve to be rewarded for your troubles! And what reward could be better than homemade snickerdoodles by a random civilian? I mean, really now, I ask you.”

He shook his head minutely as she waved a hand around the plate of cookies like a showgirl. She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, sounding like he might be fighting back a laugh. He grabbed a small handful of snickerdoodles and tucked them into a coat pocket. “Thanks for the reward, random civilian.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Hood.” She took a cookie for herself, pleased to find it tasted better than they had a bit ago.

“You really should get inside now, though,” he said getting serious again. “I doubt your neighbors,” he nodded toward one of the buildings not far from her apartment, “will be as willing to share their goodies with me when I come knocking.”

Eden stopped chewing and stared at the building. Part of her was a little in awe. She knew she was in a not-so-great part of the crime capital of the world, but she hadn’t imagined anything vigilante-worthy was actually happening on her crummy little street.

She looked back at Red Hood a moment, processing the information, then quickly finished her cookie and started tossing her things into her apartment.

“Okay, well, good luck, Mr. Hood!” she chimed climbing through the window. “Have fun, or whatever you’re supposed to tell a vigilante before they go, uh…” She frowned and quirked a quick brow at him. “Vigilanteeing?”

With one foot resting atop the wrought iron railing, Red Hood looked as big and threatening as he had before, but Eden wasn't afraid this time. He was a good guy. Ready to jump off into the night and bust some bad guys. But he didn’t. He just stared at her.

He tilted his head. “Vigilanteeing?” he teased, undeniably amused.

Eden turned away from him, her face heating up. “Whatever you call it! Do good deeds, don’t get shot — all that fun stuff. Have fun vigilante times or whatever.”

Red Hood made another sound – laughing at her – and Eden stared at the floor, hating her big mouth and wishing she could just phase out of existence. When she gathered the courage to look up again, she was surprised to find her fire escape empty.

A bit foolishly, she poked her head back out the window. She looked in the direction of the building Red Hood had indicated, but there was nothing to see. No Red Hood, no thugs, no nothing. Just an unusually quiet night on her even-less-safe-than-she-thought street.

But somewhere in the shadows, a vigilante was about to make things a little better. Eden was glad to know that, and glad to have thanked him for it in her own small way. She knew how hard a life like that could be and had nothing but respect for the people who chose it.

Eden, however, didn’t choose a life like that. She was perfectly happy being a totally random civilian, thank you very much. So she shut and locked her window, put on her headphones, and tried to have as much of a totally random civilian evening as possible.

She cleaned the dishes, studied her script, and went to bed early. Just like any normal person might. She ignored the sound of gunshots that managed to pierce through her music. She ignored the red and blue lights that eventually flashed outside her window. She ignored the voice in her head that told her she should've offered Red Hood her help – which was stupid for many, many reasons – and desperately fought off the thought that kept drilling into her head — that if he died tonight, it would be her fault.

When she got up in the morning, haggard and ill-rested, she went to the window straight away. There was nothing in the light of the day to suggest anything vigilante-worthy had happened on her street in the night. It was as dirty as usual, with the usual suspects mulling around their usual spaces. Everything was in its grubby, crummy place. The only difference was the yellow line of police tape and the few broken windows in the building Red Hood had nodded to.

Eden sighed, wondering about the vigilante and what had happened to him. She started to shut the window again when she noticed a folded scrap of paper sticking out from one of her tiny pots of herbs. She plucked it out and carefully opened it.

‘Thanks again for the cookies. They were really good. - RH’

Eden smiled and let out a breath, the night's worries instantly lifted from her shoulders. She re-folded the little note and went to find a safe place for it — completely and totally ignoring the bloodstain along the paper's edge.

Yup. Totally ignoring it.

----

Chapter 3

#jason todd #jason todd x oc #red hood #red hood x oc #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #oc: Eden Smith #Never-Ending Encore #my writing #cross posted on ao3

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madquerade · 3 years ago

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In Questo Paradiso ne Scopra il Nuovo Dì (1/10)

Rating: m Ineffable Wives (female Crowley x Aziraphale) Major Character Death, tw: illness, blood Human AU, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, just a lil fluff but like... You can read it on Ao3 @ sherwhotreksings Chapter: one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Paris. 1851. She’s not sure if she’s real or imaginary, the girl sitting on a chair across from her bed. She sees her though: dark hair, golden brown eyes, dressed in white, Azira’s sister. She can’t be sure anything is real at this point. The only thing she knows for sure is that she’s home now and she’s dying. ~ This is just La Traviata but with the wives. I'm sorry. Antonia is a Parisian courtesan caught up in the intricacies of French society until a young madame, Azira, disrupts her whole world.

Chapter 1

A/N: I 100% blame @miss-minnelli for this fic existing. Darn you and your opera loving ways. That being said, I couldn't have done it without you <3 I also want to thank my beta @serpentyletorc for putting up with me and my nonsense.

It’s her first party in a while. It’s been too long for someone like her when parties are her livelihood. After all, how else will she meet new clients? Courtesans don’t just stand on the street corners in Paris and beg. She’s more sophisticated than that.

Her chandeliers sparkle in the light of the party and the gas lights cast intricate shadows on the walls and guests below. A couple of her guests sit on the piano bench, playing a song together as the small quartet she hired takes a break. Someone hits a wrong note and they both stop to giggle before continuing. Antonia is passed from hand to hand as her guests beg for a moment of her time. She swirls around the party, ball gown feeling as though it’s squishing her. Her dress feels too tight like she can’t quite get a deep enough breath, even though she knows everything she’s wearing is the same as always.

She tried to put on the kind of party that she had before she contracted her illness. The kind that goes and goes until it’s morning. The kind that no one ever wants to end. She used to be able to go all night without even realizing any time had passed, but it seems her stamina has faded in the month she was gone. She’ll need to work on building it back up if she intends on throwing and attending these types of parties again. Still, something feels off. Though she’s since recovered, she knows the underlying cause is more severe.

Antonia manages to break away from the crowd, standing to the side in a private moment. She gasps for breath, trying to push down the increasing panic. She pulls at the front of her gold dress, shimmying to try and shift her corset into a more comfortable place. Her full skirts make a pleasant swish swish as she moves, which she focuses on to try and calm herself.

A guest pulls her from her thoughts with a hand on her shoulder, begging to introduce her to someone. “Antonia, this is Madame Azira Donadieu.”

A heavier woman stands a short distance away with her back to them. She’s dressed in a tan suit with a bright blue jacket. Her blonde hair is cut short, but just long enough that curls form and cling to the back of her head even though her hair is slicked back. Madame Donadieu turns, smiles, and takes Antonia’s hand in hers and places a kiss gently on the back. “Please, call me Azira, Antonia.”

Antonia nervously shoots a glance to her escort for the night, Baronne Beelze, who is watching the pair closely, eyebrow raised and obviously displeased over the informality of a stranger addressing Antonia without an honorific.

Flora, Antonia’s friend, places a hand on Antonia’s arm and says teasingly, “I’ve heard Azira is madly in love with you.”

Antonia can’t help but let out a laugh at that. The absurdity of someone actually loving her is too much to contain. Everyone knows she doesn’t believe in silly things like love. Besides, rumors start and spread quickly in this section of Paris. By the time a rumor makes a full circle suddenly the Baronne has purchased an elephant and Flora has given away all her money to Archduke of Austria. There’s no truth in any of it.

“But it’s true.” Azira is as serious as can be, face intensely set on Antonia. “I am in love with you, Antonia.”

Flora squeezes her arm, lowering her voice to whisper, “When you were ill she came to ask about you every day.”

“Don’t say that!” Antonia hisses at Flora. The action causes her to cough a little, but before she can catch her breath, the musicians return, and she’s pulled back into the action of the party.

She’s spinning both literally and figuratively across the room. Partner after partner twirls her around the dance floor in a maddening waltz. She can barely think straight between suffocating in her dress and trying to catch another glance of Azira while dancing.

She can’t quite wrap her head around what Azira said. She seemed so convinced of her love for Antonia. It’s foolish to fall head over heels so completely. And without even meeting her first! Still, something sticks in the back of her mind. A small bit of hope that hasn’t yet been extinguished. She shoves it away. Like the snake of Eden tempted Eve with the apple, she mustn’t fall for the same trick herself. She’s learned from Eve’s mistake.

She ends up falling into a chair next to the Baronne and Azira while trying to gain back her balance, legs shaking from exhaustion. She waves off the concern of her guests who have gathered around her. Both the Baronne and Azira have their handkerchiefs extended toward her. She takes Azira’s, fingers brushing, and dabs lightly at her chest and face.

“A toast! Antonia, a toast is just what we need for the night!” Flora cheers from the sidelines, oblivious to her out of breath friend.

Antonia shakes her head, unable to get out any words, and gestures to the Baronne. The Baronne in turn gestures to Azira. Great, just the person she’d want to make a toast at her first party back in society.

Azira thinks for a moment and then holds up her glass. “To the night and to... pleasure!” She casts her eyes to Antonia in a way that conveys that’s not exactly what she means or what she wants to say.

Antonia supposes it’s the best Azira can do to express her affection in present company. The indignity of it all fills her with emotions she hasn’t felt before. It fills her lungs better than any breath and enters her veins with a fire. How dare this woman enter her own home and proclaim her love without any thought to Antonia herself.

Before she can stop herself, she’s pushing herself up from the chair, raising her own glass while purposely avoiding Azira’s eyes, and shouting a response of, “To friends!” She continues with, “Love is a short bliss,” meeting Azira’s eyes to emphasize “short” and holding them there, “it’s a flower that blossoms, dies, and is gone forever.” She lets her gaze wander. “Let’s celebrate this moment while it lasts!”

The crowd cheers their agreement, urging Antonia for more. And she obliges though her lungs are burning.

“We live for pleasure and pleasure will sustain us all!” She lifts her glass higher, champagne sloshing out at the apex.

Azira raises an eyebrow, a challenge. “Unless you live for love.”

Antonia steps closer to Azira, face set in a stony mask. “I never have and I never will,” she says this to Azira alone, letting out the last of her air in a delicate tinkle of a laugh.

Azira creeps closer, not breaking eye contact. “But love is my destiny which will make me immortal, not pleasure alone.”

The pair are standing close together, so close that Antonia can feel Azira’s breath on her face. It sends a tingle down her spine and she wishes to live in this moment longer, but her lungs are screaming for air. She manages to take a breath but it is immediately coughed back out into her borrowed handkerchief. She wobbles on her feet but stays upright this time. Motioning with her hands, she encourages everyone to continue partying for a while longer while she excuses herself.

With a smile that doesn’t quite make it to her eyes, she makes her way to her bedroom.

Antonia holds up the mirror resting on her boudoir, gripping the worn wood for stability. “I’m so pale!” she gasps, which prompts another coughing fit.

Antonia catches a glimpse of red on the handkerchief but before she can fully process it she hears a voice behind her.

“You know living like this will kill you. You should take better care of yourself.”

She slams the mirror down and rushes to stuff the handkerchief in her bodice before turning around.

Azira passes through the threshold into her room. “If you were mine, I'd watch over you.”

Azira is too close.

Too close.

So she does the only thing she can think of to protect herself. She laughs. Even if it does make her lungs burn again. “No one has ever watched over me, and no one has to,” she almost spits the words out of her mouth. She turns, back to Azira, and goes to her open window, feigning interest in the curtain there.

“Because no one has ever loved you before.”

The words hang thick and heavy in the summer between them. Externally she’s composed, she’s skilled enough to not reveal any secrets, but internally she recoils. Azira had hit far too close to home with that one. The July breeze caresses her face and she can feel her cheeks pinken from the heat. At least that’s what she’d say if anyone asked her.

On her own in France, she did what she had to do to survive. She made her way to Paris and made herself invaluable. Her lifestyle allows her to support herself, and have all the pleasures she’d like. But it’s isolating too.

Antonia glances over her shoulder, alarmed that Azira is impossibly close. “I forgot you’re supposed to be madly in love with me,” she mocks. She whirls around dramatically, skirts blooming around her, and she steps back as far as she can, bumping into her bed.

“You laugh. Don’t you have a heart?” Azira asks, gaining ground.

Antonia calms and considers what Azira is truly asking her. “Perhaps.”

“Let me tell you how I love you.” Azira steps ever closer, reaching out to take one of Antonia’s hands. “I first saw you a year and a half ago during Carnival. You were backlit in a window, this window, wearing an elaborate gold mask and I was below in the streets. Your beautiful rousse[1] hair was curled and half up. That’s not the moment I fell in love with you though. Somebody must’ve complimented you because you smiled, and I could see it in your eyes. I’d never been more jealous in my entire life.”

Merde[2]. Antonia feels her heart skip a beat. She’s used to being lusted after. She has all the lust in the world and she doesn’t need anymore. But this feels different. Azira claims to have known from the first moment how much she loves her, has pined silently for so long, waiting for the right moment to say something. And none of her clients had even bothered to check up on her, nor would she expect them to. But then, how does she know Azira isn’t only after her for her beauty or money; for the chance to say she bed a courtesan without payment?

“You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe.” Azira brushes the back of her hand with her thumb and then lifts it to her lips.

Antonia has to give it to Azira for being persistent, but it doesn’t change how Antonia feels. All this talk of love is silly and childish. She’s not the naive little girl she once was. It seems Azira still is, though. And yet… here she is… claiming Antonia is her whole world in her own bedroom, and Antonia can’t help but remember that distinctive feeling. It’s a ghost of a memory now.

Antonia shakes her head, casting her eyes to the open window once again. “Then leave now because I can offer you only friendship.” Her life isn’t meant for love and romance. She’s meant for amusement. She’s meant to be used and thrown back into the world time and again. “Please, forget all about me. Find another girl who will love you.”

She looks back, shocked to see Azira’s lips are a whisper away. Their eyes lock and she can feel one of Azira’s legs pressed between hers, even through the layers of her skirt fabric. Her head is spinning again but from more than just champagne and air loss. Antonia closes her eyes against the penetrating stare of Azira’s blue ones and-

“And what are you doing in here?” A tipsy party guest interrupts them with a laugh.

Antonia pushes Azira away from her with a shove to her shoulders and takes the handkerchief out of her bodice, dabbing at her lips and cheeks as she flounces to the middle of the room. “Amusing ourselves.”

The party guest gives her a knowing smile and backs up, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

She doesn’t fault the guest for assuming Azira paid her for her time. It’s her job after all. However, she has no intention of denying the claim and setting them straight. For all she knows Azira might just enjoy the thrill of teasing and triumph before becoming a patron.

“Stop talking about love now, only pleasure.” Antonia addresses Azira but speaks to the doorway. Opening the handkerchief, she examines the droplet of blood more thoroughly. “What do you want from me?”

“Then I will leave now because what you’re asking is impossible.” Azira moves away from the bedside but stops in the doorway.

“Wait!” Antonia feels like rushing. As if rushing is the only thing in the world that could save her right now. Rushing to her destiny. Rushing to her death… Yet, she remains poised as she goes to her dresser and picks up a camellia, giving it to Azira. “You can come back when it’s faded.”

Azira takes it, fingers brushing again and sending another tingle down her spine. “Tomorrow?”

Hope flutters in her chest, bursting out in the form of a smile and she presses her forehead to Azira’s. It would be so easy to just put her lips…

She can hear a ruckus from the other room as her guests call her name. Leaving Azira, she puts her mask back on and saunters into the receiving room, looking at the grandfather clock nestled in the corner. It’s far past decent hours. Her guests swarm her as they say goodnight, pulling her from person to person until everyone has been thanked and she’s been propositioned by several men. She’s unsteady on her feet, and on the verge of another coughing fit, but she has to check on the Baronne and make sure everyone has left before giving in to it. Azira must’ve snuck out sometime in the rush because the Baronne is the only one left.

She wobbles and almost falls, but manages to stay true, making it to the Baronne.

“Are you satisfied Baronne Beelze?” Antonia questions with the tiniest of curtseys, the edge of her breathlessness coming through.

“That’ll be all for tonight, Antonia. Thank you for your time.” The Baronne kisses her hand goodnight and passes without another word through the doorway and onto the early Paris street.

Antonia coughs into her handkerchief, grabbing onto the nearest chair for support before flopping down onto it, allowing her muscles to relax as she takes in measured breaths. After a beat, she balls up the handkerchief, stained with small red flecks, and tucks it back into her bodice. Standing shakily she tidies some of the things around the room. Her guests aren’t messy, but some furniture has been moved out of place and the piano cover needs to be lowered. Marceline, her maid, will pick up the glasses tomorrow.

She wasn’t always like this, disillusioned by love. When she was younger, she was as Azira is now, full of hope and eager for what awaited her. It changed once she was on her own. It was clear she’d never be more than her beauty. So she threw herself into it. If it was her choice then it shouldn’t hurt… right?

Yet, she still can’t get Azira out of her head. How can she ignore this chance given the empty life she leads? What if she’s the person her soul once imagined, painted before her eyes in vivid color, alive and animated with air in her lungs and blood in her veins. Does this woman, one she’s known for only a moment, contain the power to start a new fever in her?

Antonia looks around the room once more, surrounded by the discarded remnants of the party. She shouldn’t be so harsh on her life. She has it good here. She has all the money she could ask for and countless gifts from her paramours. She can party whenever she wants without worry of what the outside world thinks.

She picks up the half empty champagne bottle and pours herself another glass, laughing merrily as she considers her life and the constant pleasure it produces. She downs the champagne in one go.

This woman says she loves her. She knows what she does and loves her anyway. She wants to protect her and save her from herself.

“Madness!” Antonia whirls around and slams the empty glass against the wall.

This is only the sad illusion of an abandoned woman in Paris. She shouldn’t hope for anything, especially something like this, something so easily ripped away, something so fragile. She needs to be free to glide along her path and give thought only to her clients and their needs. Besides, she’ll die of pleasure before she’ll leave this whirlwind life.

You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe.

She lets out a growl of a scream and races to her bed, tearing the covers from it. She’ll never be free. If only things had gone differently. If only she hadn’t become this- this- femme déchue[3].

You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe.

She throws the pillows from the bed. Repeating to herself that she’ll die of pleasure first. She lets out another scream, grasping at the sheets, balling them in her fists.

You are my heartbeat. My world! The heartbeat of the universe.

She’ll die before she gets to leave her hell.

She falls to her knees sobbing, lungs burning, and still clutching the sheets.

[1] Red in conjunction with hair, ginger

[2] Shit

[3] Literally “fallen woman,” a whore

#ineffable wives #good omens #good omens fic #crowley x arizaphale #my fic #iqpsnd

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mandochlorian · 5 years ago

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CHAPTER TWO

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…

For over a decade, Y/N Y/L/N has been in a relentless battle with the sinister FIRST ORDER, never getting close enough to destroy one another. After a messy history with the boy who was once known as Ben Solo, he and Y/N had parted ways. Neither sides will rest until Skywalker, the last Jedi, has been destroyed.

TROKR masterlist

star wars masterlist

general masterlist

“Ren?!” You shout, standing up and walking to the barred door. “I’m going to give you five seconds to let me out… Kylo!”

Hearing shouting coming from the room, a trooper bangs his fist on the metal. “Quiet in there!” He shouts at you, making you narrow your eyes. Grimacing, you do your best to stand and walk to the door, eyeing the officer who stands with his back towards you.

“Walk to me.” You order, taking a deep breath as you control him via the force. Indoctrinated, his walks to your cell. “Unlock the door and hand me your weapon.” You state. He obeys, the door slides open and you grab the blaster from his hands. Suddenly, you’re being pushed to the ground, having all the air inside your lungs knocked out.

“Nice try.” Hux laughs, holding the lightning rod by his side, “Unfortunately for you, I’m not weak-minded.” He states, gesturing his hand for the troopers to place someone inside your cell. He slams the cell door, but not before he kicks you in the gut once more.

“Hux!” You gasp for breath, holding a hand to your stomach as you grimace through the pain, “I knew I should’ve killed you when I had the chance!”

“Well, you didn’t.” You swear you can see his smile from through the grates of the prison door, “And I sense you won’t be getting many more opportunities either.”

Pushing your hand through a gap, you grab him by the collar and hit his head against the cold metal. He cries out in pain, alerting the nearby troopers who rush to his aid. “Sir, are you-”

“I’m fine!” He shouts, holding his hand to his forehead in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Looking to the troopers who watch him awkwardly, Hux stands up straighter, “I’m fine. Keep an eye on her!” Pausing to give you a glare, Hux eyes you as he spits, “Wait until the Supreme Leader gets his hands on you. Snoke has big plans. And you’re not going to like them.” You don��t waste time in responding, you watch him leave instead. Gripping his keycard in your hand, you take a step away from the door.

“Smart girl,” the pilot comments, “if only you deserved to be free.”

“What happened to you?” You wonder, searching his mind freely. You see him inside the interrogation room, crying, shouting, losing his mind. You hear bits and pieces of information coming through quickly, as if the barrier holding it all together has been broken, and you know exactly by who, “Kylo Ren got to you.”

Poe Dameron doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even notice you’re in his mind, listening to Kylo interrogating him. “Never lose hope… Come home…”

Looking to the keycard, you turn to the Rebel pilot. You look at his beaten face and his defeated expression. Stepping towards him, you crouch down to eye Poe. “I suppose you deserve to be free?”

“I don’t kill innocent people.” He glares up at you, his eyes burning with anger and with tears; no doubt for his old friend.

“No, you just kill whoever isn’t on your side.” You answer, heading to the door. With the keycard in your hands, you sneakily attempt to find the scanner, quickly pulling your hand back whenever a trooper turns to you.

Poe watches as you come to an abrupt halt, eyes cast on the ground. You turn to him, throwing the keycard on his lap, “Good luck getting out of here with your hands tied behind your back.” You tell him, facing the door once again.

Poe’s eyes are wide, not even he could predict this. “What the hell?” He mutters, giving you a perplexed look, “What’s this for?”

“Other than escaping?” You keep your eyes ahead, standing up straight and proud. “Something we both agree on; it’s time for Kylo Ren to go home. The Resistance and I may not see eye to eye all the time, but Kylo Ren is a threat to the galaxy… and to himself. And… And it’s not supposed to be like this.”

Poe pauses, thinking it over. Thinking over the ongoing war between you and the First Order. “You don’t care how he goes,” Poe nods, understanding, “just that he’s gone.”

You nod, watching the dark figure approach closer. You’re running out of time. “I can help you get out of here.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Glancing at him, you hold contact with his eyes for a second. “We both know that’s a lie. I’ll try my best to get you out of here too.”

Poe furrows his eyebrows, his mind coming to different scenarios where you could betray him. But he knows you’ll do as you say. After all, you need to know where BB-8 is if you want to find the map to Luke Skywalker. Footsteps approach the cell. Commander Kylo Ren enters, a hoard of troopers follow behind him, “Bring her to the interrogation chamber. 20 minutes and she’ll be broken. Restrain her.”

“Sir, she’s already handcuff-”

“Do as I say! I don’t care if she’s completely tied and gagged. Take as much precaution as required.” His deep voice booms as he stares at you through his mask, taking a pause as a few troopers get their hands on you, “ensure that she does not escape. I’ll be waiting.” He exits. The troopers who stay eye you, closing the cell door behind them and entrapping you all within the small cell.

They’re quick to grab you roughly but you speak up before they can gag you. Raising a hand, they pause awkwardly, “You’re unable to move or speak.” The cell is quiet and still, you struggle against the handcuffs they’ve already got on you.

Poe stands, “Maybe I do need your help.” Turning around slightly, he lifts his hands up and you use the force to unbind him from his handcuffs. You do the same to for your own, seeing small red marks in your skin already.

You watch Poe pause before the door, the keycard in his unsure hand, “How can I trust you?” He asks honestly, watching you through a sceptical gaze.

“Look, Pilot, I don’t want the Resistance dead, alright?” You frown, thinking about their leaders, “We just… have our differences.” Your mind can’t help but go back to all the memories you have with Leia, Luke, Han… and with Ben too. It hurts too much to think about it but your mind snaps through the memories quick enough.

The planet Corellia is nothing like the planet Jakku below. It’s not worthless or arid, it’s Eden full of life. It’s where you grew up. Corellia is beautiful; but what it has in nature it lacks in trust and love. It’s the closest thing to a home that you’ll ever have - even if you did ruin it. A mother and her daughter walked the streets of Corellia’s city one night, quietly, happily. The distant sound of an infant’s cry. A ship blasting off into hyperspace. The disaster that followed. It all stayed in your mind.

You tried your best to be integrated into a simple life in Corellia. The people surrounding you weren’t your real family, and they all knew this. Though it was nice to have family meals and pretend that they could be there for you, they didn’t fill the hole within you left by your real mother after you had found out the truth.

When you were young, you wished you had a better family; one that felt right. Living with the circus travellers who picked you up was nothing but draining. each night, they’d show you off to the public, labelling you as the last Jedi to ever live. But they’d narrowly avoid empire sympathisers looking to finish Order 66 once and for all. It plays before your eyes; the facade of a family is broken, the heartbreak that follows, the realisation that you’ve always known it to be true. Where do you come from? And where the hell are you supposed to go now?

You couldn’t go back to Corellia now, there’s nothing there for you anymore. Your ‘family’ died, helpless, in an alleyway behind the circus tent, grovelling for their lives and begging for your forgiveness for all the lies and all the years took from you. And at that point, you were located by Luke Skywalker. He was searching for children like you, children like his nephew so that he could train them and in turn carry on the Jedi legacy within his pupils. You remember him seeking you out, finding you wandering the streets of Corellia. And you remember when you saw the young boy hiding behind Skywalker’s legs and staring at you, you knew you were meant to be found by them. Thinking it over, you realise that not even the Jedi Academy had trust or love either.

There was fire surrounding you, smoke filling your lungs. The Jedi academy gave you the education that you had desired at your previous home. It was the driving force that fed your ambition and you excelled greatly in all areas of your studies there. You remember being top of your class… well, sort of.

Ben walked up to his uncle, showing him the holopad of class results with an annoyed expression. You watched on with amusement, knowing exactly what Ben was going to complain about. The poor eleven-year-old was annoyed that you, a ten-year-old girl, had gotten the same 93% as him on the most recent exam. Luke gave his nephew a lighthearted expression, patting him on the back before leaning down and muttering words of encouragement. Bens eyes drifted towards you as his Uncle said goodbye and left to attend to other classes and other students. You weren’t nervous as Ben walked up to you, you felt like you had met your equal. Your ninety-three per cent.

“How’d you do it?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched you curiously. A million thoughts were running through his head - some things never change - as he tried to read you. But neither of you were that good at using the force back then. “How’d you cheat?” He rephrased his question, making it clear that he was not praising or complementing your abilities.

You frowned, wondering why he isn’t happy that someone else is succeeding. “I’m smart.” You responded harshly, crossing your arms defiantly. “Did your uncle get you that grade? Or are you not as dumb as you look.” You shot back, making Ben frown even more if that was even possible. You swear that kid never smiled.

He glared at you before marching away angrily. From that day on, the small childish feud began. You would both attempt to prove to one another that you were better. But it couldn’t be done. You were both just equals, always; in practical training and in written examinations. It was infuriating. Sometimes you would talk to one another, but mostly you would trash talk. It became an odd friendship - the only friendship either of you ever truly had.

The training grounds were vast and expensive in order to give students the best opportunity to succeed. Your need to succeed and be better than Ben meant that you were willing to do whatever it took to achieve this desire. One quiet night, you were around the lightsaber hall seemingly alone. But someone else was there already and you watched Ben completing different turns and swings with his saber.

“Your form is messy.” You called out, almost making him jump at a sound that was something other than the noise of his lightsaber swinging again and again.

He put his lightsaber down, walking towards you. He had to look up at you, angling his head in order to see you due to his short height. You remember you were taller than him then. “Like I would take advice from you.”

“Maybe you could get that 1% above me that you’ve been begging Luke for.” You shrugged, letting out a sigh before your eyes caught something in the distance, the glow of light.

“Shut up.” Ben groaned, about to begin another argument with you. But the door of the hall swung open and you grabbed his arm and pulled you both behind the wall next to the lavatories, out of sight from the adults. His eyes were wide as he listened, “Is it Luke?”

“I’m not sure.” You whispered back, peeking your head around the corner of the wall.

“Oh, it is.” You nodded back at him as you both proceeded to listen in to Luke and Leia’s discussion.

“I’m afraid,” Luke admitted, his voice low and hopeless. It startled you. You had never heard him speak like this before, he was always so full of light. You shared a look with Ben and for the first time you weren’t just competition, you were on the same page.

Leia sighed, looking at her brother with sadness in her eyes. “Luke, he’s just a boy.”

Now you were both really worried. “Afraid?” You repeated in a hushed whisper, “He’s never been afraid.” You both felt worried, wondering what could possibly be troubling your master. “What’s he talking about?”

“Let me listen and I’ll tell you!” Ben hushed you rudely, so you shoved him, causing him to glare at you, “Don’t shove me.”

“Don’t be rude!”

“Oh, I’m being rude? You’re acting like a child.”

“Says you!”

“What are you two doing here?” Comes Leia's stern voice. You and Ben turn to the side, frozen in your positions. Back then, Leia was someone to be respected. Or feared.

“Training,” Ben stated simply.

“In the middle of the night?” Leia eyed her son, crossing her arms over her chest. Looking back, you noticed Luke take one last glance at you before leaving the temple. Ben nodded at his mother, who held an amused look on her face. “You know it’s okay if you two want to spend more time together, right?”

“What?” Ben paused, not understanding what his mother had meant. Ah, to be young and blissfully ignorant.

She smiles, uncrossing her arms and looking between the two of you, “You don’t have to lie to your mother just to visit your crush, Ben.”

“My what?” Ben raised his eyebrows, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn. Looking at you and then his mother, Ben shook his head as you stood there embarrassed, “She’s not! We’re friends!”

Giving her son a smile, she just nods. “Alright, Ben. Get to bed. No more sneaking out, that goes for the both of you.” Leia points to the door, waiting until the two of you leave her sight. Adorable, she thinks to herself. Luke watches the scene, staying back.

Ben walked intently, never looking to you for fear of his cheeks becoming red again. “So we are friends then?” You grinned as you walked beside him.

“Shut up.” Was all he replied with, only glancing at you once as he tried to hide the smile that appeared on his chubby face. The rest of the night you spent wondering what his uncle and mom were talking about. But Ben took a glance behind him and he caught eyes with Luke. Luke gave him a look that made him shiver. Ben turned around quickly, focusing on whatever conspiracy you were concocting aloud. And after that, it felt as if the two of you were joined to one another.

You had both grown up beside one another for 7 years. The sneaking out never stopped.

taglist: mitsuhkai antoniamarie1989-blog haylaansmi

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren imagines #kylo x reader #kylo ren one shot #Kylo ren X reader imagines #Kylo ren X reader imagine #kylo ren x reader one shot #kylo ren x reader oneshot #kylo ren fanfiction #fanfic #kylo ren fanfic

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royalreef · 4 years ago

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@sacred-songbird inquired: Headcanon + Merfolk Religion ( ENJOY ) Headcanon Starters - Accepting

“Dyt’rye’e.” The abyssal words drifted through the barrier, welcoming Eden in with as much effort as the Crown Princess could spare. Even with the boundary just marked in long strands of ribbon, tethered to the ceiling and the floor like a tunnel of kelp, strung up with beads and tokens and well-wishes asked of this place - it wasn’t a physical barrier to be crossed. Not with how the low hum had stilled. A song, nearly whispered to the laid stones and built catacombs, offered in the only reverence Miranda could find in her soul. Snuffed out with the peering question from behind the entrance.

She had settled to the floor. Not quite sitting, legs resting against the laid mother-of-pearl, a shift from the outside hallway, but too tired to maintain even the minor things that would keep her aloft in the water column. Rare, underwater. Among her own people. Where gravity did not have to be listened to so strongly, and the streets were moreso a parade of passing torpedoes given scales and attire.

Minimal seats around here for that same reason, save for a few cushions and indentations into the walls where one might suspect converts of a particular type could offer themselves. A fact which left Miranda half-sitting in the middle of the room, wide and vast and reaching up into spiraling fractals to construct a ceiling like constellation of faith and myths told first in song before placed to the glittering tapestry of etched gemstones. So small. Consumed, by this sacred place.

She was not someone who paid heed to Sk'rsre'k or its tenants, if the fact that coming down her alone drew tension between her and a certain elder sister wasn’t enough to prove that. Not any more than any other Cees'rril'ta had to, at least. Sure, she heard their stories and bent to their rites to fulfill her duty, but... she tried not to think of it.

But this. To sit here and see the expanse of glass --- made in the almost-organic shape of the way it was grown and formed for use in this architecture, the biological used to create something far more technical, the place where manufacturing and livestock mingled --- and to see what lay beyond. Sitting on a tomb-throne, decorated in featherlike fronds and open shells pressed full of pearls and laid whale bones on a distant ocean’s floor and other death motifs pressed into a platform to hold the final resting place of a Queen, her bones cleaned to see. Donning a mask that sat in pairs of small, gleaming eyes and swept forward with anglerfishs’ lures in the dozens, flickering with lights to never be extinguished, only splitting apart to show the bare teeth of her skull below the needles’ edge of her former symbol in life. Dress pressed into her very ribs themselves. Soft cartilage of her fins only kept in shape by bent wires that twisted around it and fanned out into edges that might have been soft, if only Miranda didn’t know they could shred any tender flesh that got too near them. Scepter in hand. Crown upon her head. Surrounded by her previous symbols in life, decadence hanging from those walls and ceiling that Miranda could not reach nor touch through the glass. Her full height nearly reaching eight foot.

There she was.

Miranda’s head bent low, eyes fully shut in the silence. She knew how it all looked already. This was the only way Slz'Exkii had ever known her to look, without scales nor muscle to bend her joints, nothing to distract from the open bones sitting on that untouchable throne. Her Yhtun-tsyte crown at the bottom of her throne, a mirror’s image of Miranda’s own.

Cees'rril'ta Ts’yute-Yhtun’ya, dei if’re Ms’oskii Nsh’atf’rr. The Former Queen, Forever May She Rule In Honorable Peace. Miranda’s Mother.

For once, Slz'Exkii was silent. Eden, allowed entrance into this place, into the low catacombs --- she couldn’t decide if it felt right or wrong.

She couldn’t stand to be within those temples where Amanda held her congregation rapt, giving them with the knowing hand of a resident deity. And yet, time and time again, Slz'Exkii risked it to come here. Cleared out those who were far more attentive in seeing to their faith and followed each and every principle of Sk'rsre'k that she shunned, just so that she could sing for the bones of someone she had never met in the hope of some kind of answer. Any kind of answer. Any at all.

Eden himself was an outsider. Though the ocean sang in his blood and called him home, this wasn’t his place. He was not surrounded by his long-dead family when he swam through these hallowed halls, feeling the pressure of the expectation of that heritage on his head, had not grown up around the worship associated with these places. He was not guaranteed a place here when he died. Sure, if Miranda dared to ever try and marry him in the way of Yg’lloze’aa, then he was guaranteed a place by virtue of becoming their new King, but until then.....

It was all her. He had a right to this place too, but what stakes he had in it were only applicable through Miranda. It certainly wasn’t his mother that lay dead and decorated in front of them, and it wasn’t him who had received this in poor substitute to any actual knowledge of her as she was when she was alive.

Slz'Exkii couldn’t even recall her funeral, when Nsh’atf’rr was laid to rest among the tombs. She hadn’t even been a year old then, how was she supposed to remember? How was she supposed to know that she would never see the Queen again?

Her hands lifted, rubbing over her arms. Pushing aside the finery of her own title’s wear to try and soothe herself, in whatever way she could. Trying, and letting the first thought slip from her mind into words in quiet question, English warping through the saltwater of the deep.

“ ... When you... Do what you must, for Heaven - have you... Ever found evidence of... one of our gods? Or our afterlives?”

#Glory and Gore || IC #Dreaded rumors || Asks #sacred songbird #My red string of fate is a noose || Eden x Miranda ( sacred songbird )#Heritage Planned & Heritage Damned || M'nghn a' Esl'aaka Event #long post #death #religion

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thebiasrekkers · 5 years ago

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Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Plot: “It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Mafia!AU | Crime!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || Admin E’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,631

Chapter 29: I Need U

“All of the things you said are like a mask. It hides the truth and rips me apart.”

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

The doctor didn’t have to tell her that it was going to hurt. Eden knew full well what this shit was going to feel like. But that wasn’t to say she was any more prepared for it. Raelyn offered to give her something to bite on, or to inject her with some pain killers to help with the process. Eden wanted none of it. The last thing she wanted to be was numb for this. Every sting of discomfort would serve as an imprint across her entire body.

“Are you ready?” asked the doctor as he braced his palm on her shoulder, the other gripping firmly to her wrist.

Eden glared at the wall, a bead of sweat sliding from her temple to her chin. “…do it, Doc.”

She saw Raelyn out of the corner of her eye, standing just to the right of her bed. The doctor looked at the other nurses, receiving swift nods, before he yanked her arm straight up. There was a distinct crack as joints popped and he pushed hard onto her shoulder, another snap issuing soon after.

Her scream ripped through the entire hospital; positive that she just woke the dead.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. The tips of her fingers buzzed and itched with life, the circulation correcting itself in her arm. Nerves and muscles pulsed and cried; her arm feeling like gelatin. Her other hand went to clasp at her shoulder as the doctor urged her to cradle the limb in her lap. Nurses were already prepped to place her arm into a sling once she was wrapped and a splint was put into place.

She would have been more outraged had it been her right arm.

After making sure that she was okay, the doctor left a nurse with her, as well as Raelyn. Eden felt a cloth touching her brow – presumably the nurse since her friend was glowering down at her. She had to resist the urge to spit onto the ground, reminding herself that she was, in fact, in a hospital. The nurse murmured a few things to Raelyn before handing her the cloth.

Raelyn was less affectionate with tending to her needs.

Eden’s head made a full tilt as Raelyn pressed the cloth to her temple. Her lip curled upward in a half snarl, giving her a side-eye. “Your bedside manner fucking blows,” she said through clenched teeth, feeling her friend half cuff her with the cloth.

“You’re not the first person to say it and you won’t be the last.”

“I’ll be the last if you don’t stop poking my damn head!” Eden snatched the cloth from her with her good arm. “Gimme that!” She wiped the sweat off herself.

Raelyn folded her arms across her chest, scrutinizing her. “How in the hell did you get mixed up with those assholes?”

“Don’t ask me!” she snapped, glaring up at her, “They just fuckin’ followed me, alright? Not like I was startin’ shit!”

As she continued to dab at her nose and forehead, Eden saw her friend mulling over something in her own head. This was the second time they’d both encountered a member of the Jade Fangs while they were together. It was no surprise that they would be curious about Raelyn. She was Hoseok’s ex-girlfriend; the former Hyungsoo-nim. Word would have gotten out that she was seeing Taehyung now, a little lower on the totem pole, but still a prominent member of the Golden Jackals. Or rather, former Golden Jackals.

But it was clear they had their sights on Eden, not her friend. As far as she was concerned, she wasn’t a blip on their radar. It wasn’t like the Jade Fangs weren’t as prominent as the Golden Jackals. Anyone who traveled through Myeongdong or the Mapo District knew whose territory that belonged to. They’d set their sights on Gangnam until it was wrested from their grasp by the Jackals. People who brushed with the underground were aware of all of this.

So why me? Eden couldn’t help thinking, her eyes narrowing, why now?

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her bed and she saw it was a message from Jungkook, saying he was on his way. Eden sighed, casting a sidelong glance to Raelyn as she took a seat beside her. “Did you have to tell Jungkook what happened?”

“Yeah, I did,” she said, her tone matter of fact, “better it be your ass and not mine.”

“Wow,” came Eden’s bland response as she rolled her eyes, “you’re the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

Raelyn flashed her a shit-eating grin and Eden had to resist the urge to pinch and pull the woman’s cheek. “I know, aren’t I the greatest?”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too,” she said, looking at the EKG monitor with a slightly critical eye, “forreal though? Your blood pressure is elevated. Take a few deep breaths for me?”

Obliging without a fuss, Eden took a deep breath and then exhaled. She did it three more times before her friend was satisfied. Suddenly, Raelyn’s phone rang with life and she answered.

“Oh, Taehyung-ah,” she said, rising from her seat, “…yeah, I’m still at the hospital. But how did you know I’m with Eden? …you’re lying.”

Eden quirked a brow as Raelyn turned to look at her.

“You’re all coming here right now?” She watched her face screw up into a look that she couldn’t quite place. “Look, I know you’re all worried but there’s no need for…wait, what?!”

This time it was Eden’s turn to frown.

“What the hell is going on?”

Raelyn held a finger up at her, signaling to give her a minute, before she turned and dashed out of the room suddenly. Eden stared at the door before scoffing, rolling her head and eyes in sync as she reached for her phone angrily.

“That woman, swear to fuckin’ God,” she muttered, swiping her thumb over her pin number to unlock her phone.

The distinct click of her phone unlocking brought up the apps on her phone. It echoed in time with the door unlatching, but she didn’t bother looking up – thinking it was Raelyn returning from her phone call.

“So, who’s coming to bother me and about what?” she asked, pulling up her work emails.

“You just can’t keep yourself out of trouble, can you?”

Her whole body froze, eyes still locked onto the phone screen. Eden tried to pretend that hearing his voice wouldn’t shake her to the core. Not anymore. But as she lifted her face to look at the door, she mentally cursed the EKG monitor taking note of her heartbeat increasing its tempo.

Yoongi stood in front of the door, dressed in a casual suit with his dark hair slicked back off his forehead. His face betrayed nothing. It never did. But it was his eyes that always gave him away. Eden saw the anger there, but she also knew that it wasn’t directed at her. Not this time. Her lips parted to say something but she found her mouth closing, not sure what she wanted to say.

Eden cleared her throat loudly, shrugging one shoulder before looking back down at her phone. “I can’t help that trouble likes to find me,” she said, her tone light, “it just can’t leave me alone. Like some clingy fuckin’ ex…”

A shadow loomed over her, but before she could shift away or even figure out what was happening, she felt Yoongi’s hand encircling her wrist as she gripped even tighter to her phone. His other hand rested at her hip on the bed while he pulled her hand up and out of her lap – forcing her to lift her head to face him; to lock eyes with him. She struggled against his hold, their faces just inches apart, and she could tell he was holding himself back while she also held back from headbutting him straight on.

“Goddammit, Eden,” he snapped, pulling her arm closer to him, “this isn’t a game!”

She grinned at him, feeling an angry vein pulsing around her neck. “I didn’t realize we were playing a game, Yoongi-ah.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, her bicep growing taut as she tried to pull from his grasp. “Am I winning yet?”

“You talk about truth and lies,” Yoongi began, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to keep her arm in place, “and what good has the truth been for you, huh? Fucking look at you, Eden!”

“What about it?”

“I may have lied, but I don’t remember you ever getting hurt because of it!”

Eden felt her eyes narrow sharply. “…what’d you say?”

“I kept you away from this shit for a reason and now you see why.”

“You guys are supposed to be legit now,” she said while rolling her eyes, “so I don’t see what the problem is.”

He scoffed. “Don’t play stupid, Eden. We’re barely able to walk after having crawled on the ground. It wasn’t going to be that easy. It isn’t going to be that easy. You know how this shit works better than most people.”

Yoongi released her hand and she yanked it upward, causing her phone to fly from her grasp. It landed on the ground with a loud clatter but neither of them moved to retrieve it. All they could do was stare at each other, the anger dancing around their eyes and sparking between them. Her heart monitor was beeping like a time bomb, but she didn’t care. She wanted to take the chords pressed to her chest and wring his damn neck with them.

Because he was right, and she fucking hated him for it.

The door flew open just as Yoongi got off the bed, making his way to where her phone had been discarded. Raelyn’s eyes were wide as she saw Yoongi. Looking between him and Eden, she frowned and snapped her fingers at him.

“You must have been a goddamn ninja in your past life, Min Yoongi,” she said as he dropped the phone into Eden’s lap, “or I’m going even more fuckin’ blind these days.”

“It might be a little of both, Raelyn,” Yoongi replied casually, brushing past her and heading for the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder to look at Eden, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing from the hall. “…I’m glad it wasn’t anything major, Eden.”

She sighed, averting her gaze from his as she crossed her legs on the bed. “…whatever, Yoongi-ah.”

Within seconds, she heard three sets of panting breaths and she looked up to see Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung attempting to squeeze into the doorway at the same time. Yoongi was already gone and she bit her lower lip, her brows knitting together as Jungkook forced his way ahead of the others. Raelyn must have sensed that she didn’t want to be bombarded with twenty questions. The older woman wasted no time ushering out everyone except Jungkook from her room. Jimin and Taehyung protested, but with a quick intake of breath and smack to their heads, they relented and allowed themselves to be shoved out.

Jungkook was immediately at her side, sliding into the chair that Raelyn previously occupied. He grasped her hand in his, his eyes darting over her entire form before resting on her arm that was draped in the sling. He frowned, his other hand moving to sweep some of her hair from her forehead. Eden unconsciously leaned her cheek into his palm.

“Jesus, Noona,” he said, his voice shaking slightly, “are you sure you’re okay?”

She chuckled. “I’m fine,” she said with a shrug, “you should have seen the other guys.”

“...did you really hide razor blades in your hair?”

“Damn straight I did!”

“I’m not sure if I should be afraid or impressed right now.”

Despite her attempt at making the situation light-hearted, she could see the heavy weight falling on Jungkook’s shoulders. Like he’d just realized something and wasn’t willing to speak it out loud. Eden felt her smirk fall, reaching out to flick him on the forehead. He reared back, rubbing at the sore spot with one hand as he groaned in protest.

“H-Hey! What was that for?!”

“For trying to feel guilty about something that is out of your control,” she fired back, “it’s not anyone’s job to protect me around the clock and I can take care of my own damn self. So, don’t go trying to blame yourself for the shit that happened today.”

“Eden Noona…”

“I mean it.” Her eyes narrowed sharply at him. “Do it again and we’re done, got it?”

He didn’t look like he was satisfied with being given an ultimatum, but he had no real reason to go against her. It wasn’t like she was trying to be a bitch. She just didn’t want him worrying about unnecessary things. They were taking the necessary steps to do things the right way. And if what Minhyuk said was true, then the Jade Fangs were going to do everything in their power to drag them down from greatness.

Like fuckin’ crabs in a barrel, she thought bitterly.

Shifting over in the bed, she leaned over to one side of the bed to set her phone back down on the small nightstand. Eden patted the empty space beside her and Jungkook looked at her curiously. She gave him an annoyed expression, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

“These hospital pillows suck ass.”

The look of realization spread over Jungkook’s features and he shook his head, moving from the chair to climb into the bed beside her. Motioning for her to sit up, she did so and waited for him to settle back onto the pillows. When she felt his hand touching her opposite shoulder did she fall back gently onto his arm, nestling into the crook of his shoulder. His cheek rested on top of her head and he held her other hand against his chest. She took comfort in the feel of his heartbeat, but there was something gnawing at the back of her mind. For once, she was thankful for Jungkook wanting to remain silent for a little while longer – leaving her to her thoughts.

Eden tried to keep the frown from forming at the corners of her mouth, but it was proving fruitless. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about what Yoongi said. Because he wasn’t wrong.

In the years she’d known him, nothing had actually ever happened to her. Because he’d kept her away from all of that. If she chose to walk in the dark, it was only for a short while; never prolonging her stay than what was necessary.

But what was more disturbing was that the boys were now walking in the light. Someone in the Jade Fangs didn’t like that. They didn’t like it at all. And now they were letting them all know that they weren’t just going to sit idly by and watch them bask in the sunshine, leaving them to rot in the shadows alone.

No, she thought, trying to chase away the morbidity of what that suggested, I’m just reading too much into this. Those guys are just a bunch of assholes.

Craning her neck to look up at Jungkook, she smiled when she saw him starting to drift off to sleep.

…they’re not so weak to fall for their stupid little games.

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shameonpretzel · 6 years ago

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Sailor Helga

Artwork by Eclips777 (Eden Spring)

"Hey, you!" she yelled. "Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, bucko!" The ball-monster craned its neck slowly so he could see the young girl. "Who are you?" he growled. "I'm Helga G. Pataki, the toughest girl in this city. You'd better bring those kids back and get out of here pronto…or you'll have to answer to Ol' Betsy!" Helga showed her fist and gave the meanest scowl she could possibly muster, but it only elicited a deep, guttural laugh from the monster. He turned completely around to face Helga, and outstretched his hands so his palms were facing upwards. "Come," he said deeply. "We play ball." A single black ball materialized above each palm. "Oh, crap," said Helga.

The two balls shot directly out towards Helga. At the last second, she leapt out of the way. Rather than bounce off the walls, the balls exploded, creating a hole in the side of the building. The ball-monster then crossed his arms over his body, then uncrossed them and outstretched them into the air. A long line of black balls appeared overhead, then came crashing down upon Helga, who literally had to sprint across the playground to avoid being hit. "I thought this stupid thing was supposed to protect me!" yelled Helga, the locket still grasped in her hand. She jumped up vertically as another black ball sailed underneath her legs. Suddenly, she remembered: "Oh, wait – there was something that I was supposed to say first…but what? AAH!" Helga leapt away again, narrowly missing a ball that instead struck the bike rack, causing metal and broken tires to fly everywhere. "Was it…Moon Magic? No…Moonie Power…that's not it…Make-up Pyramid? Aargh, I'm never gonna get it right!!" In a fit of anger, Helga chucked the locket across the pavement. Only after it left her hand did she realize her colossal folly. "Arnold!" Helga ran and jumped, sliding on the pavement and catching the locket just before it hit the ground. "Phew, that was close…" she said, sighing in relief. But now she was vulnerable, and the monster took the opportunity to fire a ball directly at her. Knowing that she couldn't escape in time, Helga could only close her eyes shield herself from the impending attack. But the attack never came. Rather, the ball that was supposed to strike her had instead sailed up and exploded harmlessly in the air. Relieved, but at the same time confused, Helga opened her eyes to see what caused the amazing stroke of luck. A blonde boy in a tuxedo suit, top hat, and cape was standing in front of her. He turned to look at her. "Are you alright?" he asked. She couldn't see his face quite clearly, as he was wearing a half-mask, but his unique, football-shaped head looked strikingly familiar… "Arnold…?" said Helga in utter disbelief. The masked boy lifted Helga off the ground and into his arms; she was too awe-struck to make a sound. He then leapt high into the air, so high in fact that he landed on the roof of the school building. "You'll be safe here," he said, setting her down. "Let me handle the beast." Helga, still stunned, could only nod slowly as he went back to the ground below to confront the ball-monster. He pulled out a black cane that she hadn't before noticed, and straightened in a fencing-like pose as he pointed it at the creature. "You want to play? Fine. Then play with me." The ball monster growled in acceptance of the challenge as it held its arms out straight in front of itself, its palms now facing the boy. Several black balls appeared behind the monster, shooting out in a barrage. Unflinching, the boy took his cane and, with both hands, began to twirl it rapidly, like a propeller blade. As before, the balls were deflected in various directions before exploding without causing any damage. "Come on," said the boy tauntingly. "Is that all you got?" Angry, the monster roared and sent another barrage of balls at his opponent. This time, the boy had dropped the cane on the ground and pulled a dozen red roses from his coat pocket; he then threw them at the barrage. As they pierced each ball, they turned from black to red again, and then change directions so that instead they hit the monster dead-on. As the monster staggered back and forth, trying to regain its footing, the masked assailant had picked up his cane again and had lunged forward. From the rooftop, Helga watched the monster hobble to and fro, unable to retaliate from the boy's relentless attack. Suddenly, she came to her senses. "I've got to help him!" she cried. "But what was that phrase. It was moon-something. Moon…moon…." "It's 'Moon Prism Power, Make-up'!" yelled the boy, between jabs. Eventually, he struck the monster into submission and it fell backwards onto the ground. "Say it, now!" "Right," Helga stood up straight and, with locket in both hands, outstretched her arms toward the sky and yelled the phrase. "MOON PRISM POWER, MAKE-UP!" An enormous white light emanated brightly from the locket, washing over her entire body so that she could no longer be seen. Almost instinctively, Helga grabbed a nearby Frisbee that had accidentally flown onto the roof several weeks ago and jumped off the building. Rather than simply fall straight down, she floated until her feet gracefully touched the ground. Struggling, the monster finally got to its feet. "Hey, ball-boy!" came an ethereal voice from the body of light. "Play-time is over." When thrown, the Frisbee had become a glowing disc of light. It flew true to its target, slicing directly through the monster's abdomen, causing it to give one final howl before dissipating into shadow, and then, nothing. The glowing disc then made a U-turn and flew higher into the air where it stopped at certain height before spinning rapidly and showered the entire playground with sparkling light. The hole in the wall of the school and the bikes on the bike rack were mended in an instant. The chalk drawings which covered the pavement had disappeared, and the children slowly re-appeared in unconscious heaps on the ground. The balls, which had caused so much carnage and mayhem, simply faded away. Finally, the disc glided back to the ground, becoming nothing more than an ordinary Frisbee, blue and plastic. "Wow," was all Helga could say. "There's something you DEFINITELY don't see every day". Her eyes fell upon a red rose lying on the ground. As she bent down to pick it up, she noticed for the first time the changes that had happened to her. She was wearing boots, knee-high pink boots! Her elbow-length gloves were white, as was the bodysuit she had on, which was generously decorated with two large, pink bows, one in the back (which was fastened to a short, frilly blue skirt), and one in the front; attached to the latter was her locket, which was still heart-shaped, but now had an ornamented pink cover which held the emblem of the crescent-moon instead of Arnold's visage. Helga turned and went to the window to get a better look at herself. In the reflection, she could see that she was also wearing a small pink band with a single crescent moon around her neck, a blue and white sailor collar, and a gold tiara with a gem on the middle of her forehead. Upon closer inspection, Helga could see that her blonde-hair pigtails had grown to double their original length so that they were down to her waist. On the inside, she felt stronger, like a soldier; on the outside, however, she felt completely different. She felt…pretty. "I don't believe it…" she said, touching the reflection with her hand. "Is that me?" "You did it." Helga turned just in time to see the masked boy exit the playground at the gate. "You saved your friends, and delivered the school from utter destruction." He turned and smiled, giving her a thumbs-up. "Good work…Sailor Moon." She watched as the boy started to run, then leapt up high, to the top of a nearby building, and then out of sight. As her fellow classmates were coming to, Helga stood and looked on, in awe over what had transpired. --- Helga finished her math test early that afternoon (the extra studying had apparently paid off). As the other students in her class were still solving problems in their heads, she wrote about her own personal dilemmas inside the little pink book that she kept hidden in her desk. Well, it's been quite a week. One minute I'm flunking long division, and the next I become some sort of evil-thwarting super-heroine. Talk about your ups and downs. Boy, that monster was tough, but I think I showed him who's boss. The strangest thing about this whole incident, though, is that it only happened an hour ago, yet no one seems to remember, not even Arnold. Helga looked up and saw that, two desks in front of her, Arnold was still working on his test; from the time they had come back to class, he had given no indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred at all. Could it be that I'm wrong? Maybe it wasn't him that saved me….wait, what am I saying? Of course it was him, who else could it be? Then why is he pretending like nothing happened? Does he know something that I don't? Perhaps…perhaps even he's not aware of what happened? But that doesn't make sense. Helga looked up again, and this time, spotted Luna outside, perched upon the windowsill. She smiled and nodded at the black cat, who fully understood the meaning, and left. Whatever the reason, it's too late to turn back now. I've got to get to the bottom of this mystery, and if using these new-found powers of mine helps me to figure it out, then so be it. Who knows? Maybe Arnold and I will finally become closer in the process. Only time will tell. Helga

#hey arnold #helga #helga pataki #helga g pataki #shortaki #fanfic #fanfiction #tjm #arnoldxhelga #helgaxarnold

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higgins5 · 7 years ago

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You've gone soft

Aaron lounged on the couch easily, arm wrapped around a sleeping Katlyn by his side. The warmth in the room making sleep a very appealing idea. His deprived mind foggy as he swirled his red wine around in its glass, attempting movement to stay awake. Santa may need milk and cookies to get through the night, but the adults need some help too. These presents won’t finish wrapping themselves. He glanced over at his brother, bored expression on his masked face. Andrew’s- whatever Neil was to him- lay with his head on his shoulder falling in and out of sleep. Their fingers ever so slightly intertwined, falling loosely away now that Neil had no bodily control. Aaron didn't care whether Neil was merely his brother’s friend with a bit more than benefits or his husband, though technically in some states he would be, he just cared that he brought some amount of happiness in his bleak life. So, when Katlyn suggested inviting Andrew over for dinner and helping wrap the twins’ presents, he didn't mind extending the invitation to the other.

Someone looking upon this scene would think the brothers had always been close. Think that their relationships had always been strong, aside from the scars on Neils face they’d assume their lives had been easy. Aaron, of course knows this has not always been, and never will be the case. But he admits the men looked soft in this moment, the multicolored lights from the tree making the two glow from where they had settled on the wall. He watched as Andrew slowly removed the scissors from his partners hand, saying something quietly in Russian. Secretly, Aaron had always been a little jealous that his brother decided to learn a language just so he could speak to Neil. Maybe he will ask Andrew if he’ll learn a language that they could share together. But not tonight. Tonight it is far too late to be having such conversations, maybe the wine is getting to him, he thinks. It has been a while since his college days when they’d party at Edens. He has become soft in his “old” age. Based on the sight in front of him, they both have.

Andrew lifted his head and locked eyes with his brother. In that moment Aaron could feel the peace between them, forged and fought so long ago. Andrew looked away first, seemingly bored of their unspoken conversation. They sat in a comfortable silence, forced to still for the bodies who sleep on them. Aaron wondered how their lives managed to turn out like this, something calm and filled with love. Pieces Katlyn’s hair slip from its carefully crafted braid, tickling his neck above the collar. Aaron gently brushes it aside, careful not to wake his wife. His wife, the mother of his children, the love of his life- god Aaron liked the sound of that, those words leaving a sweet taste on his tongue.

Aaron feelt the corners of his mouth twitch as he takes her hand, “I wanted to thank you for coming, by the way. The twins always get a kick out of your visits”, he tells his brother quietly.

Andrew doesn’t meet his gaze as he replies, “You’ve gone soft in your old age, it doesn’t suit you. And don’t thank me, Neil made me come. Promised there would be ice cream,” he looks Aaron dead in the eyes then, and grumpily comments, “there wasn’t any. But I suppose that’s my fault for trusting a rabbit.”

Aaron hums a reply. They both know he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t want to, but there is no need to bring that up. Aaron’s eyes track the gentle way in which he holds Josten so he does not fall, in the way that he stills as to not wake him. “I don’t seem to be the only one growing soft,” he says through a smile, nodding at the scene in front of him.

Andrew graces him with an irritated look, his favorite expression for his brother, it would seem. Aaron smiles, remembering when Andrew would only speak to get an answer- oh, how far they’ve come. He may not always appreciate the red heads presence but he will be the first to admit (never to Neil, of course) that he helped them.

Carefully Aaron lays Katlyn down the rest of the way on the couch, scooting slowly off the seat cushions. He reaches over he and slips the empty wine glass in his hand and makes his way towards Andrew, wading through the wrapping paper and presents strewn around the floor to be placed under the tree. Andrew raises an eyebrow but hands over his and Neil’s glasses. Aaron pads over to the kitchen, placing the old glasses in the sink to be washed later, he’ll leave the mess for future Aaron and curse himself later. He refills Andrew’s whiskey glass, he never did seem to take to wine, and his own. Aaron sits down next to his brother, passing over the drink after a nod of thanks.

They sit there in this casual sense of calm, marveling over how their lives turned out so perfectly. And finally, after everything Aaron is able to close his eyes. He drifts off to sleep with his head leaning on the coffee table, body still on the cold floor. He will later wake to a family filled with love and life and the happiness he had always dreamed of. He had a wife, he had a brother, he had a family, he had a home.

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matryoshkakiller-archive · 7 years ago

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‘ stay with me tonight? ’

* SOFT ANGST STARTERS !!

“YOU ARE NOT GOING SOFT, are you?” She’s teasing him, of course — there’s no denying there’s something there between them, always has been, since the moment they made contact: there’s always been a sort of mutual attraction like a flickering flame; dangerous, absolutely, perhaps to some degree forbidden, and without a doubt sure to end badly. ( THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE VIOLENT ENDS. ) That’s the only way something like this could ever end, in the throws of violence, blood, sweat and tears lost, faith shattered & trust torn to ribbons: a knife embedded deep into the notches of his spine, backstabbed, when he realises the truth about her, for she is not Eve in the Garden of Eden but rather the SERPENT luring unsuspecting souls to their doom. He’s not the first to fall for her, and he won’t be the last. She eats men like air; may as well unhinge her jaw and swallow them whole.

The request catches her off guard. Jolanta had been invited to some sort of rich, fancy gathering this evening, where the champagne flows like water and there’s every sort of illegal substance on offer from fine silver platters, was supposed to attend with Nickolas by her side —- and yet, at Trench’s words, she can feel herself reconsidering her plans for the evening. Moments together where she is not truly busy are becoming somewhat rare nowadays; what with some anonymous madman in a mask going around executing other members of the mafia, it gives her open access to all their properties & businesses, laying claim to a true gangster’s paradise. She’s been busy, yes, very busy indeed, trying to expand manicured clutches upon her empire… but perhaps she can miss one party or two; it won’t hurt her image, after-all. Vostrikova smiles, the corners of her lips lifting slowly as she extends one slender arm towards Trench to beckon him closer, the other shifting for her to pick up her phone, in order to text Nick & tell him she’ll be busy with other plans this evening… spontaneous ones.

“Konechno. Ya ostanus’.“

#miidnightbreach #❛ — 𝔳. 𝑦𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔲𝔭 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝑦𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔞𝔯. / main verse.#❛ — 𝔴𝔢 𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔰 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔰 ��𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔰. / answered.#SHRUG EMOJI THIS IS LONG SORRY

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clan-fuildarach · 8 years ago

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birb story chapter 7

i actually forgot to post a chapter yesterday whoops. anyway have some exposition

Westport looked almost exactly how she remembered it. She'd arrived there on the train, fresh from Dublin, her bags packed full of her archaeology notes and textbooks. It was small, compared to Dublin and Galway, anyway, and very pretty, flowers bursting from each street corner and from above the rafters of the picturesque pubs. It glowed brightly, music spilling from the open doorways of trad bars and from the windows of the sleep spa hotels.

Her hood up to hide her face, Nuala strode down the side of the tree-lined canal. Since the car belonged to a dead woman and was covered with occult bloody symbols, she'd decided to dump it before actually entering the city, abandoning it in a small stand of elderflower trees.

A laughing couple strode past on the pavement beside her. One tossed a beer can into the canal with a lazy flick of the hand. Nuala glared at his back as she passed, her own sore, cut up hands balling into fists in her pockets.

Shadowy movement on the nearest roof made her glance around, her heart pounding. But it was only Nit, moving with as much stealth as it could with both wings out. Apparently, balancing with only one wing was difficult. As she watched, it pressed itself into the shadows under a bank of chimneys, only its pale horns visible.

Neither of them knew how far exactly they could move apart before whatever shielding protection their connection granted faded away. In the compound, Nuala had rambled all over the bogs without worry, but that was before Nit had woken up. Presumably, things were different now.

The city seemed strange in the dark, the streets shorter or longer than she remembered. She stuck to the well-lit avenues, trying to navigate to the bus station while only really half-remembering where it was.

Nit kept pace with her on the rooftops. It moved mostly in silence, apart from the times it had to brave a wide jump from one roof to the next. The clatter of wings always made Nuala glance around in alarm, terrified that somehow Nit was being attacked.

It seemed incredible, but they made it to the bus station without being attacked or accosted. And, even better, they arrived just in time to catch the final bus to Galway. Nuala ran for it, terrified that it would leave before she bought a ticket, and pounded on the door.

With a soft hiss, the door slid open. The bus driver watched her expectantly.

It was a good thing she'd chosen to swap her own rain coat for one of the ones she'd found in the back of Emily's minivan. Only a faint smudge of soot on the side of Nuala's face betrayed what she'd been through earlier that day.

She passed over the money, grabbed her ticket, and chose a seat. There were plenty available – apparently, the midnight bus to Galway wasn't exactly popular. As she settled into a seat, she heard the dull clatter, and the faint thud on the roof overhead. Hopefully, Nit would find something secure to hang onto on the roof during the journey.

As the bus pulled out of the station, and a pleasant gloom filled the warm cabin, Nuala finally allowed herself to relax. She stretched out her arms, wincing as cuts pulled tight all over her body. Closing her eyes, she settled back in the soft seat, suddenly completely exhausted.

She dreamed about the forest again. Trees taller than most buildings stretched up to the sky, leaves of the canopy rustling and drifting like clouds. The gentle, earthy smell of leaf mould pervaded the air.

Her hands stretched out, brushing the curling fern fronds. As the wind picked up, slow but powerful under the canopy, the fronds dipped and bowed. She smiled. It was nice.

Strangely quiet, though. She glanced around, her eyebrows rising slightly. Where were the birds, the wildlife? The entire place was silent, apart from a very distant and familiar clatter of wings, like a wood-pigeon taking off from the branches overhead, and the deep hum of a bumblebee.

The hum cut off. Nuala turned just in time to see a sapling explode open. An enormous creature smashed through, pulling its wings in close to avoid clipping the nearby trees. It was a blur of tawny bars and stripes with a white underside, its hands and feet bare of feathers. They were bright yellow, like the feet of an eagle, and the talons were huge and black, cruelly curved. Its face was brown and dappled, its eyes huge and acid-yellow. Its horns were like the ears of an eagle owl, feathered points.

Clutched tightly in one of its hands was the arm of a much smaller creature, one that struggled and tried to pull away. Compared to the tawny monster, this one was much smaller, maybe about six feet tall, cloaked in neat, sea-green, scale-like semicircular feathers that flashed with a brilliant iridescence. The smaller creature's wings were crushed behind it, against the larger creature's front, and its dark face was contorted with pain.

Coming to a shuddering halt, the larger creature hurled the smaller one at the ground. It spoke in a low growling voice, in a language that Nuala definitely did not understand. Somehow, though, she knew what it meant.

“You sold us out!” the large creature snarled, flicking away the scraps of iridescent feathers that had caught in its hand scales.

The smaller of the two struggled to sit up, gasping. Its wings still looked odd and bent. Up close, Nuala realised, the creature was absolutely beautiful. Its body was brilliant turquoise, patterned with cream lines and large orange-red spots, like the eye-spots on a butterfly's wing. Its skin was greenish blue, its eyes sharp and red. It had four ears, for some reason, each sticking out from its head at a slightly different angle. Compared to Nit, Haamiath, and the enormous owlish monster in front of it, the brightly coloured demon's wingspan was minuscule, less than fourteen feet.

The feathers of its arm were dark and matted with vivid green blood.

“It wasn't me, Mizrael!” it cried out, scrambling backwards as the larger creature advanced threateningly.

“Then who? The humans are killing us with this new knowledge, and they didn't learn it on their own.” Mizrael kicked a clump of broken wood aside, its wings flaring furiously.

“I don't know,” the smaller demon said. “I don't, I promise. But, um... I think I saw Nithanael talking to Mac Tíre-”

Mizrael froze. Its eyes widened. “Nithanael?” it said slowly. “What did you see, Hakamiath? Tell me or I'll tear your worthless wings out.”

Hakamiath swallowed, its ears flicking nervously. “She was gathering reeds and baking them. Nithanael was with her, I think it was eating something.”

Mizrael drew itself up to its full height, which was roughly eight feet. It glanced sharply away, through the trees. “Of course. That creature would do anything for human food, even betray its own kind.” It spoke of food as if eating was a worthless, foreign concept.

A loud thrumming buzz filled the clearing, a thousand times louder than any bumblebee. Hakamiath's wings were beating. The feathers a blur, it used the lift to struggle up to its feet. Its wings shimmered back into the visible spectrum, and the thrumming faded away.

“We need to kill Mac Tíre,” Mizrael said.

“It's too late,” Hakamiath said. “She has probably sold the secrets to every prophet in the world, future and present. We can't retrieve that knowledge.”

Mizrael's eyes blazed. “You coward. So you think we should surrender? She. Will. Kill. Us. And she'll teach every other human to do it, too.”

Hakamiath hesitated, clearly unwilling to disagree with Mizrael any further. “I suppose. What will you do about it?”

“What will we do about it, you mean,” Mizrael said, turning around. Its wings ruffled and flared, but with the trees so close it hadn't a hope of taking off. Hakamiath, on the other hand, was small enough to fly in the forest. Like an enormous, gleaming dragonfly, it lifted off and hovered for a moment before settling down on a nearby branch, level with Mizrael's head. It watched Mizrael expectantly, a greenish pallor settling on its face.

“We can't allow the humans to spread this knowledge any further,” Mizrael said. “So maybe it's time the entire wretched species went extinct. They've had their time in the sunlight, and now they think Eden belongs to them.”

A new voice called through the forest, carried by the rustle of leaves and wind. Both demons turned.

Mac Tíre was so small, compared even to Hakamiath. She was about five foot three, Nuala's modest height, and wreath of twigs wrapped around her head like a crown. Her face was hidden by her skull mask, though this time the skull had been painted with some kind of magic circle, in the middle of its forehead. Her shoulders were cloaked with grey wolf fur. Scabs and cuts ran down the light brown skin of her bare arms, some still oozing blood.

She leant against a tree trunk, watching the pair of demons. But when she spoke, Nuala didn't understand, even though she spoke the same language as Mizrael and Hakamiath.

Whatever it was that she said, it must have been pretty incisive. Mizrael rounded on her with a roar, baring its fangs. Hakamiath leant away, shocked.

Mac Tíre waved her hands, her voice rising mockingly. Her thumb moved to one of the bleeding cuts on her wrist. Slowly, with exaggerated movements, she drew a blood circle onto the tree trunk.

Mizrael seethed. It surged forwards, its deadly talons outstretched.

Mac Tíre stood aside, and the enormous creature missed its first strike. She drew another stroke into the circle, twisting symbols that Nuala struggled to memorise. Mizrael reached for her with a hand larger than her head. Nuala almost cried out, unable to look away.

Just at the last moment, Mac Tíre spread blood over her palm and thrust her hand at the circle. She sidestepped just in time – and Mizrael's hand smashed through the tree, destroying the circle.

Mizrael fell to its knees. Red-brown blood exploded from its abdomen and sprayed from its mouth. An enormous wound, so huge it all but ripped the demon in half, opened up in its torso. Mizrael crumpled.

Mac Tíre turned away, dismissively, and faced Hakamiath.

The hummingbird demon was already in the air, the tip of its glittering tail vanishing through the trees. Mac Tíre licked blood off her palms, then reached down. A wolf trotted out from the undergrowth and nudged at her hand, giving it a curious lick. It sniffed at Mizrael's lifeless body and backed away, growling.

Mac Tíre turned. She faced Nuala. Stared straight at her. Then, beckoning to her wolf, she turned and vanished into the undergrowth.

#birb story 2017

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